Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue
Clockwork waved his hand, merging the damaged timelines into one. And as Danny wished, the memory of his identity and the heroism he performed was removed from the minds of everyone on Earth, except for those of Amity Park and those in the Ghost Zone. Time adjusted, events meshing together across the timeline to make a cohesive, if vastly different whole.

Black Hand, the world's most famous hero after Danny Phantom, was known for helping to save the world that day the year before when the Anti-Ecto Meteor was hurtling toward Earth and he used his powers to bring back the world’s greatest Heroes for one final battle. He was respectful in asking for their assistance, only bringing back those who chose to help, and returned them to peace after the Earth was saf-{Clip/Paste}- Black Hand, one of the universe's most wanted criminals, floated near the Source Wall. He drifted closer, the emptiness of space around him alive with the whispers of countless souls he had bound to his will.

The Source Wall loomed before him, a tapestry of frozen gods and forgotten titans, their forms locked in eternal struggle, etched into the barrier like warning signs for lesser minds. Yet to Black Hand, they were an invitation. His skeletal fingers reached outward, the black light crackling against the radiant surface. “Life, death… all the same lie,” he muttered, eyes reflecting endless galaxies. “But you… You hide the truth, don’t you?” As he pressed his palm to the wall, he realized in horror how even Gods could become trapped there, becoming petrified and merging into the wall.

Batman stood among the crowd of costumed heroes, seeing their friends off one last time, the silence after salvation heavier than any storm. He had watched the impossible: a world rendered ghostlike, untouchable, the meteor’s rage passing harmlessly through as if the Earth were air. And then, amidst the fading chorus of spectral heroes brought back by Black Hand to save them, he saw him. Jason, the wide-eyed Robin he had buried twenty years prior. His cape was shredded in phantom tatters, his domino mask still cracked, his face pale and luminous, and yet his eyes burned with that same reckless fire. For a heartbeat, Bruce couldn’t move. All the walls he had built—the discipline, the silence, the unshakable mask—fractured at once. “Jason,” he breathed, his voice breaking in a way it hadn’t in decades.

The boy ghost smiled faintly, the grin crooked as it always had been, the one Bruce remembered from rooftops and late-night training sessions. “Missed me, B?” His voice carried the soft echo of the afterlife, thin and fading even as he stood before him. Batman dropped to one knee, reaching out, his gauntleted hand passing uselessly through Jason’s flickering form. “Jaybird.” His voice cracked in grief. Fourteen years of guilt, of rage, of what-ifs, pressed into his chest, and for the first time in so long, Bruce let the tears fall freely, uncaring who might see. Jason leaned forward as if to touch his father’s shoulder, though they both knew he could not. “It’s okay,” Jason whispered, the boy’s smile softening into something older than his years. “You saved them all. You saved me, too.” And then, like ash in the wind, he dissolved into the night, leaving Batman clutching nothing but memory and grief, whispering into the dark, “I never stopped loving you, son.-{Clip/Paste}- A fist shattered the barrier around reality. A second answered it, pounding against a coffin.

3 Years Post Glitch

Danny was used to secrets.
After all, being half-ghost meant living a life of hidden battles, late nights hunting creatures from another dimension, and lying to his parents and friends about why he always looked exhausted. But this secret—this was different. This one unraveled him.

It started when Jazz found an old adoption record in a box tucked away in the attic.
“Danny,” she’d said carefully, holding a faded manila envelope. “I think you should see this.”

Inside were adoption papers and Danny’s birth certificate, except the name on it wasn’t one he recognized. What was clear was that the name was changed during the adoption. Near the bottom of the stack was a folded letter. The letter wasn’t long. It was written by hand, signed with initials he didn’t recognize.

We love him. But we can’t keep him. Tell him someday, if you can, that he was loved. — S.B. & T.D.

Danny stared at the paper for hours, his mind a whirlpool. His parents—Maddie and Jack—had always said he was theirs. And in every way that mattered, he was. But the letter said otherwise.

The next day, Danny was out of it at school, not that anyone but Sam and Tucker noticed. At least that’s how Danny felt. It wasn’t until Mr. Lancer called him back after class ended that Danny came around, if only to face his teacher’s chastisement.

Mr. Lancer watched the boy for a moment. He had once thought the boy was just a slacker, but he had been watching him for the last few school years and thought he had a better measure of the boy. Especially after the meteor incident revealed Danny’s secret identity to the whole town.

“Mr. Fenton. As I’m sure you know, I also serve as the school guidance counselor.” Danny gave Mr. Lancer an odd questioning look, as if he just couldn’t see it. “Actually, that’s news to me.”

Mr. Lancer gave him a deadpan look that drew a mumbled, “Sorry”, from Danny. “That said, I have been watching you for a while now. I’ll rephrase. I’ve noticed not just how your grades have changed over the last few years, but how you have. For a time, I was greatly concerned about how physical Mr. Baxter’s bullying had become.”

Danny looked up from his skulking, “Not that anyone tried to do anything about that.” Mr. Lancer glared in disapproval. “You know I’m right.”

Mr. Lancer sighed, “Mr. Fenton, you’re young, so I understand you have no personal experience with professionalism, but it’s inappropriate to discuss the disciplinary measures against other students even with the victim. I will assure you that the situation had progressed to the point that Mr. Baxter’s sports eligibility was in question before your relationship seemed to have taken a turn. In light of more recent… revelations, it actually might be more appropriate to discuss which incidents were due to student violence and which were due to your… extracurricular activities.”

Danny stared at Mr. Lancer in awe. He had thought no one was in his corner because Dash was the school sports star. He had never imagined that he almost got removed from all his teams because of his ghost fighting. “W-well, to be honest, Dash was never an overly physical bully. A couple of times in a locker or a swirly was about as far as he’d take it. He’s really not imaginative, so he’s kinda cliché. It didn’t bother me as much, but I‘m definitely the only one he targeted. He just didn’t like me in particular. We’ve put it behind us, though. He’s actually a fan of Phantom… And I’m rambling, sorry.”

Mr. Lancer snorted, “Be that as it may, I am concerned for your well-being and have been for some time. It’s obvious something has happened recently that has affected you. I’m available if you’re willing to share.”

Danny was silent to this. He didn’t know how he felt about this. He hadn’t talked to anybody about it yet, not even to Sam and Tucker. Not even to Jazz, who found it, partially because she might try to “treat” him when he really just needed his big sister. “I-I just found out I’m adopted.”

Mr. Lancer was clearly surprised by this, “And I take it from your reaction it was not your parents who explained this?” Danny nodded, “Jazz and I found the papers in the attic while cleaning. I don’t know how I feel about it yet.”

Mr. Lancer nodded, “I should think not. If you want, we can set up an appointment with a psychologist who knows about your… condition to help you work through it. I’m sure you have other things to work through at this point.”

“Thanks Mr. Lancer, I’ll think about it. Can I get a note for my next class?” It was left unsaid between them that his teacher had long ago came to the conclusion that Ghosts don’t just create themselves and Danny really needed to talk to someone about that. “Of course, Mr. Fenton. Try not to be any later than I’ve made you.”

Chapter Text

Tucker slid into the Nastyburger booth opposite of Danny and Sam, “So are you ready to spill what’s been going on with you today? And why’d Mr. Lancer pull you aside?” Sam had wanted to ask the question too, but as usual, Tucker beat her to it before she found a tactful way to ask.

Danny sighed and munched on a fry, “So Jazz and I were digging through the Attic yesterday, what she calls “cleaning”, when we found some old documents.” Sam grew concerned, “You didn’t find out you two were abducted, did you?"

Sam had recently gotten into True Crime series and had brought up the theory before, because Danny’s parent were grade A weirdos like that. At Danny’s silence Sam and Tucker glanced at each other, growing concerned she might be right. “They didn’t really…?”

Danny glanced up in surprise, “What? No! No. But you’re not far off… Turns out… I AM adopted.” He just left the bombshell to explode between them and went back to his fries.
Sam was flabbergasted, “Danny! That’s a big deal! Why didn’t you call one of us instead of going zombie mode around school? We would have been there for you…” She looked at him, eyes pleading.

Danny smiled warily and gripped her hand, “It’s alright. I was surprised, that’s all. It’s kind of a shock to find out. I mean, you think you know people, and suddenly, surprise! Not your parents.” He ate another fry as the other two processed this.

Tucker recovered first, “Dude, did the papers say anything about your birth parents? Are you gonna try to meet them?” Danny paused for a second and retrieved a note from his pocket. “I don’t know. My mom’s name is apparently Stephanie Brown, and my Dad’s name is Alvin Draper. I mean, they left a note saying they loved me, but then why…?” He went quiet.

Tucker took the note and read it for a moment. “Uh, Dude? Whose T.D.?” Danny looked at him quizzically, “Who?” Tucker held up the note, “See. It says, “S.B. & T.D.” on the signature.” Sam looked at it too, curiously. Danny just shrugged.

Later that night.

Tucker Foley wasn't one to pry. That’s what he told himself, anyway, as his fingers flew across the keyboard in the dim light of his bedroom. Technically, technically, he had Danny’s permission. Kind of. Okay, not in so many words, but there had been that sigh of defeat when Danny muttered, “I guess it’s time to know where I came from.”
That was all Tucker needed.

What started as a late-night curiosity dive had quickly turned into a full-blown cyber excavation. Tucker had bypassed Gotham General’s ancient firewalls in minutes—it was almost insulting how little effort the hospital’s digital defenses required. Maybe because no one sane wanted to hack Gotham's anything.

Except Tucker Foley.

He’d triangulated Danny’s date of birth, filtered for male infants born in Gotham under “Baby Doe” status, and there it was: a redacted birth certificate that matched the one in the packet they found and an entry from a nurse’s note mentioning “minor complications” and a young woman listed only as S.Brown, age 17.

Tucker leaned back, adjusting his cap as he muttered aloud, “Stephanie Brown… huh.”

He already knew her name, but now he had her personal info. A quick pivot brought him into city records, then a fast dive into Gotham's less-than-reliable public systems. Brown wasn’t exactly an uncommon last name, but her medical files, school records, and even the occasional Gotham Gazette mention painted a clear enough picture. She’d grown up in Gotham’s working-class neighborhoods. A single mom. A checkered academic record that had improved sharply in high school, then a sudden drop-off right around when Danny had been born.

“Oh,” Tucker murmured, eyes flicking to the timeline.

She’d disappeared from school for almost half a year, then came back with honors and a full ride to university after graduation. There were no mentions of the baby, of course—nothing public—but the math added up. It fit. And her face—there was a yearbook photo. Blonde hair, bright eyes. A bit of Danny’s nose. Definitely something in the expression.
Tucker hadn’t expected to feel nervous. He’d broken into secret government databases. He’d spoofed international IPs and once got into a Wayne Enterprises sub-server just to prove he could.

But this?

This was different.

He stared at the glowing screen, a single tab open. Stephanie Brown. He had her address. A recent photo. Her educational history. Even a few quotes from Gotham U alumni feature. She was a community health worker now, apparently—boots on the ground, outreach-oriented. She smiled in every photo, even the awkward candid ones.

She seemed… kind.

But tucked beneath it all, buried in a folder he almost didn’t click, was a scanned court record. Arthur Brown—convicted felon, multiple charges of fraud and aggravated assault, plus a long, documented history of emotional abuse. The kind of man who’d have been dangerous with a child around.

Tucker exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Dude... no wonder she gave Danny up.”

He hovered over the keyboard, thinking. Should he tell Danny? Maybe. Eventually. But not now. Not before they even talked to her. Not before Danny had the chance to make up his own mind about who she was today.

He closed the tab.

Tucker saved a few screenshots to a private folder, encrypted and double-password protected. Not because Danny didn’t trust him, but because this wasn’t Tucker’s story to tell.

He leaned back again, fingers steepled. “Well, Danny,” he muttered, “I think I found your mom.”

Then his phone buzzed.

DANNY: “Ugh. Jazz wants to ‘process’ with me about identity and roots. You find anything yet?”
TUCKER: “Not yet. Almost. Want me to keep going?”
DANNY: “Yeah. Might as well. I want to know. Just… be chill about it.”

Tucker smirked. “Always am.”

He closed the message thread, then minimized the window and stretched. The next step? Figuring out how to tell Danny what he’d found without overwhelming him.

Maybe tomorrow.

The Clocktower - Gotham

Barbara had been hoping for a quiet evening when her AI client pinged a search for one of the Bat Family. She had emergency alerts set up for everyone. This one was weird, though. Who would be looking up Steph like this? She called her via comms in case her phone had been compromised.

“Spoiler, I'm going to forward something to you. My system flagged it for unusual activity. Let me know if I should look into it.”

Stephanie had just gotten up for the day at 8 pm and was peeling an orange when Oracle called. Annoyed, she got out a plate to set the fruit on and washed her hands before checking the file.

An hour later, she was still looking at her laptop, her stomach churning. The orange was long forgotten. 17 years, but someone finally came looking.

Chapter Text

The next day, found Tucker in Danny's room at FentonWorks. When Jazz walked in a few minutes later, Tucker didn’t even look up. She stood behind him silently, arms crossed, until he finally asked, “You sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” she said, firm. “Danny deserves answers. But it has to be her choice, too.”

They’d already found Stephanie’s professional email through the public hospital directory—Gotham General, Pediatrics Outreach Program. Jazz had composed the message carefully. Nothing too heavy. Nothing overwhelming. Just a few sentences:

Hello,
My name is Jasmine Fenton. I believe you may have given birth to my brother approximately seventeen years ago in Gotham. If this is reaching the wrong person, I sincerely apologize.
But if I’m right—and if you’re willing—we’d like to talk.
No pressure. No expectations. Just a conversation.

Tucker had scoffed at the wording. “It’s got all the emotional subtlety of a greeting card, but sure.”

Jazz had hit send before he could comment further.

Now, minutes later, her phone buzzed. She read the notification, blinked once, and then slowly turned the screen toward Tucker.

STEPHANIE BROWN:
Yes. Please. I’ve waited for this since the day I let him go.
Please contact me at xxx-xxx-xxxx.

Jazz swallowed hard. “Well. That’s a yes.”

Tucker nodded slowly, eyebrows raised. “Guess we’re doing this.”

Jazz sat down on the edge of Danny's bed, phone clutched to her chest.

Stephanie looked at her email inbox, rereading the email from Jasmine Fenton over and over again as the churning in her stomach turned to knots. Oh God, why did I respond?

Taking a calming breath to clear the anxiety she felt from her voice, she called Barbara back.
“We’re good, Oracle. Just an old acquaintance trying to reach out. It’s a personal thing, so don’t look too much into it, ok?”

Barbara didn’t respond for a moment. “That just makes it more suspicious, you know?”

Some of the anxiety leaked into her voice. “Please, Babs. This isn’t case-related. I’ll tell you later, but please let it go for right now.”

Barbara considered that. It was unusual for the energetic Stephanie to sound so upset. She’d look into the usual suspects in her friend’s orbit, but she’d give her some space for now. “Understood. Just stay safe, alright?”

“Thanks, Babs.”

Danny sat at the edge of his bed, his phone in one hand, the other tangled in the fabric of his jeans. He stared at the glowing screen, Stephanie Brown’s name on a contact card he had barely dared to create an hour ago.

Jazz was downstairs pretending not to eavesdrop. Tucker had offered to help “run deeper background checks” on her again if things got weird, and Sam had quietly reminded Danny that it was his choice—no pressure. But now, with everything quiet and still, it was just him, the phone, and the aching, fluttering nervousness that came with trying to call your biological mother.

The word felt weird even in his thoughts. Mom. That title still belonged to Maddie. But this—this was different. This was about truth. About origin.

He drew in a breath and hit the call button.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Click.
“…Hello?”

Her voice was cautious but warm. Danny’s heart skipped. It was strange how familiar she sounded, like a melody he’d never heard but somehow remembered.

“Uh… hi. Is this—Stephanie Brown?”

“Yes, speaking. Who is this?”

Danny swallowed. “My name is… Danny. Daniel Fenton. I think—I think you might have been expecting this call.” If Jazz’s text had gotten through that is. The GIW blackout could be weird.

Silence. One beat. Two. Then—
“Oh my God,” Stephanie breathed.

Danny froze. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just—”

“No! No, you didn’t. I just—wow.” Her voice trembled slightly. “I’ve imagined this moment for so many years, but I never thought it would actually happen. Are you—are you okay? I mean, you don’t have to tell me everything, obviously, I just—I can’t believe it’s you.”

Danny chuckled softly, a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I guess I can’t believe it either. I found the letter. The one with the initials. It… kind of unraveled everything.”

She exhaled, clearly holding back tears. “Your Father wrote that the night we handed you off. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Danny.”

“I’m not calling to make you feel bad,” he said quickly. “I just… I guess I wanted to hear your voice. And… maybe talk?”

“Of course. Absolutely.” She hesitated, then said, “You sound… kind. You sound so much like him. Like your—like your father.”

Danny smiled despite himself. “I, uh… I don’t really know what to say. I’ve been through some pretty weird stuff, but this? This might top it.”

Stephanie let out a watery laugh. “You have no idea how weird your parents are.”

There was a pause. A good one. A shared breath of something lighter.

“I’m not angry,” Danny said after a while. “I was scared to call. Not because of what you did, but because I didn’t want to ruin your life.”

Stephanie’s voice went soft. “You could never ruin my life, Danny. You were never a mistake. Giving you up was… it was the only way I thought I could keep you safe. But it haunted me.”

“Guess haunting runs in the family,” Danny joked. She snorted, and he grinned. “Sorry. Bad habit.”

“I love it,” she said. “You’re funny.”

Danny looked out the window. The night sky over Amity Park shimmered with a few stars between the glow of the town. “Would it be okay if we met? Somewhere low-key. Just to talk.”

“I would love that,” she said instantly. “Anywhere. Anytime.”

“Maybe Gotham’s not the best place for me to show up unannounced,” he said. “I’m kind of scared I’d run into Batman or something.”

“You’d be fine,” Stephanie said gently. “But I can come to you. Or we can meet halfway. Wherever makes you comfortable.”

Danny bit his lip, heart beating just a little faster. “It’s probably better not to meet in Amity Park. Maybe Springfield? I’m seeing a Dairy Queen on Grand Ave. They’ve got good milkshakes. We could meet there?”

Stephanie perked up, “I’ve always wanted to meet the Simpsons. What day?”

Danny thought about it, “Well, you’re coming all the way from New Jersey, so maybe next Thursday?”

“Honey, I would fly to Hong Kong by midnight to meet you,” Stephanie said.

“How about tomorrow?” Danny asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She was quiet for a second. “Tomorrow sounds perfect.”

They lingered on the line a moment longer, neither ready to hang up.

“Thanks for picking up,” Danny said softly.

“Thanks for calling,” Stephanie replied. “I’ve waited seventeen years for this. I didn’t know if I ever deserved it.”

Danny smiled gently. “Maybe we both needed time.”

They hung up.

For a long moment, Danny sat there in the stillness of his room. His ghost sense didn’t tingle. No alarms blared. Nothing exploded.
Just the quiet sense that something had begun—something new.

Chapter Text

The Dairy Queen on Grand Ave in Springfield, Illinois, didn’t seem like the kind of place where your life was supposed to change. But for Danny Fenton, it was neutral ground—public enough to be safe, plain enough to avoid drawing attention, and weird enough to feel like fate.

He sat in the corner booth under the giant neon Treat Yourself Right sign, anxiously rearranging napkins while his sister Jazz calmly sipped a Blizzard. Her Barbie Pink Sedan visible through the window like an accidental reference on its own.

“You okay?” Jazz asked, nudging him with her foot under the table.

Danny drummed his fingers on the plastic tray and shrugged. “Just a little nervous. If you don’t count existentially spiraling while eating curly fries in the town that may or may not be the same Springfield as *The Simpsons,* then yes, I'm very good. Y’know… normal stuff. Like meeting the woman who gave birth to me.”

Jazz gave him a small, supportive smile. “You’re going to be fine. Don’t worry. If this turns into a Treehouse of Horror episode, I’ll protect you from Kang and Kodos. I mean, it’s not like she’s a secret agent or a vigilante or anything.”

Danny cracked a smile but tapped his fingers faster. “Yeah. That’d be crazy.”

Just then, the door chimed. A woman stepped in—blonde, around her early thirties, wearing a lavender hoodie and faded jeans, her lips still twitching with the familiar *da-da-da-da-da-daaaa-da-da*.. She glanced around with a nervous smile, and—Danny swore he wasn’t imagining this—was still quietly humming the Simpsons theme song.

Jazz whispered, “Did she just—?”

Danny nodded. “Yep. Definitely humming the theme.”

Stephanie Brown spotted them and hesitated, eyes locking with Danny’s, and lit up in recognition, which was weird because he didn’t send her a picture. She offered a cautious wave and made her way over.

“Hi,” she said, her voice catching slightly as she stood across from him. “Danny?”

He stood awkwardly and gave a small nod. “Yeah. That’s me.”

Jazz stood first and offered her a hand. “Hi. I’m Jasmine. Danny’s sister. Legally. Biologically? Questionable.”

Stephanie shook her hand and laughed—too loud, too quick, and a little strained given the context. “Hi. Stephanie. I don’t usually pick restaurants based on cartoon references, but I figured… why not lean into the absurdity?”

Danny slowly stood up, heart hammering in his chest. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she echoed. Her eyes locked with his and widened just a little—like she was drinking in every detail. “You look like him. Like your Father. But you’ve got my nose.”

Danny laughed awkwardly and scratched behind his ear. “Yeah, my nose is pretty… Buttony, I guess.”

Her smile widened, but it trembled at the edges. “Wow. You’re taller than I imagined.”

“You’re shorter,” he said before his filter kicked in. “I mean—not in a bad way! You just… don’t look like someone who could throw me across a room or anything.”

Stephanie laughed—an honest, surprised laugh. “That’s good. I was worried I’d come off like a Bond villain.”

“Also,” Jazz added with a grin, “he’s extremely dramatic. Like Gotham levels of dramatic.”

Stephanie put her hands up. “Hey, I’ll take the blame for that. I did watch *Darkwing Duck* while pregnant.”

Jazz looked at Danny. “That explains *so* much.”

They sat down, the red vinyl booth squeaking beneath them. Stephanie glanced at the tray. “You didn’t get a Dilly Bar?”

Danny shrugged. “Too frozen. Bad dental experience.”

“Thank you both for agreeing to meet me here. I know it’s not exactly… traditional.”

“It’s Springfield,” Jazz said. “I’m still half-convinced Bart Simpson’s going to skateboard past that drive-thru window.”

Stephanie blinked. “That might be the weirdest sentence I’ve ever heard…” Stephanie smiled and slid into the booth. “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen in my life, and I once heard Batman sing karaoke.”

Jazz leaned forward. “Wait. *Batman* sings?”

Stephanie nodded solemnly. “Only under duress. Or on Christmas Eve. Once.”

Danny chuckled despite himself. The tension in his shoulders started to melt a little—like a soft-serve cone in the Springfield sun.

“So…” Stephanie said softly, wrapping her hands around a paper cup of water she hadn’t touched. “This is really happening.”

“Yeah,” Danny replied. “Guess so.”

Danny sat down slowly, still watching her with a mix of awe and hesitation. “I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d call,” she admitted, looking down at her hands. “I’ve thought about this moment so many times. What I’d say, what you’d be like, whether you’d even show. And now that you’re here, I don’t know where to start.”

Danny toyed with the edge of his cup. “Start anywhere. I’ve got questions, but… I just wanted to meet you.”

Stephanie nodded. “Okay. Well, first off… you’re really handsome. I know I’m biased, but—wow.”

Danny blushed. “Thanks. You, uh… You don’t look like someone who gave up a baby seventeen years ago.”

She gave a soft, nostalgic chuckle. “That's sweet of you. I wasn’t much more than a kid myself. Things were complicated. The kind of complicated I couldn’t control.”

Danny nodded slowly. “I’ve had… a few of those.”

Jazz elbowed him gently. “He once broke into a museum by accident. Long story.”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow. “Accident?”

Danny grinned sheepishly. “I was chasing someone. Or something. I mean, not important.”

Stephanie giggled, “Ok, Batman.”

Danny smirked. “I *do* brood. Just ask Jazz.”

“True,” Jazz said. “He stares out windows dramatically and everything.”

“I don’t *stare.* I ponder.”

Stephanie laughed—a real laugh. “Pondering is very much something your Father would do.”

Danny’s smile faded slightly. “Is he okay? My Dad, I mean?”

She nodded. “He’s okay. I didn’t tell him about this meeting yet. Figured I’d… see how this went first.”

Jazz jumped in to change the subject. “So, do you live around here?” Once again, her question was awkward and fell flat. Jazz really felt like a third wheel to the conversation, but she still wanted to be here for Danny. She was also his ride back to Amity Park.

“Gotham,” Stephanie said casually.

Danny blinked. “Really? What’s it like?”

Stephanie made a face. “Loud. Wet. Constantly under construction. And somehow always raining.”

Danny laughed. “Sounds familiar. Amity’s got its own charm. Ghost town. Literally.”

Stephanie cocked her head. “Ghost town?”

Danny winced. “Just a nickname. High school slang. Totally not ominous.”

Jazz chimed in, “It’s mostly normal. Except for the days that aren’t.”

Stephanie gave them a curious smile. “You’re both very cryptic. I like that.”

“So are you,” Danny countered. “You didn’t tell me much on the phone.”

Stephanie sipped from her water. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you. I figured… I’d let you see for yourself that I’m not a supervillain.”

Danny laughed. “Well, you’re off to a good start. Though I have to say—humming the Simpsons theme in the doorway was a bold choice.”

Stephanie smirked. “Gotta respect the classics.”

They sat in silence for a moment, but it wasn’t awkward. Just full. A little unsure, a little heavy—but real. Getting up, they moved to the counter.

Jazz waved at the counter. “Three sundaes, please! And if you have a Flaming Moe, I’ll take that too.”

The cashier blinked. “Ma’am, this is a Dairy Queen.”

Jazz sighed. “Springfield disappoints me again.”

Stephanie grinned, “I don’t think you’re old enough for a Flaming Moe anyway. Just a Blizzard and a Krusty Burger if you’ve got one!”

The employee blinked. “Ma’am… this is a Dairy Queen.”

Jazz sighed. “Springfield *lied* to me.”

Danny leaned back, the faintest smile on his face. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

Stephanie looked at him with misty eyes. “Weird is good. I think I missed seventeen years of it. I’d like to catch up, if that’s okay.”

Danny met her gaze. “Yeah. I’d like that too.”

Stephanie’s eyes welled up slightly, but she blinked the tears back. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Danny shrugged, suddenly shy. “Yeah. But… I had a good life. Maddie and Jack… they were weird, but they loved me. They *still* don’t know I know, though. About the adoption.”

Stephanie nodded. “You can take your time with that. Or not tell them at all, if you want. I’m not here to rewrite anything. I just… wanted to see you. To tell you I’m proud of who you’ve become.”

And as they shared their first sundae together, neither of them said the words they were both thinking.

That they both had secrets.

That the world was a lot stranger than a Dairy Queen in Springfield could ever know.

But for now, weird was enough.

Chapter Text

Stephanie paced the rooftop of the Wayne Enterprises building just after midnight, the cold Gotham wind whipping her ponytail like a flag of frustration. The city pulsed below with distant sirens and flickering neon, but up here, the chaos of the streets was muted by a single name that hadn’t left her mind in sixteen years.

Danny.

She’d met him. Spoken to him. Laughed with him. Held his hand.

And then she’d seen the note he carried with him his whole life.

—S.B. & T.D.

Tim’s initials.

Not Dean. Not Alvin.

She clenched the folded letter in her gloved fist and turned toward the skylight as a quiet clink of metal echoed behind her. She didn’t need to turn around.

“You signed the note,” she said without preamble, her voice sharp. “With your real initials.”

Tim stepped forward, his Red Robin cowl pushed back, exposing his Domino mask and face to the moonlight. He looked tired—but calm. “I did.”

“You told me—you told me we should say it was someone else. That it would be easier if no one knew the truth.”

“I did,” he said again, voice steady. “But I also left the truth… for him.”

Stephanie’s fists trembled at her sides. “Why? Why would you do that when you knew we agreed on anonymity? On keeping him away from Dean. On Alvin Draper, the imaginary photography major from Keystone?”

Tim exhaled slowly. “Because I knew the moment I saw him.”

Stephanie froze.

“What?”

Tim looked out over the city, his voice soft but firm. “At the hospital. They ran a paternity test at my request since my alias was on the birth certificate. The results were in his file.”

Stephanie felt her knees weaken slightly, but she stayed standing. “You knew? All this time?”

He nodded. “From the moment he was born.”

“You—” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You knew, and you still let me go through it alone? You let me believe—God, you let me believe I had to carry that burden by myself.”

Tim met her eyes. “Because it was your choice. And I respected it.”

Stephanie shook her head, heart hammering. “You were the father, Tim. That wasn’t just my decision.”

“Yes, it was,” Tim said, his voice rising slightly. “Because you carried him. You gave birth to him. And you were the one who would have given up everything—your future, your safety, your sanity—if we’d kept him. I was barely eighteen and already an obsession on half of the League’s watchlists. You were barely younger and had Intergang breathing down your neck every time you left a rooftop. How were we ever going to give him a normal life?”

Stephanie opened her mouth, but the argument dissolved on her tongue.

“We don’t live lives where babies are safe, Steph,” Tim continued. “We don’t get school pickup lines and t-ball games. We get knife wounds and mission logs and thirty seconds of sleep between patrols.”

She turned away, trying to hide the tears she hated showing him. “But you still signed it. You still left your name.”

“I had to,” Tim said softly. “Because if he ever did look… I wanted him to know the truth. That his father didn’t walk away. That DEAN didn’t leave him on a whim. That I saw him. That I chose to let him live.”

Stephanie looked over her shoulder. “You could’ve picked him up anytime you wanted to.”

“I thought about it every day,” Tim said. “But if I showed up, what then? Pull him out of a stable family to raise him in a clocktower bunker with target practice and alias drills? You and I… we weren’t built to be parents back then. Hell, we’re barely surviving now.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with years of unspoken grief.

“I hated you for a while,” Stephanie whispered. “For not saying anything. Even when I thought you didn’t know.”

Tim’s jaw tightened. “I hated myself more.”

A gust of wind whipped past, and Stephanie looked down at the crumpled letter in her hand.

“You gave him the truth,” she said. “Even if it wasn’t everything.”

Tim looked at her gently. “You gave him life. You did the hardest part. I just… made sure he could find us, if he ever wanted to.”

She nodded slowly, stepping toward him. “He did want to. He reached out.”

Tim’s breath caught. “You met him?”

She nodded. “Springfield. Dairy Queen. He was nervous. Sweet. Smarter than me. Quieter than you.” She handed him a small manila envelope, the kind one uses for small bits of evidence.

Stephanie turned fully, eyes glassy but calm. “He’s… he’s a good kid. Weird sense of humor. Carries the weight of the world without telling anyone how much it hurts.”

Tim smiled faintly. He slid the envelope into his belt. A DNA test would confirm his identity. “Wonder where he got that from.”

A flicker of emotion passed through Tim’s eyes. “Is he… okay?”

“He’s more than okay,” Stephanie said, voice cracking with pride. “He’s a good person, Tim. Not just decent. Good. Like, salt-of-the-earth good.”

Tim blinked, and when he looked up again, she saw the tears in his eyes too.

“I’d like to meet him,” he said quietly.

Stephanie smiled through the ache in her chest. “He might want that.”

They stood in silence on the rooftop, the wind carrying old guilt and new hope between them like a thread pulled tight.

“I’m glad you signed it,” she finally said.

“I’m glad he kept it,” he replied.

And somewhere beneath the hurt, something started to mend.

Chapter Text

The golden hour sunlight poured into the Dairy Queen on Grand Ave in Springfield, Illinois. It was the same booth, the same cheap plastic trays, the same sticky table surface—but a completely different kind of tension.

Danny sat with a half-melted vanilla shake in front of him, his leg bouncing under the table. Next to him sat Stephanie Brown, his biological mother, who had only recently stepped out of the realm of “mystery figure” into “real person with freckles and a tendency to hum TV theme songs when nervous.”

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Stephanie offered softly, watching him stir the shake with a red straw. “Just being here is enough.”

“I want to,” Danny said, voice low. “I just don’t know what to expect.”

Stephanie gave him a soft smile and looked over at the nearby booth where Jazz, Sam, and Tucker were “casually” pretending not to watch them while sharing a large basket of fries.

“I’m glad they came,” Stephanie said. “You’ve got a solid support team.”

“Yeah,” Danny said quietly. “They’re… always there when it matters.”

Jazz, Sam, and Tucker sat at a nearby booth. Close enough to be support. Far enough to give space. Jazz kept casually glancing up from her Blizzard while Tucker powered through the basket of fries. Sam was sipping a smoothie, unimpressed by the lack of dairy-free options.

“This is gonna be interesting,” Jazz muttered, then checked her phone. “Five bucks says he orders something totally not on the menu.”

Tucker snorted. “Ten says he wears a trench coat and broods at the ketchup dispensers.”

Sam arched an eyebrow. “Fifteen says he’s Batman.”

“No one is Batman,” Jazz muttered, “except Batman.”

Stephanie snorted as Danny sighed. His SUPPORT SYSTEM was clearly here for their own amusement.

The front door chimed.

Danny looked up.

A tall man stepped inside wearing dark slacks, a neat jacket, and the careful expression of someone who lived his life overthinking introductions. His eyes scanned the dining room—then stopped at Danny. And Stephanie.

Tucker leaned across the booth and whispered, “No trench coat, but I was so close.”

Jazz elbowed Tucker as Sam rolled her eyes. “Shhh. It’s going well.”

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and made his way to the counter.

“Hi,” the man said politely to the teenage cashier. “Do you have oat milk? I’ll take an espresso, maybe with a splash of caramel—”

The cashier blinked. “Uh… sir? This is a Dairy Queen.”

There was a beat of silence. Stephanie snorted into her spoon. Danny barely held in a laugh.

Tim blinked once, completely deadpan. “Right. Blizzard. That. I’ll take that.”

The cashier pointed to the wall menu. “Pick a mix-in.”

“Of course,” the man said, recovering quickly. The man blinked again, looked up at the menu, and gave the faintest sigh. “Right. Okay. Uh… I’ll take a large Blizzard. Oreo and… chocolate brownie.”

“Choco Brownie Extreme?” the cashier asked.

“That’ll do.”

He paid, collected his dessert, and made his way over to their table. Stephanie stood halfway to greet him, her smile full of warmth. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, smiling gently. His eyes shifted to Danny. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Danny replied, unsure if he should stand, shake hands, or retreat to the soft-serve machine and vanish.

“Mind if I join you?”

Danny glanced at Stephanie, then gave a small nod. “Sure.”

There was a moment—a long one—where they just looked at each other.

Danny finally broke the silence. “So… Alvin Draper. That was you?”

Tim nodded slowly. “It was. And ‘Dean’ was… also me. Technically.”

“I want to be honest with you,” Tim said eventually. “There’s something you deserve to know.”

Danny looked up.

“The names Alan Draper and Dean…” Tim said slowly. “They were never real people. Just names I used so no one would dig into my personal life. I'm Tim. Timothy Drake-Wayne.”

Danny ignored Tucker’s near-silent squeal and nodded slowly. “I know. Or, I figured it out, once I saw the note.” Tucker had been hoping VERY loudly on the way over anyway.

Stephanie gave Danny a small apologetic smile. “We were young and thought aliases would make it easier to pretend the situation wasn’t real.”

Danny nodded. “I get it. I’ve done… identity-related stuff too.”

That caused Tim’s eyebrow to raise, but he ignored it for now.

Tim exhaled, clearly relieved to skip the awkward part. “I wanted to tell you sooner. I just didn’t know if I had the right.”

Stephanie stayed quiet, letting them talk.

“You didn’t use your name,” Danny said. “But you still signed the letter with your real initials.”

“I did,” Tim admitted. “Because even if I wasn’t there… I didn’t want you to think I was just some made-up person. I wanted to leave something real behind. I wasn’t ready to be part of your life, but I wanted you to have the option of finding me. If you ever looked, I wanted you to know. Just in case you ever came looking. ”

From the corner booth, Sam gave Jazz a subtle elbow. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

Tucker whispered, “Yeah, but I still think he’s Batman-adjacent.”

Ignoring the peanut gallery, Stephanie reached across the table and gently touched Tim’s hand. “He did look. And now he’s here.”

Danny stirred his shake, trying to gather his thoughts. “So you always knew? Steph said she didn’t tell you the truth.”

“Yes,” Tim said gently. “I knew from the day you were born. But I also knew… we weren’t ready. Not for what a child actually needs. Not the kind of life where a kid gets birthday parties and sleepovers and school mornings without emergency phone calls.”

Danny didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at Stephanie, then back at Tim. “I had a good life. Weird, but good. I don’t regret it.”

“I’m really glad to hear that,” Tim said.

Jazz, watching from the other booth, whispered to Tucker, “Look at them. This is actually going okay.”

Tucker grinned. “No milkshakes have been spilled. Yet.”

Sam nudged them both. “Let them have the moment.”

Back at the table, Tim cleared his throat. “I know I can’t make up for time lost. But if there’s any way I can be in your life now—even just a little—I’d like that.” Tim massaged his neck, nervous. “I don’t expect anything from you. I’m not here to shake things up. But if you ever wanted someone else to talk to… I’d like to be that person.”

Danny finally found his voice. “So… what do I call you?”

Tim hesitated. “That’s up to you. I’m not here to take anyone’s place. If I can be a presence in your life—great. If not, I’ll respect that too.”

Danny hesitated, then offered a faint smile. “Can I just call you Tim?”

Tim returned the smile. “Please do.”

Stephanie leaned back and sighed, visibly more relaxed than she had been all day. “You two really know how to make a Dairy Queen feel like a reunion special.”

Danny laughed. “Should’ve brought cameras and dramatic music.”

“I could hum the Simpsons theme again,” Stephanie offered.

From the other booth, Jazz leaned into the table. “Okay, but that was a bold coffee order.”

Tucker chuckled. “He tried to turn Dairy Queen into a hipster café. Respect.”

Stephanie laughed again, and Danny joined in this time—really laughed, the weight on his chest finally starting to lift. The whole table burst into laughter, even Tim.

In the most unassuming restaurant in the most confusing town in America, a boy met the man who had been a name on a letter for sixteen years. There were still questions. Still pieces to fit together.

But for now, there were Blizzards, shared smiles, and the fragile, healing start of something real.

Chapter Text

The Fenton household was in its usual mild chaos when the knock came at the door late one afternoon. Maddie was half in the basement, shouting something about recalibrating the Ecto-Filtration system, while Jack was in the kitchen taste-testing his “experimental” ecto-pancakes.

The knock came again—sharp, deliberate. Jack opened the door with his usual booming cheer. “Hey there, neighbor! Or are you selling something? We’re not interested unless it involves fudge!”

“Mr. Fenton,” Mr. Lancer said flatly, stepping inside before Jack could offer him the dubious green pancakes. He was dressed in his usual blue shirt and tie, holding a clipboard like it was a shield. His tone carried the same weight of careful patience he’d used when trying to talk to Danny about his adoption at school—firm but not unkind.

“Is Danny home?” Lancer asked, scanning the room.

Maddie appeared at the top of the basement steps, goggles perched on her forehead. “He’s out with friends right now. Why? Is there trouble at school?”

Danny was not in fact out with friends and had been headed down to open the door when Jack opened it. He stopped to listen at the top of the stairs. Mr. Lancer noticed him standing there and frowned at their inattention, but said nothing.

“In a manner of speaking.” Lancer set his clipboard down on the nearest clear counter space—which happened to be right beside a half-disassembled Fenton Thermos. “I’ve noticed… behavioral shifts in Daniel these past few weeks. He’s distracted in class, quick to irritation. He’s still turning in assignments, but there’s an edge to him that wasn’t there before.”

Jack looked confused. “Edge? Like… moody teen edge? Because, you know, he’s a teen—”

“This isn’t just ‘moody teen edge,’” Lancer interrupted, holding up a hand. “From my experience, Daniel is resilient. This is different. I’ve spoken with a few of his teachers, and we all agree he might benefit from counseling sessions at the school. Voluntary, of course. A way to… process whatever’s weighing on him.”

Maddie frowned, genuinely puzzled. “What could be weighing on him that badly? He hasn’t said anything to us.”

Jack shook his head in agreement. “Danny’s fine. He’s a Fenton! Built tough, like one of my reinforced fudge molds!”

Lancer sighed through his nose, the faintest trace of frustration crossing his face. “Mrs. Fenton, Mr. Fenton… from what I understand, Daniel recently learned something significant about himself. Something personal. I’m not at liberty to disclose how I know, but I think it’s affected him more than he wants to admit.”

Neither parent reacted in the way Lancer expected. They simply exchanged a glance that was more confusion than alarm.

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” Maddie said slowly. “He hasn’t mentioned anything out of the ordinary.”

Lancer studied them for a long moment, clearly debating whether to push. Then he sighed, picked up his clipboard, and adjusted his tie. “I’d still like you to consider the counseling sessions. Even if you think he’s fine… sometimes the deepest bruises are the ones no one notices.”

With that, he excused himself, leaving Maddie and Jack standing in the foyer, still looking more perplexed than concerned. Danny, standing at the top of the stairs, balled his fists and retreated to his room.

Closing the door slowly, Danny climbed out of his window onto the roof as the sun dipped, just wanting to think about how to approach this.

It wasn’t until later that evening, when Danny came inside, that he felt confident to confront his parents.

He found them both in the living room—Jack on the recliner, Maddie sorting through notes—and stood in the doorway for a long moment before speaking.

“You could’ve told me,” Danny said finally, voice steady but tight.

Both parents looked up. “Told you what, sweetie?” Maddie asked.

“That I was adopted.”

The words hung in the air like a shot fired in a silent room. Maddie’s hands froze mid-turn of a page. Jack’s mouth opened, then closed again.

Maddie’s eyes softened, but she still looked confused. “Danny… we weren’t hiding it to hurt you. We just—”

“You just never told me,” Danny cut in. “All these years, you let me think I was your kid. That I was born to you. And I had to find out while cleaning .”

Jack sat forward, his usual booming voice reduced to something quieter. “You are our kid. That’s never changed.”

“That’s not the point!” Danny’s voice cracked. “I’ve spent seventeen years thinking I understood who I was, and now I find out there’s this giant missing piece of my life you didn’t think I needed to know about? Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

Maddie set her notes aside and reached for him, but Danny stepped back.

“Danny, sweetie, you were born in Gotham . You've always been… accident-prone and… determined . By the time you were old enough to understand, we were scared you'd get hurt searching for the truth about your birth parents. And your Father had recurring nightmares about you being kidnapped by Batman.”

“As if we'd ever let our baby boy get kidnapped by that Jersey Devil!”

“Jack, for the 15th time Batman is not the Jersey Devil.”

“No, Maddie, it makes perfect sense! There's historical data and everything!”

Jack then proceeded to roll a bulletin board out of the closet with red yarn connecting bird-themed vigilantes to a bird themed Illuminati conspiracy and the Batman to some Neolithic Cult, which made zero sense to any anthropologist.

Danny and Maddie shared the frustrated squint that had become normal for when Jack went off on a tangent. Maddie massaged the bridge of her nose in frustration, knowing she wouldn't get him back on track for the serious conversation they were having.

“Danny, we wanted to tell you when the time was right,” she said. “But there was never a perfect time, and… maybe we got scared, but then it just became easier to pretend nothing would change if we didn't tell you. We still love you, honey. You’re ours in every way that matters.”

He looked between them, hurt and frustration written across his face. “In every way except the one you decided I didn’t need to know about.”

The silence that followed was thick and heavy. Maddie looked like she wanted to say more, but Danny turned and walked toward the stairs.

“Danny—” Jack started, only now zoning back onto the conversation.

“Don’t,” Danny said, without looking back. “Not right now.”

He went upstairs, leaving Maddie and Jack in the living room with the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them.

Danny closed his bedroom door and leaned against it, his heart pounding harder than it had in any ghost fight in recent memory. He didn’t even bother turning on the light—just let the room stay dim, the faint green glow from his desk clock the only illumination.

His mind replayed the conversation downstairs over and over. The disbelief on Maddie’s face. The guilty silence from Jack. The casual, almost blank reaction when he’d said the words “I was adopted.”

The ache in his chest didn’t feel like anger anymore. It felt hollow.

He sat down on the edge of his bed and rubbed his eyes. There was no point in trying to sleep; his brain wasn’t going to let him. He needed… something. A distraction. A connection that didn’t come with twenty-odd years of hidden truths.

His phone was still in his pocket. He pulled it out, unlocked it, and stared at his contacts list for a while. His thumb hovered over a few names before settling on one.

Tim Drake.

He and Tim weren’t exactly the “talk every day” type, but they’d grown close enough since Danny had started spending time in Gotham. Tim was calm, observant—someone who didn’t press too hard unless you wanted him to.

Danny typed out a message, then erased it. Typed again. Erased again. Finally, he settled on something short, neutral:

“Hey. You busy? Thinking about visiting sometime soon.”

No explanation. No heavy emotions. Just an open door.

The reply came back within a couple of minutes.

“Not busy. You’re always welcome. Just let me know when.”

Danny stared at the screen, feeling some of the pressure in his chest ease just a fraction. Tim wasn’t going to ask questions unless Danny offered answers. That was exactly what he needed right now.

He typed back:

“Thanks. I’ll let you know. Might be soon.”

Setting the phone on his nightstand, Danny lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Tim when he got there—or if he’d say anything at all—but at least he knew there was somewhere he could go.

Somewhere that wasn’t here.

A little while after he stormed off.

Danny sat cross-legged on his bed, absentmindedly tossing a stress ball from hand to hand. The glow from his desk lamp cast shadows on the familiar posters lining the walls — ghosts, space ships, a few concert flyers. None of it made him feel any more at ease.

Jazz knocked softly before pushing the door open. “Hey. Thought you might want company,” she said, stepping in and closing the door behind her.

Danny shrugged. “Sure. It’s not like I’m getting any sleep tonight.”

She crossed the room and sat beside him, tucking her legs up on the bed. “You’ve been… quiet since Mr. Lancer’s visit.”

Danny caught the stress ball and held it still. “Yeah, well… it’s not exactly something I can just shrug off.” His voice was low, but the frustration underneath was clear. “I mean, they didn’t tell me. Not once. My whole life, and I find out by accident that I was adopted.”

Jazz’s expression softened. “Danny…”

“I’m not saying they don’t love me,” he went on, staring at the floor. “I know they do. But it’s like—don’t I deserve to know who I am? What if there’s… something out there? Someone?”

Jazz rested a hand on his shoulder. “I get it. I do. And I agree, they should’ve told you. But you’re not going to get answers from them if you’re this wound up. Give it a little time… and maybe some space.”

Danny gave a short laugh with no humor in it. “Funny you should say that. Tim texted me after I told him. Said I could visit over spring break if I wanted.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “And you’re thinking about it?”

“Yeah,” Danny admitted. “I think I need a change of scenery. Just for a week. Clear my head.”

Jazz nodded, resolute. “Then it’s settled. I’ll talk to Mom and Dad. Convince them it’s a good idea.”

Danny glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course. You’re my little brother,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze. “Besides, if anyone can talk them into it, it’s me.”

For the first time in days, Danny felt a bit of the weight lift from his shoulders.

Jazz found Maddie and Jack in the kitchen, poring over a schematic for some new ghost-hunting gadget. The counter was littered with parts, blueprints, and a plate of cooling cookies that looked suspiciously like they’d been baked in the ecto-containment unit.

“Hey, Mom? Dad?” Jazz began, stepping inside.

Jack looked up immediately, face bright. “Jazz! Perfect timing. We’re working on something that’ll revolutionize spectral containment—”

Maddie shot him a gentle look and turned her attention to her daughter. “What’s on your mind, sweetie?”

Jazz hesitated for a beat, then came out with it. “Danny’s been… having a hard time lately. You probably noticed.”

Maddie frowned. “We’ve noticed he’s been upset, yes.”

“I think some time away might do him good,” Jazz continued. “Tim, his Bio-Dad, invited him to Gotham over spring break. A week in a different environment might help him clear his head.”

Jack set down his wrench, looking thoughtful. “Gotham? That’s pretty far. And there's always the Bat-” He didn't finish under his wife's glare. 

Maddie’s brows knitted. “We trust Danny, he’s 17 this year and almost a grown man, but… with everything Danny’s been through lately, I’m not sure about him traveling alone.”

“That’s why I’m offering to go with him,” Jazz said quickly. “I can keep an eye on him, make sure he’s safe, and report back if anything seems off. You know I’d never let him get into trouble.”

Maddie and Jack exchanged a look — the kind that said they were having a silent parental conversation. Finally, Maddie exhaled. “We do trust you, Jazz. If you’re with him, I feel better about it.”

Jack nodded in agreement, a smile returning to his face. “Yeah! You’re responsible, level-headed, and you know how to wrangle your brother when he’s being… well, Danny.”

Jazz smiled faintly. “So, it’s a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” Maddie confirmed. “Just… keep an eye on him for us. Make sure he’s okay.”

“I will,” Jazz promised.

Maddie went to a cupboard and retrieved a watch. “We've been developing this for Danny and Dani. After whatever happened to erase the rest of the world's memories of the Disasteroid the GIW has started up again outside of Amity. These will hide them from detection by tech based in Fentontech. If we tried to give this to him now he might refuse.”

“I'll give it to him, and the other for Dani since she seeks him out.”

Maddie smiled and hugged her daughter, “Thank you. Jazzy”

“Of course!”

From the stairwell just out of sight, Danny exhaled in relief. He’d known Jazz was good at this, but hearing his parents put that much trust in her made him feel safer about the trip — and a little grateful his big sister was always in his corner.

Returning to his room Danny sat on the edge of his bed, turning the events of the evening over in his head. Jazz had pulled off the conversation with Maddie and Jack exactly how he’d hoped, but… he hadn’t exactly been truthful with her.

Tim hadn’t technically agreed yet. All Danny had said to Jazz was that Tim “said he could visit,” but in reality, that part was still up in the air. He just… knew Tim would say yes. Or at least, he was pretty sure he would.

Still, now that his parents were on board, it was time to make good on that assumption. Before texting Tim, though, he pulled out his phone and opened the group chat labeled “Team Phantom Prime.”

Danny: Hey, heads-up — looks like I’m spending Spring Break in Gotham. Tim invited me out.
Tucker: Oh sure, you get a cool Batman-adjacent vacation and my family’s dragging me to Branson, Missouri. Do you know what’s in Branson? Nothing.
Danny: Pretty sure that’s not true.
Tucker: Name one cool thing in Branson.
Danny: …I got nothing.
Sam: Ignore Tucker’s whining. That sounds great, Danny. And lucky for you, I’m free. I’ll come with.
Danny: You serious?
Sam: Yeah. It’s been a while since we’ve done anything together that wasn’t life-or-death ghost fighting. Plus, I wanna see how Tim reacts to me in his territory.
Tucker: Do not get arrested in Gotham. I’m not bailing you out from another state.
Sam: That’s a very specific “do not” for someone who’s never bailed me out before.
Danny: …I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t read any of this.

Shaking his head with a small smile, Danny switched over to Tim’s contact and typed out a message, keeping it casual.

Danny: Hey, so… about Spring Break. Still cool if I visit? Might have Jazz and Sam with me.

The reply came within minutes.

Tim: Absolutely. I’ll make arrangements.

Danny exhaled in relief. Okay. The white lie was officially the truth now.

Chapter Text

Danny stepped off the train at Gotham Central with Jazz and Sam flanking him, his travel bag slung over one shoulder, while they dragged much bigger suitcases. The station’s industrial lights gave everything a washed-out glow, but the city’s restless hum felt almost grounding compared to the quiet tension he’d left behind in Amity Park.

Tim was easy to spot, leaning against a pillar with a coffee in one hand. He looked casual in a dark jacket and jeans, though Danny knew from experience there was nothing casual about the way Tim scanned a crowd.

“Hey,” Tim greeted, pushing off the pillar. His eyes flicked to Jazz—familiar—and then to Sam, lingering for just a beat longer as recognition set in.

Danny caught it and smirked. “Tim, this is Sam. Samantha Manson,” he said, gesturing between them. “You met once, kinda—at the Dairy Queen, in Springfield. You probably didn’t know then, but… she’s my girlfriend.”

Sam smiled politely, offering a small wave. “Nice to officially meet you.”

“And you’ve met Jazz,” Danny continued, “but she came along as a sort of… chaperone, I guess.”

“Which means,” Jazz cut in with a wry smile, “I’m here to make sure neither of them forgets to eat or sleep while we’re here.”

Tim’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t push for details. “In that case,” he said, “I thought you might appreciate a place to decompress before jumping into anything. I booked you a luxury suite at the Drake Tower Hotel. You’ll have all the space you need.”

Jazz’s eyebrows lifted, impressed. Sam looked equally pleased, though she kept her tone casual. “That’s… actually really thoughtful.”

“Perks of knowing the owner,” Tim replied lightly, a hint of a tease in his tone, gesturing toward the waiting car. Tim introduced the driver, an older British man, as Alfred. They didn’t yet notice the significance of that introduction, but they politely accepted the warm hand towels he directed them to in the back of Tim’s limo.

The drive through Gotham was quiet, broken only by the occasional police siren or the steel rattle of an elevated train overhead. Tim didn’t press for conversation, but Danny could feel him quietly taking stock of the three of them—reading body language, watching for the tells, and he never missed.

When they reached the hotel, Tim showed them up to the suite personally. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Gotham skyline, and the soft gold lighting gave the space an almost unreal warmth.

“I’ll check in tomorrow,” Tim said as he handed Danny the key card. “For now—settle in. Order room service. You’ve got the whole place to yourselves.”

Danny nodded, genuinely grateful. “Thanks, Tim.”

“Anytime,” Tim replied, and then he was gone, leaving them to breathe easier for the first time in days.

The soft click of the door shutting behind them left the room filled with nothing but the quiet hum of the city outside. Gotham’s skyline glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the spires of downtown glowing gold and white against the dark.

Danny dropped his bag onto the wide, low-backed couch and rolled his shoulders, taking in the view. “Okay… I’m not gonna lie. Tim might have just spoiled me for any other trip here.”

Sam wandered toward the window, fingers tracing the glass as she looked down at the city. “It’s… actually gorgeous from up here,” she said, her tone somewhere between awe and surprise. “Almost makes you forget about the smell at street level.”

Danny chuckled, walking over to join her. “Almost.”

Behind them, Jazz was already inspecting the suite with the critical eye of someone determined to keep both of them in one piece. She opened the fridge—stocked. Checked the bedroom—luxury linens, blackout curtains. Looked into the bathroom and actually whistled at the size of the soaking tub.

“I don’t know what you did to get Tim to do this,” Jazz said, turning back to them, “but I approve. And I’ll be making sure you both eat something before collapsing in exhaustion.”

Sam smirked over her shoulder. “We’re not children, Jazz.”

“You’re my little brother’s girlfriend,” Jazz countered smoothly, “so yes, you kind of are.”

Danny flopped onto the couch, sprawling like he owned the place. “You know, for a chaperone, you sound suspiciously like Mom right now.”

“Someone has to,” Jazz said, moving to sit in one of the plush armchairs across from him.

Sam joined Danny on the couch, leaning into his side. “So, what’s the plan tonight? Stay in and enjoy the ridiculously fancy room… or go out and let Jazz follow us from a safe distance with binoculars?”

Jazz raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tempt me.”

Danny laughed, pulling Sam closer. “I say we start with room service. Tim told us to use it, and I fully intend to bankrupt him with steak and desserts.”

Jazz rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she reached for the in-room phone. “Fine. But I’m ordering vegetables. You need them.”

As she called down, Sam looked up at Danny, her smirk softening into something warmer. “I think I like it here.”

Danny glanced at the skyline again. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”

Danny had just finished ordering an indecently large slice of cheesecake when a knock came at the suite door.

Jazz, ever the cautious one, glanced at Danny and then crossed the room to answer. She opened it to find an older man in a pristine black suit standing in the hall, posture straight and expression as polished as the brim of the drivers cap in his hands.

“Good evening,” he greeted smoothly, voice dipped in that unmistakable posh British cadence. “Master Timothy sends his regards. It appears he forgot to mention that he has invited you to dinner tomorrow evening at Wayne Manor to meet his family.”

Danny blinked, looking between Sam and Jazz. “He… forgot?”

The man’s polite smile didn’t so much as twitch. “Indeed. As such, he wished to ensure you would be adequately attired for the occasion and asked that I take down your measurements for formal wear, to be delivered here by tomorrow afternoon.”

Sam straightened slightly, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “And you’re Alfred, right?”

“Pennyworth. Alfred Pennyworth,” he replied with a small bow. “I’m the Wayne family’s butler.”

Danny exchanged a quick look with Jazz before shrugging. “Well… sure, I guess. But, uh… I don’t exactly know my sizes off the top of my head.”

“Not to worry, Master Fenton,” Alfred said, already producing a small tailor’s tape from his inner jacket pocket with the kind of grace that made the motion seem inevitable. “If you will indulge me for just a moment, I can take the necessary measurements.”

Sam smirked as she stepped forward first, arms out, letting Alfred work with quiet efficiency. Danny followed, still looking faintly overwhelmed by the suddenness of it all. Jazz went last, muttering something about not expecting homework from a butler.

Once finished, Alfred tucked the tape away and gave a small nod of satisfaction. “Everything will be delivered promptly tomorrow. Master Timothy will expect you all at the manor at six o’clock sharp. Until then, I bid you a good evening.”

With that, he turned and departed, the sound of his measured footsteps fading down the hall.

Danny shut the door and turned to Sam and Jazz. “So… no pressure, right?”

Sam grinned. “It’s just dinner. With Gotham’s most famously complicated family.”

Jazz folded her arms. “I think I need dessert before I think about this too much.”

A few hours later

Danny leaned back on the edge of the hotel bed, one socked foot propped against the armrest of a sleek armchair. The suite was much fancier than he was used to—definitely not Nasty Burger-budget—and every surface either gleamed or had throw pillows that probably cost more than his entire closet back home.

The faint hum of traffic filtered up through the double-glazed windows, but his attention was on the phone pressed to his ear.

“Dude, I’m the tech guy!” Tucker whined through the speaker. “Do you know how insulting it is that I’m not in Gotham right now, surrounded by billionaire-grade gadgets and morally gray weirdos?!”

Danny laughed, kicking off the second sock. “You say that like it’s a vacation. You do remember I just met my biological parents for the first time last week, right?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t FaceTime me for the espresso Blizzard moment! I missed comedy gold!”

“I’m pretty sure Jazz recorded it,” Danny said, grinning. “You’ll get your moment.”

He heard a muffled thud on Tucker’s end, followed by a groan. “Ugh. I’m seriously getting FOMO. Can’t you just tell Tim I’m your emotional support best friend and need to be flown in immediately?”

“I already used that excuse for Jazz,” Danny said. “And Sam. You’re at best my emotionally reckless third-tier emergency contact.”

“Unfair, but accurate,” Tucker conceded. “I still can’t believe you didn’t smuggle me in a suitcase. Or a carry-on! I’m compact, Danny. Compact!”

Danny grinned, kicking off the other sock. “You’re also TSA red flag material and allergic to shellfish. There were too many risks.”

“You wound me,” Tucker said dramatically. “Do you even understand the amount of life experience I’m missing right now? A luxury hotel in Gotham, a designer suit—Sam in a designer dress? This was my Olympics, bro.”

Danny laughed. “Pretty sure Sam’s the one taking gold in the ‘barely tolerating luxury’ category. She made the dress coordinator cry by saying she preferred ‘combat boots and emotional distance.’”

“That’s my girl.”

Danny stood and wandered toward the window, looking out at the spires of Gotham silhouetted against the cloudy afternoon sky. “Look, I’ll be home in a few days. Maybe next month we all visit together and I let you poke around the tech stuff— with permission.”

“Deal,” Tucker said immediately, then added, “Wait. Define with permission.”

Danny laughed again, his nerves calming a little. It helped, having this piece of home with him—sarcastic, excitable, full-of-wild-ideas Tucker.

“Anyway, I gotta go soon,” he said. “The girls are getting picked up by Steph for some spa thing. Nail salon. Something about preparing for dinner with the extended family.”

“The Wayne Family?” Tucker said dramatically. “As in Wayne Wayne? Like, actual money, Wayne?”

“Apparently,” Danny replied, grabbing the garment bag that had been hanging in the closet since this morning. “Tim sent over tailored suits and dresses. He even included notes on color coordination and necklines.”

“Creepy or considerate?” Tucker asked.

Danny shrugged. “Little bit of both.”

“You are related.”

Danny stretched and walked over to the window, looking out at the slate-gray city skyline. “Look, it’s not like this is normal for me either. Tim sent tailors. Tailors. Who even has tailors?”

“People who name their hotels after themselves, apparently.”

Danny snorted. “Point.”

Just then, the suite door opened and Jazz popped her head in. “Hey! Car’s downstairs. Sam’s finished adjusting her ‘betrayal of aesthetic principles’ and put it back on the hanger for tonight. Word of warning, I think she’s starting to like it.”

Danny raised a brow. “She say that out loud?”

“No, but she twirled in front of the mirror. That’s basically a confession. Sam’s finishing her eyeliner “war paint”. You good?”

“Let Steph know I said thanks for setting it up. I’ll be here. Probably trying not to have a full-blown identity crisis while alone in a Gotham penthouse.”

Jazz smirked. “So, a typical Thursday?”

“Exactly.”

Jazz nodded. “Actually, she’s not downstairs. Alfred came instead.”

Danny blinked. “The butler guy?”

Jazz made a face. “He prefers ‘house manager.’ He’s absurdly polite. Like, British movie polite. Apparently Stephanie’s finishing a call and will meet us at the salon.”

“Fancy,” Danny said.

“She offered to send a helicopter. I told her we’re not those guests.”

Danny chuckled. “You packed your toothbrush in a sandwich bag.”

Jazz flipped him off playfully and disappeared from the doorway with a wave, and the door clicked shut again. 

Danny flopped back onto the bed, the phone still to his ear. “You still there?”

“Still here,” Tucker was still grumbling. “Alfred? Really? Even the chauffeur is classy.”

“He brought warm hand towels last night,” Danny said. “In March."

“That is outrageous.”

“I’ll sneak you a souvenir bar of hotel soap.”

“You better.”

Danny smiled, the sarcasm helping keep his nerves in check. It helped to hear Tucker’s voice. Grounding. Familiar.

“You’ll be fine, man,” Tucker added more gently. “Just breathe. Keep being yourself.”

Danny grinned. “Thanks, Tuck.”

There was a pause, then a quieter, more sincere voice came through. “I’m proud of you, man. For doing this. For going.”

Danny felt a small lump rise in his throat. “Yeah. Me too.”

“And try not to spill anything on that fancy shirt. I know your track record.”

“No promises.”

As the call ended, Danny placed the phone on the nightstand. He glanced at the garment bag hanging from the closet—his suit pressed and ready, black with subtle gray trim. He walked over, unzipping it just a bit to peek inside and looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror.

It was strange. This whole week had been strange. But good-strange

For the first time in a while, he wasn’t seeing someone caught between two lives—but someone trying to build one out of both.

Not long ago, he was just Danny Fenton, local weirdo with a thing for ghost-hunting tech. And now… he was still Danny. But the picture of who he was had gotten a lot bigger.

He sat back on the edge of the bed, hands resting in his lap, and exhaled slowly.

The girls were off to the salon. He’d meet more family tonight. And somehow, the world kept turning.

Sam pulled Jazz to a stop outside the salon. “Ok, so what are we REALLY doing here? Girl stuff? Don’t you think this is a little… I don’t know, demeaning? Stereotypical?” Arms folded, Jazz gave Sam a bland look, her gaze sarcastically hovering over Sam’s detailed makeup and dark fingernails. Sam blushed lightly and looked away, “You know what I mean.”

Jazz sighed and unfurled her arms. Putting a hand on the other girl’s shoulder as Sam looked back to her. “Of course it is, but look at it this way. Your boyfriend just found out he’s basically the grandson of Bruce Wayne, a billionaire. Your family is old money enough to take that seriously. So you can get dolled up with me and tell your family you have it covered, or they’ll step in with a makeover you have no control over.”

Sam frowned at this point. She knew Jazz was right, but she didn’t like it. “Fine. Better with you than… THAT.” Jazz nodded and dragged the girl into the Nail Salon. Inside was weirdly empty except for the technicians at their stations and two women getting pedicures.

One woman was a deep green with eye-catching red hair, a shade darker than Jazz’s own. The other was a shorter blonde woman with pale white skin, not like she was wearing make-up but like her skin had been bleached. Her make-up itself was actually uniquely chaotic, the eye shadow of each eye matching the dye in the pigtail on the opposite side of her head.

The lady at the counter gave the girls a strained smile, glancing between them and the two women desperately. Clearly, she was trying to tell the suicidal girls to leave, but was too scared to say anything.

Sam and Jazz looked at each other, then at the two women curiously. Sam felt a weird draw to the green woman, like she should recognize her. Then, as the green woman turned her head as if she felt the same draw, Sam knew who she was and walked over to her.

Pamela raised an eyebrow as the goth girl curtsied to her respectfully in a daze. Sam, for her part, was on autopilot as she spoke, “May Queen”. This drew Ivy’s attention, and she let her mind slip into the Green. Standing in the burnt ruins of the Parliament of Trees was Undergrowth, the embodiment of the deceased Parliament

Pamela raised an eyebrow at the undead plant god, “And who are you supposed to be?” Undergrowth loomed over Pamela, “You know who I am, Daughter.” Ivy rolled her eyes at this, “Ok, Dad, explain it to me.”

Undergrowth sat on a burnt-out stump as plants grew around him like a throne, “I am the death of all things. The rebirth of nature. I. AM. UNDERGROWTH.” Pamela formed her own chair without blinking, “Yeah, that doesn’t really tell me anything. You’re kind of giving me the same vibe as Yggdrasil. He’s dead though.”

Undergrowth nodded in acquiescence, “I was once known by this name. I was also known as Tuuru, Eyam, Swamp Knucker, Bog Venus, Ghost hiding in the rushes, and infinitely more.”

Pamela just looked at him with a deadpan stare. “You’re the Parliament of Trees, but dead. Yeah, sure. So why am I here? How are you even here? Shouldn’t you be in the Black? And who is that girl?” Undergrowth huffed in annoyance, “She is my avatar in the Mortal Realm. As you say, I am dead and a being of the Black now, but my allegiance will always be the Green. I left a seed of my power within the girl.”

Pamela sighed dramatically, “So what you want me to train her, raise her, eat her? I really don’t have time for the cryptic bullshit.” Undergrowth waved off her concern, “It matters not. So long as the Green is protected.”

Pamela rolled her eyes and fell back into her body to find Harley waving a hand in front of her face. “You ok, Babe?” Pamela blinked, then looked at her girlfriend, “I’m good. Just having a conversation. You good kid?”

Jazz was also waving a hand in front of Sam who popped back to attention in confusion. “Was I overshadowed just now?” Jazz put her hand down and shrugged, “It looked like it, but I guess the ghost left.” Sam looked back at Pamela and suddenly had an epiphany, growing excited.

“I remember where I’ve seen you before! You’re Dr. Isley, the eco-protestor! I’ve read so many of your books and articles!” Pamela was ready for condemnation for her criminal persona, but this was a welcome surprise. She gave an awkward chuckle, “Y-yeah, that’s me. Much to the chagrin of my Alma Mater.”

Harley rolled her eyes, “Oh come off it, babe. No school of higher learning is going to drop our degrees after the fit Lex threw when Kansas State tried after his first big arrest.” Pamela snorted, “You mean the million-dollar lawsuit he threw at them? You still lost your right to practice, though.” Harley just shrugged.

Jazz was watching all of this with fascination and came to her own epiphany, illustrated by snapping her fingers. “You’re Dr. Harleen Quinzel. I read your doctoral thesis for a class once.”

Harley grinned, “Psychology major, huh? Yeah. they probably made that part of a section on “what not to do”, right?”

Jazz shook her head with a smile, “No, it wasn’t assigned. I cited your work for a paper on Criminal Justice reform. I admit the professor did do a double-take at that.” Harley cackled at this. “So you girls obviously aren’t Gotham natives. What brings you twos around here?”

Jazz sat down in the manicure station next to Harley, and Sam sat next to her, “We recently found out my brother was adopted. He got in contact with his bio parents, and they all agreed to meet his Bio-Dad’s family. Sam here is my brother’s Girlfriend. We’re going with them to support my brother. They're kind of high maintenance, so we’re getting dressed up for the event.”

Sam finished extracting her feet from her combat boots and commented, “His Bio-Mom and his Aunt are supposed to meet us here soon with a family friend or two, apparently.” Just then, the doorbell rang as someone held open the door for a wheelchair. In rolled Barbara Gordon, followed by Stephanie Brown, Selina Kyle, Kate Kane, Harper Row, and Cassandra Cain.

Everyone’s eyes met, frozen in shock. Suddenly, the silence was broken when Pamela, followed by Harley, started laughing loudly. Pamela wiped away a tear, “Ok, who was it? I have to hear this story.” Her attention was clearly aimed at the older woman, but it was Stephanie who blushed and fidgeted before raising her hand.

This actually stopped the laughter as confusion set in. Jazz and Sam also looked at each other. Suddenly Jazz called out, “Kate?!” Kate looked at her curiously, “Jazzy?”

Chapter Text

The smell of lavender shampoo and heat protectant spray now mingled with the faint scent of nail polish in the chic Gotham salon. The chaos of earlier pedicures had given way to organized beauty warfare as stylists buzzed from chair to chair, combs in holsters and blow dryers whirring like engines.

The entire girl squad—Jazz, Sam, Stephanie, Barbara, Cass, Kate, Harper, Selina, and even Pamela and Harley—had migrated into the hair section like a migrating flock of glittery chaos, each of them seated at a mirrored station.

Jazz sat in a leather swivel chair with a towel around her shoulders, eyeing the color swatches being fanned out in front of her like tarot cards. “I am not going full red,” she warned. “This isn’t a dye-to-match-your-mother situation.”

Kate, in the next chair, leaned over with a smirk. “Good. We’d clash. And besides, red’s already claimed.” She pointed her thumb at Barbara, who offered a regal nod from her blowout station.

“I’m thinking of warm copper,” the stylist offered.

Jazz gave it a noncommittal grunt, but didn’t object.

Harley grinned, glancing at Pamela, who rolled her eyes as the apparently fourth-wheel redhead. “So how do you twos know each others?”

Kate reclined as her own stylist began working mousse into her hair. “You know, our moms were cousins.”

Jazz blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah. My mom—Gabi Kane—and your grandma on your mom’s side—what was her name?”

“Hazel. Hazel Mayhew.” Unnoticed by all but Harley, both Pamela and Barbara flinched. Now what was that about? She wondered.

Kate nodded. “Right. They were cousins. Shared a grandfather. So technically… You and I are second cousins once removed.”

Jazz stared at her for a beat, then leaned back in her chair. “Well, that explains so much.”

“Right?” Kate said smugly. “Why do you think you and I both have the family 'I can fix this' complex?”

From across the salon, Stephanie had been listening in while trying not to eavesdrop—but something about the coincidence scratched at her instincts. She slowly turned in her chair, eyes narrowing at Jazz and Kate.

Cousins?

Coincidences didn’t exist in Gotham. Not real ones.

She stood, towel still around her neck, and slipped out the back door of the salon into the cool air of the alleyway. The hum of blow dryers cut off behind her as she hit Tim on speed dial.

He answered before the first ring finished. “I had a feeling you were about to call.”

“Oh, did you?” Stephanie crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “Did you also feel that the salon is full of long-lost cousins like it’s some kind of high-end soap opera?”

“I’m guessing Jazz and Kate had the family tree conversation,” Tim said dryly.

“So that wasn’t a coincidence?”

“Nope.” He didn’t even try to deflect it. “I arranged the adoption with contingencies in case something happened to the Fentons. My goal was to place Danny somewhere far from Gotham—but not completely disconnected.”

Stephanie blinked. “You’re saying… Danny’s adoptive family—you picked them because they had some distant tie to the Waynes?”

“Distant but real,” Tim said. “Their background checks, psychology profiles, and education records were solid. The Fentons were smart, eccentric, but safe. And they had family—barely known to them—who could step in if needed, the Waynes. You know how this works. I planned for if it went wrong.”

Stephanie leaned her head back against the brick. “You planned for everything, didn’t you?”

There was a pause. “Not everything,” Tim admitted. “I didn’t plan for how much it would hurt to let him go. Or how happy I’d be when he came looking.”

Stephanie closed her eyes. Her heartbeat slowed.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“Hey,” Tim added before she could hang up. “You’ve always had good instincts. You were right to be suspicious.”

Stephanie gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, well, as long as the plan includes Batman and I actually read that part… You were right to plan. I’ll be back inside. Try not to micromanage the place settings while I’m gone.”

“No promises.”

She hung up and took a moment to breathe before walking back inside, rejoining the buzz of dryers and the chaos of women halfway through their glow-up. Harley, now in one of the spinning chairs and mid-argument with her stylist about “sparkle ratio,” immediately spotted her return.

“Stephanie!” Harley called dramatically, flipping one pigtail. “Ok so Selina is being a stick-in-the-mud about this whole ‘family dinner’ thing and says Pam and I shouldn’t crash because ‘it’s not appropriate’ and ‘we’re not technically family.’” She crossed her arms with a pout. “Can you believe that?”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow as she reclaimed her seat. “Technically, this dinner is for family.”

“I am emotionally adopted!” Harley protested. “And Pam is basically Ophelia over there's honorary auntie now!” Sam let out a squawk of indignation before pausing and accepting the nickname.

Pamela, sitting serenely with her hair pinned in curls, raised a hand without looking up from her botanical magazine. “I’m Switzerland in this.”

“Selinaaaa,” Harley whined, poking the woman’s arm.

Selina didn’t look up from her phone. “No chaos. That’s all I ask.”

“No promises,” Stephanie muttered under her breath.

Harley brightened. “So that’s a yes?!”

Selina sighed, relenting with a slight smile. “If Bruce doesn’t throw a wine glass, you can stay.”

Harley squealed with glee and spun her chair in a circle.

Back in her own seat, Stephanie looked at herself in the mirror—her cheeks flushed, her eyes a little less shadowed. Somehow, all of this—the madness, the old wounds, the new connections—was beginning to stitch together. And Danny… he was at the center of it all. Not an outsider.

But part of a legacy. A complicated, chaotic, extraordinary legacy.

And it was just getting started.

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor – Gotham City, Early Evening

Jason Todd had faced down mob bosses, warlords, a bomb inside a Russian embassy, and a demonic clone of himself in a Lazarus Pit once. None of that compared to the rising dread of being trapped in the Wayne Manor dining hall while Tim Drake adjusted a salad fork.

Again.

“Replacement,” Jason said flatly, leaning against the long oak sideboard. “It’s a fork. The food gets into your mouth the same way, no matter what corner it’s pointing at.”

Tim didn’t even flinch as he adjusted a napkin by a quarter inch. “Jason, we are hosting Danny and his family for the first time.. It’s not about function, it’s about presentation.”

“This is not just dinner—it’s a first impression. You only get one,” Tim continued, not looking up. He was hunched over the enormous table, already perfectly set, but still obsessing over minute adjustments like he was trying to decode an ancient dinner-themed cryptogram. “We are hosting a very important event...”

Jason glanced at the huge, spotless table, polished until it gleamed under the chandelier. He raised an eyebrow. “And you think Danny—the kid who grew up in Illinois—is gonna notice if the dessert spoon is off-center? He’s sixteen, not the Queen of England. He’s gonna notice if we burn the chicken. Not if the bread plate is twelve degrees off-center.”

“He might not,” Tim muttered. “But his sister might. And Sam definitely will.”

Across the room, Bruce stood near the fireplace, sipping something amber and very expensive-looking from a tumbler. His shoulders were unusually stiff, his brow furrowed like he was trying to solve a murder without any suspects. Jason wandered over.

“Still processing, huh?” Jason asked him.

Bruce didn’t answer immediately. He just stared into the fireplace like it owed him an explanation.

Jason leaned against the stone mantle. “It’s weird, yeah. You’re allowed to feel that.”

Bruce didn’t look away from the fire. “I have a grandson.”

Jason blinked. “You have four sons and a foster son. It was bound to happen.”

Bruce turned slightly. “This one’s… different.”

“Because he didn’t come with a grappling hook and childhood trauma? Or because he came full-grown?”

“Exactly.”

Jason opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded. “Fair.”

At the far end of the room, Dick was balancing on the back of a chair, adjusting the height of a floral arrangement, because of course he was. “Tim, do we really need this many place settings? It looks like a diplomatic banquet. We’re not hosting the UN.”

“We might as well be,” Tim muttered. “You’ve got ex-villains, vigilantes, eco-activists, vegetarians, probable metahumans, and at least three people who will glare at each other for most of the meal. I’m planning for chaos.”

Damian, sitting at the table next to Duke, rolled his eyes. “The chaos began the moment you invited Harley Quinn to a family dinner. I still say we should lock the wine cellar.”

“She asked politely,” Dick said from his perch.

“She also once detonated a cake shaped like a police station,” Damian muttered.

Duke looked up from his phone. “Okay, I just want it on record that I’m here because Tim bribed me with pie. Homemade. Not catered.”

Jason smirked. “Did he tell you he bribed me with the same pie?”

“Yes. And I still came,” Duke said, eyes narrowing. “Which either means I’m loyal or dangerously curious.”

“Both,” Jason and Dick said at the same time.

Tim stood back, inspecting the entire table. “Alright. Final count: Thirteen confirmed attendees. Three maybe. One mystery child. One suspicious vegan. One highly emotional reunion in progress. And—”

“Tim,” Jason interrupted. “It’s dinner. No one’s showing up with a diplomatic attaché.”

“You say that now,” Tim said, adjusting a wine glass precisely one centimeter to the left.

Damian, seated at the far corner beside Duke Thomas, rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “If he measures one more utensil, I’m leaving.”

“Leaving the table or the country?” Duke asked, scrolling through his phone.

“Depends if he starts monologuing about fork placement again.”

Tim looked up briefly. “You should all be thanking me. You’re going to look great in the photos.”

Jason groaned. “There are photos?”

“Of course,” Tim said. “We’re marking the start of something important.”

Bruce murmured something into his glass, and Jason caught just enough to hear, “...wasn’t ready for this.”

Dick must have heard it too, because he set the flowers down and came over, brushing his hands off. “You don’t have to be ready, Bruce. You just have to be present. Danny’s already taken the leap. Now it’s our turn.”

Jason added, “And for once, this dinner isn’t about putting out fires or playing peacekeeper between grudges. It’s about him. About showing the kid he’s got people who care.”

Across the table, Damian frowned. “Even if one of those people is Quinn.”

“Hey,” Jason said, “everyone deserves one chaotic aunt.”

“Pamela’s coming too,” Dick reminded them. “Keep the garden metaphors to a minimum.”

Bruce finally turned from the fire and walked over. “How’s the wine selection?”

“I already removed anything explosive,” Jason said helpfully.

Bruce gave him a long look.

Jason raised a hand. “Not a joke.”

Damian sat straighter. “Father, do we even have a plan for seating? I refuse to sit next to—”

“Me?” Duke asked innocently.

“No. Harper,” Damian said. “She always smells like solder and chaos.”

“Which is ironic,” Jason noted, “since that’s also your brand.”

Damian narrowed his eyes.

Duke leaned back. “So we’ve got adoptive cousins, honorary uncles, former eco-terrorists, and a new-to-us teenager whose entire support group is apparently powered by milkshakes and sarcasm. Sounds like a great evening.”

“Don’t forget vegetarian menu planning,” Tim added. “Three confirmed, two possible.”

Jason raised his hands. “You know what? I’m impressed. You’ve turned a family meal into a logistics operation.”

“I consider that a compliment.”

Before another round of bickering could start, Alfred entered silently through the hall door and clapped once. The sound somehow silenced the room.

“Gentlemen,” Alfred said crisply. “The ladies have completed their preparations and are en route. Miss Brown is escorting them personally. I suggest you all take these final moments to prepare yourselves—both externally and emotionally.”

Jason snorted. “What, no threat to use a cattle prod if we embarrass the family name?”

Alfred tilted his head. “Oh no, Master Jason. That would be far too kind.”

Jason raised his hands in surrender. “Noted.”

As Alfred exited to make final arrangements, Bruce looked toward the front hall, still faintly stunned. “A grandson,” he repeated quietly. “And I didn’t know.”

Dick placed a hand on his shoulder. “You do now. That’s what counts.”

Jason watched the exchange in silence. Jason Todd didn’t fear many things. He’d faced gunfire, stared down warlords, and even once argued with Alfred over marinara sauce. But nothing filled him with dread quite like watching Tim Drake rearrange the dinner table for the seventh time.

Something settled in his chest that he hadn’t expected.

Family dinners are weird, he thought.

Chapter Text

Drake Tower Hotel – Gotham City - Earlier that day.

After the soft click of the door behind Jazz and Sam, the suite felt unnaturally quiet.

Danny leaned back on the couch, remote in hand, aimlessly scrolling through the hotel TV’s truly uninspired cable selection. Somehow, even a high-end hotel didn't have great Tv options or at least a Roku. After a few minutes of flipping between a cooking show narrated entirely in French and a late-afternoon rerun of a soap opera with overly dramatic organ music, he gave up. The screen went black again.

He exhaled. The silence settled in his chest like fog.

The girls were off getting glam. If their clothes were any indication Tim was undoubtedly prepping the dinner like he was catering the Oscars. Tucker was still texting him “real-time reactions” to various Gotham architecture, rating each building by how much it resembled a villain lair.

Danny glanced around the room and sighed. “Well. So much for downtime.”

A pulse of cold rolled over his skin. A blue breath escaped his lips.

His breath caught—but not from fear. It was familiar. So familiar, it made his eyes widen before he even turned around.

There, phasing halfway through the sliding glass balcony door, a girl stood.

“Hey,” said the girl with the same face as him and glinting blue eyes. “You miss me?”

“Dani?” Danny blinked, stood up too fast, and almost tripped on the edge of the rug. “What—how—wait, you’re in Gotham?”

Dani shrugged and grinned, hands tucked into the pockets of her weathered jacket. “I was wandering. You know. Doing the solo traveler thing. Then I felt this weird magnetic buzz—your signature, obviously—and figured I’d pop in before you got swallowed whole by whatever soap opera family drama Jazz said you’re stuck in this week.”

Danny opened his mouth, then closed it. Then just walked forward and hugged her.

“Okay,” he said, pulling back. “First, yes, I missed you. Second, it’s not that soap opera-y.”

“Danny. You found your birth parents and they’re connected to the most dramatic rich family west of Metropolis.”

He sighed. “Okay, fine. It’s a little soap opera-y.”

Dani flopped onto the arm of the couch and swung her legs like she’d been there all afternoon. “So. You good?”

“Define ‘good,’” Danny said. “Because I’m fine. But also deeply confused about literally everything.”

“Welcome to my world.”

Before he could reply, a new sensation washed over them— not ghost energy. Not exactly.

It was… older. Thicker. Like the city itself had exhaled.

The air darkened slightly. Shadows lengthened subtly in corners. And from the far side of the room, through the solid hotel wall, she arrived.

The woman wore no shoes and made no sound as she stepped across the polished wood floor. Her Wilshire Flapper dress looked like the Gotham skyline had been cut and draped across her like a shroud—spires and bricks, arches and gargoyles, woven into every fold. Her hair curled like wrought iron fences, and her eyes glowed a soft copper-green, like old streetlamps reflected in rain. A wide-brimmed hat sat on her head, accented by a golden brooch holding an Ostrich or Peacock feather. The brooch looked suspiciously like the Bat Signal.

She looked like if Lady Dimitrescu were also a city, and her every expression gave the impression of a Gotham resident.

Danny instinctively straightened. Dani slid off the couch in awe.

The woman inclined her head slightly, respectfully, like Yukio, a student from Japan studying at Gotham U, working part-time at a Japanese restaurant downtown, who appreciated her authentic customer service manners.

“Daniel Fenton,” she said. Her voice had weight, not in volume, but in presence. Like the wind howling between buildings. “High King of the Realm Beyond. Keeper of the Veil. The Ghost King. Welcome to Gotham.”

Danny blinked. “Wait. What? ”

Lady Gotham smiled gently, like a cathedral might smile, if it could, or Mrs. Dubois, the grandmother of five on 27th.

“I am the spirit of this city. The blood in its bricks. The memory in its stones. Some call me Lady Gotham. Others, simply Gotham. I knew the moment your presence crossed the old lines beneath the streets. The dead here stir for you. The city... noticed.”

Danny, still stunned, exchanged a glance with Dani, who was trying very hard not to look like she wanted to ask a thousand questions.

“Are you—uh—do you usually do this kind of visit?” he asked.

Lady Gotham gave a soft, amused smile like Mrs. Addison on St. Venice Ave would her precocious children. “Only for those who belong to my city. Or who wake it.”

“I’m not from here.”

“No,” she agreed. “But you are tied here now. By blood. By Birth. And by history. And when the dead speak your name in my alleys, I listen.”

Danny swallowed. “Right. Cool. Totally not terrifying.”

Lady Gotham turned her gaze briefly to Dani. “And you, fragment made whole. Your thread is woven with his. Keep close to him. The city has many eyes—but not all are kind.”

Dani gave a half-salute. “Yeah. That’s kind of our thing.”

Lady Gotham stepped back, the shadows beginning to fold around her like curtains drawn slowly closed.

“I will not interfere,” she said. “But I will watch. And should you call, Ghost King, I will answer.”

With that, she stepped backward—and vanished into the wall like smoke through a crack.

The room fell silent.

Dani finally let out a breath. “Well. That was dramatic.”

Danny nodded, wide-eyed. “I think I just got welcomed by a skyscraper in human form.”

“And you’re the Ghost King now?”

“Apparently? We never really nailed down the brass tacks since Vlad ran off with the Regalia.”

Dani folded her arms and smirked. “You’re not allowed to complain about my existential weirdness anymore.”

Danny groaned and flopped back onto the couch.

“I have a clone-daughter-sister, ghost royalty status, and now I’m on the city’s watch list. And the dinner with the possibly evil billionaire relatives hasn’t even started yet.”

Dani grinned. “I’m ordering room service then, Dad.”

Danny handed her a menu, his chest feeling warm and his gut feeling like a lepidopterarium, hearing her call him "Dad".

Chapter Text

Drake Tower Hotel – Gotham City, Later That Afternoon

The door swung open to the gentle whir of climate control and the shuffle of high heels on carpet.

Jazz came in first, her hair freshly curled and her stride confident, already toeing off her shoes. Sam trailed behind her, eyeliner sharp enough to qualify as a weapon, and Stephanie brought up the rear, looking at the floor while adjusting one of her earrings and muttering about hair spray fumes and cheap complimentary wine.

“Back,” Jazz announced to the room. “And for the record, Sam nearly bit a woman over a shampoo recommendation.”

“She said I needed volume, ” Sam replied darkly, dropping her bag on the table. “As if gravity hasn’t spent sixteen years trying to kill my bangs. It’s not nearly as bad as what they said about your eyebrows thinking nobody understood them.”

Jazz raised an eyebrow barefoot and holding her heels in one hand. “Okay, I’m just saying—if you accidentally dye your eyebrows three shades darker, it’s not always a tragedy.”

Sam looked unimpressed. “Spoken like someone who’s never lost an argument to a mascara wand.”

Stephanie closed the door behind her, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor as she finally removed the hoop. “Remind me again why I agreed to a twelve-step beauty routine for a dinner with people I already know?”

“The dramatic reveal,” Jazz said dryly, tossing her bag onto the couch. “And also because your potential daughter-in-law said you needed it.”

Sam gasped, a hot blush on her face, and crossed her arms, an amused look in her eye. Flustered, but not denying it. “And you’re still emotionally allergic to lipstick.”

Jazz shot back, “Not allergic. Selective. ”

Stephanie snorted and opened her mouth to chime in again—but then her eyes landed on the unfamiliar girl sitting comfortably beside Danny on the couch.

Dani gave a lazy little wave. “Hey.”

“Uh,” Danny said, already half-standing. “Surprise?”

Jazz blinked, then grinned. “Dani?! You’re here?!”

She crossed the room in two strides and wrapped the younger girl in a hug. “It’s been months. You’re taller. You have eyebrows now. You’re thriving. You didn’t even text . You always text when you cross state lines. ”

“I was aiming for dramatic timing,” Dani said smugly. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Sam offered a half-smile and a nod. “You showed up in a penthouse suite wearing combat boots. Yeah. Nailed it.”

Stephanie, however, was staring.

Danny turned toward her a little awkwardly. “Steph—this is Dani. She’s… family.”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow. “Family?”

“I mean. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

Dani piped up with a grin. “I call him Dad sometimes. Mostly when I want him to pay for snacks.”

Stephanie blinked.

Danny’s heart dropped. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

Stephanie turned toward him fully, her expression still measured, but her eyes sharper now. “So she’s not your daughter?”

Danny hesitated.

Dani folded her arms and tilted her head. “Technically meh. Emotionally true. Legally? Pending.”

Stephanie’s expression didn’t waver.

“She is, sort of,” Danny admitted. “Biologically. Or at least… It wasn't a relationship thing. It’s not something I chose , exactly. But I took responsibility when I found out. Because she didn’t ask for any of it.”

Stephanie’s lips parted, as if trying to ask a dozen questions at once. “So she’s… your child… but not… Consensually ?”

“It’s a long story,” Danny said quietly. “And not a clean one.”

Stephanie exhaled slowly, looking between him and Dani.

The silence stretched. Dani shifted her weight and looked down at the carpet. Jazz finally stepped forward and put a hand on Stephanie’s arm.

“Danny didn’t do anything wrong,” Jazz said gently. “He did what he always does—he tried to protect someone who needed him. Dani’s...important to Danny, and he’s been a really good influence in her life. She’s stayed with us before.”

Stephanie gave a polite nod, but her jaw had tightened ever so slightly. “So... is she yours?”

Danny blinked. “That’s not—um. It’s not that simple.”

Stephanie waited.

Danny exhaled. “There was someone back home—Vlad Masters. Rich guy. Powerful. He had... an obsession with my mom. Maddie. I think it started back in college. He kept tabs on us, sometimes crossed lines. Creepy, manipulative stuff.”

Stephanie's eyes narrowed.

“He always wanted something from our family. Mostly control. But sometimes he tried... other ways. To insert himself into our lives. To... claim us.”

Danny glanced at Dani, then back at Stephanie. “I didn’t know about her for a long time. But when I found out... it felt like I couldn’t just walk away.”

Stephanie looked like someone had punched her soul.

Jazz suddenly caught on and rushed forward. “Oh! No, no, no. Not like that .”

Sam groaned softly and dropped her head into her hands.

Danny looked between them, confused. “Like what?”

Stephanie put a hand over her mouth, eyes shimmering. “I didn’t—I should’ve been there. I should’ve—”

Stephanie’s eyes stayed locked on his. Her voice was tight. “And your parents?”

Danny hesitated. “They don’t know the full story. Some of it. But Dani and I... we made our own peace with it.”

Stephanie gave a tight nod, said nothing, and walked past the girls toward the door. She stopped just before opening it and turned back to Danny.

“You should’ve told me earlier.”

Danny winced. “I didn’t know how.”

Stephanie’s gaze flicked to Dani again—who was now busy pretending to play with the string on a couch pillow—and then she turned without another word and walked briskly out into the hallway.

The door clicked behind her with a little too much precision.

The silence in the room returned with full force.

Sam raised both eyebrows. “That went well.”

Dani flopped back onto the couch with a sigh. “Yeah. That went great .”

Sam ran a hand through her hair. “She’ll calm down.”

“She’s just overwhelmed,” Jazz added. “This is a lot in one day. Hell, it’s a lot in one year. ”

Danny sat down next to Dani, hands clasped between his knees. “I wasn’t trying to hide you. I just… didn’t have the words. And it didn’t feel like something I could just drop casually over fast food.”

Dani leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ve scared off bigger people with less effort.”

Jazz sat on the couch armrest. “It’s going to be fine. Once she gets a little perspective—and maybe vents to someone who’ll listen without panicking—she’ll come back inside.”

Danny stared at the door, uncertain.

“I don’t think she bought the ‘sort of family’ explanation,” Dani muttered.

Jazz sat down on the arm of the couch and rubbed her temple. “No, she definitely didn’t.”

Danny sank back into the cushions, burying his face in his hands. “Why didn’t I say it better?”

Sam crossed her arms. “Because there’s no good version of ‘I may have a child I didn’t know about due to a creepy stalker with questionable boundaries.’”

“She probably thinks I was…” Danny didn’t finish the sentence. “God. She’s gonna call Tim.”

As if on cue, out in the hallway, Stephanie’s muffled voice could be heard rising in volume. Though the exact words were unclear, “ Tim! ” was definitely distinguishable.

Dani leaned into Jazz’s side. “Do I ruin every family reunion or just the complicated ones?”

Jazz smiled faintly. “You’re not the problem.”

Danny let out a groan and dropped his head into a throw pillow. “I am.”

Sam tilted her head. “Maybe. But you’re our problem.”

There was a moment of silence before Jazz stood and clapped her hands once. “Alright. Crisis triage. Dani, you stay calm. Sam, distract Danny with sarcasm. I’ll go intercept Stephanie and try to prevent a diplomatic incident.”

Jazz paused at the door and looked back. “For what it’s worth, Danny—she’ll come back in. She’s your mom. And she’s stubborn.”

He looked up. “So… she’s definitely going to yell at Tim first?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jazz said. “She’s already on phase two.”

Sam walked toward the minibar and pulled out a ginger ale. “Next time we all sit down for one of these family surprises, someone bring a flowchart.”

Jazz nodded. “With definitions.”

Then she opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

Danny flopped backward onto the couch with a groan. “I hate Gotham.”

Dani smiled and nudged him with her foot. “Too bad. Apparently, Gotham likes you. ”

Sam sat on the window ledge, arms crossed. “If it makes you feel better… this is still way less awkward than the time Jazz tried to explain your family to her Chemistry deskmate.”

“That girl dropped the class,” Danny muttered.

Dani laughed softly. “You people are so dysfunctional.”

Danny rested his head back against the couch cushion. “Welcome to the family.”

Dani looked at Sam. “So, is this where I act like a normal kid and ask if there’s pizza?”

Sam blinked. “God, you really are part of this family.”

Chapter Text

  Drake Tower Hotel

Stephanie went down the hall to her own room down the hall, a place nearby but not too close, and shut the bedroom door behind her and immediately locked it.

She hadn’t stormed out. She hadn’t raised her voice. But her chest was tight, her hands were trembling, and her eyes stung from holding back tears. The polished, neutral elegance of the suite suddenly felt like it was pressing in on her.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled out her phone, and tapped Tim’s name before she could second-guess it.

He picked up on the second ring. “Tim!”

“Hey,” Tim said. “Everything okay?”

Stephanie took a breath and immediately lost it. “No. No, Tim, it’s not okay.”

His voice sharpened. “What happened? Is Danny—?”

“He’s not hurt,” she said quickly, wiping her eyes. “Not physically. But—God, Tim, there’s so much I don’t know how to say.”

She pushed her palm against her forehead. “There’s this girl. She’s here. Her name’s Dani. And Danny introduced her like she’s family. Like she’s his daughter. And she calls him Dad.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Wait. What?”

“She said it like it was nothing. Like it was just a nickname, but it wasn’t a joke. And then Danny said something about a man—someone named Vlad Masters—who was obsessed with his mom, Maddie, and tried to get involved with the family.”

“...Okay,” Tim said slowly.

Stephanie kept going, her words tumbling out faster now. “He said he didn’t know about Dani for a while. That this man—Vlad—was manipulative. Controlling. Creepy. That he crossed lines to claim them. And now there’s this girl, who’s clearly connected to all that, and he says he stepped in to protect her. Tim, it doesn’t take a genius to read between the lines.”

Tim was quiet for a beat. “Steph…”

“I thought it was a joke at first. A misunderstanding,” she continued. “But the way he talked about her… he’s so protective. And she calls him Dad. Dad , Tim. And then he mentioned this man—Vlad Masters. This piece of trash hurt our baby , Tim.”

Tim’s breath caught, just slightly.

Stephanie didn’t notice. She was unraveling too fast.

“He said Vlad was obsessed with his mom, that he tried to control the family. And then he finds out about this girl? After the fact? It’s not subtle, Tim. And Danny just says it like it’s history—like it happened and he deals with it , but—”

Her voice dropped. “He’s seventeen. And he has a daughter. Seven or Eight at least. Maybe as old as Ten . He was still a baby back then. She’s just a little girl. And she’s here , and she’s smiling, and I don’t know what the hell happened, but I know that someone hurt him and we weren't there to stop it.”

Tim was quiet for a moment, jaw tight. Then he said, “Danny never mentioned this guy before?”

“No. He just dropped his name and moved on like it wasn’t the most horrifying thing I’ve ever heard. If Dani hadn’t just suddenly been there, I don’t know when he would have mentioned it.”

She leaned forward, hands gripping her knees. “And I just stood there, trying to be polite to this kid while my brain was screaming.”

Tim assured her, his voice slow and steady. “We’ll figure it out. Okay? We’ll talk to him. Gently. When he’s ready.”

“I’m not ready,” she said through her tears. “And I don’t know how to be ready.

“I think something happened to him,” she whispered. “Something awful. And no one ever noticed. No one asked. Not me. Not the Fentons. And now he’s just—coping. Like it’s normal.”

“Steph—”

“And this girl—this kid —she’s just here in our hotel suite like she belongs, and she probably does , and he’s trying so hard to keep everything together and act like he’s fine, and I can’t stop thinking about what he must’ve gone through.”

On the other end of the line, Tim sighed. “You don’t have proof of that. He never said it directly. At that age, he shouldn’t have been able to have a child. Maybe he adopted a runaway?”

“No, he didn’t,” she snapped. “Because if he’s like us Danny never says things directly. He hides behind half-smiles and shoulder shrugs. I can already tell that’s how he protects people. He says enough to make you think he’s being honest, but never enough to really open up. Just Implied that she was his biologically , but not because he had a relationship . Tim, she looks like you and has MY nose, just like Danny does. She has our eyes , Tim.”

Tim was quiet again. She couldn’t hear his heart thundering in his chest. The DNA test had confirmed that Danny was 100% theirs before Tim ever went to Springfield. He trusted Steph. Trusted her instincts. I’m barely a father, and now I have a granddaughter?

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, voice breaking. “I can’t ask him about it. I can’t look at him and ask. What if I’m right? What if I’m wrong?”

Tim’s voice softened. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight. Just be there. Be patient. And maybe trust that if it was as dark as you think, he would’ve come forward by now.”

“I don’t know if I believe that,” Stephanie whispered. “He’s so used to taking care of everyone else. He wouldn’t want to make anyone worry.”

A knock sounded at the hotel door.

“Hang on,” she said into the phone. “Someone’s here.”

She stepped out of the bedroom and opened the door to find Jazz standing there, calm but concerned.

“Mind if I come in?”

Stephanie looked between her and the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, come in.”

Jazz stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Stephanie sank back onto the bed as Jazz took the nearby armchair.

“Tim’s still on the line,” Steph added.

“Good,” Jazz said gently. “He might want to hear this, too.”

There was a long silence. Jazz folded her hands in her lap.

“I think you misunderstood something,” she said softly.

Stephanie held her breath.

Jazz approached carefully, settling on the arm of a nearby chair. “You heard the version that doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know I don’t have the full story,” Stephanie replied. “But it’s hard not to jump to conclusions when your son says he has a daughter non-consensually and brings up a man who was obsessed with his mother.”

Jazz sighed. “Vlad Masters is a complicated name in our house. He was obsessed with my mom, yes. And he did a lot of awful things—manipulative, invasive, morally bankrupt. But not in the way you’re imagining.”

Stephanie nodded. “He says she’s his daughter. But he’s still just a kid. And I don’t understand how any of this happened.”

Jazz exhaled. “That’s the thing. It’s not a story that makes sense to… most people.”

Stephanie looked at her, vulnerable and raw. “Did something happen to him?”

Jazz hesitated.

“He’s okay,” she said at last. “But he’s had to deal with things no one should. And some of it’s hard to explain without sounding crazy.”

Stephanie frowned.

Jazz looked down. “There are parts of our lives—mine and Danny’s—that don’t really fit into regular categories. They weren’t… abuse. Not like that. Not from Vlad. But they were still traumatic. And they came from people who wanted to own us.”

She doesn’t mention it to Danny very often, but she couldn’t forget or forgive Johnny and Kitty for using her like a toy in their own romantic subplot, manipulated into a relationship only to be made a puppet on Kitty’s strings. All the times being overshadowed, or thrown around by friends and enemies alike, with so little regard had been terrifying. 

Stephanie’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Like this Vlad?”

Jazz nodded once. “Vlad was obsessed with control. Being the center of everything. And Dani—she’s real. She’s not some metaphor or cover-up. But she’s also not a product of something done to Danny in the way you're thinking. She’s a product of something that was taken from him. She’s more… an accident someone tried to erase. And Danny wouldn't let her be erased.”

Stephanie blinked at her. “You’re not… explaining this very well.”

Jazz gave a tired smile. “Because it’s not a problem most people ever have to deal with. There’s no pamphlet for this.”

She moved closer, offering her hand.

“You don’t have to understand everything all at once. Just trust that Danny is okay. And that he loves her. And that he didn’t do anything wrong.”

Stephanie’s eyes welled up again. She took Jazz’s hand. “He’s so kind. I don’t know how he came out that kind.”

Jazz smiled. “That’s the part that does make sense. He got it from both his moms.”

Stephanie laughed, watery and soft, and leaned into a hug.

For a moment, the only sound was the low crackle of the fire and two women breathing in the same quiet confusion—both trying to “parent” the same boy, both learning what it meant to do so with grace.

Chapter Text

  Wayne Manor, Lower East Wing – Early Evening

Tim had barely hung up the call before the heat hit him—tight in his chest, low in his stomach, hot behind his eyes.

He didn’t move. Not right away.

The phone still rested in his hand, his thumb pressed hard against the edge of the screen. If it hadn’t been reinforced by design, it might have cracked.

He stared down at the polished table in front of him, the dinner schedule open in a spreadsheet on his laptop. Each line had been timed, color-coded, and double-checked. He’d even arranged contingencies for if Starfire and Mar’i were late or if Bruce fell into one of his brooding silences. The night was planned .

But none of that mattered now.

Not compared to the sharp, acid truth of what Stephanie had just told him, and Jasmine had implied.

Danny. His son. His boy .

Someone had done something to him. Something that led to Dani. Something buried under vague details and unspoken trauma. And Danny had spoken about it as if it were just another thing he’d learned to carry.

Tim’s knuckles whitened around the phone.

He wasn’t stupid. He’d dealt with abusers and traffickers before—interrogated them, arrested them, tracked them across rooftops. He knew the pattern. 

He knew the victims, too. The words people didn’t say were often louder than the ones they did. Jazz had said enough. They had both been snatched and somehow that led to Dani.

And right now, all he could think about was a name:

Vlad Masters.

It wasn’t familiar to the Batcomputer. Not in the files he’d scanned earlier from his Laptop as soon as Steph started telling him. But it was now burned into Tim’s memory like a scar.

There was a weight building in him he didn’t know what to do with—cold and shaking and vicious. He’d never wanted to hurt someone this badly. Never wanted to erase someone from existence more. It was almost impressive given the number of enemies he had.

And yet—

He had to sit still. Smile. Shake hands. Host a dinner where the point was healing . Where Danny could meet the rest of the family in peace.

Tim swallowed, forcing down the bile. That was the priority. Danny, not his own rage.

For now.

The door opened without a knock.

Jason strode in, still wearing a shoulder holster, despite having been told—repeatedly—not to wear one in the manor’s formal wing.

“Dining room’s finally prepped,” he said, waving toward the hall. “Dick’s playing buffer with Bruce and Damian. Duke’s hiding in the study. Starfire texted—they’ll be late, but she found a nice dress so Dick won’t be whining.”

Tim didn’t answer.

Jason’s steps slowed. He stopped in front of the table, eyeing his younger brother. “Okay. What’s wrong, Replacement? Did the kiddo bail after you did all this work?”

Tim finally looked up, eyes cold and sharp.

Jason raised his hands slightly. “Hey, teasing. You’ve had that whole protective dad thing going since last Tuesday.”

Tim didn’t rise to it. He simply closed his laptop, set his phone down beside it, and said, “Do you know anyone who can run deep intel on a guy named Vlad Masters?”

Jason blinked.

“That’s not an alias I’ve heard before.”

“It’s not. He’s real, as far as I know,” Tim said. “And someone we need to know everything about—assets, history, travel patterns, former employees. The works.”

Jason’s teasing tone dropped instantly. “This about Danny?”

Tim nodded once. “I’ll explain more after dinner. But… I’m going to need you to be ready. Quietly.”

Jason studied him for a moment and then sat in the chair across from him.

“You’re not okay.”

“No.”

Jason leaned back, crossing his arms. “You wanna talk about it?”

Tim stared at the table. “Someone hurt my kid. And I don’t know how badly. Or how long ago. Or if it’s even what I think it is.”

“Then let me ask,” Jason said carefully. “Is this a ‘check the name, keep it in your back pocket’ situation… or a ‘if he’s still breathing in a week, we failed’ kind of thing?”

Tim’s jaw clenched.

Jason nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll put out feelers.”

There was silence between them for a few beats—uncomfortable, but not empty.

Jason stood. “Dinner first, then war crimes. Ok?”

Tim gave him the faintest trace of a smile. “Thanks.”

Jason was halfway to the door when he paused. “Hey.”

Tim looked up.

“You’re not alone in this, Tim,” Jason said. “Even if it feels like it.”

Tim nodded, eyes a little less frozen now.

Jason left without another word.

Tim sat in the silence, the ghost of the call still echoing in his mind. A new name was etched into the list of people who would pay. He wouldn’t ruin Danny’s night with this—not yet.

But after?

After dinner, everything would change.

Tim had mastered his expression by the time Dick showed up a few minutes later to apologetically confirm Starfire and Mar’i were, in fact, going to be late.

Tim sighed as Dick jovially rushed away to avoid the fallout that didn’t come.

The fire was all in his belly right now; minor annoyances were just that.

He still scowled as he shifted his dinner plans to fit the change.

The knock on the door to Danny’s luxury suite at the Drake Tower Hotel was light but deliberate. Danny glanced up from where he was sitting on the couch with Dani curled against his side, half-distracted by the Gotham skyline glittering through the windows.

Sam beat him to the door, swinging it open to reveal a blonde woman, Stephanie, wearing a bright, disarming smile. She had indeed come back, though her eyes looked puffier than before.

“Hi,” she said warmly, hands tucked into her pockets. “You must be Dani.”

Dani blinked up at her, hesitant, instinctively pressing closer into Danny’s side as her green eyes narrowed in cautious appraisal. “Uh… yeah?”

The woman stepped into the room without a hint of awkwardness. “Name’s Stephanie Brown. Most people call me Steph. But to you—” she crouched a little to meet Dani’s gaze “—I’m Grandma Steph.”

Danny choked on air, coughing into his fist. Sam smirked. Jazz, standing behind Stephanie, arched a brow in silent amusement.

Dani’s brow furrowed. “You don’t look like a grandma.”

Stephanie grinned. “Perks of being awesome. And young. And technically not the grandma kind of grandma—more like the really cool kind who buys dessert before dinner and teaches you how to sneak extra cookies without anyone knowing.”

That earned her the faintest twitch of a smile from Dani, though she still glanced at Danny as if to confirm this was allowed.

“She’s… uh… family,” Danny said with a small shrug. “My Bio-Mom. It’s fine.”

Steph clasped her hands together with a playful bounce. “Great! So, here’s my plan. You, me, and everyone else—dinner tonight. It’ll be fun. No serious stuff, just good food, maybe some embarrassing stories about your dad if I can get Jazz to talk.”

“Hey!” Danny protested halfheartedly, but Jazz smirked like she’d already accepted the challenge.

Dani hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie again. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”

“Perfect.” Steph straightened up, her grin brightening. “I’ll tell Tim. You all go change into something nice. Once Danny is ready, I’ll go get changed and I’ll meet you in the lobby in—say—forty-five minutes?”

Dani looked around, realizing for the first time that she was wearing her only set of clothes. Or at least the only set she brought here. She held up the tattered hem out for inspection. “I-Is it ok for me to wear this?”

Steph smiled widely, “You’re perfect as you are, baby. I'll tell you what. Tonight we won’t worry about it, and tomorrow we can buy you whatever you want to wear. Sound good?”

Dani nodded, blushing in excitement and embarrassment. 

Sam glanced at Danny, then Jazz. “Guess that’s our cue.”

Without another word, the three of them headed to their respective rooms in the suite to change, leaving Dani in the living room with her new “Grandma Steph,” who was already asking if she preferred chocolate or vanilla ice cream.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

  Wayne Manor – Early Evening, Just Before Dinner

The black town car eased through the front gates of Wayne Manor as twilight bathed the estate in hues of gold and indigo.

Danny sat in the backseat with Dani curled beside him, her hands fidgeting in the pockets of Danny’s borrowed jacket. Sam and Jazz sat in the middle row, both dressed tastefully but distinctly—Sam in a sleek black dress that stopped just short of rebellious, Jazz in soft lavender with a matching clutch. Neither wanted to risk wrinkling their dresses to climb in the back with the ghostly duo.

Stephanie rode in front with the driver, who was not Alfred this time but one of the regular staff, twisting a silver ring on her finger while watching the manor grow closer through the window. 

She wished Tim had been the one to pick them up, he should have been the one to bring his son and granddaughter home, but Bruce had been grilling him for details all morning, then fell into an existential stupor, according to Cass and Selina. 

Tim, she knew, then had much less time to organize a last minute Bat Family gathering, and his OCD overrode his common sense sometimes. She and Selina hadn’t helped by including Pam and Harley last second. She only felt bad about that now, in hindsight.

Danny glanced at her reflection.

She’d been quiet since Tim’s text. Quiet in a way that meant she was thinking too much, in his experience, which—coming from his birth mom—was eerily familiar. He hoped she wasn’t feeling regret now.

He looked down at Dani and gave her a quick nudge.

“You good?”

Dani nodded quickly, then added, “I think so. Do I call him ‘Grandpa Tim’? Is his Dad ‘Great Grandpa Bruce’? Or is that pushing it?”

Sam leaned back. “If he blinks twice, don’t repeat it.”

The car came to a gentle stop beneath the arching stone awning.

The door opened to the waiting form of Alfred Pennyworth, standing tall in his immaculate suit, the perfect image of restraint and warmth.

“Master Daniel,” he greeted, offering a rare smile. “Miss Stephanie. Miss Dani. Miss Manson. Welcome.”

Jazz stepped out and gave Alfred a quick hug, which he returned with the dignity of someone who’d long stopped being surprised by the Fenton women’s brand of affection after too many family reunions with Mistress Martha and Maddie Fenton’s maternal line. A trait he almost wished the Kane girls had inherited. “Good evening to you as well, Miss Fenton.

“You’re just in time,” he added, gesturing toward the broad front doors. “Everyone else is already assembled. If you will follow me to the sitting room, I’ll see that dinner is ready promptly.”

As they crossed the gleaming marble floors, Dani whispered, “Are we really calling this a ‘sitting room’? This place has more square footage than the Casper High gym.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Jazz whispered back. “Maybe.”

When Alfred opened the double doors to the manor’s east parlor, the conversation inside didn’t stop—it only shifted.

Bruce Wayne stood near the fireplace, an untouched glass of wine in hand, commanding the room even in stillness. Around him were his sons: Dick , all charm and ease, balancing a drink and a joke; Damian , sulking in formalwear; Duke , leaning against the far wall with quiet confidence; and Jason , relaxed but alert in a button-down that tried very hard not to look new.

Tim stood near Bruce, back straight, tie slightly loosened, but the look on his face made Danny pause. There was something behind his eyes—fierce, bright, protective. Something Danny didn’t quite recognize until he realized it was pride .

Conversations ebbed.

Stephanie walked in first. Then Jazz and Sam followed, stepping aside for the family moment to come.

Danny followed with Dani gripping his hand like a lifeline.

Tim stepped forward, standing with Steph behind Danny and Dani, and raised his voice, not loud, but clear. “Everyone?”

The group’s attention turned.

Steph stepped up beside him as Tim put a hand on Danny’s shoulder, then gently tapped Dani’s back, nudging her forward from behind her Father.

“This,” Tim said, “is our son. His name is Danny.”

He took a breath. “And this is his daughter, Dani.”

Danny’s heart stuttered in his chest. It was still so raw to have her introduced like that, he almost didn’t register Tim claiming him .

Dani, for her part, shuffled in his grip, nervous. In any other circumstance, she might have yelled out “Dani with an ‘I’” to lighten the mood, retreating from tension with humor just like Danny, but she was much better at reading the room than he was and didn’t think it was appropriate this time.

The silence was thick, full of the weight of unspoken thoughts, measured reactions, and old wounds quietly shifting.

Dick was the first to move. He crossed the room with the familiar ease of a man who’d grown up smoothing over tension and hugged Danny tightly. “Welcome to the madness, nephew.”

Then he bent and offered Dani a high-five, which she returned with wide eyes.

Eldest, having taken the first step, Duke as the second most outgoing, followed next, offering a handshake to Danny before nodding at Dani playfully. “She looks like trouble.”

Tension broken, Dani grinned. “I get that a lot.”

Damian didn’t speak, but gave Dani a nod that might have been approval—or at least curiosity.

Jason, naturally, was last.

He gave Tim a look—something sardonic and understanding all at once—and clapped Danny on the back. “Hope you brought an appetite, kid.” Then he ruffled Dani’s hair with a wink. She squawked, scandalized, because Steph and Jazz had brushed it out for her before they left!

Danny exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes.

Stephanie stood just behind him, her hands folded, watching her son be accepted into the center of a world she still barely understood.

And then Bruce stepped forward, the boys moving aside.

He said nothing at first. Just looked at Danny. Then at Dani, who was still patting down her hair. Then back at Tim. Then Stephanie.

Finally, he nodded once.

“Welcome to the family,” he said simply. And this time Stephanie felt like the gulf between them when she refused adoption but stayed anyway was much shorter now.

Danny let out a relieved breath.

Alfred reappeared a moment later, giving a small bow. “Dinner is served.”

And with that, the newly expanded family made their way to the long dining room, where conversations would continue, tension would simmer, and—for the first time—Danny Fenton would sit at the Wayne family table.

Chapter Text

 Wayne Manor – Main Dining Room, Evening

The long mahogany table gleamed under the antique chandelier, polished to a near mirror shine. Place settings gleamed with understated silver, and the aroma of roasted vegetables, fresh-baked bread, and a perfectly seasoned roast filled the air like something out of a holiday film. Everything was warm and curated and somehow still carried the faint tension of a courtroom just before a verdict.

Danny tried to sit naturally, but his posture was stiff, too aware of every utensil and crystal water glass. Everything was a little too fancy for someone who’d once fallen asleep in a high school janitor’s closet. Dani, on the other hand, sat with her arms crossed and eyes scanning the room like she was calculating how quickly she could slide under the table if necessary.

Tim sat to his right, closest to the family head’s seat, shoulders square, radiating calm—or something like it. Stephanie sat to his left, whispering quiet reassurances to Dani who sat between them and Danny. Sam and Jazz sat to his left.

Then came the knock at the side door.

Alfred moved to open it without missing a beat, announcing, “Ms. Koriand’r and Miss Mar’i have arrived.”

Danny blinked as a woman walked in who looked like a goddess and carried herself like she didn’t know it, but was somehow confident you did. Her copper skin shimmered subtly in the candlelight, and her curly hair trailed behind her like a sunset caught in motion. Holding her hand was a bright-eyed girl with equally copper skin, raven black hair, violet eyes, and a mischievous grin. Mar’i looked like the heir to some kind of fireproof mischief empire—bright, composed, and very interested in the other kids at the table.

“Sorry, we’re late,” Kori said with a musical accent. “Mar’i had Opinions about her shoes.”

“I wanted boots,” the girl huffed. Dani agreed, and Sam smiled approvingly, her feet already hurting from her heels.

“You couldn’t walk in them,” Kori said gently.

“I could hover.”

Dick stood, grinning, Dick stood to greet them, arms open wide and kissed Kori on the cheek before giving Mar’i a quick side-hug.. “You and your mother always make an entrance. Glad you made it. Everyone—this is my daughter, Mar’i, and her infinitely patient mother, Koriand’r. Mar’i, meet your new cousin Danny, and his daughter Dani.”

“Hi,” Mar’i said simply, eyes already drifting toward Dani.

Dani gave a tiny wave. “You into sarcasm and lightly illegal science projects?”

Mar’i grinned. Kori muttered, “You have no idea.” Mar’i’s grin widened, giving Dani a nod. “Wanna swap horror stories about being raised around heroes?”

“Only if yours involve a ghost,” Dani said without missing a beat.

The table chuckled at the childish discussion, and places were shifted to make room. Danny didn’t think much of it. IT was hard NOT to recognize the orange woman as an Ex-Model and former member of the Teen Titans. It was awe-inspiring that his Uncle Dick could catch her interest, but he guessed that’s what happens when your Dad was rich enough to help fund the Justice League. 

Moments later, the noise grew again as another group arrived—this time through the main hall. It was like a parade of color, confidence, and contradiction.

Barbara Gordon rolled in first, crisp and understated as always, followed by Cassandra Cain—graceful, poised, and already scanning the room like she’d memorized the seating chart in advance. Kate Kane came next, sharp in a tailored burgundy dress and gave a nod that felt almost military. Harper Row sauntered in with silver-blue hair and a punk formal look only she could pull off, making no effort to tone anything down. Selina Kyle brought up the rear of that group; a short bob haircut and a simple black dress didn’t hide that she was stunning.

Selina stalked over to Bruce like a wild cat and, with a kiss on the cheek, sat to his left, just off the table’s head.

And then—of course—Harley Quinn sauntered in looking like she owned the manor, holding a bouquet of what looked like fresh basil and mint.

“I brought herbs! For ambiance,” she declared.

Behind her came Pamela Isley, who simply looked amused. “That’s my fault.”

Harley blew a kiss at Bruce. Bruce raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Selina rolled her eyes. Alfred, for his part, took the herbs like this was just another Tuesday.

They were introduced, welcomed, and seated on the guest side by Jazz while Dick made more room for Barbara’s chair beside him. If anyone thought it was weird that Dick and Kori were separated by their daughter, but Barbara sat right beside him, nobody mentioned it. Sam and the Fentons didn’t bring it up either.

And for a brief, surreal moment, Danny forgot he was supposed to be nervous. This wasn’t some cruel stage. It was a family dinner. A weird one, sure, but it was warm. Real.

Conversation flowed.

Jazz and Kate bonded over crime scene psychology. Sam and Cass communicated mostly through shrugs and smirks. They had an entire conversation in eye-rolls. Dani leaned into a growing debate between Mar’i and Damian about stealth versus strength. Dani and Mar’i had already traded three inside jokes and a mini-glare contest with Damian, who looked like he was calculating the density of their collective energy.

Danny, meanwhile, found himself answering the inevitable question: What do you want to be when you grow up?

“So, Danny. What do you want to be when you're older?”

Danny blinked at his plate, then smiled faintly. “I always wanted to be an astronaut.”

That earned a collective huh of interest.

“Really? Stars, huh?” Kori asked warmly with an approving smile. Maybe because she was the only real alien present.

“Yeah,” Danny said, fiddling with the edge of his napkin. “Ever since I was a kid. I used to stay up late charting constellations and memorizing shuttle stats. I used to sneak out onto the roof to watch the stars with a telescope I built from junkyard parts.”

Stephanie glanced at him with subtle warmth.

“But…?” Barbara prompted gently.

Danny continued, “I had an accident. I’ve got a heart condition now. Not dangerous day-to-day, but it rules me out of any official space program.”

Stephanie glanced at him then, eyes narrowing just slightly—not with suspicion, but with a mother’s instinct that something was missing from his words. Still, she said nothing.

A gentle silence followed. Respectful. Unpitying.

“That’s a shame,” said Bruce, finally speaking for the first time in a while.

Danny shrugged. “I’ll find another way. Rocket science isn’t exactly exclusive anymore. Maybe I’ll just build my own rocket someday. DIY style.”

Across the table, Jason arched a brow. “DIY NASA. Bold.”

Danny grinned. “Only if I can get Dani to stop rewiring our toaster for propulsion experiments.”

“She started it,” Dani muttered.

That got a round of soft laughs. Even Bruce looked faintly amused.

But beneath the pleasantries, something strange was simmering.

But beneath the surface of the jokes, something was… off.

Danny could feel it. So could Dani.

It was subtle—like catching the smell of ozone before a storm. A kind of presence, not quite ghostly but adjacent. It stirred when Jason looked their way. It pulsed when Damian raised his eyes. When Bruce glanced their way, but that was somehow different.

Danny didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Dani's side glance confirmed it—she felt it too.

Something inside those two—not a core, not a signature, but a faint echo—responded to them. It was dormant. Nascent. Like embers waiting for air. Bruce was just weird, but not too far different from the feeling Kori gave. Or Lady Gotham.

Across the table, Jason reached for his glass of water a bit too fast. His jaw was tight. Damian sat stiffer than usual, his fingers drumming against his thigh, the motion unusually restless.

Neither said a word.

They were too trained. Too proud. But both were aware of something.

And both attributed it, silently, to indigestion. Or tension. Or perhaps the vague unease that came from realizing the kid at the center of the table wasn’t as ordinary as he seemed.

Bruce didn’t notice.

Dinner continued.

Dessert arrived—chocolate tart, spiced apple crumble, espresso poured like a ritual.

But even as laughter returned and the wine flowed, there was a new gravity in the room—silent, subtle, anchored in the eyes of a boy who once dreamed of the stars… and the strange feeling in the chests of the men watching him back.

Bruce had been insistent: the Amity Park crew would not spend their week crammed into hotel rooms when Wayne Manor had more space than its current residents could ever use. Alfred, ever the efficient general, had already started preparing a wing of guest rooms before Danny and the others even left for the hotel.

The Bat-family had dispersed for the night. Dick, Kori, Mar’i, Barbara, Harper, Kate, and Jason had all gone back to their own homes. Tim and Steph had promised they’d return by morning and stay at the Manor for at least the week. Pamela and Harley, meanwhile, had decided to “impose” for the night, citing the long drive back to Metropolis and their lack of flight powers. Bruce hadn’t exactly protested — though Alfred’s raised eyebrow suggested breakfast would be an event.

Back at the hotel, Danny changed quickly, slipping out of his suit and into his more comfortable travel clothes. He folded the tux with unusual care and tucked it into the suit bag. Dani, who had been a non-stop chatterbox on the car ride — bouncing from Gotham skyscrapers to how big the Manor was to how weird Jason seemed in person — had promptly crashed on the hotel bed once Danny started packing. Now she was stretched across his lap, her breathing even, not quite snoring but close. Danny absentmindedly brushed her bangs back and rubbed small circles against her scalp.

From the other room came the low hum of the girls’ voices as they helped each other wriggle free of dresses with too many zippers and clasps. Danny wasn’t paying much attention until Jazz’s voice rose above the others:

“So what were you and Cassandra talking about in… whatever form of body language conversation you were having?”

Danny froze, ears pricking.

Sam’s answer came without hesitation. “Oh, she asked what I liked about Danny.”

Danny’s face heated instantly. Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

Jazz didn’t miss a beat. “And? What’d you say?”

“I like his tight little butt.”

“Sam!” Jazz’s tone wobbled between horrified and helplessly amused.

Danny slapped a hand over his face. His ears were burning.

“What? It’s true,” Sam said, utterly unbothered. “She thought it was funny.”

Danny groaned into his palm. Why am I listening to this? Why can’t the floor just open up and swallow me whole?

Jazz sputtered, “God, what did she even say to that?”

“She made recommendations,” Sam replied with the air of someone delivering a research finding. “She referred me to Dick and Jason for my viewing pleasure. It’d be weird, but I think half of Bruce’s kids are adopted. Almost nobody is a ‘Wayne.’”

This time, there was no shriek of disgust from Jazz. Instead, Danny caught the unmistakable sound of her trying not to laugh — and then failing.

“True,” Jazz admitted between chuckles. “Those men were pretty caked up.”

Danny’s ears went scarlet. He stared at the ceiling like it had betrayed him personally.

His blush deepened until he thought he might ignite. Because, well… yeah. He remembered. Back before all this — before he even knew the Wayne's were his family — he had noticed.

Dick Grayson wasn’t just objectively attractive; he’d been one of Danny’s earliest “wait, why am I staring at this guy?” moments. A safe, distant crush. A reminder that maybe girls weren’t the only people he liked. That Sam wasn’t the only…

And hearing Jazz say it out loud made it impossible not to admit it to himself: he was bisexual. He had always been.

But now? Now it was weird. Because Dick wasn’t just some impossibly handsome stranger in the tabloids anymore. He was his uncle.

Danny groaned and buried his face in his free hand. Why does life have to make everything more complicated?

And the worst part? He couldn’t even deny it. Dick Grayson was practically famous for it. The man had “sexiest man alive” titles stacked like trading cards, and if the tabloids were even half-right, half the country agreed.

And Danny had to admit that Dick Grayson, at least, was absolutely blessed with almost too much cake for one man. It's no wonder he caught Starfire’s eye. Danny shook that thought out of his head and distracted himself by massaging Dani’s head. It was too weird to think of the man like that now that he knew he was his uncle.

He shook his head hard, banishing the thought before it spiraled. Much safer to focus on Dani asleep across his lap, her cool little head against his stomach. Safer to think about being here, with family, than about the cake he was definitely never going to comment on out loud.

He looked down at Dani instead, her face slack with sleep, and resumed massaging her scalp with a sigh. Much safer ground.

Wayne Manor had gone still again. The dining room chatter had faded into the night, the dishes carried away, the laughter of children and cousins echoing faintly in memory. 

In the master suite, Bruce sat propped against the headboard, a book half-open on his lap. Selina curled beside him, silk robe draped across her shoulders, her glass of wine balanced delicately between her fingers. She broke the silence first.

“So,” she said, drawing out the word. “Your grandson.”

Bruce closed the book, setting it on the nightstand. “Danny.”

Selina smiled faintly. “He’s… not what I expected.”

Bruce’s mouth twitched. “Not what you expected how?”

“Well,” she said, swirling her glass, “when Tim first told me about him, I thought of another version of Tim. Head down, calculating, halfway to brooding already. But Danny—he’s nothing like that. He’s… brighter. Not naïve, just… open. He looks at people like he still expects the best from them.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed slightly. “You think that’s a weakness?”

Selina shook her head. “No. I think it’s rare. Especially in this family.”

Bruce leaned back, considering. Danny had been quiet at first, clearly overwhelmed by the scale of the table, the weight of eyes on him. But then Dani had laughed at something Jason said, and Danny had relaxed, protective but playful. Not a Wayne by blood, but still carrying something of the family in the way he deflected attention from himself, the way he made space for others.

“He has Tim’s eyes,” Bruce said at last. “But Stephanie’s manner. It’s… a good mix.”

Selina hummed in agreement. “He’ll need it, if he’s going to survive all this.”

She shifted, resting her glass on the nightstand. “What about Dani? The little one.”

She refrained from saying “Great Granddaughter”. Thinking about it already made her feel old.

Bruce’s features softened almost imperceptibly. “She’s… spirited.”

“That’s one word for it,” Selina teased. “She nearly out-argued Jason. I like her.”

“She’s protective of her father,” Bruce observed. “And he of her. That bond is strong. Whatever their history is, they’ve been through enough together to know how to lean on each other.”

Selina smiled, remembering the way Dani had clung to Danny’s arm at the start of dinner, then slowly let go once she realized the table wasn’t hostile. “She’ll be a handful. But the good kind.”

Selina arched an eyebrow. “And how do you feel about Samantha? That’s quite a pairing.”

Bruce’s mouth tightened. “The Manson family has… history.”

Selina’s smirk deepened. “Mm. Fundraisers. Galas. Political campaigns. I remember her parents. Bubbly, but very stiff. Very loud about how much money they’ve given to the city.”

“Appearances matter to them,” Bruce said flatly.

“But not to her,” Selina countered. “She’s sharp-tongued, but the kind of sharp that comes from conviction, not ego. She knows how to hold her ground. Reminds me of her grandmother. I like her better than I ever liked her parents.”

Bruce considered this, then gave the smallest of nods. “She cares for Danny. That much was obvious.”

“Not subtle, was it?” Selina teased.

Bruce didn’t rise to the bait. “Good. He’ll need someone like that when the press catches wind of all this. Someone who won’t flinch.”

For a while, silence settled again. The city hummed faintly outside the windows, a distant heartbeat against the quiet of the Manor. Selina curled closer, resting her head against Bruce’s shoulder.

“You know,” she murmured, “for all your brooding, you didn’t look so grim tonight. Seeing them at that table.”

Bruce’s jaw worked. He thought of Danny laughing quietly when Dani spilled her juice, of Jazz politely correcting Jason’s Gotham trivia, of Sam daring Stephanie to eat a pepper that had Alfred raising his eyebrows. It had been messy, noisy, imperfect.

But… it had felt like family.

“It was… good,” Bruce admitted softly.

Selina smiled against him, eyes already closing. “Then let’s hold onto that. Just for tonight.”

Bruce let out a long breath, resting his chin lightly against her hair. “Just for tonight.”

Chapter Text

 Drake Tower – Penthouse Suite, After Dinner

The hum of the city had faded by now, replaced by the quiet, ambient silence of upper floors and luxury insulation. Tim sat at his desk, the glow of his laptop casting sharp edges across his face as rows of data flickered by. He didn’t blink as each new document loaded—legal filings, purchase orders, board minutes, quarterly earnings reports.

A knock at the door didn’t pull his attention.

Jason let himself in, jacket half unzipped, dropping a flash drive onto the table like a loaded weapon. “Your guy’s worse than I expected.”

Stephanie, curled on the suite’s sofa with a blanket around her shoulders, looked up sharply. Her bare feet were tucked beneath her, one heel still lying sideways by the minibar.

Tim took the drive without a word and slotted it in.

Jason pulled a chair around, sitting backwards in it, arms folded across the top rail.

“Name’s Vlad Masters. Publicly? He’s clean. Old money, inherited a company called Dalv Co. Supposedly made legit money off tech contracts in the ‘90s. Founded Axion Labs, branched into private defense R&D and experimental energy systems. Backed out a decade ago. Since then, he’s been flying under the radar.”

Stephanie frowned. “Under the radar how?”

Jason pointed to the screen. “You ever heard of Ecto-Energy patents?”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” Jason said. “That’s sci-fi garbage. Energy fields, resonance containment, energy inversion arrays. He’s filed for over a dozen patents that don’t even do anything according to standard physics models. But they’re all held by shell companies—like, a network of them. The paperwork alone took my guy hours to trace.”

Tim’s fingers moved across the trackpad in silence. Line by line, data scrolled.

Jason kept going. “And get this—several of those shell companies also have asset ties to properties in Nevada, Utah, Illinois, and Wisconsin. Remote labs. Unmarked facilities. Private airstrips. Very little oversight.”

Stephanie sat up straighter. “What kind of labs?”

Jason’s expression darkened. “I don’t know yet. But the ones I could get satellite logs on don’t have standard civilian licensing. They’re not being used for conventional R&D. And one of them, an Axiom Labs facility, was scrubbed a few years back. Completely. Like someone walked out and torched the paper trail before shuttering it.”

Tim’s brow furrowed.

Jason leaned in. “There’s something else. I can’t trace any record of Vlad ever having custody of Dani. Not legally. Not privately. Not anywhere. There’s no birth certificate listing him. No adoption. No guardianship orders. I don’t think she even HAS a birth certificate.”

Tim finally looked up.

Jason’s voice dropped. “So how did he have her?”

Stephanie sat frozen, lips parted slightly.

“You’re thinking trafficking,” Tim said quietly.

“I’m thinking something’s off,” Jason replied. “He didn’t raise that girl. But he controlled her for a while. The only reason she’s here is because Danny got to her.”

Stephanie’s jaw tightened. “Danny said he stepped in to protect her. He said she wasn’t safe.”

“That matches,” Jason said. “And the girl… she’s smart, fast, and scared. Not in a skittish way—in a Pavlovian way. You know what I mean.”

Tim shut the laptop with a quiet click.

“We dismantle him,” he said.

Stephanie nodded. “How?”

“First step is corporate,” Tim continued. “We dig through every holding he’s got. Wayne Enterprises can launch a quiet audit into any company tied to Axion Labs or his foundation network. Public safety concern. Energy viability claims. Doesn’t matter. We just need a reason to pull the threads.”

Jason cracked his knuckles. “I’ve got a few freelance analysts who owe me favors. They’ll leak some rumors. Make him sweat. If he’s hiding something, pressure will force him to move.”

Tim’s eyes darkened. “And when he does, we’ll be watching.”

Stephanie leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “We don’t tell Danny yet. Not until we have proof.”

“No,” Tim agreed. “Not until we know what Masters really did. Not until we can explain who he is… and who Dani was to him.”

Silence settled in like dust. Heavy. Still.

Jason stood. “I’ll keep digging.”

“Don’t get caught,” Tim said.

Jason smirked. “You forget who trained me?”

“I remember exactly who trained you,” Tim replied flatly.

Jason tipped an imaginary hat and left.

Tim remained where he was, staring at the closed laptop like it held a bomb he didn’t know how to disarm.

Stephanie rose slowly, walked over, and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s our son,” she said softly. “Whatever’s coming—we protect him.”

Tim nodded once. “No matter what it takes.”

Outside, Gotham’s skyline blinked under clouded stars.

The hunt had started. The war—quiet, methodical, deliberate—was already underway.

The car crunched to a stop on the long gravel drive, headlights briefly sweeping across the towering facade of Wayne Manor. Danny shifted the weight of the small figure in his arms—Dani had slumped against his shoulder during the ride, out cold again the moment they’d left the hotel. Her soft, even breaths tickled the side of his neck, and Danny adjusted carefully, mindful not to jostle her.

The front door opened before they even reached the steps. Alfred stood framed in the light, posture immaculate as always, but his smile carried a touch of grandfatherly warmth that made Danny’s shoulders ease.

“Welcome back, Master Daniel,” Alfred greeted.

Danny smiled tiredly, a suit bag dangling from one hand, his daughter secure on his hip. “Hi again, Mr. Alfred. I hope you have a room ready for her. She’s been out since we got back to the hotel. I’ll come back for our bags after she’s in bed.”

Alfred smiled at him. “Right this way, sir,” Alfred replied, voice as steady as ever. He glanced briefly at Dani, his expression softening further, then stepped aside to usher them in.

The driver followed with a polite nod, maneuvering Dani’s small suitcase through the doorway. Jazz and Sam trailed in as well, dragging smaller rollers and looking just as travel-worn but grateful for the warmth of the Manor after a long trip.

Alfred guided them down the familiar corridors, pointing out rooms as he went. “Miss Jasmine, Miss Samantha, I hope these rooms will do for tonight. You’ll find the linens freshened and a small assortment of toiletries laid out.”

Both women murmured thanks, already relieved to set their things down. Alfred continued down the hall with Danny, lowering his voice to something more private.

“I thought it appropriate for Mistress Danielle to share a room with you for tonight, Master Daniel. We’ll see to a more permanent arrangement once she’s familiar with the house. It would not do for her to wake in an unfamiliar place without someone she trusts close at hand.”

Danny nodded, touched by the foresight. “Yeah… that makes sense.”

Inside the room, the bed was already turned down. The lamps glowed softly, throwing golden light across the dark wood furniture and heavy curtains. Danny carefully set Dani down, lowering her as though she were made of glass. She stirred once, her nose scrunching faintly, but she didn’t wake.

Danny crouched to slip off her shoes and socks, setting them neatly by the bed. He pulled the blankets up over her small frame, tucking them close, then pressed a light kiss to her forehead. Dani smiled faintly in her sleep, and Danny couldn’t help grinning back.

“We’ll have to get her some pajamas tomorrow, too,” he whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.

“Of course, sir,” Alfred replied quietly from the doorway. “I believe Master Timothy has made himself available to assist you in the morning. He took the liberty of clearing his schedule.”

Danny chuckled under his breath. “That’s Tim for you.”

 With that he returned to the foyer with Danny in tow. The girls' other luggage was bigger, heavier, and the poor driver had struggled to bring it in, but Danny hoisted both suitcases with ease despite his slight frame and brought them to their corresponding girls’ rooms.

Danny padded back toward his room, his footsteps softened by the Manor’s old carpets. The halls were quiet now. Sam and Jazz had settled in, Alfred was likely making his rounds before retiring, and Dani was still sleeping soundly where he’d left her.

He pushed the door open gently, not wanting to wake her. The dim lamplight still burned low, casting warm shadows across the room. Dani was curled under the blankets, the faint rise and fall of her chest steady and peaceful.

Danny exhaled—then froze.

A plume of cold, blue mist drifted from his lips. His ghost sense.

Every muscle in his body went taut. Carefully, he shut the door behind him, his eyes sweeping the corners of the room. The temperature had dropped just enough to raise goosebumps on his skin. He braced himself for trouble.

That was when he saw her.

Kneeling at Dani’s bedside was a pale figure in a hooded cloak, her posture reverent, curious rather than hostile. She was peering at the sleeping girl with an expression caught somewhere between wonder and longing.

Danny’s pulse kicked up. He knew ghosts, not all ghosts, but he knew the important parties, and he wasn’t expecting her at the family home.

“Hey there,” he said quietly.

The girl startled. She whipped her head up, wide eyes locking onto him in shock. “You… you can see me?”

Danny nodded, his voice calm but steady. “You’re not exactly hiding your presence from my ghost sense. Blue breath’s kind of a giveaway.”

Her expression twisted between disbelief and wariness. “No one’s supposed to see me. Not… not mortals, anyway.”

Danny tilted his head, sympathy already creeping into his tone. “Guess that makes sense. You’re supposed to be invisible, right? Secret.”

The name hit her like a stone. She flinched back, retreating into the hood’s shadows. “That’s not—” she tried, then caught herself. “Name’s Suzie Q. Just passing through.”

Danny’s lips curved in a sad little smile. “Greta Hayes.”

Her hands clenched at the fabric of her cloak. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know what you are. And what it costs.” He let the transformation rings wash over him, light splitting his form until Danny Phantom stood in his place. His voice carried the gravity of someone who had walked both sides of life and death. “You help others let go. Move on. Find peace.”

Her jaw tightened. “That’s my job.”

“And now here I am,” Danny said, spreading his hands lightly. “A ghost with power enough to offer you the same choice. To lay it down. To rest.” His eyes softened, a quiet plea in them. “You’ve carried this weight long enough, Greta.”

For a moment, she looked stricken, as though the very suggestion cracked something deep inside. Then her head dropped, and she shook it fiercely. “No. I can’t. I don’t want to leave.”

Danny didn’t push, only asked gently, “Why?”

Her answer came as a whisper, trembling but certain. “Because my friends still need me. Because he still needs me. Tim.”

Danny nodded slowly. “Because of your friends.”

She looked away, her voice a whisper. “Someone has to look out for them. I’m all that’s left. They’re all I have left.”

For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by Dani’s soft breathing under the covers. Danny looked at the girl in the bed, then back at Greta, and he understood.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Then this stays between us. Your secret, my secret. Nobody needs to know unless you want them to.”

Her head jerked back up, surprise in her ghostly eyes. “You’d… do that?”

Danny shrugged lightly. “I know what it’s like to live between worlds. To want to stay close to the people you love, even if you don’t know where you fit. You don’t owe me anything. Just… maybe keep an eye out for her too.” He nodded toward Dani.

Greta followed his gaze. For the first time since he’d seen her, she smiled, a small, fragile thing. “I can do that.”

Danny relaxed, letting his ghost form fade back into his human one. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Then I guess we’ve got ourselves a deal.”

Greta inclined her head, cloak shifting as though caught by a phantom wind. “A secret for a secret,” she echoed softly.

And then, with a shimmer like fog dispersing, she was gone.

Danny stood in the quiet room for a long moment, the faint warmth of the lamplight slowly returning as the chill lifted. He looked down at Dani again, sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place.

He leaned down, kissed her forehead once more, and whispered, “Don’t worry, kiddo. You’ve got more people watching over you than you know.”

Then he settled into the chair by her bedside, keeping vigil until sleep claimed him too.

Greta slipped through the walls of Wayne Manor like smoke, her form thinning until she was little more than a shadow tracing the corridors. Danny Fenton’s words followed her like chains rattling softly in her ears.

A ghost who could see her. Who named her. Who spoke with the authority to do what even she, bound by her deal with the Spectre, could not — offer release.

Greta Hayes had guided countless lost souls into the arms of the Presence, but no one had ever turned that gaze on her. The irony twisted sharply in her chest. Danny Phantom hadn’t just offered to help. He could have done it.

And yet he hadn’t. He had given her a choice.

She drifted through an old hall lined with portraits of Wayne's long-gone, pale light slipping through her cloak as though she wasn’t fully there. The thought returned, insistent and terrifying in its clarity: He could break the bargain. He could free her from the weight the Spectre laid across her shoulders — the eternal duty of psychopomp, the burden she carried because her brother had stolen her life before it even had time to start.

And that boy, that ghost, had been Tim’s son.

She pressed a spectral hand to her mouth, as though hiding the tremor in her breath, though no one could hear her. Tim Drake, the boy she’d once hovered behind, half in awe and half in love. He had grown, stumbled, and chosen someone else. Chosen Stephanie Brown.

Greta remembered the first bitter stab of jealousy back then, the way Stephanie’s easy laugh had slipped into Tim’s days, where Greta’s spectral presence could not. But the years had dulled that sting. She and Tim had moved on — he into the warm steadiness of another man, Greta into the half-life of a spirit watching from the margins.

Still… to see what had come of it. A child. Their child. And through him, a grandchild. She’d been in the cave when Tim read the DNA results confirming he was Tim’s son. The stunned silence, and then the excitement.

Greta closed her eyes. She did not feel jealous now. The old pang flickered, yes, but beneath it was mourning. Mourning for the things she lost when her brother took her life — the chance to love openly, to grow into something more than tragedy, to stumble and recover as Tim had. The chance to have what Stephanie had found: the messy, imperfect, beautiful continuity of family.

She paused at the edge of the grand staircase, her form a pale shadow against the gilt banisters. Her cloak stirred in a phantom breeze.

Part of her longed to take Danny Phantom’s offer. To finally step free of the bargain, to let go of the ache that had clung to her since childhood ended in blood. But then she thought of Tim — tired, steadfast Tim — and the people gathered in this house around him. She thought of the boy who had just kissed his daughter’s forehead and promised safety with his whole being.

They need me. He needs me.

The thought gave her shape again, gave her reason. She would not cross over. Not yet. Not while she still had the strength to watch.

Greta Hayes turned away from the stairs, her eyes lingering back toward the guest wing. She had kept others’ secrets in life and in death. She would keep his now.

But in the quiet of her soul, in the spaces where even the Spectre could not peer, she whispered a prayer she no longer knew how to aim:

Please. Let me stay long enough to see them safe. Let that be enough.

And then she vanished into the manor’s shadows, unseen, unheard — watching, always watching.

Chapter Text

Wayne Plaza

Wayne Plaza’s upscale department store was bustling on Saturday afternoon. Jazz had insisted it was the most practical choice — one stop, everything Dani could possibly need. Dani, however, was already dragging her sneakers across the gleaming tile floor, looking like she’d rather face a pop quiz than a clothing rack.

“C’mon, kid,” Danny said with a grin, steering her toward the children’s section. “You can’t live out of one outfit forever. Even I know that.”

Sam smirked. “That’s debatable.”

“Hey!” Danny protested, but Dani cracked a grin at her father’s expense.

Stephanie was in her element. She strode ahead like a general leading troops, rifling through hangers with both precision and enthusiasm. “Okay, rule one,” she announced, holding up a frilly sundress with a flourish. “Every girl needs at least one good dress.”

Dani froze, eyes narrowing. “Nope.”

Steph pouted. “Aw, come on. You’d look adorable.”

“Nope,” Dani repeated, folding her arms tight.

Jazz stepped in, gently guiding Stephanie’s hand back to the rack. “Maybe we start with the basics first. Jeans, shirts, a jacket or two.”

Sam nodded in agreement, though inside she wasn’t surprised by Dani’s reaction. Dani had Danny’s DNA, Danny’s memories, even Danny’s mannerisms. For all her bright smiles and boundless energy, “girlie” just didn’t come naturally. It wasn’t rejection, exactly — just unfamiliar territory.

Jazz thought the same, watching Dani hover near the t-shirts with a quiet relief. They never said it aloud, but they all understood. Dani was still figuring herself out, and trying to force lace and ruffles on her wasn’t the way.

Tim, meanwhile, had taken on the role of logistics manager. He carried the steadily growing pile of jeans, sneakers, and hoodies with calm efficiency, occasionally glancing at price tags but otherwise letting the group run its course. “Two pairs of sneakers, at least three jeans, and enough tops for a week,” he said evenly. “That should be a starting rotation.”

“See?” Danny said with mock indignation. “He gets it.”

Steph shot him a look. “You’re no help.”

Danny raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m letting her pick what she likes. That’s progress for me.”

The dressing room became the battlefield. Dani emerged in a pair of skinny jeans and a graphic tee with a mischievous grin plastered across it.

“Perfect,” Sam said, giving her a thumbs up.

Jazz smiled too. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah,” Dani said, tugging at the waistband. “Better than the other ones.”

Steph groaned dramatically. “Fine, jeans are good, but you can’t tell me you’re not even a little curious about how you’d look in this.” She held up a simple navy dress, not frilly, not over the top, but undeniably a dress.

Dani’s answer was immediate: “Still nope.”

“Please?” Steph begged, clasping her hands. “One try. One. Try.”

“Nope.” Dani ducked back into the dressing room and shut the door with finality.

Danny snickered. “You’re not gonna win this one.”

Steph sighed, flopping onto the bench. “Tragic. She’d be so cute.”

Jazz shot Sam a look, and Sam shrugged, hiding a smile. Dani wasn’t rejecting femininity out of spite. It just wasn’t her default. Not yet, maybe not ever. And that was okay.

By the time they left, Dani had a full bag of new clothes: sneakers, hoodies, tees, jeans, and even a leather jacket that Danny had caved on after seeing her puppy-dog eyes. No dresses, much to Stephanie’s despair, but plenty of clothes Dani had picked for herself.

She swung the bag happily as they made their way toward the exit, Danny slinging an arm around her shoulders.

“See?” he said. “Not so bad.”

Dani grinned. “Yeah. Not so bad.”

Sam and Jazz shared a quiet, knowing glance as Stephanie muttered something about “one day.” Tim just shook his head with a smile, already planning where to store the receipts.

For Dani, though, it was enough — clothes she had chosen, comfort she could own, and a family who let her be herself.

The group had nearly made it to the escalators when Sam stopped short in front of a bright, pastel storefront. The display window featured racks of sleepwear and neat stacks of patterned underwear.

Sam exchanged a glance with Jazz. Jazz raised an eyebrow. Steph grinned like she’d been waiting for this.

“Wait,” Sam said firmly. “We’re not done.”

Dani followed their gazes, her face paling. “Oh no. Nope. No way.”

Steph looped an arm through hers before she could bolt. “Sorry, kiddo. You can’t live in jeans forever. Trust me, pajamas and underwear are not optional.”

“But—” Dani tried, but Cass was already steering her gently toward the entrance.

Danny tilted his head. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” Sam said, already disappearing inside with Dani in tow.

Danny and Tim were left standing awkwardly outside the pastel-colored shop. A few feet away, benches lined the walkway, already filled with other men: dads scrolling their phones, boyfriends holding shopping bags, one guy asleep with his head tilted back.

Tim cleared his throat. “I think this is our stop.”

Danny sighed, defeated. “The Dad Zone.”

They sat down among the other resigned faces, each with a bag or two at their feet. Danny leaned back and muttered, “Feels like exile.”

Tim smirked faintly. “It’s survival. Nobody wins when you follow them ‘in there’.”

Danny glanced toward the shop windows, catching a glimpse of Dani looking mortified as Sam held up a pack of pajama shorts. “Poor kid. She didn’t stand a chance.”

“None of us ever do,” Tim said dryly, nodding toward another man emerging from the lingerie section loaded with bags.

Danny chuckled, shaking his head. “At least she’s got people who care enough to force the issue. Left alone, she’d just keep wearing her hoodie until it turned to dust.”

Tim gave him a sidelong look, quiet but approving. “She’ll thank them later. Even if not today.”

Danny nodded, though his eyes stayed on the store window. Dani’s discomfort was written all over her, but so was trust. She was letting the girls shepherd her through it, and for once, Danny didn’t try to rescue her.

“So where did Aunt Cass even come from?”

“We stopped asking that question a long time ago.”

“Guess some things,” he said, “you gotta let the girls handle.”

Tim’s mouth quirked upward. “Exactly.”

They settled into the rhythm of the Dad Zone, the quiet camaraderie of men waiting while their daughters and sisters made the purchases that were inevitable.

When Dani finally emerged from the pastel-lit shop, her ears were red, and she clutched a modest shopping bag like it contained state secrets. Sam, Jazz, and Steph followed, chatting easily, while Cassandra trailed behind, expression unreadable but faintly amused.

Danny stood from the bench. “Survived?”

Dani shot him a glare that was more embarrassment than anger. “Don’t talk about it.”

Steph ruffled her hair, unfazed. “You did great. See? Not so bad.”

Dani huffed but didn’t protest, hugging the bag closer to her chest.

Tim rose as well, straightening his jacket. “That should cover the essentials,” he said smoothly, as though they’d just secured provisions for an expedition. “Shall we?”

Dani muttered, “Let’s just go home,” and started walking ahead of the group, her sneakers squeaking faintly on the polished tile.

Danny fell into step beside her, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Hey. Everyone has to do this. Even me. Remember that the next time you want to make fun of my socks.”

That earned the smallest grin, which Danny counted as a victory.

By evening, the shopping bags had been sorted into piles in the guest wing of Wayne Manor. Shoes by the door, jackets hung neatly in the wardrobe, stacks of folded jeans and shirts waiting to be put away. Dani sat cross-legged on the bed, tugging at the sleeve of her brand-new hoodie like she couldn’t believe it was actually hers.

There was a knock on the doorframe. Alfred stood there, tray in hand, with a teapot and several cups. “I took the liberty of preparing refreshments,” he said. “Shopping, in my experience, can be as exhausting as it is necessary.”

Sam chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”

Alfred set the tray down and glanced at the open bags. “I see Mistress Danielle has been properly outfitted at last.”

Dani flushed. “Yeah. I guess.”

Alfred’s lips curved ever so slightly. “An admirable outcome. Though I imagine some of the process was… spirited.”

Danny laughed. “You have no idea.”

Alfred poured the tea with his usual precision, then set a cup in front of Dani. “You will, in time, appreciate the practicality of such errands. For now, be assured you have done quite well. Few can emerge from such endeavors intact.”

The dry humor landed perfectly. Dani blinked, then broke into a small laugh. “Thanks, Mr. Alfred.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said with a dignified bow. “Now—milk, sugar, or both?”

Wayne Manor – Sitting Room, Late Evening

It was the second night of Danny’s Spring Break trip to Gotham. The immediate family had been happy to show the visitors around the manor and went over the schedule of major sights to see for the rest of the week. Now they were all just curled up, hanging out with Tim and Stephanie. 

The fire crackled lazily in the hearth, shadows flickering over the ornate crown molding. The sitting room had that faint scent of old wood and polish that made everything feel both warm and intimidating—like a room that had seen far too many secrets to be casual company.

Danny lounged back on one of the deep armchairs, smirking.
“You never did tell me,” he began, “what was up with Alvin Draper? Were you like a big Alvin and the Chipmunks fan, or trying to make a Mad Men reference?”

Dani giggled from her spot on the couch, swinging her legs.

Steph glanced over with a warm but pointed look. “Hey, girls, if you don’t mind, we wanted to chat with Danny for a bit before bed.”

Dani’s eyes went wide with mock alarm. “Uh-oh. Somebody’s in trouble.”

“He’s not in trouble, sweetie,” Steph assured, smiling, “it’s just getting late, and we wanted to talk to your Dad without all the family around.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s cool,” Sam said from the arm of the couch. “I’m sure you have a lot to talk about.”

Jazz stood and put a hand on Dani’s shoulder. “Come on, Dani. You can stay with me tonight.”

Dani rose, but before following Jazz, she clasped her hands together in an exaggerated prayer pose at Danny, eyes skyward. Danny rolled his eyes, but a corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“Night, Grandma, night, Grandpa. Sayonara, Dad,” Dani said as she walked out, then tilted her head toward Jazz. A little down the hallway, when they were more out of earshot, she asked, “So if Danny is Dad now, does that make you Aunt Jazz?”

Jazz froze mid-step, touched. “I think I would like that very much.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “So what am I?”

Dani smirked over her shoulder. “You’ll find out when you’re older.”

Sam scoffed in mock injury. “Oh, thanks,” she said, disappearing into her room.

Once they were in Jazz’s room, the mood shifted. Jazz sat cross-legged on the bed while Dani sat at the edge.

“So,” Jazz asked gently, “how do you feel about Sam? About Sam and Danny?”

Dani’s eyes softened. “Oh, Sam’s great! She’s really good with Da—Dad. I wish we’d spent more time together before now. It’s just… I really like her. And the logical leap would be to call your Dad’s partner ‘Mom.’ But I’m too scared of losing that connection—my first real Mom—to teenage romance problems. If they break up before they’re even eighteen… Or something.” She trailed off.

Jazz tilted her head. “Don’t you think that’s a little unfair to Sam?”

“Oh, definitely,” Dani admitted. “Which is why I can’t say it. I can’t tell her I want her to be Mom when I’m scared of me and Dad not being good enough for her.”

“Oh, honey…” Jazz pulled her into a hug.

Just outside the door, Sam—having paused mid-step heading to the bathroom—stood with her hand to her heart, cheeks flushed. She wants me to be her Mom?

Back in the sitting room, Tim chuckled, leaning forward. “Right, so Alvin Draper… Honestly, in modern terms? I came up with that with zero thoughts. Just vibes.”

Steph grinned. “You did wear a red jacket and sunglasses with it. I never even made that connection before!” She giggled.

Tim smirked. “Dean was all on your mother, though.”

Danny tilted his head, still not sure who this Dean guy they kept mentioning was. “Let me guess—Richard Dean Anderson? MacGyver?”

Steph laughed. “Ha! No, but that’s a good one.”

She didn’t pick up again for a minute, but Danny and Tim could tell she had something else to say, so they didn’t interrupt.

Stephanie sat with one ankle hooked over the other, hands clasped loosely in her lap. She’d been staring at the corner of the table for so long that it seemed like she was memorizing the grain.

“I mean, there WAS a guy in my life named Dean, but I wouldn’t want to associate you with him. He was the furthest thing from my mind, but I let Tim make that association for a bit. It’s about my family and that’s…,” she said, not looking up. “That’s… tricky.”

Her fingers tapped once against her knee, then stilled.

“My dad and I—” She stopped, corrected herself. “We don’t talk. Haven’t for a long time. Before… well, before things changed, we were already halfway there. Prison just made it official.”

She shrugged like it didn’t matter, though the muscles in her jaw said otherwise. “Things… fell apart before he was out of the picture completely. It wasn’t one big fight, just a lot of little things, and me realizing I couldn’t keep pretending things were okay. It’s the kind of distance you don’t come back from. My mom’s not exactly in my contacts either. Sometimes walking away is just… cleaner.”

“I don’t really talk about my family,” she said finally, her voice quiet but steady. “Not because I’m hiding something bad—well… not exactly. It’s just… complicated.”

There was a pause, long enough that she could almost feel the weight of curiosity pressing against her. She took a slow breath.

Her lips twisted in something halfway between a smirk and a grimace. “When I was younger, things weren’t always bad. Before he lost his job, before the arguing, before I saw who he really was… he could be fun. He was a massive pop culture nerd—movies, comics, trivia nights at the diner, the whole thing. He knew all the lines from Casablanca and could tell you the release date of some obscure sci-fi B-movie like it was important history. Could quote half of Hollywood history, like it was sacred scripture or something. I think Tim’s look as Alvin Draper reminded me of James Dean.”

She allowed herself a small, wistful smile. “We had this marathon once, my dad and I, watched every James Dean movie. Every single one. Not just Rebel Without a Cause, but the others, too. He’d pause the scenes to talk about what Dean was really feeling, like he knew him personally. He’d point out little details—how Dean tilted his head, the way he held a cigarette—and say it meant something. He’d talk about how Dean played characters who didn’t quite fit the world around them, and how that made them real. At the time, I thought that was just his way of being dramatic. Now… I think maybe he was telling me more about himself than I realized.”

The warmth faded as quickly as it came.. “That’s ancient history now.”

The smile faded now. She glanced toward the window, eyes tracking nothing in particular. “That version of him… the one who laughed, the one who made the living room smell like burnt popcorn—that’s a long time gone.”

The smile faded. “That’s not the man I see now. And it’s not the one I can pretend to see. My Mom… she wasn’t much better. She’d make excuses for him, gloss over things I knew weren’t okay. Enabling isn’t love, but she never seemed to see the difference. So we don’t really talk either.”

Her voice thinned on the last few words, but she caught herself and straightened, setting her expression into something lighter. “Anyway, people change. Sometimes you have to decide which memories you keep, and which ones you leave behind.” She let the pause stretch until it felt intentional, then met their gaze for the first time. “I don’t really have more to say about it.”

Stephanie finally looked up, meeting Danny’s gaze with a firm, final kind of expression. “That’s… all I’m willing to say. I can’t give you the rest, and you probably wouldn’t want it anyway.”

Danny nodded in understanding. “I think it’s your turn to be Bad Cop, Tim.”

Tim looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Danny crossed his arms and looked at the two, his biological parents but not the parents who raised him, with skepticism. “Isolate me from emotional support, get close to me with jokes and a heartfelt story. What do you actually want to talk about?”

Tim and Steph shared a look. They HAD planned this talk, but they hadn’t planned to come off like they were trying to manipulate him. They didn’t think Danny was skittish enough to jump to that conclusion either. He was weirdly well-adjusted considering what they suspected.

Steph started it off, “We didn’t mean to come off that way. I mean, obviously we wanted to talk to you, but the conversation just went where it went. We’re sorry if we made you uncomfortable.”

Tim leaned forward, sliding forward to the edge of his seat. “Honestly, we’re worried about you. After what you and Jazz said yesterday about how you met Dani… We just want to know about that situation.”

Danny looked defensive again, “It was years ago now. Why bring it up now? It’s not like you could do anything about it.”

Tim shook his head. “It’s not over for YOU, Danny. We’re worried about your situation in Amity Park. You mentioned Vlad Masters, the former Mayor, right?”

Danny nodded, “He was my parents, the Fentons, friend from college. He’s always loved my Mom and hated my Dad for winning her over. Yeah, he was Mayor for a while there, but so was Tucker. We don’t really have problems from Vlad anymore like we used to.”

Steph looked legitimately upset by that, much to Danny’s surprise. “What does that even MEAN, Danny? What happened?”

Danny looked conflicted. Some secrets weren’t his to tell and some wouldn’t be believed if he told them. “I’m…different. A lot of people in the area are. We had… issues with groups who were… discriminatory about people like us. Vlad used his position to help them, despite being like us, because he hoped it would help him get what he wanted.”

Tim stared at Danny for a moment, pieces falling into place. The lab had needed to run his DNA three separate times for clear results. “Danny, are you a Meta?”

Danny considered it for a moment. It never really occurred to him that maybe he and Vlad only survived because they activated a compatible Meta gene when the portals activated. The odds were astronomical. “Yeah, I guess that’s a way to describe it. Dani is, too.”

Tim and Steph shared another look. That made sense; the gene was hereditary. They both had the same thought: Metahuman trafficking ring. Their theory about sexual assault wasn’t dismissed, but the situation was clearer to them now. “Do you mind if we let some friends know to look into that situation? I know someone with that kind of money and power must seem intimidating, but we know people who fight that kind of corruption every day.”

Danny shook his head. Whatever their misunderstanding was, it was getting out of hand. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t. And please don’t share me and Dani being… Metas with the rest of the family. I hear Batman doesn’t like Metas in his city, and I really don’t want to find out.”

Tim smiled a bit. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Batman doesn’t bother Metas who don’t use their powers to hurt people or fight crime in the city without his supervision. Signal’s a Meta after all.”

Danny considered that. He HAD heard of the Light-powered Superhero from Tucker’s rambling introduction to Gotham on the train ride over. “I’d still like to keep it under wraps if we can.”

Tim nodded in agreement, clearly accepting this condition. “Then would you mind if we do a DNA test?”

Danny froze, eyes wide in disbelief at the question. Insulted even. “Does my Meta status mean I couldn’t possibly be a Wayne?” The words dripped with venom, and the ambient temperature in the room dropped noticeably. 

Tim, alarmed, looked like he’d been slapped. “That’s not at all what I meant. I’m adopted, too, if you’ll recall.” Danny actually didn’t know that about him, and it blunted a little of his anger.

Steph spoke in a calming voice, “Danny, we didn’t mean to alarm you. We KNOW you’re our son. We knew the moment we saw you, just like we know Dani is your little girl. But the Waynes… Have kind of a high profile.”

Tim cut in, “Please don’t take that to mean you have a standard to meet. It’s just that people… Will try to hurt you to get to us. Not just in a criminal way either. There are government agencies that harass Metahumans despite Civil Rights laws protecting them. The only blood test we have connecting us is from when you were born and I used an Alias for that. If we want solid legal protections for you, we’ll have to clear that up legally, and a recent blood test confirming parentage along with your adoption paperwork will go a long way.”

That took a lot of the fight out of Danny’s eyes. It made sense. If there were agencies like the GIW, but for Metas it would help a lot to get ahead of any future problems earlier. The more paperwork he and Dani had saying they were Metas, the more protected they would be from the GIW too.

Danny held out his arm, “So do you need like some blood or something?”

Steph chuckled and shifted over to share his coach. She ruffled his hair, her hand coming away with a few loose strands. “Nope. Just some hair. See? All done.”

Danny grinned and straightened out his hair again, “So what about Dani? She doesn’t really… HAVE paperwork. Mom and Dad, the Fentons were planning to adopt her but that’s kind of hard when she doesn’t have anything saying she exists. We’d get raided by ICE or CPS or something.”

Tim considered it, “I’ll make some calls and we’ll get something figured out. Sometimes the power of money is the best superpower.”

Danny nodded and let out a yawn, “Sorry. It’s been… an emotional rollercoaster the last two weeks.”

Steph grinned and gave him a hug, “It’s alright, kiddo. You go get some sleep.”

Danny said his goodnights and retreated to his room to muse over the situation until he passed out.

Once he was gone though Steph held up her hand, the hairs still clutched between her fingers. “For confirmation, I guess.”

Tim nodded and added the sample to an envelope which he slid into his pocket alongside one labeled ‘Dani’. “I used the same trick earlier. We’ll get the test results in a few days.”  

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor & Gotham City – The next day

Danny woke up to the kind of quiet that only seemed possible in a place the size of Wayne Manor. Definitely different from FentonWorks. No banging tools, no alarms, no family arguments echoing through the halls, which surprised him, given the number of siblings living or visiting here, just the muted hum of a house that was already awake without him.

Sunlight slanted in through the tall windows of the Wayne Manor dining room, catching dust motes in the air. The long table was already set — plates, polished silverware, and a platter of fresh fruit in the center. Alfred stood at his post near the sideboard, ready with his calm efficiency.

Danny shuffled in first, still rubbing at his eyes. “Morning,” he muttered, collapsing into a chair.

“Good morning, Master Daniel,” Alfred replied, setting a cup of coffee in front of him. Danny accepted it like a lifeline.

A few minutes later came Dani, followed by Sam and Jazz, who stepped around her. She paused in the doorway, one hand nervously tugging at the hem of her new jacket. She wore the fresh jeans they’d bought yesterday, a soft graphic tee under the hoodie, and sneakers that still looked too new. She was too embarrassed to say it, but she wanted to get everyone’s reaction to her new clothes.

Danny looked up mid-sip and nearly choked on his coffee. “Hey—look at you!”

Dani scowled lightly, though her ears turned pink. “Don’t make a big deal.”

But it was already too late. Sam leaned in from the next chair, smiling warmly. “You look great, Dani.”

Danny grinned, “Yeah, that’s what I meant too.”

Jazz nodded from across the table. “Fits you perfectly. Comfortable?”

“Yeah,” Dani admitted, sliding into a chair beside Danny, who gave her a hug with one arm, and pretending to study the fruit platter. “Way better than the old stuff.”

Tim arrived next, dressed for success, tie already straightened, expression sharper than the hour should allow. His gaze flicked briefly over the table, then landed on Dani. He stopped.

“You look good,” he said simply, with a small smile, then took his seat without further comment.

Dani blinked, startled by the straightforwardness. She ducked her head quickly, but a small grin tugged at her lips.

Stephanie bounded in right after him, tossing her bag onto a chair. Her eyes lit up immediately. “Finally! Look at you! Actual outfits!”

Dani groaned. “Grandma Steph…”

Stephanie only laughed, plopping down beside her. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you one week before you admit I was right about dresses.”

“Not happening,” Dani shot back, but the smile broke through anyway.

Alfred arrived with a tray of eggs, setting them down with practiced grace. He glanced once toward Dani, then inclined his head. “A marked improvement, Mistress Danielle. Quite… distinguished.”

Coming from Alfred, it was as good as a standing ovation. Dani straightened in her chair without even realizing it.

Danny hid his grin behind his mug, proud and just a little choked up. Watching her sit there, in clothes she’d chosen, it hit him all over again how far they’d come already.

“Master Duke has kindly offered to escort you into the city today.”

Danny blinked. “Like… an official tour?”

“A guide,” Alfred replied, “as a local. Gotham can be… labyrinthine to the uninitiated.”

Dani perked up. “Labyrinthine sounds awesome.”

Sam crossed her arms. “We’re not getting lost on purpose.”

An hour later, the four of them stepped out to find Duke leaning against a black SUV that looked like it had just rolled off the set of a spy movie. He gave them a grin that was more “easygoing big brother” than “formal Wayne family host.”

“Alright,” Duke said, gesturing to the car. “We’ll hit some highlights, grab lunch, and I’ll try to keep you out of the weird parts of Gotham.”

Dani climbed into the back. “Define ‘weird.’”

“Not today,” Duke said smoothly.

They pulled away from the manor and wound through the wooded outskirts before the skyline began to rise ahead of them, Gotham’s towers catching the mid-morning sun in fragmented flashes. The SUV rolled up onto a broad suspension bridge, and Duke nodded toward the green-and-gold sign overhead.

“Harley Quinn Parkway,” he said. “City renamed it a few years back after she… well, depends on who you ask. Official story’s ‘community contributions.’ Unofficially… Gotham just has a sense of humor.”

Dani pressed against the window. “You named a whole bridge after a clown?”

Duke smirked. “A clown you had dinner with the other night. I think she had a nuke at the time, so… Only in Gotham.”

All four of them shared a very concerned look. It wasn’t like it was the first time they’d dealt with a nuke, but Duke brushing it off as almost normal made them feel like either they were really country bumpkins or Gotham was really just weird like that.

Crossing into the city proper was like slipping between worlds. One moment, there were freeways and overpasses, the usual monotony of highway sprawl. The next, Gotham swallowed them whole.

Steel and stone tangled together, old and new forced into a kind of uneasy truce. Ornate Art Deco theaters still blazed with neon marquees, wedged between mirrored glass towers that clawed at the sky. Street vendors lined the sidewalks, their carts steaming with pretzels and dumplings, flowers spilling from black iron rail planters set between the grit of concrete. Everything was layered, messy, and alive.

One area even looked like a knock-off Times Square.

Duke handled the wheel with practiced ease, cutting through traffic like he’d been born to it. He didn’t linger on explanations, but his voice carried the calm assurance of a native son.

“Robinson Park up ahead — bigger than Central Park, but you’ll only ever see a third of it because the rest is fenced off for ‘safety.’” He gestured with his chin as they passed the wrought-iron gates. “On the left, the Gotham Historical Museum. Carved griffons on every corner. Most of ‘em have cameras in the eyes now, but nobody talks about that.”

Jazz scribbled furiously in her notebook, eyes darting between landmarks. Her notes were almost audible in the scratch of her pen. Every building was another clue to the city’s character, and she was determined to unravel it.

Sam leaned halfway out the window, phone camera flashing at every mural and graffiti wall they passed — bright colors against brick, political slogans, stylized faces of heroes and martyrs. “These are incredible,” she said, already curating them in her head. “It’s like the whole city is an open-air gallery.”

Dani leaned forward between the seats, practically vibrating with questions. “What’s that building with the clock? Do you really get blizzards and heat waves in the same month? Is it true that people go ice skating on the river? What happens when it floods?”

Duke fielded them as best he could, chuckling under his breath. “Clocktower? Bruce owns it. Barbara’s apartment is around here somewhere. Weather? Yeah, Gotham can’t make up its mind. We only get both in the same month if Mr. Freeze has been busy, though.”

“ Ice skating? Sure, until the ice cracks. We’ll take you later this year if you want, Cass loves it. And floods? We’re not as under the sea level as New Orleans or Houston, but it happens every couple of years. Everyone just pretends it’s normal. Hazard of the concrete jungle.”

Dani’s eyes widened like he’d just described an adventure.

Danny, meanwhile, stayed quiet, gazing out the window as the streets blurred past. Gotham was chaos bottled up and left to ferment. Messy, restless, alive. There was something intoxicating about it, something that made his core hum — not in warning, but in recognition.

He wasn’t sure if it was good or bad yet. Just that the city didn’t ignore you. It grabbed hold and demanded you see it for what it was: broken and beautiful, layered and living.

He figured it might be Lady Gotham pulling on his interests occasionally, preening over some landmark. Or some other ghost, maybe, and even during the day, Gotham had a LOT of ghosts. At least once, he’d had to stop Dani from waving to another kid ghost. 

When Duke asked about it Dani made the excuse that sitting in an expensive car like this made her feel like Princess Diana, so she was trying her royal wave. Both Duke and Danny winced at this, for different reasons, but laughed to keep the atmosphere light.

They stopped in Old Gotham’s market district, where colorful awnings flapped overhead and the air was thick with the smell of grilled skewers, fried dough, and roasted coffee beans. Duke led them to a vendor selling Halal meat pies, fatayer the sign said,  the size of Dani’s head. Duke grabbed a few extra for the house with spinach filling. 

“Damien likes this place, so I always grab him some when I’m here.”

Dani bit into hers and froze. “Okay, this is the best thing in the city.”

“Better than Alfred’s biscuits?” Duke asked.

Dani hesitated, chewing. “…Top three.”

Sam drifted toward a table stacked with vintage records, debating with the vendor over jazz pressings. Jazz stayed close to Duke, asking about local history while jotting down street names. Danny sat back at the table, watching the mix of tourists, families, and hard-eyed locals weave through the crowd.

By afternoon, they were down by the waterfront, the sun glinting off the dark water. Boats drifted lazily under the bridges, gulls circling in slow arcs overhead. Dani leaned on the railing, tracing patterns in the ripples with her eyes. 

Danny didn’t comment that she was actually watching all the ghosts moving around under the water in the bay. It made sense, being a mob city, but it made him wonder if he should have Greta give the place a visit or step in himself.

Danny noticed Duke shift slightly, his body angling between them and something down the block. A man in a rumpled suit had been watching for a moment too long before turning into a side street.

“Friend of yours?” Danny asked lightly.

“Not really,” Duke said, tone still easy, but his eyes tracking the crowd. “Gotham’s small that way. Let’s head back.”

No one argued.

The further Duke drove, the denser the city became — block after block of stacked apartments, old brownstones patched with new brick, gleaming towers that seemed too ambitious for the foundations holding them up. Sirens flared in the distance and cut off just as quickly, swallowed by the city’s constant hum.

Dani pressed her nose to the glass. “It’s so loud.”

“Gets in your bones after a while,” Duke said, half-smiling. “Some people leave and can’t stand the silence anywhere else. Me? I like having it in the background.”

Sam snapped one last photo of a mural that stretched across three entire buildings — a phoenix rising out of smoke and rubble. “It feels… stubborn,” she murmured. “Like the whole place refuses to stay down.”

Jazz nodded, still scribbling. “Every building looks like it’s been rebuilt three times already.”

“It has,” Duke said but didn’t elaborate on.

Danny didn’t say anything, just let the rhythm of the city thrum in his chest.

Then the skyline thinned. The streets grew wider, quieter. One turn bled into another until the car was following a winding road flanked by old-growth trees. Following the same route back home that they had entered Gotham from. The noise of Gotham fell away, replaced by the crunch of tires on gravel and the faint whisper of leaves.

“Almost there,” Duke said.

The trees broke, and Wayne Manor rose into view. It was their first time really seeing it with a clear view. None of them had paid attention yesterday, given how squished they’d been in Tim’s town car to begin with, but especially after Cass joined them.

It didn’t look like a house so much as a fortress carved into the countryside — sprawling wings of gray stone, turrets and chimneys cutting the sky, windows glowing faintly in the evening gloom. The iron gates swung open at their approach, silent as if on cue.

Dani sat back in her seat, wide-eyed. “That’s… that’s not a house. That’s a castle.”

Sam smirked. “Gothic architecture, sprawling estate, intimidating scale? Yeah. It’s a castle.”

Jazz hummed, “In a post-medieval way, maybe.”

Danny whistled low. “Still crazy big.”

Duke pulled the car to a stop at the front steps. Alfred was already waiting in the doorway, posture straight, hands clasped behind his back like the Manor itself had sent him. The lantern light at the entry framed him in a glow that was both welcoming and authoritative.

The city had been chaos — noisy, colorful, alive. Wayne Manor was the opposite. Quiet. Heavy. Watching.

And as Danny eased Dani off his lap, the little girl’s head lolling against his shoulder, he couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, the building itself was weighing him, measuring him.

Jazz tucked her notebook away. Sam stretched her arms. Duke pocketed the keys when he saw Alfred opening the door. And together, they climbed the steps, leaving Gotham’s restless energy behind for the Manor’s solemn embrace.

The manor felt warmer when they came back inside, the golden light catching in the high windows. Dani launched straight into telling Alfred about every stop, from the bridge to the market to the “almost pirate ship” they’d seen at the pier.

Sam disappeared upstairs to sort through her photos. Jazz lingered in the sitting room, asking Alfred about civic programs while still jotting notes like she was preparing for a lecture.

Danny lingered by the door, watching Duke hang the SUV keys on a wall hook.

“Thanks,” Danny said.

Duke glanced over. “For the tour?”

“For knowing when to turn around.”

Duke gave a small smile. “That’s just Gotham. You learn to see things before they see you.”

Danny thought of the skyline on the bridge, of the name hanging over the water. Gotham had its shadows, but he wasn’t going to think about that just now.

Later that evening, the manor had quieted. Jazz was upstairs with Dani, debating whether hot chocolate or herbal tea was the superior bedtime drink.

Danny and Sam slipped out of the main sitting room, down a side hall lined with tall windows that caught the moonlight. They ended up in a smaller study—cozier, dimmer, the fire in the corner reduced to embers.

“You know,” Sam said, leaning against the back of an overstuffed armchair, “this is the first time we’ve had more than two minutes alone since we got here.”

Danny stepped closer. “We could fix that.”

They didn’t get far. Just enough for Sam’s hands to find his shirt and for Danny’s heart to kick up in that half-terrified, half-thrilled way before—

“Ahem.”

Both froze.

Stephanie Brown was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression pleasant in the way that made it obvious it was anything but casual.

“Mother’s intuition,” she said lightly. “Also, your absence was noted. Come on. Everyone’s in the east parlor.”

Sam tried for a smirk. “We weren’t—”

“Uh-huh.” Steph motioned them forward with one hand, then, as they passed her in the doorway, brought two fingers to her eyes and pointed them at Danny in the universal I’m watching you gesture.

She didn’t say another word, didn’t make a scene—just steered them back toward the warm glow of the family gathering, her smile pleasant and her eyes sharp.

Danny shot Sam a sideways look once Steph was a step ahead.

Sam muttered under her breath, “Guess subtlety’s not genetic.”

Danny only groaned, which made Steph grin like she’d won a prize.

Later that night

Danny sat cross-legged on the edge of his bed in Wayne Manor, Danielle perched on a low stool in front of him. Her raven black hair spilled through his fingers as he carefully brushed out the tangles. Dani leaned forward, chin propped on her hands, eyes half-lidded in the cozy routine.

Greta Hayes—Secret—was already there when the shadows thickened, stepping through them as naturally as breathing. She didn’t startle Danny anymore; they’d met a few days ago under stranger circumstances. That meeting had ended in whispered promises: she’d keep his and Dani’s ghostly natures secret from his father, Tim. For reasons she still couldn’t quite articulate, she had agreed.

Danny looked up from Dani’s hair as if he’d been expecting her. 

Danny didn’t flinch. He only set the brush down on the nightstand, rested a steadying hand on Dani’s shoulder, and met Greta’s gaze.

“You felt my call,” he said simply. “Greta. Thanks for coming.”

Greta frowned. “More than that. It was like a tug, right in the center of me. I thought—” She shook her head. “I thought someone had died nearby. But when I followed it, it led… here. To you.”

Danny gave a small, rueful smile. “Yeah. That was me.”

Her smoky form shifted. “It wasn’t really a choice. I felt it, the pull. You didn’t call, you summoned.”

“The call is a useful trick,” Danny said, though there was no apology in his voice. “But I didn’t intend for it to be a summons. I’ll have to be more careful with that.” He rested the brush on the nightstand.

Dani turned her head slightly, peeking at the visitor, but Danny gave her a gentle nudge. “Bedtime first, kiddo.” She huffed but obeyed, curling up with her pillow while he pulled the blankets up around her shoulders. They didn’t even pretend like she was going to try sleeping in the bed Alfred had made for her first tonight. Danny didn’t mind if it made her happy.

Only when she was snug under the blankets did he straighten, his tone sharpening into something that belonged less to a teenager and more to a being who lived with authority.

“I was in Gotham earlier. The bay. And the Narrows.” His jaw tightened. “There are ghosts bound there. A lot of them. Mob hits, if I had to guess. People were dumped like trash and chained to the place where their lives ended.”

His gaze was steady, too calm for someone describing such horror. “I need to know if it’s your job to handle that, or if it falls to someone else.”

Greta’s eyes widened. “I. Sometimes I sense them, echoes when I pass through. But my duty’s always been… immediate. Whoever’s dying near me, I guide them. That’s the way it’s always worked. I’ve never been tasked with… a territory.”

“That’s what I needed to know.” Danny crossed his arms, leaning against the dresser. “If your reach is only what’s around you, then those spirits aren’t your responsibility.” His tone was steady, but there was weight behind it—something older than his seventeen years. “And if that’s the case, I’ll have to assign someone else to deal with them.”

Greta blinked. “Assign someone?”

The silence between them stretched, filled only by the soft sound of Dani’s breathing as she drifted toward sleep. Greta shifted uncomfortably, her smoky form wisping at the edges.

“You talk like… like you’re in charge of something bigger,” she murmured. “Bigger than Gotham. Bigger than me.”

Danny didn’t answer. He only walked back to the bed, brushing a stray lock of hair from Dani’s forehead. His voice was gentle again when he spoke: “Thanks for coming, Greta. Really. Even if it confuses you.”

Greta studied him for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “If you call again, I’ll come.”

Danny nodded once, as though confirming what he already suspected. Then he turned his eyes upward. The air around him shifted, and Greta’s misted form shivered at the presence he drew forth.

The shadows bled into shape—statuesque, grave, and crowned in iron ivy. Lady Gotham, the spirit of the city, emerged, her eyes glowing with lamplight haze. The genius loci of Gotham bowed her head slightly, but Danny didn’t wait for permission.

“Lady Gotham,” he said, his tone neither supplicant nor deferential, but absolute. “There are bound souls in your bay. I’ll select one of my own to guide them, to help them cross. Can you guide them to other such souls while they’re in your care?”

The Lady’s lips curved faintly, her voice low and resonant. “Of course, my lord. It will be done.”

“Thank you,” Danny replied, quiet but firm. There was no pomp, only certainty.

Greta stiffened. She had thought Danny a half-ghost boy trying to protect his daughter. The exchange hadn’t sounded like a command, but the balance of power was still unmistakable. Lady Gotham had deferred to him, not the other way around. But the way Gotham’s spirit had spoken to him, not reluctantly, not even dutifully, but naturally, as if deference to him was the order of things, sent a ripple through her.

Danny turned back to Dani, brushing her hair off her forehead with gentle fingers. “It’ll be taken care of,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Greta lingered, unsettled. She had promised her silence, and she kept it. But the way Gotham’s spirit had bowed to him, addressed him as my lord, made it clear he wasn’t just some teenager caught between worlds, and she couldn’t help but wonder: What exactly was Danny’s place among the dead?

And with that, she unraveled into mist, vanishing back into the folds of shadow she’d arrived from.

The room was quiet once more. Danny sat on the edge of the bed, brushing Dani’s hair with his fingers now instead of the brush. He didn’t speak, but in his chest the weight of the Infinite Realms hummed, ever present, ever patient.

And he let it remain unspoken. For tonight, he was just a dad putting his daughter to bed.

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor – The Day After Steph’s Interruption

Danny had a feeling something was… different the moment he came down for breakfast.

It wasn’t the food—Alfred’s omelets were still perfect. It wasn’t the weather—the spring sunlight was pouring through the tall windows in the same calm, movie-scene way as before.

It was the fact that three adult members of the Wayne family were already in the dining room before he even sat down, each sipping coffee and smiling a little too pleasantly.

Steph was there. Smiling. Like a cat who had not only caught the canary but also knew where the rest of the flock was hiding.

Tim was nursing a coffee, an omelet, and a stack of pancakes sitting in front of him, clearly mortified by something.

Bruce was happily enjoying his omelet and some Turkey bacon, a small smirk twisting up the edge of his lip.

Jazz, Sam, Duke, Damien, and Dani soon joined them. 

After breakfast, Bruce announced that they’d all be given a “proper tour” of the manor and grounds. They had only been shown the house before. The words were polite. The tone was… final.

Danny didn’t miss the way Steph subtly inserted herself into the group formation so that he and Sam were never more than arm’s length from an adult witness.

Alfred led the way at first, pointing out oil paintings, antique clocks, and enough history to fill a semester-long lecture. Dani was oblivious, happily sticking to Jazz as Alfred began the grand walkthrough. “The east wing predates the rest of the structure by nearly forty years,” he explained, “though the restoration after the 1924 fire required extensive masonry reinforcement.”

Dani trailed behind with Sam, mouthing “extensive masonry reinforcement” like she was testing if it was a secret code. Jazz stayed up front, asking Alfred follow-up questions like she was collecting material for her own book later.

When they stepped out onto the back terrace, Jason was suddenly there, leaning on the stone railing like he’d been waiting all morning. He launched into an easy rundown of the garden layout, pointing out where the old trails led toward the woods. Even though Jason seemed to be enjoying a private joke every time Danny shifted even slightly toward Sam, Jason’s head tilted just enough to remind him I see you.

Inside, Barbara took over in the library, directing everyone toward the best views of the south lawn. She didn’t say much, but she also didn’t leave her spot until everyone was headed for the next room.

Even Bruce joined in, steering the group toward the conservatory with a perfectly timed, “This way, please,” just as Danny thought he and Sam might be able to hang back.

They moved through the formal gardens, over stone bridges, and past hedges trimmed to military precision. Dick met them there, bright and charming as ever. “That path will take you to the stables,” he said, then added with a too-casual glance at Danny, “but it’s a bit of a walk. You two should stick with the group.”

Sam arched an eyebrow but said nothing. Jazz looked bemused, but pretended she hadn’t caught on.

The back gardens rolled on in neat patterns of hedges, stone paths, and fountains that looked like they’d been stolen from a European palace. Jason had taken over from Alfred by then, leaning casually against a stone railing as he pointed toward the far treeline.

“That’s where the old riding trails start. They loop around the north property line. If you ever want to get into Blüdhaven without hitting the highway, there’s a back road that cuts halfway there.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You just… keep an entire road hidden back there?”

Jason grinned. “Hidden’s relative. A lot of the back property touches on old Farm Roads used by long-time neighboring properties that go to municipal roads.”

Dani elbowed Danny, whispering, “That sounds cool..”

They didn’t get far before Barbara rolled out from a side path, smiling like she’d just happened to be there. She pointed out the greenhouse, the orchard, and the smaller guesthouse near the stables. “If you’re thinking of day trips, Metropolis is only a couple of hours by train. I know a few museums there that are worth the trip.”

Jazz, still in tourist mode, was scribbling notes about every piece of architecture, completely ignoring the silent chess match happening around her. Dani just thought it was funny that there were so many grown-ups joining in “for no reason.”

Back inside, Dick took over the tour again. His style was less “historical” and more “personal stories sprinkled in.” He pointed at a curved staircase. “If you lean over that banister, you can see all the way down into the foyer. Not that you should—it’s a long drop.”

Every so often, his eyes flicked to Danny and Sam. Not accusing. Just… there.

In another library, Cassandra was waiting, seated in an armchair with a book closed neatly on her lap. She said almost nothing—just offered a nod of greeting and gestured toward the view from the tall windows. “South lawn. You can see the pond.”

Danny noticed she stayed exactly the same number of steps behind them until they left the room.

By midafternoon, the truth was undeniable: every single “guide” traded off just often enough to keep Danny and Sam from ever ending up alone.

Barbara “happened” to roll into the music room just as Sam started asking about the old piano. Jason took over in the trophy hall with an elaborate story about a “totally real” suit of armor. Duke appeared during the greenhouse stop, immediately suggesting everyone stick together because “you never know when a raccoon might get in here.” He shared a look with the other teens that was at least half an apology.

Steph, of course, was there for nearly all of it, radiating the same smug, responsible adult on patrol energy she’d had the night before.

They ended in the east sitting room with tea and pastries, all adults present and accounted for. Jazz was comparing notes with Alfred. Dani was recounting the stables story to anyone who’d listen.

Sam leaned closer to Danny and murmured, “We’re not shaking them all day, are we?”

Danny sighed. “Not until they decide we’re incapable of being unsupervised.”

Steph, across the room, caught his eye and—without missing a beat—did the I’m watching you gesture again before turning back to her tea.

Sam slumped back in her seat. “I take it back. Your family in Amity Park isn’t the nosiest I’ve met.” Her gaze caught Jazz’s. The older girl’s lip twitched up but she chose not to engage.

Danny groaned. “Yeah. These people are professional ninjas or something.”

The next morning dawned clear, Gotham’s skyline sharp in the distance as the manor car pulled away from Wayne grounds. Alfred hadn’t come along; instead, a quiet, uniformed driver handled the wheel. Professional. Impassive. Impossible to read.

Danny had thought maybe—just maybe—this would finally be their chance. A trip into Gotham, a little breathing room away from the endless parade of “coincidental” Bat Family supervision.

Sam was already scrolling through her phone, scrolling through reviews of vegan cafés. “Okay. There’s this place, the Trillium. Great menu, lots of plant-based options, good ethical sourcing. It’s perfect.”

Dani, wedged happily beside Jazz in the middle row, wrinkled her nose. “Perfect for fungus lovers. Pass.”

“It’s not all mushrooms,” Sam said flatly.

“Still gross. Pizza.”

Danny could feel the headache forming. He leaned forward. “Jazz, maybe you and Dani could grab lunch somewhere else? That way Sam and I could—”

“—finally have a proper date?” Sam supplied, leaning in hopefully.

Jazz glanced up from her notebook with the serene calm of someone who knew she had power and had no intention of using it responsibly. “Separate lunches? Mm. Tempting. But no. I think we should all stick together.”

Danny blinked. “Why?”

Jazz smiled. “Because it’s funnier this way.”

Sam groaned. “You’re enjoying this?”

“Immensely,” Jazz admitted. “Usually, I’m the one worrying about you two sneaking off or making reckless choices. Watching other people trip over themselves to keep you in sight? That’s… refreshing. Liberating, even.”

“More like cruel,” Danny muttered.

Dani piped up, swinging her legs. “I’m good with spaghetti. Or pizza. Or anything that’s not weeds pretending to be food.”

Sam leveled her with a look. “It’s called vegetables.”

“It’s called boring.”

The driver, who had been silent the entire trip, cleared his throat. “The Trillium does serve traditional fare alongside vegan options. A compromise might be possible.”

Sam brightened. “See?”

Dani eyed the driver with suspicion. “Compromise usually means I lose.”

Danny rubbed his temples. “Okay. So Jazz won’t let us split off, Sam wants vegan, Dani wants pizza, and apparently I’m supposed to referee this cage match with marinara sauce.”

Jazz smirked. “Accurate.”

By the time they pulled up to the Trillium Café, the truce was hanging by a thread. Inside, Sam ordered lentil soup and vegan schnitzel with brisk precision. Danny picked a grain bowl that looked hearty enough to keep him from starving but still passed Sam’s approval. Dani, predictably, demanded the plainest spaghetti known to mankind.

It should have been fine. It could have been fine. Until the door opened.

“Funny running into you here.”

Dick Grayson, sunglasses perched in his hair, casual jacket, smile pitched at the perfect angle between “friendly” and “interrogative.” Jason strolled in behind him like he owned the place, already flagging down a waiter.

Danny dropped his head onto the table. “No. No way.”

Sam glared up at the ceiling. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Jazz sipped her water, utterly unbothered. “I told you, Danny. Supervision is universal. You should be thanking me—I saved you the trouble of sneaking around.”

Dani twirled spaghetti around her fork, grinning. “This is the best lunch ever.”

Danny groaned. “For you, maybe.”

Sam muttered under her breath, “I take it back. Amity Park is tame compared to this.”

And from the doorway, Jason raised his glass in mock salute. “Don’t mind us. Just here to… supervise.”

For a brief, shining moment, Danny thought maybe, maybe, Dick and Jason were just passing through.

That hope died when Dick slid into the booth across from Jazz like he belonged there, and Jason dragged a chair over to wedge himself between Dani and Sam.

“Don’t mind us,” Jason said cheerfully, waving over a waiter. “We’ll keep it casual. Real low-profile. Totally invisible.”

Sam gave him a look that could have peeled paint. “You’ve never been invisible in your life.”

Jason grinned. “And yet somehow I’m everyone’s favorite babysitter.”

Danny groaned. “This was supposed to be a date.”

“Still can be,” Dick offered, all fake innocence. “Just… a group date.”

Before Sam could respond, the bistro door opened again, and conversation in the room shifted like someone had changed the channel. Harley Quinn waltzed in, bright as ever, trailing a slightly weary but indulgent Pamela Isley. The staff barely blinked—apparently this was routine.

“Oh, hey, Red, look!” Harley clapped her hands together. “It’s the Acro-brats and your Green gal pal!”

Danny sank lower in his seat. “Of course.”

Pamela gave the table a measuring glance. “They’re in our booth.”

Jason raised his glass. “Sorry, Red, we called it first. But you can join. Make it a party.”

Harley slid right in without hesitation, planting herself beside Sam.

The main course had just arrived — steaming bowls, plates, and Harley loudly proclaiming that vegan schnitzel was “way better than it had any right to be” — when the next intrusion walked through the door. The grain bowls, spaghetti, and schnitzels had only just settled in front of them when the air shifted again. Danny didn’t even look up this time.

“Excuse me, excuse me—yes, hi. Gotham Gazette.”

The café seemed to groan as one. Jason muttered something anatomically impossible into his napkin. Dick turned, polite smile already pasted into place.

The voice was bright, sharp, hungry. A young man in a pressed shirt and lanyard badge strode into the café, notebook already in hand. He hadn’t been invited, and yet he zeroed in like a shark scenting blood.

“Richard Grayson! Jason Todd! What a surprise.”

Dick’s jaw tensed just enough to be visible before he smoothed it into a smile. Jason didn’t bother hiding his scowl.

“Off the record,” Jason said flatly, spearing another forkful of lentils just to spite Sam. “Lunch is not a press conference.”

The reporter either didn’t hear—or pretended not to. “Tell me, how does it feel to grow up with the world’s most famous billionaire as a father? Do you think Gotham would look different today if Bruce Wayne had—”

“—not your business,” Dick cut in smoothly. “And not over food.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “You want a quote? Here’s your quote. My lunch is cold.”

The reporter flushed, but recovered fast, flipping a page. “Fair enough. Then maybe you’ll explain what message you’re sending by dining openly with—” his eyes darted, landing on the newcomers at the table—“known criminals?”

Harley, mid-slurp of Sam’s schnitzel, froze. “Ex-cuuse me?” she squeaked, crumbs dotting her lipstick.

Pamela’s glare could have wilted steel. “We’re customers.”

“Citizens,” Harley corrected, waving her fork. “We got rights, same as anybody. You ever hear of a gal sittin’ down to lunch bein’ a crime?”

The reporter backpedaled, scribbling notes furiously. “But the optics—Gotham’s most prominent heirs dining with reformed felons—it’s bound to raise questions.”

“Then question us,” Jason snapped, leaning forward. “Not them.” He jabbed a thumb toward Dani, who was happily swinging her legs under the table. “And definitely not the kids.”

Danny felt Jazz stiffen beside him. Sam’s eyes flashed, already bristling.

The reporter’s eyes flicked, caught, and brightened. “Well, well. Samantha Manson. Of the Manson family. I thought I recognized you! Your parents hosted the Gotham Zoological Gala two years ago, didn’t they? And there was that charity auction for the opera house…”

Sam froze mid-sip of water, the glass halting just shy of her lips. Her posture went stiff, that telltale steel sliding into her spine.

“I wasn’t there for them,” she said coolly. “And I’m not here for them now.”

The reporter laughed, pen poised over his notebook. “Of course, of course — but the daughter of Amity Park’s premiere philanthropists rubbing shoulders with the Wayne heirs, dining openly with—” he paused, eyes narrowing toward Harley and Ivy— “with notorious figures from Gotham’s underworld… It’s an interesting story.”

Jason set his fork down with a clatter. “Here’s a better story: reporter gets thrown out of a restaurant for harassing minors.”

“Minors?” The reporter blinked, then made the fatal mistake of looking at Dani, who sat grinning spaghetti sauce onto her chin. His pen twitched.

“Stop.” Dick’s tone carried the weight of command, voice cut sharp and final, his easy smile gone. “You don’t get to point your questions at them. Not today, not ever. You keep it on us, or you leave.”

Jason smirked darkly. “And believe me, you’ll want to leave before I stop being polite.”

The café had gone quiet. Even Harley had set down her fork, eyes darting between the brothers like she was watching her favorite soap opera. Ivy, arms folded, looked one heartbeat away from throwing the reporter out herself—literally.

The reporter cleared his throat, trying to salvage his dignity. “Of course. No intrusion intended. Just… curious about appearances, that’s all.”

Jason’s smile could have cut glass. “Then here’s your appearance: two brothers, eating lentils against their will, being harassed during lunch. Write it up however you want.”

Danny hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until the reporter stammered, “I—I see. Very well. Thank you for your time,” and retreated toward the door.

The café’s hum returned slowly. Harley clapped her hands once, delighted. “Ohhh, that was better than daytime TV. You two should go on tour!”

Jason muttered something under his breath about reporters and compost heaps.

The silence that followed was thick — until Harley cackled and slapped the table. “Oh my god, Sammykins, you got groupies!”

Sam pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s not funny.”

Danny, hiding his smirk behind his hand, muttered, “I’m right here.”

Sam grinned at him but elbowed him under the table. Jason groaned at the public display of affection. Dani slurped another spaghetti noodle with unholy delight.

Dick rubbed his temple, finally reaching for his coffee again. “Sorry about that, everyone. Occupational hazard.”

Sam’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Thanks for shutting him down.”

“Anytime,” Dick said simply. “It’s our job to protect the family. All of it.”

Danny glanced at Dani, who was once again twirling spaghetti like nothing had happened, sauce dotting her cheek. His chest loosened a little. Maybe not the date he’d imagined—but at least some things still counted as wins.

Harley looked around the table curiously and turned to Sam. “So whatcha eating, sugar?”

Sam blinked, startled by the sudden friendliness. “Lentil soup and schnitzel. Vegan schnitzel.”

“Oooh,” Harley cooed. “Me too. Well, I usually just share whatever Pammie orders, but you’re speaking my language, doll.”

Jason snorted. “Language of misery. No real meat, no real cheese—just suffering dressed up with parsley.”

Sam stiffened, her eyes flashing. “It’s about not causing suffering, actually. Tza’ar ba’alei chayim.”

Jason frowned. “What?”

“It’s Hebrew,” Sam said firmly. “It means ‘the suffering of living creatures.’ Judaism teaches compassion toward animals, and while I’m not perfect, veganism is my way of practicing that.”

There was a beat of silence. Jason pondered on that as if a thought occurred to him, something he hadn’t considered before.

Then Harley slapped the table. “See, Red? That’s what my bubbe used to say! She’d make matzo ball soup and tell me all about not hurtin’ critters, ‘cause they’re God’s little gifts too. I ain’t Jewish myself, but bubbe was, and I tell ya, that stuck.”

Pamela gave Harley a look equal parts fond and exasperated. “Harley, you went vegan for me.”

“Well, yeah, Puddin’,” Harley said brightly. “But also ‘cause you’re right about the planet. And my bubbe was right about animals. Two-for-one, y’know?”

Sam blinked, then allowed herself a small, surprised smile. “That’s… actually really sweet.”

Jason groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “Great. Now we’re quoting scripture at lunch. Next thing, somebody’s gonna start singing hymns to kale.”

Harley ignored him and got the waiter’s attention, and the villainess couple put in their own orders.

Dani, who was again twirling her spaghetti with mounting glee, leaned across Jason to stage-whisper, “This is so much better than pizza.”

Danny shot her a look. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Obviously,” Dani said, slurping a noodle with a grin.

Jazz, for her part, simply scribbled another note in her little book. “Group dynamics under ideological pressure,” she murmured. “Fascinating.”

Dick smiled like this was the most natural day in the world. “Well, at least it’s not boring.”

Danny buried his face in his hands. “Kill me now.”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Jason said, clapping him on the back. “No one dies over lentils.”

Jason had just finished muttering about lentils when Harley leaned across the table, chin propped on her palm, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Y’know what, big guy?” she said sweetly. “You look like a steak-and-whiskey type. All bark, no salad.”

Jason smirked. “You got me pegged. Medium-rare, baked potato, extra butter. None of this grass-fed kale leaf nonsense.”

Harley gasped theatrically and turned to Pamela. “Red! Did you hear that? He puts butter on potatoes. That’s like… double homicide!”

Pamela arched an eyebrow, sipping her green tea. “He looks like the type.”

Sam leaned forward, seizing the opening. “Exactly. That’s what industrial farming relies on—people refusing to think about where their food comes from.”

“Preach!” Harley chirped, pointing finger-guns at Sam.

Jason groaned. “Oh, great. Now I’ve got the eco-goddess and Harley Quinn tag-teaming me about my diet. What’s next, guilt trips about cow farts killing the ozone?”

Pamela set her cup down with calm precision. “Methane emissions are, in fact, a significant contributor to climate change.”

“Ha!” Sam jabbed a finger across the table. “Told you.”

Danny buried his face in his hands. His romantic lunch had mutated into an academic debate moderated by villains and ex-villains.

Dani, meanwhile, had taken full advantage. She slurped spaghetti noodles like she was conducting a symphony of chaos. When Jason leaned away from Ivy’s glare, she deliberately flicked a strand so marinara dotted his jacket.

“Oops,” Dani said, completely unapologetic.

Jason glared. “Kid—”

“Collateral damage,” Dani declared, twirling another forkful with a wicked grin.

Jazz didn’t even bother to hide her amusement. 

“Red,” Harley said, nudging Pamela, “you should tell ‘em about the rooftop garden we planted in Brooklyn. Best cherry tomatoes I ever had. Tiny little jewels. Even Batsy wouldn’t complain.”

Pamela gave a small smile. “It’s true. Sustainable urban agriculture is an effective way to—”

Jason groaned loudly, throwing up his hands. “I swear to God, if anyone here says the word compost…”

“Compost,” Harley said instantly, grinning like a cat.

Sam snorted into her lentil soup, nearly choking from suppressed laughter. Even Ivy’s lips twitched at that one.

Danny, sitting between his cackling girlfriend, his spaghetti-smearing clone-sister, and half the Wayne family sons, slumped back against the booth. “This was supposed to be a date,” he muttered.

Dick, who had been quietly nursing a cup of coffee like the world’s most patient referee, chuckled. “Cheer up, Danny. Dates are supposed to be memorable.”

“Yeah,” Danny grumbled. “Just not like this.”

Steph’s text buzzed on Danny’s phone under the table. He glanced at it, then frowned.

[Steph: Told you, I’m watching.]

Danny groaned into his hands again. He wouldn’t tell her he was rethinking this whole arrangement, that would be cruel, but the thought crossed his mind.

The chaos of lunch eventually slowed. Jason sulked, Harley doodled hearts on napkins, and Ivy debated ecosystem ethics with Sam as if they were old colleagues. Dani happily finished her spaghetti, humming under her breath.

When the waiter circled back to tempt them with desserts, Dani’s eyes locked on the triple-chocolate brownie. “That one! Gimme that.”

Danny leaned in, scanning the fine print. His brow furrowed. “Dani, no. That’s made with portobello puree—they use it to make it dense and moist without eggs.”

Dani froze, fork halfway to her mouth. “Mushrooms?”

“Yeah,” Danny said firmly. “And you know they don’t sit right with you. Not just taste—it’s intolerance. Remember how sick you got last time?”

She blinked at him, then dropped the menu like it was radioactive. “Ugh. Good catch, Danny. Thanks.”

No fuss, no fight. Just quiet relief.

Sam tilted her head, thoughtful, watching Dani push the menu away without regret.

The ride back was quieter. The Bat Family peeled off in their own car, leaving only Jazz, Dani—dozing against Jazz’s shoulder—the silent driver, and Danny and Sam in the back.

Danny had been restless since the engine turned over. Finally, he pressed his palm against the side panel. A soft crackle of ecto-static passed through the speakers, sharp enough to make Jazz twitch and Dani stir before settling again. Then silence.

The driver frowned in the mirror but said nothing.

Sam leaned in, voice low. “You killed the sound system?”

Danny smirked. “Yeah. No more eavesdropping. I’m pretty sure he’s the one who called in the Uncle squad.”

Jazz sighed but didn’t protest.

Sam shifted closer, her voice almost a whisper. “So what’s really bothering you?”

Danny glanced at Dani—out cold now—then back at Sam. “It’s the cosmology stuff.” Danny hesitated, glancing at Dani, who was already nodding off against Jazz’s shoulder. Quietly, he said, “It’s about us. Halfa stuff. The Black and the Grey.”

Sam frowned. “Life and death forces?”

“Yeah,” Danny said, voice low. “The Black—the Rot, death and decay. And The Grey.”

Sam frowned. “The Grey? As in…?”

“Like the Green,” Danny said. “But not plants. Fungus. Mycelium. The Grey breaks down dead tissue directly—it doesn’t wait for it to rot like the Green does. It consumes.” He lowered his voice even more. “And that puts it at odds with both the Black and the Green. And with Halfa’s like me and Dani, because we’re walking contradictions. Alive and dead at the same time. The Grey doesn’t know what to do with us, so it pushes back.”

Sam’s brow knit, something clicking into place. “That… explains a lot. I’ve been noticing mushrooms don’t sit right with me lately. At first I thought it was just taste, but it’s more than that. Like my body rejects them. I didn’t connect it to the Green. Or the Black.”

Danny nodded grimly. “Both touch you now. The Grey doesn’t like that. It wants to strip away the middle ground. It wants things dead, feeding it directly. And we don’t fit that neat box.”

Sam sat back, quiet for a long moment. “So intolerance isn’t just Dani’s problem. It’s mine too.”

Danny reached over, lacing his fingers with hers. “It’s ours. We'll figure it out.”

Sam squeezed his hand, her expression softening. “Together.”

Maybe Operation Lunch Date didn’t go as bad as Danny thought.

Jason found Bruce in the Batcave, hunched over the glow of the Batcomputer as usual. For once, Jason slowed his steps, watching the way Bruce’s face softened—just slightly—when he realized who had come down.

“What brings you down here, Jaylad? You’re not on patrol tonight.”

Jason kicked a chair around and flopped into it, boots hitting the console desk with a thunk. The flicker of disapproval in Bruce’s eyes was automatic, almost comical in how practiced it was. Jason smirked anyway.

“Just figured I should warn you we’ll probably be in the papers tomorrow, Old Man.”

Bruce didn’t even blink. Any time Dick or Jason so much as sneezed in public, half the tabloids ran with it. “Anything I should be concerned about?”

Jason leaned back, arms folded. “Reporter crashed lunch. We didn’t exactly roll out the red carpet for him. Kid sniffed out Danny’s girl, Manson, in about five seconds flat, so he’ll probably have thoughts.”

Bruce’s expression tightened. That would be a problem. Too much scrutiny before custody was settled could complicate things for Dani, and that was the last thing they needed. “I’ll monitor it. Anything else?”

Jason hesitated, drumming fingers against his arm. He hated this part. Talking. “Yeah. Sam… she said something. At lunch. About her vegan thing. Said it was tied to her faith. ‘Suffering of living creatures,’ or whatever.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed, then softened as he nodded. “Tza’ar ba’alei chayim. The principle of minimizing animal suffering. In Jewish law, it’s tied to humane slaughter, to the Kashrut. Some take it further, like Ms. Manson. Not surprising, considering her convictions.”

Jason stared at him for a long moment, then looked away. “So… that’s why you’re always on my ass about killing? ‘Cause of religion?”

That one caught Bruce off guard. He sat back, searching Jason’s face, but Jason wasn’t looking at him. “…It’s not that simple. But yes, it does cross my mind.” He paused, then said quietly, “Do you know the Sixth Commandment in Hebrew isn’t ‘Thou Shall Not Kill’? It’s Lo Tirtzach—‘Do not murder.’ It allows for self-defense, for war, for the execution of criminals. But—”

Jason snorted, still not looking at him. “Yeah, and guess which one I line up with.”

Bruce’s voice grew firmer. “Jason. Execution isn’t a personal verdict. It requires a trial. A conviction. A ruling handed down by a governing authority. You can’t—”

“—skip the paperwork?” Jason said bitterly. “So that’s the hang-up. Chain of command.”

“It’s justice,” Bruce said sharply. Then, softer: “Without it, all you have is vengeance. And you deserve more than to live in that place forever.”

Jason’s hands clenched on the armrests. For a long moment he didn’t move, didn’t speak. Then he pushed himself up, pacing a few steps away, his back to Bruce. “…Weird. It almost sounds better hearing it spelled out like that. Like it’s not just… your personal crusade against me.”

Bruce flinched at that, though Jason didn’t see it. He swallowed, voice rougher than he meant. “Jaylad. I… I don’t say things well. I know that. But I never saw it as a personal failure in you. Not like that. I’m not anyone’s judge. God knows I’m not even a good Jew. But all of you… You made me better than I would’ve been alone. You made me a better person. I can’t stop wanting to… return the favor.”

Jason stood there for a beat longer, shoulders stiff. Then he nodded once, curt, without turning. “Yeah. I hear you.”

And just like that, he walked off, footsteps fading toward the lift.

Bruce sat there, staring at the space Jason had left behind, before finally letting out a long breath. He turned back to the Batcomputer, eyes on the glowing case files, but his mind was still on the conversation he hadn’t quite managed to finish.

Chapter Text

 Wayne Manor – Two Days After the Tour

By the end of the second full day in the manor, the adult-supervision pattern was impossible to ignore. By the fourth, it was annoying.

It wasn’t just during “official” activities anymore. Danny could head to the kitchen for a drink, and somehow Barbara would roll by “on the way to the study.” Sam could wander toward the sunroom and find Duke leaning in the doorway with a polite, Oh, just checking the windows.

Dani had figured it out, too—though instead of helping, she thought it was hilarious. “You guys are like middle schoolers at a school dance,” she teased at breakfast, “except the teachers are billionaires with better hair.”

Jazz didn’t see the problem. “They’re just making sure you don’t wander off and get lost.”

Danny muttered into his coffee, “Pretty sure it’s not about getting lost.”

It started small.

After lunch, the group was in the west gallery admiring a series of old Gotham Cityscapes. Dick was leading the commentary. Sam and Danny exchanged a glance—then drifted toward the far archway while everyone was focused on a painting.

They made it three steps before Jason’s voice called, “Hey, you two! This one’s got a gargoyle shaped like a cat. You’ll love it.”

By the time they turned back, he was leaning against the wall, smiling like he knew exactly what they were doing.

That evening, during dessert in the dining room, Sam whispered, “We could go through the kitchens. They’ll think we’re looking for more pie.”

They slipped through the servants’ corridor, as quietly as possible—only to nearly collide with Alfred, who was holding a tray of tea.

“Ah, Miss Manson, Master Daniel,” he said, not missing a beat. “Shall I bring this to the east sitting room for you?”

Danny forced a smile. “Uh… sure.”

Alfred stepped aside with the smallest hint of a knowing smirk.

By the next morning, it wasn’t about wanting to be alone—it was about the principle of the thing.

In the conservatory, while Jazz quizzed Bruce about the upkeep of rare orchids, Sam murmured, “Library’s two halls over. If we time it between rotations—”

They darted out, keeping low against the wall, sliding through a side door… only to find Steph already sitting in one of the library armchairs, sipping coffee.

She didn’t look surprised.

“Alright,” Steph said, setting down her mug, “what’s with the sudden interest in this part of the house? You two have been trying a little too hard to be elsewhere the last day and a half.”

Danny straightened. “It’s not like that—”

Sam crossed her arms. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

Steph blinked. “The… principle?”

Danny nodded firmly. “We’re not doing anything bad. But ever since you—uh—found us in the study, it’s like the whole family’s on a rotation schedule to make sure we can’t so much as talk without a chaperone. We couldn't even sit apart to have lunch and pretend we were having lunch alone the other day.”

Steph leaned back in her chair, smiling in that way that said she’d already won. “You’re teenagers. Dating. In my house. You don’t get unsupervised.”

“That’s… not fair,” Sam said flatly.

“Maybe not,” Steph agreed easily. “But it is funny.”

Danny groaned. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Steph said without hesitation. She stood, walking past them toward the door. “Come on. The others will think you got lost, and we can’t have that.”

As she passed, she threw them the same two-fingers-to-the-eyes gesture she’d used before, now with a little wink.

Sam muttered, “We’re never getting out of here alive.”

Danny sighed. “Yeah. I think they’d want to chaperone us then, too.”

Jason found Dick in the manor gym, upside down as usual. His big brother was halfway through some ridiculous acrobatic routine on the rings, sweat clinging to his hairline, grin plastered on like the laws of gravity bent just for him.

Jason lingered in the doorway a moment before muttering, “How the hell are you still chipper after all these years?”

Dick dropped into a flip, dismounted clean, and landed with all the grace Jason pretended not to envy. “Good diet, lots of cardio, and an iron will to annoy you, little wing.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “You sound like a fitness infomercial.”

“Better than sounding like a funeral dirge,” Dick shot back, grabbing a towel. “What’s up? You don’t usually come find me unless we’re punching the same bad guy.”

Jason scowled, debating whether to say anything at all. But the words had been buzzing in his skull since the cave. “Talked to Bruce earlier.”

“Oh boy,” Dick said, instantly sliding into older-brother mode. “How many walls did you two glare at this time?”

Jason ignored that. “He said something. About… not killing. About how it’s not just him being a control freak. That it’s religious. Jewish law, or whatever. ‘Do not murder’ instead of ‘do not kill.’”

Dick tilted his head, towel draped around his neck, expression softening. “Lo Tirtzach. Yeah. I remember him telling me that once when I was a kid. Thought it was weirdly comforting—like even the Commandments knew life wasn’t clean cut.”

Jason made a face. “Of course you’d find comfort in a commandment.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. It’s perspective.” Dick sat on the bench, gesturing for Jason to join him. Jason stayed standing. “So what about it’s bugging you?”

Jason shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “I don’t know. Maybe just… hearing him say it wasn’t all black-and-white. That it wasn’t just some personal vendetta against me. I guess I thought…” He trailed off, jaw tightening.

“You thought it was all about you,” Dick finished gently.

Jason bristled. “Don’t start with the psychoanalysis, Grayson.”

Dick held up his hands in surrender, smile crooked. “I’m not. Just saying… Bruce is terrible at explaining himself. Always has been. But you know what? The fact that he even tried with you? That means something.”

Jason snorted. “You would say that. You still think he hangs the moon.”

Dick laughed, shaking his head. “No, I just know him. He’s not good at words. He is good at… showing up. And maybe fumbling through saying things to you, ‘cause he doesn’t want to lose you again.”

Jason was quiet for a long moment, staring at the floor. “…He said I made him better. Us. That we made him better.”

“See?” Dick nudged. “That’s huge. He doesn’t say stuff like that lightly.”

Jason grimaced. “It’s so annoying when you make sense.”

“Part of my charm.”

Jason finally sat, shoulders tense, elbows on his knees. “…You really think he doesn’t judge me? For what I did? What I still do sometimes?”

Dick exhaled slowly. “I think he hurts for you. And maybe he wishes you’d made different choices. But judge you? No. If anything, he judges himself harder than anyone else.”

Jason muttered, “Yeah, well. He deserves it.”

Dick gave him a look — not sharp, not condemning, just tired and fond. “Maybe. But so do you. You deserve a little less weight on your back. You’re carrying enough already.”

Jason groaned and stood, waving him off. “You’re unbearable when you get wise. I’m outta here.”

Dick grinned, leaning back on the bench. “Anytime, little wing. Door’s always open when you wanna hash it out.”

Jason flipped him the bird on his way out, but his steps were just a little lighter than when he’d come in.

Batcave – Later that Night

The cave was darker than usual. Tim had dimmed the overheads to a muted blue and, more importantly, had taken Barbara off the system.

Not just the cameras—everything.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. He trusted her more than anyone. But some conversations didn’t belong in a shared archive, even if the only other person with access was family.

Jason was leaning on one of the support struts, helmet off, eyes following the arc of the massive dinosaur statue like it might move if he blinked. Steph stood with her arms folded near the central console, watching the Batcomputer’s final processing bar crawl toward completion.

The faint hum of servers filled the silence.

When the test result pinged, Tim didn’t move right away. His fingers rested lightly on the keyboard, as if pressing the key to open the file might make the truth permanent.

“You gonna read it,” Jason asked, “or stare at it until it self-destructs?”

Steph’s voice was quieter. “Tim.”

He exhaled slowly and tapped the key.

The genetic profile unfolded across the main screen in neat, clinical graphs—match percentages, chromosome markers, color-coded relationship trees.

Two names were already in the reference database: Daniel James Fenton and Danielle Fenton.

The Batcomputer didn’t lie.

Primary Match: Daniel James Fenton – 99.99997% probability of parentage with Timothy Jackson Drake & Stephanie Brown

Secondary Match: Danielle Fenton – 99.99992% probability of parentage with Timothy Jackson Drake & Stephanie Brown

Steph’s brow furrowed. “That’s… not right.”

Jason straightened from the support beam. “Wait, you’re telling me—”

“It’s not a paternity match,” Tim said, his voice tight. “It’s like a sibling match. Dani isn’t just related to Danny. She’s… ours. The system reads her the same way it reads him.”

Steph shook her head. “That’s impossible. She’s almost his age—no, a few years younger. There’s no way—”

“She’s not a younger twin,” Jason cut in, scanning the profile. “Not technically. Not if she’s a clone.”

The word hit the air like a dropped weapon.

Steph’s mouth opened, closed again. “…What?”

Jason jabbed a finger toward the double match readouts. “Two different individuals, both reading as your biological kid, both with acceptable genetic drift but an almost identical active Meta gene? That’s cloning. And not the sloppy kind—you’d need access to the original source to get a match this clean.”

Steph took a step back from the console. “You mean someone—someone made her? From Danny?”

Tim’s jaw tightened. “Without his consent.”

They let the implication sit there, cold and ugly.

Tim finally moved, pulling up the raw data the Batcomputer kept in reserve for forensic work. “The sequence variance between Danny and Dani is microscopic. Minor enough to suggest a targeted edit—probably for age, possibly for stability. That’s why she’s physically younger. They cut the clock back. Gender was probably an error.”

Steph’s stomach twisted. “And neither of them could explain it properly because—what, they don’t have the vocabulary for it? Or they’ve been told some other version of the story so many times they believe it?”

“Or they were told nothing,” Jason said darkly. “You drop a kid into someone’s life and hope they just accept it. Eventually, they stop asking questions.”

Steph rubbed her hands over her face, her voice muffled. “God, and we kept pressing them about what happened. No wonder they couldn’t give us a straight answer—they didn’t have one that made sense.”

Tim leaned back in the chair, staring up at the massive cave ceiling. “I was already angry when I thought Dani was a runaway meta or illegitimate child of assault Danny had taken in. This? This is somehow worse. This is someone taking his DNA—our DNA—and manufacturing a person.”

Steph snorted, “That is how sex works, Tim. The idea he was assaulted for that DNA is still way worse.”

Tim faltered, “I-I didn’t mean it was worse than THAT. But they might not be mutually exclusive either…”

Jason’s expression was grim, but there was something else there, too. “You’re thinking about Damian.”

Tim didn’t deny it. “Yeah. Same violation. Different method.”

Jason crossed his arms. “And Connor.”

Tim’s voice went flat. “Exactly. Another clone born out of ego and obsession instead of any actual care for the person they came from.”

Steph was pacing now, the edges of her sneakers scuffing against the stone floor. “Vlad Masters,” she said finally, like the name itself was a curse.

Jason gave a humorless grin. “You sound sure.”

Steph stopped, turning toward him. “Everything Danny’s said about him—about this guy’s obsession with his mom, about him wanting control over their family—it fits. He’s not just some creepy hanger-on. He’s a manipulator with resources. If he had the tech to pull this off, and no moral hang-ups, why wouldn’t he?”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “And he wouldn’t care about the fallout. The human cost. He’d just see Dani as… property. An extension of whatever he thinks Danny owes him.”

Jason’s fingers drummed once on the strut. “So what’s the move? We sit on this? Or we tell the kid?”

Steph hesitated. “We can’t dump this on them cold. Not yet. They’re still figuring out how to be a family without another trauma layered on top. And if Vlad’s still out there—”

“—then telling them makes them a target,” Tim finished.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You think they’re not already? You said they implied they’d been kidnapped before, and just one day, Dani came into their lives. That Danny found her and escaped. They’re loose ends.”

Tim didn’t answer.

For a moment, the only sound was the Batcomputer’s low, steady hum. The screen still displayed the two side-by-side profiles, a perfect mirror of each other with only the smallest variations.

Steph looked at it and felt something she couldn’t quite name—a mix of fury, protectiveness, and a deep, aching guilt.

“This isn’t just about Dani,” she said quietly. “If he could do this once, what’s to stop him from doing it again? To someone else? From taking Danny again?”

Jason pushed off the strut. “Nothing. Unless we stop him.”

Tim’s hands flexed on the armrests. “We need everything on Masters—every facility, every associate, every scrap of biotech he’s ever touched. We shut him down completely.”

Jason smirked without humor. “So a normal Thursday.”

Steph didn’t smile. “We mean it, Jason. No theatrics. No half-measures. We end this.”

Tim turned back to the console and started locking the file with the highest encryption protocols. “This stays between us for now. No Barbara. Not until we decide how to handle it. And definitely no B.”

Jason stepped closer, his voice dropping. “You’re forgetting something, little brother.”

Tim glanced up.

Jason’s eyes flicked to the profiles. “If the Batcomputer says Dani’s yours too… then Vlad didn’t just steal from Danny. He stole from you. Both of you. That’s personal.”

Steph’s jaw tightened. “It was personal the second he decided to mess with Danny’s life. Now it’s war.”

Tim finished sealing the file and shut the screen off completely. The cave plunged into the dim ambient glow of the equipment racks.

“Then we prepare,” Tim said. “Quietly. And when the official lab report comes in, we act like it’s news to us.”

Jason picked up his helmet and slid it under his arm. “And if Masters makes a move before then?”

Tim’s eyes were cold in the low light. “Then we won’t need a lab report to take him apart.”

Steph didn’t say anything, but in her mind, she could already see Dani’s grin, Danny’s uncertain smile, the easy way they looked at each other without knowing just how much had been stolen from them.

She swore right then that they’d never have to find out the hard way.

Not if she could help it.

 A Few Hours Later

The Batcave was quieter now. Most of the lights were dimmed, and the main workstation was in standby mode. Steph had gone upstairs hours ago, but Jason had stayed.

Tim had expected him to leave too—go out on his own patrol or disappear into the city for one of his off-the-books projects. Instead, Jason had been pacing near the edge of the vehicle bay, helmet dangling from his fingers.

When Tim finally stepped away from the workstation, Jason didn’t look up right away.

“You’ve been grinding your teeth for the last twenty minutes,” Jason said. “Want to tell me why?”

Tim exhaled through his nose and leaned against the railing overlooking the lower platforms. “You ever get the feeling the kids already know more than they’re saying?”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Danny and Dani?”

Tim nodded. “The way they talk about her… It’s protective, but also resigned. Like they’ve already made peace with something they can’t explain to anyone else. My gut says they both know she’s a clone.”

Jason crossed his arms. “So why not just say it?”

“Because to them it’s… normal,” Tim said quietly. “In our world—our Gotham, our Justice League—it’s just another Tuesday. You say ‘clone’ and people shrug and ask who made it. But to someone from a regular place? From a normal life? You tell them, seriously, your little sister, cousin, or kid is a genetic copy of you, and the first thing they do is either panic or try to lock her in a lab, or you in a mental hospital. They can’t explain it without sounding insane, so they don’t try.”

Jason gave a low hum, somewhere between agreement and skepticism. “Or maybe they don’t explain it because there’s more to the story. What if Danny’s not the original either?”

Tim’s head snapped toward him. “What?”

Jason shrugged, but his tone was serious. “I’ve seen it before. Roy Harper’s clones. Each one thought they were the original until they weren’t. You make enough copies, and no one’s sure anymore. And the clean DNA match you got? That could just mean he’s a perfect duplicate.”

Tim looked away, his grip on the railing tightening. “I thought about that. Believe me, I did. But I went through every scrap of record I could get—birth certificates, school files, medical records. They’re all consistent. There’s no sudden gap, no mysterious ‘transfer’ moment. Everything lines up to him being… him.”

Jason tilted his head. “Or someone wanted it to line up. It’s weird already if he got snatched to make Dani but never went missing.”

Tim’s jaw tightened. “Maybe. But at some point, you have to decide what you’re willing to accept. And right now… I need him to be real. He deserves to be real.”

Jason studied him for a long moment, the smirk he usually wore absent. “That’s not you being logical. That’s you being… what, paternal?”

Tim gave a humorless laugh. “Call it whatever you want. I’m not going to sit here and treat him like he’s a lab product unless I have absolute proof. And even then… I’m not sure it matters. He’s Danny. He’s ours. That’s enough. And I don't want to think about the alternative until we have more information.”

Jason nodded slowly, like he wasn’t fully convinced but understood the line Tim was drawing. “Alright. But if it turns out you’re wrong, if Vlad or whoever built Dani also built him, you’re gonna have to be ready for that conversation.”

Tim glanced back at the sleeping Batcomputer, the two sealed DNA files buried deep in its encrypted archives. “If that day comes, we’ll deal with it. But until then… I’m going to treat him like the original. Because the alternative? It’s not something I’m willing to put on his shoulders.”

Jason looked at him for a long beat, then gave a sharp nod. “Fair enough. But for the record? If I ever meet this Vlad guy, I’m going to break his teeth.”

Tim didn’t argue.

In the deep silence of the cave, it was easy to imagine that somewhere above them, Danny was sleeping without any idea of the questions being asked about his very existence. And for now, Tim was determined to keep it that way.

Greta lingered in the shadows above the Batcomputer, unseen as always. She hadn’t meant to stay, but when the test result pinged, she couldn’t tear herself away.

Primary Match: Daniel James Fenton – 99.99997% probability of parentage with Timothy Jackson Drake & Stephanie Brown.
Secondary Match: Danielle Fenton – 99.99992% probability…

Her stomach twisted. For years, she had told herself Tim had moved on, that Stephanie had given him a life she never could. The old jealousy stirred but flickered out quickly. it wasn’t jealousy anymore; it was mourning. Mourning for what her brother had stolen from her, for the things she would never have.

But as Jason said the word clone, everything inside her froze.

Yes. Of course. It was the only explanation. No ghost — no matter how strong — should have been able to sire a child. And yet here was Danny, half-dead and impossibly alive, carrying Tim’s blood and Stephanie’s too. But still dead. If Dani was a clone, then maybe he was as well. Possessing his own clone, maybe? It was the only way it made sense.

Her hands trembled.

They don’t know.

Tim had sat stiff in the chair, Stephanie pacing, Jason grim in the corner. They thought they were protecting their children, but they didn’t even realize the truth: their son was already dead. Greta could see it in Danny’s aura, brighter and heavier than any living soul’s should be. He wasn’t just a meta or an accidentally empowered super. He was one of hers.

A ghost.

Greta drew back into the shadows, her cloak pulling tight around her. For the first time in years, she felt fear — not of discovery, but of what would happen when they finally learned.

My friends don’t even know. They don’t know what they’ve already lost.

And she could not tell them. Not yet.

She vanished into the cave’s upper dark, her vow echoing in silence: to watch, to guard, to carry the secret a little longer.

Her chest ached. They’ll fight for him. They’ll fight for her. But what happens when they realize they’ve already lost him once?

And then came the echo of his words, gentle and impossible: “I can help you move on. I can free you.”

The air split with green fire when she summoned him. The cave melted away, replaced by a vastness of judgment and silence. The Spectre towered over her, robes endless, his face half-shrouded and half-consuming.

“You call me, Greta Hayes,” his voice rolled, “though your bargain was made.”

She knelt, trembling but defiant. “I met someone. Another ghost. He offered me release. True release.”

The Spectre’s gaze flickered, cold emerald burning brighter. “I know of whom you speak.”

Greta’s voice wavered. “He could do it. I felt it. But how? You said no one but the Presence could unbind me.”

Silence pressed heavily. Then the Spectre’s mouth curled in something between a smile and a wound.

“He is no ordinary shade,” the Spirit of Vengeance intoned. “He is the Ghost King. Ruler of the Infinite Realms, crowned in flame and rage. To him, doors barred to others lie open. Even the door that bars you.”

Greta’s breath caught. She had suspected he was powerful — more powerful than any spirit she’d ever known. But that?

“Then it’s true,” she whispered. “If I accepted, he could set me free.”

The Spectre loomed closer, voice lowering until it reverberated through her bones. “Yes. But you did not accept. You still cling to your vigil. You still cling to them.”

Her fists clenched. “I can’t leave them. Not Tim. Not while he doesn’t even know what’s already been taken from him. Not while he still needs watching.”

The Spectre’s expression betrayed no judgment, no comfort. Only inevitability.

“Then watch,” he said. “But remember, Greta Hayes: the day you accept his offer, your watch ends forever. The Ghost King may grant you release, but not return. Choose your moment carefully.”

His form unraveled into blinding green radiance, and when it faded, Greta was alone again in the dark.

She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking. Danny’s power was real. The Spectre had confirmed it. Her freedom was a choice now, not a fantasy.

But she turned her gaze inward, back to the boy she once loved, to the family he never knew he had, and to the ghost who carried his blood.

Not yet, she thought. Not while they still need me.

And with that vow, Greta Hayes sank back into the shadows, unseen, unheard — her watch continuing.

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor – Afternoon

The next evening found Steph and the kids at the Manor’s indoor pool, because of course it had one, and of course Gotham decided to open up with an unforecasted thunderstorm when they had planned some outdoor fun.

Stephanie hadn’t meant to notice.

She’d been lounging on one of the deck chairs by the manor’s indoor pool, pretending to read while the kids splashed around. The echoes of Dani’s laughing trash talk bounced off the tile, Danny’s low chuckle following whenever she scored a point in whatever game they’d invented. Sam was refereeing from the shallow end, Jazz floating lazily and making commentary like a sports announcer who’d decided to narrate her own life.

It was just a normal afternoon.

Then Danny had pushed himself up out of the pool to grab a towel, and Stephanie’s eyes had caught on the water running down his right arm. The fluorescent light caught something strange that might have been invisible under natural light — a branching network of pale, lightning-bolt shapes snaking up his right forearm, up the back of his triceps, twisted from the back of his shoulder, down his back, and vanished under the line of his swim trunks.

A Lichtenberg figure.

Not the faint, blurry kind you sometimes saw from a small electrical burn. This was deep and deliberate, like a map carved into him in white lines.

He didn’t notice her staring. Dani threw a pool noodle at him, and he laughed, catching it with his other hand before diving back in.

Steph forced her gaze back to her book, though she hadn’t taken in a word of it in the last five minutes. She remembered Danny mentioning an accident that left him with a heart condition they couldn’t find in his medical files. She’d seen burns before — chemical, electrical, even arcane. But she’d never seen one that looked like that. Lichtenberg figures usually fade.

If she had to guess, that was when his Meta gene awakened… And his nightmare began.

She didn’t say anything then. But the thought stayed with her all afternoon.

Steph tried to turn back to her book, but the image stayed fixed in her mind. Dani’s impossible DNA match to him. The way the two of them sometimes spoke in half-sentences, as though finishing thoughts they didn’t want to explain. She didn’t need to hear Tim or Jason whispering in the cave for her to see the shape of it. Dani wasn’t just his daughter or his sister in spirit—she was a clone. And Danny… she didn’t want to think about the possibility Jason had mentioned to Tim privately, that maybe he wasn’t the original, either, but the scar gave her an odd hope that he was.

The manor was quieter after dinner. Most of the family had scattered, leaving only Tim, Steph, Danny, Dani, and Jazz gathered in one of the smaller sitting rooms.

Sam had followed Barbara to browse some of the more “occult” books in the Manor library.

Dani had claimed one of the oversized armchairs, knees tucked under her, wearing an oversized Wayne hoodie and clutching a mug of hot chocolate. Danny sat on the couch beside Jazz, his hair still damp from the pool, a cautious set to his shoulders.

Steph had been the one to bring it up, though she’d glanced at Tim first for backup.

“We’ve been thinking,” she began, “about Dani’s living situation.”

Dani’s eyes narrowed slightly, like she wasn’t sure if this was about to turn into a lecture.

Steph was the one to start. “We’ve been talking about Dani’s situation,” she said carefully. “And we’ve got an idea we’d like to run by you and your mom.”

Danny’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What kind of idea?”

Tim took over smoothly. “Steph and I were talking earlier. Right now, you’re staying with the Fentons. But given… certain factors, it might be safer for her to spend some time here. With us.”

Jazz’s brow furrowed. “Because of CPS?”

Tim nodded. “CPS, and any other agency that might decide to take an interest in her. The Fentons have a lot going for them, but they live over an active lab. That’s not going to stop certain people from finding excuses to interfere.”

Danny’s jaw tightened. “They wouldn’t—”

“They could,” Steph interrupted gently. “And they’ve done it to other families before. Here, we can… insulate her a little better.”

Dani looked between them, trying to read their faces. “So what, you’re offering to… adopt me?”

Steph smiled faintly. “Eventually, maybe. But right now, we’re talking about guardianship. It would give us the legal authority to say no to people who try to move you without a real reason. It would also mean Danny can see you whenever he wants.”

Tim leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Guardianship. At least for the near future. You’d still be her family, but she’d live here. The idea is to make it harder for CPS or any other agency to interfere. The Fentons have dealt with that before, right?”

Jazz’s lips pressed into a thin line. “More than once. Sometimes over nothing, sometimes because people think living over a lab isn’t ‘safe.’ I can’t really say they’re wrong…”

Danny shifted. “What about when I’m in Amity Park? It’s not like I’m moving here full time.”

“That’s the other part,” Tim said. “We’d want to work out a schedule for regular visits. And—” he glanced at Jazz “—there’s another thing we want to discuss.”

Steph said. “We’d want you to visit often. And we’d encourage you to have her visit you there, too. But here… we can keep certain eyes off her. Plus, it makes a clear record of your involvement if you two want to make paternity official later.”

Jazz shifted slightly. “There’s also another thing. When Mr. Lancer suggested you see a psychologist, Danny, he was talking about helping you process finding out you were adopted. I think that still stands.”

Danny made a face, clearly not appreciating her bringing up his being uncomfortable about his adoption. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Jazz said gently. “And Dani could benefit from counseling too—not because she's in the same situation as you, but because you’ve both been through a lot in a short time. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone to talk to.”

Dani opened her mouth, closed it, then muttered, “Maybe.”

Tim set his phone on the coffee table, put it on speaker, and dialed.

Maddie Fenton answered after the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Fenton. This is Tim Drake, Danny and Jasmine explained they’d be stay with me for Spring Break, correct?” he said. “Stephanie’s here too, and we’ve got Danny, Dani, and Jazz with us.”

“Alright… what’s going on?”

Tim explained the guardianship proposal—how it would shield Dani from bureaucratic harassment, how Danny would still be a constant part of her life, how they could ensure visits both ways.

Maddie listened quietly, only interrupting once. “I won’t pretend I don’t see the sense in this. We’ve dealt with CPS before, and while we’ve managed, it’s always hanging over our heads. If this makes her harder to target, I’m in favor—if Dani’s okay with it.”

Dani glanced around at everyone. “…I’m okay with it. As long as I can still see Danny a lot.”

“That’s the plan,” Steph said warmly.

Maddie’s voice softened. “Good. I want her safe, but I also want her to feel like she’s still part of both families. And Danny—” her tone shifted “—you’ll still be with us until you turn 18, young man. This isn’t an excuse to disappear on us.”

Danny cracked a faint smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Alright,” Maddie said finally. “It sounds like we have a plan. I’ll talk to Jack and make sure everyone here is ready for it. You work on the paperwork there. And Dani—” her tone softened “—remember, sweetie, this doesn’t mean you’re leaving us either. It just means you’re getting more people in your corner.”

“Got it,” Dani said quietly.

Then Steph reached over and squeezed Dani’s hand. “We’re going to take care of you. Both of you. That’s not up for debate.”

Danny gave a small, grateful nod. “Thanks.”

Jazz leaned forward. “There’s still the counseling issue. Mr. Lancer thought Danny could use a psychologist to help with the whole adoption thing. I still think that’s a good idea. And Dani… I think it might help her too.”

Maddie hummed on the other end. “If you can find someone trustworthy, I’m on board. But it should be their choice.”

Danny groaned. “Do we have to decide right now?”

“No,” Maddie said firmly. “But think about it. You’ve both had a lot thrown at you, and you don’t have to carry it alone.”

They ironed out the basics: paperwork Tim and Steph would handle, a flexible visitation schedule, and Dani’s room at the manor. Maddie agreed to start prepping Jack and to frame the change as “extra safety” rather than “removal.”

They said their goodnights, and Tim ended the call.

When the call ended, the room was quiet for a moment.

Steph leaned forward, looking at Dani. “We take care of our own here. That means you. That means Danny. You’re not going to have to fight these battles alone anymore.”

Dani nodded slowly. “Thanks.”

Danny met Steph’s eyes, and there was something there—gratitude, but also the weight of someone used to doing all the protecting himself.

Steph didn’t say it out loud, but she thought of that scar again, the branching white lines down his arm. She didn’t know the whole story, but she didn’t need to. Whatever had been done to him, whatever had been done to Dani—none of it had been their choice.

And if she had anything to say about it, no one would get the chance to hurt them like that again.

“Hey, Dani, want to spend the night with me tonight. Before I go back to Amity, I mean?”

The offer kind of surprised the group when Sam found Dani getting ready for bed in Danny’s room. The words drew a surprised glance from Danny, who had been in the bathroom while Dani changed, poking his head out at Sam’s voice, and even Dani paused in the middle of tugging her pajama top into place. The girl blinked, then darted her eyes to her father. His only answer was a small, soft smile and a nod.

Danny nodded with a smile, seeing how she seemed excited at the prospect. “Go ahead,” he encouraged.

That was all it took. Dani lit up, grabbing her pillow and a few small things before bolting after Sam happily with the same kind of energy she usually saved for flying through the skies, as Danny and Sam exchanged smiles.

A few minutes later, Sam sat cross-legged on her bed, her hairbrush working gently through Dani’s hair as the younger girl sat perched on her vanity stool. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet only late evenings could bring, and the soft rasp of bristles against hair filled the stillness. The little girl leaned into the contact contentedly, her small shoulders relaxing, a faint smile on her lips.

Then Sam broke the silence. “So… I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard what you said to Jazz on my way to the bathroom the other day.”

This caused Dani to freeze up, her little body tensing. The words hung in the air, brittle, until Sam pulled her into a hug, tugging her back against her chest until the girl relaxed.

“Don’t worry. I’m happy you feel that way, and I appreciate how mature you’re being about it.”

Dani looked over her shoulder, eyes uncertain, “You don’t mind that I’m not ready to call you Mom?”

Sam chuckled and gave the little girl a kiss on the cheek, “Oh, of course not. I can’t hold how you feel against you. This whole situation has got to be super weird for you.”

“I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I?”

Sam chuckled, “No. You're being smart and cautious. I wish your Dad were that way more often.”

That earned her a giggle, light and genuine, and Sam’s heart warmed as Dani finally relaxed into the hug. When Sam started brushing again, Dani leaned into the strokes like a cat into a sunbeam.

“I’ll tell you now I have no intention of leaving your Dad. I know that’s not so comforting right now, but that man isn’t going to get away from me now. A golden retriever himbo with a cute daughter? I’m worried I’ll have to fight off other girls who see that single Dad energy.”

It was a little out of her depth, but Dani saw Sam grinning in the mirror and grinned too. She focused instead on the feeling of Sam’s hands and the brush massaging her hair.

“We’ll have time to adjust to our… situation. We still have another school year. Then it’ll be a while before Danny gets full custody, and who knows when we’ll make things… official.” She blushed a bit at the last part. It seemed kind of teenage wishful thinking to mention marriage, but it was what Dani needed to hear now. Like an adult comforting a kid rather than a heart-to-heart between two girls. 

“With you and Jazz here, Danny and I will probably move to Gotham until he gets full custody, so we’ll have time to get used to being around each other. When you’re comfortable, when you’re ready, I’d be happy to be your Mom.”

Dani looked down, and as Sam kept brushing through her hair, Dani’s eyes welled up with tears. Turning around quickly, she hugged Sam fiercely. Sam was surprised at first, but melted into the hug. It was a weird feeling after a moment. She had met young cousins at family reunions, and kids usually ran a lot hotter than adults because of their higher metabolism, but Dani was cooler than her, and she could really feel that Dani was drawing heat from her, looking for comfort.  

Sam let Dani cling as long as she needed. The girl’s shoulders trembled, but the sobs never came—just the deep, steadying breaths of someone trying very hard not to fall apart. When Dani finally loosened her grip, Sam kissed the top of her head and gave her hair one last affectionate brush with her fingers.

“Alright, c’mon,” Sam said gently, tapping Dani’s side. “Bedtime.”

Dani pouted but obeyed, crawling onto Sam’s bed setting the small bundle of things she’d grabbed from Danny’s room beside the bed. She kicked off her socks and burrowed under the comforter, her oversized t-shirt bunching around her knees.

Sam moved around the room in practiced silence—putting the brush back on the vanity, moving the stool back, dimming the lamp on her nightstand, tugging the curtains closed against the Gotham skyline outside. She wasn’t usually the “tuck someone in” type, but when she turned back and saw Dani’s small form curled beneath her covers, it felt natural to sit down and pull the blankets snug.

“Comfy?” she asked.

Dani nodded, her hair spilling across the pillow like black silk streaked with blue sheen. “Yeah.” She hesitated before adding in a softer voice, “Thanks for… not making it weird. Or pushing me.”

Sam brushed a stray lock of hair off Dani’s forehead. “You’re a kid. You’re allowed to figure things out at your own pace. I’m not here to rush you.”

That answer must have been enough, because Dani smiled sleepily and yawned. Her small hand darted out from under the blankets and caught Sam’s wrist. “Don’t go yet?”

Sam’s heart squeezed. “Not yet. I’m here to stay.”

She kicked off her socks and stretched out on top of the covers beside Dani, careful not to crowd her but close enough that the girl could feel her presence. For a while, they just lay there in the dim light, the only sounds the muted hum of the city beyond the window and Dani’s gradually slowing breaths.

Sam’s mind wandered as she watched Dani drift toward sleep. It struck her how strange life had become. A year ago, she never would’ve imagined herself brushing the hair of Danny’s clone-turned-daughter, promising someday to be her mother. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for the weight of it. But looking at Dani’s small hand still clutching her wrist, Sam realized she wanted to be ready.

Danny had this way of stumbling into responsibility—powers, heroics, kingdoms, family—and somehow rising to the occasion. Maybe she could learn from him. Maybe she already had.

“You really are your dad’s kid,” Sam whispered with a soft smile. “Clinging onto people whether they’re ready or not.”

Dani, half-asleep, mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “You don’t mind…” before sighing and nestling closer.

Sam brushed another kiss into the girl’s hair and whispered, “Not at all, Dani. Not at all.”

Minutes stretched. Eventually, Dani’s breathing evened out, the little girl completely asleep, still faintly cool to the touch, still drawing warmth like a child curling against a fireplace. Sam stayed awake longer, staring at the ceiling, letting the moment sink in.

She thought about Danny—his awkward dad-smile, his terrible jokes, the way he was learning just as clumsily as Dani how to be a family. She thought about Jazz, already building the scaffolding of stability for them. And she thought about herself, lying here in a Gotham bedroom with a child who wasn’t hers but might be someday, and how strangely right it felt.

Finally, Sam exhaled, shifted onto her side, and let her own eyes drift closed. For tonight at least, Dani was safe, Danny could rest easy, and Sam—despite all her sharp edges—felt like she belonged exactly where she was.

Danny sprawled across the wide mattress after Dani and Sam left, kind of annoyed by the interruption of their nightly routine, but it was Sam, and Dani had been really happy for the offer. Thinking about it, he should get some work done before he forgets.

Phone glowing faintly in his hands while the rest of the house had settled into its heavy, dignified silence. He decided to message Tucker because he had turned his dimension crossing phones into a whole business. One of several involving the trade of goods and services from the Ghost Zone. He was even their ISP. 

Several younger ghosts or niche ghosts had embraced it. Ghostwriter was obsessed with fanfiction now. Sydney was loving online schooling. Ember was even on Spotify!

He hesitated over the keyboard for a moment, then tapped out a message:

Danny: You awake?

The typing dots blinked almost instantly before a reply lit up his screen.

Tucker: Does a Discord mod ever sleep?

Danny snorted, thumb hovering, then shook his head. Instead of typing, he hit the call button. When Tucker picked up, Danny didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“I hope that’s a rhetorical question,” he said, tone dry.

Tucker’s laugh crackled through the speaker. “Man, if you’re calling instead of texting, this has to be good. What’s up? Don’t tell me Bruce confiscated your phone for bad manners at dinner again.”

Danny snorted and rolled onto his back, staring at the ornate ceiling. Bruce was still too enamored with having more grandkids to be the disciplinarian. “No. This is… ghost work.”

“Of course it is.” Tucker’s voice shifted into his tech-manager tone, the one that always made Danny think of him as part friend, part quartermaster. “Lay it on me.”

Danny explained, voice quieter now as if the Manor’s walls had ears. “I’ve been talking to the local ghosts here. Gotham’s full of them—angry, lost, wandering. I can’t stick around forever, but I can’t leave them in limbo either. So… I’m going to hire Johnny 13.”

There was a pause. “The biker guy with the cursed shadow?”

“That’s the one. He knows the roads between realms. He can guide them into the Infinite Realms and from there, to whatever afterlife is waiting for them. It’s… better than them being stuck here.”

Tucker hummed, already catching on. “And you need me because…?”

“Because Johnny doesn’t exactly own a phone, and I need to be able to contact him. Work phone. Something simple but durable. Ghost-proof, of course.” Danny rubbed his forehead. “I’ll pay for it. Just… get me something I can hand over when I see you next.”

Tucker’s grin was audible. “Man, I’m practically offended. You think I don’t already have a stack of the latest model sitting on my desk? You want rugged, encrypted, and spooky-safe, I got you.”

Relief softened Danny’s shoulders. “Thanks, Tuck. I knew you’d get it.”

“Of course I get it. You’re running an interdimensional relocation program out of Gotham now. That’s like… Ghostbusters meets Uber, but with motorcycles. You need logistics.”

Danny chuckled, tired but grateful. “I’ll call it Phantom Rides later. Right now, I just need to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get your beauty rest, King Spooky. I’ll have the phone ready by the time you swing back through Amity.”

Danny let the warmth of that promise sink in before whispering, “Goodnight, Tuck.”

“Night, man. Don’t let the billionaires bite.”

Danny ended the call, setting the phone on the nightstand. The Manor creaked around him like a sleeping beast as he turned off the light.

Chapter Text

 Wayne Manor – The Morning After

Sam woke first. A faint glow seeped through the curtains, soft Gotham sunlight that barely made it past the high-rise buildings outside. She blinked and realized Dani had shifted sometime during the night. The girl had sprawled halfway across Sam’s torso, her face tucked against Sam’s side, one hand still clutching a fistful of her shirt like she was afraid Sam might slip away in her sleep.

Sam couldn’t help but smile, even though her arm was completely numb. Carefully, she brushed the hair out of Dani’s face, marveling at how peaceful she looked. No ghost hunters, no fights, no paperwork or politics—just a kid who’d finally let herself rest.

There was a knock at the door. Light, hesitant.

Sam mouthed a soft ugh but called, “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Danny poked his head inside. His hair was a mess, his t-shirt wrinkled, and his grin crooked in that way Sam had learned meant he was trying not to laugh.

“Well,” he whispered, “guess I don’t have to ask how the sleepover went.”

Sam rolled her eyes but kept her voice low. “She hogs the blankets.”

Danny padded in quietly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His gaze softened as he looked at Dani, then flicked back to Sam. “Thanks. For… y’know. All of this. She needed it.”

Sam smirked. “Don’t get sappy on me. I like you better when you’re awkward.”

He gave a breathy laugh, then stepped closer, brushing his hand gently over Dani’s hair. Dani stirred but didn’t wake, only mumbling something incoherent before burrowing deeper against Sam.

Sam looked up at him. “She trusts you. That’s why this works. I’m just… trying to fit into the picture without messing it up.”

Danny’s smile turned soft, almost shy. “You don’t have to try. You already do.”

Giving Sam a kiss, who immediately groused about morning breath with a grin, Danny slid his arms under Dani and picked her up, one arm slid under her butt, and she instinctively gripped around his neck as he carried her back to his room to continue sleeping while Sam got ready.

Danny had gotten up first so he went to make breakfast, borrowing the Kosher kitchen from Alfred, and Sam offered to go wake up Dani. She found the girl sprawled across Danny’s bed like she had gotten into a fight with the comforter.

Later, after Dani finally woke, still blinking sleep from her eyes and yawning like a kitten, they shuffled into the kitchen together. Dani padded in barefoot, her hair sticking up in every direction despite Sam’s brushing the night before. Danny was already at the stove, frying eggs with the kind of concentration most people reserved for bomb disposal.

“Morning,” he greeted, flipping a spatula clumsily. “I figured we could have breakfast before heading out.”

Dani brightened instantly and clambered onto one of the chairs. “Can I have toast too?”

“Already in the toaster,” Danny said, proud of himself. He glanced back at Sam. “Tofu scramble and avocado toast?”

Sam leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him. “You trying to impress me with domestic skills? ‘Cause it’s working.” Her eyes implied more.

Danny’s ears turned red. “I’m just feeding my girls.”

The words slipped out before he could catch them. He froze, spatula hovering midair. Sam arched a brow, fighting a grin. Dani blinked, then slowly smiled, her eyes darting between the two of them like she’d just been handed a secret treasure.

No one corrected him.

Especially not Stephanie and Cass, who had been about to enter the room when Danny made that slip of the tongue. They grinned at each other and turned around to let the three enjoy a private breakfast, for once breaking the eternal vigil of the last few days. They grabbed an oblivious Tim and dragged him off to another kitchen as he whined that his favorite coffee is in that kitchen.

Breakfast was messy, loud, and absolutely normal. Dani talked with her mouth full, Sam teased Danny about nearly burning the toast, and Danny pretended to be deeply offended while sneaking an extra egg onto his plate. It wasn’t perfect—it was better. It was a glimpse of what they could be.

Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the east wing hallway, pooling over the polished wood floors and scattering across the old oil paintings that lined the walls. For Dani, it felt like stepping into a hotel she hadn’t earned her way into.

She padded behind Steph, hoodie sleeves pushed up, mug of tea in one hand as they stopped at a tall, carved door. Steph pushed it open with a grin.

“Your room,” she announced.

It was bigger than Dani’s whole bedroom back in Amity Park—high ceiling, soft carpet, a window seat big enough to sleep on, and a bed that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. There was even a writing desk in one corner and a bookcase that, she suspected, Alfred had already stocked with an eerily accurate guess at her taste.

Before she could take it all in, Steph swung open another door across the far wall. “And this is the connecting room.”

Danny poked his head through from the other side, wearing a faintly sheepish expression. His own room was a little smaller—still huge by normal standards—but it mirrored hers, right down to the same tall windows.

Dani’s brow furrowed. “Why does your room connect to mine?”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “Embarrassing family photo opportunities? Also, so I can check in on you when I’m here.”

She scowled slightly. “I don’t need checking in on. I’m not five.”

Steph raised her hands. “Hey, it’s just for convenience. You’re not going to have to live with him breathing over your shoulder all the time.”

“Exactly,” Danny said quickly. “I’m only going to be here on weekends for now. You’ll have your space. I’m not going to… I dunno, crash your movie nights or go snooping.”

Dani crossed her arms. “So you’re basically saying this is a glorified babysitter setup.”

Danny smirked faintly. “I’m saying it’s a big house, and I don’t want you to feel like you’ve got no one close by. It’s… different here. Figured it might help to know there’s a familiar face one door over.”

Her pout softened just a little. “I guess. But if you start knocking on my door at 7 a.m. ‘just to check in,’ I’m locking it.”

“Fair,” he said, laughing under his breath.

“Ha! Got you again!”

Dani Fenton nearly jumped off the couch in victory, controller raised high as her character’s victory pose filled the TV screen.

Damian Wayne’s scowl could have cut glass. His grip on the controller didn’t loosen even after the defeat screen flashed for the fifth time. “You are not better than me. You are merely undisciplined.”

“Mm-hm. That’s why the scoreboard says I won five in a row.” Dani plopped back down, crossing her arms with smug satisfaction. “Face it, rich boy. You’re good at brooding, I’m good at winning.”

Damian’s jaw tightened, his grip on his own controller visibly white-knuckled. “You’re not actually skilled. You’re just button mashing.”

His nostrils flared, but he restarted the match anyway. “Best of seven.”

“Best of five,” she sing-songed. “And I already won. Learn to lose gracefully.”

He muttered something under his breath, but the cartoonishly bright music of the game drowned him out.

Across the hall, Danny sat stiffly in an armchair that looked too expensive to breathe on, much less sit in. He twisted a glass of water between his hands, trying to look casual.

Tim Drake leaned forward on the other side of the low table, expression serious, while Stephanie Brown perched beside him, her hand lightly on Tim’s arm as though to keep him from sounding too sharp.

“You understand the problem,” Tim said. He slid a folder across the polished surface. “There are no records. No school history, no medical file, no birth certificate. As far as the state is concerned, Dani doesn’t exist.”

Danny winced, but nodded. “I know. I, uh… I told you. She was on her own for a long time before I found her. No family, no one looking after her. I couldn’t just leave her out there.”

Stephanie’s eyes softened, but her voice stayed practical. “That’s not your fault. But it means we’re working uphill. CPS barely lets you stay with your own folks. If they look too closely at the Fentons and see Dani in the picture…” She trailed off, letting the implication hang.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ve been worried about that. My parents mean well, but…” He didn’t have to finish. Everyone knew the Fentons were more “mad scientist eccentric” than “stable role models.”

“That’s why tutors make sense,” Stephanie continued.“ We’ve got resources, connections. People who won’t ask too many questions about her paperwork. It’s not perfect, but it’ll bridge the gap until you can get something more permanent in place. It’ll give Dani a fighting chance to catch up on the basics.”

Tim nodded in agreement. “And as for legal status—we can’t push for adoption or custody yet. The court will ask questions we don’t have answers for. But when you turn eighteen, you’ll be able to file for paternity. You claim her as your daughter, you build her identity from there. It’s unconventional, but it’s what we have to work with.”

Danny nodded slowly. “Right. The permanent part.” His throat felt dry. “So, about the guardianship stuff…?”

Tim’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened. “That’s the hard part. Right now, legally, she’s no one’s responsibility. That can raise red flags if you push too hard too fast. I can petition for temporary guardianship, but the court’s going to notice she appeared out of thin air.”

Danny frowned into his glass. “Feels wrong for some reason.”

“It’s protection,” Tim said evenly. “Without records, Dani’s vulnerable. The system will treat her as disposable. This gives her roots.”

Danny let out a slow breath, shoulders sagging. “Okay. Let’s do it. I just… I don’t want her to think she’s some kind of burden, or that I don’t want her.”

From the living room came Dani’s triumphant shout: “YES! Undefeated champion, baby!”

Followed by Damian’s growl: “Rematch!”

Danny cracked a smile despite the knot in his chest. “At least she’s finding her place here.”

Tim’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. “She’s got spirit. That’ll take her far.”

Back on the couch, Dani leaned against the armrest, twirling the scarf Damian had thrown at her earlier like a banner of conquest. “Y’know, you should thank me. I’m teaching you humility.”

Damian gave her a look sharp enough to cut steel. “You are teaching me nothing.”

“Wrong,” Dani shot back. “I’m teaching you how to lose with style.”

He scoffed, turned back to the game, and pressed start again.

Dani smirked, settling into her seat. 

You are insufferable,” he muttered, refusing to look at her.

“And undefeated,” she countered.

Damian’s character collapsed in another defeat, and Dani whooped, tossing her controller in the air and catching it again.

“That’s eight out of eight. I’m calling it. You’re done.”

Damian scowled at the screen. “Next time, I’ll train first. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

Dani plopped down beside him with a grin that was all teeth. “Bring it on. But maybe practice losing gracefully first.”

He shot her a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but there was a faint pink creeping up his ears. Dani noticed. And, of course, filed it away for later use.

The kitchen had quieted after the rush of dinner, the counters still warm with the memory of sizzling pans and clinking glasses. The clatter of dishes echoed softly in the kitchen as Danny stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, water running warm over his hands. The scent of Steph’s roasted vegetables and Tim’s carefully spiced rice still lingered in the air. 

Danny rolled up his sleeves and settled at the sink, running water over a growing stack of dishes. The rhythm of rinse, scrub, and stack filled the room in a comforting hum.

Dani leaned against the counter, watching him with an incredulous frown. “You know Alfred’s here, right? Isn’t it kind of… his job?”

Danny looked over at her, sponge in one hand, soap suds clinging to his wrist. His expression was patient, not scolding, but firm. “That’s not how you should see it, Dani. Alfred’s not here to pick up after us like some kind of machine. He’s older than any of us, and he’s already got more on his plate than people realize. He has to cook in and keep one, possibly two, entirely separate kitchens from this one clean, one kosher for Bruce, one halal for Damian. That’s double or triple the effort every single day.”

Dani blinked, chewing her lip. “Oh.” The word came out small, and her shoulders slouched as she absorbed the thought.

From the next room, Tim’s voice cut in, carrying over the back of the couch. “Wait a second.” He reappeared in the doorway, arms folded. “You already knew Bruce and Damian’s eating habits?” His eyebrows raised in suspicion, the detective in him piqued. 

Danny just shrugged as he set another plate in the drying rack. “That’s right, you weren't there for lunch with Uncle Dick and Uncle Jason shadowing us.” 

He gave Stephanie an arched eyebrow before continuing. She looked pretty smug about it. ”Sam’s Jewish and vegan. I learned pretty quickly how important it is to respect how people connect to their spirituality, or their values, through food. I looked into all kinds of alternative diets so I wouldn’t mess it up. Besides…” He smirked faintly. “Grandpa Bruce and Kate drank from a separate bottle of wine from everyone else at dinner the other night and had separate dishes. Duke said one of Damian’s favorite street food vendors was a Halal kitchen, and I saw Damian take his prayer rug outside at dawn. It didn't take much to put two and two together.”

Tim leaned a little heavier against the frame, expression softening with reluctant admiration. “Most people wouldn’t notice. Or wouldn’t care enough to think about it. I don’t think most of the family even notices.”

“Guess I’m not most people,” Danny said with a quiet laugh. “Uncle Duke at least trusts Uncle Damian to know where he can eat.”

Behind Tim, Steph padded back in, still grinning from some private joke. “Not most people" is an understatement. You should have seen Bruce’s public “crisis of faith” moment a few years back trying to avoid Gala’s and Charity Dinners for a bit. That backfired and just turned into every socialite on the East Coast keeping at least one bottle of Kosher wine chilled in case Bruce was there. Usually bought from a Wayne or Kane winery,” she teased, tossing the towel onto Tim’s head. “And honestly? If you want to keep doing the dishes after we cook, I’m not going to stop you.”

Tim sputtered, tugging the towel off. “Steph—”

“What? You cooked, he cleaned. Fair division of labor.” She winked at Danny. “Ten out of ten, would invite over again.”

Alfred had slipped in at some point, silent as ever, carrying a small tray of tea. He set it on the counter with measured grace, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. “I must confess,” he said, his voice smooth as aged whiskey, “I find it quite refreshing to see a guest who understands both courtesy and perspective.”

Danny ducked his head, suddenly shy at the quiet praise. “Just feels fair, that’s all.”

Steph looped an arm through Tim’s, tugging him toward the living room. “C’mon, detective boy, let him finish up without the interrogation lamp.”

Tim gave Danny one last thoughtful look before letting himself be pulled away. Dani lingered a moment longer, her eyes flicking from Alfred to Danny. Then, with a small nod, she picked up a towel and began drying dishes beside him.

Danny’s grin widened, just enough to be seen, and he blew a bubble at her. “Thanks, kiddo.”

And from the doorway, Alfred’s approving gaze softened even further.

The kitchen lights glowed warm as the last dish clinked into the drying rack. Dani had helped with the last few, though she yawned and rubbed her eyes against her sleeve when she thought no one was looking. Danny wiped his hands on a towel, gave Alfred a grateful nod, and ushered her toward the den.

The others had gathered there — Tim and Steph sharing the loveseat, low voices trading some easy banter, while Damian sat with a book balanced on his knee, half-listening but pretending otherwise. Alfred had already laid out a neat tray of tea and small shortbread biscuits, the kind that smelled faintly of butter and lemon.

Danny settled onto the far couch with Dani at his side. For a few minutes, he let the atmosphere settle: the low hum of conversation, the steam from the teacups, the sense of ease that only crept into the manor after mealtimes.

Then he slipped a hand into his pocket and produced two stark white-wrapped candy bars. They looked unusual, almost clinical, the wrappers printed with the same kind of prescription stickers you’d see on pill bottles. Dani’s face lit up as he passed one to her.

Alfred’s sharp eyes, of course, caught it immediately. He raised one brow, though his voice remained calm. “Might I inquire about those, Master Daniel? I appreciate that you refrained until after dinner was complete, but I could have made something if you were still feeling peckish.”

Danny peeled the wrapper back from his own bar, the faintest grimace tugging at his face. “Medication,” he explained simply. “It tastes awful on its own, so we have it compounded with chocolate. Easier to swallow that way. Weekly dose for both of us.” He took a bite, chewed, and made a face anyway, as if the sweetness couldn’t quite cover the bitterness underneath.

Dani was already munching on hers, legs swinging, unbothered.

Danny added, quieter now, respectful: “She’s got some extras in case I can’t make it here on time with the next one. But normally? Just once a week, no big deal.”

Alfred studied the bars for a long moment, then inclined his head slowly. His eyes flicked to Dani — bright-eyed, licking chocolate from her fingers — and then back to Danny. The tiniest curve of approval touched his mouth, as if he recognized both the responsibility and the care in Danny’s explanation.

“Very prudent,” Alfred said softly. “And reassuring to know you have considered contingencies. I shall see to it that appropriate storage is available, should the need arise.”

“Thanks,” Danny replied, genuinely. He slid the empty wrapper into his pocket and nudged Dani, who beamed up at him with a chocolate-smudged smile.

Tim frowned, trying to think of a medication that might be used in that way. Normally that kind of trick is used, at the best of times for children, the elderly, or animals to take medicine without complaint. At worst it was used to cover a poison or sedative for less than legal purposes. 

A medication for some kind of congenital condition? A condition neither he nor Steph were aware of? A side effect of the Meta gene, or the cloning?

Steph recognized that look of calculation and elbowed him. Then she looked up from the loveseat, grinning. “Medication that tastes like candy bars? I’m jealous.”

Dani shook her head vehemently. “No, you’re not. Trust me.”

That got a low chuckle out of Tim, who leaned back into Steph’s shoulder. Damian, though pretending to stay absorbed in his book, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “At least they’re responsible.”

The warmth in the room seemed to double after that — Alfred pouring second cups of tea, Steph’s laughter bouncing against the old wood beams, Dani still happily licking chocolate from her hands, more from cookies served with the tea than the candy bar, while Danny tried to hand her a napkin.

Dani was just finishing up changing into her pajamas when there was a knock at the connecting door. She froze, then groaned, dragging her socks a little on the carpet as she went to answer it.

When she swung it open, she found Danny standing there with a sheepish smile.

Dani crossed her arms, already suspicious. “I thought you said you weren’t doing check-ins?”

Danny scratched the back of his neck, then with a little flourish pulled a brush out from behind his back like it was some kind of peace offering. “Well, for one thing, I only agreed to no check-ins before 7 a.m.—and no snooping. This doesn’t count. Sam mentioned you really enjoyed having your hair brushed out before bed. I thought… maybe you could show me how you like it done?”

Dani stared at him, unblinking. For a second, Danny’s shoulders slumped, expecting her to roll her eyes and shut him down. Instead, she closed the door in his face.

Danny let out a quiet sigh, half-amused and half-deflated. “Yeah, that went well—”

But before he could turn away, the door opened again. Dani marched past him with surprising determination, comically carrying her vanity bench in both arms even though it was nearly half her size. She plopped it down in the middle of his room with a loud thunk and gave him a look that said, "Well, don’t just stand there".

Danny’s lips twitched into a grin, warmth flooding his chest. He followed her in and slid onto the bed behind her, motioning for her to sit. She perched on the bench, back straight and expectant.

He took the brush and hesitated only a moment before gently gathering a section of her hair. Aunt Cass had given him a crash course earlier—“start at the bottom, not the top, unless you want to yank it and make her hate you forever”—and he was determined to get it right. Carefully, he worked through the ends first, easing out a small tangle before moving higher.

Dani relaxed almost immediately, shoulders slumping as the brush glided through her dark hair. The tension in the room softened.

Danny’s voice was quiet, almost tentative. “We can do this every night I’m here. You know… if you want.” He paused, smiling down at her crown of hair. “You can tell me all the gossip I missed during the week.”

Dani tilted her head just enough for him to see her faint smirk. “Gossip, huh? You sure you’re ready for that? I hear everything.”

Danny chuckled, brushing a little more confidently now. “Good. Guess that makes you my official inside source.”

Dani giggled, leaning back just enough that her head almost rested against his chest. The brush strokes grew more natural, rhythmic, as he worked.

For a while, it was just the quiet sound of bristles sliding through hair, Dani’s breathing slowing into something calm and steady. She caught sight of them in the standing mirror, her perched like a miniature queen, Danny behind her, half-smiling like he couldn’t believe this was real.

It was real, though. And she liked it.

When Danny finally set the brush aside, Dani turned halfway on the stool to peer up at him. “You’re not terrible at this.”

“Not terrible?” Danny exaggerated the offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “That’s the highest praise I’ve gotten all week.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

There was a soft knock at his open door, and Sam leaned against the frame, arms crossed and a fond smile on her face. “So, this is what happens when I share my secrets, huh?”

Dani’s ears went pink. “He made me bring the bench!”

Danny raised his hands in mock surrender. “I absolutely did not. She steamrolled me with it.”

Sam chuckled and came closer, brushing a hand over Dani’s shoulder. “Looks like you two figured it out just fine.”

Dani glanced between them, her bravado slipping into something more vulnerable. “We… can do this again tomorrow?” she asked quietly.

Danny reached forward, smoothing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Every night I’m here,” he promised. “As long as you want.”

For a moment, Dani just nodded, lips pressed tight as if she was trying to hold back a grin—or maybe something else. Then she stood, dragging her stool back toward her room with stubborn determination.

Sam shook her head with amusement. “She’s trying so hard not to look happy.”

Danny leaned back on the bed, stretching with a satisfied sigh. “Yeah. But she doesn’t have to say it.” He glanced toward the connecting door, now shut again. “I know.”

Sam settled beside him, brushing her fingers against his. “Good. Because that was pretty much the sweetest thing I’ve seen all year.”

Danny smirked, a little embarrassed. “Don’t tell Jazz. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Sam laughed softly, and they both heard the faint scrape of Dani’s stool being shoved back into place at her vanity next door.

Grinning Sam went back to the door, planning to go get ready for bed herself. Danny gave her a kiss goodnight and saw Cassandra already silently monitoring down the hall. Sam giggled and headed on.

Danny waved her over and gave her a hug. “Thanks for being more chill than the others. And thanks for helping me out. Dani loved it.”

Cassandra beamed up at him and gave him an extra squeeze before disappearing off to her own room somewhere in the manor.

Greta had come to find Danny’s attempts at becoming a father to his clone-daughter absolutely adorable. It still took her by surprise when Dani phased through Danny’s door in the middle of the night to climb into Danny’s bed. She hadn’t realized the girl also had powers. Ghost powers.

Later that night Danny woke up to find Dani curled up beside him and smiled. He hugged her closer, and she snuggled into his chest. Alfred did indeed find them like that in the morning and absolutely snapped a picture for a scrapbook.

Chapter Text

The Gotham City terminal buzzed with noise—vendors calling out coffee orders, luggage wheels clattering on tile, the loudspeaker chiming with boarding calls. 

The sleek, silver bullet train of Gotham’s high-speed rail loomed at the platform, humming as passengers shuffled toward its open doors. Overhead announcements echoed, half lost under the rolling hiss of the train’s hydraulics.

Danny Fenton shifted his duffel higher on his shoulder, his other arm wrapped tight around Danielle before she could slip away. She clung to him fiercely, face buried in his jacket, trying to memorize the warmth before he left.

Dani clung to Danny like she was never letting go. “You really have to go?” she asked, muffled against his chest.

Danny smoothed a hand over her hair, trying to smile even though his throat tightened. “Yeah, kiddo. But it’s just a week. You’ll blink, and I’ll be back standing right here annoying you.”

“You’re not annoying,” Dani shot back instantly, hugging him tighter.

Sam leaned down to ruffle Dani’s hair, smirking. “I think you’re the only one who believes that.” Dani snorted a laugh and pulled Sam into the hug, arms spread wide enough to catch Jazz too when she bent down beside them.

“Hey, don’t crush me,” Jazz teased, even as she wrapped her arms around the bundle of them. 

“You’ll call every day,” Dani mumbled into his chest, her words muffled.

Danny tightened his hold, resting his chin on her hair. “Every day,” he promised. His voice carried the weight of something more than a casual reassurance. “And I’ll be back this weekend, I swear.”

Jazz leaned down beside them, smoothing Dani’s hair back from her face with a tenderness that belied her usual sharp wit. “You’ll have so much fun with Tim and Stephanie, you won’t even notice the week go by. But just in case, you better keep your phone on.”

Sam smirked faintly, crouching down so Dani’s arms could loop around her neck. “And you better answer mine when I call too, squirt. I’m not letting you ignore me just because you’ve got a new house.”

Dani gave a watery laugh, hugging her tightly. “I won’t. I promise.”

Tim and Stephanie stood just behind, letting the tangle of hugs play out. When Dani finally peeled herself free, Tim rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze, steady and reassuring, while Stephanie offered her a small smile that carried a warmth Dani had quickly grown to crave. 

.“We’ve got her,” Tim said quietly to Danny, but it was the kind of reassurance a dad gave when he knew another parent needed to hear it. “We’ll take good care of her. You don’t need to worry.”

“I know,” Danny said quietly. He surprised himself by meaning it.

Stephanie tugged him into her own hug next, softer but no less real. “We’ll make sure she doesn’t get sick of us while you’re gone,” she joked, then added in a gentler tone, “Travel safe, okay?” She caught Jazz in a side hug after that, then Sam, her warmth carrying over to all three without hesitation.

The overhead speakers crackled: Final boarding call for Chicago.

Jazz adjusted her satchel, Sam took Danny’s hand, and together the three turned toward the waiting train. Dani pressed forward for one last round of hugs, her small hands reluctant to let go of Danny’s sleeve until he gently untangled her fingers.

“Next weekend,” he reminded her with a grin, though his voice cracked a little.

Sam bent down to kiss the top of her head. “And don’t think we won’t FaceTime you until then.”

Jazz kissed her cheek with a soft “be good” before the three of them started toward the open train door. Dani nodded, lip trembling but eyes shining. 

She stood between Tim and Stephanie, their hands light but grounding on her shoulders, as the train doors slid shut. Dani waved like crazy, calling out “Dad! Bye! Love you guys!” loud enough to turn a few heads on the platform.

Through the window, Dani waved with all the energy she had, a flurry of small motions meant to hold onto them until the last possible second. Inside,Danny, Sam, and Jazz  leaned against the window, waving back until the train eased forward, gathering speed until Gotham blurred behind them.

On the other side of the glass, Dani still waved even after the train pulled away, Tim and Stephanie flanking her like bookends, steady and solid. Dani finally exhaled, leaning back against Tim and Stephanie. She whispered, almost to herself, “It’s okay. They’ll call. He’ll come back.”

The doors slid shut with a hiss, sealing away the echo of Dani’s voice from the platform. The train lurched forward, smooth at first, then faster, Gotham’s skyline stretching into a blur. 

Danny let his bag drop by his feet and sank into the window seat with a long exhale, forehead leaning against the glass. Sam slid in next to him, arms folded, and Jazz took the aisle seat, propping her bag against her knees. 

Looking out the window they saw Dani frantically waving at them and waved back with a collective laugh.

The high-speed train purred over the rails, rocking gently as it carved westward out of Gotham. The cabin smelled faintly of coffee and steel; overhead lights buzzed while the intercom announced the next stop in a clipped, efficient tone. Families wrestled with strollers in the aisle, a businessman muttered into his phone two rows back, and a food cart rattled by with the promise of overpriced snacks.

For a moment, none of them spoke, just listening to the hum of the tracks.

Danny broke first, half a laugh escaping him. “Spring break,” he said, almost mournfully. “We were supposed to relax, remember?”

Sam nudged his knee with hers, curled comfortably in the seat beside him. “Relax? With you? Please.”

“Man,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Everything’s been turned upside down.”

Sam kicked her boots off under the seat and curled her legs up. “Upside down is an understatement. Two weeks ago, you were just stressing about midterms. Now it’s—oh hey, surprise, you’re adopted, here’s a trip to Gotham, meet your bio-parents, also here’s Dani, and by the way she’s your kid now.”

Danny laughed, though it came out more tired than amused. “When you say it like that, it sounds insane.”

“Because it is insane,” Sam shot back, though her lips twitched.

Jazz leaned her chin on her hand, watching the two of them bicker with the fond exasperation of someone who’d seen it all before.

Danny grinned crookedly, rubbing his face. “Yeah, but… doesn’t it feel right? Dani being mine. When Stephanie assumed, I thought it’d blow up in my face. But I don’t know—I like it. I like being her dad. I like Dani calling me Dad. I didn’t plan it, but I don’t hate it. Actually…” He smiled, a little sheepishly. “I kind of like it.”

“She’s my kid. Just like that.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Just like that? Danny, you know most people don’t just trip into parenthood over spring break, right?”

“Yeah, well…” Danny rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “I couldn’t exactly say she was a clone, could I? Stephanie already thought she was my daughter and… I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Sam’s eyes softened, though she tried to keep her arms crossed. “I get it. But you kind of skipped the part where you check with your girlfriend before declaring lifelong responsibilities.”

Sam leaned back, eyes narrowing—not with anger, but with that sharpness that always meant she was weighing her words. “You could’ve told me before you decided to be someone’s dad, you know. That’s… kind of a big deal for us.”

Danny winced. “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry, Sam. I wasn’t thinking about what it meant for you. What it meant for us… I didn’t think about us. I’m sorry, I should’ve. I just wanted to keep Dani safe. I didn’t even stop to—”

She cut him off with a sigh, shaking her head. “You’re an idiot sometimes, Fenton. But…” She stared out the window, her reflection faint in the glass. ““You’re lucky I like Dani. I’ve always thought of her as a little sister. So…” She turned her head toward the window, voice quieter. “If she’s yours now, maybe I can live with her being mine too. In a way. If this means she gets a real family, then… maybe I can handle her being more than just your responsibility.”

Danny smiled, relief softening the edges of his guilt. “You mean—our responsibility?”

“Don’t get all sappy,” Sam warned, though her lips curved upward. “I’ll think about it.” Sam smirked sideways.

Danny grinned. “So that’s a yes?”

“It’s a maybe,” Sam corrected, smirking despite herself. Sam sighed and tugged at her sleeves, letting her annoyance melt into something gentler. “Don’t push your luck. I’m still mad about how you handled it.”

While they were busy sorting that out, Jazz had gone somewhere else entirely. She wasn’t hearing the rhythm of tracks or her siblings’ voice, her mind had wandered back to the pool a few days earlier. Jason Todd, dropping in with a lazy smile, towel slung over his shoulder, the way he’d cannonballed into the deep end just to make Dani squeal. She could almost feel the water splashing her again, hear his laugh right in her ear.  The memory made heat crawl up her neck, her cheeks blooming red as she bit the inside of her cheek. As her cheeks warmed, and she quickly angled her face toward the window to hide it.

“Jazz?” Danny nudged her knee.

She startled, blinking back to the present. “What? Sorry. Zoned out.”

“More like checked out,” Sam teased, one brow arched.

Jazz waved them off with a flustered laugh. “You two were being mushy. Forgive me for not taking notes.”

Sam smirked knowingly, but let it go. Danny shrugged, unconvinced, and leaned back into his seat.

The train picked up speed, carrying them west. Behind them, Gotham shrank into distance. Ahead of them, Chicago waited. But for the first time in a long while, the Fentons felt like they were moving forward—not just on the tracks, but together.

The taxi smelled faintly of vinyl and stale coffee, the kind of background scent that clung to every small-town cab Danny had ever ridden in. 

The taxi hummed along the interstate, headlights carving through the black ribbon of highway between Chicago and Amity Park. The driver had the heater cranked a little too high, the vents rattling for the last two hours.

In the backseat, three people tried to occupy a space made for two. Jazz had claimed the window first, arms folded, cheek resting against the glass. Sam sat pressed between her and Danny, who had slid in last and wound up half sideways, his shoulder jammed against Sam’s and his knee knocking hers every time the cab hit a bump.

“Never again,” Sam muttered, still drowsy from sleeping on his shoulder the whole train ride back, tugging at her seatbelt. “Next time, we get two cabs.”

Danny smirked, too tired to be apologetic. “C’mon, this isn’t that bad.”

“You’re crushing me,” Sam shot back, shoving his shoulder, though she didn’t actually move away.

Jazz mumbled something into the window, her voice drowsy.

Danny leaned his head against the seat, staring up at the roof. “Still feels weird, y’know? Leaving Dani behind.” His voice was soft, not regretful, but heavy with the absence.

“She’s in good hands,” Jazz said without opening her eyes. “You could see it on her face. She felt safe.”

Sam exhaled slowly, her annoyance melting. “She’ll call tomorrow. Probably twice. And knowing you, you’ll call three times.”

Danny chuckled, low and warm. “Yeah. Probably.” After a pause, he added, “Still… I’m glad it worked out. Even if it wasn’t how I planned it.”

Sam turned her head, watching his profile in the dim glow of passing streetlights. “You mean deciding you’re a dad now?”

“Yeah.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “I should’ve talked to you first. About what that means—for us.”

Sam huffed, half amused, half exasperated. “You really should have. But… you’re not wrong. She already feels like family. Always has. Now it’s just… official, I guess.”

Danny’s smile softened. “So you’re okay with it?”

“I’m okay with it,” Sam said, bumping her shoulder into his. “But you owe me a say next time, Fenton.”

“I’ll be sure to give you ample warning the next time I want a kid,” Danny said sardonically without thinking about it, the cab ride making him irritable.

Sam blushed beet red and stared straight ahead. She didn’t even want to get into the implications of that in the back of a dirty cab.

Jazz had drifted back into her own head, the rhythm of the car lulling her into a daydream. Her thoughts wandered to Jason Todd again, unbidden—the flash of his grin, the way he’d leaned against the pool edge like he belonged there, the water dripping down his shoulders. She felt her face warm, and quickly turned toward the window, hoping the dark hid the blush.

Danny glanced at her. “You good, Jazz?”

“Fine,” she said too quickly, then added, “Just thinking.”

Sam smirked but let it drop. The car bumped along, steady and sure, carrying them closer to Amity Park. Tired, crowded, but together.

They were almost home—Amity Park’s skyline was already visible on the horizon, the water tower painted with its cheerful “Home of the Amity Red Sox” greeting.

Danny leaned back against the seat, trying not to fidget, though his stomach was tying itself into knots. Wayne Manor had been… overwhelming in so many ways. Dani had been thrilled, and Tim and Steph had done everything they could to make her feel secure, but for him, the whole trip had raised questions he hadn’t expected. Questions about himself, about his family, and—maybe most painfully—about the parents who had raised him.

Stopping by the Manson townhouse, Danny helped Sam with her bags. Miraculously, her parents actually greeted him warmly this time. They had gotten better after the Diasteroid incident, and luckily hadn’t been exempt from Clockworks timeline stitching that erased so many people’s memories of the event, but they remained standoffish despite it.

Now they were all smiles. Money seemed to do that to people like that. He’d bet $5 they wouldn’t be thrilled the next time Sam justified her clothing choices with “Bruce Wayne wears Black ALL THE TIME.”

Finally free to stretch out a little Jazz sat beside him, her hands folded neatly over her bag in her lap, watching the familiar streets of the next town over blur past the window.

A few minutes away, the cab rolled to a stop in front of the Fenton Works sign, bright neon against the afternoon sky. Danny paid the driver quickly, ignoring Jazz’s soft “You didn’t have to cover it.” He just needed something to do with his hands.

When they stepped into the house, Maddie was in the kitchen with her goggles propped up in her hair, wiping her hands on a towel. Jack thundered down the stairs in his orange jumpsuit, booming a cheerful, “My boy! My girl! You’re back!”

Danny smiled faintly, hugging them both, but Jazz didn’t miss the way his shoulders stayed tense even afterward. She lingered in the kitchen doorway as he leaned against the counter, clearly gathering himself.

“Mom, Dad,” Danny started, voice quieter than usual. “We need to talk.”

The shift in tone immediately sobered both parents. Maddie’s expression softened; Jack’s booming grin gentled into something more careful.

“Of course, son,” Jack said. “What’s on your mind?”

Danny swallowed, looking down at his hands. “It’s about… everything. About finding out I was adopted.” He glanced up quickly, almost defensively. “I know you only wanted what was best for me, and I know you didn’t want to hurt me, but… for a long time, I thought you were lying to me on purpose. That you didn’t trust me.”

Maddie’s hand reached across the counter, resting near his. “Danny…”

He shook his head, forcing the words out before his nerve broke. “When I was with Tim and Steph, we had to make decisions for Dani. Big ones. Stuff about where she’d live, who’d take care of her, how to keep her safe. And they didn’t just make those choices without me—they asked me. They asked me what I thought. And it hit me that… being a parent isn’t about always telling the truth at the right time or having every answer. It’s about trying to protect your kid even when the choices are impossible.”

He looked at them both, eyes burning. “I get it now. You didn’t keep it from me because you didn’t trust me. You kept it from me because… You couldn’t bring yourself to taint the time we had. And—” his voice cracked, just a little “—I’m sorry. For all the anger. For assuming the worst.”

The silence hung heavy for a beat before Jack wrapped his arms around him in one of his trademark bear hugs, nearly lifting him off the floor. “Son, you don’t need to apologize. We love you. Always have. Always will.”

Maddie joined the hug, her hand smoothing over the back of Danny’s head. “We never wanted you to doubt that, sweetheart. Not for a second.”

Danny pressed his face into Jack’s shoulder, exhaling a shaky laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m still working on the whole ‘not doubting’ thing. But I’m trying.”

Jazz wiped at her eye with a discreet sniff, stepping back into the living room to give them the space. For all her years of unofficially counseling other people, it was still something else entirely to see her family working through the cracks in their own walls.

When the hug finally broke, Maddie’s smile was wet at the corners. “You’ve grown so much, Danny. I can see it in you—the way you’re thinking about Dani, the way you’re stepping up. That’s what matters. Not the blood, not the past. Just the person you are.”

Danny chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I’ve had some good examples.”

Jack beamed. “That’s my boy!”

Jazz peeked back into the room, a small, proud smile tugging at her lips. For the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe—just maybe—they were starting to heal.

Later that night, the house had settled into its usual rhythm: the faint hum of the portal downstairs, the occasional clatter of Jack rummaging in the kitchen, and the warm hush of home. Danny sat in his room, sprawled on his bed with the light off, staring at the glow of the stars on his ceiling—ones that had been there since he was a kid.

The talk with his parents had left him lighter, but also… heavier in another way. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been carrying until he put it into words. And yet, every time he closed his eyes, he saw Dani’s face—wide-eyed, brave, stubbornly independent. His kid sister, sure, but more than that. His responsibility.

A soft knock came at the door. “Danny?”

“Yeah,” he said, pushing himself up on one elbow. Jazz slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind her. She sat at his desk chair, turning it toward him, studying him with that big-sister intensity he’d known since kindergarten.

“So can we agree that trip was super awkward?” Jazz scratched at her hairband just as awkwardly bringing up the topic.

Danny rolled over and groaned into his pillow. “I KNOW. It was such a last minute ask though. I couldn’t think of anything to do while we were there that wouldn’t disrupt their lives more than suddenly having four extra guests, but I also couldn’t say no when Tim invited us to stay over instead of at the hotel. The whole point was to meet everyone.”

Jazz just listened to his muffled complaint, “I think we all felt that way. Everyone had to work and hadn’t planned around taking the time off even if they were there a lot. I mean, Bruce was there most of the time, but I think that’s only because Tim took over the company. He was the most distant person there, or maybe he just wanted you to connect with Tim and Steph first without him hovering.”

Danny turned his head to look at her, “And Damien reacted like a skittish cat around us most of the time, but seemed to get along with Dani like they’d been best friends in some past life. That was weird. Duke was cool, but I think EVERYONE was tiptoeing around giving us time with Tim and Steph first. I like Aunt Cass, but I think she tiptoes around everyone. Like an Asian Silent Bob with much better fashion sense.”

Jazz snorted, unable to help herself. “That’s true. Plus she’s your Aunt and your bio-Mom’s bestie despite the age gap. Maybe more?” 

Danny gave her a long, skeptical look, one brow arched high. “I got mixed vibes,” she added quickly, shrugging.

 Danny sat up, grabbing his phone off the nightstand. “I got Duke’s number. Maybe I can text him and see what he’d suggest doing around Gotham. Oh, that reminds me. I forgot to text Dani we got home safe.” Scrolling he found Dani’s contact under “Midget”.

To Midget: We got back to Amity safe and sound. Tears all around.

Midget: You’re such a dork. Thanks for telling me, Dad.”

Danny grinned goofily at that, even if she meant it sardonically.

To Midget: How’s Damian holding up without us? Don’t drag him into anything crazy, it’s a school night.

Almost immediately, three dots popped up. 

Midget: Already asked. Grandpa Bruce no. Watching cartoons instead. He’s sulking but I think it’s funny. Glad you made it back. Miss you already, nerd.

Danny grinned at the screen and read the message aloud. Jazz chuckled. “She’s settling in better than either of us did.”

“Yeah,” Danny admitted softly. “I think she belongs there in a way we don’t yet.”

Jazz leaned back against the headboard. “Steph tried, though. You could tell. She looked like she’d planned out conversations in her head, but the second you opened your mouth, it all flew out the window.”

Danny winced but laughed. “I noticed. She really wanted to ask about Amity and the Fentons, but half the time it came out sounding like she was walking on eggshells.”

“And Tim,” Jazz hesitated. “He was good, but… formal? Like he was rehearsing being a parent instead of just being one.”

Danny ran a hand through his hair, phone still in his other hand. “Can’t blame him. I mean, they’ve only had a few days to process this, but it’s still a curveball. Us dropping into their house probably made it ten times worse.”

His phone buzzed once more. Dani had sent another message: 

Midget: P.S. Tell Jazz she left her scarf in the guest room closet. Damian’s holding it hostage.

Jazz groaned when Danny read it aloud. “Of course he is.”

Danny sent her a shocked Pikachu face meme back.

To Midget: Ask if he has a crush.

Midget: He threw it at me.

This was followed by a J. Jonah Jameson laughing meme.

The scarf landed in a heap across Dani’s lap, Damian’s scowl daring her to comment. She raised one eyebrow, slow and deliberate, before tugging it around her shoulders like it had been gifted with great ceremony.

“You’re so dramatic,” she said, deadpan.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Damian muttered, sinking further into the couch cushions. The cartoon on the TV flickered in bright, bouncing colors that clashed hilariously with his stiff posture.

Dani smirked and checked her phone. Danny’s response, a shocked Pikachu meme, followed by “Ask if he has a crush.”, was still amusing her as she looked at the blushing boy, even after his retaliation for asking.

Her eyes flicked up from the screen to the boy beside her. He was studiously not looking at her, jaw tight, arms crossed, like the very concept of casual relaxation was beneath him. Dani snorted under her breath.

“You’re lucky my dad’s not here,” she teased. “He’d eat you alive.” 

Damian glared at it, then at her. “Pathetic.”

“Uh-huh.” She typed a quick reply — He threw it at me — and punctuated it with a J. Jonah Jameson laughing gif. Then she locked the phone and shoved it into her pocket, deliberately turning her attention back to the TV.

For a few minutes, the room was quiet except for the cartoon’s dialogue. Damian’s glare softened by degrees until he risked a sidelong glance at her. Dani didn’t look back, but she smirked, knowing he’d cracked first.

“…It looks better on you than it did in the closet,” he muttered at last.

Dani leaned her chin on her hand, fighting not to laugh. “Was that a compliment, or did you just lose a bet with yourself?”

He gave a sharp huff through his nose. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” she said, tugging the scarf tighter like it was some priceless treasure.

Damian groaned and shoved a pillow over his face, which only made Dani laugh harder.

“You did well today,” Jazz said gently.

Danny raised an eyebrow. “What, surviving another Fenton family hug?”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No. Talking to Mom and Dad. Actually saying how you felt. That takes guts.”

He rubbed his arm absently, eyes dropping. “I almost didn’t. Part of me thought… what’s the point? They made their choices years ago. But… then I thought about Dani. How every decision we make for her matters now, not later. If I couldn’t be honest with them, how could I expect her to ever trust me?”

Jazz leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “That’s exactly it. You’re starting to think like a parent, Danny. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but… that’s a big deal. You’ve always been the one protecting people, saving people, carrying the weight of things no teenager should. But this is different. You’re not just protecting Dani. You’re guiding her.”

Danny looked away, throat tight. “…What if I screw it up?”

“You will,” Jazz said simply. When his head snapped back toward her, startled, she smiled wryly. “Everyone screws it up sometimes. Mom and Dad did. I will. You will. But what matters is what you do after. Whether you own up to it, whether you learn. That’s the difference between being a scared kid and being a parent.”

He let out a long breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “You’re way too good at this psychology thing.”

“Perks of choosing the major,” she teased, then grew serious again. “Danny… you’ve been handed something unfair. Dani didn’t ask to exist. You didn’t ask to be her guardian. But here you are. And you’re already doing the most important thing—putting her first.”

Danny was quiet a long moment, then nodded. “Yeah. I guess I just… wanted Mom and Dad to know I get it now. That I don’t blame them anymore. If anything, I—” He cut himself off, looking embarrassed. “I respect them for it. For trying.”

Jazz’s expression softened. “They’re proud of you, you know. So am I.”

He ducked his head, muttering, “Thanks,” but the warmth in his chest was real.

She stood, pausing at the door. “Get some sleep, okay? Tomorrow’s a new day. And who knows? Maybe one day Dani will be the one sitting at your desk, telling her kid brother he’s doing better than he thinks.”

Danny huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Man, I hope not. One Dani is enough.”

“Steph seemed to think so, for now”, Jazz said teasingly in reference to the extensive supervision the two had been under.

Danny groaned at the memories of Wayne family members following them around all day, every day.

Jazz grinned, flicked the light switch back off, and slipped out, leaving him in the familiar glow of the ceiling stars. For the first time in a long time, Danny lay back on his bed and let himself breathe.

Casper High smelled the same Monday as always—floor polish mixed with cafeteria pizza, chalk dust, and the faint ozone tang of too many ghost attacks over the years. Danny walked through the halls with Sam on one side and Tucker on the other, his backpack slung low and his mind already half on the weekend ahead.

“So,” Tucker said, elbowing him lightly, “you vanish for days, come back with mysterious family stories, and now you’re dodging us at lunch? Spill, man.”

Danny winced but smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t dodging. I just… had a lot to figure out. You know about Dani staying with us, right?”

“Little sis 2.0,” Tucker said, nodding. “Yeah, I’ve got the headlines. But last I checked, she was bouncing between your house and anywhere else she could crash.”

“That’s… changed,” Danny said, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s gonna be living with Tim and Steph—my, uh, biological family—for the foreseeable future. CPS has been sniffing around, and with their setup, Dani’ll be safer there.”

Sam folded her arms, her expression softening. She’d been there too. “You mean less likely to get taken away by someone who doesn’t understand her situation.”

“Exactly,” Danny said. “And I’ll be visiting on weekends. They even set me up with my own room there—” he hesitated, smirking despite himself, “—with a connecting door to Dani’s, in case she needs me. Though she wasn’t thrilled about that.”

Tucker laughed. “Oh man, I can picture it. Dani is making the world’s poutiest face, swearing she doesn’t need a babysitter.”

“Yeah,” Danny admitted. “But she’ll get used to it. It’s not about treating her like a kid—it’s about making sure she knows she’s not alone.”

Sam brushed his arm with her fingers. “That’s really good of you, Danny. You’re doing right by her.”

Before he could answer, Valerie fell into step beside them, her bag slung crosswise and her eyes narrowing slightly. “So the rumors are true. You’ve got a secret weekend schedule now?”

Danny stiffened. “Rumors?”

“Casper High thrives on gossip,” Valerie said dryly. “You disappear, you look tired in class, and suddenly people think you’re sneaking off to Gotham to start a double life.”

Sam snorted. “Please, Danny’s barely keeping up with his single life.”

Valerie raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Danny exhaled slowly. “Fine. Yeah. I’m heading to Gotham every weekend. Dani’s living there with people who can protect her. It’s not forever, but… It’s what’s best for her right now.”

Valerie’s gaze softened just slightly, though her voice stayed cool. “Sounds like a lot of responsibility for someone still pulling all-nighters on math homework.”

Danny gave her a crooked grin. “Tell me about it,” Danny muttered, running a hand through his hair.

And then—like clockwork—another voice chimed in, carrying its usual mix of arrogance and teasing sweetness.

“What’s up, losers?” Paulina Sanchez leaned casually against the locker beside them, twirling a strand of glossy black hair around her finger. She wasn’t flanked by Star or the usual crowd of admirers today, which made her sudden arrival feel strangely personal. Her eyes, sharp and amused, flicked from Sam to Tucker to Valerie before settling on Danny. “So… who’s Dani?”

Sam bristled immediately. “She’s his cousin,” she said firmly, arms folding.

“Yeah,” Tucker jumped in, nodding fast. “Totally his cousin. From out of town. Very, uh… distant cousin.”

Valerie’s tone was cooler, protective. “It’s family business. Nothing you need to stick your nose into.”

Paulina tilted her head, lips curving into a sly smile. “Uh-huh. Funny how you all sound like you’re covering for him. And since when does Fenton rate three bodyguards?”

Danny sighed, straightening. He could hear the defensive rush of explanations buzzing from his friends, but he cut them all off with a single, flat statement.

“She’s my daughter,” he said.

The words hung in the air like a live wire.

Sam blinked, Tucker’s jaw dropped, and Valerie stiffened as though Danny had just admitted to robbing a bank. Paulina, however, didn’t laugh, or sneer, or rush to announce it to the hallway. Instead, her eyes widened for just a moment before narrowing into something more thoughtful.

“Your… daughter?” she repeated softly, as if testing the word on her tongue. She glanced at Sam, who shook her head.

Paulina didn’t dwell on it if Sam seemed to have accepted it. For a year or so, Danny was a world-renowned celebrity. No doubt he had plenty of fangirls throwing themselves at him. Even she was swept up in it. Accidents happen. Paulina actually felt for a moment a little jealous that some groupie had gotten to Danny. It was more of a surprise how calm Sam was about it.

Then her chin lifted, and for once, her voice didn’t carry its usual edge. “And you were talking about visitation rights.”

Danny nodded. “Yeah. Weekends. She’s staying with her other grandparents in Gotham right now. But I get to visit on weekends.”

Paulina’s usual vanity softened into something else entirely—respect. Her painted lips curved into a genuine smile, warm despite the sharpness still lingering in her tone.

“You know,” she said, lowering her voice just a little, “my dad raised me on his own after my mom left. Single dads? They don’t get enough credit. So… respect, Fenton.”

The last three years hadn’t been the greatest for her, but her parents had been distant even before that. At least her Dad had stayed.

Danny blinked at her, caught off guard.

Paulina winked, straightening up and tugging at her bag strap. “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything. Promise. Even losers deserve a break sometimes.”

And with that, she sauntered down the hall, hips swaying, calling softly over her shoulder with her usual flare, “See you around, Daddy Fenton!”

The bell rang, echoing down the hall.

Sam groaned, Tucker muttered something about this day getting way too weird, and Valerie’s eyes flicked sideways at Danny, unreadable.

Danny just exhaled, shaking his head. “Why is my life always like this?”

The group drifted toward their classrooms, but Danny could feel the difference—Sam supportive, Tucker curious, Valerie skeptical-but-not-hostile. They were his friends, his anchor, and he’d need that now more than ever.

Later that afternoon, Danny found himself standing awkwardly outside Mr. Lancer’s office. His teacher looked up from a pile of papers and waved him in.

“Ah, Mr. Fenton. I was hoping you’d stop by.”

Danny slid into the chair across the desk. “You said you wanted to talk about… therapy?”

Lancer folded his hands, his expression unusually gentle. “Yes. Look, Daniel, I know you’ve been under a tremendous amount of stress. Adoption, your… sister’s situation, the added responsibilities—it’s a lot for anyone, let alone someone your age. I recommended that you consider professional counseling, and I’ve spoken with your parents. They agree.”

Danny shifted uncomfortably. He assumed Mr. Lancer was talking about Jazz going to College, since she’d been in a while back getting her transcripts, but his tone implied maybe the Fentons had shared more than he let on. “I don’t know if—”

“This isn’t about weakness,” Lancer interrupted firmly. “It’s about giving you a space where you don’t have to carry everything alone. You’ve been asked to grow up too fast. A good therapist can help you sort out what’s yours to carry… and what isn’t.”

Danny hesitated, then nodded slowly. “So who is it?”

“Dr. Harrow,” Lancer said, sliding a card across the desk. “A psychologist I trust. You’ll meet once a week to start. It’s confidential, judgment-free, and focused on you.”

Danny picked up the card, reading the neat print of the name and number. Something in his chest eased just a little—like maybe he wouldn’t have to figure it all out by himself.

“Thanks, Mr. Lancer,” he said quietly.

“Don’t thank me,” Lancer replied, leaning back. “Just show up. That’ll be thanks enough.”

Danny tucked the card into his pocket as he left, the hallways dim in the late afternoon light. Outside, he could hear the muffled chatter of students heading home. Good time as any to go run an errand or two before going home.

The bell above the door jingled when Danny stepped inside, the shop’s front display glowing in neon green letters:

“TUCKER FOLEY TECH & PAWN — Ghost Zone Plans Available, Ask About Family Bundles!”

Half of the space looked like an ordinary phone and repair shop, glass cases lined with refurbished smartphones and accessories. The other half looked like a pawn shop that had given up pretending to be normal: cracked Grecian amphorae, swords etched in runes that glowed faintly, helmets that belonged in a Viking burial mound, and even a crystal orb with a “$45.99 OBO” tag taped to the glass.

Behind the counter, the middle-aged clerk didn’t even look up from his sudoku book. He just waved Danny toward the back with the ease of someone long used to teenage superheroes walking in like they owned the place.

Danny slipped past the curtain door and into the treasure hoard. The back of the shop was obscene—like a dragon’s den had exploded and been organized by half-hearted interns. Chests of coins, jewelry spilling from cardboard boxes, dusty scrolls stacked under a flat-screen TV, and an entire rack of weapons tagged for appraisal. Danny spotted a glass display case labeled “On Hold for Amity Park Museum”—inside, a scarred Roman shield leaned against an intricately carved ghostly lyre.

“Seriously, Tuck,” Danny muttered, stepping over a carpet runner draped across what might have been an Ottoman throne. “One of these days, someone’s gonna accuse you of running an interdimensional black market.”

A voice called from deeper in the maze. “Correction: I’m running an interdimensional taxable black market. Totally aboveboard. Museum receipts and pawn firms are on file for an IRS audit..”

Danny followed the sound into the office. Tucker was behind his desk, chair leaned back, tablet in one hand and stylus tapping notes in the other. His mayoral campaign poster still hung crooked on the wall, a relic of when this place had been his command center.

“Man, you’re lucky you tested out of so many morning classes,” Danny said, dropping into the guest chair. “City business, museum sales, Infinite Realms trade… If I had to juggle all that, I’d be a ghost full-time just to get some sleep.”

Tucker smirked, adjusting his glasses. “Please. You’re gonna have it way worse. The second the Ancients stop humoring your ‘I’m still seventeen’ excuse, guess who’s gonna be crowned King of the Dead? Spoiler alert—it’s not me.”

Danny groaned, slouching in the chair. “Don’t remind me.”

Tucker laughed, reached into a desk drawer, and pulled out a sleek black smartphone. The casing shimmered faintly—some ghost-proof alloy with FentonTech shielding, if Danny guessed right. “Speaking of leadership responsibilities… here’s your Johnny 13 work phone. Rugged, encrypted, and most importantly, shadow-resistant. I even preloaded the number with ‘Boss Man.’”

Danny took it carefully, flipping it in his palm. “Perfect. How much do I owe you?”

Tucker held out his hand. “You know the drill. Cash, card, or spooky kingdom treasury?”

Danny sighed, reaching into his backpack. He set down a pouch that clinked heavily against the desk. When Tucker opened it, gold coins gleamed in the dim office light, stamped with Pariah Dark’s insignia.

“Payment from Pariah’s keep,” Danny said, then added with a shrug, “or mine now, I guess.”

Tucker grinned, sweeping the pouch toward his desk drawer. “You know, most guys our age pay their buddies back in pizza slices. You pay in royal ghost bullion. I’m not complaining, but man—you really know how to make a guy feel underdressed.”

Danny chuckled, pocketing the phone. “Yeah, well… remind me to order us pizza next time. Something less likely to attract treasure hunters.”

Tucker leaned back, the weight of the pouch already forgotten. “Deal. But for now? Go tell Johnny 13 he’s got the fanciest work phone in the afterlife. Maybe it’ll keep him out of trouble.”

Danny smirked, standing to leave. “With my luck? Not a chance.”

Danny tugged his jacket tighter against the evening air as he crossed into the newer side of Amity Park. A few years back, this stretch of farmland had been bulldozed and rebuilt into what locals now called Ghost Town—a gated community designed for spectral residents who wanted to visit Earth without clashing constantly with humans.

At first glance, the entrance didn’t look like anything supernatural. A brick-and-steel gatehouse sat at the roadside, modest but sturdy, with a pair of black-barred gates for traffic—one for entrance, one for exit. A lone human guard leaned out the window of the gatehouse, radio clipped to his vest, clipboard in hand. He barely blinked at Danny’s approach, just gave a half-wave like Danny was a familiar delivery driver.

“Evening, Phantom,” one of them called, lifting a hand in a half-hearted wave.

“Evening,” Danny replied, floating just high enough that he didn’t need to deal with the squeaky gate.

Inside, Ghost Town unfolded like any other suburban development. Paved streets curved through neat rows of houses—some looking like ordinary split-level homes, others shimmering faintly with ghostly modifications. Fences buzzed with protective wards. Shrubs and trees lined the sidewalks, adding enough privacy that you couldn’t see more than a few houses ahead. It looked eerily normal, if you ignored the occasional floating lawn gnome or mailbox that drifted three inches off the ground.

Ghost Town at dusk felt almost ordinary. Porch lights clicked on in neat rows, casting their glow across quiet sidewalks. Human families sat on decks while their ghost neighbors drifted by, phasing through fences instead of opening gates. Lawn sprinklers hummed alongside spectral will-o’-wisps hovering above garden beds. The place had the faint hum of any suburb—backyard grills, distant laughter—but wrapped around it all was the shimmer of the Infinite Realms bleeding through, subtle and undeniable.

Danny passed a kid’s lemonade stand where the sign read “Lemonade 50¢ (ectoplasm extra)”, then ducked under the shadow of a floating mailbox. He couldn’t help but smile. For all its weirdness, Ghost Town worked.

At the heart of the community sat the real reason this place existed: the Border Patrol checkpoint. Unlike the gatehouse, this was unmistakably government-built—rectangular, gray, efficient. Its perimeter fence encircled a portal that pulsed with soft green light, a regulated doorway straight into the Infinite Realms. This one didn’t roar like the Fenton Portal back at his parents’ lab. Instead, it pulsed steady and quiet, ringed by signage in both English and Enochian script:

“AUTHORIZED CROSSING ONLY. HAVE IDENTIFICATION READY.”

Danny slowed as he passed, taking in the sight of the agents clustered around the checkpoint. They wore their uniforms crisp, but their expressions were hollowed out by years of monotony. He knew their story—how they’d moved to Amity before the timeline resets, back when his fight with Dark Danny had broken reality itself. They remembered everything, but their higher-ups didn’t. That left them stranded here, guarding a border in the middle of Illinois that technically existed on paper, cashing paychecks but with zero chance of ever moving up.

Danny didn’t envy them.

He offered a small wave as he flew past. A couple of them nodded back, bored but cordial.

Beyond the station, Ghost Town blended seamlessly into its Infinite Realms reflection. Danny kept going until the suburban streets warped into their spectral counterparts—houses flickering translucent, street lamps glowing with green fire. He scanned the familiar landmarks until he spotted the one place that was never hard to find.

The ghostly twin of the Nastyburger stood tall under its buzzing green neon sign, the only official franchise with a foot in both worlds. Its parking lot shimmered faintly, and the smell of ecto-burgers wafted out the doors.

Sure enough, Johnny 13 was exactly where Danny expected him—slouched at an outdoor table, boots kicked up, a shadow curling lazily at his feet. A half-finished milkshake fogged the air in front of him, and his spectral bike leaned against the curb.

Danny adjusted the phone in his pocket, exhaling.

“Figures,” he muttered, and started walking toward Johnny.

Danny pulled out the phone Tucker had built and the portal device Johnny had nabbed from FentonWorks the first time he appeared then sat across from him. “I’ve got work for you. Commission.”

Johnny tilted his head, smirk faint under his sunglasses. “I’m listening.”

Danny leaned forward, voice low. “Gotham’s full of bound ghosts—tied to their places of death, stuck in alleys, theaters, apartments. I need them freed and escorted into the Realms so they can find their own way to the afterlife. Quietly. No theatrics, no chaos. Use invisibility when you travel.”

Johnny whistled, long and slow. “That’s a big job. Gotham ain’t exactly ghost-friendly.”

“Which is why you’re not alone,” Danny countered. “Your point of contact is Lady Gotham herself. She’ll find you as soon as you cross the border and lead you to them.”

Johnny swirled his milkshake, frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t expect me to go dredging ghosts outta the harbor too, do you?”

Danny shook his head. “No. That’s not your style. If it comes to that, I’ll probably hire Youngblood. He likes ships.”

That drew a short bark of laughter from Johnny. “Hah. Figures.” He tipped his glass in a mocking toast. “Fine. You got yourself a deal… Mr. Mayor.”

Danny rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Ghost Town’s residents had picked up the nickname months ago, half-sardonic, half-respectful. They refused to use the word king, but they couldn’t resist calling him something.

He slid the phone and device across the table. Johnny pocketed it, still grinning.

With business settled, Danny stood and turned back toward Amity. He floated past the tidy blocks until the community faded into the outskirts of town. A lumber yard loomed against the evening sky, stacks of cut timber rising like walls. Beyond it, the steel mill’s smokestacks reached higher still, lit faintly by the orange glow of its furnaces. The Fenton logo blazed across both sites in fresh paint.

Danny didn’t stop. He just kept walking, shadows stretching long behind him.

Chapter Text

Casper High was loud, messy, and blissfully uneventful. No alarms blaring mid-lecture, no meat-based food fights from Lunch Lady Ghost, who covered students in ghostly Bolognese, since she went on maternity leave, no excuse for Danny to slip out of class and risk detention. With Ghost Town pulling most of the fights out of Amity Park, school actually felt like… school. Which, naturally, meant the adrenaline junkies of Amity Park hated it.

.The bell rang, students shuffled between classes, and the loudest drama in the halls was Paulina complaining about a chipped nail. Danny, Sam, and Tucker walked to class without scanning the hallway for ectoplasmic intruders.

Danny wasn’t used to it. His backpack wasn’t stuffed with half-finished homework anymore, and when he looked at his grades, the numbers didn’t sting. What used to hover around a shaky C had crept up into a solid B-minus average. Jazz had nearly cried. Even Lancer had muttered something about “potential at last” under his breath.

By the time the last period rolled around, Tucker and Sam split for electives while Danny headed to Athletics. The class was meant for student athletes to use for practice, but after some nudging from Dash and Kwan—“it’s embarrassing when our town’s hero can’t even bench a hundred, Fenton”—Coach had relented. Danny wasn’t on a team, but he had free rein of the training equipment. Danny quickly proved them wrong since he had above human strength even in human form and easily lifted 300lbs before the new coach stopped them from adding more weight.

They’d settled into a more managed training regiment, trying to test his max weight and push his limit. Needless to say the school had to order better equipment and more weights while the coach begged him to compete in weightlifting. Danny had finally given in for Junior year. 

The gym smelled like sweat and disinfectant, barbells clanking in rhythm with sneakers squeaking on the basketball court. Dumbbells clinking as he racked the last set. His arms burned, shoulders broadening under the slow, steady grind of resistance training. The school couldn’t afford to really push him. He had that built at home. Danny wiped his forehead with a towel, chest rising as he finished. The muscles in his arms and shoulders, built steadily over the last year and a half, strained against the hoodie he’d tossed in his gym bag that morning without thinking.

He pulled off his hoodie on the way out, leaving just the sleeveless shirt underneath, sweat plastering the fabric to his chest.

Sam was leaning against the lockers, scrolling idly through her phone. She glanced up—then did a double take. Her eyes lingered longer than she probably realized, traveling over him in a way that sent heat rushing to his ears.

It was still weird sometimes, catching his reflection and seeing someone taller, broader, heavier by almost sixty pounds and a full foot since freshman year. But it wasn’t bad weird. He’d grown into himself, and judging by the way Sam’s gaze lingered as he walked out of the weight room, she noticed too.

Before Danny could figure out if he was supposed to grin or melt into the floor, Tucker appeared, waving his PDA like it was a prop in a comedy act. “You two done flirting, or do I need to call in backup? Because I’ve been waiting ten minutes, and Fenton, I swear, you look like you could bench me now.”

Danny laughed, grabbing his bag. “You’re not that heavy, Tuck.”

“Excuse you,” Tucker said, mock-offended. “This is a finely tuned body fueled by Nasty Burger and late-night gaming. Premium weight.”

Sam rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her amusement. Tucker had been here long before she was to watch Danny working out and had only come out of his daze when he got a notification.

Sam leaned against the lockers, arms crossed but eyes tracing over Danny with a barely disguised smile. Sam rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her amusement.  “I’d say all that training’s paying off. Not bad, Fenton.”

Danny's cheeks flushed, tugging at his shirt like it might shrink him back down to size. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam drawled, clearly enjoying his embarrassment.

Tucker rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “You two are unbearable.”

The sun was low by the time the three of them cut across the cracked sidewalk toward the glowing sign of the Nasty Burger. The smell of grease and salt wafted into the street, clinging to them before they even pushed through the door.

Inside, the place buzzed with chatter and the sizzle of fryers. Mr. Lancer sat in the corner with a newspaper, half-watching the room over his glasses, and a group of freshmen crowded near the arcade machine.

Danny slid into their usual booth, tossing his bag beside him with a sigh of relief. Tucker dropped in across from him, already fiddling with his PDA, while Sam sat down next to Danny, ordering with a quick wave to the counter worker who knew their usual by heart.

Their food soon arrived—burgers, fries, a mountain of onion rings Tucker had no chance of finishing. The three dug in, the kind of easy rhythm that came from years of sitting at that table, sharing food and trading jabs.

“So,” Tucker said, grinning as he leaned back, “I’ve decided this is officially the weirdest timeline. Danny Fenton: solid B-minus student, part-time gym rat, local hero. Who had that on their bingo card?”

Danny shoved a straw into his soda and muttered, “Not me.”

Sam smirked. “Definitely not me. But I’ll admit—it’s not the worst upgrade.” Her eyes flicked over him, just enough to make Danny duck his head and cough into his drink.

Tucker groaned. “Ugh, please, not while I’m eating.”

Between bites, Danny’s thoughts drifted. To Dani in Gotham, probably at Tim and Stephanie’s dinner table right now. To the weight room, the way his arms had stopped aching so quickly over the last year. To the strange quiet of school without the constant ghost alarms.

“You’re zoning out again,” Sam said, nudging him with her elbow.

Danny blinked. “Sorry. Just… thinking how weird it is. This is the first time in forever we’ve had, like… normal.”

Tucker raised a fry like a toast. “And may it stay that way. At least until finals.”

Sam smiled faintly, clinking her straw against his fry. “I’ll drink to that.”

The Nasty Burger booth was a mess of trays, crumpled wrappers, and half-empty sodas when Danny finally set his phone upright against the ketchup bottle. “Alright. Lancer’s gone,” he said, thumb hovering over the screen. “Time for the daily check-in.”

Sam leaned closer, straightening her hair in the reflection. “Make sure your camera isn’t smudged this time. Last night she said you looked like you were calling from inside a swamp.”

“That was Tucker’s fries on the lens,” Danny defended.

“Hey,” Tucker said, mouth full, “don’t pin your greasy phone on me.”

Before Danny could argue, the call connected. Dani’s face filled the screen—grinning, hair a little mussed, a Gotham townhouse behind her. She was wedged between Tim and Stephanie on the couch, a plate of snacks balanced on the coffee table.

“Dad!” Dani beamed, waving so hard she nearly tipped the phone over. “Hi Sam! Hi Tuck!”

“Hey, kiddo,” Danny said, his grin tugging wide just seeing her. “How’s Gotham treating you?”

“It’s awesome,” Dani said immediately. “We’re at Grandpa Tim’s Brownstone. He gave me ANOTHER bedroom then let me help with dinner, and Grandma Steph said I could try her brownies recipe at her apartment tomorrow—oh! And we went to this used bookstore that has a whole floor just for comics!”

Stephanie leaned into the frame, smiling as she nudged Dani’s shoulder. “She found three book series she wouldn’t let go of. We’re already running out of shelf space.”

“Hey, that’s genetics,” Sam teased, sipping her soda. “Danny’s room still looks like a library got hit by a tornado.”

Tim chuckled quietly, looking more relaxed than Danny had ever expected. “She’s been good. No trouble. Not much, anyway.”

Dani pulled a face. “That wasn’t trouble, I just… fell off the front step fence thing. Accidentally. There’s a basement down there!”

Danny groaned. “Dani…”

“I’m fine!” she protested, holding her arms up to the camera. “See? Not even a scratch. Tim was right there.”

Sam leaned toward the phone, her voice warm. “Just be careful, alright? I don’t need to call Gotham every night to hear you’ve sprained something.”

Dani softened, smile smaller but no less real. “I will. Promise.” Her mother formed the word “Mom”, but true to her word, she didn’t say it. Sam’s lip twitched up like it was an inside joke.

On the screen, Tim gave a helpless shrug, like he’d already lost that battle. “It’s technically an attached apartment. You can use it to stay over some time, Danny.”

For a moment, the call felt like they were all at one table together, even with hundreds of miles between them—the laughter, the teasing, the constant undercurrent of care.

“Alright,” Danny said, checking the time. “We should let you guys finish dinner. I’ll call again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Dani echoed firmly. Then, before anyone could hang up, she pressed closer to the camera to blow a kiss. “Love you, Dad.”

Danny’s throat tightened, but he grinned anyway and ‘caught it’ in his hand. “Love you too, squirt.”

The call ended, the ketchup bottle reflecting their tired but content faces. Sam leaned back, smirking. “She’s doing better than you are, Fenton.”

“Yeah,” Tucker added. “She’s already upgraded to Gotham brownies. We’re still stuck with Nasty Burger grease.”

Danny laughed, shaking his head as he tucked the phone away. For the first time, the distance didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like a bridge—something that made their messy little family bigger, not smaller.

The Nasty Burger was still buzzing when Danny ended the call with Dani, sliding his phone into his pocket. Sam smirked at him, Tucker muttered something about “brownie envy,” and the three of them slipped out into the evening, the bell above the door jingling shut.

Two tables over, Star and Kwan sat frozen mid-bite.

“…Did she just call him Dad?” Star whispered, eyes wide.

Kwan’s jaw dropped. “Pretty sure she did.”

Star blinked, then blinked again, like her mind was trying to reboot. “Wait. Wait. No way. Danny has a kid?”

Kwan’s eyes were wide, his jaw practically on the floor. “Dude. Dude! That girl on the phone looked just like him. Is this—like—real?”

“So let me get this straight: Danny Fenton, Casper High’s professional space cadet, ghost-magnet, lab accident waiting to happen… is somebody’s father?”

Neither of them moved until Danny, Sam, and Tucker were well out of sight. Then Star fumbled for her phone, opening the A-Listers group chat with trembling fingers.

Star: you guys won’t believe what I just heard
Star: danny fenton has a DAUGHTER???
Star: she literally called him dad on facetime at nastyburger

Responses exploded almost instantly.

Dash: lol nice try. no way.
Valerie: …what??
Paulina: …mierda…

Star froze at that last reply. Her phone buzzed a second later—Paulina was calling.

She answered quickly. “Paulina, I swear, I’m not making this up—”

“I know you’re not,” Paulina cut her off, her voice calm but firm. “I already knew.”

Star blinked. “You—what? How?”

“That’s not your concern. What is your concern is keeping your mouth shut.” Paulina’s tone sharpened. “Don’t spread this around. If it’s true, it’s private. If it’s false, you’ll look like an idiot. Either way, stop.”

The line went dead.

Star sat frozen, staring at her phone, Paulina’s words ringing in her ears. Slowly, she turned to Kwan—just in time to see him across the room, surrounded by half the football team, retelling the story with wild hand gestures.

“—and then the girl goes, ‘Love you, Dad!’ right on camera!” Kwan exclaimed, mimicking Dani’s wave. “I’m telling you, it was Fenton. No joke!”

The team roared with laughter, some disbelieving, some already taking it as gospel. 

Star groaned, burying her face in her hands. Paulina was going to kill her.

And by tomorrow morning, the entire school would know.

Johnny 13’s tires squealed as he pulled off the interstate and coasted down into Gotham proper. The skyline loomed ahead, jagged and alive with shadows, and even his ghostly bike gave a low growl as if it sensed the city’s weight.

A few blocks in, he eased into the mouth of an alley and killed the engine. The new phone Danny had given him slid slick from his jacket pocket. It was bare-bones—no contacts, no music, no games. Just one app, its icon a cartoonish specter on a motorcycle.

Phantom Rides.

Johnny snorted, shaking his head. “Real funny, Phantom.”

He thumbed the app open, expecting some map or spectral radar. Instead, the screen just pulsed blank green. No routes, no pins. Just dead space.

“Guess the King’s GPS is on the fritz.”

Or maybe not. Danny had mentioned Lady Gotham. Johnny leaned against the wall, chewing on the thought. If the app needed her say-so to work, then he was parked until she decided to show.

He didn’t have to wait long.

The air cooled. Shadows deepened. And there she was, rising from the bricks like smoke—Lady Gotham herself. Tall, elegant, and watching him with an intensity that prickled under his jacket collar.

Johnny slid the phone back into his pocket. “Well, howdy. You must be my tour guide.”

Her eyes, luminous and ancient, softened as they swept over his leather jacket, his boots, the curve of his bike. She smiled faintly. “I had forgotten this look. Gotham once had a biker culture—small but proud. From the fifties to the nineties, they claimed the roads along the outskirts. You remind me of them.”

Johnny raised a brow, then climbed on his bike and grinned. “That so? Guess I was born in the wrong era. You want a ride, Duchess?”

Her smile sharpened, playful now. With a snap of her fingers, her Victorian gown melted into black denim, a red bandana, and a leather jacket traced with faint glowing sigils. The transformation was seamless, like the city itself had dressed her. In a weird way of thinking, it had. She swung a leg over the bike and settled behind him, arms looping comfortably around his waist.

Johnny chuckled low. “You wear it better than half the boys I ran with.”

“Take me to your first pickup,” she said as his phone pinged with a location, voice carrying the joy of someone who had just rediscovered an old thrill. “Let us ride.”

The bike roared to life, shadow stretching long in the dark. With Lady Gotham riding pillion, Johnny revved the engine and pulled onto the street, the city’s ghosts waiting somewhere ahead.

The bike’s engine echoed off Gotham’s stone canyons as Johnny let Lady Gotham guide him through twisting streets. She didn’t point, exactly—her presence simply bent the shadows ahead, steering him unerringly deeper into the city’s underbelly.

They rolled into an older neighborhood where cracked pavement and boarded windows told stories no one living wanted to hear. Ghosts were everywhere here—men slumped against stoops, women leaning out of broken windows, children lingering in doorways. Dozens of them, their forms faint, tethered to the spots where their lives had ended.

Lady Gotham’s grip around Johnny’s waist tightened as he pulled the bike to a stop at the mouth of a narrow side street. The name painted on the old street sign had faded almost beyond recognition, but everyone knew it.

Crime Alley.

The ghosts here were quieter than the rest. No shouting, no restless pacing. Just silence heavy enough to press against Johnny’s skin.

At the center of the alley stood a man in a fine but bloodstained suit, hair swept back, mustache neat even in death. His eyes carried a sadness that went deeper than words. Lady Gotham’s gaze softened at the sight of him, but she stayed still, regal and silent.

Johnny dismounted, boots scuffing against the cracked pavement. He remembered Danny’s words—specific, iron-clad instructions whispered with the weight of a promise.

He stepped closer to the suited ghost. “Name’s Johnny. I ain’t here to drag you nowhere, not yet, but I got a message. From your boy.”

The man’s head lifted slowly, eyes narrowing.

Johnny didn’t flinch. “He says he loves you. Misses you every damn day. And you got grandkids—great-grandkids too. Whole family that remembers you. Carries you with ‘em.”

A flicker of recognition passed across the man’s face, and for a moment the alley seemed to hold its breath.

Lady Gotham said nothing. She knew exactly which son this message belonged to—her Dark Knight, the one who stalked her streets even now. Her expression remained impassive, but the shadows around her curled like a mother’s arms.

The ghost of Thomas Wayne closed his eyes.

Johnny shifted his weight, leather creaking. He didn’t add anything else. He wasn’t supposed to.

He rolled his shoulders, pulled the phone from his jacket, and thumbed the app awake. Its screen flared to life at last, glowing with new pins across Gotham—coordinates lit by Lady Gotham’s unseen hand.

He shoved the device back into his pocket and raised his hands, ready to begin the work Danny had sent him for.

Johnny’s shadow stretched long and sharp along the brick walls as he raised his hand. The shades bound to Crime Alley stirred, chains of pale ectoplasm rattling faintly, unseen by mortal eyes but heavy as anchors.

He leveled his palm at the nearest—an old man slumped against the wall where he’d died. A quick ectoblast cracked across the night, striking the glowing fetters at his wrists. The chains shattered into sparks, dissolving into nothing. The shade blinked, free at last, and Johnny flipped a Fenton Thermos from his belt with practiced ease. One twist of the cap, a hiss of suction, and the ghost was drawn inside.

“Sorry, partner,” Johnny muttered. “Transit service only. No refunds.”

He worked down the line, shot after shot, chain after chain. A woman in a fur coat, a boy no older than ten, a brawler with bruised knuckles—all of them shades tied to this cursed street. Each blast freed them, each Thermos pull gathered them. The sound of shattering links echoed like breaking glass until, one by one, the alley emptied.

At the center, Thomas Wayne stood still. His chains were heavier, thick as iron bars, but Johnny’s blasts broke them all the same. The Thermos pulled at him with a low hum, and for a moment he resisted, gaze locked on Johnny with quiet dignity. Then, slowly, he allowed himself to be drawn inside with the others.

Silence fell. Crime Alley was empty now, save for Johnny, Lady Gotham, and the echo of what had been.

Johnny clipped the Thermos back to his belt and turned toward his bike. From one of its saddlebags he pulled a sleek device, cobbled from scavenged Fentonworks tech and his own tinkering—a gate projector, small but potent. He strapped it to the frame, fingers already working the dials to rip open a portal to the Realms.

Before he could start the engine, Lady Gotham stepped forward. Her gloved hand brushed his jacket sleeve, light as fog. “Not yet.”

Johnny blinked, watching as she tapped the phone in his pocket. The screen lit up instantly, Phantom Rides opening without prompt. This time the map wasn’t blank. Gotham’s streets glowed in eerie green, dozens—no, hundreds—of pins flickering across the city. Every bound ghost, every tether, marked by her unseen hand.

“Now you will not wander blind,” she said.

Johnny slipped the phone back with a low whistle. “Guess I just got promoted to courier with benefits.”

Lady Gotham’s lips curved faintly. She lifted a hand in farewell, and with a graceful wave her leather jacket and denim melted back into sweeping Victorian silks. Shadows folded around her, and she disappeared into the bricks as though she had never been.

The engine roared to life beneath Johnny. He twisted the dial on the projector, and green fire cracked open a swirling gate to the Infinite Realms. With the Thermos full of shades secure, he gunned the throttle and rode straight through.

The bike rolled to a stop on the glassy green plane just inside the Infinite Realms. Johnny dismounted, flicked open the Thermos, and let the first shade spill free in a wash of ecto-light. The figure looked dazed but calmer now, chains gone, eyes clearer.

Johnny pulled out the phone Danny had given him, watching as an app screen popped up automatically. A form blinked into place, glowing text and checkboxes floating like a bureaucrat’s fever dream.

Survey 1 of 37.

1. What’s your name?
   
   
2. Where is your body?
   
   
3. Do you have any unfulfilled regrets or unfinished business?
   
   
4. How would you rate your driver?
   
   

Johnny froze at the last line. “What the hell—?” He scrolled back up, then down again, sputtering. “Is this… is this a damn Uber review form?!”

The shade tilted his head, waiting.

Johnny groaned. “Oh, I see it now. Danny and Tucker think they’re real funny. Phantom Rides, huh?” He jabbed the screen with a finger. “Fine. Free phone, good pay. Play along for another day.”

The ghost answered quietly, and Johnny typed. Name. Location of body. A regret left behind. And when the fourth question came up, the shade’s lips twitched into something like a smile.

“Five stars,” Johnny muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. “Guess I’m racking up a driver rating.”

One by one, he worked through the queue. Release, survey, Thermos again until he could offload at a waystation deeper in the Realms. Each ghost’s words etched into the form and saved automatically to some digital archive Danny and Tucker had set up.

When the Thermos was empty and the last form filed, Johnny mounted back up, punched the same gate coordinates, and rode back into Gotham.

On the other side, he thumbed through the app’s menus. A new tab blinked at him: REPORT SUBMISSIONS. It wasn’t flashy, just rows of filed data. But it carried weight—criminal reports for bodies never found, cases unsolved, disappearances that had haunted Gotham for decades.

Johnny hit send. The files zipped into official channels with a ghostly ping.

He revved the engine, checked the glowing pins on his map, and turned toward the next cluster of chained shades waiting for him.

The rooftops of Gotham were quiet in the way they rarely ever were—no sirens close, no shadows stirring just out of sight. Bruce stood at the ledge, cape drawn close against the night air, waiting for the next inevitable sound of chaos. But it didn’t come. Instead, something else did.

It wasn’t physical, not like armor loosening or a weight lifted from his shoulders. It was deeper, stranger. Something in his chest—no, in his spirit—shifted. Like pressure easing off a wound he hadn’t realized was still bleeding. A soft exhale escaped him before he could stop it, as though the city itself had released him, even if just for a moment.

Behind him, Damian waited with his usual impatience, tapping a gloved hand against his utility belt. “Are we moving, Father, or are we standing here for aesthetics?”

Bruce turned, studying his son. Not the soldier. Not the apprentice. Just his boy, standing there under the flickering light of a rooftop sign, scowling as if the world itself were late to meet him. The odd easing in Bruce’s chest lingered, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he stepped forward and pulled Damian into a firm embrace.

Predictably, the boy tensed. “Tt. Father—really—” His voice was half protest, half embarrassment. But he didn’t pull away. After a beat, his small frame softened against Bruce’s armored bulk, head resting briefly against the bat-symbol across his chest.

They stayed like that, no words, no explanations. Just father and son holding still in a city that never stopped moving. A few seconds later, Damian shifted, muttering under his breath about patrol schedules. Bruce released him, and they both turned back toward the ledge.

No discussion. No acknowledgement. Just the understanding that whatever had shifted in that moment was real. And then, together, they leapt back into the night.

The grandfather clock in the hall had just chimed past midnight when Alfred Pennyworth finished stacking the last of the papers on Bruce’s desk. The study was a mess, as it often was after long nights, notes scattered beside half-empty cups of cold tea. Alfred’s hands moved with the precision of decades, tidying, restoring order where chaos had been left behind.

But as he straightened the desk blotter, something shifted. Not in the room—within himself. A weight, old and constant, seemed to lift, replaced by an inexplicable wave of nostalgia and… relief. He paused, one hand resting on the polished oak, his eyes drawn upward.

The portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne loomed above the desk, their painted faces timeless, caught forever in the prime of their lives. Alfred had looked at that painting more times than he could count, always with the ache of what had been lost. Tonight, though, he felt something different. The sorrow wasn’t gone, but for the first time in a long while, it was joined by a soft warmth, like remembering a lullaby half-forgotten.

His lips curved into a small, wistful smile. Strange, to feel that comfort here of all places. Strange, but welcome.

He straightened his jacket, let his gaze linger on the portrait for a moment longer, and then turned out the lamp. With the study restored and the shadows gentle instead of heavy, Alfred made his way to his room. Sleep came easier that night than it had in years.

Jason crouched on the edge of a rooftop, the Red Hood’s visor glowing faintly against the Gotham night. Below him, red and blue lights strobed over cracked pavement and boarded-up storefronts. Crime Alley was swarming with uniforms.

His men had pinged him first—rumors that cops were pulling bodies out of the neighborhood like weeds. Jason hadn’t believed it until he’d seen it with his own eyes. He leaned on the parapet, watching as stretchers moved one after another into waiting vans.

Some of the bodies looked fresh. Others… not so much. The brittle bones of decades-old victims were being carried out alongside those who hadn’t been dead more than a month. Jason’s stomach tightened. This wasn’t just bad—it was weird.

He tapped the comm in his helmet. “Oracle, you catching this?”

Barbara’s voice crackled back, calm and efficient. “I’ve got the feeds. GCPD has confirmed multiple recoveries. Initial reports say some of the remains predate even Gordon’s first run as commissioner. They’re… not sure what to make of it yet.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. Down below, an officer pried open a rotted wall panel, and another body tumbled out like it had been waiting all this time. The alley looked like it was bleeding history, coughing up every secret it had ever swallowed.

“Yeah, well, I need you to keep an eye on this,” Jason muttered. “If there’s a serial killer using my neighborhood as a damn trophy cabinet, I want to know before the press does.”

“Jason—” Barbara started, then cut herself short, her tone shifting. “You think this is a pattern?”

“I think bodies don’t crawl out of the woodwork on their own,” he snapped. “And if it is a pattern, if someone’s been at this for decades—” He exhaled through his teeth, steadying himself. “—then I need to know what kind of monster we’re dealing with.”

He leaned forward, watching as another stretcher was loaded into a van, the body under the sheet far too small for comfort.

“Run everything you can,” Jason said quietly. “Cross-check old disappearances, cold cases, urban legends. Whatever you’ve got. Because if somebody’s been working Crime Alley this long, they’ve been doing it under our noses.”

Barbara’s voice softened, but her resolve was clear. “I’ll find what I can. You’ll be the first to know.”

Jason stayed where he was, crouched on the rooftop, shadows pooling around him. Below, Gotham’s dead kept coming out of the dark, one after another.

In the cramped familiarity of his Blüdhaven loft, Dick Grayson tightened the last strap of his gauntlet. The hum of the city drifted through half-opened windows—traffic, laughter, arguments, the rhythm of a place that always seemed one block away from boiling over. His mind was already turning toward the alleys and rooftops he’d patrol, the faces he’d protect.

Then it hit him.

Not the way pain hits, sharp and immediate, but in reverse—like a knot slowly loosening inside his chest, tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying easing away. It was lighter than anything he’d felt in weeks, though not as profound as the rare moments of peace he remembered from years past. Still, it was there. Quiet. Real.

He froze in the middle of adjusting his domino mask, gloved fingers lingering just short of pulling it down. He let out a soft breath, blinking as the unexpected calm settled.

That’s when he heard the nails clicking across hardwood. Haley padded into the room, head tilted, tail wagging slow and cautious, her canine instincts tuned to every subtle shift in him. She gave a soft whine, pushing her snout against his knee.

Dick’s mask slipped from his fingers to the desk. He crouched down, grin tugging across his face as he buried his hands in her fur. “Yeah, you felt it too, huh? You’re the best girl. Yes, you are. The best girl in Blüdhaven.” His voice softened, warmth spilling out as he scratched behind her ears and along her neck until her tail thumped against the floor in pure contentment.

For a long minute, Nightwing didn’t exist. Just Dick Grayson, and the dog who always knew when he needed her most.

Only after Haley flopped on her side, demanding belly rubs with shameless entitlement, did he chuckle and finally slip the mask back on. “Alright, partner. Let’s go keep this city in one piece.”

He scratched her once more, then stood, lighter than before, and stepped out into the night.

Barbara sat in front of her monitors, fingers moving across three keyboards at once, glasses reflecting the glow of cascading reports. The city map of Gotham spread across her central screen, red pings multiplying faster than she could catalog them.

First it had been Crime Alley—body after body logged, filed, tagged. But then, less than an hour later, the alerts shifted. Another neighborhood, just a few blocks east, suddenly went hot. She pulled up the details, and her frown deepened.

Source: Gotham PD Dispatch. Location: 300-Block. Multiple bodies recovered. Initial classification: homicide.

It was almost identical to the Crime Alley cluster. Same kind of reports. Same sudden surge. And—oddly enough—the same return address on the digital paperwork. Except when she tried to trace it, the trail vanished. No server, no operator, no system ID. Just data appearing where it had no business being.

Her comm chirped with Jason’s impatient tone: “Any luck, Oracle?”

Barbara muted the channel for a moment, eyes narrowing. She dug deeper, running cross-checks through GCPD’s back end, even skimming EMS reports. Nothing gave her the source. It was as if the case files were being written by invisible hands.

Then, a few hours later, her monitors blinked again.

Third location. Another cluster. Dozens more bodies—fresh and decades-old alike.

Barbara rubbed her temples, fatigue gnawing at her. The pattern was impossible to ignore now. It wasn’t isolated. It was spreading.

By the time dawn painted the skyline pale gray, the string of reports stretched across half the Narrows. She leaned back, scanning for anything—anything—that tied the clusters together.

Only one thing surfaced. Witness statements, scattered through the files, buried in officer chatter. Different precincts, different times of night, but all repeating the same detail:

Flashes of green light.

Barbara’s eyes lingered on the words. She sat back in her chair, lips pressed thin. Gotham had its share of strange. But this… this was something new.

Barbara rubbed her eyes, blinking blearily at the wall of monitors. The green-tinged words witness reports of flashes burned in the corner of her vision. She’d been so deep in digging, so lost in tracking the impossible clusters of recovered bodies, that she hadn’t noticed the comm link indicator in her HUD blink red. Muted. Hours ago.

She only realized when a heavy thud landed on her balcony.

The metal frame of her chair creaked as she turned. Jason Todd—Red Hood—was already inside, helmet under one arm, scowl etched sharp into his face.

“Really?” he snapped. “I ask you to keep me updated, and you cut the line? You know how that looks from my end?”

Barbara swiveled her chair fully, hands up in mock surrender. “Jason, it wasn’t intentional. I muted you while I was filtering data and forgot to flip it back. You weren’t being ignored.”

He slammed his helmet down on the nearest desk, startling the little clock that sat there. “Felt like it. Crime Alley’s crawling, then the Narrows light up, then another block after that. I’m running rooftops blind while you’re sitting here with the feeds. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is?”

Barbara let him pace, let him burn off some of the heat, before speaking. “Yes. I do. Which is why I stayed locked in.” She tapped a few keys, and his helmet’s HUD lit up with a sync ping. Data flooded in—clusters of recovered bodies, timelines, witness chatter. “You’ve got it all now. You’ll see what I’m seeing.”

Jason paused, helmet visor reflecting the screen. “That’s a hell of a lot of bodies.”

“Too many,” Barbara said softly. She leaned forward, pointing to the highlighted notes. “And the only common denominator? Witnesses talking about green flashes. No weapons fired, no suspects caught, just… light.”

Jason muttered a curse under his breath. “Great. That narrows it down to magic, aliens, or ghosts. Gotham’s trifecta of crap.”

He turned toward her again, less angry now but no less tense. “Next time, Babs—don’t leave me in the dark. You’ve got the brains, I’ve got the boots on the ground. We don’t work if we’re not working together.”

Barbara met his gaze, steady. “You’re right. I won’t let it happen again.”

Jason grabbed his helmet, jamming it back on with a huff. “Good. Because if there’s something new hunting in my backyard, I need to know the second it moves.”

He strode back toward the balcony, cape flaring in the city breeze as he stepped into the night.

Barbara turned back to her screens, lips pressing into a thin line. The green flashes lingered at the edge of her thoughts.

Jason Todd rode through the thinning night on his bike, Gotham’s skyline bleeding from black into gray as dawn threatened the city. He’d left the Belfry not long ago, Barbara’s voice still echoing in his head about the case—old bodies resurfacing, new ones piling on top, like some grotesque mirror of Gotham’s history refusing to stay buried. He should’ve been planning his next move, charting alleys and suspects, but something else pressed in on him instead.

It came without warning. Not relief exactly, not peace. More like the rage—the gnawing pitfire that the Lazarus had left in him—had dimmed, just a fraction. For Jason, that was rare. Dangerous, even. His grip loosened on the throttle, and the city around him seemed less hostile for the first time in… hell, maybe years.

And then the memories came. Not the nightmares. Not the betrayal or the blood. Just flashes—his own laughter, high and free, echoing through Wayne Manor’s halls. Bruce standing awkwardly in the kitchen, trying to make pancakes the way Alfred did, and failing spectacularly. A hand on his shoulder after a long patrol, the quiet reassurance that maybe he hadn’t ruined everything that day.

The ache that came with those memories was sharp, and it pissed him off because it wasn’t supposed to feel good. It wasn’t supposed to make him miss the man he’d spent years hating. Jason cursed under his breath, slamming the throttle once more to feel the engine growl under him, trying to drown out the softness creeping in.

By the time the eastern horizon began to glow, he’d had enough. Whatever this was, he couldn’t fight it with fists or bullets. And he didn’t want Barbara—or anyone else—reading it in his face. Not tonight.

He veered off his usual patrol route, cutting down side streets only he knew, and headed for his safe house. One night. He’d call it early, let the city fend for itself for a few hours. The case, the bodies, the anger—they’d all still be there tomorrow.

For now, he just wanted to sit in silence, let the dawn come, and pretend for a few fleeting hours that he was still that kid who used to believe pancakes meant family.

Johnny coasted his bike into the shadow of an abandoned overpass, the Thermos on his belt heavy with the last of the night’s pickups. He killed the engine, leaned back on the seat, and fished the phone out of his jacket.

The stupid app blinked awake before he even touched it: Phantom Rides — ACTIVE. A cheery little ghost icon grinned up at him like some knock-off mascot.

Johnny sneered at it, then tapped into his “completed rides” log. Sure enough, every freed shade now had a neat little line item, survey data attached, star ratings trickling in.

“Five stars, five stars… oh, a three. Real funny,” he muttered, flicking the screen off.

The night had been long, and he could already feel Lady Gotham’s pins glowing across half the city. There were still dozens—hundreds, even—of chained shades waiting for him. He sighed, rubbed his face, and laughed under his breath.

“Alright, Phantom. You want me to be your Uber driver? Fine. But I’m running this like an Uber driver.” He pocketed the phone, swung one leg over the bike, and stood. “A few hours a weekend. That’s it. I ain’t clocking in for a nine-to-five in the afterlife.”

The bike rumbled back to life, shadows curling at his wheels. Johnny pulled his jacket tighter, turned the throttle, and headed for the nearest gate. Gotham could wait until Saturday night.

Tim Drake stirred awake just before the alarm, the pale blue of morning creeping through the curtains. He blinked, disoriented. Four, maybe five hours of sleep—he’d checked out of patrol early, knowing the board meeting would demand his focus. By all rights, he should’ve been wrecked.

But he wasn’t.

There was a lightness in his chest, something he couldn’t put his finger on. Not adrenaline, not caffeine, not the restless hum of his overclocked brain. Just… rest. Like he’d actually gotten a full night’s sleep, like the weight pressing behind his eyes had pulled back a little. It was unnerving in its rarity, but he wasn’t about to complain.

He sat up, careful not to wake Bernard sprawled beside him, one arm thrown lazily across the blanket. Tim allowed himself a moment just to watch him breathe, steady and peaceful in a way Tim rarely let himself be. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he slipped out of bed.

The shower was quick, efficient, but even then he caught himself humming under the spray, as though something inside had been reset without his consent. By the time he was buttoning his shirt and knotting his tie, his reflection looked sharper, more awake than usual. He caught himself double-taking—I actually look alive this morning.

His thoughts drifted, inevitably, to Dani. She’d begged to stay the night with Steph and Cass, and he hadn’t fought it. Truth be told, he’d seen the way she lit up at the mention of Steph’s brownies, and it wasn’t worth playing the stern parent role when chocolate was on the line. He chuckled under his breath, imagining her proudly scarfing down an entire tray if someone didn’t stop her.

Briefly, he wondered if she’d felt it too—that strange easing, that impossible refreshment. Something told him she had.

Adjusting his tie one last time, Tim grabbed his briefcase. The Wayne Enterprises board was waiting, and for once, he felt like he could face them without caffeine surging through his veins. He glanced back at Bernard still asleep, then toward the faint memory of Dani’s grin the night before, and shook his head.

Weird as it was, he decided to take the win.

Chapter Text

The sun came softly through the high windows of Wayne Manor, brushing gold against the dark wood and old stone. For once, the house didn’t feel heavy with silence.

Duke Thomas woke first, stretching out of bed with less effort than usual. His mornings were often a fight between exhaustion and obligation, but today he swung his feet to the floor with an ease that surprised him. He pulled on his uniform jacket, humming under his breath, something light that he didn’t even recognize.

Down the hall, Damian stirred. Normally his mornings began with grumbling at alarms and sharp retorts at Alfred’s nudges. But as he sat up, tugging his shirt over his head, the air felt… different. Clearer. He frowned at it for a moment, as if the manor itself were playing tricks. Yet when he buttoned his collar, he caught himself standing a little straighter, the usual weight of irritation softened by something unnamed.

In the kitchen, Alfred moved with his usual precision, but even he noted the unusual buoyancy of the morning. Sunlight touched the silverware, the kettle hissed gently, and for once it felt less like habit and more like a home waking up.

Bruce joined them last, still in his robe, carrying the faintest trace of rest that had settled on him since the night before. He watched his son and ward bicker softly about who was hogging the toast, and he almost smiled outright.

Even the manor itself seemed brighter—like the walls, the long corridors, the very air had been washed clean of something invisible. For a house built on shadows, it was an unfamiliar but not unwelcome change.

And so, Duke and Damian set out for school that morning not weighed down, but carried forward, as if some unseen hand had lightened every step.

At Steph and Cass’s apartment, the kitchen smelled like sugar and chocolate—the kind of scent that clung to the walls and made even the most disciplined martial artist pause in temptation.

Stephanie Brown had been up late the night before, brownies cooling on the counter while she and Dani gossiped over cartoons and board games. Now it was morning, sunlight spilling across the cluttered countertops. Steph stretched in her hoodie, blonde hair tied up in a messy bun, while Cass leaned against the counter with the grace of someone who never seemed fully at rest.

Dani was still asleep on the couch, bundled in too many blankets, a smear of chocolate faint on her cheek. The sight tugged a smile from Steph. But then she felt it—that odd shift. Like a pressure she hadn’t known she was carrying had suddenly lifted. She let out a slow breath, eyebrows knitting in surprise.

Cass noticed. She always noticed. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing as if she too were parsing the change. Then, almost without thinking, she pressed a hand to her own chest, as though to confirm what she felt wasn’t imagined. A rare, fleeting calm had slipped into her bones, smoothing the sharp edges of tension she carried even in sleep.

“Strange,” she murmured. Cass didn’t waste words, but Steph understood.

“Yeah,” Steph said softly, rubbing at her arm. “Like… I dunno, like the world just got a little less heavy?”

Cass gave a single, firm nod. No argument.

From the couch, Dani stirred, a groggy groan muffled by her cocoon of blankets. “Mmm… is there still brownies?”

Steph chuckled, the heaviness already forgotten in the simple comfort of the moment. She moved toward the counter, breaking one of the squares in half. “For you, kiddo? Always.”

Cass remained quiet, but as she watched Steph hand the warm brownie to Dani, she let herself lean—just barely—into the quiet that had settled over them. Whatever it was, whatever had changed, she didn’t need to dissect it right now. Not when the apartment was filled with sunlight, laughter, and the smell of chocolate.

Barbara Gordon shut down the Belfry’s monitors one by one, the glow of data feeds fading until the room was swallowed in shadow. She should’ve gone to bed hours ago, but cases rarely let her mind rest. The rhythm of Gotham usually rattled in her skull long after the screens went dark.

Tonight, though, as she wheeled back toward her room, she felt something different. A quiet. Not in the city, not in the systems—but in her. As if the static had drained away, leaving still water where there was usually storm.

She lay down without the ritual tossing, without the endless scrolling of thoughts. Her eyes closed, and instead of fighting for rest, it met her halfway.

Barbara Gordon, who never slept easily, slipped under like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Morning light filtered weakly through the curtains of Danny Fenton’s room in Amity Park, cutting across the clutter of textbooks, ecto-goggles, and half-finished thermos schematics. He stirred awake with a groan, but the moment his mind surfaced, he froze.

The feeling was unmistakable.

It wasn’t just the strange lift that others had felt—it was sharper in him, clearer, like someone had pulled a curtain aside in the back of his mind. A metaphysical burden, one that had lingered for decades, had finally been set down. The restless spirit that carried it… had turned its gaze elsewhere. Not gone. Just… redirected. Toward their family.

Danny sat up, running a hand through his hair with a scowl. Great. Just great. He knew exactly what this meant, and it only confirmed his suspicion.

“Damn it, Johnny,” he muttered under his breath, sliding out of bed. “I told you I didn’t want to know.” He didn’t need the reminder of Thomas and Martha Wayne’s fate weighing on him, not when he could’ve lived without realizing their presence had lingered for thirty years. Now, with the shift, he felt the absence keenly. He could almost hear Johnny’s voice shrugging off the warning with a lazy, “Hey man, figured you’d want the truth.”

He knew it wasn’t actually Johnny’s fault, but it made him feel better to vent about it.

By the time Danny got out of the shower, toweling his hair and still muttering irritably about ghost bikers and their loose tongues, his phone buzzed.

A text from Dani:

just got a weird feeling. you okay?

Danny leaned against the dresser, thumbs tapping quickly.

it’s nothing, kiddo. Don’t worry. I love you. Have a good day.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Finally, her reply popped up, simple and warm:

I love you too, Dad.

Danny set the phone down, staring out the window at the quiet streets of Amity. The weight wasn’t his to carry anymore, but the knowledge of it pressed at him all the same. He sighed, grabbed his jacket, and braced himself for another day of balancing two worlds—both of which seemed determined to remind him of the dead.

By first period on Wednesday, Casper High was buzzing louder than the PA system. Whispers darted through the halls like paper airplanes. Phones lit up with screenshots from the A-Listers’ group chat, half the story twisted beyond recognition by the time it reached the freshmen.

“Did you hear? Fenton’s got a secret kid in Gotham.”
“No, no, she lives here; he just keeps her hidden.”
“My cousin says it’s Dash’s little sister, he’s just covering.”
“Bet it’s Paulina’s.”
“Are you insane? Paulina would never—”

Every version was more ridiculous than the last, and by lunch, the cafeteria was a minefield. Heads turned as Danny carried his tray, Sam on one side and Tucker on the other.

“Why is everyone looking at me?” Danny hissed as they slid into their usual spot.

“Because someone’s an idiot and told the entire football team you’ve got a kid,” Sam muttered, glaring daggers toward the jocks’ table.

Tucker checked his PDA. “Correction: it’s not just the football team. This thing’s trending in three separate school group chats, and Dash just posted a meme of you with, like, eight babies photoshopped around you. Even the chess team Discord is blowing up.”

Danny dropped his head into his hands. “Oh my god.”

Sam leaned in, lowering her voice. “Relax. It’ll blow over. High school gossip has a half-life of, what, three days? Tops.”

“Unless someone keeps stirring it,” Tucker added grimly. He gestured with his straw toward the A-Listers’ table, where Star sat stiff as a board, refusing to look at anyone. Paulina was calm, carefully eating her salad like she had no stake in any of it. And Kwan—Kwan was in the middle of another reenactment, complete with dramatic hand motions, the entire football team hanging on his every word.

Danny groaned again, thunking his forehead against the table. “I hate my life.”

Sam smirked, patting his shoulder. “On the bright side, at least nobody thinks you’re boring anymore.”

“Yeah,” Tucker said with a grin. “Scrawny Fenton’s glow-up: better grades, muscles, and now, fatherhood. Who knew?”

Danny peeked up at them, face red. “You’re not helping.”

Across the cafeteria, the whispers kept rolling, fueled by half-truths and overactive imaginations. Whatever Danny said now, it was clear: the rumor had a life of its own.

Tucker looked up from his tablet, where some glowing interface Danny didn’t recognize was scrolling fast. He shoved a fry into his mouth before speaking. “So, FYI—your new ‘employee’ texted me last night.”

Danny blinked. “Johnny?”

“Yeah,” Tucker smirked, finally glancing up. “Says if you’re gonna treat him like an Uber driver, then he’s keeping Uber driver hours. Weekends only. A few hours each shift.”

Danny groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Seriously? It’s Wednesday. He started on Tuesday! I give him a literal interdimensional work phone and a portal generator that’s probably illegal, then he decides to make himself part-time?”

Sam stabbed at her salad, a grin tugging at her lips. “What did you expect? The guy’s entire brand is slacking off in an alleyway until trouble finds him. You thought he was suddenly gonna discover a work ethic?”

Danny rolled his eyes, leaning back against the bench. “I thought maybe saving Gotham’s restless dead would inspire him, not turn into a rideshare joke.”

Tucker chuckled, flicking through more data. “To be fair, he is filing the reports. Clean, too. Cops are running in circles, and you’ve got your info pipeline running. So hey, part-time slacker or not, he’s delivering.”

Sam arched a brow. “And you can’t exactly complain about someone being moody and avoiding responsibility when you’re the one ducking Ancients who keep trying to stick a crown on your head.”

Danny shot her a flat look while Tucker laughed into his fries.

He shoved his tray forward, muttering, “I never said I expected a great work ethic. Just… basic effort.”

“Then congratulations,” Sam said, smirking. “You’re getting exactly what you paid for.”

Danny groaned again, but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his mouth.

Athletics was supposed to be Danny’s calm class—burn some energy, train a little, and fly under the radar. But the second he walked into the gym, he knew something was off. The football team kept sneaking glances at him between sets, and even Coach raised an eyebrow over his clipboard.

Dash was waiting near the free weights, shifting from foot to foot like he had ants in his cleats.

“Uh… hey, Fenton,” Dash said, voice way too loud.

Danny sighed. “What do you want, Dash?”

Dash scratched the back of his neck, glancing at Kwan for backup. Kwan just grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. Not helpful.

“So, uh…” Dash leaned closer, dropping his voice like they were trading state secrets. “Is it… true? About the… You know.”

Danny blinked. “The what?”

Dash flailed his hands, whispering even faster. “The kid! The girl on the phone who called you—uh—dad.”

The weight room went suspiciously quiet. Danny could feel half the team pretending not to eavesdrop.

He rubbed his temples. “Dash, seriously?”

“I mean—it’s just, like—you don’t look like a dad,” Dash blurted. “Not that you couldn’t be! You’ve got, like, muscles now. Way more than last year. Totally dad-worthy muscles.”

Danny stared at him. “Did you just say ‘dad-worthy muscles’?”

Dash’s face went bright red. “Forget it! I didn’t—ugh. Never mind!” He spun on his heel, nearly tripping over a dumbbell as he stomped back toward Kwan, who was laughing so hard he almost dropped the barbell.

Danny shook his head, muttering under his breath. “I think Dash was flirting with me. I cannot believe this is my life.”

Coach blew his whistle. “Less gossip, more training!”

The clatter of weights picked up again, but not before Danny caught more than a few players sneaking looks his way. Some were smirking, some just curious—but for once, nobody was laughing at him.

Danny grabbed a towel and sat on the bench, half-annoyed, half-amused. Dash may have been awkward as hell, but the damage was done. The rumor wasn’t dying anytime soon.

The clatter of weights was long over by the time Danny caught Dash alone in the locker room, tugging off his practice jersey. Most of the team had already cleared out, the air thick with the smell of sweat and cheap deodorant.

Danny leaned against the row of lockers, arms crossed. “Alright, Dash. Spit it out.”

Dash froze mid-motion, jersey still half over his head. “Wha—what do you mean?” His voice cracked as he pulled it off, hair sticking out in sweaty tufts.

“You’ve been hovering all class. You’ve got questions, so just ask them.”

Dash finally blurted out, “So, uh… You got kids, Fenton? If you don't mind me asking.”

Danny blinked. “Yeah,” Danny said slowly. “I’ve got one daughter.” 

Dash’s eyes widened. “Wait. Seriously? You? A dad?”

Danny fought back a smirk. He kept his tone flat. “Yup. One daughter.”

Dash scratched his head, helmet hair sticking up in uneven tufts. “Okay, okay. But, like… how many baby mamas we talkin’? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Danny’s mouth twitched. “...I have one daughter.”

Dash nodded, repeating it under his breath like he was solving a math problem. “Right, right. You have one daughter. I get that. But… is she by the same mom?”

Danny’s expression didn’t shift. “I have one daughter.”

Dash leaned back against the lockers, squinting. “Okay, so maybe same mom, maybe not. But then, like, is she by the same dad? Or is this one of those—what do they call it—custody situations?”

Danny tilted his head, voice clipped. “I have one daughter.”

Dash’s face scrunched like he was trying to work out a geometry proof without a calculator. He tapped his temple. “ I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Danny finally cracked a grin, just wide enough to make Dash shift uncomfortably. “Good.”

Dash opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Finally, he blurted, “Is it true? Do you really have a—like—a daughter?”

Danny tilted his head, letting the silence stretch before sighing dramatically. “You know I time-travel, right?”

Dash blinked. “Uh… yeah? You’ve mentioned it before.”

“Then think about it.” Danny shrugged, casual as if he were talking about the weather. “It’s not that weird. Sometimes you go forward, sometimes backward… things happen.”

Dash’s eyes went wide. “Wait—so the mom…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s, like… way older than us, isn’t she?”

Danny kept his face perfectly straight. “What makes you think that?”

Dash stammered, his brain short-circuiting as he tried to do the math. “I—I mean—if you’ve got a kid that age, and you’re still seventeen, then… oh man.” He clutched his head. “You went to the past. You hooked up with some older woman, didn’t you?”

Danny fought the urge to laugh, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Dash, I can’t exactly confirm anything. Time travel messes with details, y’know? Timelines, paradoxes… She wasn’t older back then.”

Dash’s jaw dropped further. “Holy crap. You did.”

Danny patted his shoulder, voice low and serious. “Best not to think too hard about it. Trust me.”

Dash just stood there, eyes wide, like he’d been told the secrets of the universe. Danny grabbed his bag and strolled out, chuckling under his breath.

By the time he reached the gym doors, Dash was still frozen in place, muttering to himself: “Older woman… future kid… oh man, Fenton’s way cooler than I thought.”

By the time the last bell rang, Danny had cornered Sam and Tucker by their lockers. He dropped his bag with a thud, looking way too pleased with himself.

“What did you do?” Sam asked immediately.

Danny’s grin widened. “Nothing serious. Just… gave Dash a little nudge in the wrong direction.”

Tucker perked up. “Define ‘nudge.’”

Danny leaned in, lowering his voice. “He was freaking me out talking about ‘Dad worthy muscles,’ so I told him to stop dancing around it and ask about the rumor. Then I reminded him that, y’know, I time-travel sometimes.”

Sam narrowed her eyes. “And?”

“And he drew his own conclusions.” Danny tried to look innocent, but the smirk creeping onto his face ruined it. “Now he thinks Dani’s mom is at least ten years older than us.”

Tucker burst out laughing so hard he nearly dropped his PDA. “No way. No way! You mean Dash actually bought that? Oh man, that’s gold.”

Sam groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Danny, you can’t just—ugh. Do you have any idea what kind of rumor that’s going to start?”

Danny shrugged. “Better than him asking questions I can’t answer.”

“Or,” Sam shot back, “you could’ve just said it was private and left it at that.”

Tucker wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. “No, no, let him cook. This is beautiful. Dash is gonna tell the whole team that Danny Fenton is some kind of time-traveling cougar magnet.”

Danny’s ears turned red. “I didn’t say that! He just… connected dots that weren’t there.”

Sam finally cracked a smile, though it was laced with exasperation. “You are unbelievable. If this blows up tomorrow, don’t expect me to bail you out.”

Tucker leaned back against the lockers, still chuckling. “Nah, let it blow. Honestly, it’s the best PR you’ve ever had.”

Danny sighed, tugging his bag up onto his shoulder again. “Yeah, well… we’ll see.”

The final bell had rung and the flood of students poured out of Casper High in waves. Danny, Sam, and Tucker were halfway across the parking lot, heads ducked like fugitives trying to avoid stares, when a sharp voice called after them.

“Fenton! Wait!”

Paulina rushed up, heels clicking against the pavement, her perfectly straight hair catching the afternoon light. She stopped just short of them, folding her arms but not with her usual aloofness. Her expression was unusually earnest.

Danny braced himself. “Paulina, if this is about—”

“It’s not me,” she cut him off. “The rumors? I didn’t tell anyone. I want you to know that.”

Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You expect us to believe that?”

Paulina rolled her eyes, but there wasn’t much bite behind it. “Believe what you want, Manson, but I don’t spread every secret I hear. Some things are… personal.” Her gaze flicked toward Danny for a half second, softer than he expected.

Before he could respond, another voice chimed in from behind.

“She’s telling the truth.”

Valerie Gray stepped up, arms crossed, backpack slung over one shoulder. “I was watching the A-lister chat when it went live. Paulina didn’t say a word. The rumor didn’t come from her.”

Tucker squinted. “Then who—?”

“Star and Kwan,” Valerie said flatly. “They were at Nasty Burger when you were on the phone with Dani. They overheard her call you ‘Dad.’ Star panicked and called Paulina right after, but it was Kwan who went running to the football team. That’s where it blew up.”

Danny let out a long, frustrated groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Kwan. Of course, it was Kwan.”

Sam muttered, “Gossip spreads faster than ghosts in this town.”

Paulina shrugged delicately, her tone cooling back into something more familiar. “I told Star to shut up, for what it’s worth. She didn’t listen.” She glanced at Danny again, her voice quieter. “I don’t always agree with you, Fenton, but I’m not out to ruin your life.”

Valerie nodded once, like she was stamping it official. “She’s right. This isn’t on her.”

Danny blinked at both of them, caught off guard. “Uh… thanks, I guess.”

Paulina smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t thank me. Just… keep your secrets tighter next time.”

With that, she turned and headed toward her car. Valerie gave the trio one last look—more curious than hostile—before following her.

The three stood there for a beat in the middle of the parking lot. Tucker let out a low whistle. “Well. Didn’t have ‘Paulina defending Danny Fenton’s honor’ on my bingo card.”

Sam crossed her arms. “Don’t get used to it.”

Danny shook his head, sighing. “Still doesn’t solve the mess, but at least now we know who to blame.”

Danny watched Paulina and Valerie head for the parking lot. Something in him twisted—he wasn’t sure if it was guilt, or relief, or just the exhaustion of having the whole school whispering about him all week. Either way, he couldn’t let it end like that.

“Wait!” he called, jogging a few steps after them.

Both girls turned, eyebrows raised.

Danny shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look… Dani and I have this deal. We check in every day, no matter what. A call, a text, FaceTime—something. She gets worried if I don’t. And, uh… if you want to, Paulina, you could say hi. Valerie, you too.”

Paulina blinked. “You’re serious? You’d let me talk to her?”

Danny shrugged. “Why not? You’re already in the middle of this mess. Might as well meet the person behind it.”

Valerie’s expression softened, something almost nostalgic crossing her face. “Yeah. I’d like that. It’s been… months since I saw her.”

Paulina’s head whipped around, eyes wide. “Months? Wait—hold on. You already knew about her?”

Valerie winced, cheeks coloring. She glanced at Danny, then back at Paulina. “Yeah. I’ve known for… almost three years, actually.”

The words hung heavy in the cooling afternoon air.

Paulina’s mouth dropped open. “Three years?! You mean you already knew?”

Danny shrugged, “She met her when we were dating.”

Valerie rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “It wasn’t my secret to tell. And honestly? I figured if Danny wanted people to know, he’d tell them himself.”

Paulina stared between the two of them, processing. Danny just stood there, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of the admission.

Paulina’s shiny red convertible purred to a stop near the city park, the late afternoon sun catching off the hood. She’d surprised everyone by offering them a ride—Sam had given Danny a look that clearly said Don’t you dare—but in the end, none of them wanted to cram into Tucker’s busted scooter again.

Now the four of them sat at a weather-worn picnic table under the shade of an oak tree. Danny set his phone on the tabletop, propping it up against Tucker’s thermos, and hit the FaceTime icon.

Dani’s face filled the screen almost immediately, cheeks smudged with a faint bit of chocolate.

“Dad! You will not believe how good the brownies were last night. Grandma Steph and Aunt Cass made them—double chocolate, gooey in the middle. I had three before bed.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Wait a second. I thought you were at your Grandpa Tim’s last night?”

Dani grinned sheepishly, licking a crumb from her thumb. “I was. But I couldn’t wait until today to try the brownies, so I, uh… went over to Grandma Steph’s apartment last night. She made me a tray.”

There was a pause as everyone at the table blinked at her.

“You… had brownies for breakfast?” Danny asked, his voice climbing an octave.

Dani winced but tried to play innocent. “Just a couple! Okay, four. But they were really good.”

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s it. I’m calling Steph later. You can’t just raid brownies first thing in the morning.”

“Aw, c’mon, Dad—”

“Nope. This is a conversation for grown-ups.” Danny shot her a look that promised he wasn’t joking.

Dani pouted for a second, then shrugged. “Worth it.”

Paulina muffled a laugh behind her hand. Valerie hid a smile, too.

But Dani’s expression shifted a little, her eyes narrowing. “Hey, about that feeling this morning. The cold one. Did something happen?”

Danny hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Something did. Johnny helped your Great-Great Grandparents cross over last night.”

Dani blinked, silent for a beat as the weight of that sank in. 

The picnic table went quiet. Even Paulina and Valerie, who had been tiptoeing around every word of this call, didn’t say a thing.

Dani tilted her head at the mention of her “Great-Great Grandparents,” but didn’t ask. She just licked brownie crumbs from her fingers and waited for someone to change the subject.

Danny gave her a soft smile. “Hey, there’s someone here who wanted to say hi.” He shifted the phone slightly so Valerie was in frame. “Valerie’s been asking about you.”

Dani’s eyes lit up instantly. “Valerie?! No way!” She bounced in her seat on the screen, grinning ear to ear. “It’s been forever!”

Valerie leaned closer, her tough edge melting into something warmer. “Hey, kiddo. How’ve you been holding up?”

“Awesome,” Dani chirped. “I’m eating too many brownies, but Dad is already ratting me out. Gotham’s… different, but Grandpa Tim’s place is cool. Steph and Cass keep sneaking me snacks. Oh, and I beat Grandpa Bruce at chess last week!”

Valerie laughed. “That’s my girl. Glad you’re doing okay.”

Danny nudged the phone again, and Paulina came into view, hovering a little uncertainly until Valerie motioned her closer.

Dani’s grin widened. “Hi! Who’re you?”

Paulina smoothed her hair, putting on her best smile. “I’m Paulina. A… friend. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” Dani said brightly.

Paulina hesitated, then asked the most basic question she could think of. “So, how old are you?”

“I’m ten,” Dani answered, holding up both hands with fingers spread. Then she tilted her head, adding proudly, “Ten and a half.”

Paulina chuckled. “That’s very grown up.”

“Where do you live?”

“In Gotham!” Dani said eagerly. “With my Grandpa Tim, Grandma Steph, and Great-Grandpa Bruce.”

Sam, sitting beside Danny, raised her brows. Great-Grandpa Bruce? She shot Danny a look. He just gave her a tiny, helpless shrug.

Paulina nodded along, still smiling. “And… do you live with your mom too?”

Dani paused for just a beat. Her eyes flicked toward the phone’s angle, catching a glimpse of Sam in the background. Then she said, with a little shrug: “I don’t have a mom. Yet.”

The word landed with more weight than Danny expected. Dani smiled innocently, but Paulina and Valerie both caught that sideways glance.

They turned toward Sam, twin grins spreading across their faces like cats who’d just found the cream.

Sam flushed bright red. “Don’t even start,” she muttered.

Dani, oblivious to the ripple she’d just caused, beamed proudly through the screen.

Paulina leaned her chin on her hand, grinning like a cat. “So, yet, huh?”

Valerie’s grin was just as sharp. “Sounds like somebody’s already got a candidate in mind.”

Sam’s cheeks went scarlet. “She’s ten! Don’t put ideas in her head.”

On the screen, Dani tilted her head, clearly entertained. “What ideas?” she asked innocently. “Sam already acts like my mom sometimes. She brushes my hair and takes me shopping for new clothes. She tells me to go to bed instead of doomscrolling on my phone. She makes sure I eat veggies and not too much sugar. That’s basically Mom-ing, right?”

Danny coughed, trying and failing to hide a laugh. Tucker slapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking.

Paulina’s eyes sparkled. “Exactly. Dani knows what’s up.”

Sam crossed her arms tightly, glaring at the lot of them. “You’re all impossible.”

But Dani just giggled and paused like she was listening to something before waving toward the screen. “Grandpa Tim is here to pick me up. Bye, Sam! Bye, Dad! Bye, Valerie! Bye, new friend Paulina! Love you all!”

Tucker scoffed playfully, "What am I, chopped liver?"

Dani giggled, "Of course not, Uncle Tuck. You're Sour Cream."

Tucker acted like she stabbed him in the heart as she laughed.

Danny smiled. “Love you too, kiddo. Talk to you tomorrow.” He laid the phone down.

Dani’s “I don’t have a mom. Yet.” landed like a firecracker on the picnic table.

Paulina smirked immediately. “Well, well. Sounds like someone already knows who she wants to fill that role.”

Valerie grinned just as wide. “Yeah, Sam. Dani’s practically scouting you.”

Sam’s blush was quick, but instead of sputtering, she leaned back and crossed her arms with deliberate calm. “Oh, please. Despite what you two might think, even I can develop maternal instincts.”

Paulina raised a brow. “Really?”

“Absolutely.” Sam’s eyes gleamed as she warmed to the subject. “Just picture it—an entire generation of vegan kids raised right from the start. No meat, no pollution-heavy industries, no factory farming. A future utopia where compassion is baked into every meal.”

Valerie groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Here we go.”

Paulina rolled her eyes. “Only you would turn motherhood into a political platform.”

“Better than turning it into gossip fodder like Star and Kwan,” Sam shot back sweetly.

Dani laughed from the phone screen. “See? Mom material!”

The three girls—all grinning, all throwing sparks in different ways—kept at it while Danny and Tucker sat frozen on the other side of the table.

Danny muttered, “When did they all get this chummy?”

Tucker leaned in, deadpan. “I don’t know, man. But I’m calling it now—we need merch.”

Danny blinked. “Merch?”

Tucker spread his hands. “Yeah. Matching shirts. Front says, I dated Danny Fenton, back says, and all I got was this T-shirt.”

Danny groaned. “You’re the worst.”

Sam, Paulina, and Valerie all burst out laughing, which only made Danny bury his face in his hands. Dani’s laughter on the screen joined theirs, bright and unrestrained, until the whole picnic table felt like it was buzzing with shared mischief.

Dani’s giggles still echoed faintly in Danny’s ears when she finally waved a final goodbye and tapped off the call. The phone screen went black, leaving the group at the picnic table with only the rustle of leaves and the distant shouts of kids on the playground.

Paulina was the first to break the quiet, her tone more careful than before. “So… what’s the deal with her mom, then? Dash’s rumor had to come from somewhere. Did she… pass away recently?”

Danny let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping. “No. That was me messing with Dash. He kept pushing, asking invasive questions, and either he was flirting with me or I watched his brain short-circuit in real time, then again when I said ‘time travel.’ It was too funny not to let him stew in it. I didn’t think it would blow up into the entire school thinking I'm either the coolest guy ever or I’ve got some tragic backstory.”

Valerie smirked faintly. “You underestimated how dumb Dash can be.”

“Yeah,” Danny admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “And now I’ve got fallout to deal with.”

"I wouldn't say it made you the coolest guy ever. We only went on one, no, two dates," Paulina tilted her head, still serious. “So what’s the real story, then?”

Danny hesitated for a moment, then asked, “You remember Mayor Masters? Vlad?”

Paulina shrugged noncommittally. “I remember something about him being exposed as one of those ghosts you fight. It was in the news. Messy.”

“Messy is one word for it.” Danny’s voice hardened slightly. “What most people don’t know is that Vlad was doing human experiments. He wanted a clone of me. Dani came out of that. She didn’t ask for it. She didn’t deserve how he treated her. And when she got free, I took her in.”

Sam reached over and rested her hand on Danny’s, quiet support behind her.

Danny’s voice softened again. “So no—she doesn’t have a mom. At all. Not because she died, but because she never existed. Dani’s family is me, my sister, my parents, and now Tim and Stephanie.”

There was a long pause. Paulina studied him, the seriousness in her expression tinged with something like respect. Then her lips quirked into a smirk, and she glanced sideways at Sam.

“Not to jinx it, but…” she drawled, “yet.”

Sam groaned, her cheeks going pink again, and Tucker nearly fell off the bench laughing.

Danny buried his face in his hands, muttering, “I walked right into that one.”

The laughter tapered off, but Paulina wasn’t done. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Okay, so… if Dani doesn’t have a mom, who are these ‘Tim and Stephanie’ she keeps talking about?”

Danny hesitated, eyes flicking down to his hands. He hated putting this out there, but hiding it now felt worse. He took a slow breath. “They’re… my biological parents. I was adopted when I was a baby, and the Fentons raised me. Tim and Steph—well, they’re the ones who gave me up. We’ve reconnected recently.”

Paulina blinked. “Wait. You were adopted?”

“Yeah,” Danny said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And the Fentons have been fighting to get custody of Dani for a while. But… clones don’t exactly come with birth certificates. It’s complicated. Tim and Steph are stable, well-off, and they don’t live in Amity Park, so the GIW aren’t breathing down their necks the way they would here. Until I’m eighteen, they’re way more likely to be able to get Dani some kind of legal status. After that, I’ll take custody myself.”

For a moment, both Paulina and Valerie just stared at him.

“You…” Valerie said slowly, “…actually thought this all through.”

Paulina gave a half-smile, almost grudgingly impressed. “Yeah. You sound like you’ve got your whole act together. Single-dad energy or whatever.”

Danny blinked, caught between embarrassment and pride.

Valerie smirked. “No wonder Dani adores you. Honestly, it’s kinda making me rethink a few things.”

Paulina huffed a laugh, giving Danny a once-over. “Same. If I’d known back then you’d turn out like this—”

“Okay, whoa!” Sam cut in, grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. “Dial it back, both of you. I already told Dani I’d have to fight girls off with a stick once people find out about her. Don’t make me prove her right.” The last was said with a bit of edge.

Tucker snorted, almost spitting out his soda. Danny groaned, burying his face in his hands again, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Danny sat back, letting the laughter fade. For once, it wasn’t uncomfortable silence that followed—it was calm, almost easy. He toyed with his phone a moment, thumb brushing the edge of the case.

“You know,” he said slowly, “it’s… kind of nice to actually share Dani’s story with someone. Outside of Sam, Tucker, Val, Jazz, and my parents, nobody knew. Not even Tim and Stephanie know. Ok, Vlad obviously does, but he's a deadbeat.”

Paulina blinked. “Wait. Her guardians don’t know?”

Valerie’s brow furrowed. “How do they not know? You just said they’re trying to get her legal status.”

Danny shrugged, almost too casually. “They know about her, yeah. But not the whole truth. They don’t know she’s my clone. They don’t even know about… me.” He lifted a hand, letting a faint wisp of cold curl off his fingers before clenching it shut. “The powers. Phantom. None of it.”

Both girls stared at him, wide-eyed.

“You’ve been hiding that from your biological parents?” Paulina said, her voice half incredulous, half horrified.

Valerie scrunched up her face, "So what did you tell them?"

Sam snorted, "This genius accidentally implied he got raped as a kid, Dani's Mom never registered her birth, and when he found out he found her basically homeless. Tim and Steph are trying to get Guardianship so Dani can finally go to school for the first time!"

Valerie turned on Danny, "Fenton, what the hell?! You never got Dani in school?"

Tucker shrugged helplessly, "There was only so much that could legally, or illegally, be done."

"The Elementary is outside the GIW cordon, my family is persona non grata with CPS, and I don't want her to be the first case of a child deported to the Ghost Zone by ICE," Danny gave a lopsided smile, more weary than amused. “I mean, what was I supposed to do with Tim and Stephanie? Sit them down and say, ‘Hey, remember the baby you gave up seventeen years ago? He died in a lab accident, came back half-ghost, and now he’s raising his clone-daughter because the billionaire supervillain who made her, who is a man, btw, is a deadbeat Mom? That’s a little harder to sell when I’m standing there, very much alive, eating dinner at their kitchen table with an only 7-year apparent age gap from my daughter.”

Valerie snorted, then caught herself, shaking her head. “You’ve got a point. It sounds insane even when you explain it here in Amity Park, and we’ve seen the ghosts firsthand.”

Paulina sighed, folding her arms. “Okay, fine. You’re right. Still—keeping that kind of secret from your own parents? That’s heavy, Fenton.”

Danny shrugged again, softer this time. “It is. But it’s what works. They care about Dani. They’re fighting for her. That’s enough for now.”

The girls exchanged a look, some unspoken understanding passing between them. Finally, Paulina stood, brushing crumbs off her skirt. “Well… thanks for telling us. For real. I wasn’t expecting—” She shook her head, almost smiling. “—all of that.”

Valerie got up too, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Same. And… if you ever need someone to run interference at school, you know where to find me.”

Danny nodded, gratitude written in the small crease at the corner of his smile.

They said their goodbyes, leaving Danny, Sam, and Tucker alone at the picnic table, the park buzzing faintly around them. 

Tucker was the first to break it, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. “So… today was a lot.”

Sam nodded, her gaze fixed on Danny. “Are you sure about this?” she asked softly. “Telling them? All of it? About Vlad, Dani being a clone… even about Tim and Stephanie.”

Danny shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging, but the gesture wasn’t dismissive. It was heavy. “I don’t know if it was smart,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I think it was right. I’m already tired of lying, Sam. Tired of juggling a million different stories.”

He glanced at her, a weary but genuine smile touching his lips. “They got dragged into this because of Kwan and Star. They deserved to know the truth, not some stupid time-travel story I made up to mess with Dash.” He let out a long breath, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. “For once, it felt… good. To not have to hide it all.”

“Valerie’s solid,” Tucker added, adjusting his glasses. “She’s kept your secret before. And Paulina… I mean, who knows? But she seemed to get it.”

“She did,” Sam agreed, a note of surprise still in her voice. She reached out and bumped her shoulder against Danny’s gently. “Just… be careful, okay? Your world just got a little bigger.”

Danny nodded, looking ahead at the familiar streets of his neighborhood. “Yeah,” he said, a newfound resolve in his tone. “Maybe it was about time it did.”

The engine of Paulina’s convertible was a low, expensive hum as she drove, the top down and the evening air cool against their skin. The usual pop music was conspicuously absent. Paulina’s hands were steady on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, her eyes fixed on the road with an intensity that had nothing to do with traffic.

Valerie stared out the passenger window, watching the blur of trees and houses. “I can’t believe he told us,” she said, breaking the long silence. “All of it.”

Paulina let out a short, sharp breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “For years, all I saw was… Fenturd,” she said, the old nickname sounding foreign and ridiculous on her tongue now. “Awkward, clumsy, tripping over his own feet. The biggest thing on his mind was probably a pop quiz.”

She shook her head, a glossy strand of hair falling across her face. “And the whole time, he was… Phantom, all while raising a ten-year-old girl who’s also his clone from some evil fruit loop mayor.” She finally glanced at Valerie, her expression a mix of disbelief and something that looked a lot like awe. “And he’s our age.”

“He juggles more than any adult I know,” Valerie murmured, thinking back to all the times she’d hunted him as Phantom, never once suspecting the true weight of the life he was living. A pang of old guilt mixed with new respect twisted in her gut. “I saw a lot of his fights up close back then. The hits he’d take for us… A normal human would be beyond dead. He was just a kid, and he was still out there saving the city every single night.”

“Saving the city?” Paulina scoffed, but there was no malice in it, only disbelief. “Valerie, he basically runs half of it now. Think about it. The ghosts don't just go on random rampages anymore. There’s a whole section of the industrial district converted into suburbs everyone just calls ‘Ghost Town.’ They have their own society, their own rules, and everyone knows who keeps the peace. Phantom isn’t just a hero; he’s their pseudo-mayor or something.”

Valerie nodded, a wry smile touching her lips. “While Tucker is our mayor. It’s still so weird, even after all this time. Tucker Foley handles city council meetings and zoning permits, and Danny Fenton negotiates treaties with a skeleton dragon and tells a ghost pirate where he’s allowed to park his ship.”

Paulina turned back to the road, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the wheel. “He saved the world a few times, and here I was, stressed because I couldn’t find the right shade of lipstick for homecoming court photos.” The words were laced with self-deprecation, a vulnerability she rarely showed. The chasm between her problems and his seemed impossibly wide.

They drove another block in silence before Valerie spoke again, her voice firm. “We have to keep this quiet. Seriously, Paulina. All of it.”

Paulina met her gaze in the rearview mirror, her own expression hard as diamond. “Don’t worry,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “No one hears a word from me.” She paused, then added, so quietly Valerie almost didn’t catch it. “He deserves that much.”

The streetlights of Amity Park flickered on one by one, casting long shadows as the trio made their way toward FentonWorks. The heavy emotional energy from the afternoon had settled into a comfortable quiet, the kind that only comes from navigating a crisis together and coming out the other side.

“It was just… a lot to process,” Danny said, breaking the silence. He was staring at the cracked pavement, his hands still jammed in his pockets. “The whole thing with Dani in Gotham, and trying to figure out how to help over there without actually being there.”

“The Johnny 13 idea was still genius, though,” Tucker offered. “A supernatural Uber for the recently deceased. It’s a solid business model.”

Danny offered a small, tired smile. “I didn’t come up with it on my own. Not really.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “The Ghost Zone grapevine is surprisingly good for hero gossip, you know? The more powerful ghosts see a lot. I’d heard rumors for years about a ghost-adjacent hero on Young Justice named ‘Secret.’ So, when I met this quiet ghost girl named Greta at the manor, and her energy signature was a perfect match for the whispers… it wasn’t hard to connect the dots.”

He shrugged, completely nonchalant. “It’s definitely her. I think she just came over because she sensed me, but it’s just weird that a famous hero is haunting the manor now. But they seem to know a lot of strange people anyway.”

They arrived at the hulking, bizarre form of FentonWorks. The green glow of the Ops Center was a familiar beacon in the twilight.

“Anyway,” Danny said, turning to them. “Thanks for today. For… everything.”

“Always, man,” Tucker said, bumping his fist against Danny’s shoulder.

“Get some rest,” Sam added. “You’ve earned it.”

Danny nodded, gave them a final wave, and disappeared inside the front door, the heavy lock clicking shut behind him.

Sam and Tucker stood on the sidewalk under the eerie green glow for a long moment. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken thoughts. Finally, with a world-weary sigh, Sam reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.

She held it out to Tucker. He took it with the smug, silent satisfaction of a man whose wildest theories had just been proven correct.

“You totally called it,” Sam muttered, crossing her arms.

“It was obvious,” Tucker said, carefully folding the bill and tucking it into his wallet. “He literally knows a hero’s secret identity because of ghost-gossip, but can’t see the Batcave’s worth of heroes he’s having dinner with every week. His observational skills are a national treasure.”

Tucker considered it, “Should we tell him?”

“And ruin the show?” Sam countered, a smirk playing on her lips. “No way. Let him figure it out himself. It’ll be a character-building experience.”

Tucker snorted. “Plus, his face is going to be priceless.” He pulled out his PDA, its screen illuminating his features. “Okay, so let’s get this straight. Bruce is obviously Batman.”

“I had my suspicions,” she admitted, starting the walk toward her own house. “But it was the oldest brother, Dick, who sealed it for me. He’s a cop in Blüdhaven, for one. And when he came for dinner last month, he brought his ex, Kori, and their daughter, Mar’i. As in Koriand’r. You know, Starfire. An actual Tamaranean princess just showed up with her kid for beef pot roast, and Danny was more interested in whether her ship had an anti-gravity system.”

She shook her head, then snapped her fingers as another piece clicked into place.

“Wait a minute. Dick… Dick was the first Robin.” Her eyes widened. “And the original Batgirl was a redhead, right? I always got her confused with Batwoman, because she’s a redhead, too. But Barbara Gordon was sitting right there next to Dick in her wheelchair… and who doesn’t know the stories about the original Batgirl and Robin getting caught making out in random places? Holy crap. Barbara Gordon was Batgirl. That must mean Kate is Batwoman. And Selina is so obviously Catwoman it’s almost a crime.”

Tucker pulled out his PDA, his fingers flying across the screen. “It all checks out. Bruce is Batman. Dick is Nightwing. Barbara is or WAS Batgirl. Tim is Red Robin. Steph is Spoiler. Duke is Signal. Damian is the current Robin. Cass is the current Batgirl, or is it Black Bat?.” He looked up, a grin spreading across his face. “He is living in a JLA-sponsored daycare and is completely, utterly clueless.”

“Is there a Gotham hero with Blue hair?”

Tucker checked his PDA, “Bluebird?”

“Right, so Harper is Bluebird. Ancients these people need to wear wigs in their costumes. I guess Kate does, but it’s like the exact same shade as her actual hair, just longer.” Sam palmed her face like it was stressing her out.

“Let’s not tell him,” Sam said immediately, a smirk playing on her lips. “He needs to figure this one out himself. At least we know Dani is safe and not with weirdos. Relatively speaking. The look on his face will be worth it.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Tucker agreed, pocketing his PDA. They walked on in comfortable silence, their minds racing. Their best friend, the Ghost King of Amity Park, was somehow the only person in his new life who didn’t know he was part of the most famous family in the superhero world. It was, they agreed, the most Danny Fenton thing to have ever happened.

“Ok, but who the hell is Jason Todd?”

Jason stood on the rooftop of a tenement building, arms folded across his chest as the wind tugged at his jacket. He’d been patrolling the Narrows since sunset, waiting for something to give.

The comm in his helmet clicked on, Barbara’s voice sharp in his ear. “Heads up. Social Media feeds are lighting up.”

Jason shifted his weight. “What kind of chatter?”

“Witnesses. Dozens of them.” Her fingers clicked faintly in the background, the sound of her cycling through feeds at high speed. “Photos, shaky cell phone clips, firsthand accounts—it’s all over GothamNet right now. They’re calling it the ‘Ghost Rider.’”

Jason frowned then said sardonically, “Ghost Rider’s trademarked. He’ll get sued.”

“Not funny.” Barbara’s tone was clipped. “Every post describes the same thing: a biker. Black jacket, boots, shadowy outline. Sometimes people say his bike doesn’t touch the ground. And always—always—the same detail. Flashes of green light trailing behind him.”

Jason turned, scanning the streets below. “Where?”

“Everywhere,” she admitted. “East End. Otisburg. A cluster in Burnley. Even one near Robinson Park.” Her voice dropped. “Jason, they’re calling him an urban legend already. A vigilante or a killer. Nobody knows which.”

Jason gritted his teeth. “So we’ve got a biker dropping bodies across Gotham, wrapped in a green light show. And the cops don’t have a lead?”

“Not one they’re sharing. Every report is filed and scrubbed before I can track it back to its origin. Whoever’s handling the paperwork knows how to cover their trail.”

Jason’s jaw tightened. He thought back to the bodies in Crime Alley, the decades of secrets spilling out at once. “If this guy thinks he can turn my streets into his personal graveyard—”

“Jason.” Barbara cut in, calm but firm. “We don’t know who he is yet. Be careful.”

Jason adjusted the twin pistols at his sides, eyes narrowing as another cluster of sirens flared a few blocks away. “Doesn’t matter. If he’s in my territory, I’m going to find him.”

Johnny wasn’t working. Not tonight, not on a Tuesday. His “Phantom Rides” shift was over the weekend, and as far as he was concerned, midweek belonged to him.

He opened the throttle on his spectral bike, tires skimming over asphalt without ever quite touching it. Gotham’s skyline blazed around him—neon signs, sodium streetlamps, a thousand windows lit against the dark. The city felt alive in a way few places did, a place where shadows had their own stories.

He loved it.

And sometimes, he wasn’t alone.

Lady Gotham shimmered into existence at the edge of an overpass, her Victorian silks melting away with a snap of her fingers into denim, leather, and a smirk that didn’t belong to any era. She swung onto the pillion seat behind him, arms circling his waist.

“Faster,” she murmured, her voice like a cathedral whisper.

Johnny grinned, kicked the throttle harder, and the bike screamed through the Narrows in a blaze of green light.

They must have been a sight—black leather, shadows spilling across the street, her hair whipping behind them as they carved through traffic no one else could quite believe they’d seen. And people did see them. Phones lit up, lenses catching shaky flashes: a biker in black, a green glow, and a dark-haired woman holding on tight.

By the time they vanished into the smoke and neon, half a dozen clips were already uploading.

On the rooftops a few blocks away, Jason Todd swore under his breath. His HUD is filled with Oracle’s map data and scrolling Social Media.

“There! East End. Witnesses just posted live.”

Jason tracked the route, eyes narrowing as a glowing trail burned faintly in the night, fading like an afterimage. Whoever this rider was, he wasn’t even trying to hide anymore. And the passenger—Barbara had just flagged the photos. Same woman in every shot, her outfit and face changing from frame to frame, sometimes impossible to catch clean.

Jason’s gut tightened. “He’s got a partner now?”

“More like a ghost,” Barbara muttered. “The biker screws up any camera that gets too close, but the woman on the back… It’s like she’s a living facial blur. He has no records come back, but her… Every picture I run facial recognition on just… glitches. No returns.”

Jason clenched a fist. From the rooftops, he watched the last curl of green light fade into the skyline. The “biker” wasn’t hunting, but he was still here, thumbing his nose at the city with every joyride.

Jason set his jaw. “Doesn’t matter what he is. He’s in my city. Next time, I’m just tailing him.”

The convoy didn’t belong in Gotham.

It wasn’t the black armor of a GCPD SWAT response or the gaudy, repurposed chaos of a rogue’s crew. This was something else entirely: sterile, uniform, and unnervingly quiet. Half a dozen windowless white vans, their sides scrubbed clean of any identifying marks, moved through the rain-slicked streets of the East End. They were flanked by a pair of black, government-issue SUVs with tinted windows that seemed to swallow the light.

They moved with a purpose that made the hairs on the back of Barbara Gordon’s neck stand up.

From the clocktower of the Belfry, she watched them through the city’s network of traffic cameras, her fingers flying across her keyboard. “I’ve got eyes on an unidentified motorcade,” she said into her comm, her voice a low, focused hum. “Six vans, two armored escorts. No plates, encrypted comms. They’re heading for the Tricorner Yards.”

“ETA on an ID?” Bruce’s voice, rough as gravel, came back instantly.

“Working on it.” Barbara isolated a frame from a camera at a red light, magnifying the face of a driver in one of the escort vehicles. The facial recognition software churned for a half-second before pinging a match. A decorated soldier. A government specialist. A name she cross-referenced with a deep-level search of federal task forces. Her blood ran cold.

“ARGUS, Checkmate, DEO,” she said, her voice tight. “They’re an escort. Wait, the camera's just caught a white mask. Tatsu Yamashiro's back in Gotham.”

A beat of silence. Task Force X meant Amanda Waller. It meant off-the-books operations and acceptable losses.

“And the vans?” Bruce pressed.

Barbara pulled up thermal imaging from a traffic sensor. The vans were running cool, but they were packed with humming electronics and personnel in what looked like full-body containment suits. She ran the van’s design against a different set of files—the weird ones. The fringe science divisions, the UFO chasers, the projects the government officially denied ever existed.

She got a hit. A low-resolution photo of a white logo, barely visible, was emblazoned on the door.

“Got it,” she said grimly. “They’re called the Ghost Investigation Ward. The GIW. A federally funded, quasi-legal agency specializing in… anti-ecto operations.”

“Ghosts,” Bruce translated, his tone flat.

“That’s what the file says.” Barbara watched as the convoy pulled up to a long-abandoned fish processing plant by the Gotham docks. “If I had to guess, they’re reacting to the ‘Ghost Rider’ sightings given their route. Social media has been blowing up all week. Dozens of new videos every night. Waller must have seen the chatter and decided to send in her pet ghost hunters.”

Her programs flagged the Task Force X personnel as they disembarked. A man with an impossible arsenal, a blur of motion with boomerangs… and a woman in a distinctive white mask, her hand resting on the hilt of the katana at her side.

“Confirmed Task Force X operatives on site,” Barbara reported. “I see Deadshot, Captain Boomerang Sr., and Katana establishing a perimeter.”

The doors to the vans hissed open, and the GIW agents began to move. Clad in stark white suits with black visors, they moved with clinical precision, unloading crates of strange, multi-lensed equipment and rolling large scanners onto the warehouse floor. They were setting up a forward operating base.

Within the hour, two of the vans were back on the street, this time moving independently. They weren’t stopping anyone or engaging in any overt action. They were just driving, slow and methodical, their routes covering the areas with the highest concentration of “Ghost Rider” sightings.

“They’re looking for something,” Barbara murmured, watching a van crawl through the Narrows, Jason’s territory. “Just gathering data. For now.”

She leaned back, the glow of her monitors reflecting in her glasses. A new player was on the board. A government-sanctioned black ops team was now hunting the same mysterious entity that Red Hood was trying to put in the ground. The city had just gotten infinitely more complicated.

She opened a secure channel to the rest of the family, her fingers typing out a single, stark warning.

PRIORITY ALERT: CADMUS affiliated Government agencies have established a presence at the Tricorner Yards. They are actively hunting the ‘Ghost Rider.’ Assume all patrols are under surveillance. Stay dark. Avoid engagement.

The rain in Crime Alley had a special kind of stink—a mix of wet garbage, old brick, and misery. It was Jason’s favorite kind of night. The scum stayed indoors, and the ones who didn’t were easier to spot. He was perched on the edge of a gargoyle, the red bat emblem on his chest a bloody smear in the neon-drenched dark, when he felt it.

It wasn't a sound or a sight. It was a pattern.

For the last hour, one of the sterile white vans Barbara had warned them about had been shadowing his patrol route. It wasn't a direct tail. It was smarter than that. It stayed two blocks south, paralleling his movements with an unnerving precision, a ghost just on the edge of his senses. He’d drop down into an alley, and a moment later, he’d hear the faint, distinct hum of its specialized engine turning a corner nearby.

He was being hunted.

"Oracle, you seeing this?" he growled into his comm, his voice a low rasp.

"I see it, Hood," Barbara's voice replied, crisp and clear. "Van designated GIW-Three. It's been mirroring your position since you crossed into the Narrows. Their tracking tech is better than I thought."

"They're about to find out my counter-tech is better," Jason muttered. He pushed off the gargoyle, firing a grapple line into the opposite rooftop and swinging across the chasm of the street below. He landed in a silent roll, coming up behind a grimy air-conditioning unit. He waited.

The white van rolled to a stop at the end of the alley below. It just sat there, humming, its unseen occupants watching, waiting. They knew he was here.

Fine. Time to stop playing games.

"B," he said, switching to a private channel. "I've got a GIW van that's gotten a little too personal. They’re not just sweeping; they’re targeting." He vaulted over a low wall, dropping silently onto a fire escape. "I'm leading them toward the industrial park. Need a second opinion."

"On my way," was the only reply.

Jason moved, a blur of black leather and red helmet through the urban maze. He led them on a chase they didn't even know they were in, doubling back, using sewer grates and abandoned walkways, but the van was always there. It was like they had a leash on him. He finally dropped into the planned rendezvous point: a courtyard surrounded by derelict warehouses, a perfect kill box. He crouched behind a rusted dumpster, pistols drawn, ready for a fight.

The van didn’t follow him in. The humming faded. The alley went silent, save for the drumming of the rain. It was too quiet. A trap.

"He is an anomaly," a voice said, soft and cold as a tombstone.

Jason spun around, his guns snapping up. Standing not twenty feet away, rain beading on her porcelain mask, was a woman in black and red armor. Her hand rested on the hilt of a katana that seemed to drink the ambient light. He recognized her from Oracle’s briefing. Katana.

"The spirits are unsettled by you," she said, her voice a low, musical whisper that cut through the downpour. "You have cheated death. Your soul does not belong to you."

Jason’s blood ran cold. He’d faced down monsters, gods, and clowns, but this was different. This wasn't about turf. This was about the Lazarus Pit.

"You don't want to do this," Jason warned, his grip tightening on his pistols. "Waller's leashes only go so far."

"My sword, Soultaker, disagrees," she said, her hand tightening on the hilt. The blade seemed to hum, a faint, discordant note in the air. "It craves a soul such as yours. One that is already fractured."

She took a step forward, and Jason braced himself—

A shadow detached itself from a deeper shadow by the warehouse doors. In an instant, Batman was there, a black void against the rain, standing between them. He didn’t make a sound. He was just present, his authority a tangible force in the small courtyard.

"Tatsu," Batman said, his voice a low rumble of gravel and command. He didn't address the mask; he addressed the woman behind it.

Katana froze, her head tilting slightly. She knew him. Her posture shifted from that of an assassin to a student facing a mentor.

"Batman," she acknowledged, her voice losing its mystical edge, becoming clipped and professional. "My orders are to investigate all ecto-anomalies in Gotham. He," she gestured toward Jason with her chin, "registers on every scanner we have."

"Your sensors are new. They aren't calibrated for Gotham's unique… particulates," Batman countered smoothly, taking a deliberate step forward. He was improvising, feeding her a truth wrapped in a lie. "He isn't ectoplasmic. The energy you're reading is a residual signature from a Lazarus Pit. Your machines are mistaking one form of resurrection energy for another."

He let that sink in, a plausible, technical explanation for an impossible situation.

"We're both investigating the same thing," he continued, his tone shifting from dismissive to collaborative. "This 'Ghost Rider' and the bodies left in his wake. We have different methods, but our goal is the same. Waller wants results, not jurisdictional squabbles."

Katana remained silent, but he could see her weighing his words.

"Red Hood is one of mine. Stand down tonight, Tatsu," Batman offered, pressing his advantage. "In return, I will share any actionable intelligence I gather on the true source of these disturbances. A direct line, from me to you. No need to go through Waller's bureaucracy."

After a long, tense moment, she gave a stiff, almost imperceptible nod. "Waller will not be pleased."

"She rarely is," Batman replied.

The offer hung in the rain-soaked air. Better intel, a direct line to the world's greatest detective, and a logical reason to de-escalate. Jason watched, stunned, as Katana visibly mulled it over. Her grip on Soultaker’s hilt loosened, and the faint, unsettling hum from the blade subsided. She was considering it.

Finally, she gave a firm, single nod.

"Your logic is sound, Bruce. As is your offer." The use of his first name was an acceptance, a bridge across their opposing missions.

She took a step back, her form already blending with the oppressive dark of the alley. Her voice was softer now, tinged with a respect that transcended their uniforms.

"It was good seeing you."

And then she was gone, as silent as she had arrived. Jason slowly lowered his pistols, his heart still pounding in his chest as he stared at the empty space where she had been.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, his voice tight with adrenaline and disbelief.

"A necessary deception," Batman said, turning his white-lensed gaze from the empty alley to Jason. "And a temporary truce. Now, tell me everything."

Chapter Text

The air in the Batcave was cold and still, a stark contrast to the chaos in the city above. Bruce sat before the central monitor, his cowl off, the exhaustion of the night etched onto his face. On the massive screen, two faces looked back at him with grim professionalism: Alan Scott, his jaw set and a faint green light reflecting in his eyes, and Michael Holt, flanked by his hovering T-Spheres.

“…and that’s the situation,” Bruce concluded, having relayed the encounter with Katana. “The GIW are operating with a Task Force X escort, and their sensor technology is advanced enough to detect Lazarus Pit energy, mistaking it for ecto-signatures.”

Michael Holt steepled his fingers. “The Ghost Investigation Ward are a ghost in the system, Bruce. Highly compartmentalized. We know they exist, but their operational command structure is a black box. Waller bringing them into your city is a significant escalation.”

“We were informed as a courtesy, nothing more,” Alan added, his voice like rumbling thunder. “Standard protocol for a federal operation in a JSA-monitored territory. The implication was clear: stay out of it.”

It was the dead end Bruce had expected. As Alan spoke, however, Bruce saw Michael’s eyes widen slightly, his gaze shifting to a point just over Bruce’s shoulder. Alan’s expression followed, his stoic demeanor cracking into one of pure shock.

Bruce’s instincts screamed. He whipped around, his body uncoiling from the chair in a single, fluid motion, his fist lashing out at the space behind him.

His punch met nothing but cold air.

A girl composed of smoke and shadow hovered where he’d struck. Her form was a shifting monochrome, her tattered cape swirling like mist.

“Bruce, stop!”

Tim Drake skidded to a halt a few feet away, having sprinted from the cave’s workshop. He held his hands up, his eyes wide with recognition.

“That’s Secret!” he exclaimed, recognizing the uniform instantly. “She was on my team—Young Justice.” He stepped cautiously between the spectral hero and his mentor. “Greta, what is this? What’s wrong?”

Slowly, Bruce lowered his arm, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the well-known, if elusive, young hero. On the screen, Alan and Michael watched in stunned silence.

“I-I’m sorry for startling you,” Greta whispered, her voice like rustling leaves. She peeked out from behind Tim. “I need asylum.”

“Asylum from what?” Bruce demanded, his tone hard but no longer threatening.

“Them. The GIW,” she said, her form solidifying slightly with her earnestness. “The other ghosts… They're all talking. The GIW are sweeping the city, and while they’re mostly incompetent, they’re dangerous because they’re extremists.” Her eyes grew dark. “They tried to nuke the afterlife once, Batman. Literally. They don’t care about collateral damage.”

She took a shaky, ethereal breath. “I came to warn you. The Ghost King… he’s going to be furious when he finds out they’re here. Especially when he learns they’re targeting your sons.”

“Why would that concern him?”

“Your lie to Katana wasn’t a lie,” Greta explained. “Their sensors are picking up on the Lazarus Pit energy. They think Red Hood is some kind of revenant. They’ll probably start targeting Robin soon, too.”

“We’re aware,” Bruce said, his tone hard. “What aren’t we aware of?”

Secret turned her smoky gaze to him. “You think they’re just hunting ghosts. They’re not. They’re using the hunt for the ‘Ghost Rider’ as a pretext to expand their mandate. They are targeting individuals with anomalous energy signatures—metas, pseudo-metas—under the auspice that they are subjects of the Ghost King.”

Out of the corner of his eye the claim landed on Alan and Michael’s faces with the weight of a physical blow. Bruce’s eyes narrowed.

“Alan, Michael. We’ll continue this later.” He ended the call without waiting for a reply, plunging the cave into a heavy silence broken only by the drip of water and the hum of the computer.

“Red Robin,” Secret’s voice was a chorus of whispers, urgent and serious. “I need sanctuary.”

“The King barely tolerates their activities against his actual people as it is,” she continued, her form swirling with agitation, “all in the name of a fragile peace. If he learns they are using him as an excuse to hunt humans in this city, he won’t see it as a jurisdictional issue. He will see it as a broken treaty. He will see it as an act of war.”

“This ‘Ghost King,’” Bruce pressed, taking a step forward, the detective in him seizing the new thread. “Identify him.”

Secret’s swirling form went unnaturally still. Her whispery voice was flat and final. “I can’t talk about him.”

The refusal was absolute, leaving no room for negotiation. 

Thursday morning in the locker room, Dash had the football team hanging on every word. He stood in the middle of the benches like he was giving a pep talk before a game, his hands flying with dramatic emphasis.

“I’m telling you guys, it’s true,” Dash insisted, lowering his voice like he was spilling state secrets. “Fenton admitted it. He’s got a kid.”

Groans and laughs rippled through the room, but Dash plowed ahead.

“No, listen! He straight up told me. It’s, like, a time-travel thing. He goes to the past, meets this older woman—at least ten years older, easy—and boom, kid.”

“Older woman?” Mikey snorted, tugging his jersey over his head. “What, like a teacher?”

Dash grimaced. “Not, like, that old. Just… you know. Someone older now.”

Kwan leaned back against his locker, grinning ear to ear. “You’re saying Fenton’s out here, time-traveling, hooking up with—what? Past models?”

“Exactly!” Dash stabbed a finger at him. “And now he’s got a daughter who already exists in, like, two timelines or something.”

The room erupted with laughter and disbelief. A couple of the linemen actually cheered. One muttered, “Fenton’s a legend, man,” while another whispered, “Figures. Dude disappears half the time anyway—he’s probably off in the past.”

Dash puffed his chest, enjoying the attention. “I’m just saying, the guy’s not scrawny anymore. He’s jacked and apparently he’s got girlfriends across centuries. Makes sense, right?”

Coach’s whistle cut through the noise like a gunshot. “Enough!” He stepped into the room, glaring. “I don’t care if Fenton’s the father of the entire tri-state area. If you’ve got time to gossip, you’ve got time to run drills. Out. Now.”

The team scrambled, laughter still echoing as they jogged out.

Kwan lingered just long enough to elbow Dash. “Man, you’re making Fenton sound cooler than you.”

Dash froze, scowling. “Wait—what? No, that’s not what I meant!”

But Kwan was already gone, grinning like the rumor had just leveled up.

Dash groaned, dragging his helmet on. “Great. Now I’ve made Fenton popular.”

By third period, the rumor had metastasized. It wasn’t whispers anymore; it was flat-out gossip shouted across lockers.

“Fenton’s daughter’s from the past!” one sophomore declared.
“No way, she’s from, like, the Wild West or something?”
“I heard he knocked up Cleopatra.”
“Dude, that was Dash’s version, not mine!”

Danny walked down the hall with his hood up, trying to ignore the voices ping-ponging around him. But everywhere he went, heads turned, and people suddenly found excuses to whisper behind their hands.

When he got to his locker, Sam and Tucker were already there waiting.

Sam crossed her arms. “Well, congratulations, Fenton. You’re officially a legend. Dash says you hooked up with some older woman in the past and now you’ve got a time-traveling daughter.”

Danny groaned, slamming his locker shut. “I never said that. I just… let him think what he wanted.”

“You’re playing a game of telephone with Dash Baxter, man,” Tucker was grinning ear to ear. “Dude, this is the best thing you’ve ever done by accident. Do you know how much your stock just went up? You’re, like, the mysterious time traveler with dad muscles now.”

Danny shot him a look, not appreciating hearing Dash’s weird comment repeated. “You’re not helping.”

Sam arched a brow, her smirk sharp. “Honestly? It’s probably better people think you had a hook-up in the past than the alternative.”

Danny blinked. “What alternative?”

Sam leaned closer, her voice low and pointed. “That people might think I’m the one who’s pregnant.”

Danny’s ears went scarlet. “What—no! Nobody thinks that!”

“Give it a week,” Sam deadpanned. Then, after a pause, she softened just enough to nudge his arm. “Still. Good cover story, even if it’s the dumbest one possible.”

Tucker chuckled so hard he had to lean against the lockers. “Yeah, Fenton. Next thing you know, Dash is gonna be telling people your baby mama was Joan of Arc.”

Danny buried his face in his hands. “I hate my life.”

But from the way Sam’s lips twitched and Tucker laughed loud enough to draw stares, it was clear: the rumor had already run far beyond his control.

Jazz stirred her coffee slowly, watching the cream swirl into the dark liquid. The little café on Main Street was her usual study spot, quiet enough to get work done between her shifts and grad school prep. She’d just cracked open a textbook when someone slid into the seat across from her.

“Jazz! You will not believe what I heard at Casper High this morning.”

She looked up to see Melanie, one of her old classmates who now worked part-time at the pharmacy. Melanie’s grin was wide enough to split her face.

Jazz raised an eyebrow. “Considering it’s Casper High, I probably will believe it. What’s the latest crisis?”

Melanie leaned in conspiratorially. “Your brother. Danny.”

Jazz’s stomach sank. “What about him?”

Melanie’s grin widened. “Word is, he’s got a kid.”

Jazz choked on her coffee. “What?!”

“Mmhm.” Melanie nodded solemnly, clearly enjoying herself. “Dash Baxter was telling everyone Danny time-traveled to the past, had a fling with some older woman, and now there’s a daughter running around. People are saying she called him ‘Dad’ over Facetime at Nasty Burger.”

Jazz pressed her fingers to her temples. “Oh my god.”

“I mean, it’s kind of impressive,” Melanie continued, sipping her latte like it was no big deal. “Not that I’m saying he’s that type, but… time-travel romance? Very sci-fi. Very on brand for your family.”

Jazz groaned, burying her face in her hands. “This is ridiculous. Danny’s not—he wouldn’t—ugh, why do I even have to defend this? He’s seventeen!”

Melanie smirked. “Didn’t stop half the school from believing it. Honestly, it’s all anyone’s talking about.”

Jazz sat back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Of course, she thought bitterly. Danny couldn’t just have a normal week without ghosts; instead, he got saddled with a rumor that made him sound like a time-traveling Casanova.

She sent Danny a quick text.

Jazz: Danny, what the heck is going on?!

Her phone buzzed. A new text from Danny popped up.

Danny: u heard yet? it’s not true. don’t kill me.

Jazz sighed, she could feel him cringing. She started typing back with grim efficiency.

Jazz: We’re talking. Tonight. Bring snacks.

Melanie tilted her head. “So… not true?”

Jazz shot her a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Not even close.”

Still, when Melanie wandered off, Jazz couldn’t help but picture the scene as Dash must’ve told it: Danny awkwardly cornered, fumbling through some ridiculous explanation. And despite herself, she laughed—half exasperation, half fondness.

That was her brother. Never boring, never quiet. And apparently, now the star of Casper High’s strangest rumor yet.

That night, the kitchen at FentonWorks smelled faintly of gun oil and leftover casserole. Jazz sat at the table with her arms crossed, textbook shoved aside. Maddie stood at the counter, arms tucked into her orange hazmat suit sleeves, eyes narrowed at her son.

Danny leaned against the fridge, looking like he wanted to phase through it and disappear.

“Start talking,” Jazz said flatly.

Danny leaned back into the couch, “Kwan and Star overheard me checking in with Dani the other day and told everyone they knew.”

Jazz crossed her arms and gave him her best Mom scowl.

Danny dragged a hand down his face. “It was Dash. He kept bugging me in Athletics, so I—look, I didn’t say anything. I just… let him think what he wanted.”

“What he wanted,” Jazz repeated, unimpressed.

Danny winced. “Okay, I might have implied time travel was involved. Maybe. But I didn’t know he’d go telling people I—”

“Fathered a child in the past?” Maddie supplied, her voice sharp.

Danny flinched. “Yes. That.”

Maddie’s brow furrowed, her voice softening into something thoughtful. “But… that little girl we met—Dani. We did run DNA tests. She is your clone. Unless…” Her eyes widened, darting to him.

Danny’s jaw dropped. “Mom! No! Don’t tell me you’re actually buying into this rumor.”

“Well—” Maddie lifted a hand helplessly. “We didn’t exactly expect a clone, did we? And—”

“Years ago!” Danny cut in. “We ran the tests years ago to prove it! You had proof and you still didn’t tell me I was adopted back then!” His voice cracked at the end, rawer than he meant.

Maddie’s mouth snapped shut. Guilt flickered across her face, but she said nothing.

Danny felt a little bad about bringing it up. Maybe he wasn’t as over it as he pretended. 

Jazz leaned forward, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay, can we focus? Danny, you realize what you’ve done, right?”

He groaned. “Apparently, I’ve made the whole town think I’m some time-traveling deadbeat dad.”

Jazz’s voice sharpened. “No. Worse. You’ve made the entire town think Dani is proof you were molested.”

Danny froze. His stomach dropped like a stone. “What—what do you mean?”

Jazz’s gaze didn’t waver. “Seventeen-year-old boys don’t ‘hook up with older women’ in the past. They get taken advantage of. That’s what everyone who hears this rumor is thinking—even if they don’t say it out loud.”

The words hit like ice water. Danny’s face drained of color. He stumbled into a chair, hands gripping the edge. “I—I didn’t—oh god. Stephanie and Tim. That’s what they thought too, isn’t it? And now I’ve just… reinforced it with everyone in Amity.”

The silence that followed was crushing. Maddie reached out like she wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, but stopped halfway, her guilt rooting her in place. Jazz exhaled slowly, softer this time.

“Danny,” she said, “you didn’t mean it. But you need to understand how it looks.”

Danny buried his face in his hands, mortified. “I’ve screwed this up so bad.”

Jazz squeezed his arm gently. “Then fix it. Figure out what story you do want out there, before this spirals any further.”

Maddie finally spoke, her voice low. “She’s right. Whatever else, you can’t let people write this story for you.”

Danny sat there, pale and shaken, knowing his sister was right. He’d thought he was dodging questions. Instead, he’d dropped himself—and Dani—into a nightmare misunderstanding that made his skin crawl.

And the worst part was, he wasn’t sure how to undo it.

Danny lay flat on his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, the glow of his phone screen lighting up the ceiling. The house was quiet—Jazz holed up with her textbooks, Maddie tinkering in the lab downstairs, Jack snoring already. He should’ve been asleep, but the knot in his stomach refused to loosen.

Finally, he hit the Facetime button.

Dani’s face filled the screen seconds later, a little pixelated but bright with her usual grin. “Dad! What’s up?”

Danny tried to smile, but it came out tired. “Hey, kiddo. You got a minute? Alone?”

Dani glanced over her shoulder—Tim and Stephanie’s living room was empty. She ducked into the hallway, phone pressed close. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Danny exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “So, uh… you know how Star and Kwan overheard us at Nasty Burger?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well… Dash found out. And now the whole school thinks you’re my kid because I, um…” He winced. “…time-traveled and hooked up with an older woman.”

There was a long beat of silence.

Then Dani burst out laughing so hard she nearly dropped the phone. “Are you serious?! That’s amazing!”

“Dani—”

“No, no, you don’t get it.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “You, the dorky guy who eats cereal at midnight and trips over his own shoelaces, is now the time-traveling ladies’ man of Casper High! That’s comedy gold!”

Danny groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not funny. Don’t you see what that sounds like? A seventeen-year-old kid with a 10-year-old daughter from an older woman? People don’t call that a hook-up, Dani. They call that—” He swallowed. “…molestation.”

The smile slid off Dani’s face. Her laughter died. She stared at him, suddenly too still. “…kind of was, though.”

Danny sat bolt upright. “What?!”

She looked down, voice low. “Vlad made me. I didn’t get a choice in existing. YOU didn’t get a choice in him using your DNA. Isn’t that… the same thing?”

“No.” Danny’s voice was sharp, desperate. “No, Dani. Listen to me.” He leaned in, eyes locked on hers even through the screen. “You are not the product of rape. You are not a mistake. You’re my daughter. Period. I don’t ever want you thinking I see you that way. Not for a second.”

Dani’s throat bobbed. She was a mistake though. Vlad never intended to make a daughter. “But—”

“No buts,” Danny cut her off. His voice softened, breaking at the edges. “It was wrong what Vlad did, yeah. But you—you were unexpected, but you’re you. And I love you. Got it?”

Dani blinked hard, swiping at her eyes. “Got it.” A small, wobbly smile tugged at her lips. “I still think you should lean into it, though. Own the legend.”

Danny laughed, half in disbelief, half in relief. “You’re impossible.”

“Runs in the family,” Dani shot back, a little steadier now.

Danny smiled, heart aching but full. “Goodnight, kiddo.”

“’Night, Dad.”

The glow of ecto-neon lit up the corner booth of a haunt café in Ghost Town, where three familiar ghosts had claimed the space like regulars. Ember strummed idly at her guitar, a low hum vibrating through the table. Spectra sipped something green and steaming, her perfect smile never faltering. Kitty scrolled through her phone, chewing gum loud enough to earn an eye-roll from Ember.

“Ugh,” Kitty groaned, leaning back. “Dead internet is so boring. Everyone here just posts the same stupid afterlife memes.”

Ember smirked. “You only say that because you can’t doomscroll breakups anymore.”

Spectra gave a prim laugh, about to add something biting—when Ember suddenly stiffened, squinting at her own feed.

“Oh, now this is interesting.” She turned the screen so the others could see.

The photo was grainy, snapped from a Gotham sidewalk. But it was clear enough: Johnny 13 on his bike, black leather gleaming, shadow spilling across the street. And behind him, a dark-haired woman clinging to his waist, hair streaming, her outfit screaming biker chick down to the studs and denim. The trail of green light in their wake made the whole image look otherworldly.

Kitty froze. “What… is that?”

“Looks like your boyfriend’s moonlighting,” Ember said with a grin. “And getting cozy with a side ghost. She’s got the grip of a girlfriend, not a hitchhiker.”

Spectra arched a brow, sipping her cup delicately. “Scandalous. Is Johnny straying?”

Kitty’s face went red-hot, her voice climbing instantly. “NO. No, no, no—Johnny would never—who even IS she?!” She jabbed the picture with her nail like it had personally insulted her. “Leather jacket, arms wrapped around him, hair flying like she thinks she’s in some dumb music video—ugh!”

Ember leaned back, enjoying the show. “All I’m saying? Looks like Johnny’s got a new girl in Gotham.”

Kitty shot to her feet, fists clenched. “I am going to find him, and then I am going to find her, and then I am going to—” She sputtered, too furious to finish the sentence, gum snapping sharp between her teeth.

Spectra’s smirk widened. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Kitty stormed out of the café, fury practically sparking ectoplasm behind her. A few chairs rattled as the door slammed shut.

Ember stretched, kicked her boots up onto the bench, and smirked at Spectra. “That was almost too easy. Girl’s like a firecracker with a short fuse.”

Spectra sipped daintily, eyes glinting. “Nothing stirs the afterlife like a little jealousy.”

Ember flicked her phone open again, scrolling back to the blurry Gotham street clip. She tapped a button, overlaid it with a Chris Pratt Parks and Rec “shocked face” reaction, and forwarded it straight to Dani Fenton.

Seconds later, Ember’s phone buzzed with the reply: Dani had sent back a Surprised Pikachu meme, no text, no explanation.

Ember laughed so loud half the café turned to look. “Oh, this kid gets it. That’s perfect.”

Spectra raised a brow. “Dani knows Johnny?”

“Nah,” Ember said, still chuckling. “She just gets the vibe. Johnny riding through Gotham with biker-chick Barbie hanging off him? That’s meme fuel, baby.”

She saved the thread to her favorites and leaned back, already scheming what other trouble she could stir with a little screenshot circulation.

Wayne Manor’s guest wing was quiet, the kind of quiet Dani wasn’t used to after years of motel rooms and noisy labs. She sprawled on her bed with her phone glowing in the dark, scrolling through the little collection of memes Ember had just lobbed at her.

The video of Johnny tearing through Gotham lit up her screen—Lady Gotham in full biker-mama mode clinging to his back. Ember’s caption: “Tell me this isn’t cheating 😂” followed by the Chris Pratt meme. Dani smirked and fired back with a Surprised Pikachu of her own, but she didn’t stop there.

She grinned wickedly and thumbed the forward button. Sam’s contact lit up with a little ghost emoji Dani had added herself.

Dani → Sam: Yo, check this out. Gotham’s getting spicy.

The file sent. A moment later, Dani sprawled back and waited for the fallout.

Across town in Amity Park, Sam’s phone buzzed against the café table. She and Danny had tucked into a booth for a rare date night, half-empty milkshakes between them. Sam picked it up absently, thumbed the notification open—then froze.

“Uh… Danny?”

He looked up mid-sip. “What?”

Sam turned the phone so he could see. Onscreen, Johnny 13 blazed through Gotham traffic with a grinning, leather-clad woman clamped onto his waist like the world’s happiest passenger. The green glow trailing behind them made the whole thing look theatrical.

Danny blinked. “Oh no.”

Sam smirked, biting down on her straw to keep from laughing. “Your Uber driver has a new side hustle.”

Danny groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Dani’s spreading this, isn’t she?”

Sam’s phone buzzed again.

Dani → Sam: 😂 Should I tell Kitty or nah?

Sam couldn’t help it—she burst out laughing, loud enough that half the café turned to look. Danny slumped lower in his seat, muttering into his milkshake.

“Why does my life always turn into a soap opera?”

Sam leaned across the table, grin wicked. “Because you’re you. Honestly, you should’ve seen this coming, Daddy Fenton.”

The rain came down like shattered glass, a thousand needles biting into Gotham’s skin. The rooftops glistened under its touch, broken shingles and corroded metal dripping water into the blackened alleys below. For Talia al Ghul, the storm was both cover and complication. It masked her movements, dulled the steps of her pursuers, and made every ledge a treacherous gamble.

She ran with purpose, cloak whipping behind her, sword balanced in one hand. The League of Shadows was relentless tonight—her father’s hounds had cornered her in his city. They moved like liquid shadows, blades drawn, their eyes glinting green where Lazarus residue lingered in their veins.

The Gotham night was thick with rain, a curtain of water washing the neon grime down the alleys. Talia al Ghul’s boots struck silently on the slick rooftop tiles, her cloak snapping behind her as the League of Shadows swarmed in pursuit. They moved like wolves, blades painted matte black to hide their glint in the moonlight, their war cries swallowed by the thunder.

Steel clashed. She cut one man down with a flick of her wrist, sidestepped another, and vaulted a rooftop water tank. Her breath came even and cold; this was no desperate escape—it was a culling.

One came at her from the right, silent as breath. She cut him down with a flick, severing artery and spine, not breaking stride. Another tried to leap the gap after her. He never finished the arc. Talia pivoted mid-run, slashed across his chest, and shoved him backward into the storm. His body pinwheeled into the alley, swallowed by darkness.

Behind her, her own Leviathan soldiers spilled across the rooftops—loyal, fearless, and doomed. She did not bother to look at them. Their purpose was clear: bleed so she could live.

Leviathan footsoldiers leapt across the gap behind her, intercepting the pursuers. They fought brutally, loyally—just as she intended. Their lives slowed the League’s blades, bought her seconds, nothing more. Seconds were all she needed.

The clash of steel rang out against the rain. A Leviathan footman blocked three Shadows with a staff, only to be gutted in turn. Another tackled an assassin off the roof entirely. Their screams disappeared into the storm, anonymous sacrifices. Talia felt no pang, no hesitation. Sacrifice was currency. She had been taught to spend it freely.

From below came a sound that did not belong in Gotham: a shrill, oscillating wail, electronic and insistent. Floodlights carved upward, pale beams slicing the rain. A stark van screeched to a halt on the street, armored plates slick with water. Stenciled across its side in off-white that barely stood out: GHOST INVESTIGATION WARD. 

Out of its armored belly, agents poured out in pale suits, helmets faceless, rifles humming with green light. Spectral detectors howled, red-lining on their screens. Lazarus Pit energy was bleeding off her body like radioactive fumes; to their machines, she was a ghost in all but name, spectral detectors screeching as their sensors locked onto her Lazarus-born aura.

“Readings spiking—target above!”

“Target located! Rooftop—north quadrant!”

She swore under her breath and shifted pace. The League faltered as the first ecto-blasts hissed through the storm. Sickly green nets burst across the sky, searing holes into the rain, dissolving stone and brick where they touched. Two Shadows vanished in screams, flesh burned to ash by anti-ectoplasmic fire.

The GIW was not alone.

Another convoy rolled in behind the van, darker, heavier. Out came Task Force X. The Suicide Squad. Collars buzzed faintly against flesh, handlers barking orders. They had been given the same target profile: neutralize anything glowing Lazarus-green.

 Deadshot raised his rifle without hesitation. “Visual confirmed. Target’s dancing rooftops.”

Katana did not bother to follow his line of sight as Soultaker told her exactly where they were.

Handlers snapped through the radios: “Eyes up. Sensors read multiple signatures. Ecto containment is the priority.”

For one heartbeat, the League and government hunters all turned their weapons on her.

The Lazarus Pit’s curse was a beacon. The GIW didn’t care if she was mortal or revenant—their scanners howled the same verdict: contamination.

The rooftop became a war zone in a breath.

GIW rifles barked green fire. League assassins scattered across shingles, blades flashing, their training barely enough to dodge spectral nets. Leviathan soldiers held position, throwing themselves at both sides with feral brutality.

The rooftop erupted in gunfire and spectral bursts. Glowing nets of ecto-energy hissed through the air, burning where they touched the wet stone. League assassins were seared apart mid-leap, their screams lost to the storm. One of her Leviathan men tried to shield her, only to be shredded by a volley of task force rounds. His body tumbled into the alley, forgotten.

Talia did not flinch. Sacrifice was currency. She paid in flesh without hesitation.

Talia moved like the storm itself. She cut down one of her father’s men, spun into the path of a GIW agent, and slit his throat before he could pull the trigger. His rifle hissed hot in her grip—she used it to fire upward, shredding a drone until it exploded in a fireball.

“Tracking her! Adjust fire!”
Deadshot’s voice again, calm and deadly. The bullet came a fraction late—her shoulder jerked, blood blooming, but the shot hadn’t broken bone. She hissed, adrenaline driving her harder.

Katana closed on the opposite side of the roof, blade held in both hands. The League tried to rush her, but her sword moved like a whisper. Each stroke claimed a life. Each soul screamed in silence as her Soultaker drank them down.

For a heartbeat, Talia and Katana’s eyes met through the smoke. Recognition, perhaps respect—but no mercy.

Talia surged forward into her own fight, meeting two Shadows with twin blades. She killed one outright, drove the other into the path of an ecto-blast, his body disintegrating in a spray of green fire. Smoke burned her lungs, but she forced it down. Every step was chosen, every kill calculated.

The GIW pressed harder. Drones swept beams across the skyline, sensors screaming louder. One spotlight locked onto her form, painting her in pale fire.

Behind her, Leviathan soldiers died holding the line. Their screams were punctuation to her escape. Above, a drone’s spotlight locked onto her form, its sensor pinging louder, faster—she was the ghost in their crosshairs.

Talia ducked low, slashing a GIW agent across the throat, twisting his rifle free, and firing into the drone until it burst in flame. She cast the weapon aside just as Deadshot’s shot grazed her shoulder, hot blood mixing with rain.

“Damn, she’s quick,” he muttered, adjusting.

Her Leviathan men were dying in droves. Some fell to GIW blasts, their bodies turning to burning husks. Others were carved apart by Shadows. One—loyal, foolish—threw himself into Deadshot’s line of fire, body convulsing under the sniper’s impact.

Talia didn’t flinch. Their deaths were the toll for her survival.

She pivoted through the smoke, hurling explosive pellets that burst into chemical ash. The haze scrambled GIW optics, sensors shrieking in static. Task Force handlers cursed over radios.

Katana pressed forward, blade cutting the veil.
Deadshot adjusted, patient, waiting.

And Talia ran. She darted across the collapsing cornice, cloak snapping like a raven’s wing.

Another Leviathan soldier tried to shield her, only to vanish in green fire. His body lit the storm like a torch, and then he was gone. She did not pause. She did not look.

She dropped low, slid beneath a spectral net, rolled into the next rooftop, and kept moving. Her blood trailed faintly, washed away by the rain.

The League pressed again, sensing her wound. She cut two down, then hurled smoke bombs into the storm. Explosions of ash and chemical haze rolled over the rooftop, clouding sensors. Shouts erupted below—GIW signals scrambled, Task Force X momentarily blinded.

Through the chaos, Talia darted across a crumbling cornice. She did not look back at the bodies—League, Leviathan, GIW, or Task Force—it mattered not. The Lazarus Pit energy in her veins was a curse and a shield. Let them slaughter each other in their confusion.

The city swallowed her into shadow.

Behind her, the rooftop still burned green, the night alive with screams and gunfire. Chaos reigned. GIW agents screamed into radios. Deadshot cursed a jam. Katana stood alone among corpses, blade dripping. The League swore vengeance into the storm.

And Talia al Ghul escaped.

Talia disappeared into the maze of Gotham. Smoke swallowed her form, the rain blurred her tracks. By the time GIW drones refocused, she was gone.

The League of Shadows had failed to cage her.
Leviathan was broken, bodies left behind as tribute.
Task Force X had no body to present.
And the GIW’s scanners still wailed unanswered, hungering for Lazarus fire that had already fled into the night.

Somewhere far from the light, Talia slowed her breath, pressing a hand to her bleeding shoulder. She exhaled once, sharp and controlled.

Her father’s assassins would not stop. The Americans’ hunters would not relent. But she had survived, and survival was victory enough.

The war would wait for another night.

The early morning Amtrak hissed as it pulled away from the station, bound east. To the conductors and passengers, it looked like just another long-haul run through the dark stretches of Illinois farmland.

To Kitty, phasing through the rear car and sliding into an empty seat, it was her one-way ticket to Gotham. It had taken her hours to get to Chicago with her flight speed and she needed to get inside before she got caught in the sun outside Amity Park where the ectoplasm was plentiful. It wouldn’t hurt her, but it was super uncomfortable to most ghosts.

She crossed her arms, eyes smoldering, gum snapping sharp between her teeth. She could’ve flown the whole way, sure, but there was something satisfying about riding the rails, invisible to mortals, watching the countryside blur past as her fury simmered.

Her phone buzzed.

Ember → Kitty: Yo, fresh drop.

The new picture lit up the screen—Johnny’s bike leaning at a stoplight, Lady Gotham perched pillion, hair whipping around her shoulders, her face half-lit by neon.

Kitty’s grip tightened. “Unbelievable.”

Buzz.

Ember → Kitty: Look at this one 😏

Now it was a shaky video clip, some tourist’s phone catching Johnny cutting through traffic. The woman laughed against his shoulder, arm tight around his waist.

Kitty’s gum nearly snapped in half. “HE THINKS HE CAN JUST—” She cut herself off, glaring out the window as the train roared over a bridge.

Another buzz.

Ember → Kitty: Girl, he’s practically making a music video. You better hurry.

Kitty stuffed the phone into her jacket pocket before she could crush it in her hand. She leaned back against the seat, ghosting her form invisible as a conductor passed by. Her mind burned with one thought, over and over.

Gotham. Johnny. Now.

The train thundered east, carrying her closer with every mile.

The storm had finally broken by the time Talia slipped into the shell of the Historic Theater. Its glass was long since shattered, its velvet seats moth-eaten, but the walls stood, stubborn as the city around them. It was here, in a forgotten balcony room overlooking Crime Alley, that she had hidden a sanctuary.

She staggered across the warped floorboards, cloak dripping, her shoulder still leaking from Deadshot’s graze. She dropped her blade against a dressing table, the mirror cracked in spiderweb fractures, and pulled open a drawer where gauze and antiseptics waited.

Her breath hissed as she cleaned the wound. The Lazarus echo in her blood slowed the bleeding, but it burned, a reminder of how close the bullet had come. She stripped away her outer layer, leaving only the plain black underclothes, and pressed linen hard against the wound until crimson blossomed through.

A floorboard creaked.

Talia’s hand went to the knife strapped at her thigh—but she stopped before drawing. The footsteps were light, too light for assassin or soldier.

From the doorway, a small figure appeared.

The girl’s dark eyes caught the lamp glow, wide but calm. She wore a loose white tunic dress  with ribbon-tied sleeves, black stockings, and heavy boots that clomped softly on the old wood. Her hijab framed her face neatly, green-gray fabric flowing down one side, and a pair of playful, sunglasses, sat above her brow like little horns. The perfect accessory for the granddaughter of the demons head.

Athanasia.

Her daughter.

Or, as the papers Talia had forged insisted, Athanasia Wayne.

The girl said nothing at first. She only crossed the room, dragging a small medical satchel that dwarfed her hands from a hiding spot behind the couch. She set it down beside her mother, tugged out fresh bandages, hemostatics, and an xstat, and without waiting for permission began to peel away the soaked linen. “Mother.”

Talia hissed as the cold air touched the wound.
“You should not be here. You should be in bed still,” she said in the voice she reserved for commands, not comfort.

Athanasia only tilted her head. “And yet I am.” Her voice was quiet, but steady. She dabbed the blood away with a precision that belied her years. “Hold still.”

Talia almost smiled despite herself. So much of the father in her—stubborn, unmovable. Yet in her hands was her mother’s training, instinctive and calm.

The girl worked with care, securing the bandage snug across the wound, then tying it off neatly. She sat back, regarding her work with a critical eye, and nodded. “Better.” Then she moved on to the next.

For a moment, there was silence. Only the rain dripping through the broken ceiling and the hum of the theater’s forgotten lights.

Talia reached out, brushing a strand of fabric from her daughter’s face. “You are too young to know this life.”

Athanasia looked up at her, eyes sharp with something older than her years. “I was born into it. You can’t pretend otherwise.”

Talia closed her eyes briefly. In the darkness of the theater, she let herself feel the weight of the night—the lives sacrificed, the shadows that still hunted her. Yet here, against all reason, was light. Not the Lazarus glow of corruption, but something cleaner.

She kissed her daughter’s brow. “Then you will learn as I did. But you will live longer than I was allowed to.”

Athanasia only smiled faintly, gathering the medical wrappings back into her satchel. She looked so small in the ruined theater, yet so certain.

Outside, Gotham’s sirens wailed, chasing ghosts they could not catch. But inside, in the dim refuge of a forgotten stage, Talia and her daughter shared a fragile peace.

The war would return tomorrow. Tonight, blood and linen were enough.

The morning sun did little to burn off the oppressive atmosphere that had settled over Wayne Manor. From his study, Bruce watched as Duke and Damian engaged in a surprisingly civil game of croquet on the vast lawn. It was a scene of perfect, fragile normalcy, and every instinct in Bruce’s body screamed that it was about to be shattered. The GIW weren't just hunting ghosts; they were hunting anomalies. And his family was a collection of the world's most unique anomalies.

Jason would never accept protection. He would see it as an insult and an encumbrance. It was enough to ground him at the manor helping Tim and Stephanie on a case. But Duke and Damian… their daily commute to Gotham Academy was a predictable route, a vulnerability he could no longer ignore. That’s why he pulled them out of school for a week to address the issue.

He sat down at his desk, the dark oak cool beneath his hands, and initiated a secure, encrypted call. After two rings, a woman’s voice answered, calm and measured, with an undercurrent of steel. “This is a private number.”

“Sasha,” Bruce said, his voice low. “It’s Bruce Wayne. I have a job for you.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. “Bruce. It’s been a while. I assume this isn’t a social call.”

“It’s a close-protection detail,” he said, getting straight to the point. “For my two youngest sons, Duke and Damian.”

Sasha Bordeaux’s skepticism was palpable even over the phone. “With all due respect, your sons are trained by Batman. Damian could probably field-strip half of my former colleagues before breakfast. Why do they suddenly need a bodyguard?”

“Because the threat isn’t conventional,” Bruce explained, his gaze drifting back to the boys on the lawn. “There’s a new government entity operating in the city. Officially, they’re called the Ghost Investigation Ward, but apparently they’re derided as the Guys in White. Unofficially, they’re being escorted by Task Force X and command staff from Checkmate and the DEO.”

He heard Sasha take a slow, deliberate breath. That got her attention.

“They’re using wide-spectrum energy scanners,” Bruce continued. “Looking for what they call ‘ecto-anomalies.’ Their technology is unsophisticated enough that it could easily flag Damian’s residual Lazarus Pit signature, or Duke’s metahuman biology, as a false positive. I need someone who can recognize that specific threat and neutralize it with absolute discretion before it becomes a public incident at the gates of their school.”

He played his final card. “Your history with Checkmate means your file on these fringe agencies is likely more complete than mine. I’m hiring you for your skills, Sasha, but also for your institutional knowledge.”

The line was silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was grim. “I know of them. The GIW were a joke in the intelligence community for years—the ‘spook’s spooks.’ All theory, no results. But if Amanda Waller is holding their leash now, it means they’ve been given teeth.” She paused. “This isn’t just a bodyguard job. You’re asking me to run counter-intel on a domestic black-ops mission.”

“The compensation will reflect that,” Bruce said simply.

“I’ll need full operational freedom. No questions asked if I have to bend a few traffic laws or diplomatic immunities.”

“Done,” Bruce agreed without hesitation.

“Then I accept,” Sasha said. “I can be in Gotham by tomorrow evening. I’ll set up and start the protection detail Monday morning.”

“Thank you, Sasha.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Bruce,” she replied, her voice a dry warning. “You’ve just invited a queen onto a chessboard full of ghosts and monsters. This is going to get messy.”

The call ended. Bruce leaned back in his chair, the weight on his shoulders a fraction lighter. He had placed a new piece on the board, a Black Queen to counter Waller’s knights. It was a necessary move in a game he hadn’t asked to play, but one he would be damned to lose.

The argument over the remote had ended in a rare truce. Now, huddled under a single massive cashmere blanket in the manor’s media room, Dani, Damian, and Duke were fully absorbed in a classic Ghibli movie marathon. A half-empty bowl of popcorn sat between them, the buttery scent filling the air. For a moment, it was almost peaceful.

The moment was shattered when the heavy oak door burst open.

A small girl with faintly purple skin, black hair, and startlingly green eyes bounded into the room. “Dani!” Mar’i Grayson chirped, her energy enough to power a small city. Tailing her was another little girl, slightly younger, with brown eyes and reddish brown, wavy hair. She was dressed in a perfect, miniature Robin uniform—tunic, cape, domino mask—but with one notable alteration: a short, pleated green skirt in place of the usual leggings.

Dick Grayson appeared in the doorway, looking both apologetic and frazzled. “Hey guys, sorry to barge in,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Diana and I got called away for a… a sudden work emergency. It’s complicated. Can you watch the girls for a bit? We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Through the still-open door, Dani caught a glimpse of a tall, impossibly beautiful woman with hair as black as a raven’s wing, dressed in elegant civilian clothes. The woman’s voice, warm and laced with a gentle accent, drifted in. “…apologize, Richard. Lizzie insisted on the uniform. She wears it every time we visit.”

Dick just laughed, a bright, easy sound. “Don’t worry about it, Diana. It’s perfect.” He gave the room a final thumbs-up and quietly closed the door, leaving the five children in the soft glow of the television.

Mar’i bounced over to the couch. “This is Lizzie,” she announced to the room at large.

Dani’s eyes lit up at the girl’s costume. “Wow, I love your outfit. It’s really cool.”

Lizzie beamed, puffing out her chest with pride and striking a pose. “Thanks! I’m Wonder Robin!”

Dani giggled, then turned her curious gaze to Damian, who was watching the newcomers with a carefully neutral expression. “Is that one of your old uniforms?” she asked innocently. “Did you used to wear the skirt, too?”

The effect was instantaneous. Duke, who had been reaching for a handful of popcorn, froze mid-motion. Damian’s face became a stony mask of denial.

“I have no knowledge of the article of clothing you are referencing,” Damian said stiffly.

“Yeah,” Duke added quickly, shaking his head. “Never seen it before. Must be custom.”

Dani blinked at them, then let out a long, suffering sigh that was far too world-weary for a ten-year-old. She paused the movie with the remote.

“You guys are really bad at this,” she said flatly.

Damian bristled. “Bad at what, may I ask?”

“The secret identity thing,” Dani said, gesturing vaguely toward the door. “You do realize that pretty much any teen or pre-teen girl on the entire planet would recognize Wonder Woman, right? Even in a pantsuit.” She crossed her arms, fixing them with a look of profound disappointment. “If you really wanted to hide that you’re all superheroes, you probably shouldn’t hang out with other famous superheroes and supervillains so often.”

Duke dropped his head into his free hand with a low groan. The logic was simple, brutal, and absolutely undeniable.

Damian said nothing. He just sat there, brooding in the semi-darkness, his jaw tight. He had been outmaneuvered, his family’s decades of secrecy effortlessly dismantled by the simple, straightforward observations of his ten-year-old great niece. It was, he decided, utterly infuriating.

The Batcave was crowded and tense.

The entire core of the family was present, gathered around the Batcomputer’s main console. Bruce stood as Batman, a figure of pure intimidation. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Stephanie were arrayed near him, some in uniform, some out. Cass was a silent presence near the shadows, while Barbara’s face watched from a dedicated monitor. Standing with a regal calm that seemed out of place amidst the cave’s gothic technology was Diana Prince, Wonder Woman. Hovering nervously near Tim was the ethereal form of Greta Hayes.

“The situation is untenable,” Batman began, his voice a low growl that commanded the cavern’s absolute attention. He summarized the events: the GIW’s arrival, Katana’s confirmation of their mission, and Secret’s warning. “We are dealing with a clandestine federal agency, a black-ops team, and a newly introduced supernatural power: the Ghost King.”

He turned his gaze to Diana. “As a mentor to the League’s mystical assets and a daughter of Olympus, your insight is needed. What do you know of this king and his domain?”

Diana folded her arms, her expression thoughtful. “Very little about the king himself, I’m afraid. But I know of his domain. The Greek gods call it the Infinite Realms.” She paused, searching for the right words. “Think of it as being similar to the Bleed—the raw space that exists between universes. But it is not empty. It is a parallel multiverse in its own right, ancient and impossibly vast. It functions as either the afterlife itself, or as a… halfway station, a central hub through which souls must pass to reach other destinations like my uncle’s realm or the Egyptian Duat. For this reason, most of the godly domains, including Olympus, share a border with it.”

Her brow furrowed. “As for its ruler… the legends are thousands of years old. They speak of an ancient, tyrannical king who was defeated and sealed away in an eternal prison. I have heard nothing of a successor. It has been considered a land without a master for millennia.”

Finding that well dry, Batman turned his white-lensed gaze to their spectral guest. “Secret. You said the king would be furious. He must be new. He must have a name.”

Greta fidgeted, her smoky form swirling. She glanced at Tim, who gave her a slight, encouraging nod. “I am… bound,” she whispered. “I cannot give you many details.” She took a deep, unnecessary breath. “But the new King… his name is Phantom.”

The name echoed in the vast cavern. Phantom.

Jason snorted from his position, leaning against a display case. “Phantom? Seriously? Isn’t that a little on the nose for the King of Ghosts?”

Greta didn’t argue. She didn’t offer a defense. She simply lifted a translucent hand and pointed directly at the dark, imposing figure at the center of the room.

“Batman,” she said, her voice flat.

The statement hung in the air for a single, perfect second before the cave erupted. Dick was the first to go, a bark of laughter escaping him that he didn’t even try to stifle. Jason threw his head back and howled, the sound echoing off the stone. Stephanie clapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking, while Tim coughed, trying to disguise his laugh as a sudden illness. Over the comms, Barbara’s clear, unrestrained laughter filled the air. Even Cass’s lips twitched into a rare, sharp smile.

Diana, ever the picture of grace, simply lifted a hand to cover her mouth, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

And Batman stood there, a stone gargoyle in a sea of his children’s laughter, having been flawlessly, undeniably, and utterly owned.

As the laughter in the Batcave slowly subsided, the mood began to shift back toward the grim reality of their situation. Bruce, ever the stoic center of the storm, seemed ready to press for more details about the newly named “Phantom.”

But before he could, a distinct buzz cut through the cavern’s quiet hum.

All eyes turned to Tim, who was staring down at his phone with an expression of profound suffering. He let out a low groan and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“What is it, Tim?” Stephanie asked, leaning closer. “Bad news?”

“The worst news,” he mumbled, handing the phone over to her without a word.

Stephanie took it, her brow furrowed in concern. Her expression shifted as she read the screen, a slow grin spreading across her face.

Duke: The secret is out.

A photo followed, showing Dani with a wide, mischievous grin, wearing Lizzie Trevor’s Robin-style domino mask. It was both adorable and incredibly incriminating.

Duke: No, seriously, she's definitely your grandkid. She figured us all out because she saw Diana in the hallway. Harley and Pam coming over to be wine aunties didn't help. She asked if Lizzie’s outfit used to be Damian’s, skirt included.

Stephanie burst out laughing, shoving the phone back into Tim’s hand. She threw her hands up in mock exasperation. “Oh, fantastic. Your detective genes are a menace to society, you know that? Can’t I get one thing other than their noses?! It’s completely unfair.”

The rest of the group watched the exchange, utterly bewildered.

“Are you two going to share with the rest of the class?” Jason drawled, crossing his arms. “Or is this some secret couple thing?”

Tim sighed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else on Earth. He looked up at Bruce, the picture of defeated parental responsibility. “It’s a… report. From Duke. At the manor.”

He took a deep breath. “Apparently, my granddaughter just deduced all of our secret identities.”

A heavy silence fell over the Batcave. Diana blinked, looking genuinely surprised.

“How?” Dick asked, a grin already tugging at his lips.

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “She recognized Diana when she dropped Lizzie off. And, according to Duke, our policy of letting Harley and Poison Ivy drop by for visits didn’t exactly help maintain our plausible deniability as a normal, non-super-powered family.”

The statement landed with the force of a perfectly thrown batarang. Jason stared for a second before letting out a sharp bark of laughter. “No way. We got taken down by wine aunties and a ten-year-old’s celebrity recognition skills? That’s… that’s actually beautiful.”

Stephanie grinned widely, “Dani wanted to know if Lizzie was wearing one of Damian’s old suits. Skirt included.”

Jason howled with laughter. Even Diana smirked a bit.

Dick laughed because it wasn’t him this time, “She’s definitely yours alright, Tim.”

Diana looked equal parts chagrined and impressed. “She is a very bright girl.”

Bruce said nothing. He simply stood there, processing the information. All his security, all his protocols, all the years of careful misdirection and compartmentalization, undone by simple, irrefutable logic. A ten-year-old girl had looked at the impossible chaos they called a family and, instead of being confused, had simply seen the obvious truth.

He gave a single, sharp nod. It wasn't anger. It was acknowledgement. And perhaps, a flicker of pride.

The tension of the Batcave meeting dissipated as the family moved upstairs for a late lunch. The transition was always a little jarring; one moment they were costumed vigilantes discussing threats to global stability, the next they were passing around sandwiches in a sun-drenched dining room. Bruce had changed into a simple cashmere sweater, his "Batman" persona tucked away, and was now discussing quarterly reports with Dick.

As Dani reached for a glass of juice, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Tim and Stephanie, both now in comfortable civilian clothes, gesturing for her to join them in the archway leading to the hall.

"Hey, Dani," Tim began, kneeling down to her level. "So, uh, we got a text from Duke a little while ago."

Dani raised a single, curious eyebrow. "Is this about you naming yourself after a burger joint?"

Tim’s practiced composure cracked, and he let out a nervous chuckle. "Well, I—I mean, I took the name from a villain, I wasn't really thinking about the restaurant chain at the time…"

Stephanie burst into laughter, playfully smacking his shoulder. "You totally did not. You thought it sounded cool, admit it."

Dani just grinned. They moved on. "So, the other part of the text," Stephanie said, her tone still amused. "We were wondering… does your dad know? About us?"

"Danny?" Dani tilted her head, giving it genuine thought. "Probably not. He kinda inherited my adopted grandpa Jack's special talent for not reading the room. He's super smart, but sometimes you could hold up a giant sign that says 'I AM A SUPERHERO' and he'd just think you were really into cosplay. Sam calls him her Himbo."

She took a sip of her juice. "Now, Sam's probably figured it out. Which means Tucker knows by now, too. But they won't say anything," she added confidently. "They're on my side. It’s way more fun to let Dad figure things out himself."

Stephanie’s face lit up with a huge grin. In one swift motion, she scooped Dani up into a fierce hug, spinning her around once. "Oh, you are one hundred percent my granddaughter," she gushed, setting Dani back down. "It may have skipped a generation but that is exactly something I would do!"

Dani grinned but didn’t point out that she inherited her skills as a troll directly from Danny.

The mood shifted as Tim placed a gentle hand on Dani’s shoulder, his expression turning serious. "Dani, there's a reason we're asking. There's a government agency in Gotham right now. They're… harassing people with special abilities. Metas."

He locked eyes with her. "Your dad told us he was a meta. And things like that are usually genetic." He chose his next words carefully. "If they had a sensor that could detect unique energy signatures… would your powers set it off?"

Dani looked from Tim’s concerned face to Stephanie’s. She understood immediately what they weren't saying. They were worried about her. They were trying to protect her. She didn't let on that she already knew exactly who the GIW were, or how dangerous they could be. She just gave them a small, serious nod.

"Yeah," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "They probably would."

The confirmation hung in the air between them, heavy and cold. Tim and Stephanie exchanged a worried glance over Dani’s head. The theoretical danger had just become a very tangible one.

Stephanie knelt down, her voice soft and gentle, wiping away any hint of the Batcave’s interrogation tactics. “Okay, honey. Would you be willing… would you tell us what they are? Your powers? It would help us know what to look out for, to keep you safe.”

Dani looked at their faces, seeing only genuine concern. She knew Danny’s rule: don’t give anyone the full story until you can trust them completely. But the basics? The basics were probably fine.

She shrugged. “Um… I can do… cryo… ke.. Ki! Cyro-ki-nesis?” She fumbled with the word, wrinkling her nose. “I can make things cold. Like, ice-cold.”

She listed off the rest more simply. “I can fly. And I can shoot green energy blasts from my hands. And I have some super strength.”

She paused, then decided to elaborate on the last one, remembering the lesson her dad had drilled into her. “Dad says I’m strong for the same reason I can fly. It’s not really about muscles. He says I can change how… how gravity affects me. And if I’m touching something, I can change how it affects that thing, too. So it feels like I’m super strong, but I’m really just making heavy things not-heavy so I can lift them.”

Tim and Stephanie stared at her, their expressions a mixture of awe and alarm. That wasn’t super strength. That was a form of localized gravity manipulation. It was far more advanced and far more dangerous than they had imagined.

Stephanie finally broke the silence, pulling Dani into a warm, protective hug. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice fierce. “That is good to know. We are going to make sure you are safe here, you hear me? Absolutely safe.”

Tim nodded in agreement, his mind already racing, calculating new threats and new protocols. The little girl they were trying to protect wasn't just a meta. She was something else entirely. And the GIW would consider her a prize beyond measure.

The quiet intensity of the conversation in the hallway broke. Tim gave Dani’s shoulder a final reassuring squeeze, and Stephanie smoothed her hair back with a maternal gesture. They turned to head back into the dining room, but Dani had a different idea for her re-entrance.

Instead of walking, she simply lifted off the ground, a faint wisp of cold air swirling around her feet, and floated back toward the table.

The effect was instantaneous. Mar’i’s green eyes went wide with delight. “Hey! You can fly too? No fair, you didn’t tell me!” she yelled, launching herself into the air to give chase. Lizzie, seeing the new game, let out a happy squeal and shot into the air after them, her little Robin cape fluttering behind her. The three girls zipped in a playful, chaotic circle just over the heads of the assembled family.

Dick let out a surprised laugh, Jason smirked into his glass, and even Cass’s lips quirked upwards. For a moment, the dining room was filled with the joyful energy of super-powered children at play.

The moment lasted until a single, sharp, impeccably clear sound cut through the air.

Ahem.

Alfred Pennyworth stood near the kitchen entryway, a silver tray held in one hand. He hadn’t raised his voice. He didn’t need to. The sound of him clearing his throat had more authority than a thunderclap.

The flying stopped instantly. In unison, the three girls floated gently back to the floor. Three pairs of wide, guilty eyes fixed on him.

“There will be no flying at the table,” Alfred declared, his tone perfectly even.

“Sorry, Mr. Alfred,” the three girls chorused, their voices laced with the genuine contrition of soldiers who had just disappointed their commanding officer. They scurried back to their seats, suddenly the picture of model behavior.

As the girls settled, the entire table’s collective gaze swiveled to the archway, where Tim and Stephanie were just stepping back into the room, looking like they had been caught in the blast radius of a small explosion. The silent demand for an explanation was palpable.

Tim cleared his throat, looking slightly flustered. “Right. So,” he began, gesturing vaguely at a now-perfectly-still Dani. “We were just discussing… that. Dani filled us in. She has powers. Flight, cryokinesis, energy projection, and a form of gravity manipulation.”

There was a beat of silence as the family processed the field report.

Bruce, who had watched the entire chaotic display without a flicker of expression, gave a single, decisive nod. “Understood,” he said, his voice calm, as if they had merely been discussing the weather. “I will have Lucius update Sasha Bordeaux’s contract. Her protective detail will extend to cover Dani as well, effective immediately, should the need arise.”

The joyful chaos had curdled into a thick, awkward silence.

Dani, Mar’i, and Lizzie sat in a perfectly straight line on an antique damask sofa in one of the manor’s sunrooms. A good foot of expensive upholstery separated each of them. They all stared straight ahead at a large, unlit fireplace, pointedly not looking at each other. They were in time out, and this time, it was serious.

It had all been going so well. After lunch, they’d taken their game of chase outside to the sprawling gardens. Three small figures, two super-powered, one a demi-goddess, zipping through the air between ancient oak trees and perfectly manicured rose bushes. 

It was the most fun Dani had had in weeks.Then, flushed with friendly competition, Mar’i had suggested a new contest: arm wrestling. 

“You said you have super strength!” Mar’i had declared after a particularly fast loop-the-loop around a fountain.

“Let’s see how strong!” Lizzie had added, her eyes bright with the competitive spirit she’d inherited from her mother.

The heavy stone bench near the reflecting pool became their impromptu table.

The first match, between Dani and Mar’i, was over quickly. Dani strained, trying to subtly use her gravity manipulation to add force to her arm, but her control in human form was clumsy. Mar’i’s natural Tamaranean strength won out easily, pinning her hand to the stone with a triumphant grin.

Then it was Lizzie’s turn.

The daughter of an Amazonian princess possessed a strength that was startling in its purity. Dani braced herself, but it was no use. The match was a complete humiliation. Lizzie’s grip was like iron, and with a happy, competitive cheer, she slammed Dani’s hand down onto the bench.

She had put far too much of her demi-goddess might into it.

There wasn’t just the sound of a hand hitting stone. There was a sharp, sickening CRACK that was both Dani’s bones and the bench itself. The impact sent a spiderweb of fractures through the thick granite, and a piece of the corner sheared off and clattered onto the grass.

The silence that followed had been absolute, broken only by Alfred’s approach, his footsteps on the gravel path sounding as loud as judgment day.

And now they were here. Sharing a punishment on a couch big enough for ten, simmering in the quiet misery that only comes from getting in trouble with your new friends, waiting for Dr. Leslie Thompkins to arrive. 

Dani’s right hand, throbbing with a deep, pulsing ache, was resting in a makeshift sling Alfred had fashioned from a folded tea towel. Lizzie looked utterly miserable, her competitive fire replaced by a cloud of guilt. She kept sneaking glances at Dani’s arm, her lip trembling slightly.

The fun was over. Someone had gotten hurt, property had been destroyed, and a doctor had been called. Super-powered or not, Dani decided, this was officially the worst time out ever.

The professional calm of Dr. Leslie Thompkins was the only thing keeping the atmosphere in the manor’s infirmary from becoming a full-blown panic. Tim stood beside Stephanie, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, as the doctor finished wrapping a vibrant blue cast around Dani’s small hand.

“It’s a clean break of the fourth and fifth metacarpals,” Leslie explained, her voice as soothing as the antiseptic she’d used earlier. “For a normal child, I’d say four to six weeks of healing. But,” she added, giving Dani a small, knowing smile, “her cellular regeneration is remarkable. Her physiology is… unique. Very resilient. I suspect she’ll heal much faster.”

Tim felt a spike of cold fear—she knows—followed by a wave of profound relief. Leslie had been the family’s doctor for years; her discretion was as legendary as her skill. She saw anomalies every day. She wouldn’t ask questions he couldn’t answer.

After giving them a list of care instructions, Leslie packed her bag and departed, leaving Tim and Stephanie alone with the quiet, subdued girl. The weight of what he had to do next settled on Tim’s shoulders like one of Bruce’s heavier capes. He had to call Dani’s father. He had to call his son.

He found a quiet alcove off the main hall, Stephanie waiting a few paces away, giving him a supportive but nervous look. He pulled out his phone, stared at Danny’s contact information, and felt a surge of anxiety that rivaled facing down Ra’s al Ghul. He was a hero, a detective, a leader. He was also about to tell his seventeen-year-old son that he’d let his granddaughter get hurt on his watch.

Taking a deep breath, he hit dial.

“Hello?” Danny’s voice was cautious, questioning.

Tim winced, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “Danny? Hey. Look, don’t be mad, but… there was a little accident. Dani… she broke her hand.”

The silence on the other end was terrifying. Tim could hear the muffled chaos of what sounded like a school hallway, then the distinct sound of a door swinging shut, cutting off the noise. The silence that followed was heavy, focused, and utterly devoid of forgiveness.

Then Danny’s voice came back, a low, controlled snarl that sent a genuine chill down Tim’s spine. “What. Happened.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a demand. This wasn’t the quiet, awkward teenager Tim had been getting to know. This was a father.

“She told us about her powers,” Tim explained, the words tumbling out of him. “Which is great, really, but she was playing with Dick’s daughter, Mar’i, and they got into an arm-wrestling match. You know, Tamaranean strength and all… it was an accident. A complete accident.”

He heard Danny take a long, slow breath and thought, foolishly, that the worst was over.

“I haven’t even been gone a full week,” Danny growled, and Tim felt himself flinch. “Not one week. I’ll let it go this time, because kids will be kids. But I expected better from you. Especially after you and Stephanie had me and Sam under twenty-four/seven surveillance just to make sure we didn’t so much as kiss last week.”

The accusation hit Tim squarely in the chest, the hypocrisy of it stinging like a physical blow. He was right. He was absolutely, infuriatingly right.

“You’re right,” Tim said, his own voice barely a whisper. He felt like a child being chastised. “You’re absolutely right. We… we’ll keep a better watch on her. On all of them. I promise.”

“Does she need me to fly back?” Danny asked, his tone shifting from fury to pure parental concern.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tim said quickly. “Leslie Thompkins is the best, she’s already set the cast. We’ll see you this weekend, like we planned.”

The call ended with an abrupt, frustrated huff from Danny’s end. Tim stood there for a long moment, the phone still pressed to his ear, feeling as though he’d just been verbally dismantled.

He walked back to Stephanie, who was anxiously wringing her hands. “How did he take it?” she whispered.

Tim let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “He was furious. And terrifying,” he admitted, a strange mix of dread and awe in his voice. “He tore into me for the surveillance hypocrisy, and he wasn’t wrong. Not about any of it.”

Stephanie winced in sympathy and placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Well,” she said softly. “We promised we’d do better. And we will.”

Tim nodded, still reeling from the strange, inverted reality of his life. He was an adult, a vigilante who commanded global respect, and he had just been thoroughly and justifiably dressed down by his teenage son over the well-being of his super-powered ten-year-old granddaughter.

The sunroom was quiet, filled with the heavy atmosphere of a crisis narrowly averted. On the antique sofa, the three girls formed a tableau of childish misery. Mar’i sat with her arms crossed, pouting at being the designated culprit for a crime she didn’t commit alone. Lizzie sat beside her, silent tears tracking down her cheeks as she stared at the bright blue cast on Dani’s hand.

Dani, for her part, looked completely unfazed. She idly tried to wiggle her fingers, the appendage feeling more like an inconvenience than a real injury. Internally, she scoffed. A broken hand was nothing. She’d had way worse, and she knew she could heal this in a matter of seconds if she could just slip into her ghost form. But she couldn’t, not here, not when they didn’t know the whole truth.

Dick knelt in front of his daughter. “I know it’s not fair that you’re getting all the blame, sweetie,” he said softly. “But Dani’s dad doesn’t know about… our night jobs. He can’t know Lizzie has powers. An accident with you is easier to explain.”

Diana sat on the ottoman in front of the couch, her expression a mixture of maternal concern and regal regret. “I am truly sorry for your injury, Dani,” she said, her voice warm and sincere. “Lizzie is still learning to control her strength.” She then turned to Mar’i. “And I am sorry that you must bear this responsibility for our convenience.”

Dani just shrugged, the cast making the motion slightly awkward. “It’s okay. Injuries happen when you’re roughhousing. It’s normal.” She looked from Lizzie’s tear-streaked face to Mar’i’s pout. “We just have to be more careful from now on.” She said it with a sudden seriousness, like a general laying down the new rules of engagement. “It’s a covenant. No using super strength, energy blasts, or other powers at a level that could actually hurt each other.”

The other two girls nodded, the pact solemnly accepted.

With the serious business settled, Dani’s expression brightened instantly. “So,” she began, turning her wide, hopeful eyes to the adults. “Can I meet Superman? Or Martian Manhunter?”

A low, suffering groan escaped from Bruce. He leaned his head back against his chair, staring at the ceiling. Of course, he thought. Danny was a Martian Manhunter fan, too. He sighed. “Can I not have one child, just one, who would actively choose Batman over other members of the League?”

Diana laughed, a bright, musical sound that filled the room. “Oh, Bruce, it is not that bad.”

“You only say that because you found out my Jaybird is a die-hard Wonder Woman fan,” Bruce grumbled, shooting her a sideways glare.

A pleased, self-satisfied smile spread across Diana’s face. She preened slightly. “Jason simply has good taste.”

The comment, coupled with Bruce’s pained expression, was too much. Stephanie was the first to giggle, followed by a chorus from Dani, Mar’i, and a still-sniffling Lizzie. The tension in the room finally shattered, replaced by the warmth of a strange, chaotic, and utterly unique family.

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, that morning in Amity Park

The living room looked like a strategy meeting gone wrong. Tucker sat on the rug with his PDA, scrolling through the wildfire of group chat rumors. Sam sat stiffly on the couch, arms crossed. Jazz leaned back in the armchair with her mug of tea, studying her brother like he was a case study. Danny paced the floor, muttering to himself.

“I can’t believe this,” Danny groaned. “Half the school thinks I’m somebody’s dad. A dad. Me. I barely passed Algebra last semester.”

“Correction,” Tucker said without looking up. “They think you’re either a time-traveling ladies’ man or a victim of statutory crime. Both way more exciting than Algebra.”

Sam shot him a glare. “Not funny, Tucker.”

Jazz set her mug down with a decisive clink. “Okay. Enough. If you want this to stop spiraling, you need a better story. Something normal. Something people can believe without asking questions.”

Danny stopped pacing. “Like what? It’s not like I can just—”

“Yes, you can,” Jazz cut him off. “Dani’s not your daughter. She’s your Little. From a Big Brother program. Gotham has them, Amity Park has them—nobody questions that. It explains why you two look alike and why you spend time together.”

Sam tilted her head. “And why she calls him Dad?”

Jazz smirked faintly. “Simple. It’s an inside joke. People already noticed they look alike. She just teases him by calling him Dad. You roll with it, laugh it off, and the rumor dies.”

Danny blinked at her. “That’s… actually kind of perfect.”

Tucker grinned. “Dude, yeah! That’s way better than the whole ‘time-travel hookup’ thing. You go from creepy rumor to wholesome volunteer. Instant upgrade.”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “So… the story is Dani’s my Little from a Big Brothers Big Sisters program in Gotham, and the ‘Dad’ thing is just a joke?”

“Exactly,” Jazz said firmly. “It’s clean. No scandal. No weird implications. Just you being a decent human being.”

Sam exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing. “Honestly? I can live with that one. It’s believable, it keeps Dani safe, and it makes you look good for once.”

Danny dropped onto the couch beside her, finally letting himself breathe. “Okay. Big Brother. That’s the story.”

Tucker leaned back with a grin. “Congrats, man. You just went from scandal to role model. If only the rest of us could land rumors like that.”

Danny groaned, throwing a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

Jazz sipped her tea again, satisfied. “Now let’s see if you can sell it.”

The lunch bell had just rung, unleashing the usual flood of students into the hallways of Casper High. Danny was navigating the chaos, his mind on the mystery meat the cafeteria was likely serving, when his phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number he knew belonged to Tim. A knot of unease immediately tightened in his stomach.

He answered, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Danny? Hey. Look, don’t be mad, but…” Tim’s voice was nervous, strained. “There was a little accident. Dani… she broke her hand.”

The noisy hallway faded into a dull roar. Danny’s vision tunneled. He fought back the primal urge to shout, to demand, to act. Instead, he clenched his jaw, spun on his heel, and ducked into the nearest boys’ bathroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

“What. Happened,” he snarled into the phone, his voice a low, controlled rage that was far more terrifying than any yell.

Tim’s explanation came out in a rush. “She told us about her powers, which is great, really, but then she was playing with Dick’s daughter, Mar’i, and they got into an arm-wrestling match. You know, Tamaranean strength and all… it was an accident. A complete accident.”

The mention of Tamaranean strength was the only thing that stopped Danny’s rage from boiling over. This wasn’t negligence. This was the inevitable result of super-powered kids playing together. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long, slow breath, forcing the anger down. It settled into a cold, hard knot of frustration.

“I haven’t even been gone a full week,” he growled, the words clipped and sharp. “Not one week.” He started pacing the length of the grimy bathroom floor. “I’ll let it go this time, because kids will be kids. But I expected better from you. Especially after you and Stephanie had me and Sam under twenty-four/seven surveillance just to make sure we didn’t so much as kiss last week.”

The chastisement landed perfectly. On the other end, Tim sounded like he was shrinking. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. We… we’ll keep a better watch on her. On all of them. I promise.”

“Does she need me to fly back?” Danny asked, the anger already giving way to parental concern.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tim said quickly. “Leslie Thompkins is the best, she’s already set the cast. We’ll see you this weekend, like we planned.”

Danny ended the call with a final, frustrated huff and shoved his phone back in his pocket. He splashed some cold water on his face, took one more deep breath to shove the protective father back into its box, and stepped out of the bathroom, his thoughts returning to the now-dwindling supply of cafeteria food.

A moment after the door swung shut behind him, the lock on one of the stall doors clicked open.

Dash Baxter stepped out, his usual swagger completely gone. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape. He had just heard the scrawny, weird kid he used to shove into lockers transform into a stone-cold, terrifyingly authoritative Dad, chewing out some other adult over an “accident”. 

His entire understanding of Danny Fenton had just been shattered into a million mystified pieces.

The last bell of the day had barely rung when Danny heard it:

“Mr. Fenton?”

Mr. Lancer’s voice cut through the bustle of backpacks zipping and chatter. He stood in the doorway of Danny’s classroom, his expression unusually careful. “A word, if you please. Bring your things.”

Danny’s stomach dropped. He followed, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum as Lancer led him down the hall. Students craned their necks, whispering behind their hands. Danny ignored them, though his ears burned all the way to the principal’s office.

Inside, Principal Ishiyama sat behind her desk, her expression calm but serious. She gestured for him to sit.

“Daniel,” she began gently, “you’re not in trouble.”

“That’s… good?” Danny tried, dropping into the chair.

Lancer cleared his throat. “We’ve heard certain… rumors circulating through the student body.”

Danny groaned. “Oh, come on—”

Ishiyama lifted a hand. “We’re not interested in gossip. But if there is any truth to what we’ve heard—that you’re a father—we want you to know that you’re supported. We can connect you to resources, and you don’t need to hide.”

Danny’s jaw hit the floor. “Wait, wait, wait. You actually think—?!”

Lancer raised his brows. “Danny, you’re a bright young man. But this isn’t something to joke about. If there’s an older woman involved—”

Danny’s face went crimson. “Whoa, whoa! No! That’s not—I wasn’t—oh my god.” He buried his face in his hands. “I was just messing with Dash. Kwan overheard me talking to Dani at Nastyburger and spread the rumor I have a kid around. Now Dash has his own version. He wouldn’t stop prying, so I let him think something dumb. He took it seriously, and now everyone’s running with it.”

The principal and Lancer exchanged a glance.

Danny sighed, forcing himself to look up. “The truth is… Dani isn’t my kid. She’s someone I met in Gotham through a mentorship program. Like Big Brothers Big Sisters. My birth parents had ties to a few charities, so while I was visiting Gotham, I went to one of their events. I hit it off with this homeless kid who—uh—kind of looks like me. Same hair, same eyes. She started joking about it, calling me ‘Dad.’ It stuck. My bio parents are looking at taking her in, but she has no records, and this kind of rumor could ruin everything for her.”

He spread his hands helplessly. “That’s it. There’s no scandal. Just a joke that got way out of hand.”

Silence stretched for a beat.

Then Danny swallowed hard and added, quieter, “And… honestly? I’m not even sure I can have kids. Not with the ghost stuff. I don’t know how much of me is even… normal.” He let the words hang, heavy, like a confession he didn’t want to admit.

Ishiyama’s expression softened, and even Lancer’s usual sternness cracked.

“Daniel,” the principal said, voice gentle now, “thank you for telling us the truth.”

Lancer nodded. “Indeed. But given how persistent rumors are, and the potential impact on your reputation and future, it would be best to have something tangible. A letter from the program, perhaps. Proof. It could even help your college applications.”

Danny blinked. “Wait—you mean it?”

“Of course,” Ishiyama said. “Volunteering is a valuable experience. If you can provide documentation, we can put this to rest once and for all.”

Danny managed a weak smile, though his brain was already racing a mile a minute. Proof. Right. He’d have to figure that out later.

For now, he nodded. “Yeah. I can get something.”

They smiled at him, reassured. Danny left the office with his bag slung over his shoulder, trying not to let the panic show on his face.

Because now he didn’t just need to shut down a rumor.

He needed to forge an entire paper trail.

Danny sat on his bed with the lights off, phone glowing against his face. His thumb hovered over the call button, hesitation knotting his stomach. He had two fires to put out tonight, and one of them was going to hurt. The cover story Jazz had pushed him toward made sense, but he couldn’t shake the thought that Dani might hear it secondhand and think it meant something it didn’t.

He hit call.

Dani answered quickly, her grin filling the screen, though it didn’t quite hide the awkward angle she was holding the phone to accommodate her new cast. “Hey, Dad! You’re actually calling every day. You’re spoiling me.”

Danny tried to smile back. “Hey, kiddo. How’s the hand? You doing okay? Need me to bring anything when I come down this weekend?”

She tried to make a joke of it. “I’m fine. And I’ll just send you my Amazon wish list.”

There was no laughter on the other end, just the dead-serious voice of her father. “Okay. Send it to me.” He paused, his tone shifting. “Tim told me you showed them some of your powers. Did you show them… all of your powers?”

“No!” she said, a little defensively. “Just the basics. The normal stuff.”

“Dani,” he sighed. “You have to be more careful.”

“I know, I know,” she grumbled, her bravado finally cracking. “I just… ugh, this thing itches so bad. I really, really want to just go ghost for five minutes and heal it.”

Danny’s face softened with a pained sympathy he couldn’t hide. “I know, kiddo. And I hate myself for even asking this, but… can you wait? Just until I get there this weekend? A broken hand that miraculously heals overnight is going to raise a lot of questions. I need to be there to help smooth things over.”

Dani let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “I can wait.”

“Good girl,” Danny said softly. “Now… there’s another reason I called. A more serious one. You got a second? Alone?”

She ducked out of the living room, into a hallway where Tim and Stephanie’s voices faded behind her. “Okay, shoot. What’s up?”

Danny leaned back against his headboard, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… the rumor at school got worse. Like, a lot worse. Principal Ishiyama and Mr. Lancer even pulled me into the office today.”

Dani’s brows shot up. “Over me?”

“Yeah. They were worried I’d, uh… been taken advantage of.” Danny winced at the words. “I had to shut it down fast. I told them the truth wasn’t that—you know, but I couldn’t tell them who you really are either. So… I gave them a cover story.”

Dani tilted her head. “Cover story?”

“I told them you were a kid I got matched with through a mentorship program in Gotham. That you called me Dad as a joke because we look alike. I’m going to see if Tim and Steph are can help make it official on paper so the rumor dies.”

For a second, Dani just stared at him. Then her lips twitched, and she let out a laugh. “Seriously? That’s what you went with? That’s hilarious.”

Danny didn’t laugh. “No, Dani, it’s not. If the police or CPS got wind of the original rumor, they might start investigating, and that could mess up your whole situation in Gotham. I don’t want anyone looking at you and seeing… something ugly or trying to take you away.”

Danny’s chest eased, but he stayed serious. “Dani, listen. That’s just for them. Just for now. I don’t want you thinking that story means I’m embarrassed about you. Or ashamed. You’re my daughter. My kid. No story changes that.”

Dani’s grin softened into something smaller, more fragile. “You were really worried I’d think that?”

“Yeah.” Danny’s throat tightened. “Because you matter to me. Because I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re less, or like I’m trying to hide you. I love you, Dani. And if I have to spin some dumb cover to keep people from digging into stuff that could hurt you in Gotham? Fine. I’ll do it. But the truth is you’re mine. Always.”

Dani’s eyes shimmered faintly in the dim light of the hall. “I know. But… thanks for saying it anyway.”

Danny smiled crookedly. “So you’re not mad about the cover?”

She smirked again. “Mad? Dad, I’m kinda proud of you. That was slick. Boring, but slick.”

Danny chuckled. “Honestly? It was your Aunt Jazz’s idea. But for you I’ll take boring over dangerous any day.”

She leaned toward the camera. “Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Dani. Always.”

“Cool. Now go call my grandparents or whatever so they can make the cover legit. I’ve got more important things to do, like beating Grandpa Bruce at chess again.”

“Good luck with that,” Danny said, chuckling. “Love you, squirt.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

The call ended. Danny stared at the blank screen for a moment, relief flooding through him.

Danny’s thumb hovered over the dial longer than he liked. He’d rehearsed the blunt version in his head a dozen times—short, clean, no drama—but that didn’t make it any easier. Finally he hit call.

Tim answered on the second ring. Danny had accidentally made a FaceTime call again. “Danny? Everything all right?”

Danny drew breath. “Mostly. Kind of. Mr. Lancer pulled me into the office today—Principal Ishiyama too. Someone at school overheard me on Facetime with Dani at NastyBurger, and it spun into a rumor. It got…a little too close to the truth, so I told them a cover story. That I’d been volunteering with a Big Brothers–style mentorship program in Gotham and Dani was a kid I’d been matched with. It sounded clean, so they ran with it.”

There was a pause on the line, the kind that felt like Tim measuring how much to press. “You said ‘too close to the truth.’ Do you want to tell me what that means?”

Danny swallowed. The words lodged in his throat. “Not right now,” he said finally. “ It’s complicated. I know this is a lie. I just don’t want police or CPS sniffing around before you even have the paperwork for the guardianship started. The important part is—Principal Ishiyama wants proof. She said documentation from the program would help settle the rumor and, apparently, would be useful for college-app considerations because volunteer records show initiative. I don’t know how to get that from Gotham. I just… need something convincing.”

Tim’s voice was quiet and steady. “We can help. Don’t worry.”

Stephanie came into frame behind him, holding a notepad and an expression that made Danny feel immediately steadier. “What kind of proof did she ask for?” she asked.

Danny rattled off what he remembered: “A letter on letterhead from the program, or an event roster, maybe a confirmation email or a signed statement from someone who ran the event. Anything that shows I was there in an organized capacity. Principal Ishiyama said the school would accept that.”

Stephanie nodded. “That’s reasonable. Those organizations keep records for accountability. Tim and I know people in Gotham who work with foundations and coalitions. We’ll ask them what’s available: rosters, photos, an explanatory statement on letterhead. Nothing too made up. Just adding you and Dani to paperwork that exists. It might even help our case.”

Danny let out a sound that was half relief, half apology. “I’m sorry I’m making this a thing. I also—” He hesitated, then forced the words out. “I already told Dani about it and why it was necessary. I didn’t want her to hear some version of it and think I was hiding her. I don’t want anyone to think I’m ashamed of Dani, least of all her. That’s why I called you.”

Tim’s voice softened. “You did the right thing calling us. We’ll handle this the right way.” He paused, then added, practical: “Send us everything you have—dates, any emails, any photos from when you were in Gotham. I’ll put a call through tonight. Stephanie can draft a short explanation to give to our contact so they know exactly what the school needs.”

Danny dug his phone out and began scrolling through his photo roll, already thinking of the blurry snapshot of a charity table he vaguely remembered. “I’ll ask Sam and Jazz for their pictures too. There might be a picture of me with some kids. I’ll pull whatever I have.”

“Understood,” Stephanie said. “We’ll keep Dani in the loop, too—she shouldn’t be surprised by anything.” She smiled at him briefly, warm and precise. “We’ll make this boring and official. That’s exactly what you want.”

When they hung up, Danny sat on his bed for a long moment with the phone warm in his hand. The tight knot in his chest loosened by degrees. He had asked for help, and they’d answered with something better than a quick fix: real, verifiable options.

He typed one quick message to Dani and pressed send:

Danny: Tim & Steph are on it. They’ll ask their contacts in Gotham for program records. You okay with that?

A second later:

Dani: yup. super spy okay. <3

Danny smiled despite himself. The paperwork would be tedious, and answering Ishiyama would be awkward, and the rumor might still flicker for a while—but with Tim and Stephanie helping him build a real paper trail, at least he wouldn’t be building it on lies.

Much to his amusement Dani did in fact send him her Amazon Wish List.

Dani lay sprawled across the enormous canopy bed in her Wayne Manor room, the kind of space that looked like it belonged in a glossy magazine spread rather than a teenager’s life. She kicked her legs idly in the air, socks half-off, while she fiddled with her phone. Her hair spilled loose around her shoulders, the faint glow of her screen painting pale lines across her face.

She tapped Sam’s name and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Sooo… how are things back home? Anyone ask about me?” she asked, her voice casual.

Across town, in her own much smaller, messier room, Sam leaned against her bathroom sink with a towel around her shoulders, carefully wiping eyeliner from beneath her eyes with practiced swipes of a cotton pad. “Jazz, mostly,” she replied. “She says it’s weird without you around to raid the fridge at midnight.”

Dani laughed softly, rolling onto her stomach and hugging a pillow. “Yeah, well… it’s weird here too,” she said. “Kinda feels like living in… I don’t know. A museum crossed with a zoo.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at her own reflection, though Dani couldn’t see it. “That’s… specific.”

“Y’know,” Dani continued lightly, “lots of big rooms, old portraits, and way too many animals if you look close. Cats. Birds. The occasional bat.”

A pause stretched between them. Dani flipped onto her back and dangled her head upside down off the edge of the mattress, letting her hair hang toward the floor as if testing how far she could lean. The silence stretched until Sam’s lips curled into a smile.

“Oh,” Sam said, her voice filled with quiet amusement. “That’s what this is. You’re trying to see if I’ve figured it out.”

Upside down, Dani’s grin widened. “Maybe.”

“Yeah, Dani. I know,” Sam said with a quiet laugh. “You live with Batman and the Bat Family. Congratulations—you’re officially the world’s worst spy.”

In her excitement, Dani swung too far forward, lost her balance, and tumbled right off the bed with a loud whump. She groaned into the carpet, her broken hand throbbing, before grabbing the phone again with the other hand.

Sam heard the thump and looked at her phone for a second, “Dani, what was that? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine!” she exclaimed. “Someone finally admits it. Do you know how exhausting it was, pretending I didn't notice?” She pulled herself back up onto the bed, now sitting cross-legged with a pillow hugged tight. “Like, seriously, who thought inviting Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy to dinner was normal? We had a fancy dinner with two of Gotham’s most famous villains. Ivy didn’t even pretend to eat anything but lettuce.”

Sam smirked at the mirror as she dabbed moisturizer into her skin. “Yeah, I’d already met them when Jazz and I got our nails done,” she said. “They followed us back, remember? Honestly, it was less shocking at that point and more… surreal.”

Dani dropped backward onto the bed dramatically, one arm thrown over her forehead. “Oh my Ancients, surreal is the word. Ivy hummed at the centerpiece until the flowers leaned toward her! I almost screamed.” She sat up again, animated. “And don’t get me started on Dick’s ex-wife. Starfire glows. Literally glows. Just strolls in like a walking neon sign. And Mar’i floated off the ground her first day here. But nooo, totally normal, no one even blinked.”

Sam clicked off the bathroom light, moved into her bedroom, and curled up on her own bed, the phone pressed against her cheek. “That’s nothing compared to Selina,” she said. “She prowls more than she walks. She has the cat thing down to muscle memory.”

“Right?” Dani groaned into her pillow. “Bruce’s girlfriend is obviously Catwoman. She curls up on chairs like she’s nesting, purrs when she’s pleased, and her jewelry box looks like a museum heist. She wears million-dollar necklaces to go grocery shopping. In Gotham. I half expect her to cough up a furball.”

“If she doesn’t occasionally knock over a glass just to watch it fall, I’ll be shocked,” Sam replied, her voice deadpan.

Dani burst into laughter so hard she had to wipe at her eyes, her legs kicking against the comforter. She lowered her voice as if sharing classified intel. “So, you’ll love this—Wonder Woman came over the other day. With her daughter. Just… rang the bell and walked in like I wouldn’t recognize Wonder Woman in yoga pants.”

“Did you bow?” Sam asked.

“I thought about it,” Dani replied with a smirk.

Sam stretched out across her own bed, twirling a loose thread. “Danny mentioned the ghost too,” she said. “Secret. Haunting the Manor.”

“Yeah, she’s here. Kind of nice, actually,” Dani replied. “Plays hide-and-seek with me when the Bats are too busy saving the world. Totally outs Grandpa Tim and Grandma Steph just by being there.”

Dani sat bolt upright, suddenly serious. “Okay, swear you won’t tell Dad?”

“Sworn.”

“Dad thinks Mar’i broke my hand arm-wrestling,” Dani confided. “That’s the story we told him. But it wasn’t her. It was Wonder Woman’s daughter. Lizzie. She’s eight, Sam. Eight! Just a baby and snapped my hand like a breadstick through a concrete bench.”

Sam winced at the image but snorted sarcastically. “You lost to a third-grader.”

“An Amazon third-grader,” Dani corrected. “Totally different league. Uncle Duke even took a picture before the accident.”

Sam sat up straighter, a grin audible in her voice. “Send it to me.”

“Already did.”

Sam’s phone buzzed. She swiped open the message, and the image filled her screen: Dani, a borrowed domino mask slipping crookedly across her face, grinning between Mar’i and Lizzie.

“Wait—are you wearing a domino mask?!” Sam burst out laughing.

“Borrowed it from Lizzie for the photo,” Dani giggled. “Uncle Duke insisted—Lizzie in her little Robin outfit, Mar’i grinning, me stuck in the middle. I asked Uncle Damian afterwards if it was his old suit. Skirt and all.”

Sam choked on laughter. “Please tell me he didn’t answer.”

“He just glared at me,” Dani said. “Which I’m counting as a yes until proven otherwise. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one around here who notices how obvious they all are.”

“No, Dani,” Sam said fondly. “They just think secrets mean never saying anything. Not hiding anything.”

“Which is hilarious.”

For a moment, the girls simply breathed into the phone, comfortable in the silence. Dani curled onto her side, her hair spilling across her pillow, and bit her lip. “Say, Sam… can I ask you something?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“Go for it, squirt.”

“Next time you’re down, can we maybe go get our nails done? Together?” Dani asked, her voice quiet and hopeful.

“Your Grandma Steph won’t take you?” Sam asked, her voice soft and surprised.

“I mean probably, and I’m sure I’ll have fun, but it’s not about going…”

“It’s about who you’re with,” Sam gently finished for her.

“Exactly!” Dani said, brightening.

Sam leaned back against her headboard, a small, rare smile tugging at her lips.

Sam leaned back against her headboard, a small, rare smile tugging at her lips. “Sure, kiddo,” she said. “We’ll go have a girls’ day out. Full spa day. You missed out enough—we’ll fix that.”

“Okay! I gotta go get ready for bed,” Dani said, beaming, her voice muffled into her pillow. “Love you, Sam.”

Sam froze for a beat, her heart skipping before warmth spread through her chest. “Love you too, Dani,” she said, her voice quiet but sure.

Dani lowered her phone, the call ended, and stared at the ornate ceiling above her. The room felt too big most nights, its shadows whispering old stories. But tonight, it didn’t feel quite as empty. She hugged the pillow close, smiling to herself.

Sam lingered on the photo long after the call ended. Dani, grinning in the middle of a world she should’ve felt lost in, looked happy. Surrounded. Like she belonged. Sam brushed her thumb over the screen, shaking her head with a fond smile.

“God, Danny,” she murmured to herself. “I’m starting to get it.”

She set the phone on her nightstand, the light still glowing on the goofy picture, and turned off her lamp.

Johnny 13 was just out for a joyride. He was skimming his spectral bike over the rain-slicked asphalt of Burnley, enjoying the neon glow, when his ghost sense flared like a faulty bulb. A split second later, the quiet night erupted.

Two sterile white vans and a black armored SUV screamed around a corner, their engines roaring. The chase was on.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Johnny grumbled, cranking the throttle. He weaved through late-night traffic, the federal vehicles struggling to keep pace. The side window of the SUV slid down, and the familiar, metal-plated face of Deadshot leaned out, his wrist-mounted cannons spitting a hail of bullets. Johnny just laughed, going intangible as the rounds passed harmlessly through him.

He phased his entire bike through a city bus, reappearing on the other side just as a figure leaped from a rooftop onto the back of the SUV. It was Katana. As the SUV swerved to keep up, she launched herself at him, her blade a silver arc in the darkness.

Johnny’s playful mood evaporated. His senses screamed danger. This wasn’t like the bullets. The sword felt cold, ancient, and hungry. He swerved hard, his bike’s tires dematerializing as he dropped through the pavement, scraping the undercarriage of a taxi before pulling back up a dozen yards ahead. The tip of the blade had missed him by inches, but he could still feel the phantom chill of its passing.

Frustrated by the failed attempts, Deadshot opted for a less subtle approach. A rocket launcher appeared on his shoulder. With a thump-hiss, a projectile shot past Johnny, slamming into a parked car and erupting in a massive fireball that blew out the windows of a nearby bakery.

That’s when the GCPD sirens joined the chorus.

Dozens of blue-and-whites flooded the streets, not just chasing Johnny, but actively trying to cut off the federal convoy. “All federal units, stand down! I repeat, stand down now! You are in GCPD jurisdiction!” a voice blared from a cruiser’s loudspeaker, only to be ignored. The chase had devolved into a three-way jurisdictional nightmare of screeching tires and panicked civilians.

In the Belfry, Barbara Gordon watched the chaos unfold across a dozen monitors. “The situation is out of control, Bruce. Property damage is through the roof. Luckily no one’s been hit by these stormtroopers. GCPD is about to open fire on Task Force X. Civilians will be in the crossfire.”

“Patch me into Katana’s comm,” Batman’s voice commanded, devoid of emotion. “Now.”

Katana landed gracefully on the street, preparing for another pass, when a burst of static filled her ear, immediately replaced by a voice she knew all too well.

“Katana. Pull your team back.”

“Batman,” she hissed, scanning the rooftops.

“You are chasing a literal ghost,” the voice continued, cold and logical. “Waller is going to get civilians killed over a phantom.”

She was about to retort, to cite her orders, when the GIW vans finally made their move. The side doors slid open, revealing agents in white containment suits holding bulky, glowing rifles. With a high-pitched whine, they opened fire.

Thick beams of crackling green energy filled the street. They were wildly inaccurate. One blast missed Johnny completely, carving a molten trench through the facade of an apartment building. The destruction was indiscriminate, chaotic, and a hundred times worse than Deadshot’s rocket.

This wasn’t a mission. It was a circus of destruction, and the GIW were the lead clowns.

Katana’s training and honor took over. “Task Force X, fall back!” she commanded into her comm. “Disengage and return to base. Now!” She switched channels. “This is a mess, Batman. You owe me for this.”

The reply was immediate. “Agreed. Red Robin will meet you at the rendezvous with the information I promised.”

As the Task Force X and GCPD vehicles screeched to a halt in a standoff, Johnny 13 watched his pursuers suddenly abandon the chase. He gave a confused shrug, gunned the engine on his bike, and melted into the shadows of a Gotham alleyway, leaving the city to clean up the mess.

Johnny leaned low over the handlebars, bike screaming as he took a corner too sharp for mortal physics. Gotham’s skyline blurred past in streaks of neon and sodium light. He wasn’t working—just joyriding, wind on his face, the city’s pulse humming beneath him.

A dark shape surged out of the side street ahead.

The Batmobile.

Johnny smirked. “Well, ain’t that a coincidence.”

He didn’t slow down. Instead, he cut close—too close—and let his bike’s wheels scrape along the armored flank. Sparks flew. The Batmobile swerved, tires squealing, and for a second Johnny swore he could feel the driver’s glare through the tinted glass.

“Guess I got your attention,” Johnny drawled, twisting the throttle. His bike leapt forward like a shot.

The Batmobile roared after him, engine a thunderclap that rattled the windows of the Narrows. Johnny weaved between cars, shadows curling at his wheels, leaving green afterimages in his wake. The chase carved a jagged path across Gotham: through Chinatown’s lantern-lit streets, past the glowing billboards of Midtown, over the cracked bridges of Burnley.

Every time the Batmobile gained ground, Johnny laughed, leaning sharper into the turns, shadows flickering across rooftops. Lady Gotham’s whisper brushed his ear, half amusement, half warning: He doesn’t let go easily.

“Good thing I don’t either,” Johnny said, grinning.

They tore across the city for nearly half an hour—machine against phantom, steel against ectoplasm—until Johnny finally decided he’d had his fun. He cut down a narrow alley, sparks flying as the Batmobile scraped the walls trying to follow.

Then Johnny tapped the throttle, grinning wide, and let the bike flicker. Metal turned to mist. Rubber faded into nothing. Both rider and machine shimmered transparent, intangible.

The Batmobile burst out of the alley into empty streets, engines roaring against silence.

Johnny sat invisible on his bike two stories up, perched on the ghostly outline of a fire escape. He watched the Batmobile prowl below, searching.

“Sorry, Bats,” Johnny said, tipping two fingers in a mock salute. “Catch me on the weekend shift.”

He revved once, purely for his own amusement, then vanished into the night.

The Batmobile screeched to a halt beneath the skeletal remains of an elevated rail line. Batman cut the engine, silence pressing down as the city exhaled around him. The rider was gone—vanished like smoke. No skid marks, no trace on sensors. Just gone.

“Oracle,” he said, voice low.

Barbara’s voice filled the comm, crisp but tired. “I saw the feed. You made contact?”

“Briefly,” Batman replied, eyes narrowing as he scanned the rooftops. “Motorcycle, black leather, trail of green light. Rider turned intangible to escape.”

Batman’s silence stretched, heavy as a stone.

Finally, he keyed the engine back to life. “Keep the feeds running. Cross-reference every green light sighting with the body recoveries. If they overlap, we’ll know soon enough.”

“And if they don’t?”

Batman’s gloved hand tightened on the wheel. “Then we’re chasing two shadows.”

The Batmobile roared back into the night.

Clocktower — Midnight

Oracle adjusted her glasses, lines of code and social feeds flickering across her monitors. She keyed the secure channel.

“Red Hood, come in.”

Jason’s voice snapped back immediately, tense. “Took you long enough. What’ve you got?”

“Batman made contact with your biker,” Barbara said, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Chased him across half the city. Leather jacket, black motorcycle, left a trail of green light, then went intangible and vanished.”

Jason cursed under his breath. “So it’s not just me seeing green flashes. That’s the same guy who’s been circling Crime Alley.”

Barbara hesitated. “Maybe. The body recoveries don’t cleanly line up with Batman’s chase routes. Could be coincidence. Could be two different cases entirely.”

“Or it’s the same freak playing games with both of us.” Jason’s voice was sharp. “Either way, Bats got a good look. That’s more than I’ve had.”

Barbara leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing at the glowing map of Gotham. “I’ll keep cross-checking sightings against recovery reports. For now? Consider your mystery biker confirmed.”

Jason didn’t sound reassured. “Great. Another ghost story in my backyard.”

Gotham Union Station — 6:15 a.m.

Kitty stepped off the train, flickering briefly into visibility as she hit the platform. Nobody noticed; Gotham was too tired, too busy, too used to weirdness. She clenched her fists, gum popping sharp between her teeth.

Her phone buzzed before she even cleared the doors.

Ember → Kitty: Girl, you’re late. He outran the Batmobile tonight.

Kitty stopped dead on the curb. “The what?”

Buzz.

Ember → Kitty: Whole city’s talking about it. Your boy and some biker chick burned rubber right past Batman and left him in the dust. People caught it on video. #GreenGhostRider is trending.

Kitty’s jaw dropped. A low growl escaped her throat as she shoved the phone back into her jacket pocket. “Johnny… you are so dead.”

She stalked off into the Gotham night, eyes blazing, the city’s whispers chasing after her.

Amity Park’s little café was half-empty, the kind of quiet afternoon hangout where Danny, Sam, and Tucker could usually get away with acting like normal teenagers. Danny was halfway through a burger, Tucker was juggling three devices, and Sam was sipping her coffee when Tucker’s tablet chimed.

“Uh oh,” Tucker muttered, eyes going wide.

Danny froze mid-bite. “Uh oh, what?”

Sam leaned over. “If this is another meme of Danny falling asleep in chem class, I swear—”

“No, no,” Tucker said, spinning the screen toward them. “It’s Gotham.”

Danny wiped his hands and leaned closer. On the feed, shaky phone video replayed: Johnny’s spectral bike tearing through the streets, Lady Gotham clinging to him like she belonged there, green fire streaking across the skyline. Then—unmistakably—the Batmobile cutting into frame, only to be sideswiped and left eating exhaust. The caption screamed across the bottom:

“Green Ghost Rider OUTRUNS BATMAN.”

Danny dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t leave that guy alone for two seconds.”

Sam choked on her coffee, trying not to laugh. “Your part-time Uber driver just made a public enemy out of Batman.”

“It’s not funny,” Danny groaned. “This was supposed to be discreet. He was supposed to free bound ghosts, not—” He waved helplessly at the screen. “—not trend on GothamNet!”

Tucker was already scrolling, half-amused and half-anxious. “It’s everywhere, man. Hashtag’s blowing up. Conspiracy threads, fan edits, people debating if he’s a new vigilante or a ghostly serial killer. The GCPD’s getting slammed, and the Bat’s definitely pissed.”

Sam leaned back with a smirk. “You hired Johnny 13, Danny. What did you think was going to happen? He’s chaos on two wheels. The fact that Gotham loves him just makes it worse.”

Danny slumped further. “If this keeps up, Batman’s going to connect it to me. And then my life’s going to be so much harder.”

Tucker grinned, unable to resist. “Guess you’ll just have to… ride it out.”

Danny threw a fry at him.

Johnny was leaning against his bike on the roof of a Gotham parking garage, city lights twinkling below like fireflies. He flicked a coin across his knuckles, grinning to himself about the Batmobile scrape—until his work phone buzzed.

He squinted at the caller ID. Boss Man.

Johnny answered with a drawl. “You know, some of us are off the clock.”

Danny’s voice came sharp through the line. “Johnny, you need to get out of Gotham. Now.”

Johnny chuckled, tossing the coin and catching it. “You worried about Bats? Please. Guy’s just a human. A spooky costume, a mean ride, and a bad attitude. I could lose him in my sleep.”

Danny didn’t rise to the bait. His voice dropped lower, colder. “I’m not talking about Batman. I’m talking about Kitty.”

Johnny froze, coin slipping through his fingers and clattering to the roof. “...What about Kitty?”

Danny sighed. “Your little joyrides with Lady Gotham latched onto your back? They’ve gone viral. Pictures, videos, memes. Ember’s been circulating them. Kitty saw them. She’s on her way.”

For once, Johnny didn’t have a comeback. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly less amused. “Aw, hell.”

“Yeah,” Danny said flatly. “Hell’s about right. And believe me, I don’t want to see what happens when she catches up with you in Gotham.”

Johnny kicked at the coin, watching it bounce off the rooftop edge into the night. “So… lay low?”

Danny’s tone sharpened. “No. Leave. Tonight. Before Kitty gets there. Trust me—you’d rather deal with Batman than her when she’s this mad.”

For the first time in a long while, Johnny 13 actually believed him.

The call to Johnny had been short, explosive, and ended with the ghost biker promising to lie so low he’d be scraping the Earth’s core. The second call, the important one, was to Dani.

She answered on the second ring, her voice a little sleepy. “Dad? What’s up? It’s almost three in the morning.”

“It’s Johnny,” Danny grumbled, pacing the length of his dark bedroom. “I had to tell him to get out of Gotham and lay low for a while. Apparently, his little joyride with Lady Gotham went viral on the supernatural grapevine. Now Kitty’s on her way to personally tear his ecto-signature a new one.”

A small, smug laugh came from the other end. “I know. I’m the one who told Sam to warn you. Skulker was whining about it all over the Ghost Zone an hour ago.”

Danny stopped pacing. Of course she knew. “Right. Well, on top of that, he made a run from Batman, and it’s hitting all the headlines.”

This time, Dani’s laugh was full and unrestrained. “Dad, it was so much worse than that. That was the GIW. They chased him through half of Burnley and the East End and destroyed, like, six blocks of roadway trying to blast him with their stupid green lasers. The whole thing was crazy. Lady Gotham is still fuming about the property damage.”

The world narrowed to the sound of blood pounding in Danny’s ears. It wasn’t just a chase. It was the GIW, operating with the same reckless abandon they did in Amity Park, but this time, it was in her city. His family’s city.

“Okay,” he said, his voice suddenly cold and devoid of its earlier frustration. “We’re sticking to the plan. I’m still coming tomorrow. But we’re adding a new rule.”

“A new rule?”

“Yeah,” Danny said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Do not—I repeat, do not—come to the train station to meet me with Tim. The GIW will be running scans at mass transit locations, looking for Johnny. They might find you instead.”

His voice dropped into a register she had rarely ever heard, a low, ancient growl that vibrated with barely contained power. “They’re hunting a ghost they can’t catch, but they might get lucky and find a girl they can. They knew better than to mess with ME.”

In the darkness of his bedroom in Amity Park, Danny’s eyes flared, casting the walls in a brilliant, toxic green glow. Dani, a thousand miles away, couldn’t see the light, but she could feel the chilling authority in his voice. 

Kitty drifted over Gotham’s skyline, half-visible against the haze of smog and neon. The city pulsed below her—sirens, headlights, the endless hum of humanity—but she wasn’t looking at the living. She was looking for him.

Johnny’s trail should’ve been easy. He left shadows behind like tire marks, green sparks clinging to alleys and overpasses. But tonight… nothing. No glow, no roar of his engine. Just cold streets and colder air.

She swooped low through the Narrows, eyes sharp, gum snapping as her frustration built. Twice she thought she’d spotted him—once a mortal biker, once just a pair of kids on a scooter. Both times, her hopes cracked into anger.

Her phone buzzed again. Ember had sent another photo—an older one, Johnny tearing through Midtown with that mysterious biker woman on his back. Kitty swiped it away before the screen could finish loading. She didn’t need more fuel for the fire.

“Where are you, Johnny?” she muttered, fists clenching.

She passed over rooftops where Red Hood’s men loitered, oblivious to her shadow overhead. Down in Crime Alley, cops were still combing through old buildings, flashlights sweeping where ghosts had once lingered. But there was no Johnny.

Not a whisper. Not a trace.

By the time dawn crept in gray over Gotham’s skyline, Kitty landed hard on the roof of a tenement, arms crossed tight. Her foot tapped against the brick, sharp and impatient.

She wasn’t causing trouble yet. But every hour that ticked by without a sign of him made the idea more tempting.

Kitty had waited long enough. If Johnny wasn’t going to show himself, then maybe someone else in this city could tell her where he’d been.

She floated down into an alley where one of Red Hood’s men leaned against a wall, cigarette dangling between his fingers. The moment he looked up, her form shimmered—eyes glowing, hair floating around her like smoke, lips curling into a smile that could melt iron.

“Hey there, handsome,” she purred.

The man blinked, pupils dilating instantly as the smoke from his cigarette curled up around her like a curtain. “Uh… hi.”

Kitty stepped closer, every movement liquid, every word dripping with honey. “I’m looking for someone. A biker. Black jacket, green light. You’ve seen him, haven’t you?”

The man’s mouth worked like he wanted to answer, but no words came out. She tilted her head, intensifying the glow of her eyes until his knees went weak. “Tell me,” she whispered.

But there was nothing. He stammered, confused, helpless under her sway. He hadn’t seen Johnny. He didn’t know.

Kitty let out a sharp breath, rolling her eyes. “Useless.” With a snap of her fingers, the trance broke, and she vanished into the wall of the building before he could even catch his breath.

The man reported in not long after, voice shaky over the comm. “Boss, uh… I just got jumped. Some kind of… green lady. Put me in a trance. Asked about the biker. I—I couldn’t stop her.”

Red Hood’s voice came back flat, hard. “Green lady? As in, glowing green?”

“Y-yeah. Looked like poison gas or something around her eyes.”

Jason scowled under the helmet. “Oracle. You hear that?”

Barbara’s voice came through, thoughtful and sharp. “I did. If she was green and using some kind of seduction power, we might have a bigger problem. Ivy’s been quiet lately, but this sounds like her fingerprints.”

Jason growled. “If Ivy’s sniffing around my territory, I want to know why. Last thing we need is eco-terrorist bikers.”

Barbara’s fingers clicked over her keyboard. “I’ll start cross-checking. If Poison Ivy’s suddenly in Gotham again, it changes the board completely.”

Neither of them realized Kitty was already gone, lips pressed in a furious line. Johnny wasn’t here, and now Gotham’s vigilantes were barking up the wrong tree.

Poison Ivy was tangled in silk sheets when the buzzing of her phone cut through the quiet. Pamela groaned, rolling over and snatching it up from the nightstand.

“Whoever this is,” she muttered, “you’d, uh, better have a damn good reason.”

Caller ID: Barbara Gordon.

Pam rubbed her temple. “Of course.” She answered anyway. “This better be life and death, Little Red.”

On the other end, Barbara’s voice was brisk. “Pamela. We’re getting reports of a green-glowing woman in Gotham. Seduction powers. I need to know—”

“I’m not in Gotham,” Ivy cut in flatly. “Haven’t been for weeks. I’m in Metropolis. Oh! Very busy.”

Harley, who was under their blankets, kissed up Ivy’s thigh giggling. Ivy swatted her playfully, then spoke into the phone again, a little breathless. “Did you hear me? Not. In. Gotham.”

Barbara hesitated. “You… sound distracted.”

“That’s because I am distracted,” Ivy snapped, only to let out a tiny, involuntary sound that made Harley cackle harder. “Point is—I’m not in Gotham. Call someone else about your mystery chick. I’ve got better things to doooo~.”

Before Barbara could answer, Ivy tossed the phone back on the nightstand without hanging up.

The Batcave 

The line was still live.

From the speaker, muffled laughter and decidedly intimate noises drifted into the cavernous silence.

Barbara’s eyes went wide. “Oh no—no, no, no.” She scrambled to end the call.

Dick Grayson was already moving, clapping his hands over Damian’s ears. “Too young, too young, too young!”

Damian shoved at him, indignant. “Grayson! What is happening—”

Jason barked out a laugh that echoed off the cave walls. “Guess Ivy wasn’t lying about being busy.”

Steph laughed wickedly, “And we were just getting to the good part.”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re never living this down.”

Barbara finally managed to slam the comm link off. The Batcave fell into stunned silence.

No one spoke for a long beat.

Then Alfred, carrying a tray of tea down the steps, cleared his throat. “I do hope that wasn’t a League emergency.”

The phone line was dead, but the uncomfortable silence lingered. Batman stood at the main console, gloved hands braced against the desk. Barbara stared at her screens, cheeks flushed brighter than her hair.

Damian scowled from the edge of the platform, arms crossed. “Why,” he demanded, “did Grayson suddenly cover my ears? You nearly dislocated my jaw.”

Nightwing shifted, suddenly very interested in the ceiling. “Trust me, kid. That was a public service.”

“I am not a child,” Damian snapped. “I have seen men gutted and burned alive. Whatever that was, I could endure it.”

Red Hood barked a laugh from where he leaned against the wall. “Yeah, but do you really want to explain to Father that your first birds-and-bees talk came courtesy of Ivy and Harley over speakerphone?”

Tim groaned into his palm. “Can we not?”

Batman’s voice cut through the room, low and grim. “Enough.” He turned from the console, cape sweeping wide. “Poison Ivy is not in Gotham. Which means the reports we’ve been chasing are someone else entirely.”

Oracle finally found her voice, still flustered but steady. “Whoever she is, witnesses described her as glowing green and… persuasive. That doesn’t rule out known metas or a new player altogether.”

Damian frowned, still bristling. “So it was not Ivy. And now we are left with a phantom biker and an unidentified accomplice.”

Jason tipped his helmet back on with a grin. “Sounds like a Tuesday in Gotham.”

Batman ignored him, eyes narrowing at the map still flickering on the main screen. “Double surveillance on the Narrows. If this isn’t Ivy, we’re chasing something new. And I don’t like unknowns.”

Barbara exhaled, still pink in the cheeks. “At least one thing’s clear—we’re going to have to rename the ‘Green Lady’ file. Poison Ivy’s off the suspect list.”

“Fine,” Bruce said. “But whoever she is, she’s riding with him. And that makes her just as dangerous.”

Saturday - 9:58 AM 

The text had come through at 2:57 AM, a simple, declarative statement that had blasted Tim out of a dead sleep: ‘Catching the earliest train. Be there.’

Tim had gotten there about 15 minutes early, pulling up to the curb to wait. Popping the trunk he went around the car to wait so Danny could see him.

Just as he was checking the time, a sterile white van screeched to a halt two car lengths ahead. The side door flew open and four men in tactical gear, holding bulky, multi-lensed scanners, rushed towards the terminal’s main entrance.

Tim’s blood ran cold.

Danny was right, Tim thought, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. They’re scanning mass transit.

Before the agents could even reach the doors, they were thrown open from the inside. But it wasn’t a person who came out. It was a thick, roiling cloud of white mist. It didn’t explode outwards; it shot out like the first spray of an avalanche, a silent, impossibly cold wave that engulfed the plaza and swallowed the charging GIW agents whole.

Tim leaned forward, his heart pounding, peering into the swirling white fog. And then he saw them.

Two points of brilliant, pale blue light, floating in the heart of the mist. They were eerie, otherworldly, and moving steadily closer. A silhouette began to form around them, and with a mind-bending slowness that felt like it was ripped from an action movie, Danny Fenton walked out of the cloud.

The first thing that was truly visible was his eyes. Tim didn’t know that they only glowed bright blue when Danny used Cryokinesis, but that’s exactly what he saw: two glowing orbs of frigid light that slowly resolved into his son’s familiar eyes as he stepped clear of the mist, which clung to his jacket and hair like frost.

Danny seemed completely unfazed. He walked calmly to the back of the car, opened the trunk, and tossed his duffel bag inside with a soft thud. He then slid into the passenger seat, the air in the car instantly dropping a few degrees.

“We should probably go,” Danny said, glancing back at the terminal. “That fog won’t last forever, and I’d rather not stick around for when the idiots in white manage to find their way out.”

Tim, still processing the image of the glowing eyes and the impossible avalanche of mist, could only stare for a second before nodding numbly. He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb, leaving a scene of confusion as the disoriented GIW agents began to stumble out of the rapidly dissipating fog, their scanners whirring uselessly at the empty air.

The silence in the car was thick as they sped through the awakening streets of Gotham. Tim’s knuckles were still white on the steering wheel, his mind replaying the impossible image of his son walking out of an avalanche of his own creation. He risked a glance at Danny, who was just calmly watching the city go by, as if he hadn’t just neutralized a federal task force before breakfast.

Just as they were nearing the entrance to the Burnley tunnel, a convoy screamed past them in the opposite direction—two white vans and a black government SUV, sirens wailing, racing back toward the station they’d just left. They passed without a second glance, unknowingly speeding right by their primary target.

Tim let out a short, sharp breath that was almost a laugh. “So,” he said, his voice laced with a dry sarcasm he couldn’t suppress. “Wide scale application takes a lot of power and control. I’m guessing your cryokinesis is pretty advanced.”

“Yeah,” Danny agreed, his tone matter-of-fact. “I could have just frozen them all solid in the terminal, but that gets complicated. Freezing the cameras is one thing, but flash-freezing a dozen federal agents is technically felony assault.” He shrugged. “A smokescreen was the more practical option.”

Tim nodded slowly, processing the casual way Danny weighed the legal ramifications of using his powers. “You seem to have some experience with this kind of situation.”

Danny turned from the window to give him a droll, weary look that seemed far too old for his seventeen-year-old face. “I am not a criminal,” he said, emphasizing each word. “But this also isn’t the first time the GIW has tried to ambush me at a bus or train station.”

The casual admission made Tim’s entire body tense up. This isn’t the first time. The words echoed in his mind, connecting dots he hadn’t even realized were there. The GIW were a government agency. They had operated in Amity Park. And who else had been operating in Amity Park, performing unspeakable experiments on Danny and Dani? Vlad Masters.

He had always assumed Masters was working with criminal syndicates or rogue corporations. It had never occurred to him that one of Vlad’s silent partners might have been a clandestine branch of the United States government itself. A secret agency looking to weaponize ghost technology, a corrupt billionaire more than willing to provide it… it had Amanda Waller written all over it.

He looked over at his son, who had already turned back to watch the Gotham skyline. He wasn’t just a kid with powers. He was a veteran of a quiet, brutal war Tim was only just beginning to comprehend.

The rest of the drive to Wayne Manor was a blur of quiet, tense efficiency. As they turned onto the long, private road leading to the house, a soft chime sounded in Tim’s ear from a device that looked, to the casual observer, like a simple Bluetooth earpiece. He lifted a hand to his ear, a practiced motion to signal he was taking a call, effectively discouraging conversation.

In his ear, Oracle’s voice was a stream of calm, synthesized data. “Thermal and satellite sweeps are clean. The GIW are in disarray. Your son’s cryo-dispersal was effective. He was thorough—beyond his train ticket, there’s no digital or visual evidence he was ever there. The chaos sent dozens of people running. As far as their sensors are concerned, he was just another civilian in the crowd.” Tim gave a single, almost imperceptible nod, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction, and then lowered his hand as if ending the call.

He pulled the car to a smooth stop before the manor’s grand entrance. Standing on the top step, looking impossibly small against the massive oak doors, was Dani. She took off the moment she saw the car, running across the gravel drive.

Still on the porch, however, was Bruce, dressed in a heavy silk robe, engaged in a low, tense argument with a woman Danny had never seen before. She was tall, with a sharp, athletic build and an air of professional severity.

“…my contacts are freaking out, Bruce,” the woman was saying, her voice tight with frustration. “A Fog machine would have taken forever to fill a small area. They want to know who deployed an unsanctioned, wide-area cryo-dispersal unit in a civilian transit hub. That’s not the kind of thing that goes unnoticed.”

Danny barely had time to register the words before Dani crashed into him, wrapping her arms around his waist in a fierce, if awkward, hug. He knelt, returning it just as tightly, his hand gently ruffling her hair.

When he stood up, Tim was making the introductions. “Danny, this is Sasha Bordeaux. Sasha, my son, Danny.” Tim gestured between them. “Sasha will be heading up security for Duke, Damian, and Dani moving forward.”

Sasha’s eyes flicked to Danny, her professional gaze assessing and, for a moment, dismissive. He was just a teenager, tired-looking and rumpled from a cross-country train ride. A civilian. A complication. She was about to turn her attention back to Bruce, the man who had hired her, but then she met the boy’s eyes.

There was something in them that made the seasoned Checkmate agent pause. It wasn’t fear or exhaustion. It was a cold, steady calm. An unnerving authority that didn’t belong on the face of any teenager she had ever met.

Before she could analyze it further, Danny stepped forward, disengaging from Tim’s side and extending a hand to her. His focus was entirely on her, direct and unwavering.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, carrying the weight of a man twice his age. “For agreeing to protect my daughter.”

Sasha stared at the outstretched hand, her mind rapidly recalibrating. The boy she had been about to write off had just identified himself as the parent of one of her principal charges. The entire dynamic of her new assignment shifted in that single, startling moment. She took his hand, the handshake firm and sure, her professional instincts screaming that there was far more to this family, and this boy, than was written in Bruce’s dossier.

The handshake ended, but the weight of it lingered in the cool morning air. Bruce, ever the pragmatist, broke the moment with a low grumble. “Let’s continue this inside. We’re giving the neighbors a show.” He turned, the heavy silk of his robe sweeping behind him as he led the way back into the grand foyer of Wayne Manor.

As the group moved to follow, Danny effortlessly scooped Dani up into his arms, settling her on his hip as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Dani, beaming, wrapped her good arm around his neck. “How’s the hand, really?” he murmured into her hair, his voice too low for the others to hear.

Dani whined that she fell off her bed last night and it hurts worse now. “I really want to change, Dad.”

Danny nodded, kissing her cheek, “This afternoon. I promise.”

Tim fell into step beside Bruce, his voice a quiet, concise report. “They had energy sensors at the terminal doors. They picked him up the second he got close.” He paused, glancing back at his son. “He dodged them. Made some kind of fog cloud, right inside the station, and just walked out.”

The words hit Sasha like a physical blow. Her head whipped around, her sharp, analytical eyes landing on the subject of the report. Her gaze took in the sight: a teenager, looking barely old enough to drive, casually carrying a small girl on his hip while she whispered secrets in his ear. It was a picture of pure domesticity, one that was completely at odds with the tactical debrief she’d just overheard.

Danny noticed her intense stare and offered a small, sheepish grin. “It was the best option at the time,” he commented, his voice carrying easily in the cavernous foyer. He shifted Dani slightly on his hip, his expression turning more serious as he looked at Bruce and Sasha. “But I can’t exactly do that every weekend, or they’ll start getting suspicious.”

The group settled around the massive dining table, the early morning sun streaming through the high arched windows. Alfred moved with his usual silent grace, placing steaming plates of food before each of them. The atmosphere, however, was far from relaxed.

Sasha Bordeaux set her fork down before she’d even taken a bite, her sharp gaze fixed on Danny. “The stunt at the train station,” she began, her tone that of a commanding officer demanding a field report. “The cryo-dispersal. What was its effective radius? What’s the refractory period on a deployment of that scale?”

Danny simply shrugged, his attention focused on the plate of eggs and bacon Alfred was setting in front of him. “Thank you, Mr. Alfred. This looks amazing.” He picked up his own fork, spearing a piece of turkey bacon before finally turning his attention to the former Checkmate agent.

“I’ve had to deal with the GIW for years now,” he said, his tone weary, as if explaining something obvious to a child. “It was better to not let them start shooting. All of their guns are practically artillery, and they couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn if it was painted neon green. So, you create a situation where they won’t fire.”

He took a bite of food, chewed, and swallowed before continuing. “I just dropped the air temperature inside the terminal until the water vapor hit its dew point. Instant fog bank. They refrain from shooting because their standard white uniforms are indistinguishable from the mist. Too much risk of a friendly fire incident.”

Sasha stared, processing the casual, tactical brilliance of the explanation. “Where,” she asked slowly, “could you possibly have been that would give you years of experience with GIW activity?”

“Amity Park,” Danny said simply, taking another bite of eggs.

The name made Sasha sit bolt upright, her professional composure finally cracking. She turned to Bruce. “Amity Park is a federally designated containment zone. A domestic no-go area. All travel in and out is supposed to be restricted and monitored.” She looked back at Danny, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I honestly have no idea how you’ve been taking a train from there every weekend.”

Danny swallowed his food. “The GIW is weak to bribes,” he explained calmly. “So the rich can move around as they please. But I don’t bother with that.” He met her gaze, and the weariness in his expression was replaced by something much colder. “The agents stationed around Amity know better than to test me.”

As he spoke, the blue of his eyes seemed to deepen, an icy, phosphorescent glow simmering just beneath the surface. The subtle light was unnatural, ancient, and utterly menacing.

A cold shiver traced its way down Sasha’s spine.

The icy glow in Danny’s eyes faded as quickly as it had appeared, but the chill it left in the room remained. Sasha sat frozen, the fork halfway to her mouth, her mind struggling to reconcile the polite teenager with the territorial powerhouse who had just subtly threatened a government agency.

A sharp cough cut through the tension. Bruce set his coffee cup down with a deliberate click, drawing everyone’s attention. He looked directly at Danny, his expression unreadable, his voice low and precise. “This situation you have with these agents,” he began. “Have you hurt or killed anyone?”

Danny waved a hand, dismissing the very idea as absurd. “Of course not. That would just cause escalation. You take out their agents, they send better ones. You make them bleed, they try to make you bleed harder. It’s a waste of time.” He took a thoughtful sip of orange juice. “Property damage is way more effective, especially against a cash-strapped agency trying to keep a Midwest town under constant lockdown. Hits their budget right where it hurts.”

He speared a piece of sausage, his expression distant, as if recalling a particularly tedious bit of paperwork. “Especially that nuke they tried to set off a few years back. Phantom had to completely destroy it, or there would have been a crater where Amity Park used to be.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at the name, but he said nothing. Instead, his gaze shifted, sliding from Danny to the small girl sitting beside him.

Dani, who had been listening intently, suddenly seemed to find the pattern on her plate fascinating. She began to whistle a soft, tuneless melody, picked up her fork, and dug into her scrambled eggs with the focus of a bomb disposal expert. Her grandfather, Tim, and her great-grandfather, Bruce, were now both watching her with a quiet, analytical intensity.

The casual mention of a nuclear weapon was the final straw for Sasha. She felt as though her brain had short-circuited partway through Danny’s explanation and was only now rebooting. The world tilted back into focus, and she found herself staring at the calm, implacable face of the man who had hired her.

“Bruce,” she said, her voice a strained whisper. “What kind of job have you dragged me into?”

In the media room, Stephanie and Dani were sprawled on a beanbag chair, controllers in hand, locked in a fierce virtual kart race. After a particularly satisfying victory, Stephanie paused the game.

“So,” she began, trying to sound casual. “That ‘Phantom’ guy Danny mentioned… the one who destroyed the nuke. What’s his deal?”

Dani didn’t look away from the screen. “He’s the local superhero back home. A ghost. He’s pretty cool.”

“Right,” Stephanie pressed gently. “But… do you know anything about him being this ‘Ghost King’ everyone’s suddenly talking about?”

Dani finally turned, giving Stephanie a flat, vaguely confused look. “Do I look like a ghost to you?”

Stephanie sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. That was probably the best answer she was going to get.

Meanwhile, in the library, the atmosphere was far more serious. Bruce and Tim sat in leather armchairs across from Danny, who was lounging on a sofa, looking more like a tired student than a person of interest.

“We need to understand the situation in your hometown,” Bruce said, his voice a low rumble.

Danny offhandedly explained that Amity Park was the site of the world’s only stable, naturally-occurring portal to the Infinite Realms. “There’s a whole government immigration checkpoint and everything,” he said with a shrug. “It leaks a low level of ecto-energy into the whole area. Because of it, most people from Amity Park will set off a GIW scanner at a low level. Metas, though? They light up like a Christmas tree. It’s easy for them to get targeted, even if their meta gene isn’t active yet.”

It confirmed everything Greta had told them. Tim and Bruce shared a look of silent, grim understanding.

“And your powers?” Bruce asked, leaning forward slightly. “Do you share Dani’s particular abilities, or are yours different?”

Danny waved a hand nonchalantly. On the coffee table between them, a silver pen lifted into the air, spun once, and shot into his waiting palm. “We have the same powers,” he explained, clicking the pen. “She inherited my meta gene, after all. I just have a lot more experience using them.”

He smirked, a flash of pure confidence in his eyes. “I doubt I’d have as much trouble with Mar’i in an arm-wrestling match as Dani did. Or her mother, for that matter.”

The claim, casually dropping Starfire’s name into the mix, was so audacious that Tim couldn’t help but be intrigued. “You know,” he said, a slow grin spreading across his face, “I could probably get Kori to come by and test that theory.” Internally, he knew it was a safe bet; Danny had already met Dick’s famous ex-wife at family dinners, so a call wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary.

Danny just shrugged, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“It would be fun to try.”

Blüdhaven was close enough that the Graysons arrived in under an hour. Their entrance was memorable. Starfire, a blazing comet of orange skin, risque outfit, and fiery red-orange hair, flew into the garden carrying Dick in a firm hug from behind, his feet dangling a good ten feet off the ground. Mar’i zipped along beside them. Dick looked like he was conflicted on if he was enjoying the ride, a fact Danny found immensely funny.

“Thank you for having us on such short notice!” Kori chirped, setting a disgruntled Dick back on his feet. Her gaze fell on Danny, her vibrant green eyes sparkling with amusement. “So, you are the young man who thinks he can challenge a Tamaranean? I believe we should keep this simple. Let us pick up where our daughters left off, yes? Best two out of three.”

A low, dangerous light flashed in Danny’s eyes. A slow, sharp grin spread across his face. “Deal.”

“Alfred will be upset if you destroy another bench,” Bruce commented dryly from the veranda. “This one is marble. Try to be careful.” Danny blinked, surprised at the upgrade.

They took their places at the heavy marble garden table. Dick, looking profoundly nervous, stepped in to officiate. “Okay, uh… ready? Begin!” He then backed away with a speed that suggested he knew exactly what was about to happen.

Their hands clasped. But the moment the match began, Kori felt her feet lift from the manicured grass. A startled gasp escaped her as she began to float, suspended a foot in the air. She tried to use her own flight powers to counteract the force, to push herself down, but it was like trying to swim against a waterfall.

With a grunt of effort, Danny pulled. Kori was yanked forward and flipped clean over the table, her flight completely overridden. Halfway through the downward arc, a crushing weight slammed into her, gravity itself becoming a weapon. She hit the ground with enough force to crater the pristine lawn, leaving a spiderweb of cracks in the earth.

She blinked up at the sky, then at Danny, who was still standing at the table, his arm outstretched, still connected to her own. He was grinning, but it was a vicious, angry thing.

“I’m still sore about Dani’s hand,” he said, his voice a low growl. It took Starfire a blinking moment to remember Dick had used Mar’i as the scapegoat for Lizzie injuring Dani. They had argued about it.

Danny released her arm, the oppressive weight vanished, and he offered the same hand to help her up. She took it, shaking her head in disbelief as she rose from the crater she’d just made. He reset his position at the table.

“Best two out of three,” he called, flexing his fingers. “We’re one for one. Strength only this time. My turn to apologize if I pull your arm off.”

Kori let out a bright, genuine laugh, the tension breaking. “My apologies,” she said, her eyes gleaming with newfound respect. “I see I have antagonized the protective father. A worthy challenge.”

They clasped hands again. Dick, even more nervous now, called for the match to begin. This time, there was no trickery. Just pure, unadulterated power. Their hands locked in the center, muscles straining, the thick marble table beneath them groaning in protest.

To Danny, pushing against Kori’s arm was like trying to move a mountain. Her strength was immense, foundational, a force of nature. To Kori, pushing against Danny was like trying to shove an arctic ice pack. His strength wasn’t explosive; it was a cold, dense, and utterly immovable object. Minutes passed. Neither arm budged a single inch.

Eventually, by some unspoken, mutual agreement, the pressure eased. They both relaxed their grip, breathing heavily.

“A tie,” Kori declared, a wide, impressed grin on her face.

“A tie,” Danny agreed, shaking the feeling back into his own hand.

Kori rubbed her hand, a wide, genuine grin spreading across her face. “Remarkable,” she said. “Mar’i mentioned that your Dani had powers that imitate my own—flight and blasts of energy. I would be honored if you would show me.”

Danny nodded. He gave a short demonstration, lifting a few feet into the air and hovering silently, his control absolute. He landed just as gracefully and held out his palms. A low hum filled the air as two spheres of brilliant, crackling green energy formed in his hands, casting the garden in an eerie light. He held them for a moment, a display of raw power, then clenched his fists, extinguishing them into nothing.

“I’d rather not let any loose,” he explained, shaking the residual energy from his fingers. “More property damage. Besides,” he added, his expression turning serious, “my energy blasts are the exact signature their sensors are designed to pick up. Firing one off here would be like sending up a flare for the GIW.”

Everyone accepted the sound logic without question. The display had been more than enough.

Bruce stepped forward, his analytical gaze fixed on Danny. “And your cryokinesis? The fog bank this morning was extensive. What are the upper limits of that ability?”

Danny met his gaze. “I could affect the local weather, if I really pushed it. A flash freeze, a hailstorm, something like that.” He immediately followed it with a weary sigh. “But after that stunt at the station, a sudden, inexplicable drop in Gotham’s temperature with me in town would be a little too coincidental for comfort.”

Again, his reasoning was flawless. He wasn’t just a powerhouse; he was a tactician, constantly aware of the consequences of his actions.

Bruce gave a single, decisive nod. The initial test was over. Now, the assessment could begin. “We will find a suitable, remote testing ground soon,” he promised. “It would be advantageous to know the full scope of your capabilities.”

The adrenaline of the morning had long since faded, leaving behind a strange, contemplative quiet that settled over the manor in the afternoon sun. Tim and Stephanie found a rare moment alone in one of the less-used libraries, sinking into worn leather armchairs near a window overlooking the gardens where the crater from Kori’s landing was already being meticulously repaired by the grounds crew.

Stephanie stared out the window, her expression thoughtful. “You know,” she began, breaking the comfortable silence, “we really don’t know anything about him. Not really.” She turned to Tim. “The Danny we saw this morning… the one who created a fog bank and calmly talked about nuclear devices and went toe-to-toe with Starfire? That felt like a totally different person from the quiet, awkward kid who’s been visiting.”

Tim nodded, having been wrestling with the exact same thought all day. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his detective’s mind piecing together the psychological puzzle.

“I think I know what it is,” he said softly. “It was the train station. It was the proof that the GIW were here, that they had sensors, and that they almost had him. It was the confirmation that Dani was in danger.”

He looked at Stephanie, his eyes serious. “I think hearing that, knowing they were so close, sent him straight into panic mode.”

Stephanie frowned. “Panic mode? Tim, he was the calmest person in the room. He was ice.”

“Exactly,” Tim agreed. “His panic just looks different than ours. Everything we saw today—the cold voice, the tactical explanations, the raw power display—that wasn't him being a badass. That was him freaking out. Productively.” He let out a slow breath, the theory solidifying as he said it aloud. “It’s an ice-cold, hyper-competent, burn-down-the-world-to-keep-his-daughter-safe kind of panic. And it’s terrifying to think about what he must have gone through to learn how to panic like that.”

Chapter Text

Danny was on the couch in Dani’s room, one knee up, phone glowing in his hand like a small, judgmental sun. The Amazon wishlist titled “Dani’s Very Necessary Cozy Things” scrolled beneath his thumb: fairy lights in three colors, a Himalayan salt lamp, an inflatable moon chair, a poster of a comet with glittery finish (“for ambiance”), and then—about four items down—the entry that made his eyebrows do a thing.

$10,000 — Tiny Home: 8x12 Studio Cabin — for meditation / reading / very serious zen.

He snorted out a laugh that turned into a grin. The doorway sighed as Dani padded in, hair in a bun, socks mismatched. She planted her hands on her hips the way she always did when she was both proud and slightly defensive.

“I see Grandma Steph got a hold of you?”

“What do you think?”

“Bun, 8/10. Amazon wish list? 6/10.”

“Dad,” she said, eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re judging me.”

“Judging? I’m grading.” He held the phone up like evidence. “I’m also fascinated. Also, mildly terrified. This thing has a skylight, heated floor, and—Dani, it’s a tiny house. For one person. For meditation. For $10,000.”

She sat on the edge of her bed, knees swinging, as if the very idea of owning an overpriced wooden cube was the most reasonable thing in the world. “It’s an investment in my mental health,” she said, earnest as a kid asking for a second slice of cake. “Also, you can’t put a price on uninterrupted silence.”

Danny pretended to rub his temples. “Or you could meditate in—oh, I don’t know—any one of the seventeen empty rooms in Wayne Manor that have never known the sound of a party and are just begging for a throw rug.”

Dani’s mouth tugged into a grin. “Those rooms are haunted by generational expectations and heirloom portraits that stare at you while you walk by. It’s impressive that a painting can spook a ghost,” she said solemnly. “A tiny home is totally neutral.”

He laughed, honest and soft. “Did you doomscroll Amazon until your finger clicked on the first thing that promised ‘neutral vibes'?"

She stuck out her tongue. “Maybe. But also: lights. Plants. A floor that doesn’t creak. And—” 

“-And $2000 in dehydrated food. You know that stuff tastes terrible. What’s that all about?”

“Survival food.”

The color in Danny’s face flattened out, his smile folding into something steadier. He tapped the phone, scrolling until his thumb paused on the survival kit: dehydrated meals, high-calorie bars, water purifiers, a compact stove. “When you say ‘survival food,’ you don’t mean ‘weird emergency snacks for fun,’ right?”

Dani’s gaze dropped. She twisted a strand of hair between two fingers. “When I go traveling—like, when I leave to go to the other side of the world—sometimes there isn’t food I can eat. Or it’s… hard to get. And I can’t open a portal straight to the Ghost Zone to grab something. I can store stuff in my dimensional storage now, so if I had food with me it would feel safer.” Her voice was small on the last word.

Danny closed his eyes for a heartbeat, the way every father’s body notices when his kid’s list includes contingency plans for loneliness. He put the phone down, scooted off the couch, and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Dani leaned into him, knees bumping the mattress, and the world narrowed to the smell of her shampoo and the soft, ordinary weight of her against his chest.

Dani started shaking, “I was so scared sometimes. Was I gonna get to eat tomorrow? Two days from now? Three? A week? I know I never have to go back to that, and I know it was way easier for me than for a human kid, but I… I just never want to feel that way again. I didn’t want to die, but I was dying anyway, so I wanted to see everything before the end. Everything I could.”

Danny held his daughter as she turned and sobbed into his shirt, the trauma of her experience triggered by something as simple as an Amazon shopping list.

“You’re still just a kid, ghost kid or not. I promise you will never have to go hungry again,” he said into the top of her head, voice steadier than it had any right to be. “Not because of ill-planned travel plans or because the universe decides to be inconvenient. Not while you’ve got me.” He squeezed. “I wish you hadn’t left the first time, but we’re here now. You’ve got a home. Food. Hot showers. Bad TV. Me.”

She hiccupped into a sob that dissolved into a laugh, which after a few minutes turned into a couple of small, wet sniffs. “Okay, that was a lot,” she said, wiping at her cheeks with one sleeve. “But about the tiny house—”

Danny ruffled her hair so hard a few stray hairs escaped her bun. “Take it off the wishlist for now. And the survival stuff too.” He made a face like he was filing an order. “We’ll talk to Bruce tomorrow. We’ll set something up here. Maybe we’ll even actually go camping and use that survival stuff later.”

Dani’s eyebrows arched. “You said ‘camping. You hate camping.’”

He made a face. “I don’t hate camping. I just don’t like camping with Jack.” He glanced down at her and added, with mock solemnity, “Your Ghost-obsessed grandfather always missed the forest for the trees when it came to bonding activities..”

Dani burst out laughing, the sound bright and immediate. “You mean his ghost probes and the flashlight conspiracy?”

“Exactly.” He leaned his chin on her shoulder. “But camping without Jack? That could be… less awful.”

She wiggled back into him, laughing down into her knees. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He sealed it with a kiss at the top of her head. “Now—tiny home remains in dreamland. Bruce will approve or overengineer it into a meditation wing. Either way, you get a room. And food. Lots of food. Lovingly prepared by Alfred.”

She snorted. “Deal. But seriously—if you ever change your mind about the tiny house, you can live in it with me.”

Danny pretended to consider it, looking at her with that soft, ridiculous expression he saved for her. “Only if you promise to meditate through my bad Dad jokes.”

Dani bumped his arm with a grin. “Deal.”

They sat like that for a while—the two of them small and silly and safe

Kitty drifted through the back alleys of the Narrows, invisible to most eyes. Her ears, though, caught everything.

Two of Red Hood’s goons leaned against a brick wall, trading smokes and rumors.

“…I’m telling you, Jack swore it was some green lady asking him about the biker.”

“Green lady? That’s gotta be Poison Ivy. Who else? She’s the only one who fits.”

Kitty’s jaw tightened. Poison Ivy. So that was the name.

The men laughed, swapping half-baked stories about vines, toxins, and seduction powers. Kitty didn’t need to hear the rest. Her nails bit into her palms.

If Johnny was letting some Poison Ivy hang off his bike, she was going to have words.

Sunday morning

Kitty hunted with purpose. She cornered another goon behind a warehouse, her glow soft but irresistible, voice dripping with charm. “Tell me where Ivy is. I know you know.”

The man blinked, already lost in the sway of her presence. “Greenhouse… at Robinson Park. Always the greenhouse.”

She let him stumble away and went for another. And another. Every thug, every lowlife she ensnared gave the same answer: Robinson Park. The greenhouse. Ivy’s supposed lair.

Kitty smirked, teeth sharp. “Perfect.”

With a shimmer, she vanished into the night sky, fury fueling her wings.

The green light of Johnny’s bike cut across the Amity night as he slid through the portal, easing down onto the cracked pavement of Ghost Town. The suburban houses shimmered faintly in ecto-glow, the gatehouse guard barely glancing up—too used to ghosts coming and going at odd hours.

Johnny parked his bike outside the haunt café, letting the engine purr down before swinging a leg over. He was bone-tired, shadows curling sluggishly at his heels. All he wanted was to crash, maybe snag a shake at the ghostly Nastyburger first.

“Look who’s back.”

Ember leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over her guitar, smirk sharp as ever. The blue fire of her hair flickered brighter when she saw him. “Well, well, if it isn’t Gotham’s viral superstar.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I will start.” Ember’s grin widened. “Do you have any idea how mad Kitty is right now? She’s tearing up Gotham looking for you and that biker mama of yours. I’m talking trains across state lines mad. And she thinks Poison Ivy’s her competition.”

Johnny froze halfway through lighting a cigarette. “Wait. She thinks what?”

Ember laughed so hard she had to clutch the doorframe. “Yup! Word on the street is that Kitty’s hunting Ivy in Robinson Park. Oh, Johnny-boy, you are so dead.”

Johnny dragged a hand down his face, groaning. “Aw, hell. I told Phantom this was gonna blow back on me…”

Ember wiped a tear of laughter from her eye, smirk still locked in place. “You'd better come up with a good apology tour, hotshot. Because Kitty? She’s not buying your flowers this time. She’s buying a shovel.”

Johnny sank onto his bike seat, cigarette dangling uselessly from his lips, already dreading what was coming.

Spectra finally pushed past Ember, and the two frenemies glared at each other, “I’d be more worried about what Mr. Mayor will do to you when he gets back. Apparently, your antics drew the Guys in White to Gotham, where the little Princess happens to be living. He rocketed out of here at like 3 am yesterday to go be protective or whatever. You know how those Protector Spirits get.”

Johnny gulped and resolved that he might just go into hiding for a bit.

The gates of Robinson Park creaked open as Kitty floated past them, her form shimmering with ectoplasmic light. Gotham’s largest patch of greenery loomed like a jungle—dense trees, shadowed pathways, and the faint rustle of something alive that wasn’t entirely natural.

She didn’t hesitate. “Come out, Ivy,” she called, voice sharp, echoing through the canopy. “I know you’re here. Where’s Johnny?”

The only answer was the whisper of leaves. Then the ground shifted. Thick vines curled out of the soil, thorns gleaming like knives. Flowers the size of dinner plates turned toward her, their petals dripping with sweet, poisonous dew.

Kitty smirked. “Cute.”

A massive stalk lashed at her, but she phased through it, materializing in front of the plant’s core. With a sharp kiss to the air, her lips glowing with ghost fire, she blew the attack apart. The plant shimmered, shrieked, and then—poof—vanished in a ripple of green and white, banished out of sync with the mortal world.

One by one, they came at her. Crawling vines, snapping jaws, blossoms that hissed like serpents. Kitty moved like a storm, dodging, weaving, her banishing kiss blasting each one into nothingness. The jungle thinned under her wrath, patches of earth left bare where Ivy’s guardians had once thrived.

When the last tendril fell, Kitty hovered above the silent clearing, chest heaving. “Hah. Some rival. Not even here.”

Metropolis, Ivy’s condo

Pamela bolted upright, eyes glowing green in the dark. Harley stirred beside her.

“Puddin’? What’s wrong?”

Ivy didn’t answer at first, her jaw clenched tight. She felt it—the connection to the Green snapping, her children being ripped away, teleported out of reach. Robinson Park, her sanctuary, her roots in Gotham, violated.

Her hands shook as vines sprouted across the bedroom walls, curling in agitation. “Someone,” she hissed, “just banished my fucking plants! What kind of D&D bullshit?!”

For the first time in years, Ivy was truly furious.

Kitty hovered above the wreckage of the greenhouse clearing, lips curling in a self-satisfied grin. Twisted roots smoked faintly, vines lay wilted, and the air reeked of banished ectoplasm where her kisses had torn Ivy’s plants from the earth.

She brushed her hair back with a sharp flick. “So much for Gotham’s big bad green witch. Johnny’s mine, Ivy. Don’t forget it.”

With a toss of her head, she phased through the treeline and vanished into the night sky, fury cooling into smug confidence.

Metropolis — Ivy’s Condo

Pamela was not happy.

She paced the bedroom, every step sprouting angry tendrils across the hardwood floor. Her hair shimmered faintly with the glow of the Green, eyes burning as though fire and chlorophyll shared the same veins.

“Pammy,” Harley said from the bed, voice careful, “you’re kinda turnin’ this place into the freakin’ Amazon. What’s goin’ on?”

“My children,” Ivy spat. “Torn from the Green. Banished. Some Jolly Green BITCH just destroyed my garden and left me a message in their dying breath!” She stopped, fists clenching as the connection pulsed in agony. “And she dared to do it in my city.”

“Uh… babe? We don’t live in Gotham anymore,” Harley reminded her.

Ivy gave her a look that could’ve sterilized an entire field of crops. “Then I’ll move back. Because apparently people think it’s open season to declare war on me in absentia.”

She pressed her palm to the wall. Through roots and vines that still tethered her to Gotham, she caught a faint impression—distorted, like bad reception—but one thing cut through: a girl, glowing green, lips a sharp poison purple.

“Find her,” Ivy murmured, more to herself than Harley. “And when I get my hands on her, she’ll beg me to bury her in the earth.”

Vines curled tight around her arms like gauntlets. The Green thrummed with her rage.

Pamela Isley was going back to Gotham.

Harley watched all of this with growing awe, arousal, and… hunger? She grabbed her tablet from the bedside table and brought up the GrubHub app. “Right. So we’re headed back to Gotham. Cool. I’ve got post coitus munchies, no pun intended. I’m thinking shawarma.

Pamela rolled her eyes, reined in her powers. and deadpanned, “You’re only saying that because we watched the Avengers XXX parody. You made the same joke right before going down on me.”

Harley shrugged, “Well, yeah, so I had my fill of roast beef, but now I’m thinking chicken.”

Pamela walked over and sat on the bed to look at the menu with Harley, a long-suffering sigh on her lips. “Harls, we’re both vegan. You’ll order it, hate yourself halfway through, then switch to the vegan wrap. Just order the vegan wrap.”

Harley pouted, “Nooooo. I REALLY want chicken this time.”

Ivy arched a brow, smiling indulgently at her girlfriend. “Sure, Babe.”

Johnny was leaning against his bike in Ghost Town, cigarette dangling from his lips, when Ember strolled up with her guitar slung over one shoulder. She was grinning like a cat that had just eaten the canary.

“Well, lover boy,” she said, flicking blue fire from her fingertips, “you’ll never guess what I just heard.”

Johnny squinted. “If this is about Kitty being mad, I already know. I got Phantom breathing down my neck about it.”

Ember’s grin widened. “Oh, it’s about Kitty, alright. Word on the street is that someone left Robinson Park in Gotham absolutely wrecked. Plants banished, vines torn up, greenhouse defenses gone. Like a ghost hurricane blew through.”

Johnny straightened, cigarette nearly slipping from his mouth. “…She didn’t.”

“She did.” Ember laughed, loud and unrestrained. “Girl stormed in looking for Poison Ivy of all people, and she kissed the place into oblivion. Half the crooks in Gotham are buzzing about a ‘green ghost lady’ declaring war on Ivy’s turf.”

Johnny dragged a hand down his face, groaning. “Aw, hell. First the Bat, now Ivy? I can’t catch a break.”

Ember strummed a single mocking chord. “Face it, hotshot—you’re doomed. Kitty’s mad, Ivy’s mad, the Bat’s mad. You’re not Gotham’s viral biker anymore. You’re Gotham’s punching bag.”

Johnny blew out a sharp breath, staring at the ectoplasmic skyline of Ghost Town. “Guess I'd better gas up. ‘Cause if Kitty and Ivy ever end up in the same place, I’m toast.”

Ember leaned back against the café door, smirk sharp as ever. “Good luck, Romeo. You’ll need it.”

The dinner at Wayne Manor was a quiet, formal affair, a world away from the cheerful chaos of the Fenton kitchen. Danny was pushing a piece of expertly cooked salmon around his plate, his mind already churning on the next phase of his plan.

Excusing himself with a polite murmur, he stepped out onto a stone balcony overlooking the vast, darkening grounds. The air was cool and crisp. He dialed Tucker.

“Foley Innovations, you build ‘em, we bill ‘em,” Tucker’s voice chirped in his ear.

“Tuck, I need to move on to phase two of the Gotham cleanup,” Danny said, his voice low and serious, all business. “The bay is saturated with old, weak spirits bound to shipwrecks and mafia dumpsites around the docks. I’m going to hire Youngblood to be the psychopomp for that whole area—free them up and guide them to the Ghost Zone, just like Johnny’s been doing in the city.”

He paused, getting to the heart of the issue. “The problem is the GIW. An operation that big, freeing that many spirits at once, will light up their scanners for miles. I can’t risk them interfering or trying to capture Youngblood. I need a way to avoid them this time.”

“So you need a cloak for Youngblood’s signature while he works?” Tucker asked. “Block a juvenile, non-corporeal signature from standard-issue GIW scanners? Please. I have three of those charged and ready to go. What drop-off coordinates are we looking at?”

Danny blinked, confused. “Three of them? Ready to go? Why would you possibly have…”

“Dude,” Tucker said, his voice full of pride. “My entrepreneurial spirit identified a crucial gap in the market. I’m running a ghost coyote side hustle.”

The line went silent as Danny tried to process what he’d just heard.

“I’m smuggling weak ghosts out of the GIW cordon,” Tucker continued, oblivious to his friend’s shock. “Getting them past the blockade so they can complete their unfinished business. It’s a spectral underground railroad  for the existentially challenged. Very fulfilling. And the pay, in spectral artifacts, is fantastic.”

Danny lowered the phone from his ear and just stared at it, the glowing screen reflecting in his wide, disbelieving eyes. His best friend, the mayor of Amity Park, was running an illegal, inter-dimensional smuggling ring for the recently deceased. Of course he was.

Dinner at Wayne Manor had just begun to settle into something that could almost be called normal. Alfred had carved the roast, Tim was already half-buried in paperwork beside his plate, Damian was lecturing Dani about the proper way to hold a fork, and Dick was trying to keep the mood light with bad jokes.

Then the front doors slammed open with a sound like a thunderclap.

Pamela Isley swept in on a storm of red hair, green silk, and pure wrath. Every vine along the windows perked like it had just seen God. Harley bounced in behind her, waved, and said with a grin, “Heya, Batsy! Sorry about the Kool-Aid Man entrance, but Pammy’s got business.”

”Bruce set down his fork slowly. “Pamela.”

“You.” Her voice rang like a cracked bell, eyes blazing as she pointed a sharp finger at him. “Someone has obliterated my work in Robinson Park. Plants I spent decades cultivating. Cross-breeds that no one else on earth could replicate. They were semi-sentient, Bruce—semi-sentient! Like children in a nursery, and now they’re gone!”

The dining room froze.

Even Jason, halfway through a mouthful of potatoes, had the sense to stop chewing.

Bruce blinked, visibly thrown. He’d faced Ivy’s rage before, but this was something different—something maternal. “Semi-sentient?” he repeated carefully.

Harley shook her hand, “Like a Golden Retriever, maybe? Nothing like Frank.”

“Yes!” Pamela slammed both hands on the table, rattling the silverware. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to breed them? How much time, how much care? And now someone has ripped them away from the Green, torn them from the soil, and. so, naturally, I came here. Because if anyone knows who decided to bulldoze my babies, it’s you.”

Dick glanced between Bruce and Pamela, muttering under his breath, “So much for a quiet dinner.”

Across the table, Dani pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, eyes sparkling with mischief. She knew exactly who had turned Robinson Park upside down, but there was no way she was blowing her cover now. Instead, she leaned her chin on her hand and asked, deadpan, “So… like daycare, but for plants?”

Pamela spun toward her, eyes narrowing. Dani met the glare with wide-eyed innocence, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. She didn’t crack.

Bruce exhaled slowly, trying to regain control of the room. “Pamela, sit down. We’ll sort this out.”

“I will not sit down!” she snapped, though Harley gently tugged her sleeve and guided her into an empty chair anyway. Pamela fumed, hands clenched, as vines snaked under the table anyway, twitching with rage.

The family stared. Alfred, unbothered, poured her a glass of wine calmly.

Damian, not knowing when to shut up, muttered, “They were plants.”

Dani kicked him under the table. Hard. “Shut up,” she hissed, smirking.

 She wasn’t about to ruin this delightful chaos.

Harley plopped down beside her partner and waved her fork cheerily at the head of the table. 

The dining room still smelled of roast and herbs, but Pamela’s fury had changed the air into something sharp, electric.

“So here’s the deal, lover—”

The room froze. Dick, Tim, Bruce, and Harley knew Pamela was super upset if she was falling back into old habits like that one.

Dani blinked, looking from Harley to Bruce, then back again. “Wait. Did she just say—”

Bruce cut in smoothly, voice even as granite. “What Pamela means is that she believes Wayne family resources could help identify whoever is responsible for Robinson Park.”

Pamela narrowed her eyes but didn’t correct him. “Yes. Your company has the satellites, the forensics, the reach. If my children can’t be traced through the Green anymore, then we’ll use your toys to find the ones who ripped them away.”

Damian, always too sharp for his own good, muttered, “Children. They were plants.”

Dani kicked him under the table again, harder this time. “Shut up,” she hissed, hiding a smirk.

Jason leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “So, let me get this straight. Someone nuked your garden, and you want Wayne Enterprises to CSI the scene?”

“Exactly,” Pamela snapped, jabbing a finger at him. “Don’t act like you people haven’t benefited from my research before. Greenhouses, medical patents, environmental contracts—you’ve been cashing in on my work for years.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he gave a small nod. “Wayne Enterprises will provide technical support. Surveillance archives, chemical analysis, cross-referencing eyewitness reports.” He looked at Alfred, who stood patiently at his side. “Whatever’s needed.”

“Good,” Pamela said sharply, though some of the fury bled into exhaustion. She leaned back, wine glass trembling slightly in her hand. “Those plants were irreplaceable. Semi-sentient, cooperative. You don’t understand what’s been lost.”

Harley slung an arm around her shoulders, kissing her cheek. “Don’t worry, Red—We’ll find the jerkoff who did it. You’ll get your revenge. And maybe vengeance sex after.”

”At the far end of the table, Dani rested her chin on her fist, eyes wide with mock-innocence. She stayed very, very quiet.

No one noticed the spark of amusement flickering there.

Danny stepped back into the dining room, the absurd details of Tucker’s ghost-smuggling business still rattling around in his head. He stopped short in the archway. The atmosphere had changed completely. Seated at the table as if they belonged there were Harley Quinn and Pamela, who looked like she was personally holding back a hurricane. The entire room was radiating a tense, electric energy.

He quietly slid back into his seat beside Dani, who had a look of pure, unadulterated glee on her face. He leaned in close, keeping his voice a low whisper so as not to draw attention. “Okay, rundown. What did I miss?”

Dani, maintaining an expression of wide-eyed innocence for the benefit of the room, leaned in to whisper back, her words a rushed, excited summary. “The plant lady is super mad at Bruce because someone messed up her special garden in Robinson Park. She said her plants were like her children, and now they’re gone. And then she called Bruce ‘lover’ and everyone got super weird. Now Bruce is going to use all his company’s satellites to find the person who did it.”

She finished with a conspiratorial glance, her theory already fully formed. “Johnny’s already hiding, right? Because of his crazy ex? It has to be her. Kitty must be here already, and she’s taking her anger out on the park.”

Danny had to physically restrain himself from letting out a loud, agonized groan.

Kitty. Of course. It made a horrifying amount of sense. He’d ordered Johnny out of the city precisely to avoid this kind of drama, and now a vengeful, super-powered ghost was throwing a destructive tantrum in the one city under the most intense supernatural scrutiny on the planet. And her rampage had somehow intersected with Poison Ivy’s prized, semi-sentient garden.

He was now sitting at a dinner table where the world’s richest man had just promised to launch a full-scale investigation into the collateral damage caused by the ghost drama he had been trying to manage from a thousand miles away. The sheer, compounding stupidity of it all was breathtaking.

He wanted to bury his face in his hands. He wanted to call Johnny and personally throttle him for having such a chaotic personal life. Instead, he just picked up his fork, gave Dani a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, and forced himself to take a bite of salmon, the taste of ashes in his mouth.

Dani sat cross-legged on her bed, one sleeve rolled up to hide the splint, hair in a messy knot. Danny crouched by the window with the battered little box of Fenton tech between his knees — two coils, a spool of wire, and a hand-measured calibration that made his fingers twitch with the old, familiar pride. It was a Fenton Ghost Shield: the same idea Jack had used to blanket Amity Park one ridiculous summer, only scaled to cover a bedroom instead of a town. He finished tightening the last clamp, flicked a switch, and a soft, green lattice dome shimmered into being over them like a mini northern lights.

A ripple of pale air and the faint smell of ozone announced Greta Hayes before she appeared. She phased through the far wall without fanfare and hung, translucent and curious, in the corner near the bookshelf. She blinked, childlike and careful. “A field,” she breathed, reaching a hand toward it.

Greta’s fingers met the lattice, and the shield answered with a sharp kiss of static — enough to make her flinch, enough to make her laugh in a thin, windy way. “Ooh.” Her palm tingled. “That’s new. It... It doesn’t want me.”

“It doesn’t want anything in or out,” Danny said. “Especially not ectoplasm. Or—” he added, looking at Dani — “energy signatures that would read like a transformation. Which means when you go ghost, the GIW can’t use that as a tracker. No fingerprints, no spectral tail, nothing.”

“It only covers this don in her room,” he said, voice low and careful. “Sound goes through so you can hear me, but…” He tapped a little readout. “No ectoplasm in or out. No leakage. No ghost-signature bleed. The GIW’s been sweeping Gotham with sensors; if Dani transforms without this, the whole city lights up like a Christmas tree.”

Greta hovered, fascinated. “It almost feels… alive.”