Chapter Text
Percy
Camp Half-Blood, Long Island
2 months after his return from Tartarus
He doesn’t know why he’s still here. In camp. Around everything that just makes him remember Her. His Wise Girl, the brains to his brawn… his girlfriend and the girl he was hoping to go down on one knee for as soon as this blasted war was finally over. To finally tie the knot with the girl he loves. But the camp suffered damages, and he has to help with the clean up and creation of some more cabins and other permanent fixtures with the help of the Romans of Camp Jupiter.
He… knows he’s pulling away. Ghosting his friends. He doesn’t miss the way Grover pulls at their empathetic link for answers when Percy’s mood dips a little too low for his liking, or the way Jason seems to drift a little closer to him and hover around him when his mind wanders and ends up staring at nothing for anywhere between minutes or hours at a time. He knows he’s pushing everyone away and shutting down, but he doesn’t know how to stop when his sole reason for functioning and fighting this long is just… gone. Perished alongside Bob just so he could escape, when the team needed her more than him.
And then Leo, loud and obnoxiously lovable Leo Valdez. He left too soon. Sacrificed himself just so they could win this war, at the cost of his own life. Not even his mechanical dragon Festus could be found after the war was won, both having been taken from them in the fires that the World, Mother Earth, Gaea, fell to. Another name in the ever growing list of demigods that died because of him, or for him. Just like Annabeth. Like Luke and Michael, like Travis, Selina, Charlie, and Ethan and hundred more demigods from both this war and the last one. All dying for a cause. All dying so young.
He’s… tired. Of the fighting. Of the quests and the life threatening situations he’s always in. He just wants to go home to his mum at this point. Far form here, and in the safety of his mum’s arms, with blue cookies always on hand and ready to cheer him up. He just wants to sleep without the reminders of the war, of hid friends he lost... And of Annabeth. Just for a moment, just long enough so that the pain stops hurting and it eases into something more manageable to deal with.
Percy sighs and just slowly stands from where he was seated under a random tree on the outskirts of camp, having taken to watching the other campers bustle about from afar. It was almost time for the newest bead to be presented after all, for all of the Greek demigods to add to their leather cord necklaces to mark another year alive. Another year survived. Even if people like him don’t deserve to be here.
I mean, he’s already missed eight months of his life sleeping because of Hera, and another six months on this treacherous quest to save the world. Again. And so soon after the last time he saved the world too. Over a year of his life just gone because the gods played him around like the pawn he is once more to make him save their sorry asses. Again. As if that was all he was born to do. Born to be. A little pawn fighting to survive the year only to be thrown into one dangerous quest after another at their behest. And the beads are a testament to that. They truly are. He’s gotten a bead after every damn quest he’s done since he was twelve. One for the Lightning Bolt, one for the Sea of Monsters, one for when he saved his Wise Girl alongside Thalia, the other Hunters of Artemis, and Grover. There was one for when he and Annabeth braved the Labyrinth and met Daedalus, and another for just surviving his 16th Birthday and leading the other Greek Demigods into war on his birthday to defeat Kronos with the help of Luke at the very end that has gone down in their books as the ‘Battle of Manhattan’. A bead per quest. A bead per time he fought like a pawn. And this one is just like all of the others.
He just sighs, because there is nothing else for him to do but sigh and slowly makes his way towards the populated areas of Camp, to make it to the amphitheatre to be gifted another damn bead. Purple and Orange with a small white statue silhouette on it. To signify the alliance between the two Camps, the Greeks and the Romans, to also deliver the statue of Pallas Athene to the Greek camp as well as their joint effort to both save the world. Again. He knows what the bead looks like. He and the Seven that remains and lived all know what it looks like, having had a hand in the design of this year’s bead. All giving feedback on the design. There was far more made than usual, enough for the demigods of not only Camp Half-Blood, but also Camp Jupiter as a way to show they survived this year and this war. Together. And to show their unity, just like how he has a Roman Legion tattoo from his very short time with the Romans after completing his probation. Just like how Jason already has an empty leather cord necklace, ready for his first bead to be strung onto it with more to hopefully follow.
The walk to the amphitheatre was quicker than he would have liked it to be. Yet, somehow, he still managed to miss the grand speech, and most of the general ceremony that came with handing out the beads much to his relief. Most campers he walks past seem to have already gotten their beads. Some still putting them onto their necklaces, some already having them on and showing it off proudly like a token or medal to bear with pride. Greeks and Romans alike mingling and proudly showing it off. Someone farther into the amphitheatre, close to the middle where the stage is, seems to be waving up at someone and it takes Percy a stupidly long time ot realise that they were waving at him, and that he knows who that hand belongs to. Jason, practically waving him over with enthusiasm, with Piper, Nico, Will, and Thalia all standing around him, looking Percy’s way when they all zero in on who Jason seems to waving to with such enthusiasm and spirit. He can’t help but let out another sigh and slowly weave through the crowd of demigods still lingering the in the amphitheatre and chatting amongst each other to make it farther in and to where his friends are.
With a small, halfhearted wave, he joins them. Silent and impassive as Nico holds out a fist and, once Percy holds out his hand expectantly, drops the bead into his awaiting palm. The little clay bead just rolls around on the palm of his hand before he clutches onto it in his fist and puts it into his pocket for now and looking back up at his friends.
“… I’m leaving in a few days,” Percy ends up saying suddenly, voice a broken whisper from not having spoken all that much these last few months, yet his words still sound steady despite that. “Mum wants me to meet Estelle… and there’s no reason for me to stay any longer now that general repairs are done.”
He didn’t notice it before, but now that all of his friends have stilled as if they had turned to ice, he could tell that all of them were moving in some way until he spoke. Then, almost in frightening synchronisation, all of them were staring straight at him with varying expressions. While Nico and Will seemed to understand easily enough with a quick nod, Jason seems to look a little hurt by what he had just said. Piper nods with a small, tense nod if her head, and Thalia looks like she wants to bash his head in for even saying he was going to leave while moping as he is over Annabeth but, reluctantly, understands he’s grieving in his own way and needs some time away from everyone as well as all the things that just make him remember everything he had lost when he escaped Tartarus without his girlfriend, their friend, Annabeth.
“Are you… okay to make the journey, Percy?” Jason seems to ask cautiously, as if testing the waters around him whilst stepping slightly closer.
“Yeah I’m sure.”
“If you say so…”
An awkward silence falls over the group, one that no one seems to know how to break. Percy pulls the bead back out of his pocket and stares at it once more, then sighing and finally taking off his necklace, making sure that it was his one and not Wise Girl’s necklace he’s kept on him since she threw it at him when pushing him into that elevator. One that he will eventually need to travel to San Francisco over, to give it to her father, who deserves to keep it more than he does as a reminder of who he lost. Besides, Percy already has the Daedalus laptop on him back in Cabin 3, all of Annie’s blueprints and drafts being kept on there more than enough to keep his memory of her alive. And once the bead is finally in place on his own necklace, he ties it back around his neck and sliding his hands into the pockets of his shorts, fiddling with Riptide as he just stands there.
“Are you…” Nico starts, sounding unsure of himself as he tries to make the silent feel less awkward and tense. “Are you sure you want to leave so soon? I could always—”
Will cuts him off before he can continue with a jab to the ribs with his elbow and a sharp look, obviously chastising Nico for suggesting shadow travelling so soon after Will finally got him to finally start to look healthier after going halfway across the world — literally — while using it to take himself and three others and a massive statue with them. All the way from Rome to Long Island, New York. And for trying to make Percy stay longer than he wants to right now, which, fair. He really doesn’t want to stick around for longer than he really needs to. Just long enough to give them a heads up, make a few more rounds around camp before he leaves to make sure that everything has been rebuilt properly and the others will be fine, and to pack his things together.
“I’ll be fine, Neeks,” Percy says softly with a small nod of appreciation at the thought. “Besides, I wanted to pick up some of those candies mum used to always get from her work on the way, so it’s easier if I ask Argus if he’ll take me with his next order if strawberries.”
Nico shrugs but Percy can tell that he’s glad that he’s got a plan and a proper mode of transport back home, regardless of the fact that he seemed to want to use his shadow travel. It could also be so Nico could have an excuse to see Sally, which, is fair. No demigod that has met his mother can seem to resist visiting her. Especially for her food.
~*~
Percy stretches his arms up high, one hand holding his spoils while the other holds his near empty wallet — he doesn’t really keep much mortal money in there anyway, not with how easy wallets are to steal, so there was only enough for the blue candies in there and that was it. He lets out a sigh once his arms drop back down and starts the somewhat long trek to his mum’s and Paul’s apartment, wanting to at least make it there before the afternoon.
It took maybe twenty minutes for him to get just a few streets away from the apartment, having taken long strides in an attempt to make it there faster, exited to see her after the hellish year he’s had because of the gods and being thrown into a second war so soon after the previous one ended. He just wanted to be in the warm and safe embrace of his mum after being away and at war for so long, just wanting to rest in her presence like a was a little kid again. And to see Paul, he guesses. Nothing against his stepfather or anything, he’s an amazing guy and the best person for his mum after having to deal with Smelly Gabe for his sake for years, but he really just wants his mum the most right now.
He turns the corner of the street to where the apartment was and stops dead in his tracks as his heart sinks and his eyes widen. Just a few buildings down was the apartment building, on fire, with people running away from it. Percy doesn’t think, let alone register, as his body moves as he’s dashing towards the apartment building as if he was being tailed by a horde of hellhounds as he races into the burning building, holding the collar of his shirt over his mouth and taking the stairs two at a time to make it to the third floor and slamming his shoulder into the door, forcing it open. The sight inside made him want to vomit.
He could see his mother clear as day. Sally, laying still with a now burning baby romper in hand and not taking any visible breath and dashes to her side to check her pulse only to be met with nothing. Walking further into the apartment with a small cough, he can hear a weak rasp and moves to find Paul on the floor next to the kitchen island, trapped under a beam from the half-collapsed ceiling. He rushes closer, mindful of the flames, in hopes of at least trying to save his stepfather.
“N-no—” Paul manages to cough out, voice small and weak. “Run, Perce… please.”
“No, I’m not going without you. I’ve already lost Annabeth, and now my mum,” Percy practically pleads, unable to conjure water in the oppressive heat of the flames. “I can’t lose you too, please. I can’t.”
Paul just gives a small, weak smile, eyes already threatening to close as footsteps and the sound of doors breaking can be hear distantly, slowly making its way floor by floor, but Percy ignores them. He ignores all of it as he moves right next to Paul, letting go of the collar of his shirt and tries to lift the extremely hot metal beam with his bare hands, not caring for the pain and the subsequent burns he’s about to deal with. He can’t help but feel so weak as he struggles to lift the beam, barely getting it an inch off of Paul as his hands slip and loses grip, making it drop back down. Percy just kneels next to Paul, gently grasping the older man’s free hand closest to him and sobs, apologising under his breath over and over again as the footsteps sound closer, like they were coming up the stairs as they bash open door after door, checking apartments. But he doesn’t care. The blue candies he had gotten sat in the empty doorway to the apartment as he just holds his stepfather's hand as he takes his final breath.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner… dad,” Percy croaks out to Paul, watching as the man gives one final smile at being called ‘dad’ before his face relaxes and stops breathing.
Percy just cries harder, having just lost the last of his family. When footsteps approach and gently drag him away, he barely has the energy to stop them, only now realising it was the Fire Brigade, having been called to help bring out the survivors while battling the flames. By the time he’s back in the present, he’s sitting on the back of an ambulance, one of those shock blankets around his shoulders and with an oxygen mask over his face with a paramedic hovering nearby to make sure he was okay.
He just nods or shakes his head at the simple questions he gets asked, not really paying much attention to the paramedic even though he knows he should. But he can’t help but think about what he was going to do now. He doesn’t have a job, and now he doesn’t have a place to live. Even though his father, Poseidon, would be more than happy to throw his coffers at Percy to use as he pleases — and by Olympus has his godly father tried to make him — he doesn’t want any hand outs, even if he does need it now. He feels… stuck. An already shitty year just growing even shittier by the second and it feels like there’s no way out of it for him. Rent in New York isn’t cheap in the slightest, even in the worst neighbourhood it’s still too expensive. And if he’s going to find a place in a different state, he’d rather be around Camp Jupiter in California, but rent there is even worse than here in New York. Though… he’s heard rumours, years and years ago when he was on his first quest to find Zeus’ Master Bolt that there was a place in Jersey that the monsters didn’t dare tread. Not even the gods themselves wished to be near there for long. Gotham, he thinks its called. A weird, emo looking city known for its shitty mortals that tear the place apart every other day in an attack, but they have their own heroes. Well, vigilantes. He doesn’t really keep up with the mortal news much, but he does remember his mum making a comment about it once.
Gotham was never on their maps before. But suddenly, after his third quest to save Annabeth and having to hold the Sky — the one that made a small part of his hair by his temple a vivid grey — the world had shook as things had changed. The gods and the Immortal Realm didn’t suffer any changes, so he never realised anything on such a large scale had changed, but, apparently, the sudden appearance of several new cities and prominent figures in these different communities wasn’t deemed as anything ‘large scale’ in the Immortal Realm to all of the gods and most of the demigods. Yes, not like the face that your home city now, apparently, has all of these heroes and vigilantes and villains just running around for shits and giggles won’t suddenly make their lives even harder than they already are. Maybe… maybe going to one of these new cities — one that lacks any influence of the Immortal Realm as much as possible — would do him some good. Maybe not for his mental health and his grief, but definitely for his very light pockets. You know, small mercies in the face of all of the death and pain from the last two months, and something to at least ignore the pain and heartache with until he’s got a place to settle down in and feel somewhat safe in, if that’s even possible for someone like him.
~*~
Two weeks later Percy stands in front of his new apartment door with nothing but two small cardboard boxes of things in hand. It was the last of the things he was ferrying over. Turns out, a lot of the gods still owed him a few favours. He couldn’t stop Poseidon from buying him an apartment, but he managed to at least choose the place, so now he’s the proud owner of one shitty apartment in the worst part of Gotham City, originally called Park Row yet now known to all as Crime Alley. He managed to get Poseidon to sign and agree to the place before he could realise what Percy had done. He doesn’t need anything big or fancy, and this place will do just fine. Besides, Aphrodite is giving the place a massive makeover for him, Hephaestus is working on demigod-safe electronics, Hermes had done his part by helping with the move, and Zeus coughed up a bunch of cash that Hestia used to furnish his place for him. All in all, it feels like a successful move despite still feeling extremely dead inside. He’s got one neighbour next to him in the mostly empty building, and what looks like another on the way since the original apartment he looked at in this building had been taken up before he could get it, but oh well.
At least, maybe, things might start looking up for him now. Well, maybe not anymore now that he’s thought that. Percy sighs and finally opens his door to enter the apartment, lazily pushing the boxes he had placed down with his foot to drag it inside before shutting it, ignoring the look from a guy with black hair, blue eyes, and a vivid white tuft of hair at the crown of his hairline as he does so, just wanting to unpack the last of his things and go straight to bed for an eternity. Or until he’s hungry, whichever one wakes him first.
Peter
Crime Alley, Gotham City
1 month after The Spell
With a small exhale of air, Peter sets down the last of his boxes in his new apartment. It was… small. And a bit run down with peeling paint and a draft being let in from a crack in the windows, but it was his. He’s really glad he still has access to the trust fund Mr Stark left for him that is under his fingerprint biometric data instead of his eye or face shape as that was all deleted from the Stark and Avengers database. He managed to snag this apartment at the same time someone else got one that looked to be a few doors down from him. At least he’s not the only new tenant in this place, though, he did buy the place outright since he has, like, a lot of money on hand.
He didn’t think he would, considering he doesn’t have a job and he can’t list his ‘Stark Internship’ as work experience because if anyone calls up Stark Industries, they won’t be able to pull up any records since he had Doctor Strange remove majority of his existence from this earth in The Spell just to keep the multiverse from collapsing. And now, no one who knew Peter personally because they knew he was Spider-Man remember him, his Aunt is dead, and that spell seemed to have messed the world up even more. I mean, Gotham wasn’t a thing in his world, nor was Metropolis or an Amity Park. The Justice League also didn’t exist for him, nor this weird ‘day long mass-sleep’ that seemed to have happen in New York. Just his Parker Luck, huh. Going and making something even worse somehow. This was not on his Bingo Card for this year, that’s for sure.
Pacing the boxes he has on the kitchen counter, Peter sighs at how little he has. There isn’t any bed. No chair or couch to sit on. All he really bought was a sleeping bag, a mattress pad used by hikers and campers, and a beanbag and a few bags of beans to fill it with. He didn’t dare to spend too much of the money Mr Stark left for him, not wanting to be too greedy with it after already buying an apartment outright with that money, even if it was cheap and shit. He’d rather a fixer upper than something already new and improved, that way, he can save as much of Mr Stark’s money as possible in case of an emergency where he might need it.
Sorting through the boxes just becomes a monotonous task. He pulls out a singular mug and places it next to the sink, then one bowl and two plates go into the cupboard. Then his small handful of utensils get put away, then the single pot and the single pan he owns, and that was once box done. The other box held some more valuable items. Peter pulls out the laptop and few notebooks he owns, all of them mostly filled with equations and concepts that he’s kept over the years, along with a few pencils and pens. The box was still half filled, mostly with his clothes and the old Spider-Man suits he owns, including the Iron Spider one that he can no longer use since KAREN no longer responds to him. Another effect of having removed his existence from the minds of those that mattered to him and that he mattered to.
Sighing for the nth time, Peter just slowly leans back against the wall in the living room that just has a few bags of beans and an unopened package that his beanbag came in, and slides down it until he’s sitting. He has a lot he needs to do- no, that he wants to do. Starting with getting his GED so he can apply to University. Since Gotham University is, like, right here and have some decent programs, he can go for something there and try to work towards maybe an internship or a junior role at Wayne Enterprises, wanting to continue with his engineering and chemistry skills to try and make the world a better place without the constant reminders of his dead father-figure that New York always gave him every other street.
Before Peter can think any further about it, there was a scratching on his door. Well, on his handle more like, maybe someone trying to break in. But the small muttered curses he can tune in and hear clear as day says otherwise as he slowly stands and walks closer to the door.
“Fuckin’— why the hell ain’t this shit working?” The voice, masculine and annoyed with a slightly deep baritone to it says, clearly annoyed and tired sounding. “It never gave me this issue earlier— o-oh…”
Peter unlocks and swings the door open, cutting off the man’s train of thought as he stares owlishly at Peter in shock and confusion. He was tall, built like a fridge too despite being hunched over with piercing blue eyes and black hair with a streak of white in it. Striking and kind of menacing looking, but Peter’s Spider Senses don’t seem to label him as a threat, so he isn’t too concerned about the man in front of him.
“This… isn’t 403, is it?” The man asks, almost sheepishly.
“No, it’s 402. You’re the next one over.”
“Shit. Sorry about that. Normally I’m not this sleep deprived and confused. I’m turning into my little brother at this point, dammit. Sorry, again. Name’s Jason.”
“Peter…” He introduces himself slowly, looking at the hand Jason suddenly offers and shaking it. “Well, I’ll leave you to get some sleep, you look like you need it. I’ll… maybe see you around?”
Jason seems to nod at his words and Peter just steps back and shuts his door. He hears as Jason walks down the hall a few steps and tries the handle and successfully opens that door with a breath of relief, and Peter feels like he can stop eavesdropping on his neighbour as he goes back to his barren apartment and how sad and empty it looks. Not like his ‘bedroom’ is any better since all it has is a mattress campers normally use, a sleeping bag, and now a half filled box with clothes in it and nothing else.
With a sigh, Peter just sinks down to sit on the mattress pad, the sleeping bag still in its bag next to the pad, and sighs for the nth time. At least this is a fresh new start for him. No one who knows that he’s Spider-Man, no one who thinks he killed someone even though he was framed for it. And definitely no one to worry over him again since all that’s done is get those he’s cared about killed just like his Uncle Ben, his Aunt May, Mr Stark, and almost his own best friends. But this train of thought was ruined by his ever hungry black hole of a stomach that he’s struggled to find a right amount of food for to keep from constantly getting hunger pains every few hours.
Sighing again, but more dramatically this time as he flops onto his side with a small pout, Peter begrudgingly finds it in himself to get up and shuffle into the kitchen only to open the fridge door and realise, hey, he’s just moved in. There is no food in this place to eat just yet. With another groan and a few grumbled curses under his breath, Peter grabs his keys and his wallet that barely has more than twenty dollars in it — because he’s not stupid, even New York and Brooklyn has too many muggings happening to let you carry more than the bare minimum needed for a singular outing — and he trudges out of his apartment and down four flights of stairs to make it to the streets.
He uses his Spider Senses to find a mostly safe route to the nearest place to eat, and ends up at some joint called a ‘Batburger’ that doesn’t make him feel like he’s one wrongly times breath away from being attacked. After ordering the Red Hood Meal with the largest looking burger there is and a pretty large serving of fries and soft drink, he stands patiently near the pick up counter and fiddles with the hair tie he has around his wrist. It was MJ’s, one she left at his place and could never get back after The Spell took affect and made her and everyone else forget who he was simply because they knew he was Spider-Man.
Once acquiring his food, he takes a seat in a corner booth with a view of the whole restaurant and practically inhales his meal like it was nothing, glad to have at least appeased the hungry void that lives within his stomach. The burger was… okay, at best. He wasn’t the biggest fan of the sauce they used, and it just tasted too bland despite looking kinda good in their menu photo’s above the worker. The only thing he feels was the best part of his meal was the lemonade, and that was because you can’t mess up a lemonade. As soon as he was done, he was quick to clean up, put his finished meal in the bin, and leave, not wanting to be out longer than he needs to be.
And he’s glad he knows that he shouldn’t be out for longer than he needs to. Walking back to the apartment left his hairs sticking up, with every alley he passes feeling like a death threat, and boy was that a very accurate description, because barely a minute later there’s a knife to his throat and a hand grabbing his arm and dragging him into the alley before he gets shoved to the wall.
“Give me ya fuckin’ wallet and maybe I’ll let ya live, twerp,” a dude smelling of cigarettes and booze breaths into his face as he speaks, knife still aimed at his face as he holds his hands up.
“Dude I’ve got, like, three bucks to my name. There’s not much you can get with three bucks.”
“I’m not playing around. Give me the fucking cash or I’ll skewer you ya little shit.”
Peter sighs, not in the mood for this and, holding back his already weakened strength from not being able to eat nearly enough as he should, pushes the guy back and goes to defend himself. However, he doesn’t seem to realise just how desperate Gotham muggers can be, because he doesn’t expect to be rushed at and, despite blocking most attacks quite well, misses how the mugger impales him in the side with a knife and curses.
“What he hell, dude? Did you have to stab me?!” Peter huffs before letting his hits come a little stronger so he can kick the mugger away, the knife flying with them making Peter use his hand to put pressure on the wound with a small huff.
Not wanting to wait around any longer, Peter quickly hobbles out of there and back to his apartment. He didn’t feel all that bad as he walks the streets, but once he gets to the building, he can feel himself getting woozy from the blood loss, but still pushes on. The stairs, however, prove to be his biggest enemy, making his newly acquired wound ache and hurt even more as he slowly and painfully goes up four flights of stairs. He leans against the wall somewhat with a hand as he makes his way down the hallway, eyes blurred as he guesses which apartment was his and fumbles with his keys, trying to put them into the handle but struggling to get it to the hole at first, and then confused as to why it won’t go in at all.
“The hell is wrong with this thing?” Peter asks himself in a quiet voice, breathing a little heavier than usual. “Why won’t ya open—”
Almost like déjà vu, the door gets swing open and Peter blinks up at the person who opened it with narrowed eyes before he recognises who was standing there. His neighbour, still definitely tired and having been woken up because of Peter trying to get into his apartment while mistaking it for his own stares at him with wide eyes, completely shocked at the state Peter was in despite having met around an hour ago when he wasn’t stabbed and bleeding out.
“Oh, shit, hi Jason… oh wait, this ain’t my apartment. Damn it,” Peter huffs tiredly, still leaning heavily against the wall next to the door.
“What the— you know what, no, get your ass in here and let me patch you up, kid,” Jason says in a hard voice that still somehow drips with concern, clearly not taking any shit from Peter and gently dragging him into his apartment and onto what is, admittedly, a really soft and nice couch.
Honestly, the couch was too soft and too nice. So soft and nice, that as Jason raced off to more than likely grab out a med kit of some sort, that Peter’s eyes slowly begin to slip shut, feeling safe for once since he had Doctor Strange cast The Spell to help fix the world, and allowing himself to rest despite his stab wound.
Danny
Somewhere in the USA
Two days after battling Pariah Dark
He’s so tired. Tired and sore and in so much pain but he can’t stop. He just can’t. Not when his parents had strapped him to a table as soon as he finished dealing with Pariah Dark. He thought they were on his side, seeing the good he was trying to do despite their prejudices against all ‘ghosts’ based on their ‘research’ that was more like badly written opinion pieces backed with no research or actual findings. They treated their own son like a science experiment, all because of his ghost half and his powers. If it wasn’t for Jazz realising where their parents were keeping him before they moved him to a more permanent facility, he doesn’t think he would have ever been able to see the world or even the night sky ever again.
Two days they kept him down there. Two days of cutting him open and crushing his bones and locking him down like some sort of diseased and feral mutt. He’s just glad to be on the run now, even though he doesn’t know where he’s going beyond somewhere far away from Amity Park and even Illinois all together.
Danny doesn’t have much on him, just whatever ruined and cut up clothes he’s wearing, and a PDA Tucker had modified and given to Jazz before she broke him out of their parents’ basement lab. Beyond that, he is penniless and injured and scared to a second death. He couldn’t even use the Infinity Zone, or Ghost Zone as his parents tend to call it, as the portal had been shut down the moment Danny saved the town and brought them all back to their world with their town, though, he might have messed up a little since he’s flown past a few cities he’s never seen or heard of before in his life.
He was really tired now, like, can barely keep himself up and flying tired. He doesn’t know when, but when he notices, it’s too late to stop the steady descent he’s been on as his body momentarily gives up the control he had by detransforming back into his human half and he crash lands on some sort of garden, blood now coating the bushes he landed in in a mixture of red with flowing green flakes in it. He tries to sit up, he really does, but his body doesn’t want to cooperate and all he can manage to do is lift his head a little bit before It tips backwards again unexpectedly as if his neck can’t even support the weight of his own head anymore.
In his delirious and weakening state, Danny doesn’t hear the rushing of footsteps until hands are gently touching him to check him over before a strong set of arms carefully pick him up and he slumps in their hold as his vision darkens, the feeling of ectoplasm, thought faint as it may be, and the blanket of safety that not only the place he’s in but also the people around him exude lull him to finally rest his weary eyes and mind, trusting that these people won’t hurt him or lock him up just yet.
~*~
His body felt so heavy and so unbearably sore as he slowly wakes up. He was warm too, which is a first, and laying on the softest thing he’s ever felt and wrapped up in even more fluffy softness that he can’t even begin to name. There was warm light shining from a nearby window too, something he never thought he’d feel again and, slowly willing and forcing his eyes open, he sees a very unexpected sight. The ceiling was large and grand, almost as large and grand as the room he’s in is with the large four poster bed he’s resting on that could fit him and his friends easily with more than enough room to spare, a large amount of empty floor space, a simple desk and chair and a bookshelf also sit in the room. But what shocks him the most is the giant window to his left, with sheer curtains drawn over it and a thicker set being held open to the sides to let the light in by decorative rope. Te place reminds him of Sam’s house — manor, really — and, begrudgingly, Vlad’s place as well.
He doesn’t bother trying to sit up yet either, the simple act of opening his eyes and moving his head to look around the place having drained what little energy he has. But he doesn’t feel unsafe here. No, it still feels comforting here despite his hatred for rich people and billionaires that aren’t his best friend Sam and her grandmother. It feels… like a place for weary and hurt people like him to be able to rest their eyes without fear of any sort of attack, a place for respite without needing to answer any sort of invasive questions or fearing that he will need to run again at the drop of a hat. It was refreshing, is what it was, and he would be a fool for not letting himself rest as much as he can before he’s stuck being on the run once more to escape his parents and, by extension, from the Guys In White as well.
Letting his eyes rest for several minutes more, he barely registers a soft knock at the door until the door to the right of him slowly opens and an older gentleman carrying a tray or both food and medical stuff walks in, gaze neutral and professional but softening slightly as Danny cracks open an eye as he feels relaxed and content in the bed. Danny has to admit, the guy looks like he could be a butler with how he’s dressed, or some sort of lord who prefers the generic looking suits, though Danny doesn’t have knowledge of what looks generic and what doesn’t. He hates suits and fancy clothes that feel like they want to strangle him just for existing in them.
“I see you’re awake, Young Sir,” the older man says as the tray gets put down on the nightstand next to Danny that he didn’t see or register until now, taking off the roll of gauze and the scissors, tape and cream that he also had on there before helping Danny sit up with gentle hands. “How are you feeling? And lingering pain, dizziness, or lighteheadedness of any sort?”
“I’m—” Danny starts with a quiet and croaking voice before he coughs into his hand while letting the butler looking man sit him up and adjust the pillows behind him so he’s comfortably sitting up. “I’m… okay right now. Just sore, mostly. Where… where am I, exactly? I remember falling into a bush but… not much else after.”
The older man nods with a hum as he grabs the tray with what looks like a bowl of warm porridge with a drizzling of honey and some fruits on top of it, a smaller bowl with yoghurt and slightly soggy granola mix and a glass of water on it, flipping out the folding stands so it could rest on the bed instead of on Danny’s lap. The sight, while unusual for him, does make his mouth water at the prospect of food and makes his stomach growl loudly while cramping uncomfortably as he quickly picks up the spoon with a shaking hand, to slowly eat with food in front of him without any fanfare.
“I forgot how delicious food can be when it doesn’t come back to life when you’re trying to make something,” Danny practically moans into the bowl appreciatively, grateful for the fact that no one but his parents use the same fridge for both food and radioactive materials like ectoplasm which is what constantly makes their food come to life and try to harm them. One can deal with fighting off their turkey and vegetables so many times before they grow tired of it and just want one singular meal that doesn’t become sentient and attack them just for wanting to eat them.
He misses the slightly disturbed and concerned look that gets thrown his way, but he can feel the way the older gentleman feels at his statement. A ghost thing, really, since they were formed from their emotions and tethered to the world by their Obsessions, though, Danny is tethered less by his Obsession and more due to the fact that half of him is still technically alive, so he can feel the general emotions of those around him if he thinks about it enough, and after living with his parents for so long as a half ghost, he tends to do it subconsciously now as a form of defence mechanism to know when he should consider running and removing himself from a situation.
But the food keeps him distracted enough to not care about the concern and the slight disturbed feeling he can sense coming off of the older gentleman, enjoying the warm food that fills his stomach and warms him from the inside without needing to battle it before consumption.
“That is… quite true, Young Sir,” the older man slowly says as his mask of neutrality doesn’t slip despite how he feels inwardly. “After you finish, I would like to check over your wounds to see how they are faring and to rebandage them with fresh bandages if you would allow me to.”
“Please call me Danny, ‘Young Sir’ sounds so formal and icky,” he just replies with a wave of his hand, still slowly devouring the porridge until it’s scraped clean and moving on to the yoghurt and granola, eating his fill after not having anything for a few days now.
“Master Danny then. I am Alfred Pennyworth, the Head Butler of Wayne Manor, where are currently. It is a pleasure,” the older man — Alfred, his name is Alfred — helpfully supplies with a small nod if his head as Danny visibly cringes at being called a ‘Master’ but doesn’t say more about it just yet.
After silently and quickly inhaling the last of the food, Danny finally has some of the offered water and down half of it easily when he realises just how thirsty he is and sighing in content when he feels full enough that his stomach isn’t trying to eat itself and his throat feels less scratchy and sore. He leans back against the pillows behind him and nods to Alfred, silently giving permission to look over whatever wounds Danny had. He knows he was hurt pretty badly and cut open a few times, but he never saw the extent of the damage done.
Watching as Alfred the Butler slowly unbuttons the shirt Danny had been changed into while he was unconscious, he sees the large amount of gauze and bandages covering his torso, and when he’s gently helped to sit forward so Alfred can slip the shirt off to show some more bandages and even bandaids that go along just a few parts of his arms, likely from when he fell out of the sky as he was flying and detransforming and fell into the bushes he remembers landing in. But it was as the bandages were being unwound and showing the extent of the damage his parents- no, the people who were supposed to be his parents to do him that he turns his head to the side, not wanting to see any more of it despite seeing what could likely be just a small amount of the overall damage done to him because of them.
And it seems that Alfred can tell what he’s thinking and feeling as the older man just hums and gently looks over the wounds and how they’re faring before putting on some cream and rebandaging all of them once more, making sure the wrapping was snug and secure while somehow not impacting Danny’s movement, and he doesn’t need to test it to know that fact. The placement was different from what Jazz, Sam, Tucker, and even Danny himself has done from simply watching a few YouTube videos and staring at a few crappy images in Google to try and base their work off of to do a halfway decent job of wrapping things, so this was obviously leagues better and done by someone that is, for a butler, very professional.
After Alfred helps ease the button up shirt back onto him, Danny sits up a little further on his own and grimacing as he slowly puts a fist gently against his lower back as he tries to straighten his back to make it less sore and doing spectacularly badly. But he doesn’t seem to mind too much considering everything he’s just gone through, and he doesn’t want to hurt himself by trying to ease out the pain before his back and other joints are ready to cooperate with him properly. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, moving the tray with the empty food bowls and the half drunk cup of water away before he does so.
Alfred is quickly at his side, not quite telling him to stay seated and in the bed, but clearly showing he wasn’t allowing Danny to walk without some sort of assistance, especially right now and so soon after having woken up and still being injured. He’s helped into standing and, with an arm looped through his own in a way that Sam’s grandmother Ida has done with him and Sam several times and slowly walks with him. And he ends up getting an impromptu tour of the manor, seeing most of the rooms and, to the humour of Alfred, is shown from one of the windows exactly which bush he fell into in their beautifully maintained backyard garden before being slowly led further through the manor until they make it down the grand staircase at the foyer to be shown where the kitchen, dining room, and the main living room that all of the family tends to use to hang out in.
It was… bigger than Vlad’s and Sam’s place, but definitely in the style of architecture that Sam would adore with the old money feel and the pillars and intricate details with the outside — from what little he could spot — was more gothic in nature. Yeah, definitely something Sam would love. There were also a lot of spare bedrooms with some that were claimed from the few nameplates and personalised doors he walked past. There was also the largest library he’s seen on the mortal plane, and definitely larger than the Amity Park public library and Casper High’s library combined, which he found surprising and amazing. Especially because there was several cozy areas to sit at and even a fireplace as well.
He was led to the living room though, gently helped down into the leather couch that felt softer and plusher than he was expecting and worn down with use that he didn’t fear slipping off of it. And left there to his thoughts for a few moments as he looks around the space. The room was a little out of the way from the main foyer, a place you wouldn’t go to unless you were exploring the place or led to it. It was also personalised and lived in and decorated to look more like a place family would hang out in instead of something purely for show with family photos, what looks like photos of friends or even just siblings on the walls. There was also some papers scattered on the coffee table with a book or two, a bag left leaning against one of the couches, some blankets on the back of the couches, and even a- wait, was that a katana? Actually, he shouldn’t be too surprised, all rich people were weird. And yes, he’s including Sam in that. The type of vegetarian she is proves how weird she is, especially after that one time she changed the school’s lunch menu to make everyone eat grass on bread. But, hey, guess it comes with the package of being rich, huh?
~*~
After some time, Alfred had returned with some tea on a tray in three steaming cups and with a pot at the ready for those that wanted more, joining him on the couch sitting next to him while still giving enough space to not feel like he was being trapped there. They spoke for a while before the person who he assumes the third cup was for walks in. It was a tall man, black hair and blue eyes much like his own, with a large body almost like he was built like a fridge from muscle alone and in a well ironed suit that he quickly shrugs off the jacket of so he’s on a shirt, dress pants, and a tie he’s quickly taking off as well like he was annoyed with the thing, which, fair, Danny hates them too. But once the man is seated and grabbing the untouched tea to take a sip of it, he finally notices Danny there along with Alfred and seems more surprised by the butler sitting as if it wasn’t something that usually happens with the family, but doesn’t hate it in the slightest.
The man clears his throat awkwardly before lowering his cup so he can speak, looking between Danny and Alfred as if one of them will suddenly jump up and run away.
“I- I see you’re awake,” the man starts. “I’m glad to see you’re well enough to move around… I’m Bruce Wayne. My butler, Alfred, notice you falling into our gardens last night and we moved you into one of the spare rooms we have.”
“Master Bruce, this is Master Danny,” Alfred helpfully supplies, taking a casual sip of his tea like this was normal. “Master Danny, this here is Master Bruce Wayne, the owner of this manor and the one who helped carry you in from the gardens.”
Danny, awkwardly looking between the two men at the sudden introduction Alfred supplied for the both him and Bruce, just nods.
“It’s… nice to meet you?” The statement comes out more like a questions for Danny before he clears his throat to continue. “And- thank you. For helping me last night. And I’m sorry about your garden.”
“Please, Danny, it was just one bush,” Bruce says, waving his apology off like he didn’t want or need it. “It’ll fix itself with the help of Alfred and the gardeners we hire, nor harm done. We’re more worried about you, kid. It was quite the height you fell from, especially with the pre-existing injuries you seem to have.”
“Ah, those…” Danny says almost bitterly, clearly not liking that topic and taking a purposeful sip of his tea as if that would help him escape this conversation.
He really hopes he doesn’t have to speak about it so soon, but, considering his luck these last few days, he might not have a choice sooner or later, and he’d rather have it later to save the trouble of reliving everything so soon. Please don’t make him relive it all so soon, just seeing a small part of his injuries just an hour or two ago was enough to turn him away from that thought and and part of his memories, he doesn’t want to go through it all again.