Chapter Text
The night is starting to wind down as I can barely hear the other patrons from where I am sitting. Usually, the dusk would be full of laughter at one corner, and murmurs in the other, but right now, this feels sombre. I’ve mentioned to Jazz about the moon phase and how people tend to be crazier during the full moon; however, she doesn’t believe me since Gotham is known for their craziness, but I bet with what is left of me, that tonight is a new moon!
A sharp pain shot through the side of my head as I groaned in annoyance, “You okay, Danny?” Jazz asked, sounding worried on top of being tired. I really hate this, but I don’t know what I hate more: the painful reminder of what our parents and the GIW had done to me, or being more of a burden to Jazz than I already am.
I swallowed dryly as I looked over to the vague shadowy outline of teal and white, the same area where I could hear Jazz’s voice coming from, “yeah, just a headache,” I replied. I hate how small I sound.
The turquoise/grey shadow moved side to side a bit (perhaps back and forth), along with the sound of shuffling and glass clinking, before she started to move closer to me, her gentle hand tucking under my face as she held me. “Whereabouts does it hurt?” she asked, caressing her thumb along my cheek.
I could feel my core wanting to purr at the motion, but even the thought of purring hurt, so I tried to hold it in. “Here,” I placed my hand on the left side of my head, just above my ear, feeling that stinging pressure that was starting to feel more like a migraine than a headache now.
Jazz hummed to herself as she leaned over to the side, grabbing something from the bag she sat right next to me at the beginning of her shift. The sound of the zipper opening and things being knocked around, a few canisters, bottles of medications, and I think that was a case that just hit a canister? It’s hard to tell, but the moment I heard Jazz shake a bottle, I knew she had found the right one and opened the lid, making me hold out my hand as she placed two pills on my palm. I had taken them in dryly, feeling them going down my throat while leaving a powdery residue behind that tasted even grosser than the actual pill itself. Jazz had gotten up for a moment and walked over to the counter where she was working before, hearing the sound of a fridge open and closing as she made her way back, and placing something cold on the top of my hand, “You should have waited until I got you a bottle” she tried to scold, but I could hear the tiredness was getting to her.
“Sorry,” I muttered, taking the water bottle from her and taking a sip from it. I may not know what expression she is showing, but I can feel her emotions; the love and worry, as well as the protectiveness, as she turned around to finish that last hour of her shift.
Watching as Jazz’s shadowy light moved around while the others' colours of light within the room glowed dimly all around, moving sluggishly in the darkness as their murmurs seemed to blend with the background music. Fidgeting with the water bottle in my hands, I couldn’t stop this feeling of worthlessness that crept up my back like an old friend, whispering to me about all the things I’ve failed to do or provide. Even though I know I can’t do much right now because of my injuries, it still sucks that I can’t do more to help Jazz without getting headaches, soreness in my legs, cramping around my chest, and/or shakiness in my arms.
I really hate this. I hate feeling weak and pathetic. I hate being a burden to Jazz all the time, I hate that my ectoplasm isn’t healing me properly, I hate that my core is cracked and damaged, and I especially hate that the only reason we are here in Gotham is because of me! I hate it all... But I can’t do anything anymore.
Seven months ago, my... former parents found out about me, about my halfa status and my accident. Well, they didn’t find out about it, I told them, actually, but that is besides the point; they know, and they sold me to the GIW the next day regardless. I thought they would have accepted me; sure, they needed time to understand everything, but I was certain that their love for me would overpower their hate for ghosts. I have seen it within Clockwork's tower, the amount of time they chose me over their research. Turns out, they didn’t exist in my timeline, because when the GIW agents cuffed me and dragged me away, they looked at me with such disdain as they called me an abomination. Jazz tried to plead with our former parents, begging them to stop this, but they didn’t want to hear her. Our parents believed that I was a monster who killed their son and then brainwashed their daughter just to cover it up.
Jazz told me that they stopped being her parents when they willingly sold their son away, and then punished her for trying to save me. She never told me what they had done to her, but the feeling of pure, bridled anger whenever she thought about it was clear; they did enough, and they won’t get that chance to do it again. As for me, despite selling me out and placing me within that hell hole, I still hoped and prayed to every Ancient that is out there that they would see what they have done and come save me. I wanted Dad to hug me with his bone-crushing arms around me, and Mum to pepper my face with kisses like she always did. Instead of what I thought would be a touching moment, it turned into a nightmare when my parents walked into the operating room with a lab coat on and a scalpel in their hands, readying for my vivisection. That moment, and many more that came after, was when they stopped being my parents, and all the love I had for them was replaced with fear.
Sam, Tucker, and Jazz came to save me a month later, although it felt longer than that. They explained that they had moved facilities since the ‘capture of the menace: Phantom’, so it was harder for them to find me, even more so trying to get in to bust me out. That did explain a few things, like the low to none ambient ecto in the air (they had given me ecto, but it's neither pure ecto nor filtered ecto, like our city has), the talk about the ghosts acting weird (Jazz and Sam had rallied up all my rogues to come in to help me), and shouting in the background about skinning people, making sure they never forget them even in death, and a horse naying with the sound of shifting armor. It was chaotic at the time, and I don’t have much memory of it since I was fading in and out of consciousness, but Tucker had explained the gist of it to me (although I could feel like he was hiding something as a wave of pride, secrecy, and protect washed over him, but I dared not ask).
When they got me out, Vlad, who was a part of the attack on the facility, had ushered everyone into the portal to get to the Infinite Realm, and we quickly made our way over to the Far Frozen, where I could receive proper medical attention. It took several hours for them to stitch, mend, and assess my body and core of all the damage that had been done to me, and even afterwards, the diagnosis had left everyone feeling sick. My core is badly cracked and slightly deformed; there was also some discoloration, which indicated that I was poisoned and that I might be dying (meeting my true death). Everyone was freaking out about it, but Frostbite had clarified something that he called a miracle, and that was the fact that, because of how badly my core is, I should have been dead a long time ago. Meaning, since I am still alive (as alive as I can be), it means that something is keeping me going, and that something is slowly healing me. Even though I was given very little ecto, and the tools that they used on me were soaked in Blood Blossom water/salution, something was keeping me alive, and no one knows what it could be. Frostbite assumed that maybe it was because of my human half, or maybe my king status; either way, he wasn’t 100% sure what it was, but it was working.
Aside from my core, my body had been permanently disabled. My ligaments, bones, and muscles within my arms and legs had been taken, broken, stripped from my body so many times that the lingering effects had weakened them subsequently. I couldn’t walk anymore, let alone have the ability to move my arms or hands. The same effect had also happened to my chest, where the wound just didn’t want to close, no matter how much ecto I was given; my healing ability just doesn’t want to work anymore around that area. Sometimes I would fall into moments of mutism because I could feel my vocal cords collapse on themselves as if they’d died, and then reappear later. Sometimes, my jugular would burn and leave a scorching sensation that travels up into my mouth, making me taste blood and stomach acid on my tongue. They had even gouged out my eyes so many times that they stopped regrowing after a while, turning me fully blind with little to no chance for me to be able to see again. Lastly, they had cut open my skull to poke and prod at my brain to see ‘how well I could mimic a human brain activity’. Due to that, I always get headaches or migraines every day without fail. My body was completely broken.
The other ghosts and Ancients were disgusted when they heard what had happened to me; some of them wanted to start a war against the humans, while others just wanted the entire universe to be destroyed. I managed to convince them not to do anything rash, despite what they had done to me; the other humans were innocent of the matter, and the only ones responsible were the GIW, plus Jack and Madeline. Although Vlad wanted to spare our mother, it was clear where her views lay, and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t continue loving her knowing what she had done (even with the very, VERY little chance she would have left our father, I was basically the representation of his supposed future).
Although everyone had something to say about the situation, I noticed a lack of ticking in the background. When I asked about Clockwork’s input, the sound of gears turning could be heard to my side, as the fluttering of paper filled that void, leaving Jazz gasping in surprise. “He said: My child, I apologise for not being there to see you, let alone save you, and I know that the time for healing is a long journey. You may not recover fully, or maybe at all, but you have proven to beat the odds before, and I do not need to see into your future to know that you can beat the impossible again. Follow your heart, my ghostling, and you will never be led astray”. It was somewhat cryptic, but the genuine emotion embedded in that letter reveals true heartache, as well as love.
During that time within the Infinite Realm, Jazz had carried me around as Tucker and Sam followed behind us, all of them attending the meetings as my trusted confidants and advisers. I still hold power over the Realms, despite what the Observers had said or wanted to do, but with my Fraid by my side, neither they nor anyone could try to dominate me, to try and take charge while I was still healing. Jazz would silence the Observers whenever they tried to object to my plans to limit access to the living, while Sam had protected me when some of the more emotional ghosts wanted to express their outrage against my choices of mercy (I could feel the fear spill out of everyone whenever Sam stepped in. It was weird, but she had killed me twice without powers, so with Undergrowth's power and her steel determination, she can be intimidating). Meanwhile, Tucker has been a silent assistant during our meetings, taking notes and reminding everyone of what they said in previous proceedings that contradict their original plans. Both of them seem to have a strong sense of domination during these gatherings that could rival my own king's title, but neither of them tried to overshadow my choices, plus none of my council seemed to mind it either, so all was well.
After what felt like forever (but was, apparently, a week within the human world), we returned to the land of the living and set out a plan for a new start. Although Sam and Tucker wanted to leave and join us, they decided it was better for them to stay behind just a little bit longer so they could wrap things up, not only with their families and school, but to ensure that the Fantons couldn’t make anything that would track either them or me. Which leaves Jazz and me to figure out what we need to do and where to go, since we obviously wouldn’t want to stay with Vlad, despite his attempts to sway us. So we decided to head to New York for our new beginning.
That was easier said than done.
We set our destination to New York with nothing more than the clothes on our backs, money from Sam’s allowances, new IDs and credit cards that Tucker had created, and a few devices from our former parents that we had stolen and hidden away some time ago. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for us for a while, until the money started getting tighter and our clothes started smelling of our body odours and my urine (I hated that I couldn’t hold it in and embarrassed not only myself, but also Jazz too). Then one day, while Jazz was sleep-deprived because I had an episode that night, she misread the bus schedule for Queens, New York, and we hopped onto a bus heading to Gotham, New Jersey instead. She didn’t know that until we passed the sign saying ‘Welcome to Gotham’, and she cursed all the nines as she tried to fix it; I knew we were in Gotham because Lady Gotham herself had welcomed me personally.
Now, call it Fanton Luck or just a simple mistake, but ever since we got here, there have been things that have prevented us from leaving. At first, it was because we didn’t have enough money for another ticket. When Sam sent us more money, Gotham was under lockdown because the Riddlers had decided to attack every transit going in or out of the city. Then, suddenly, we got robbed. We had just enough for a hotel, and since the Wayne Foundation wanted to provide extra support to low-income families who were affected by the crisis, we had access to food and some medical supplies. Eventually, after Jazz calmed down from cursing all the Ancients, for whatever reason, she started looking into other living accommodations and found out that Crime Alley was the perfect place for us to stay in; since the prices within the area are dirt cheap, there were benefits for children, and, despite the high crime rates, the place we are staying at right now is just off the edge of The Bowery, so we shouldn’t be affected by gang wars.
It sounded perfectly fine when she mentioned it to me, but when we actually moved, and I was in the area, I quickly found out that we would be living near another Ghost Hunt, and this ghost seemed extremely angry all the time. I tried to warn Jazz, pleading that we should find somewhere else, but I was cut off short when I felt her desperation, her fears and anxiety, and a very fragile piece of hope. How could I tell her? I had been feeling everything she was feeling as we fled, as we hopped from hotel to hotel, surviving on convenience store snacks and preying on my bandages to hold just a few more hours; how could I destroy it more than I already had?
So we stayed there, and so far, nothing has happened. The ghost felt close, but it was more of a passing than just looming around, waiting to attack. Eventually, when Jazz started taking me out now and again to either the library or cafes, I found out some interesting gossip from the local ghost. Apparently, Gotham’s vigilantes who protect this city are the whole Wayne family themselves, and their second oldest, Jason, who is the Red Hood, was the said ghost that claims Crime Alley, and he avenges the people who were tormented by others before and even after their deaths. He was human once; he died some years ago in a very brutal manner, and then a few months later, he came back as a husk of himself for some time before fully regenerating as a revenant about half a year later. Although it made sense of the reason why he was always angry, there was something about him that just seemed off, like his anger felt sick. I wanted to help him, as a thank you for not attacking us and pushing us out, but as I am now, that would be hard, plus Jazz has been really protective of me, so she won’t help me go find the crime lord so I could fix his soul (actually, thinking about it now, that doesn't sound good if I were to say these out loud).
“Danny!” Jazz called out, jolting me out of my thoughts as I could feel a warm hand on my shoulder, “You okay? I’ve been calling for you for a while,” she said, sounding worried.
I shrugged off my thoughts, “Yeah, sorry, I must have blanked out a bit,” I replied, trying my best to sound tired so she wouldn’t freak out.
Thankfully, I yawed at the right moment, and I could feel relief spread through her. “It's alright, little brother, we can go home now,” she tiredly said, hearing her pick up the bag beside me as she grabbed a hold of my hands. “Do you think you could walk?” she asked, “You did mention that your leg started hurting not too long ago?”
I smiled gently, “I think I’m fine, but could we grab the wheelchair before we leave? Just in case?”
She agreed as she guided me to the doors and pulled out the spare wheelchair from the coat room by the entrance. I heard Jazz struggling to pull it out, hearing the clicks from the folded chair as the squeaky wheel graced my ears within the narrow hallway. She helped me get into the chair and placed the bag on my lap as she wheeled me out into the cool night air, locking the door behind us as the sound of someone else spoke out within the darkness, “You good, little man?” he asked, a deep tone that vibrates within the air.
I turned to the sound; a shadowy light, a mixture of blue and red, stood before me. “Elijah?” I called out, and I got an agreeable tone, “I’m good, just a bit weak,” I answered back while I played with the straps on the bag.
Elijah, the bouncer of the club, patted my back as he said, in a more tired tone than Jazz had spoken not too long ago, “Well, thankfully, it is the end of the day, and we can all go home to rest”.
Just as he was about to bid his farewells, I noticed that his shadowy light was getting brighter, and I almost jumped out of my chair, “Wait!” I yelled. I swallowed dryly as I watched Elijah’s light, “Are you going straight home, or are you stopping at some place first?”
I heard the sound of shuffling, maybe he was turning around? “Yeah, I was going to stop at a shop to grab some smokes. Why? I shouldn’t?” he asked wearily.
I watched as his light began to dim slightly, but not enough to be safe. “Why don’t you go stay with your mum tonight? No stops,” I replied, feeling the tension in my shoulders.
There was a silence between us that hung heavily, before Elijah just hummed agreeably, “Okay, no smokes for tonight and staying at my mum's, happy?” he grumbled, not liking the extra distance he had to take, but he wasn’t going to complain. When his light began dimming significantly, I nodded with a smile on my face, showing I was more pleased with this. I can hear Elijah’s jacket ruffling as he said, “Got it, boss, see ya Monday,” before walking off.
I sighed deeply as I felt Jazz pushing me away. “Good job,” she said, kissing the top of my head, making me embarrassed as I tried to protest, but I gave up very quickly.
Since coming to Gotham, my powers have been mutating to accommodate my current state, evolving even, so that it wouldn’t put too much strain on my body and core when I use them. Honestly, these powers have become so useful and help me cover my obsession, while also helping Jazz; it’s small in comparison, but it made me feel useful, even for just a moment.
First, my ghost sense has changed. I could still sense a ghost, but now I can see light again; however, they appear within fragments in the darkness, like stars in the night sky. It’s different, to say the least, because unlike a ghost, which appears to me as a weak projection of themselves, humans don’t have a physical form, but appear as a mix of colours that clash together in a container of their bodies. Usually, they have two colours, one showing more prominently than the other, but from time to time, I have witnessed a clash of more colours that brew like a storm. The colours in question (in theory) are the emotions that their soul always admits, like Jazz has a turquoise (showing: calmness, empathy, compassion, and stress) and grey (showing: practicality, intellect, reliability, maturity, and indecisiveness) colours within her soul that perfectly capture her. Although I could see these lights of colours, it doesn’t mean I know what they mean, nor could I understand what they represent, since colours aren’t always concrete with their meanings at times. Anywho, when someone’s light starts shining brightly, it is because they are about to die soon, like Elijah, not too long ago. I don’t know what would have happened to him, but if he had gone home, he wouldn’t have come back at all. I’ve seen it a few times, understand what could happen if I didn’t try to stop it, and I couldn’t let something bad happen to them when I have this ability to save them from harm.
Next was my ghostly wail. This power was always draining to me since it took up so much of my energy, but now, it doesn’t feel like I’m squeezing every ounce of myself when I open my mouth. This power washes over people like rain, drenching them in emotions I want them to feel. It was something I didn’t know I could do, and it happened on one random night a few months back. Jazz was cleaning up the last of the glassware while I played around with one of the microphones on stage (I was told no one was around besides her and me), and I started singing. Somewhere within the three songs I sang, the manager was there and heard me, cried when I sang ‘I was Here’ by Beyoncé, and offered me a chance to sing for the club. He knew about my condition, had made arrangements so Jazz could have me there while she worked, and be lenient with her time so she could check up on me. With that in mind, he ensured that I would only sing songs if I wanted to, and during the empty slots that they couldn’t fill, I would be paid $10 per song. At first, I didn’t do it, but after some time, I tried it out, just one song per night, and always in the last hour when it's not that packed. Eventually, I gained enough courage to sing a total of four songs on a good night. Jazz had noticed that the few people who loitered around to hear me sing seemed to act strangely; sometimes they got sad, other times they got a boost of energy, and a few times, they became angry. It was because of her that we realised the songs carried some sort of emotion, and with me singing, I amplified it ten times more, causing people to act on those impulses. Now I am really careful about what I sing.
Finally, my most recent one is my ability to duplicate. Before everything, I could hold several duplicates for hours, but now, I was told that I could barely hold one for less than a minute. Frostbite had tested my abilities to see how far I could use them, examining my strength and resilience, before I couldn’t handle the pain; he also managed my core stability during these tests. He told me that I shouldn’t use any of my powers for a long while until I recovered enough, but he had warned me that it may not be the same. One day, during Jazz’s days off, she noticed that a glowing butterfly with iridescent wings came out of me and started flying around the apartment, wandering around before landing on Jazz’s shoulder. It was a surprise to all of us, but once the butterfly returned to me, I was able to see briefly what the butterfly could see. For the first time in months, I got to see my sister’s face, and I cried with tears of joy and pain. She looked older, tired, with dark circles under her eyes; she even cut her hair short and dyed it black, looking completely different. When I told her, she was so happy for me, but also ensured that everything was okay and that I didn’t need to worry too much about her, since she is older and she could take care of herself. But that was the problem; she wasn’t taking care of herself, she gave everything she had to me while she bled over scraps. I’ve only used this ability a few times: once to see the club, second to see the neighbourhood, and thirdly to watch a space documentary (I was finally given the chance to see again, why wouldn’t I use it to watch something about space, especially since there is so much pollution in the sky I can’t see the starts, let alone the moon). There is a backlash to this, which we found out the hard way; when I used it for too long, I would start having nose bleeds before passing out (still worth it). So far, I can only duplicate myself into a butterfly, not as a person or any other creature, just a butterfly, for a few hours at a time.
When I felt the jolt of the wheelchair hitting a curb, I could sense the pressure hit differently as we passed the entrance, from the open, cool air to a cramped hallway that smelled of mothballs and disinfectant. I could hear Jazz pushing the elevator button, the sound of the rusted doors opening up as she wheeled me inside, where I could hear the old rotor wizzing back to life, but barely holding on. The apartment walls have always been thin, so when we arrived on our floor, we could hear our neighbours’ TVs going off, from action movies to some telenovela. Smells such as curry spices and gasoline filled the hallway as we ran by, until we passed the door that smelled like weed and cigarettes, because the next door over is our place, our little home.
Jazz’s keys jingled within the stale air as she opened up the door to our one-bedroom apartment, the one that smelled like cheap vanilla and raspberry just to hide the dampness that was there when we first moved in. Everything we own is second-hand; the couch, TV, bed, and even clothing we all donate that we’ve received from the community centre, along with a few others from ‘an anonymous donor’ that Jazz won’t say (I think Lady Gotham might have had a hand in it, but I am not sure). It's not much, and most of it needs patching or some sort of replacement, but even with semi-functional things, we were used to this dynamic since most of the things that our parents scrapped together were all held by literal duct tape; until that too got used for a weapon I had to worry about later on. But all in all, this is our home, and for the first time since I got my powers, I finally feel safe.