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The central hall of the Watchtower was filled with chatter and laughter. Red lighting raced around groups of people standing together, eating finger food. A big banner with the inscription “Bring Your Kid to Work Day” was hanging over the entrance.
Diana stood in one of the corners overlooking the room with a gentle smile. She had always liked this annual event. It was mostly the older Leaguers bringing their protégés, but occasionally one or another civilian kid was there.
Bruce’s children had even convinced the League to implement family bonding activities—although they had to adjust some of the games to compensate for the abilities of most of them. So the egg-and-spoon race now had no egg to transport, but a highly reactive explosive that couldn’t be shaken too much or it would explode.
Her own protégés were sadly unable to attend today, being away on missions. But she was always happy to see so many of the young heroes. Even her favorite, Jason, was here—despite hating the League.
Diana was walking toward Arthur, who was currently trying to spike the punch, when she heard a sharp crack, followed by a wave of wrongness and nothingness washing over her.
Already with the Lasso in her hand, she spun around, most of the others doing the same.
There, a thin fissure in the air spun around itself. As the fissure grew into a crack, neon green light began to pour out of it. The aura of death—and something other, something ancient—filled the room. She could hear a gasp coming from Giovanni.
Under fleeting whispering, the crack grew and grew. The air around it seemed to distort and twist. A piece of a serviette floated toward it before parts of it crumbled to dust while other parts were consumed by black mold.
By now every hero or vigilante had drawn their weapon or grabbed objects to defend themselves. The civilians and youngest ones were pushed back to the walls.
For a moment, the crack opened wider, revealing neon green fluids beyond it, which made some heroes gasp for air—before a foot stepped out of it. With a frizzle, the crack knitted itself back together.
In front of everyone stood… a teenager.
A bored-looking teenager in jeans and a NASA hoodie.
Looking from hero to hero, he spun around on the heel of his foot until he faced Diana. Ignoring everything around him, he walked toward her and pressed a bundle of notes into her hands.
“That’s all of my allergies and such, but don’t worry, I have it handled. Just see it as an emergency plan. Grandpa is picking me up when the party is over, so don’t worry about it. Now where is the food? Gosh, I haven’t eaten in ages.”
Those were the first words out of his mouth before he walked straight toward the buffet.
“Excuse me, but who are you and how did you get here?” Clark said, hovering in front of the teenager and blocking him.
For the first time, the teenager seemed to actually register something in front of him. But instead of attacking or trying to explain himself, he simply struck his hand out, a bright smile stretching across his face.
“Hi, I’m Danny Nightingale—but call me Danny, or if you want to go with my secret identity, Phantom. What’s your name? Are you a coworker of Diana?” He fired off questions one after another.
Diana decided to intervene herself. The teenager—Danny—seemed to know her. If necessary, she would use her Lasso to force him to answer.
“Please explain how you got here.”
Danny threw her an unbelieving look, his eyes squinting in a way that screamed are you stupid.
“Diana, you know how I got here. Ripping the veil is not something I—” He suddenly paused, his eyes widening. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? Oh gosh, we haven’t met yet.”
“What?” Diana was not following.
“I am so sorry. Of course you’re all suspicious of me—I’m an unknown intruder,” his voice lowered to a mutter. “Bet that’s why CW was smirking at me.”
He straightened his posture and looked around for the first time, cataloging the hostile heroes around him. Danny sighed and gestured with his hands in Diana’s direction.
Her Lasso sprang out of her hand toward him, making her stumble in disbelief.
Wrapped around Danny’s hand, the Lasso glowed golden, indicating that it was working.
“So, uh, hi. I’m really sorry again. I’m Diana’s cousin, Danny.”
She gasped openly.
“Uh, how do I say this… I’m not really living in a linear timeline. So I have met Diana before, but at the moment she has no idea who I am.”
“Wait,” one of the Flashes called. “But you don’t have the aura of a time traveler. Shouldn’t you be a little out of sync?”
In answer, Danny scoffed. “Please. Grandpa controls the timelines. Making me emerge from the timestream without leaving a trace is child’s play for him.”
Okay. That was a lot.
Especially since only one person in her family came to mind with power over time—and she really didn’t know how she should feel about him.
“Anyway, Grandpa and the other Ancients are busy with a project right now. And your father is still refusing to oversee me after I beat him up last time, so Diana has to play babysitter for today.”
He shrugged and brushed past a few heroes to grab some deviled eggs from a nearby table, leaving bewildered faces behind.
Clark turned to Diana, confused. “Uh… I’m not quite sure what to do. But it’s your… cousin, so?”
“I mean, he doesn’t seem to want to attack us. And he said under my Lasso that he’s only here to get babysitting from me. I would say we just let him?”
Most of the others shrugged, while most magic users nodded fervently.
Sighing, Diana looked down at the papers Danny had pushed into her hands. It was mostly medical information, like standard body temperature and heartbeat—both of which seemed extremely low.
The allergy section was particularly interesting. Not only did it list unique substances, but the comments beside them were appalling.
Listed behind Flos Sanguine, which sounded like a species, was: burned in most known universes.
Behind an element she had never heard of was written: half-life time shortened to under a millisecond.
She thought about the power required to affect physical properties on a universal level and shuddered.
Most confusing was the last allergy.
It was scribbled down in another handwriting, with three exclamation marks behind it.
Toast!!!
That was what was written there.
She tilted her head. Was Danny allergic to gluten—or what? But why write toast?
Danny strolled over to a table where a group of teenagers stood, all of them seeming to be about the same age as his mortal body. With a grin, he gulped down the flute of champagne he had grabbed from a tablet. One of them was really handsome, if Danny could say so himself—broad shoulders, pure muscle, deep blue eyes, and black hair.
Deciding that he really didn’t have anything planned for today, and that Diana in her current state didn’t yet know how to give him her disappointed look, he figured he could have a little fun.
Smirking, he winked at the broad teen.
“Hi, I’m Danny, and I can phase my clothes off my body in under a second.”
“Hch—wha… ckough. Excuse me?” spluttered the young hero. A glass shattered in his hand, and the edge of the steel table dented under his whitening grip. His friends were split between shock and laughter.
“Don’t worry, darling. I’m not that breakable.” Danny flexed his bicep. “Hard as diamond. You can throw me through the floor if you want to.”
The teenager was blushing so hard now that he looked like he might explode at any second. An arm snuck around his shoulders, pulling him toward his neighbor—a smaller but equally beautiful hero wearing a domino mask.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but this one is taken,” he said possessively, glaring at Danny.
“Oh, I have nothing against sharing, if that’s what you want,” Danny replied—and he meant it. The masked hero looked like he knew exactly what he wanted.
The smaller hero squinted, evaluating Danny, who simply answered with a grin.
“I’m a clone,” Kon confessed, his shoulders slumping.
“Oh, nice. I have one too,” Danny replied.
“Wait—what?”
“Yeah, my sister. No, forget that—she’s my cousin at the moment.” At the perplexed looks, he added, “She’s still angry I ate her leftovers.”
“You… you have a good relationship with your clone?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
Kon turned toward Tim, his eyes wide and shining, his cheeks flushed.
“Tim, love of my life, I know how you can make me the happiest person alive.”
“He said what to you?” Danny sputtered. “Oh my god. Did you at least get therapy?”
“No,” came a small, quiet voice.
“I’ll give you Jazz’s number. She’s an expert in teenage hero psychology and clone treatment,” Danny said easily. “And don’t worry—I know exactly what will cheer you up.”
Danny overlooked the hall, standing at the edge, half-hidden behind a plant. His breathing had stopped minutes ago so it wouldn’t disturb his meditation. Raising his hand, three fingers pressed together, and for a single breath the room seemed to quiet.
Click.
The next second, a handful of blurs crashed into the walls of the room. Agitated shouts rang out.
Danny just snickered as he strolled over to a red-haired man who was unable to stand up, a small group already gathering around him.
“…I swear, it was like Captain Cold all over again,” the redhead tried to explain to the surrounding people.
“Argh!” came from another fallen person. “Check your soles. Clark, if I get you in my hands—”
The redhead, still sitting, lifted his foot to inspect the bottom of his shoe. A thin layer of ice coated it, negating nearly all friction. Centered on it was the image of a diamond—a diamond with a stylized S inside.
Soon, two heroes were standing unsteadily in front of Superman, while the third was having far too much fun pushing off objects to skid across the room. With furious expressions, they gestured at their iced soles while berating Superman.
The flying hero tried to deny any involvement, but Danny had made sure to replicate his coat of arms precisely.
Not that anybody knew about his ice powers.
And until Diana went to that family dinner two weeks ago, they wouldn’t.
Clark looked nervously to the side. There, across the hall, stood Diana’s creepy cousin, smirking at him—his green eyes shining brightly.
The evening hadn’t gone well for Clark.
There had been too many strange occurrences, and somehow everybody suspected him, regardless of how many times he denied it. Again and again, he had been subjected to angry glances and lectures.
The iced Flashes, Victor—who had measured radiation at his ass and accused Clark of being a pervert—and the metal doors to Hal’s room that had been closed and bent by super strength were just a few examples.
And now there was that Danny kid staring at him.
Clark was slowly starting to suspect that everything was related to him, but the only powers Danny had shown so far were mild telekinesis and flight—which didn’t match the pranks.
Ignoring the staring that somehow made him feel like prey, Clark turned toward the drinks table to grab something when, suddenly, a familiar green flashed in the corner of his vision.
Fear shot through him as he pitched forward, his body going limp. He crashed through the table, liquids flying everywhere as shrieks echoed around the hall.
Lying in a puddle of sticky soda, he glanced up at a severely disappointed Bruce.
“Clark,” Bruce said flatly, “how much did you drink this evening?”
“It wasn’t my fault—I’m not drunk,” Clark protested, red-faced. He pointed shakily toward Diana’s cousin. “It was him! He flashed kryptonite at me!”
The whole room turned toward the boy, who—for whatever reason—had his mouth full of pretzel sticks, his cheeks puffed out like a hamster’s. While trying to shove another one in, he looked up, seemingly surprised by the attention.
“UAhaa?” Danny tried to ask, making some of the younger heroes snicker.
“Danny, please chew and swallow before you try to answer,” Diana ordered sternly. No cousin of hers should behave like that.
Although, when she remembered who was raising that teenager, she supposed she should be grateful that food was the only thing he was trying to stuff into his mouth.
Her thoughts were reinforced when Danny’s neck expanded unnaturally, snake-like, and with a wet swishing sound the sticks were sucked down.
Clark gagged. He was not the only one.
“What? Sorry, I was concentrating,” Danny said, sounding disappointed. “I nearly broke my old record.”
“Did you flash Clark with a kryptonite shard?” Diana asked again patiently.
Danny stared off into space, clearly thinking—though Clark was convinced it was just to provoke him.
“Well,” Danny said slowly, “that depends. What is kryptonite?”
This little shit. Clark was fuming.
“Can you just show us what you have in your pockets?” Diana continued. “So we can assure Clark that this isn’t your fault.”
As if that kid would really—
“Sure. Give me a moment.”
To Clark’s horror and disgust, Danny reached into his own chest, rummaging around inside it.
“Hm, not that—that’s the Necronomicon. Oh! The Infinity Gauntlet, totally forgot about that. Fuck, the Book of Souls—I really should give that back to Thanatos soon…”
Clark nearly vomited as the teen pulled various objects out of his torso. Some were clearly stained with fresh blood.
“…and my homework, which I definitely didn’t forget on purpose for the last week. Nope, that’s everything. Was any of that kryptonite?” Danny asked, blinking up innocently.
Clark wasn’t fooled. He knew what he had seen.
“No, it was not. Thank you, Danny,” Diana said, then turned to Clark with a frown. “Look, Clark, I understand that we all just want to have some fun, but this is still a family-friendly event. I think it would be best if you go home and sleep your intoxication off.”
Clark gaped at her. “I’m not drunk,” he stammered, humiliated in front of the entire League.
“Clark,” Diana said calmly, “please make this easy. I don’t want to call Lois…”
Danny walked down a hallway when a hand grabbed his collar and pulled him into a maintenance room. Looking up, he came face to face with two dazzling smiles.
“That was awesome, man. I took so many photos. Next time he talks about my lack of control, I’m definitely bringing that up,” Kon babbled delightedly, his arms gesturing wildly.
“I hope you liked the gifts. Courting is very important for my people, you know,” Danny said, puffing out his chest.
A finger poked his bicep, redirecting his attention.
“And why don’t I get such presents? I’ve already made a list of people who would deserve it…” Tim was silenced when cool lips sealed over his mouth. With a groan, he melted into the other teen.
“Didn’t you like the restraining order against that zombie guy? I bypassed a lot of bureaucracy for that, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah—very impressive. Now shut up and kiss me.”
Bruce looked up when the doors to his quarters banged open. Jason and Dick stumbled in, both pale and sickly. Before Bruce could say anything, Dick started gagging while Jason rushed to the sink, running water over his eyes.
“Boys?” Bruce asked, alarmed by their behavior.
“Oh my god, Bruce, it was terrible. There were so many arms—and why does a hand need lips and teeth?” Dick cried.
Now Bruce was completely out of the loop. “What?”
“The floating tongues, B. The floating tongues,” Jason groaned. “What does he use them for? What does he use them for?”
“Can somebody give me context?” Bruce snapped. “Now!”
“Kon and Tim—they’re with… with…” Dick stammered.
“With who?” Fear settled deep in Bruce’s chest. “What is happening with Tim?”
“…Danny,” Jason whispered, Diana’s cousin’s name spoken with equal parts fear and disgust. “He’s having—”
Ten minutes later, an enraged Bruce was patrolling the hallways, a Batarang clenched in his hand.
The no-kill rule was buried beneath the fury of a father.