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## Chapter One: Gotham Has a Loose Screw
The first time Danny saw Batman, he was elbow-deep inside a broken laundromat dryer.
This was not how he had imagined meeting Batman.
Not that Danny had spent a great deal of time imagining it. He had been in Gotham for exactly nine days, and most of those days had been occupied by more immediate concerns, such as finding food, avoiding police officers, figuring out which gargoyles were decorative and which ones had cameras hidden in their mouths, and trying not to sleep anywhere that smelled strongly of chemicals.
Gotham had a surprising number of places that smelled strongly of chemicals.
It also had Batman.
Everyone knew Gotham had Batman. Danny had known that before he arrived. Batman was one of those facts people carried around without really thinking about it, like Antarctica being cold or school cafeterias serving pizza that technically qualified as an object but not necessarily as food.
Batman lived in Gotham.
Batman punched criminals.
Batman brooded.
Batman had probably never once in his life been elbow-deep in a broken laundromat dryer.
Danny was beginning to suspect this was a serious oversight in Batman’s education.
The laundromat was called Suds & Duds, although half the letters on the sign had burned out, leaving it to advertise S DS & D DS to the world. It sat on the corner of a street where three buildings were boarded up, one was leaning in a way Danny found structurally offensive, and the remaining two had bars over every window.
The owner was a tired woman named Mrs. Alvarez who had caught Danny trying to sleep behind the hot-water tanks two nights earlier.
Danny had expected screaming.
Instead, she had stared at him for a long moment, taking in the backpack under his head, the three shirts he was wearing against the cold, and the screwdriver still clutched in one hand.
Then she had said, “You know anything about dryers?”
Danny had looked at the row of machines.
“Probably.”
It had not been a lie.
Danny knew a lot about machines. His parents had been inventors. Specifically, they had been inventors who considered safety labels a personal insult and viewed every household appliance as something waiting to be dismantled and rebuilt with a laser attached.
Danny had learned how to solder before he learned how to drive.
Admittedly, he still did not know how to drive.
He had driven the Specter Speeder several times, but that was less driving and more screaming while Tucker yelled directions and Sam criticized his cornering technique.
He did not think it counted.
Mrs. Alvarez’s dryer had turned out to have a cracked belt, a seized roller, and enough lint packed around the motor to knit a medium-sized sheep.
Danny had cleaned it out, replaced the belt with one salvaged from another dead machine, and realigned the drum.
Mrs. Alvarez had watched the entire process with her arms crossed.
When the dryer rumbled back to life, she gave him twenty dollars, a sandwich, and permission to sleep in the storage room as long as he did not touch the breaker panel without asking.
Danny considered this an excellent arrangement.
He was fixing the fourth dryer when the skylight exploded.
Not dramatically.
It did not shatter.
A black shape simply dropped through the already-broken pane, landed silently on top of a washing machine, and unfolded into a six-foot nightmare with pointed ears.
Danny jerked so hard he hit his head on the dryer drum.
“Ow!”
Batman turned his head.
Danny stared out through the open front panel of the dryer.
Batman stared back.
They remained that way for several seconds: Gotham’s feared vigilante standing on a washing machine like an enormous, judgmental gargoyle, and Danny lying halfway inside an industrial dryer with a wrench in his mouth.
Then Batman looked toward the back door.
Footsteps pounded in the alley.
Danny pulled the wrench from his mouth.
“Are you being chased?”
Batman’s expression did not change.
That was impressive, considering most of it was hidden behind a mask.
“No.”
A gunshot cracked outside.
Batman glanced toward the wall.
Danny raised his eyebrows.
Batman stepped off the washing machine.
The front door burst open.
Three men wearing ski masks rushed inside.
The first one skidded to a halt.
Batman stood between the rows of machines, cape pooling around him.
Danny, still inside the dryer, had a very good view of the criminals’ reactions.
It was almost artistic.
The first man’s eyes widened.
The second man ran directly into him.
The third man whispered, “Oh, come on.”
Batman moved.
Danny had seen fights before. He had been in fights before. He had fought ghosts, monsters, ghost hunters, evil future versions of himself, and one deeply unreasonable lunch lady.
Batman fought differently.
He fought like he had planned the entire altercation three days ago.
A criminal swung a crowbar. Batman caught his wrist, twisted, and sent him face-first into the top of a folding table.
The second man raised a gun.
Danny tensed.
Batman threw something. The gun flew away and landed inside an open washing machine.
The third man tried to run.
Batman grabbed the back of his jacket and redirected him into a plastic chair, which immediately collapsed.
The whole thing took twelve seconds.
Danny counted.
Batman stood amid three groaning criminals.
The laundromat was silent except for the steady tumble of the newly repaired dryer beside Danny’s head.
Batman looked at him.
Danny slowly backed out of the machine.
There was lint in his hair.
Batman’s gaze moved over him: worn shoes, oversized coat, tool belt, grease on his cheek, narrow shoulders.
Danny resisted the urge to become invisible.
He had promised himself he would not use his powers unless it was an emergency. People noticed impossible things. Impossible things led to questions. Questions led to government agents in white suits and laboratories with restraints built into the tables.
So Danny sat on the floor and attempted to look like a completely ordinary fifteen-year-old who frequently witnessed vigilante assaults from inside laundry appliances.
Batman looked at the dryer.
“You repaired that.”
It was not a question.
Danny glanced at it.
“Yes?”
“The machine beside it is newer.”
“Yeah, but its motor’s burned out. That one just needed maintenance.”
Batman’s head tilted slightly.
Danny could practically hear the detective thoughts happening behind the lenses.
“You work here?”
“Sort of.”
“How old are you?”
“Old enough to understand labor laws are more like suggestions in this neighborhood.”
Batman did not laugh.
Danny had not really expected him to.
Behind Batman, one of the criminals tried to crawl away.
Without looking, Batman planted a boot on the end of the man’s coat and pinned him in place.
Danny leaned sideways to see around him.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Yes.”
“I meant the coat.”
Batman looked down.
The criminal stopped moving.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Batman turned toward the skylight.
Danny blinked.
“Wait. You’re leaving through the roof?”
Batman fired a grappling hook upward.
The cable caught somewhere in the darkness.
“You know there’s a door, right?”
Batman looked back at him.
Danny pointed toward the front of the building.
“It opens and everything.”
Batman rose through the skylight without answering.
Danny listened to the faint scrape of boots overhead, then looked at the three criminals.
The one under the coat cleared his throat.
“Kid?”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.”
“You were going to ask me to help you escape.”
There was a pause.
“Maybe.”
Danny picked up his wrench.
“No.”
By the time the police arrived, Danny was back inside the dryer.
It felt simpler.
Mrs. Alvarez did not return until morning.
She looked at the shattered chair, the bent folding table, the unconscious criminals, and the police report taped to the counter.
Then she looked at Danny.
“Dryer works?”
Danny pressed the start button.
The machine began turning smoothly.
Mrs. Alvarez nodded.
“Good.”
She handed him a breakfast burrito.
That was the end of the discussion.
Over the next week, Danny saw Batman six more times.
This was partially because Batman apparently traveled through Gotham by flinging himself from one unsafe architectural feature to another.
Danny found this fascinating.
Every building in Gotham seemed to be disintegrating at a slightly different rate. Cornices crumbled. Fire escapes sagged. Gutters hung loose. Gargoyles had cracks running through their wings.
Batman trusted all of them with his full body weight.
Danny did not know whether to admire the confidence or question the judgment.
The second sighting occurred while Danny was replacing the loose hinge on the back door of a bakery.
The bakery belonged to a man named Mr. Singh, who had discovered Danny staring at a tray of cooling bread through the window.
Mr. Singh had opened the door and asked, “Can you fix a freezer?”
Danny had asked, “Can you pay in food?”
Mr. Singh had looked him up and down.
“I can pay in money.”
“And food?”
“And food.”
The freezer needed a new thermostat.
The back door needed three screws and a new strike plate.
The front display light had a corroded wire.
Danny fixed all of them.
He was standing on a bucket, tightening the last hinge, when Batman flew past the mouth of the alley.
Actually flew.
Cape spread wide, body cutting through the rain, black silhouette briefly framed against the pale sky.
Danny nearly fell off the bucket.
Batman landed on the roof opposite the bakery.
The stone edge cracked beneath one boot.
Danny stared.
Batman crouched, apparently listening to something through his cowl.
A pebble broke free from the roof and dropped into the alley.
Danny caught it.
Batman looked down.
Danny held up the pebble.
“That’s a bad landing spot.”
Batman remained crouched.
“The mortar’s failing,” Danny continued. “See the light patch under your left foot? Water’s getting behind it.”
Batman shifted his weight.
Another pebble fell.
Danny caught that one too.
Batman stepped backward.
“Thank you,” he said.
Then he jumped off the building.
Danny leaned out of the alley.
Batman’s grappling line caught on a decorative stone flourish two buildings away.
The flourish bent.
Danny winced.
“You’re making it worse!”
Batman swung out of sight.
Danny climbed down from the bucket.
Mr. Singh appeared in the doorway holding a paper bag.
“Talking to Batman?”
“He’s going to pull a gargoyle onto somebody.”
Mr. Singh considered this.
“He has been doing it a long time.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s doing it correctly.”
The bag contained two pastries and a loaf of bread.
Danny ate one pastry and saved the rest.
The third time he saw Batman, Danny was under a sink in a restaurant owned by a woman named Miss Dottie, who had offered him ten dollars to unclog a drain and then kept finding additional things that were “just a little temperamental.”
The drain was clogged.
The faucet leaked.
The stove’s pilot light was dirty.
One table wobbled.
A ceiling fan clicked on every third rotation.
Danny had been there for five hours.
Miss Dottie kept feeding him pie.
Danny suspected the two facts might be connected.
He was tightening a pipe fitting when boots struck the rooftop.
Dust sifted down from the ceiling.
Danny froze.
A second impact followed.
Then a third.
Something heavy rolled overhead.
Miss Dottie looked up from the counter.
“Bat business,” she said.
Danny slid out from beneath the sink.
“Your roof is eighty years old.”
“Eighty-seven.”
There was a thud.
A man screamed.
Danny grabbed a flashlight and headed for the stairs.
Miss Dottie caught his sleeve.
“Where are you going?”
“To stop Batman from coming through the ceiling.”
“He does that sometimes.”
“That is not better.”
Danny climbed to the roof.
He emerged into rain, wind, and chaos.
Batman was fighting four men beside the chimney.
One had a knife. One had a length of chain. One had what appeared to be a toaster.
Danny had questions about the toaster.
Batman ducked beneath the chain. The chain struck a vent pipe.
The pipe bent.
Danny made a strangled sound.
The man with the toaster threw it.
Batman dodged.
The toaster flew directly toward a skylight.
Danny acted without thinking.
He reached out.
The toaster stopped in midair.
For one terrible second, it floated above the glass, wrapped in a faint green glow.
Everyone stared at it.
Danny stared at it.
Then he yanked his hand down.
The toaster dropped neatly into his arms.
The roof remained silent.
Rain pattered against Batman’s cape.
Danny held the toaster against his chest.
“Uh,” he said.
One criminal pointed.
“The kid did something!”
“No, I didn’t.”
“The toaster stopped!”
“It got caught in an updraft.”
“There’s no—”
Batman punched him.
The criminal fell over.
The remaining men apparently decided the floating toaster was not the most urgent issue.
They resumed attacking Batman.
Danny stepped around them, knelt beside the bent vent pipe, and examined it.
The flange had pulled halfway out of the roof.
He sighed.
Behind him came several crashes, a grunt, and the unmistakable sound of somebody being thrown into a pile of trash bags.
Batman approached.
Danny was applying roofing sealant around the base of the pipe.
“You should not be up here.”
“You bent the vent.”
Batman looked at it.
“The roof is unsafe.”
“Yes,” Danny said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Batman went quiet.
Danny could feel the stare on the back of his head.
He continued smoothing sealant with a putty knife.
“The toaster,” Batman said.
“Commercial model.”
“It stopped in midair.”
“The cord caught on something.”
“There was no cord.”
Danny looked over his shoulder.
Batman stood very still.
The white lenses of his cowl gave nothing away, but Danny knew suspicion when he saw it.
He had been raised by professional suspicious people.
He held out the toaster.
“Do you want it?”
“No.”
“Then I’m taking it downstairs. Miss Dottie can probably use it.”
“It was used as a weapon.”
“It’s still a perfectly good toaster.”
One of the criminals groaned.
Danny looked toward them.
They had been zip-tied together around the chimney.
The man nearest Danny had a black eye and an expression of personal betrayal.
“That kid’s a witch,” he muttered.
Danny frowned.
“That’s rude.”
Batman studied Danny for another long moment.
“What is your name?”
“No.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
“You are a minor.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Where are your parents?”
Danny’s grip tightened around the toaster.
The humor drained out of the night with startling speed.
He looked down at the rainwater running over the roof.
“They’re not around.”
“Who is responsible for you?”
“Nobody.”
Batman’s cape shifted in the wind.
“You need somewhere safe to stay.”
“I have somewhere.”
“A laundromat storage room is not permanent housing.”
Danny’s head snapped up.
Batman said nothing.
Danny felt cold despite the raincoat Mr. Singh had given him.
“You followed me.”
“I investigated.”
“That sounds like following with extra steps.”
“You have been seen sleeping in four commercial buildings.”
“Five.”
Batman paused.
Danny regretted the correction immediately.
“You are performing repairs in exchange for money and food,” Batman continued. “You are not attending school. There are no recent missing-person reports matching your description.”
“That means you can stop looking.”
“No.”
Danny stood.
The toaster was heavy in his arms.
“I’m fine.”
“You are fifteen.”
“I’m competent.”
“Those are not the same thing.”
Danny hated how calm Batman sounded.
He hated the sensible weight of the words.
He hated that beneath the suspicion and the interrogation, there was something almost like concern.
Concern was dangerous.
Concern opened doors.
Concern asked names and dates and where he had come from.
Concern found graves.
Concern found records.
Concern found Amity Park and the crater where his house used to be.
Danny stepped backward.
Batman lifted one hand.
“Wait.”
Danny allowed his intangibility to flicker through him.
His heel sank half an inch into the roof.
Batman noticed.
His posture changed.
Danny turned and ran.
He reached the edge of the building and jumped.
Batman lunged after him.
Danny dropped out of sight, passed silently through the wall, and landed inside the restaurant’s supply closet.
He became fully solid, pressed both hands over his mouth, and listened.
A shadow crossed the skylight.
Batman’s boots struck the alley pavement.
Miss Dottie called from the kitchen, “You fall through my roof, I’m charging you!”
Danny stayed in the closet until Batman left.
The next morning, he repaired the skylight latch.
Then he packed his backpack and moved to another neighborhood.
This did not work.
Batman found him again two days later.
To be fair, Danny made it easy.
He was hanging from the underside of a fire escape, replacing a dangerously rusted bolt, when Batman swung around the corner and nearly collided with him.
Batman twisted midair.
Danny flattened himself against the brick.
Batman’s boots missed his head by six inches.
The grappling line went taut.
Batman swung past, released, and landed on a neighboring roof.
Danny stared after him.
Batman stared back.
“You,” Batman said.
Danny looked around.
He was the only person dangling three stories above an alley.
“Probably.”
“You disappeared.”
“I moved.”
“You went through a locked door.”
“Gotham locks are terrible.”
“You passed through a wall.”
“Allegedly.”
Batman stepped to the roof’s edge.
“What are you doing?”
“Preventing this fire escape from killing someone.”
The metal groaned.
Danny tightened the bolt.
Batman’s gaze tracked over the structure.
“The upper brackets are corroded.”
“I know.”
“The landing is pulling away from the wall.”
“I know.”
“The second support beam is cracked.”
Danny stopped.
He craned his neck.
“Where?”
Batman pointed.
Danny squinted.
“Oh.”
Batman fired his grappling hook. It wrapped around the top rail.
“Do not put weight on it!” Danny shouted.
Batman pulled.
The fire escape shifted upward just enough for Danny to swing himself onto the lower landing.
Batman anchored the line around a rooftop vent.
Danny climbed.
When he reached the roof, Batman was waiting.
Danny dusted rust flakes from his sleeves.
“Thanks.”
“You could have fallen.”
“I can fly.”
Silence.
Danny closed his eyes.
Batman said, “You can fly.”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“I say a lot of things when I’m hanging upside down.”
Batman folded his arms.
Danny looked at him.
Batman looked back.
A police siren wailed several blocks away.
Someone shouted from a window below, “Either kiss or fight somewhere else!”
Danny leaned over the roof edge.
“Sorry!”
Batman did not react.
Danny suspected the man had trained himself not to respond to Gotham residents.
It was probably necessary.
“What are you?” Batman asked.
Danny flinched.
Batman’s voice was not cruel. That almost made it worse.
Danny stared at the worn toes of his shoes.
“I’m a handyman.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“It’s what I’ve got.”
The rooftop stretched between them, silvered by weak afternoon light.
Danny considered running again.
Batman would follow.
He considered turning invisible.
Batman had probably adjusted his equipment after the restaurant.
Batman seemed like the sort of person who built a countermeasure every time someone surprised him.
Danny wondered whether he had a toaster detector now.
Batman lowered his arms.
“What happened to your family?”
Danny swallowed.
“They died.”
The answer sat between them.
Batman went completely still.
Danny had noticed that Batman often became still when other people became emotional. It was not the stillness of indifference. It was the stillness of someone afraid that moving too quickly might scare off an injured animal.
Danny resented how accurately it worked.
“When?” Batman asked.
“A while ago.”
“How long have you been alone?”
“A while.”
“That is not a unit of time.”
“It is when you stop using calendars.”
Batman looked toward the city.
From the roof, Gotham appeared to be made entirely of wet brick, old stone, and bad decisions.
Danny understood the appeal.
The city was ugly, but it was honestly ugly.
Amity Park had always looked cheerful. Bright lawns. Painted houses. Smiling signs welcoming visitors.
Underneath, there had been ghost attacks, government laboratories, and parents who sharpened scalpels at the kitchen table.
Gotham did not pretend.
The gargoyles looked like monsters because monsters lived there.
The alleys looked dangerous because they were.
When people were kind, they did not dress it up either. Mrs. Alvarez gave him sandwiches without asking him to be grateful. Mr. Singh paid him fairly. Miss Dottie smacked his hand with a spoon when he tried to leave without taking dinner.
Gotham was broken.
Gotham knew it was broken.
Danny could work with that.
“I don’t want foster care,” he said.
Batman looked at him.
“I don’t want a group home. I don’t want police. I don’t want doctors. I don’t want anyone calling anywhere or digging around or trying to figure out what happened.”
“You are injured.”
“I’m not.”
“You favor your left side.”
Danny stopped himself from looking down.
Batman continued.
“You have healing bruises on both wrists. Your weight is below a healthy range. You sleep near heating equipment because your body temperature drops unusually low at night.”
“That is an incredibly creepy amount of information.”
“It is incomplete.”
“Good.”
“I can help you.”
Danny laughed.
It came out sharper than he intended.
“People keep saying that.”
Batman’s jaw tightened.
Danny wished he had not said it.
The wind pulled at Batman’s cape.
A loose metal sign clattered somewhere below.
Danny stared at the rooftop gravel.
“I’m not hurting anybody,” he said quietly. “I fix things. I do jobs. I get paid. I eat. I find places to sleep. I don’t steal unless it’s from the garbage, and I don’t break into anywhere unless it’s abandoned or somebody said I could be there.”
“You are surviving.”
“Yes.”
“You should not have to.”
Danny’s throat hurt.
He shrugged.
“Should doesn’t fix much.”
Batman looked past him toward the fire escape.
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”
The answer surprised Danny.
Batman stepped around him and crouched at the roof edge.
He examined the fire escape’s upper mount.
“The brick around the anchor has deteriorated.”
Danny crouched beside him.
“It needs a backing plate.”
“And replacement bolts.”
“Stainless steel, preferably.”
“Galvanized would be sufficient.”
“Not near the waterfront.”
Batman looked at him.
Danny looked back.
Batman said, “Stainless steel.”
“Thank you.”
They spent twenty minutes discussing the structural failures of the fire escape.
This was how Danny accidentally acquired Batman as a construction assistant.
Batman did not do much actual construction.
He mostly held things.
He was very good at holding things.
When Danny needed to remove the damaged support beam, Batman braced the entire landing with one arm while Danny cut through the rusted bolts.
Danny tried not to think about how impossible this was.
Batman tried not to comment when Danny lifted the replacement beam by himself.
They both failed politely.
At one point, Batman passed him a wrench without being asked.
Danny accepted it.
Neither mentioned the fact that the wrench had come from Batman’s utility belt.
“What else do you carry in there?” Danny asked.
“Tools.”
“You carry a full socket set?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Batman looked down at the wrench in Danny’s hand.
Danny waited.
Batman said, “Preparedness.”
“That belt has emotional significance for you, doesn’t it?”
Batman took the wrench back.
When the fire escape was secure, Danny climbed down and bounced experimentally on the landing.
It did not move.
Batman descended using the stairs instead of his grappling hook.
Danny approved.
At the bottom, the building superintendent came outside.
He looked at the repaired supports.
Then he looked at Danny.
Then he looked at Batman.
“Which one of you do I pay?”
Danny raised his hand.
Batman vanished.
Not metaphorically.
Danny turned to point at him, and he was gone.
The superintendent frowned.
“Does he always do that?”
“Apparently.”
The man handed Danny forty dollars.
Danny stared at the money.
“That’s too much.”
“You kept the back stairs from collapsing.”
“You bought the materials.”
“Take it before I reconsider.”
Danny took it.
As he walked away, something small struck his backpack.
He spun around.
No one was behind him.
A compact black pouch lay on the sidewalk.
Inside was a set of high-quality insulated screwdrivers, a folding multimeter, a flashlight, and three protein bars.
There was no note.
Danny looked up at the rooftops.
A cape disappeared behind a chimney.
Danny held up one of the screwdrivers.
“This does not mean we’re friends!”
No answer came.
Danny tucked the tools into his backpack.
The protein bars went into his coat pocket.
He ate one before reaching the end of the block.
## Chapter Two: Batman Versus the Building Inspector
Batman was not worried about the child.
He was assessing the situation.
This distinction was important.
It was also, according to Alfred, entirely fictional.
“You have spent six consecutive evenings tracking a fifteen-year-old repairman,” Alfred said over the comms.
Batman stood on a rooftop overlooking a narrow street in the East End.
Below, Daniel—surname unknown—was installing a new light over the entrance of a small grocery store.
“I am not tracking him.”
“Of course not.”
“I am monitoring a vulnerable minor with unexplained abilities.”
“While carrying a cordless drill.”
Batman looked down at the cordless drill clipped to his belt.
“It may be useful.”
“I am sure it will strike terror into the hearts of Gotham’s criminal underworld.”
Batman muted the comm.
Below, Daniel stepped down from a ladder.
The grocery store owner flipped a switch.
The new light illuminated the sidewalk.
Three people standing nearby applauded.
Daniel bowed extravagantly, nearly lost his balance, recovered, and pretended that had been intentional.
Batman narrowed his eyes.
The boy’s movements were still too quick.
His balance was too precise.
His body temperature remained abnormally low, although it fluctuated when he worked.
He had no identifiable fingerprints in local systems.
Facial recognition returned uncertain matches to a missing child from Illinois named Daniel Fenton, but most of the associated records had been sealed, corrupted, or removed.
The available information was troubling.
Fenton’s parents and older sister had died in an explosion.
Fenton himself was presumed dead, though no body had been recovered.
Federal agencies had taken control of the site.
Three days later, most public records connected to the family vanished.
Batman had attempted to access the federal files.
Someone had attempted to trace him back.
That alone warranted caution.
The child was also, unmistakably, a metahuman.
Or an alien.
Or magical.
Or some combination Gotham had not yet invented a category for.
Batman had seen him phase through a roof drain the previous evening.
Daniel had claimed it was “a trick of the light.”
The roof drain had been six inches wide.
Batman did not believe him.
Daniel finished packing his tools.
He accepted a paper bag from the store owner and tucked it carefully into his backpack.
Then he turned toward the alley.
Batman fired his grappling line and crossed to the next roof.
Daniel stopped.
He looked up.
Batman remained in shadow.
Daniel put his hands on his hips.
“You’re going to pull that chimney cap loose.”
Batman looked at the grappling hook.
It had caught beneath the metal cap.
The cap shifted slightly.
Batman released the line.
Daniel nodded.
“Growth.”
Batman dropped to the alley.
Daniel jumped.
“You cannot keep approaching me like that.”
“You knew I was here.”
“I knew you were on the roof. I didn’t know you were going to descend like an angry curtain.”
Batman looked at the boy’s backpack.
“You are carrying more weight.”
“I got paid.”
“That does not explain the weight.”
“I bought supplies.”
Daniel started walking.
Batman followed.
The boy glanced sideways.
“Do you not have crime?”
“Yes.”
“Somewhere else?”
“At the moment, no urgent calls require my attention.”
“So I’m your hobby.”
“No.”
“That sounded too fast.”
They walked in silence.
Daniel’s route took them deeper into the neighborhood.
Batman recognized several buildings he had visited during investigations. Two had previously broken exterior lights. Both were now illuminated.
A boarded window had been replaced.
A loose gutter was secured.
A bent security gate had been realigned.
Batman stopped.
Daniel kept walking.
“What?” the boy asked.
“You repaired this block.”
“Not the whole block.”
Batman looked toward a second-story window.
The damaged shutter had been rehung.
Daniel followed his gaze.
“Mrs. Kozlowski paid me in soup.”
“The grocery store light.”
“Thirty dollars.”
“The security gate.”
“Free. It was annoying me.”
Batman studied him.
Daniel shifted his backpack.
“What?”
“You selected repairs that improve public safety.”
“I selected repairs people asked me to do.”
“The alley light near the bus stop was not requested.”
Daniel looked away.
“The wiring was exposed.”
“The handrail outside the clinic.”
“It wobbled.”
“The loose paving stones beside the senior center.”
“Trip hazard.”
Batman waited.
Daniel scowled.
“Fine. Gotham is held together with rust and spite. I’m allowed to have standards.”
“You cannot repair the entire city.”
“Not with that attitude.”
A shout echoed from the next street.
Batman turned.
A woman screamed.
He ran.
Daniel groaned behind him.
“Oh, sure, now there’s crime.”
Batman reached the intersection in seconds.
Two men were attempting to force a woman out of her car.
One held a handgun.
The other had smashed the driver’s-side window.
Batman struck the armed man first.
He disarmed him, drove an elbow into his sternum, and turned toward the second attacker.
The second man stumbled backward.
His foot caught beneath a raised section of sidewalk.
He fell.
His head struck a mailbox.
He stopped moving.
Batman stared at the uneven concrete.
Daniel jogged around the corner.
He took in the scene.
Then he looked down at the sidewalk.
Batman said, “No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to repair it.”
“It just took out a carjacker.”
“It is still dangerous.”
Daniel crouched and ran his fingers over the lifted slab.
“Tree root.”
Police sirens approached.
Batman restrained the conscious attacker.
When he looked back, Daniel had taken a piece of chalk from his pocket and drawn a large circle around the hazard.
Inside the circle, he wrote:
EVIL SIDEWALK
WATCH YOUR STEP
Batman read the words.
Daniel capped the chalk.
“Temporary solution.”
“You carry chalk.”
“You carry shark repellent.”
Batman went still.
Daniel’s eyes widened.
“Oh my God, you do, don’t you?”
“No.”
“That was another fast answer.”
The police arrived.
Batman turned away from the sidewalk.
Daniel followed him into the alley.
“You have shark repellent.”
“I do not.”
“In one of the belt compartments?”
“No.”
“Emergency underwater kit?”
“No.”
“Batboat?”
Batman fired his grappling hook.
Daniel grabbed his cape.
“Do not attach that to the drainpipe!”
Batman looked up.
The hook was wrapped around a cast-iron pipe.
“It is secured.”
“It’s held on by two brackets and optimism.”
Batman adjusted the hook toward the roof ledge.
Daniel released his cape.
“You’re welcome.”
Batman ascended.
Daniel floated up beside him.
Batman turned his head.
Daniel froze in midair.
They stared at one another.
Daniel looked down.
He was hovering twenty feet above the alley.
“Huh,” he said.
“You can fly.”
“Strong updraft.”
“There is no wind.”
“Localized weather event.”
“Daniel.”
The boy dropped onto the rooftop.
Batman landed beside him.
Daniel shoved his hands into his pockets.
“You know my name.”
“I believe your name is Daniel Fenton.”
The boy’s face emptied.
Every trace of humor disappeared.
Batman immediately knew he had made a mistake.
Not in identifying him.
In saying it here. Without warning. Without giving him an exit.
Daniel stepped backward.
Batman did not move.
“I am not going to contact the federal agencies associated with your case.”
Daniel’s eyes flashed green.
It lasted less than a second.
Batman catalogued the change and set it aside.
“Why?” Daniel asked.
“Because they attempted to conceal your existence.”
Daniel’s shoulders rose.
“And because the legislation establishing their authority refers to a class of beings as non-sentient despite extensive evidence to the contrary.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
Batman continued carefully.
“Their legal standing is questionable. Their research protocols are unethical. Their facilities have multiple documented containment failures.”
“You hacked them.”
“Yes.”
A little color returned to Daniel’s face.
“You hacked the government.”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
Batman considered the correct answer.
Daniel’s expression became suspicious.
“You did it before you knew whether I was dangerous.”
“I knew you were fifteen.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” Batman said. “It is not.”
Daniel turned away.
He stood at the edge of the rooftop, looking out over Gotham.
Batman remained several feet behind him.
The city moved below them. Traffic passed. Signs flickered. A train rattled in the distance.
After a long silence, Daniel said, “Danny.”
Batman waited.
“I go by Danny.”
“All right.”
“And I’m not a ghost.”
Batman said nothing.
Danny glanced over his shoulder.
“I’m not.”
“I did not say you were.”
“You thought it really loudly.”
Batman adjusted his cape.
Danny sighed.
“I’m half ghost.”
Batman had prepared for several possibilities.
That was not one of them.
“Half.”
“Complicated lab accident.”
“What constitutes half of a ghost?”
“I don’t know. What constitutes all of a Batman?”
Batman decided not to answer.
Danny rubbed at one wrist.
“My parents hunted ghosts,” he said. “Then they found out about me.”
The movement of his hand stopped.
Batman waited.
He knew better than to fill silences like this.
Mostly.
“They didn’t take it well,” Danny finished.
Batman’s jaw tightened.
“The marks on your wrists.”
Danny pulled his sleeves lower.
“I got away.”
“The explosion?”
Danny looked back over the city.
“I got away,” he repeated.
Batman understood the boundary.
For now.
“The federal agency is searching for you,” he said.
“They think I died.”
“They are not convinced.”
Danny’s eyes closed.
“They will not be informed of your location,” Batman continued. “Neither will local law enforcement.”
Danny looked at him sharply.
“You’re not taking me in?”
“You require shelter.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Batman paused.
The correct decision was obvious. A minor living alone required intervention, medical assessment, education, legal protection, and stable housing.
But Danny was not an ordinary missing child.
The systems designed to protect him might expose him.
And Batman had seen the way the boy reacted to authority, to questions, to the possibility of confinement.
Force would not create safety.
It would create a chase.
“No,” Batman said. “I am not taking you anywhere against your will.”
Danny stared.
Batman continued.
“But your current situation is unacceptable.”
“There it is.”
“You sleep in businesses.”
“With permission.”
“You eat irregularly.”
“I eat all the time.”
“You ate a jar of peanut butter for dinner last night.”
Danny’s mouth fell open.
“You were watching me?”
“The roof across from the repair shop provides a clear line of sight.”
“That was private peanut butter.”
“You used a screwdriver as a spoon.”
“It was clean.”
“You need a residence.”
“I need people to stop climbing on weak roofs.”
Batman reached into his utility belt.
Danny backed up.
Batman withdrew a key.
He held it out.
Danny eyed it.
“What’s that?”
“A safe house.”
“No.”
“It is currently unoccupied.”
“No.”
“It has two bedrooms, running water, heat, and reinforced locks.”
“No.”
“There is a workshop in the basement.”
Danny hesitated.
Batman noticed.
Danny noticed him noticing.
“No.”
“The workshop requires organization.”
Danny narrowed his eyes.
“That is manipulative.”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
“The residence is not connected to Bruce Wayne.”
Danny stared.
Batman remained motionless.
“That,” Danny said slowly, “is a weirdly specific thing to say.”
Batman said nothing.
Danny’s eyes narrowed further.
Then widened.
Then narrowed again.
“No.”
Batman continued holding out the key.
“You’re Bruce Wayne.”
“No.”
“Fast answer.”
“It is not relevant.”
“Oh my God.”
Danny began pacing.
“You are Bruce Wayne. That explains the equipment. And the expensive tools. And the weird voice.”
“The voice is tactical.”
“The voice sounds like you gargled a driveway.”
Batman lowered the key.
Danny pointed at him.
“Does Robin know?”
“Yes.”
“Is Robin your kid?”
“That is complicated.”
“You’re a billionaire who dresses like a bat and adopts children.”
Batman did not respond.
Danny paced faster.
“This city is unbelievable.”
“You are half ghost.”
“That happened by accident.”
A distant explosion illuminated the clouds.
Both of them looked toward the flash.
Danny gestured at it.
“See? Gotham.”
Batman touched two fingers to his cowl.
Oracle’s voice came through the comm.
“Explosion at the Monarch Theater. Possible weapons deal. Also, before you ask, yes, I heard the entire conversation.”
Danny looked at Batman.
“Who was that?”
“Oracle.”
“Does everyone know except the public?”
“More or less,” Oracle said through Batman’s external speaker.
Danny jumped.
Batman turned the speaker off.
Danny clutched his chest.
“You people need boundaries.”
Batman held out the key again.
Danny looked at it.
“I’m not promising anything.”
“Understood.”
“I’m not joining your team.”
“I did not ask.”
“I’m not wearing a cape.”
“Good.”
Danny took the key.
Batman fired his grappling hook toward the next building.
Danny caught the line before it launched.
Batman looked at him.
Danny pointed to the decorative stone lip Batman had aimed for.
“Cracked.”
Batman redirected toward a steel roof anchor.
Danny released the line.
“Better.”
Batman stepped off the roof.
Danny watched him swing toward the distant smoke.
Then he looked down at the key in his hand.
Oracle’s voice came from a tiny speaker hidden in the key fob.
“The address is engraved on the back.”
Danny nearly threw it off the roof.
“Stop doing that!”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry.”
“I’m not.”
Danny turned the key over.
The address was in the Narrows, four blocks from Mrs. Alvarez’s laundromat.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he floated down to street level and went to examine the evil sidewalk.
The safe house was a narrow three-story building wedged between a closed tailor shop and a convenience store.
It was not a mansion.
Danny had half expected a mansion.
Batman seemed like the kind of person who might casually refer to a mansion as a modest safe house.
Instead, the building had faded brick, dusty windows, and a front door that stuck halfway open.
Danny approved immediately.
He pushed harder.
The door groaned.
The upper hinge sagged.
Danny looked toward the nearest rooftop.
“No,” he called.
There was no response.
“I know you did that on purpose.”
Still nothing.
Danny took out his screwdriver.
The interior was clean but mostly empty.
There was a couch, a kitchen table, two mismatched chairs, several lamps, and a refrigerator stocked with enough food to survive a minor siege.
A note had been left on the counter.
Danny picked it up.
The handwriting was neat and severe.
Food is not conditional.
The building is secure.
Use the phone beside the refrigerator in an emergency.
A second line had been added beneath the first in different handwriting.
Emergencies include injuries, villains, fires, dimensional portals, and running out of cereal.
A third line appeared below that.
Do not encourage him.
A fourth line had been written in purple ink.
There are six kinds of cereal. Ignore Batman.
Danny read the note twice.
Then he opened the refrigerator.
It contained eggs, vegetables, deli meat, milk, juice, cheese, containers of prepared food, and a plastic tub labeled ALFRED’S SOUP.
Danny touched the label.
Something in his chest pulled tight.
He closed the refrigerator gently.
The workshop was in the basement.
Batman had understated the situation.
It did not require organization.
It required divine intervention.
Shelves were stacked with mismatched hardware. Old tools filled three cabinets. Electrical wire had been knotted into a mass that resembled a copper octopus. Two broken lamps leaned against a drill press.
Danny stood at the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh,” he whispered.
A security camera in the corner tilted toward him.
Danny pointed at it.
“This is bribery.”
The camera tilted the other way.
Danny dropped his backpack.
He spent the next four hours sorting screws.
At midnight, someone knocked on the front door.
Danny went intangible before remembering he was supposed to be safe.
He peered through the wall.
Batman stood outside.
There was a tear in his cape.
Danny opened the door.
Batman looked past him at the repaired hinge.
“You fixed it.”
“It was bothering me.”
Batman stepped inside.
Danny noticed a dark stain along his side.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It is superficial.”
“That means yes.”
Danny closed the door and pointed toward a chair.
Batman remained standing.
“Sit.”
“I have medical supplies.”
“So do I.”
“I am capable of treating—”
“Sit down or I’m telling Oracle you tried to grapple from a loose chimney cap.”
Batman sat.
Danny retrieved the first-aid kit from the kitchen.
The injury was a shallow cut across the ribs, probably from metal or glass. Batman had already stopped most of the bleeding.
Danny cleaned it anyway.
Batman watched him work.
“You have medical training.”
“My parents got injured a lot.”
“That does not explain your technique.”
“My sister wanted to be a psychologist. She made us all take first-aid classes.”
Batman’s gaze sharpened at the mention of Jazz.
Danny concentrated on the bandage.
After a moment, Batman said, “The theater is secure.”
“Good.”
“We recovered several stolen weapons.”
“Good.”
“The primary suspect escaped through a maintenance corridor.”
Danny looked up.
Batman’s expression remained neutral.
Danny narrowed his eyes.
“What?”
“The corridor door was jammed.”
“That sounds like a maintenance issue.”
“It was.”
“And?”
“And the suspect became trapped when the handle detached.”
Danny snorted.
Batman’s mouth moved.
It was not a smile.
It was close enough to be alarming.
Danny finished securing the bandage.
“You should replace the cape.”
“It is functional.”
“It has a three-foot tear.”
“It does not interfere with movement.”
“It makes you look like a haunted curtain.”
Batman stood.
Danny gathered the bloody gauze.
Batman looked toward the basement.
“You organized the workshop.”
“Some of it.”
“I saw.”
“Camera.”
“Yes.”
“Creepy.”
“Security.”
“Creepy security.”
Batman walked toward the door.
Danny followed.
At the threshold, Batman paused.
“The house is legally owned through a protected trust.”
Danny leaned against the wall.
“You already made paperwork.”
“Yes.”
“Under what name?”
“Danny Nightingale.”
Danny stared.
Batman waited.
“Nightingale?”
“It was available.”
“That is the most dramatic orphan name you could have chosen.”
“You may select another.”
“No, it’s terrible. I love it.”
Batman nodded once.
He stepped outside.
Danny looked at the cape.
“You’re not going to let me fix that, are you?”
“No.”
The next evening, Batman found a neatly repaired cape folded inside the Batmobile.
He had not seen Danny enter the cave.
He reviewed the security footage.
At 3:14 in the morning, the cape lifted by itself, floated off its stand, and disappeared through the ceiling.
At 5:02, it returned.
The torn section had been reinforced with matching fabric. The stitching was small, even, and nearly invisible.
A note was pinned to the collar.
YOU’RE WELCOME.
Batman read it.
Then he turned it over.
On the back, Danny had written:
ALSO, THE LEFT REAR TIRE IS LOW.
Batman checked.
The left rear tire was low.
Over the following month, Gotham acquired a new urban legend.
People began whispering about a ghost who repaired broken locks, replaced burned-out hallway lights, and left chalk warnings around loose masonry.
Tenants woke to discover leaking pipes sealed.
Shop owners found faulty outlets marked with bright tape.
A condemned stairway collapsed in the middle of the night, but only after every resident in the building had been awakened by a pale teenager knocking on their doors and insisting there was a gas leak.
There had not been a gas leak.
There had, however, been a major structural failure seven minutes after the final resident stepped outside.
Batman attempted to discuss caution.
Danny handed him a list of code violations at three of his safe houses.
Batman attempted to discuss school.
Danny countered by repairing the Batcomputer’s cooling system.
Batman attempted to arrange a medical examination.
Danny vanished for two days and returned only after Alfred promised no needles without permission.
Batman adjusted his strategy.
Danny began taking online classes from the safe house.
He claimed this was temporary.
Alfred sent meals.
He claimed those were unnecessary.
Robin visited and challenged him to repair a motorcycle with no instructions.
Danny won.
Nightwing arrived through a window and broke the latch.
Danny charged him twelve dollars.
Red Hood brought him a toaster.
It was the same toaster from Miss Dottie’s roof.
Danny repaired it and gave it back.
Red Hood became his favorite.
Batman pretended not to be offended.
One rainy evening, six weeks after Danny first arrived in Gotham, Batman landed on the roof of the safe house.
Danny was already there.
He sat beside the chimney with a toolbox open at his feet.
Batman looked at the chimney cap.
A new steel bracket secured it in place.
Danny nodded toward the gargoyle on the neighboring building.
“I reinforced that one too.”
“You did not have permission.”
“It was going to fall.”
“It is city property.”
“It was going to become sidewalk property.”
Batman stood beside him.
Below them, Gotham glittered beneath the rain. Some streets were bright. Some remained dark. Sirens moved in the distance.
The city was still broken.
It would always be broken in one way or another.
But the laundromat dryers worked.
The bakery freezer stayed cold.
Miss Dottie’s ceiling fan no longer clicked.
A grocery-store entrance shone warmly over the sidewalk.
And on the corner near the bus stop, the evil sidewalk had been removed and replaced with a smooth ramp.
Danny leaned back on his hands.
“I saw you the first day I got here.”
Batman looked at him.
“You were jumping over rooftops.”
“I know.”
“I thought you were ridiculous.”
Batman looked back toward the city.
“And now?”
“I still think you’re ridiculous.”
Batman nodded.
Danny smiled.
“But you’re useful sometimes.”
“So are you.”
Danny’s smile faded into something quieter.
He picked at a loose thread on his glove.
“Hey, Batman?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks for not making me leave.”
Batman considered the city below.
“You did leave.”
Danny frowned.
“What?”
“You left the laundromat.”
“That is not what I—”
“You also left the bakery, the restaurant, the repair shop, and an abandoned train station.”
Danny stared at him.
Batman continued.
“You repeatedly relocated.”
“Are you making a joke?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I am stating facts.”
“You made a joke.”
Batman fired his grappling hook.
The line wrapped around the newly reinforced gargoyle.
Danny stood.
“You absolutely made a joke.”
Batman stepped off the roof.
Danny flew after him.
“Admit it!”
Batman swung between the buildings.
Danny drifted beside him with his arms folded.
“You’re developing a sense of humor. This is a medical event. We should call Alfred.”
Batman released the line and landed on the next roof.
Danny touched down beside him.
The roof creaked.
Both of them froze.
Danny looked down.
Batman looked down.
A thin crack spread beneath Batman’s left boot.
Danny slowly lifted his eyes.
Batman stepped aside.
A chunk of masonry broke loose and fell into the alley.
Danny caught it with a burst of green energy.
He floated it back up and set it on the roof.
Then he looked at Batman.
Batman said, “The damage was preexisting.”
Danny pointed toward the street.
“Go home.”
“There is an active patrol.”
“Go home before you destroy more architecture.”
Batman turned toward the next building.
Danny grabbed the edge of his cape.
“No grappling.”
Batman looked over his shoulder.
“You may carry me.”
Danny blinked.
Batman waited.
“You want me to fly you?”
“It reduces load on compromised structures.”
Danny stared at him.
Then he began laughing.
He laughed so hard he had to sit down.
Batman stood over him, cape stirring in the wind.
“This is efficient.”
“You’re Batman!”
“Yes.”
“You want a fifteen-year-old handyman to carry you!”
“You stated that you can fly.”
“I can!”
“Then there is no issue.”
Danny covered his face.
Somewhere below, a window opened.
A familiar voice shouted, “Either kiss or fight somewhere else!”
Danny laughed harder.
Batman looked toward the window.
The window slammed shut.
Eventually Danny stood, wiped his eyes, and held out both arms.
Batman stared at him.
“What?”
“You said I could carry you.”
“Not like that.”
“Princess carry or nothing.”
“No.”
“Then use the roofs and get yelled at when you break them.”
Batman looked across the dark city.
Danny waited.
Several seconds passed.
Then Batman stepped forward with the grim resignation of a man walking toward his own execution.
Danny swept one arm behind his back and the other beneath his knees.
Batman went rigid.
Danny lifted him.
The cape spilled over Danny’s arms and nearly covered him completely.
“Oh my God,” Danny whispered. “You really are an angry curtain.”
“Fly.”
Danny rose into the air.
Batman’s cape snapped in the wind.
Danny flew over Gotham carrying the Dark Knight like an extremely disgruntled bride.
People noticed.
A taxi driver drove onto the curb.
Two police officers stopped in the middle of the street.
A criminal attempting to pry open an ATM looked up, saw Batman being carried through the sky by a glowing teenager, and quietly put the crowbar down.
Oracle laughed so loudly over Batman’s comm that Danny could hear her without the external speaker.
Nightwing demanded pictures.
Red Hood offered Danny fifty dollars to fly past Crime Alley twice.
Batman endured all of it in silence.
Danny carried him across three city blocks before setting him down on a structurally sound rooftop.
Batman immediately stepped away.
Danny floated a few feet off the ground, grinning.
“Efficient, right?”
Batman straightened his cape.
“No one will ever speak of this.”
“Too late.”
Danny pointed toward a nearby apartment window.
An elderly woman stood behind the glass holding up her phone.
Batman looked at her.
She waved.
Batman turned away.
Danny landed beside him.
“So,” he said, “where are we going?”
Batman glanced toward him.
“We?”
“You clearly need supervision.”
“I do not.”
“You just broke a roof.”
“The damage was preexisting.”
“You endangered a chimney cap last week.”
“It was improperly installed.”
“You bent Miss Dottie’s vent.”
“During combat.”
“You broke Nightwing’s window latch.”
“Nightwing broke the latch.”
“By copying you.”
Batman fired his grappling line toward a reinforced steel beam.
Danny inspected the anchor point.
He nodded.
Batman paused.
Danny gestured grandly.
“Proceed.”
Batman stepped off the roof.
Danny flew after him.
They moved through the city together, one swinging and one floating, arguing about load-bearing masonry, utility-belt organization, and whether a grappling hook counted as an appropriate substitute for stairs.
Below them, Gotham carried on.
Pipes leaked.
Signs flickered.
Crime happened.
Windows broke.
And every now and then, someone looked up and saw Batman passing overhead with a pale teenager flying beside him, pointing furiously at a loose gutter.
No one knew exactly who the boy was.
Some people called him the Ghost.
Some called him the Handyman.
Miss Dottie called him Daniel and sent pie.
Batman called him Danny.
And Danny, who had arrived in Gotham with one backpack, three shirts, and nowhere to go, began—slowly, stubbornly, one repaired hinge at a time—to call Gotham home.