Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s something wrong in Gotham tonight. 

An energy in the air, the press of something watching. It’s a feeling that’s built over the last few days, and no matter how much he digs, he can’t find what’s causing it. 

He hates not knowing, hates the paranoia it kicks up his spine. Gotham always has something brewing, some new scheme or plot, some new wanna-be rogue or returning enemy. It’s almost never quiet, but this…

This feels like the calm before the storm, before the sky cracks open with rage. Before the fingersnap of lightning that starts a wildfire. 

It itches at him, this feeling. He can’t stop patrolling the bounds of his Haunt, looking for the threat that has yet to reveal itself. He presses a hand to brick, feels the humming welcome of what’s his. Of what he’s claimed. The energy in his Haunt is just as on edge as he is, thrumming with protect-threat unknown-watch. He connects with his Haunt, lets his senses stretch across every tucked away alley, abandoned building, and cracked street. 

There is nothing but the sense of eyes , the whisper of danger.

He growls, the sound emanating from deep in his chest, far lower than any human could manage. There’s a titter from the scatter of blob ghosts that call his Haunt home, the sense of shades tucking themselves away. 

Even the humans find themselves staying inside, wary for no reason they can name. 

Jason continues his patrol, flipping over familiar buildings, leaping gaps that still give him a thrill to be able to cross. He’s careful with his powers, careful to keep them to whisper and legend. The Red Hood has his own tales, as varied and wild as the Bat’s. But keeping truth and fiction blurred is essential to maintain the illusion. 

Besides, it’s still much more fun to punch a goon in the face, and let his footsteps echo through an alley. 

Just as it’s fun to appear , as if like smoke, and catch his latest targets completely unaware. 

He can’t find the usual thrill in it tonight. Nor can he find the will or drive to go after any gang or drug dealer tonight. There’s something much bigger to worry about. 

It’s not until he’s halfway through one of his patrol rounds that the feeling clicks. That he realizes just what has him so on edge. 

It’s not just the sense of danger or wrongness. 

No, it’s the eyes that scrape over him, the surety he’s not alone. That every step is followed. 

It’s the knowledge that he’s prey.  

Someone is hunting him. 

The instant he pegs the feeling, the creeping sense of danger-lurking rises, snaps, and the siren of DANGER slams into him. He’s flat against the roof he’s on in an instant, pressing several buttons on his belt as he does. There’s the softest of hums , a slight ping and in the space of a breath, every Bat in Gotham knows there’s a threat. 

Green flares overhead, tightly concentrated balls of ectoplasm. Jason rolls, gets to his feet, and skids behind a chimney as another volley flies by. He reaches , trying to sense what is attacking him, but there’s no sense of a ghost, no whispering pull of power, no sense that his Haunt’s boundaries were crossed. 

If this is a ghost, they’re damn good at hiding themselves. And that does not bode well for him. 

There’s a crackle over his comms, far too much static than there should be in the middle of Crime Alley, and a jumble of voices. He can’t make anything out and so he doesn’t bother attempting to speak. 

It’s time to see just what is coming after him in the middle of Crime Alley. If this is a ghost, he’s going to have the time of his life defending his Haunt. 

His core thrums and ectoplasm curls in his veins. He grins beneath his helmet, fangs nearly catching on his lips. He can feel his eyes blaze green and knows the faint glow of it can be seen even through his helmet’s whiteouts. He vaults over the chimney, an ecto-gun in one hand, a regular pistol in the other. 

There’s a man, dressed in the fanciest, whitest suit that’s ever been seen in the Alley. The material is obviously reinforced and Jason can spot several locations that have been modified for concealed weapons. Behind the first man are two other men dressed in pure white suits. They aren’t the same though, the two men’s suits are simpler, with less places for weapons and thinner material. 

The gun the first man is holding is familiar in the sense that it immediately makes him want to grimace--it’s oversized, with pure white metal and green highlights. It’s the same reaction he has to all of Danny’s weapons. Jason shifts, true alarm beginning to trickle through him. There’s not a lot of people that would come after him , specifically, with an ecto-gun of all things. 

Jason cocks his head, flicking a hidden switch on his gun as he does. “All white suits in Gotham? You’re either brave or stupid, and I’m leaning towards stupid.” His voice modulator deepens his voice, adds an edge of static. It’s disconcerting to most people.These bastards don’t flinch. 

He can’t say he expected them too. 

“I am Agent H,” The first man introduces, which is remarkably straightforward for a new face in Gotham. Gotham’s rogues usually like to play around for a bit before revealing anything. 

But then this is Gotham. White suited men in fancy sunglasses are bound to catch attention. Anyone who wanted to blend in would have done so. These guys obviously don’t care to. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve got more to that name, or should I just make one up? You look like a Harold.” Now that gets a reaction, even if it’s just a curling of Harold’s lip. 

“I am Agent H,” The man repeats, the slightest edge of annoyance in his tone. Jason grins to himself, if something so little annoys the man, he won’t like it when he meets the rest of Gotham’s vigilantes. 

And with him having pressed the switch on his gun, this guy is guaranteed to meet a Bat or two. Jason had already put up a general alert, a warning of new faces in town. 

The switch merely labels him as the target. He gives it another, oh, two minutes before someone body slams this dude. 

Assuming Jason doesn’t do it himself.

“Yeah, yeah, Harold, I heard you the first time.” Jason firms his stance, adds the faintest growl to his voice. “You’re new, so maybe you don’t know. But Crime Alley is mine. The Bat’s rules don’t apply here, so before I put a bullet in your knee, how about you tell me why you’re here?”  

The guys behind Harold shift uncomfortably, looking much less confident than they did a minute ago. Threatening people’s knees tends to do that. Harold just scowls, which honestly is an improvement. 

“Batman has no cause to interfere,” Harold states, tone edging towards smug. “Under the Ectoplasm Control Acts, we have full authority to detain threats. You are an unregistered, dangerous ectoplasmic being. Batman will thank us for removing such a threat from Gotham.” 

Under the fucking what now? 

Realizations slams in--Danny had given a warning, just before he’d left. Other than ghosts, the only other thing that might give you trouble are ghost hunters. If you see the Guys in White, give me a call.

He’d relayed the info to Batman, but hadn’t managed to dig up much about them. Ghost hunters didn’t have much in the way of reach or authority, given that many people--for all that things like aliens and gods exist--didn’t put much stock into things like ghosts.  

Of course, when Danny had mentioned the Guys in White, Jason didn’t think the fuckers actually dressed in all white.  

Jason was going to give Danny a goddamn call alright, and have a serious talk about things like relevant details and thorough explanations.  

For now though, he has some assholes to kick out of Crime Alley. 

(And yeah, yeah, out of Gotham, too.)

Jason laughs, lets his eyes flare brighter. “Oh, buddy, you have no idea how this all works, do you? Batman’s a vigilante, you think he’s going to care about some bullshit law? Besides,” Jason’s voice goes deeper, just within the realm of human limits. “it’s not Batman you have to worry about right now,” 

Jason fires his regular gun, slamming the ecto-gun away and pulling out his other pistol. The men behind Harold aren’t fast enough to dodge, and rubber bullets impact harshly, despite being (mostly) nonlethal. The men go down in groaning heaps, even as Jason locks his gaze on Harold. Harold’s no slouch, though, and fires his own gun. Jason snarls at the concentrated ectoblasts, planting his right foot and twisting out of the way of several shots, all while still on a collision course with Harold. He brings up his left hand, lets it hum with power and backhands another ectoblast. The shot goes wild, impacting somewhere on crumbling brick. 

Before Harold can shoot another volley, Jason’s there. He plants his left leg and snaps his right up, cracking against Harold’s gun. Harolds lets out a wordless shout, but his ectogun goes flying. Slamming his left gun into its holster, Jason shoots his hand out, gripping the front of Harold’s fancy ass suit all while sweeping the man’s ankles out from under him. 

Harold hangs by his lapels, leaning backwards over a long drop to the dirty alley below. Jason’s inches from his face, the burning green of his eyes adding sickly shadows to Harold’s pale face. 

“I don’t give a shit what authority you think you have,” Jason says, a growl curling around his words. “You don’t come into my Alley and make threats.” Jason slides his gun down the man’s chest, presses it into his gut. Rubber or not, a point blank shot will draw blood. “I’d start talking, you’re one muscle cramp away from finding out if you’d make a smarter ghost.” 

Harold swallows, hatred flaring in his eyes--which are only partly revealed by his askew sunglasses. There’s wrinkles in his fine suit and Jason knows there’s scruffs on the man’s shining dress shoes. 

There’s something in the air still, Jason realizes. Something that makes him want to shiver. Like he’s the one hanging over the edge. 

“I don’t have to explain anything to you.” Harold says, slightly choked. Jason hums idly, a bored sound. 

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Jason flexes his left hand, letting Harold lean just that much further back. Harold can’t help the instinct to try and restore his balance, his feet scrabbling on the roof, one hand jerking up to grip Jason’s forearm. The man’s black gloves are glossy and look new. Jason tsks. “Let’s start with an easy one, Harold. How did you find me?” 

“I’m not--” Harold gasps, one hand wheeling for a grip, his legs scrambling for purchase again. Jason imagines Harold’s poor shoes will be ruined after this. 

“Oh, but you are,” Jason says. There’s something in the air, he thinks again. Something cold and cutting, a whisper of warning. Jason’s rapidly losing patience with this, there’s an urgency building in him. 

Danger, danger, danger  

Something crackles, a comm connecting. Harold grins and pain shatters through Jason. He jerks back, taking Harold with him, sending the man rolling across the roof even as Jason grips his chest, his core a shout. There’s a lurching shift, a scream of ectoplasm, and it's like the entire Alley shakes. 

It’s hard to breath, his chest a blooming well of pain-fear-confusion-NO! His vision blurs a bit, head swimming as ectoplasm vibrates through him. Some vital foundation has shifted, Jason thinks vaguely. 

“I have more authority than you think,” Harold says and it’s like he’s talking underwater. There’s a hollowness in Jason’s chest, and he can’t figure it out. Can’t find the cause. “I almost feel sorry for you. You have no idea of what’s happening.” 

Jason snarls, the sound of it crashing out of him, vibrating through the air like blades. Fuck, he could use a sibling right about now. 

Harold fixes his sunglasses, smooths his suit. The roll over the roof left its mark, Jason notes. There’s dirt and grime over that pristine suit now, and despite Harold’s attempts at smoothing out the wrinkles, it’s not working. Jason knows through experience that the substances found on Gotham roofs don’t wash well. 

He hopes the suit is ruined, along with his damned shoes. 

Ectoplasm shudders around him and it feels like the roof beneath him is crumbling away. There’s whispers all around, both in English and Ghost Speak. There’s a high whine making itself known, echoing through the streets like a mourning siren. 

Harold smiles, self satisfied. “I wondered if you’d know,” Harold muses, something like glee in his voice. “If it would be obvious when it happened.”

Fury-pain-NO echoes again, lurching through Jason. He feels laid bare, like some unknown shield is ripping apart. There’s a tugging in his chest, a push and a pull. 

Harold laughs , sounding as mad as any rogue Gotham could produce. “There’s nothing left to fight for, ghost. Your king has fallen.”

Realization slams into Jason and fury storms through him. Danny. It’s Danny that’s in danger. It’s Danny’s pain he sensed. 

It’s the fall of the Ghost King that’s crashed through his Haunt, that’s screaming in his core. The sound that leaves him has nothing to do with humanity, it’s fueled by furious grief. It’s the scream of his core given voice. Ectoplasm twists around him like a tempest, shading everything in green.  

There’s another lurch, an echoing, haunting cry, and a thread Jason didn’t even know was there frays. The link between them, halfa to halfa goes quiet. 

Jason roars.

Harold’s screams join the ones echoing in his head.

Chapter Text

By the time Tim reaches Jason, it’s almost too late. 

The man pinned under Red Hood’s bulk breathes, but Tim’s sure that won’t last much longer. Not if Jason’s left to keep beating on him.The lenses of Jason’s helmet are solid green and there’s flowing wisps of ectoplasm curling from his body. The rage is a background hum, but it’s the sliver of terror that concerns Tim more. Jason hasn’t lost it like this in years.  

“Red Robin--”

“Hood’s okay,” Tim says, leaping the last gap and landing with a ground eating roll. “The guy he’s got pinned? Not so much.” He hits the mute button on his comm for the moment. It’s easily overridden if there’s an emergency, but he can’t listen to the radio right now. 

He’s sure most people would hesitate before grabbing Jason in the state he’s in, but Tim’s never been one for doing what most people do. There’s a shiver of static from the ectoplasm that’s emanating from Jason but he grips anyway. The second Tim makes contact, Jason freezes.  

The guy falls out of Jason’s grip, moaning. The guy’s breathing is a little off, there’s blood and bruises scattered across his face and his white suit--and a white suit, in Gotham? --is smeared both with blood and…what Tim usually refers to as roof substances. Even for him, it’s better not to know. Tim dismisses the man for the moment, he’s not in any danger of dying in the next ten minutes and Tim has more important things to figure out. 

Namely what in the fuck has Jason trembling in Tim’s grasp. 

“Hood,” Tim says, squatting down to meet Jason’s green gaze. It’s been a long time since he’s been afraid of Jason, but seeing his eyes burn like this has unwarranted nerves kicking in the back of Tim’s head. There’s nothing to fear, Jason won’t hurt him, Tim knows it in his bones. 

Logic, he’s found, sometimes refuses to listen. 

Jason’s breathing is ragged, and while he’s not transformed he feels like he should be. Tim’s senses are…rudimentary, at best, when it comes to this. He’s liminal, but to his mind it’s only barely enough to count. But even he can feel the swirling mass of Jason’s emotions. 

Combined with the ache that crashed into him three minutes ago and the roar of rage that slammed over the comms, Tim has to figure this is something big, and it’s probably tied up in the strange men in white suits and ghosts.  

“Fucker,” Jason manages, his voice dipping low. Tim snorts. 

Yeah, he has nothing to fear. 

“Yeah, he seems like it,” Tim agrees. Seriously, all white suits are tacky and impractical. Jason stumbles to his feet, and that has alarm bells ringing. Is he injured? There’s something off here, but he can’t tell if it’s Jason’s lack of balance or…

Or the something that’s skittering down his skin. 

There’s a faint thump and a quick impact of a hand on flesh. Tim looks over and catches the flash of familiar black and blue. There’s two other guys in white that Dick’s cinching zip ties onto, and they seem like they’ve had a bad night too. 

Whoever these men are, they seem ill prepared to deal with Red Hood. 

Jason’s hand comes up, and grip’s Tim’s forearm with urgency. Dick’s close now and he too doesn’t hesitate to enter Jason’s personal space. 

“What’s going on, Hood?” Tim asks, tension making a home in his shoulders. 

The guy on the ground lets out a moaning laugh, something manic in his eyes. His grin makes Tim scowl. 

“Greatest…achievement…” Asshole gasps, pushing himself up onto his elbows. His head lolls as he tries to focus on Jason, and Tim adds concussion to his mental list of the man’s injuries. Jason’s answer is a low, humming snarl. 

“The Ghost King has fallen,” Jason and the man intone as one, the man with glee and Jason with broken despair. Tim’s stomach twists, and Dick makes a sound, low and catching. Jason shakes, with rage, with grief. 

“What did you do?” Dick snaps, eyes wide behind his mask. There’s a wet chuckle, and Tim adds possible broken ribs. There’s a slow, rising rage building, eating at the edges of Tim’s focused calm. 

“Wasn’t me,” The man gasps and Jason snarls. 

“Heard your comm , Harold,” he forces out, the words only barely in English. The edge of other clinging to them makes the hairs on the back of Tim’s neck stand on end. “You got confirmation.” 

Harold scowls, “It’s Agent H,” 

“I’d start talking, Harold,” Tim intones, a hard ball of fury snarled in his chest, spun tight with the beginnings of burning panic. They’ve been trying to help Danny, to show him he’s welcome. That he’s family. It’s been tough, he’s not always around and finding out information about him and his family is unexpectedly difficult.  

(Tim’s got a file on the Batcomputer, the bare bones of what they know. There’s something blocking them, something neither Tim nor Barbara have managed to get around.) 

If some fucker hurt Danny before they managed to help him, there is nothing on this Earth or beyond it that will stop Tim. 

No one messes with his family. 

“I’m just…keeping the world safe,” Harold says, grinning with bloody teeth. “I’m a hero--” There’s a crack , the familiar sound of breaking bone and Harold howls , writhing on the roof in pain. Dick lowers his leg, mouth tight. His move was swift and brutal, a lightning fast kick to Harold’s ankle. 

It’s been a long, long time since Dick’s given into his anger enough to snap bone. 

Jason chuckles, and there’s nothing humorous about it. It’s a grating sound but it pulls a wicked grin across Tim’s face. 

“Now, you’ve gone and done it,” Jason says, and Tim can’t see his face beneath the helmet, but he knows Jason’s grin is made of fangs nonetheless. “Nightwing isn’t someone you want to piss off.” 

Dick leans over Harold’s face, taking in the pale beneath the dirt, the beads of sweat along his hairline. “Who challenged the Ghost King, then? If it’s not you,” Dick grins, looking every inch the approachable, trusted superhero. It only makes his next moves all the more chilling. “And we both know you couldn’t fight him, so who’s pulling your strings, Harold? Who’s got your leash? Someone snapped their fingers and sent you here, how many bones are you willing to sacrifice before you tell?” 

Tim makes an idle motion towards Harold’s other ankle and Harold flinches, face going paler. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Harold whispers, hate blazing. “If you were smart you’d side with humanity. ” 

Dick tsks, idly stepping around Harold. “Haven’t you noticed, Harold? The world is bigger now, it goes beyond humanity, it’s not so simple. And you? Well, you’re wasting my time. You don’t even know who did this,” Dick’s voice is cold steel. “You’re just a pawn and you don’t even know it.” 

Tim snorts, “A guy in a white suit in Gotham of all places. You’d think he’d realize he’s just a target.”

“And I’m ready to get my prize for hitting the bull’s eye,” Jason growls, the sound vibrating through the roof, through the air. He snags Harold by the man’s ruined shirt front, and Harold manages to find a previously unknown shade of white when he pales as his broken ankle is jarred. 

There’s a crackle, the threatening snap of Dick’s escrima, while Tim idly spins a birdarang. 

“My colleagues and I don’t have time for this, Harold,” Jason says softly, sounding almost friendly save for the distortion of his helmet. “You aren’t in charge and we all know it. I would suggest you tell us who is.” 

“While we’re on the subject of humanity,” Dick says idly, his escrima still buzzing. He’s out of Harold’s line of sight, no matter how much the man tries to look around to find him. Tim, just off to the side, smiles, still spinning the birdarang, the sharpened edge catching the faint light. “There’s 206 bones in the human body. I wonder how long it’d take me to break them all.” 

Harold’s eyes are glassy with pain, and Tim’s almost impressed by the man’s resistance. 

Almost. 

He’s barely liminal. His connection to the Realms, and thus to Danny as King, are threadbare at best. But it still feels like he’s walking on jello, like the world is off kilter. He can’t imagine what Jason feels. He knows Damian nearly took a header off a roof and Cass is back at the Cave, shredding training dummies. 

It’s impossible to tell the scale of the damage that might radiate from this. If Harold doesn’t start talking, Tim’s going to call in some favors. He knows several mind readers, and he’s not afraid to use them. 

“I don’t know,” Harold finally whispers, voice strained and slurring slightly. “We were given locations and ghosts to hunt. We were told the Ghost King had a weakness, to create a distraction.” 

Tim can’t help the disgusted scoff, or the whip of fury that lashes through him. “So like a good fucking dog, you didn’t ask questions and just obeyed. How very smart of you, Harold.” The slow mocking clap echoes across the roofs. “You don’t even know what you’ve allowed to happen. Is there anything you can tell us about who told you all this? Is there a useful thought in your brain?” 

Jason gives Harold a helpful shake, jarring every broken bone in the man’s body. 

“Leader!” Harold gasps. “GIW leader! Never met! Sent information on secure network.” 

“There you go, Harold!” Dick says, bloodily cheerful. “That’s useful!” 

Tim starts looking through Harold’s pockets, not bothering to be particularly gentle. He comes up with several pieces of tech. There’s a holster for a gun--and though it’s not present at the moment, Tim doesn’t think it’s for a normal gun. The holster is far too bulky, and the green that lines it speaks of ectoplasm. They’d come prepared to deal with liminals and ghosts, it seems. 

He also pulls out two phones. One looks fairly normal, if a model or two old. The other has alarm bells ringing. It’s overly large, even for a modern smartphone. It’s white with lurid green accents, the screen looks thicker, it has actual buttons, and feels nearly indestructible. 

The side is etched with a name: FentonWorks. 

Tim tucks it into his suit along with the other phone, refusing to even exchange a glance with his brothers. Harold may be halfway to unconsciousness, but he doesn’t dare talk about anything that might reveal anything more about Danny. The fact that they’ve managed to…harm? Dethrone? Capture? him is concerning enough. Tim refuses to give them any more information. 

He finds several other weapons on Harold, some of them with the same FentonWorks logo. There’s a couple with the GIW logo and one with DALV Corp. Once he’s cleared Harold, he gives Jason a nod. Jason drops him to the roof, ignoring the pain groan and the shifting of bone. 

“Batman’s here,” Jason intones, just as the shadow behind him deepens. Tim watches as Harold’s eyes go wide. Bruce steps from the dark, cape flaring. There’s cuffs hanging from his hands and he moves like a predator. 

Though Tim had muted his comm so he couldn’t hear the others, he has no doubt everyone else has been listening in. 

“I thought I’d made it clear,” Batman says, the gravel of his voice deep as a quarry. “That I don’t tolerate outside interference in my city. Nor attacks on my colleagues.” 

Jason lets out a growl, this one edged with smug satisfaction. “He’s also not real fond of attacking other dimensions with unknown consequences.” 

“The Infinite Realms is recognized by the Justice League as a sovereign dimension,” Bruce says, and Tim remembers those meetings, the research, the hours spent on making sure there was something to protect Danny and Jason. The categorization of all the dimensions and Realms and connected realities they know of. The hours spent arguing over wording and semantics until it was all encoded to the Justice League’s database. The Realms hadn’t been completely unknown to some of the Leaguers--John Constantine had sworn a blue streak when Bruce had recounted the attack on Gotham--but to know there was a solid and friendly connection was a surprise. 

“You’re under arrest by the authority of the Justice League for aiding and abetting an unprovoked attack on a sovereign Realm,” Bruce states, snapping cuffs on Harold, ignoring the man’s slurred protests. “The GIW and all associated parties are under investigation. You will be given medical care upon your arrival. Superman?” 

There’s the familiar sound of air rushing, the snap as Superman appears. Bruce isn’t messing around if he’s called in Clark. He imagines the rest of the League’s been informed too. 

The GIW isn’t going to know what hit it. 

“I’ll see you later?” Clark asks, as he picks up a cursing Harold. Harold’s lackeys are thrown under Clark’s other arm. Bruce nods, and Clark takes off, flying much slower with his fragile passengers. 

Bruce immediately turns to Jason. “Danny?” 

Jason reaches up and takes his helmet off. Tim’s heart clenches when he takes in Jason’s face. His eyes are still glowing, but it’s deep in his eyes, ethereal rather than bright. The white streak in his hair floats, and there’s pain and fury drawn across his face. 

“I don’t know,” Jason says, voice thick. “I--I can still kinda feel him? But it’s not right. ” He clutches at his chest, just above where Tim knows his core lies. “It hurts. I don’t know what they did, but it’s not as simple as him losing a challenge.” 

Bruce hms , hands clenching. “Everyone else is back at the cave. We’ll reopen what we have. We’ll find him.” 

Jason nods, hand wrapped tight around his helmet. Dick falls in with Jason, bumping shoulders with him. Tim checks to make sure everything he took off Harold is secure and clicks the button on his wrist computer to call for his bike. 

“What?” Dick says and Tim turns, finding Jason standing stock still, one foot braced on the roof’s edge, preparing to jump. Jason’s head cocks slowly to the side. 

“Hood?” Bruce asks, alarm rising. 

Fuck . It is possible that whatever attacked Danny is coming for Jason now? Did it--whatever it is--follow down their bond? 

“I--” Jason stammers, stepping back from the roof’s edge. His eyes blaze . Tim watches as Jason’s transformation falls over him. But it’s not like it usually is. It doesn’t come from his chest, spreading from his core. It eats in from the edges, climbing his limbs and curling towards his chest. 

“Hood,” Tim says, just barely stopping himself from using Jason’s name. His stomach twists with worry, even as something whispers over the wind. 

Jason shakes his head slowly. Ectoplasm builds , humming along Tim’s skin. 

“Calling,” Jason manages, power spreading around him. Bruce moves, hand flicking out. A tracker slaps onto Jason’s chest and Tim can only hope it holds. Jason’s clothes, especially his jacket, aren’t entirely of this realm right now. It’s still a shock to see him looking so different. The muted tones to his jacket, the light gray of his pants, the slightly darker gray of his armored top in sharp contrast to the toxic blaze of his bat symbol. The shock of white hair, with its deep black streak in the front. 

“Wait, you’re getting Called?” Dick asks in alarm, but Jason can’t seem to answer. He looks confused, but not in pain. Ectoplasm swirls up like a wave, a thousand shades of green. In the space of a breath, Jason’s gone. 

The air calms. The whispers, the pulsating hum of ectoplasm vanishes. 

“I hate today,” Dick says conversationally. “I don’t know the date, but I hate today.” 

Tim’s not sure of the exact date either, but he’s gotta agree. Today sucks. 

Bruce lets out a slow breath, outstretched hand curling into a fist. He lifts his other arm and pulls up his wrist computer. For several seconds, there’s nothing. Tim walks closer, Dick doing the same. There’s no guarantee the tracker survived the trip. They haven’t had a chance to study Calling or how it works. And ectoplasm, they’ve found, is very good at destroying tech. 

Then, a ping. 

A dot on the map. A confirmation of vitals. 

Bruce closes his eyes, tension draining from him. “Back to the cave,” he says and Tim bolts. There’s much to be done. 

By the time he reaches his bike, there’s a dozen messages on his computer. He’s got a list half a mile long of research that needs doing and a desperate plea. 

Let Danny be okay. Please.

Chapter Text

Ellie screams, lurching upright, pain like lightning crackling through her. Her form shivers , melting at the edges as her core pounds in her. It’s like falling apart, it’s like destabilizing. Fear joins the pain in a horrid dance, leaving nothing of her untouched. 

She wraps her arms around herself in a vain attempt at stopping the pain, at holding herself together. She feels like she’s cracking in two. 

What is happening?  

Everything feels fragile--herself, the world around her, the tree she’s perched in, the bark that digs into her back. She pulls in a gasping breath, choking on the whispers that circle her. Ghost speak echoes and the trailing connections to Danny, to home, are pulled taught. Her ‘fraid’s emotions are an onslaught . It’s a tangle she can’t understand until--

RUN

She jerks, rolls, and hits the ground with little grace. She swears someone’s watching her, she can almost feel the scrape of their eyes passing over her. The pain is still a live wire in her chest, running alongside her panic and fear. There’s a weight on her shoulders, pulling at her limbs. 

She needs to get moving, to get out of the area. The feeling of eyes is a familiar one, like wolves on the hunt. It reminds her of the few times she’s stared into the eyes of a cougar or bear. That knowing, the kick of instinctual fear. A bear or cougar couldn’t actually hurt her, not living ones anyway. But it doesn’t stop the feeling. Doesn’t change the sense of hunted. 

The mix of emotions in her chest isn’t just hers. The wild, screaming panic echoes and repeats down the links she carries. This isn’t a normal problem, isn’t a ghost causing problems or routine ghost hunters. This a rip into the very fabric of something vital. She can’t stop the panting gasps, nor the tears that stream down her face. 

Danny.  

There’s no real reason for her to think of him in specific, she’s just as linked to the rest of the ‘fraid as she is to him. Whatever’s happening is affecting them all, not just Danny. 

But the more the feelings build, the more she knows it’s Danny that’s the trigger--the more it’s clear it’s Danny at the heart of it. The more she’s sure it’s something horrific. 

She tries to reach, to find him. She always knows where she is, always knows the ground beneath her feet, the buildings that surround her. By the same token, she always knows where her ‘fraid is, could find them deaf and blind and nearly completely melted. Danny’s usually a beacon in her mind, the shining light of home.  

Her link to him, one of the few permanent things she has, that she wants , is a painful scream. It burns in her core, shakes her very being. 

“Danny,” she chokes out, reaching. There’s nothing to grip, nothing to catch. The link blurs and thins, pain jolting down it. 

no

It’s a quiet whisper in her mind, her own denial taking form. no. This can’t be happening. She can’t be losing her brother, her friend, her King. 

A snapping twig, the brush of fabric against fabric, a whispered swear. 

Run

She’s up and moving before she’s even aware of the decision, instinct pounding . The whole world’s wrong right now and she’s hurting in ways she doesn’t miss, but she has to survive. Whatever happened, whatever trouble Danny’s found, he needs her. She doesn’t take to the sky, instead she moves through the trees, making the underbrush her guard. She’s been in the woods enough to identify the things that live there, has listened to Sam’s lectures on what’s edible, what’s dangerous, what’s just annoying. 

So it’s no accident that she works her way through thorn thickets, that she dives through razor grass and twisting poison ivy vines. It’s no accident that she makes sure her pursuers are just close enough to see her, to focus on her and not what she’s running through. It’s easy to keep track of bright white suits in a moon drenched forest. Easier still to slip through the thickly intertwined brush with a touch of intangibility. 

She can hear the cursing and shouts behind her, hear the whine of ecto-guns, the sharp whizz as the bolts miss and impact on trees. She keeps moving, deeper into the woods. She’s deep in Montana, Bitterroots National Forest a vast expanse around her. There’s deep creek ravines, trailing rocks and cliff faces, trees tall enough to vanish into the night. She’s got a million acres to get lost in, a million acres to lead the GIW into. 

She hopes they never find their way back out. 

She takes a quick turn, heading up a rocky incline, sending a tumbling trail of stones down behind her. She glances to the left and grins--a quick ectoblast, and a dangerously leaning tree finally takes a tumble, crashing down behind her like thunder. The air thickens as she runs, as the night air builds with humidity. It’s late summer and even the nights aren’t free from the breathless heat of the day. A much needed rainstorm hit barely a day ago and the woods are still damp with it. 

There’s still people behind her, but she can tell they’re starting to have trouble keeping up. She’s barely touching the ground, but even still she can feel how it wants to give beneath her feet, how the mud of the forest and the fallen leaves create layers that slip beneath boots. None of the weapons are even coming close, now. She slows, catching her breath. She needs to get away, but she’s not stupid. They would have expected her to fly, to use the sky. She can’t see or hear anything that would prevent that, but she doubts they were just going to let her fly off.

With the GIW, there’s always a catch. 

The night is deep but young yet, the moon not yet at its zenith. She’s a shadow in the forest, black on black. She keeps moving, the GIW still on her trail. She takes them down again, an easier slope into the creek bottom. The pounding need to run itches down her spine, but there’s something wrong. Something she’s not seeing. 

Orders ring out behind her, demands she stop, threats, and false promises of mercy. She puts on some speed, ducking under low leaning logs and climbing through thorns. Intangibility is great for avoiding all things pokey. Too bad the agents following her don’t have that luxury. Truly a shame. 

She’s got a half formed plan brewing. There’s a pretty steep ravine up ahead, where the creek creates a waterfall and pools. She’s explored here before, and if she zips up the waterfall and heads Northwest, she should be able to give the GIW the slip. It’ll give her more cover than the trees, and prevent them from following easily. It’ll take them far too long to climb out of the ravine or double back to catch her. 

She’s gotta get back to Amity Park and check on the rest of her ‘Fraid. Someone has to know what happened to Danny. She can’t tell where he is.

She hopes he’s home. She hopes it’s something stupid and she can call him an idiot. 

(She knows it’s not. She knows he’s not in Amity, that he’s not so easily in reach. Whatever this is, whatever happened, it’s bigger than anything they’ve dealt with before. There’s an ache in her core that’s not fading, a shiver of wrong that follows her every move.)

She hits the start of the pool, finds her footing along the creek and starts scrambling towards the waterfall. The edge of the ravine rises rapidly, blocking line of sight. The water crashes down, the creek higher than normal because of the storm. The water slides towards her, her core humming with the power of it. She takes a sharp turn, half flying, half running over the water as she heads for the full power of the falls. It’s nothing huge, but it’s more than enough to create foam on the water, to send spray flying. 

There’s a shout and the sound of something shattering. A hum fills the air and a shimmer of toxic green flows over her. It’s not a shield, it’s not a net, but it sends her down all the same. She crashes into the water, the sudden shock of cold a suffocating burn. 

But water is hers. She flows with it, dances with its moods, follows storm and stream. She’s up and furious with it, standing on the writhing water with power building in her limbs. There’s four agents on the bank and some sort of machine at their feet. It casts the night in green and it feels like acid on her limbs. Something to dampen her powers? She doesn’t know, but it’s going to end up in pieces . Water builds around her, matching her fury. 

She punches out and a wave answers. She’s done with this. There’s so much she needs to do right now, answers she needs to find. 

“We will not fail!” an agent snarls, pressing a button on the machine. The wave crests, dipping towards its targets. The machine glows bright, the green in the air flashing to white.  

She screams, it’s like fire, it’s like acid, it’s like electricity. It burns around her, through her, and the wave fractures, breaking apart like it never was. The world is a live wire and she’s the grounding rod. She barely gathers enough strength to rest atop the water, not trusting her limbs to keep her afloat. 

“Nice shot, Agent C,” one of them says, and Ellie can’t even muster the sneer their alphabet soup names usually induce. She never felt what Danny felt when he half died, when he stepped into the portal and sent several thousand volts through himself. She’s a clone, she was created half dead. 

She wonders if that was a taste of what it felt like. 

After this, they’re taking off somewhere. Anywhere. She’s going to bury him in blankets and steal a TV for a marathon of some sort. She honestly doesn’t care what. But when she figures out where he is and they fix whatever the hell is broken, she’s not taking any of his excuses. He will relax and he will like it. She’s not above threats. 

For now though, she’s gotta figure a way out of here. Her powers are pretty shot, she can’t transform and she doesn’t have long before the GIW bastards on the bank figure out a way to fish her out of the creek. 

She wants her ‘Fraid. She wants Sam’s fury and Tucker’s calculating logic. She wants Jazz’s bright defense. 

She wants Danny’s vivid protection. 

She wants to not be alone.  

It burns in her, the distance, in a way it rarely ever does. She’s a wanderer by nature, by core and obsession. Learning through doing is how she likes to interact with the world. Doing the homework Jazz sends her is so much more interesting when she’s walking the paths of Louis and Clark with her own feet, when she’s measuring the speed of actual trains. She doesn’t see the point in looking at a picture in a book when the wonders of the world are a flight away. 

But right now, the distance from Montana to Amity Park feels impossible. The distance between her and her ‘Fraid feels like a gulf she can’t cross. Everything hurts and there’s something missing. She curls her hands on the water’s surface, feeling the way it gives beneath her. She’s running out of time. 

She has to survive. 

There’s no way she’s losing to the damned GIW, no way she’s adding another link in the chain of grief and confusion that spans between her ‘Fraid. If there’s one thing she’s proven, one thing she knows, it’s surviving where others can’t. It’s pushing forward when there’s no clear path. 

She needs help. 

Call the Phantom. Danny had said, a laugh on his lips. I’ll always come, Ellie. 

She’d believed him. But she knows he can’t now. The link between them is laced with pain, frayed and distant. Her ‘Fraid is a scream of confusion, their center taken out from underneath them. 

There’s a sound of triumph from the shore and the air buzzes, curling more pain into her skin. She can’t call Danny. He’s beyond her reach. She has no idea if it’s even possible for anyone else to answer in her ‘Fraid, Danny always spoke of like calling to like. Which, when you’re a halfa, limits the options severely. And she’s not nearly desperate enough to call Vlad. 

But there is another. 

He’s a whisper at the edges of her senses, a humming possibility, a connection from a connection. She’s only heard of him from Danny, a halfa from Gotham that helped him take Nocturn down a peg or three. She hasn’t had the chance to meet him yet, with her wandering and Danny’s duties. 

No time like the present, it seems. 

She bares down on the connection, that whisper that lingers at the edge of her hearing, that sense of familiar. Like, calling to like. 

Halfa, calling to halfa. 

There’s a click , a connection found, a connection made. Energy sparks, ectoplasm rising. There’s the sound of a weapon firing and something heavy lands on her, but she refuses to break concentration. 

A flicker of confusion, of alarm, not hers but tangled with her. Ectoplasm boils under her, water churning. She’s so tired and every breath is a new ache, but she won’t let these bastards win. The call gains strength and power not her own crackles in the air.  

Help, she sends through the call. It’s a shot in the dark, a last ditch effort, but it’s all she has. Danny had joked once, that the new halfa might even be more protective than himself. 

She’s banking on that, even as the net she’s wrapped in starts dragging her to shore. Even as the call completes, opening a swirling pool of ectoplasm in the middle of the water. 

The growl that emanates from the halfa is low enough to vibrate every ounce of water. It drowns out the crash of the waterfall, the tittering shock from the agents. It crashes through her, hums in her chest. 

“Oh, good,” he says, his voice deep as an ocean trench. “More white to stain.”

Chapter Text

He may never get over just how visceral all things to do with his ghost half are. It’s never just an emotion, it’s all encompassing, it’s a piece of him, it’s a driving factor. It’s never just a power, it’s energy flowing like blood, it’s drawn to the surface with will, with need. He’s a dichotomy, alive and dead. 

Nothing, however, has been quite as primitive, as intrinsic as a calling.  

When he’d called Danny, it had been based on whispers, on desperation. He’d followed instinct, pulling from knowledge he’d had no right to know. 

This is entirely different. And yet exactly the same. 

The world fades, and something pulls. A sense, the knowledge of same-likelikelike. Dead, he thinks, calling to dead. A connection opens, and it’s like finding something that was always there. Like waking up after a dream. It’s something found, that wasn’t lost. Power rises and his ectoplasm dances across his skin. 

He can feel her, feel her fear and desperation. Her stubborn, burning determination. She’s hurting and the sizzling pain of it echoes down the link. He’s not really aware of the roof he’s on, of his brothers and dad circled around him. He thinks he might have spoken earlier, but he can feel his transformation falling over him. It builds from the outside, building as the call builds.

“Calling,” he manages, half gone already. He’s sure he could resist, that he could cut off the call before it takes him, but he has a suspicion about who this is. He won’t leave her, even if it’s not. His family won’t stop until they find Danny, he knows that. 

And Jason? He’ll be right with them, just as soon as he gets Danny’s little sister out of trouble. Something smacks onto his chest, solid in a way he’s not right now. He nearly lets his ectoplasm fry it, nearly lets the portal swallow it, when he recognizes it. 

A tracker. 

Paranoid old man, Jason thinks with fondness. The tracker winds its way through his jacket, the material made more of thought and will than actual substance. He doesn’t have to grab the tracker, it’s a matter of will for it to settle into the whispering folds of his jacket. For it to stay. 

Power crescendos and Gotham ceases to be. In a blink, in a space of twisting green, he’s surrounded by forest. There’s a hum to the air he doesn’t like, white suited bastards on the shore, and a furiously scared kid to his side. She’s wrapped in a white net that glows faintly green. Like she’s a fucking animal and not a kid. 

“Oh, good,” he growls, locking eyes with the agents. “More white to stain.” 

He floats a little higher, the portal fading beneath him. Wind whips through the creek bottom and it feels like the moment before a thunderstorm. The shiver of electricity, the background burst of thunder. 

He doesn’t have the patience for this, nor the tolerance. His friend, his King, is in dire straits and these fuckers are hunting the rest of his family for the goddamn glory of it. 

The air feels wrong, like a lingering burn. He doesn’t like the green haze to it, nor that the halfa that called him has yet to transform or stand. Whatever toy they’ve got humming at their feet seems nasty. 

He has a solution for that. 

He’s moving before they can get their heads out of their collective asses, left hand gripping one of his regular guns. He fires once, twice, and the machine sparks madly, glowing brightly. The bastards in white scramble away from it, just barely getting out of range as the machine blows. It doesn’t send too much shrapnel flying, which is good for the woods but bad for Jason’s rapidly failing temper. It’d have been nice to take out a couple of fuckers with it, but he’s doing it the old fashioned way, it seems. 

He’s not sure what might affect the net she’s stuck in, if he can break it with an ectoblast or not. But it’ll hardly matter if the agent holding it loses his hand privileges. Unfortunately for the agent, although he ran from the sparking machine, he didn’t let go of the net. 

What a shame.

Jason’s on him in an instant, faster than a blink. The air is alive, the press of it a weight. The agent’s fairly good, he keeps his grip on the net and pulls out an ectogun, his aim is even half decent. Too bad Jason’s in his space, slapping the ectogun away with an echoing crack of bone. Too bad Jason’s got his foot in the agent’s gut, sending the man to the ground. The handle of the net bounces out of the agent’s grip as he wheezes, the impact having knocked the wind out of him. 

Jason shifts, lifting his foot and sending it cracking down on the net control. It shatters under his boot. A flash of green, the high whine of an ectogun, and Jason flickers into intangibility, expecting the shots to go through him. It’s not quite that simple—the shots start to, almost do, but something almost seems to resonate, and there’s a sparking burn. He feels them strike, feels the pain of it roll through him. It’s not debilitating, but it’s a shock. Despite going intangible, the bolts still hit—maybe because they’re made of ectoplasm? He’s not sure, but it won’t stop him. 

He moves forward, leaving the one agent curled on the ground. The other three are holding their ground, firing rapidly. Jason shoots upward, trying to pull invisibility over himself. It’s hard to do both, to balance the states of being. To remain unseen and to remain untouchable. 

It’s one of things he struggles with, that he hasn’t quite gotten control of. 

But he finds the balance, a coin standing on end. He ignores the lingering pain of the ectobolts and locks on target. He dives back down, his legs fading into a swift tail. He’s back in the fray in a moment, letting go of his intangibility an instant before he makes impact, his fist crashing against an agent’s face. He ducks under a luckily aimed blast, since they still can’t see him, and spins. His feet reform, and he twists, the length of his leg slamming into the agent’s upper chest. He stumbles back from the blow and Jason’s already past him, going for the last agent. 

The last agent tries to fight, whipping a bo staff out. It looks very similar to the ones Danny had given out during the Nocturn fight. He knows Dick and Bruce still had theirs. He’s fairly sure Tim has one too, gifted by Danny at some point or another. It’s just too damn bad for the agent that Jason’s sparred against Tim so many times—honestly, Tim at fifteen was better with a bo staff than this grown ass man. It’s laughably simple to catch the first swing, to yank the agent closer. 

To twist the staff—despite the faint buzz of pain that hums from his grip on it--and rip it from the agent’s grip, sending it cracking across his chest. The agent crumples, wheezing.  

He pulls a knife from his belt, and throws it in a quick flick, the first agent he’d downed screams as the knife sinks into the flesh of his upper shoulder. One wrist broken and the other arm with a knife dug deep, Jason wishes him luck trying to grip anything. As it is, the ectogun he’d been trying to aim at the younger halfa, who’s trying to untangle herself from the net, falls to the ground. Invisibility fades, the balance slipping. 

Jason snarls, whipping back around to face the one he’d punched. Blood smears across his face, dripping down on that white suit and Jason bares his fangs. Alarm shoots across the agent’s face, but Jason’s already moving, sliding right through him. He turns when he’s through, getting a grip on the back of his suit. He rips the agent backwards, whipping him into a muddy puddle on the edge of the creek. The impact is enough to stun the agent, who flails in the mud, spreading it everywhere. 

He turns his attention back to the other two, who are trying to rally. The one is still wheezing from the bo staff hit and the other doesn’t seem to be doing much better on that front after taking a kick to the chest. 

There’s a cry of triumph and ectoplasm sings. The other halfa flares brightly in his senses, and the agents barely have time to register what’s happening before she’s on them. Water shudders, rising to lap at the agents’ feet, the air going thick with humidity. Jason can’t help the grin, nor the satisfaction that curls in him as the water rips the agents off their feet. The other halfa hovers above them, reaching down to grab weapons—and their ties. He walks over to the other downed agents, and ties them up as the others are held down with water. 

Once he’s done with them, he moves over to the agents held in water and ties them up too. It’s only then that the water recedes. 

It’s only then that he gets a good look at the other halfa. She’s young, younger than Danny, but the resemblance is unmistakable. Her hair spills down to her shoulders, looking a little on the wild side. Her eyes are blue, like Danny’s, but hers are darker, deeper. There’s a different feel to her, a different hum to her ectoplasm. He’s gotten used to Danny, the vast, towering ice. She feels more like rolling waves, the pull of the sea. 

She meets his gaze, floating back down to the ground. She looks a little worn and there’s tension in her shoulders. 

As he comes down from the fight, from the wild ride of a call, he can feel it too. The press of danger, the throbbing ache in his core, only heightened by his transformation. He aches where the bolt hit, but it’s nothing compared to his core, to the tension in the air. 

Seeing the GIW agents, even tied up and down for the count, doesn’t help. 

Threat-hunted-fight triggers deep in him every time he glances at them, only serving to curl more restless energy around him. On a frustrated growl, he moves away from the other halfa and shoves the GIW agents into a rough pile. There’s groans and vicious swearing—both by the agents and him. Once they’re (mostly) in a pile, he lets out a long, low whistle, holding it for several seconds before abruptly raising the pitch sharply. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, eyeing him curiously. 

“Taking out the trash,” he replies, looking up at the night sky. “Any Super on deck, trash pick up in…where the fuck even are we?” 

“Montana.” she replies, looking confused as he talks to the sky. “Bitterroots National Forest.” 

“Oh, huh.” Halfway across the country in freaking seconds. Better than any Flash could manage. “Montana. And tell B not to freak. I’ll be back on comms soon.” 

He waits several seconds and—there, a long slow blinking light, before it changes to a rapid flash. The Watchtower, signaling back. It may not be Superman or Supergirl who does the pick up, but someone will be by to grab the agents. 

One thing’s for sure, they have to keep moving. There’s something in the air, he thinks again, something that scrapes across his senses. For the GIW to have found two halfas in one night, to be prepared to fight…

He doesn’t like it. 

He jerks his head, gesturing deeper into the woods. He doesn’t know shit about Montana—it’s not exactly anyone’s first thought for villainous operations—but as National Forests aren’t usually small, he figures there’s plenty of land to lose themselves in. For now, anyway. They need to catch up, need to figure out what the next move is. He needs to transform, get back on comms, figure out if Harold spilled anything else useful. 

But he doesn’t want to do any of that in front of the agents. Captured or not, they could be wired. 

She glances at the agents and then back into the woods, nods. It’s simple to fly up the edge of the ravine, past the thundering waterfall, and work their way along the creek. An irrational part of him wants to climb through the curtain of water, take a peek behind. A side effect, he muses, from playing too many video games with his siblings. 

It takes no time at all for them to be well away from the GIW, for the woods to close around them with towering trees, deep shadows that hide from the streaming moonlight. The night is quiet, the only sounds a whisper of wind and the hidden chatter of the animals that walk in the dark. 

Every step away from the agents is both relief and disquieting. Not having eyes on a known enemy, for all that they’re neutralized sends threads of tension through him. 

“You’re Danny’s sister, right?” Jason asks, trying to focus on the now. He hates the rising sense in him, the knowing that whatever’s wrong, it’s only going to get worse. 

“Don’t tell me he didn’t mention me,” she says with a clear pout. 

Jason chuckles. “He did, said he had two sisters, one older, one younger.” Getting anything out of Danny regarding his parents was nearly fucking impossible, but he mentioned his sisters enough for Jason to know the one of them’s a halfa. 

They’d been in the process of trying to arrange a meet up before…

“He didn’t mention much about you either,” she says, turning to face him. “I think he wanted us to meet up, probably so he could watch with popcorn.” 

Jason laughs, and for the first time since he first saw an asshole in a white suit, it’s genuine. He could see that, could see Danny wanting to see how they’d get on without much information on each other. Jason hadn’t been worried about getting along with Danny’s sisters. If they hit it off even half as well as Danny had with Jason’s siblings, they’d be causing chaos within an hour. 

“Well, I’m sure that can be arranged later,” he says, refusing to entertain any other option. 

“I’m starting to see why he was light on details though,” she says with a wild grin. She taps her face, and he abruptly remembers that he's in his Red Hood gear, eye mask and all. 

Ah, well. Not like Danny doesn’t know all their identities anyway. He’s a little surprised Danny didn’t mention it—it’s not like Jason would be able to hide it, what with all the senses that come with being a halfa. 

“I’m Jason,” he says, figuring he might as well cut to the chase. Surprise flickers in the air between them. 

“Ellie,” she says after a moment. “Our other sister is Jazz.” 

Jason files the name away—they’d managed to find a little bit about the Fentons and their kids, but their daughter had always been listed as Jasmine.  

There was no mention of Ellie in anything they’d found. 

“We don’t have time for me to list off my siblings,” he says with a light chuckle. He looks up at the sky again, tracing constellations. 

“You don’t know what happened either,” she says after a pause, the call of frogs and crickets filling the silence. 

“No,” he says roughly, curling a hand into a fist. 

She chews on her lip, before speaking again. “Do…do you feel like something’s broken?” 

Jason breathes out, the sensation almost alien in his ghost form. It offers no relief, does nothing to calm the storm of emotions flaring around his core. “Yeah, yeah I do. Like we’re walking on glass.” 

“Or cracking ice,” Ellie says, grim. 

“I don’t like how the GIW found us both, either,” he says, looking back. The roar of the waterfall is distant and the hunted feeling has eased. 

“You too?” Ellie asks, gaze going sharp. The water in the creek ripples as her ectoplasm thickens the air. 

“Yeah, got me in the middle of my Haunt.” And it burns that they stepped into his home, into what’s his. Where the bolts hit throbs, but the pain is lesser. He wonders if that means it’s healing. 

It’s nothing compared to the hollow ache where his link to Danny lies. Nothing compared to his fury that his king is in trouble—and he can’t help. Not here. Not yet. 

“Are they still in your Haunt?” Ellie asks, looking concerned. 

He waves a hand. “Nah,” he closes his eyes, concentrates a moment, and pulls his ectoplasm back in. Beams of light shimmer to life, moving back to his chest. His heart picks up its rhythm like it never stopped and his lungs fill with forest air. His boots crunch against fallen leaves and downed sticks, and the cool of the night whispers across his face. 

His grin is edged with fury. “They didn’t know how to handle real guns.” 

She cocks her head. “Do you mean the actual guns or your muscles?” 

Jason snorts, remembers how easy it was to lift Harold off his feet. “Both.” 

“Danny really did hold back the good details,” Ellie says, staring at the bat on his chest, the signature jacket, the guns. He’s still obviously Red Hood when he’s transformed, but the color changes trip people up. “I wondered if you were a hero, but I couldn’t place it.” 

“Vigilante,” he corrects, rolling his neck. He’s not really a hero by anyone’s metric. “I’m gonna give B an update, but before I do, are you alright? Did those fuckers manage to do damage?” 

Ellie snorts. “Their machine hurt, but it didn’t do anything lasting. I’m a little low on power,” she admits, hunching her shoulders. “I’ve never Called before—never had a reason to.” 

“Hopefully you won’t have another reason to for a bit,” Jason says, giving her a critical once over. She’s not transformed, he imagines she didn’t want to do it in front of the GIW. There’s no reason to give them anymore information that it seems like they already have. 

Her hair’s a wild tangle, her clothes—practical, well made pants, a t-shirt with a hoodie overtop—are looking a little rough, but she’s obviously had access to laundromats to keep her clothes in good condition. She looks a little tired, a little drawn, but given everything, he can’t blame her. 

“Hopefully,” Ellie agrees, cocking her head at him. “Is this ‘B’ who I think it is?” 

He chuckles. “Batman, yeah,” 

She grins, bouncing rapidly on her toes. “Danny really did hide all of the good details. Can I meet him—like, after all this?” 

“I think we can manage that,” he says, humor sparking. They may not have found much on Ellie, records wise, but he’s sure between Tim and Babs they get her set up by the time the adoption papers come through. 

He taps on his comm with one hand while the other tucks the tracker deeper into his jacket. He’s not sure what the game plan is yet, but there’s no point in going back to Gotham right now. Danny’s not there, and that’s what matters. 

“Hood,” Oracle says as soon as the line connects, relief under her usual steady tone. 

“Hey, O,” he says, even as they keep moving away from the GIW. “Tracker working?” 

“Yes,” she says. “We’ve got your location locked in Montana. What happened?” 

“Loop B and the rest in,” he says. “Might as well only say it once.” 

“We’re here, Hood,” Tim says and he can hear the faint sound of a keyboard. “I’ve got Nightwing, Robin, Spoiler, and Batgirl with me.” 

“I read you, Hood,” Batman intones. “I’m nearly back to the Cave.” 

“Alright,” Jason says, slipping through trees and brush. “I got Called to Montana by Danny’s little sister. Her name’s Ellie, and she’s like me.”

“Your family knows?” Ellie whispers, surprise coloring her voice. He nods, even as his heart aches. 

Between Danny and Ellie, the red flags about their home life just keep growing. 

“Theory confirmed, then,” Tim says, even as Steph lets out a cheer. 

“Another girl!” There’s a high five, undoubtedly her and Cass. Jason rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “You can induct her in your girl rituals later. She was under attack by the GIW when I arrived.” 

Bruce hns, even as Dick curses. “The Watchtower received your message. Someone will pick up the agents you captured. Do you and Ellie need transportation?” 

“I don’t think so,” Jason says, stopping in the grasp of a small gully. There’s no trees at the bottom, they only start halfway up. It’s like a cave, the way the branches block out the sky. The way the earth holds this spot like a cradle. “Danny’s not in Gotham, and…I don’t think he’s in Amity.” 

He looks at Ellie and she grimaces. “No, he’s not.” 

It’s what he expected. He doesn’t know why, but he just knows Danny isn’t such easy reach.

“The Infinite Realms, then?” Steph asks, unsurprised. 

“That or the GIW took him somewhere,” Jason says, lightly tracing the link between him and Danny. It’s strained, like taut thread. It throbs, increasing the ache in his bones. He can’t find the end, can’t tell if Danny’s in the Living Realm or the Infinite Realms. He growls in frustration, the sound a deep vibration in his chest. “I can’t tell.” 

“O and I are working on getting more information on Amity Park,” Tim says, voice controlled. “We can take a look there, see if the Fentons know anything. I’m sure the GIW is active there, as they seem to be across the country right now.”

“If they came after you two once, they probably will again,” Dick says, voice edged with fury. “You need to watch your backs. They’ll come after you harder.” 

“I know,” Jason says, looking at Ellie. She’s leaning against the curve of the earth, head cocked as she listens to the night. “We’ll watch each other’s backs.” 

“Keep in contact,” Bruce says, just short of an order. Jason cracks a grin. 

“Yeah, yeah, old man, as much as I can.” he says. “Keep me updated. We’re going to work out a game plan here.” 

“As much as we may not want to, it may be more efficient to split our efforts.” Damian says slowly. “As we cannot rule out the possibility of Daniel being in the Infinite Realms.” 

Jason looks at Ellie. “Got a way to the Infinite Realms we can access?” 

Ellie frowns, brows furrowing. It’s not an expression he’s seen on Danny before, but the slight head tilt she does is. 

“There’s an option,” she says, but she doesn’t sound thrilled about it. The put upon expression is definitely all her. Danny’s not nearly cute enough to pull it off. 

She’s very like him in structure, in build, but she feels so different to his senses. Danny, when he doesn’t curb his power, is all massive glaciers, the deep booming sound of fissures. Ellie isn’t quite the deepest depths of the ocean, maybe more a lake—one of the Great Lakes, deep and unknown—but he can hear the steady lap of waves, can feel the edge of the riptide. She’s a wave waiting to crest, the depths ready to swallow light. She’s young, to him, on multiple levels. But it’s obvious she’s seen more than most her age. 

“You don’t sound convinced.” he says, tone dry. 

“If the GIW are here, then they’re in Amity Park,” she says and he nods, because yeah. “Then there’s three ways to reach the Realms.” She ticks them off on her fingers. “One of us spontaneously develops the ability to create portals, a natural portal conveniently opens somewhere nearby, or we go to one of the two permanent portals. One’s in Amity and is probably crawling with hunters and GIW. The other.” Her face twists. “Has a fruit loop.” 

A what? His confusion must be clear—whether on his face or in her senses. 

“It’s a long story,” she says, and seriously is Danny’s ability to leave people with more questions than answers genetic?  

“When this is over, someone had better explain you and your brother’s everything.” Jason complains. Her grin is lightning quick and mischief dances briefly in the air. He taps his comm again. “Looks like we’re heading for a stable portal to the Realms. We’ll look for Danny there. You guys got Amity?” 

“We will,” Tim’s voice is distant, distracted. There’s something under the words, something that slides skeletal fingers down Jason’s spine. 

“B?” Jason asks, alarm ringing. 

“We’ve got him,” Bruce says, rock calm. “He’s alright,” 

“He’s doing something weird,” Steph says, her tone caught between exasperated and fond. “But he’s okay. Think he’s onto something.” 

Jason breathes out, packs the panic, the fear away. He’s on a mission. He has his own focus. He has to trust that his family can handle whatever’s happening to Tim. He doesn’t doubt that they can handle the GIW. 

Those bastards have no idea what a hornet nest they’ve kicked. 

“Alright,” he says, exchanging glances with Ellie. “We’re going to get moving. I’ll try to check in before we enter the Realms. I don’t think any of our tech will work in there, so I might go offline.” 

“I would doubt we’d get a signal,” Barbara agrees. “Be careful.” 

“We shall handle the scum on this plane.” Damian intones, haughty despite his fury. “Be sure not to dawdle.”  

“Bring our boy home,” Steph says. There’s a slight tap on the line, Cass agreeing. 

“When you find Danny,” Dick says, voice nearly flat. “You tell him he’s grounded.” 

Steph chokes on a laugh, and Damian snorts. 

“Grounded.” Jason repeats flatly. 

“Grounded,” Dick says, voice still flat. “In fact you’re all gonna be grounded. We are all going to stay in the Manor and not let Danny out of our sights for the next six months.” 

“Agreed,” Bruce says, as serious as always. Jason rolls his eyes. 

“Whatever, old man,” Jason says, gesturing to Ellie to start leading the way. “‘Wing, you’re crazy if you think we can all be in the same house for six months and not reduce it to rubble. You’ll get a month, tops.” 

Dick lets out a huff. “I’ll take it,” 

“Be safe, son.” Bruce says and Jason can’t help the small stumble, the warmth that bursts through his chest. His hand curls over his core, even as it flutters with emotion. Home-family-mine. 

“Yeah, dad,” Jason says, soft. “I will.” He clicks the comm off before he can embarrass himself. 

There’s a sharp curl of longing that slips through the air before it’s dragged under the current of other emotions. He glances up at Ellie, who’s a couple feet ahead of him. They’re climbing out of the dip of the gully, and she’s obviously quite sure of where she’s going. His compass has been off since he got dumped here, but he’s pretty sure they’re heading East. 

He doesn’t mention the emotion he caught the edge of. As far as he’s concerned, any family of Danny’s is his too, but he doesn’t expect her to feel the same. Can’t expect her to feel reassured that his home—whether he’s at the Manor or at one of his apartments—is open to her. To Danny. To the sister he hasn’t met yet. 

She trusts him because of what Danny told her, but it’s not deep yet. It’s not personal yet. He helped her, dropped GIW thugs, and that went a long way. But it’s not solid yet. 

“Where are we heading, then?” Jason asks instead of the myriad of other questions he has. 

“Wisconsin,” she replies, glancing over her shoulder. “Ready to meet a fruit loop?” 

Seriously, these siblings and their refusal to explain anything in a way that makes sense, Jason sighs and follows.

Chapter Text

Tim gets back to Cave in record time. They’ve got a lock on Jason’s location—in the middle of Bitterroots National Forest in Montana, of all places. He hasn’t checked in on comms yet, but his transformation messes with their comm systems. Danny had given them some tips and they’d planned on his next visit for him to bring some tech meant to work with ghosts.

Obviously, that won’t be happening now.

When they find him, when they stop whatever—or whoever—harmed him, Tim won’t let him leave until they’ve got every way to contact him possible. That includes a fucking summoning circle if that’s something they can manage. He’s sure they can figure something out, they’ve got enough users and occultists on tap.

He’s barely parked his bike when Damian’s on him. The kid had stumbled on his jump, had nearly taken a nasty fall. He’d been running with Cass, though, and between Damian’s well-trained reflexes—and hours spent training on how to correct or mitigate a fall as taught by Dick—and Cass’s fast reaction time, he’d merely had a bit of a hard landing.

They hadn’t known what had caused the stumble until they’d caught up with Jason and discovered what happened to Danny. As it is, there’s still something not right. Tim feels off—like he’s walking on uneven ground.

“Todd.” Damian says, eyes sharp. He’s holding himself wrong, Tim realizes. He can’t read bodies like Cass, but even he can see the stiffness in Damian’s joints, the way he holds himself in perfect posture. It’s not unusual for Damian to maintain his posture, for him to walk like he owns the place, but he’s eased up over the years. Allowed himself to relax.

There’s none of that now.

Tim sighs. “Jason’s okay, as far as we know. He got Called.” Confusion passes over Damian’s face before comprehension dawns.

“Daniel?”

Tim shakes his head. “I don’t know, he hasn’t been on comms yet.” He hopes it’s Danny that Jason’s with, hopes that whatever happened, it’s something Jason can fix. Or at least help with. “I’m heading for the Batcomputer. I’m going to pull up everything we know about Amity Park and the Realms, and take another crack at gathering more.” Fury burns in his chest. “I’m done playing nice.”

Damian snorts, falling into step as Tim moves deeper into the Cave. “It’s about time. I told you we should have gone to Amity Park and investigated the Fentons in person.”

Tim shakes his head, meeting Cass’s gaze as she watches from the training area. “We didn’t know the situation, Damian. We could’ve made it worse for Danny, or broke his trust. Plus, you know that we’re going on the theory that Amity is or was his Haunt, and entering without permission or invitation is unwise.”

They’d been playing it safe with Danny. Trying to let him open up to them, instead of them hunting down every little detail and putting the entirety of Amity Park under surveillance. It was tempting—and three years ago, they may have done it without even thinking—but they’re trying to be better. It’s a fine line to walk—between knowing enough to keep ahead of their enemies and respecting their friends and allies boundaries.

For the Gotham vigilantes, setting up surveillance and trackers is practically a love language.

Damian huffs, but says nothing. Cass walks over, her hands wrapped with tape, wearing workout clothes. She’d gone back to the Cave with Damian after his bad jump. Tim looks her over, her body tense in a way she doesn’t usually allow. He’s sure she felt the fallout as well.

“We didn’t listen to all of the comms,” Damian says, hands flexing into fists. “But what Jason said…”

Tim feels tension thread through his own limbs, and that fury burns brighter. “The Ghost King has fallen. We don’t know anything more than that.”

“And the…people that attacked Todd?” Damian asks, just barely reigning in a much different phrasing.

Tim grins, showing teeth just a touch too sharp. “On their way to whatever secure location Superman decides to toss them in.” Something much more vicious than amusement passes over Damian’s face.

“Wise,” Damian says. Cass steps closer, saying nothing, and leans on Tim. Tim wraps an arm around her, squeezing.

“We’ll figure it out, Cass,” he says, low. “Jason will check in as soon as he’s able.” She nods, and slips out of his grip, moving towards the Batcomputer. He follows, already planning out his attack of the odd digital walls he hits every time he looks into Amity. He’s not going to play nice this time. He’ll do whatever it takes.

He sits, logging in and immediately starting down the familiar path to all things Danny, Fenton, and Amity. Cass sits on the edge of the console, watching the stream of information fly by. Damian settles to the left of the chair, arms crossed. Tim sets a program to run, to check for weaknesses in the firewalls, to start probing for other ways in. He pulls out the phones he’d taken off Harold.

And of course, leave it to Jason to completely ruin the name Harold for him.

The first phone looks fairly normal, but he plugs it into one of the Batcomputer’s ports anyway. While he doesn’t think it was mainly used as a work phone, it still could have important information on it. It’s easy for people to slip, to say things they shouldn’t on unsecure lines. Any mention of names or locations could help them figure out what else the GIW is up too. And possibly why Jason’s in Montana of all places.

While he waits for the computer to connect to the phone, Tim takes a second to connect to the tracker Bruce put on Jason, and puts its information up on one of the screens of the Batcomputer. It opens a map that shows a blinking green dot that’s Jason’s location. It’s accurate within five feet. It also opens a small vitals window—in Jason’s ghost form, the vitals are much different than when he’s human. There’s no heartbeat, no body heat, the motion sensors struggle to pick up anything.

It’s another thing they’re working on modifying. The tracker picks up the pulse of Jason’s core, but it’s much harder to find, to get a read on than a heartbeat. They’d managed to modify their trackers a bit, but it was another thing they needed to upgrade to handle ectoplasm.

Danny had joked that he needed to get them in contact with his tech guy, who would go wild to work with Batman’s tech. Tim had been hoping they could work something out for that. The way the tech Danny used integrated ectoplasm into its components was fascinating.

It’s a relief, though, to have Jason’s information up on screen.

The computer lets out a little jingle, letting Tim know the first phone is connected and its information is even now being uploaded. He pulls out the second phone, and turns it in his hands, eyes narrowed.

“You took these off the ones who attacked Todd?” Damian asks, leaning closer. Tim tips the phone towards him, lets him see the thick case, the physical buttons, the enlarged battery. It’s not a phone one finds at Verizon.

The FentonWorks etched on the side only hammers that home.

“Fenton is what we assume Daniel’s last name is,” Damian says, something buried under the words. “For an enemy to have their technology is…concerning.”

Tim pops open the protected ports on the phone, plugging it in. He ups the precautionary scans, sets up an isolation code for the phone. If it’s got any protections, any built in viruses, they’ll be contained before they can reach the rest of the Batcomputer’s software.

“It’s more than that, Damian,” Tim says, fury beating a sharp tattoo in his chest. “I don’t think it’s a matter of an enemy having their tech. At least, I don’t think it’s their enemy.” He leans back, programs flying by over the computer’s screens. Information streams past in reams. “Babs and I haven’t found much, but we did find enough to wonder…well, to theorize that the Fentons aren’t on the side of ghosts. They call themselves Ghost Hunters, on top of being ecto-scientists. We’ve found some of their research, some old grants. None of it speaks of ghosts in a good light.” he looks over at Damian. “Nothing we’ve found even begins to talk about ghosts as anything sentient.”

Cass makes a low sound even as Damian lets out a terse tch.

“And you didn’t mention this before?” Damian bites out.

“We didn’t have proof.” Tim says, with a gesture to the computer. “We only had dates on some things and what we did have dates on was years ago. Long before the portal and Danny’s accident. We were trying not to jump to conclusions.”

“We knew Daniel was not telling us everything about his home life,” Damian returns, not looking at Tim. “We knew something wasn’t right.”

“I know,” Tim says, tension coiling in his stomach, wrapping around his stomach. “I also know how protective this family is, Damian. You know we couldn’t go barging in yet, and it was hard enough to hold back without the thought of Danny’s parents being that much of a threat.”

“I was hoping it was something more like neglect,” Dick says, coming up from the entrance. Tim hadn’t heard his bike, but he’d been focused on the computer. Plus, Dick’s bike is quieter than his or Jason’s. “That his parents were just too busy or wrapped up. Something we could help them with, maybe. But if they’re actively hunting ghosts, hunting Danny. Selling their tech to the GIW, claiming ghosts aren’t sentient…well, I find I’m low on mercy today.”

Tim huffs out a dry laugh, his fists curling. “I think it’s in short supply.” The second phone is processing still, he notes, but the first is ready for him to start to look through. There’s a ping, and a new window opens.

“I’ve got the phone and I’m adding to your attempts to get around Amity Park’s defenses.” Babs says, her voice smooth with controlled fury. “The League’s on the case. The GIW operatives from Crime Alley were just the start, other heroes have noticed them in other cities across the continental US. Every one we’ve captured so far seems to know the same thing: the Ghost King has fallen, and they’re protecting humanity by capturing every ghost they come across.”

“Thanks, O,” Tim says, even as he switches focus. Her response is a particularly vicious string of coding starting its attack. He grins, picking up the threads of coding she left him, and adding to it.

“How do they even have the manpower for all of that?” Dick wonders, tugging on Cass’s short hair as he comes to the side of the chair. She leans into him from where she’s perched.

“And how do they even know where all of these ghosts are?” Tim asks, even as he starts chipping away at the blocks that surround Amity Park’s digital presence.

“They knew something was going to happen to Danny,” Dick says, eyes locked on the stream of information on the screens.

“We do not know if they caused the fall or if they are simply benefitting from it,” Damian says, even as he pulls something up on his wrist computer.

“How could humans attack the Ghost King?” Steph asks, from where she’s jogging from the stairway that leads to the Manor. She’d been off patrol tonight, having taken a blow to the shoulder from King Shark the other night. Her arm’s out of the sling, but Alfred had refused to clear her.

“We need to find that out,” Dick says, gesturing to the Fentonworks phone. “And I think the Fentons might have an idea on that. If anyone could make something that could go after Danny, and more, the Ghost King, it’s probably them.”

“It seems we’ll be visiting Amity Park after all,” Damian says, viciously pleased.

“It’s also our best lead on where Danny is,” Tim says, fingers flying, eyes tracing code. “Or, was, when…” he gestures vaguely.

“The League’s starting to trace the GIW’s movements, looking for facilities and bases.” Barbara says, still working through the first phone. “If they’ve captured anyone, we should have an idea as to where they’re being held soon.”

“Which is the second place Danny could be,” Dick says, grim. “Captured by the GIW.”

“I almost hope that’s the case,” Steph says, putting her arm on Damian’s shoulder. “That or in Amity somewhere. The third option’s not a great one.”

“And what’s that, Brown?” Damian asks, still focused on his wrist computer.

“Well,” Steph says, rolling her injured shoulder a bit. “The third option’s the Infinite Realms. And I don’t know about you, but searching in something with Infinite in the title sounds a little hard.”

Tim sighs, resisting the urge to run his fingers through his hair. “There’s also the fact that we wouldn’t know our way around, nor do we know how the residents of the Realm would react to us being there. Liminal or not, we’re human, and with Danny—and by extension the Ghost King—not there, we could be entering an entire Realm full of hostiles.”

“Especially if the GIW did do something, and they want revenge.” Dick adds, checking his wrist computer as it pings. It’s the low note that Dick uses for Bruce.

“What’s holding him up?” Steph wonders, walking over to the fridge embedded into the wall. She pulls out a couple water bottles, the big reusable kind. Their tops are leak proof—a requirement of any liquid near the Batcomputer.

“He was taking a look around Gotham for any more GIW assholes,” Dick says, accepting his water bottle from Steph. “I took a loop around Crime Alley before I came back, put up some sensors, and informed some snitches. By dawn, all of Gotham will know to keep an eye out for bastards in white suits.”

Tim snorts, eyes narrowing as he notices something odd in the firewalls around Amity. “If there’s one thing Gothamites can agree on, it’s not letting outsiders operate in Gotham. Especially anyone who dresses in all white suits.”

“All white suits seem like a terrible idea no matter what you’re doing, but especially when playing shitty Ghost Busters.” Steph says, having finished passing out water bottles. “Like they do know Ectoplasm is neon green right?”

“They hunt ghosts,” Damian says with derision. “Presumably, they should know what color their enemy bleeds. And yet.”

“And yet,” Tim agrees, picking at something in the firewalls surrounding Amity. They’re nearly invisible unless someone knows to look. Just finding anything about Amity Park took days. It’s a relief to find something that might help.

A ping sounds, followed by a sharp trill. Tim’s eyes tear from the code, flying to another screen. It’s Jason’s comm. It’s Jason’s comm, and it’s connecting back to their network.

“Hood,” Barbara says, even as relief falls over the room.

“Hey, O,” Jason says, the line crackling slightly with static. It’s hard to tell if it’s a result of his recent transformation, the Call, or something with where he is. “Tracker working?”

Tim’s already looked over his tracker, noted all of Jason’s vitals. He turns back to the firewall, and resumes his attack. He’s getting somewhere, he can almost feel it.

“Yes,” Barbara answers, her tone coated in relief. “We’ve got your location locked in Montana. What happened?”

“Loop B and the rest in,” Jason says, sounding like he’s in a tunnel. “Might as well only say it once.”

“We’re here, Hood,” Tim says, leaning forward in his chair. “I’ve got Nightwing, Robin, Spoiler, and Batgirl with me.”

He swears there’s something different about this code, something he didn’t notice before. Some of the command words—he’s sure they’re not in English. It’s not anything new, but he doesn’t remember seeing it before.

“I read you, Hood,” Bruce says, his voice in full Batman growl. “I’m nearly back to the Cave.” Tim can hear the rumble of the Batmobile under Bruce’s voice, can hear the high rev. It’s unsurprising that Bruce is racing back to the Cave. Like all of them, Bruce is pissed.

And as they all joke that Gotham is Bruce’s Haunt, it’s a fury of multiple levels. Messing with one of them, with one of Bruce’s kids—especially Jason—is a special type of anger.

“Alright,” Jason says, and Tim can only hope it’s the connection that’s making it sound like he’s about to be eaten by something large and full of static. “I got Called to Montana by Danny’s little sister. Her name’s Ellie, and she’s like me.”

Ellie? Dick mouths with slight confusion. The only sister they’d been able to find even a trace of was Jasmine, but Danny had mentioned sisters before. Steph and Cass had been thrilled with the prospect of another girl. Even without solid proof, they’d decreed it.

They’d also wondered if one of Danny’s siblings was like him, as he’d mentioned helping someone else out with new powers.

There’s a whisper, barely audible. “Your family knows?” Her voice is young, but not a child.

“Theory confirmed, then,” Tim says, even as Steph lets out a cheer. Dick frowns, and Tim knows he’s as concerned by Ellie’s response as the rest of them.

“Another girl!” The girls high five. Tim shakes his head slightly in amusement, fingers flying across eyes. He’s isolating the foreign words, and he’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the faint green glow that surrounds them.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason says dryly. “You can induct her in your girl rituals later. She was under attack by the GIW when I arrived.”

Dick’s curse overlaps Bruce’s hn, and fury wraps around Tim’s chest. Clearly, the GIW had a plan.

“The Watchtower received your message. Someone will pick up the agents you captured. Do you and Ellie need transportation?” Barbara asks, her smooth voice cutting through the building tension in Tim’s muscles. He briefly rubs at his chest, and takes a moment to calm himself.

“I don’t think so,” Jason says, his voice wavering from perfectly clear to robotic. It’s grating at Tim’s ears, but he finds it hard to complain when at least he has proof Jason’s alright. “Danny’s not in Gotham and…” A pause, where the static becomes alive. “I don’t think he’s in Amity.”

More static, and Ellie’s voice comes through again, just as far away as before. “No, he’s not.”

Of course it’s not that easy, that simple. Tension flows right back in, a near living weight. It’s uncomfortably like having Nocturn’s parasite back, the weight of power. He tucks the panic away, focuses on the code, even as his hands want to tremble.

“The Infinite Realms, then?” Steph asks, half falling over his chair. Her hair falls in a cascade, and he sputters as some of it sticks to his lips.

“That or the GIW took him somewhere,” Jason says, sounding thoughtful rather than furious. The reason becomes clear in a moment, as Tim feels a slight tugging at the back of his mind. It trickles down, pulling at him deep inside. It’s the softest tugging of a string, a connection known. A connection brushed past.

He’s felt it before when they test the bonds, when they practice their liminal abilities. He’s not great at it, but he knows without being told that Jason is searching for Danny.

“I can’t tell.” Jason says after a moment.

“O and I are working on getting more information on Amity Park,” Tim says, and it takes everything he has to sound even. “We can take a look there, see if the Fentons know anything. I’m sure the GIW is active there, as they seem to be across the country right now.”

“If they came after you two once, they probably will again,” Dick says, and he’s not bothering to hide the fury. Tim can almost feel it on the edge of his senses. “You need to watch your backs. They’ll come after you harder.”

Tim pulls another foreign word from the code—and he’s never seen this language before, and the Batcomputer has yet to match it. But.

He swears he’s starting to understand.

“I know,” Jason says, and it’s said with weight. “We’ll watch each other’s backs.”

“Keep in contact,” Bruce says, and Tim must really be deep in this code if he didn’t hear the Batmobile pull in—or Bruce walk up to the Batcomputer.

But he’s starting to put this together, he’s starting to…

Do something, move forward in a way they haven’t for weeks.

“Yeah, yeah, old man, as much as I can.” Jason says, and Tim can’t help the eye roll. Leave it to Jason to sound so blase about a strong request from Batman. (Nevermind that Tim reacts in a similar way.) “Keep me updated. We’re going to work out a game plan here.”

Dick shifts, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of not being right with Jason. Tim’s not any happier about it, but they’ve got a fight on multiple fronts right now, and they can’t all hit the same front.

“As much as we may not want to, it may be more efficient to split our efforts.” Damian says slowly. It’s obvious he noticed Dick’s discomfort. “As we cannot rule out the possibility of Daniel being in the Infinite Realms.”

A pause, then, “Got a way to the Infinite Realms we can access?” The line fills with static, dipping in and out. Ellie’s voice filters through a couple of times, but it’s obvious they’re discussing logistics.

As he waits for them to report back, he focuses more fully on the screen in front of him. He’s sure he’s almost figured this out, he’s nearly put all the pieces together. It seems so obvious now—he just can’t figure out how they missed it before.

The world fades out, the static in his comm barely registering. He knows his family is still in a ring around him, but it's a distant thing. His fingers fly, energy pumping through him even as the computer’s screen flicks through different screens at lightning speed. He’s found a breach in the walls—well, more a chip that he refuses to stop picking at.

He’s going to break through, he can feel it in his bones.

A voice filters through, Jason—the Realms, Danny, Amity.

“We will,” Tim manages, but he’s not sure it’s the right response. A slight pause, B said with alarm. A hand on Tim’s shoulder, a reminder of the world around him. The physical link is a balm, and he leans ever so slightly into it.

Having that link is a relief as he feels himself drift further into the code. He’s so close to understanding.

A fissure of pain spreads through his chest, a touch of a knife across skin. But he can’t stop, he won’t. More voices around him, steady and sure. The hand doesn’t let go, and he feels someone lean in on his other side.

Jason’s voice comes over the comms again, and the words only barely register. He gets the gist, though, that Jason’s heading for the Realms. The lack of communication they’ll have with Jason is not ideal, but they’ll simply have to manage.

The foreign words are nearly in order, and he’s so close to breaking through.

Damian speaks, with Steph and Dick chiming in. Dick sounds a little off, but there’s no alarms and no one starts tugging on him, so he lets it pass over him without worry. There’s a bit more before the comm clicks off.

Tim makes a low sound of triumph, sliding the last foreign word out of the code and into place. It doesn’t quite make sense, but it feels like it should. The firewalls around Amity Park are nearly down, he just has to figure out what this says.

He can almost feel the buzz of electricity under his hands, and the keyboard hums with the echo.

He stands, suddenly, and presses a hand to the screen. The answer isn’t one he can force, nor can he analyze it. If this language is what he thinks it is, the fact that it’s almost making sense is a miracle in and of itself.

The screen under his hands is alive with static, much more than the monitor should have. It feels like an old TV CRT monitor, and the hairs on his arm stand straight up. He sweeps his hand across the screen, passing over the untranslated words, and a shimmer of energy peels off with the movement.

The entire monitor feels different, looks different. Babs makes a sound of surprise, and hundreds of documents flood the screen. In the middle of the screen, the words are legible now.

Read this fast. Download faster. Congrats on getting in, I’d love to analyze how you got in, but there’s not really time for that. Call me Eye of Duat, I run with Phantom. I don’t know you, but I know this: whoever you are, you’re not fully human. Don’t argue with me, if you can read this, you are not solely human. At the least, you’re liminal. Listen—get as much information as you can and keep it safe. Don’t come to Amity Park unless you have no choice, it’s not safe here. There are hunters everywhere. Beware the Drs. Fenton and the GIW. Study up. Weapon up. Hit first, ask questions never.

And if you can, if you need, Call the Phantom.

Energy crashes through Tim, and it’s like holding onto the dream energy again. There’s a link burning though him, as connections and information spill from the monitor.

“Holy shit,” someone says, it’s probably Steph.

“We’re in,” Babs says, in shock. “We’ve got access to Amity Park—and would you look at that—” Her voice goes softly dangerous, and Tim grins. “Information about the GIW—and the Fentons.”

“We can go through the rest of it later,” Bruce says, his hand settling on Tim’s shoulder. It’s grounding, that touch. It allows Tim to feel the solid floor beneath him, to sense his suit over his skin, to notice the slight strain to his muscles, the sweat that’s beading on his forehead. “We need to focus on anything they have on the Ghost King, Danny, and how they’re tracking ghosts and liminals from across the country.”

Bruce leans in, warm and solid. “Ease back,” he says softly. “You got us in, Tim, and I’m so proud of you, but you’re going too deep.”

There’s so much happening. So much that he’s sensing. Bruce is right—it’s too much, too fast. He’s not strong enough to stay afloat, to sort through all the information that’s drowning him. He knows the feeling of pushing past his limits—and he’s rapidly shooting past this one.

Tim focuses on the press of concrete against his boots, the solid presence of Bruce at his shoulder, his siblings scattered around him. He steps back, both physically and mentally from the flood of information.

Immediately, it’s easier to breathe, to focus on the now. Tim sags against Bruce for a moment, as the spike of energy relaxes. There’s a soreness in his limbs, and the ache in his chest lingers.

“Well!” Steph says, bright. “You sure know how to put on a show.” Tim chuckles, still leaning against Bruce.

“Should I get Alfred?” Dick asks, and—the words are light, but the weight behind them is all of Dick’s attention, all of his concern.

Tim shakes his head, looking over at Dick. “No, I’m okay,” Dick stares for a moment, assessing, before he nods. There’s some tension that drops out his shoulders, and Damian leans into Dick, even as he narrows his eyes at Tim.

“Can anyone else read that?” Tim questions, gesturing to the large message that dominates the Batcomputer’s screen. He’s not sure Babs has even seen it—she’s obviously got all the information on Amity Park to sort through and he’d rather she focus on that.

His family focuses on the screen and really, he’d never say it but, but Damian’s little wrinkled nose when he’s confused by something is kinda cute.

…Huh, he’s a little more off kilter than he thought.

Dick cocks his head, like turning the words sideways will make them make sense.

Steph rubs her eyes. “Like, almost? It—does and doesn’t.”

“It is a warning,” Damian proclaims. Cass nods behind him.

“I’m trying to make sense of that codename.” Dick admits, his brow furrowed. “But I can’t quite understand the whole message.”

“It seems we haven’t yet activated all of our liminal abilities,” Bruce says, and Tim can feel the rumble of his voice clearly. “But I can see parts of the message.”

Danny had said they might not see abilities for a while, or that they might come into them suddenly. Tim’s certainly feeling it more than he had been before.

And the fact that they can read or understand any part of the message is a sign of their liminality.

After taking a sip of water, Tim reads the message out for the rest of his family. Babs listens in as she starts to wrangle the flood of information they’ve suddenly gained. Somehow, Tim doesn’t think they were meant to have so much. It would be far too much for the average person to go through.

“Is there anything that looks more basic, O?” Tim asks, even as Dick and Damian mutter about possible meanings of the username—it’s something to do with Egyptian mythology.

“Oh!” Steph exclaims. “Like something the average person with a USB might be able to save quickly?”

“I understand,” Babs says, and behind the messages, things begin to shuffle. “If there’s a message that’s supposed to be shown when you break through, it would make sense if they had files prepared.”

“This “Eye of Duat” person knows Phantom,” Damian says, breaking off from his conversation with Dick. “They have warned all those who breach the firewall of the dangers of being liminal, and to stay away from Amity Park. It is next to impossible that they are not liminal themselves. With the GIW on the prowl across the country, this Duat is in trouble too, are they not?”

“Anyone whose liminal in Amity Park is in trouble,” Dick says, tapping something out on his wrist computer. “But we don’t know who this is.”

“I’m going to Amity,” Tim says, firmly. “Danny might not be there, but his sister is. Duat is. Other people he cares about are. We can’t leave Amity alone in this, the whole town has to be crawling with GIW, not to mention whatever the Drs. Fenton are doing.”

Someone mutters a curse.

“His sister…” Steph says, exchanging a look and some sign language with Cass. “If she’s liminal at all, she’s not safe even in her own house. She needs to get out.”

“We need to figure out where the GIW’s main base is too,” Dick says, looking up from his wrist computer. “And start shutting them down. The League’s working overtime across the country rescuing people and ghosts from them.”

Bruce straightens, and everyone falls silent.

“Red Robin, pick a team. You’re heading to Amity Park.” Batman says, and Tim starts to calculate. “Oracle, what do you need to help get through this information more efficiently?”

“I’m starting to hook up with the Watchtower’s resources,” Oracle reports smoothly. “Some of the currently benched heroes have already agreed to help me look through data and categorize it. I have several processes running, sorting documents by key words. Red Robin, I have the introductory documents you asked about. Uploading to your wrist computer.”

“Thanks,” Red Robin says, just as his computer pings.

“Good,” Batman says. “Nightwing, you and a team will stay here and help look for the GIW’s base or the location of whatever they’re using to track liminals across the country. We will split manpower if they’re in two different locations, but we need to destroy that tracker.”

“There’s also the matter of who or what is funding them.” Robin adds, shamelessly looking at the information displayed on Red Robin’s computer.

“That is what I will be looking for,” Batman says, as his own computer pings. “Red Robin, who are you taking?”

“The girls,” Red Robin says without hesitation, and Spoiler cheers. “Spoiler, pack heavy. I want you loud.” A grin splits Spoiler’s face, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. “Batgirl.” She straightens from her place besides Spoiler, her eyes dark and intense. Red Robin places his index finger to his lips. “Secret.”

Batgirl grins and presses a finger to her own lips. “Secret,” she agrees.

“Get some sleep on the way over,” Dick orders, even as he meets Damian’s gaze. “Duke’s on his way down.”

“Who does that leave you with?” Steph asks Bruce, as Tim pouts over Dick’s mother henning.

Bruce smiles and lifts his wrist computer. “Whoever I call from the League.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “Show off. I could call my team too.”

“Same,” Tim says. Steph and Cass fist bump loudly as they head over to the armory.

Bruce rolls his eyes. “I know. Suit up, ration up—”

“Knowledge up,” they all chorus to Bruce’s chagrin. The Batcave becomes a flurry of activity and a cacophony of noise starts up as plans are discussed, information pings! onto devices and engines rumble to life.

We’re coming, Tim thinks. We’re coming.

Chapter Text

Danny’s fourteen, there’s blood in his mouth, more pain than he’s ever imagined ripping through his body. His vision is full of nothing but toxic, swirling green. There’s not enough breath left in his lungs to scream. His mind is blank with terror, his nerves alive and burning.

He’s dying.

He wakes up on the lab floor, frantic voices above him, hesitant hands unsure where to touch brushing across a body that feels—

Detached.

“Danny, Danny please.” Sam pleads, and Danny opens his eyes. The lab’s the same as before, but—

Green.

“Sam,” he manages, but—something’s different. Wrong. “Tuck.” There’s something weird about his voice, about his body. He’s not sore. His throat doesn’t hurt, his body doesn’t ache.

He-he feels fine.

(He feels wrong.)

“Danny?” Tucker breathes, like it’s a question, like he’s not sure. Danny’s brows furrow.

“Yeah, Tuck?” Danny asks, and something’s not right. Not right with Tucker, or Sam, or Danny. There’s a light thrumming in his chest, a sense of worry winding through him. It’s…more intense than it should be. Everything feels heightened.

Tucker swallows. Exchanges a glance with Sam.

Sam’s shaking.

“How—are—” Her hands are curled into fists on her lap. Tucker’s leaning into her shoulder.

Neither of them are touching him, now.

There’s something wrong. With them, yes, but with Danny.

He—the portal.

He shifts, his legs dragging on the floor and there’s still no pain, no ache, and he looks up, past Tucker and Sam and—

The portal stands, green and thrumming, swirling with power. Active.

“It…it worked,” Danny says, hollow. He looks back at Sam and Tucker. “I-I was in that.”

A part of him can still feel it—the sudden, shooting crash of electricity and pain. Feel the slight shift of a button under his hand, the half instant he had to wonder before everything was green.

Sam sobs.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—

I killed you.

Danny’s fourteen and he doesn’t have a heartbeat. He has snow white hair and glowing green eyes—but he doesn’t need to breathe.

He’s dead.

Danny’s fourteen and he has a heartbeat. He has coal black hair and clear blue eyes—but he’s the only thing standing between his town and the portal his death activated.

He’s alive.

He’s fourteen and his crush hates one entire half of him and thinks the other half is annoying. They date. They break up. They remain awkward friends when Danny has a heartbeat and bitter enemies (more on her side) when Phantom takes to the skies. They fight and talk, team up and backstab, help and sabotage.

Eventually, they work it all out.

Phantom pulls her into his orbit. Danny claims her as a friend.

His allies grow.

He’s fourteen and he feels like he’s breaking from the inside. He’s so, so cold, and this has to be it. This has to be the end. Whatever miracle-curse-fluke that allowed him to survive the portal has faded out. What else could be making him feel like this, when he’s never felt the vaguest chill as Phantom? When the cold chases his human form like a fog, buries itself into bone and ecto alike?

Going into the Zone has less to do with any real thought of finding help, and more for not wanting anyone to have to watch him die again.

(He’s gotta save Sam, he has to, he has to, but he can’t even save himself.)

The Far Frozen isn’t anything he ever expected, and learning about cores goes onto the list of Ghost Shit That’s Important But He Doesn’t Understand—a list that grows by the day.

He gains control. He goes back to Amity.

He wins.

Danny’s fifteen, and he’s fought and defeated more ghosts than anyone thought possible. He’s fifteen, and his grades are tanking, and he’s got so many secrets he doesn’t know how to peel them from his skin and just be anymore. He’s not just Danny.

He’s not just Phantom.

He’s fifteen, and the broken shards of a shattered future lay at his feet. The monster he’s always feared he could become glares back from the remains, a nightmare given form. He’s surrounded by ticking clocks, each whirr of a gear grating against his skin.

This is your future, Clockwork declares.

No, it isn’t, Danny decides.

He’s fifteen, staring at a face that mirrors his own, betrayal and fury twisting helplessly inside him. She’s determined and desperate, believing in a lie that’s all she’s ever known.

She’s been told to destroy him.

There’s nothing in him that’s capable of harming her.

They reach an accord.

The day he calls her sister is the same day he knows he can’t trust his parents with her. The day he calls her sister is the same day he realizes he needs to be more careful, that he needs to make sure there’s a way out. For his sisters. For his best friends. For the ghosts that nearly call Amity home.

It nearly breaks him, when he realizes he has to look at his parents like enemies.

Danny’s sixteen and Pariah’s casket is once again locked. He’s shaking from the effort of it all—but more, he’s shaking from everything he can feel now.

It had begun when he was fourteen, screaming as he lived and died and died and lived and became something that walked a line no one else could see.

It had begun when he’d looked prophecy and future and Ancient knowledge in the face and made a destiny of his own.

It had begun when he’d won fight after fight, built power after power and mastered himself.

It had begun and became over every minute he’d spent in the Zone, the hours, days, weeks, he’d explored and studied.

Without meaning to, without realizing, he’d steeped himself into the Zone, picked up on the ebb and flow, gained allies and enemies, friend and foe.

He’s been learning the Realms. He’s been learning about himself.

He’s just defeated the King of the Infinite Realms, stripped him of his artifacts of power, ripped control of the Realms from Pariah’s weakened grasp.

He hits his knees as Danny Phantom, halfa, explorer, Great One, student, brother, friend, enemy, rival, lover—

He rises King Phantom, newest ruler of the Infinite, with more titles than there are stars, and a Realm laid out at his feet.

He’s sixteen when there’s a pull. A call, familiar and not. The Call is desperate, both furious and exhausted.

It’s a primal Call, one that reaches right into Danny’s core, and clings.

Dead, calling to dead.

Dead, calling to dead—

I call the Phantom, dead to dead—

Halfa

To

Halfa.

The halfa on the other side of the Call is nothing Danny ever expected.

But what else can he do but help?

“Oh, dude—what happened to you?”

He’s sixteen and his life and death are full of impossible things. He meets up regularly with Batman and his kids. He’s King of a Realm. He’s studying for his history test. Jazz has been making noise about college. He’s pretty sure he’s dating his best friends. His parents are still his parents—but there’s an ache there, something waiting to snap.

He’s fixing the Infinite.

Pariah’s rule had left it in shambles, the natural order of it all breaking apart, tied to a ruler that ripped everything apart for power and then was forced into a sleep that did nothing to staunch the wounds he’d dug.

Danny’s piecing together things that have been bleeding for millennia, putting pressure on wounds that have been left to fester and weep. Infection lingers in hidden places. Corruption eats, greedy and ravenous.

After Jason, after Nocturn, he’s working harder than ever to pull it all back together.

Danny’s sixteen and he’s sitting on his throne—

Danny’s sixteen and he’s—

Danny’s throne—

Danny’s—

The Ghost King has Fallen.

Chapter Text

There’s an energy to the air. Like a shift in current, an encroaching storm. It’s not altogether a bad feeling, but it’s not exactly a good one either. Like cold and hot air mixing, two currents colliding.

It feels like a storm. It feels like danger.

It feels like the change in seasons.

There’s an ache to the woods she normally associates with brutal winter storms. With ripping winds and churning water.

It doesn’t help that she feels the ache inside as well. Her core is a throb, and it’s not just the remnants of the GIW’s freaky weapon. Something vital is wrong. She’s never felt the Realms so close, never felt like the world was unstable.

She’s well used to instability, to the fragility of ectoplasm forced into an artificial form. It’s not comforting to feel it around her.

“So who is this Fruitloop?” Jason asks, just behind her. “Also is his name Fruitloop?”

Ellie snorts. “Nah,” she phases through a tangled fall of trees and thorns. It takes Jason a second, but he passes through too. It’s clear he’s still getting used to having powers, but he’s getting along pretty well. “And he’s…” She furrows her brow. Seriously, how does one describe Vlad? “He’s a fruitloop, and he’s usually got some kinda scheme, and he’s kinda obsessed with Danny.”

There’s a guarded silence behind her, a flash of fury, and a wave of protection.

“Is he behind this?” Jason asks, voice low and furious. Ellie spins in surprise. Jason’s eyes aren’t fully green, but they have a deep, ethereal glow.

“Probably not,” Ellie says, which doesn’t seem to help. She holds up a hand to try and calm him down. “Look, he’s for sure a little crazy, and a lot creepy, but he’s always kept his schemes focused on Danny, not the entire Realms—and he really wouldn’t do anything that would get the attention of heroes across the country, especially not the Justice League.”

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t fuck up,” Jason mutters, but the glow to his eyes eases a bit. Which. She’d love to see Jason punch Vlad. Just a little. But now is, unfortunately, not the time.

Vlad’s plans do sometimes blow up in his face. Of which she’s a fantastic example.

“Maybe,” she allows, but the GIW haven’t exactly been pals of Vlad’s either. It…wouldn’t be impossible for Vlad to have poked at them or something, but he’s not quite that dumb. She thinks. She hopes. “The bigger problem is that if they tracked us—”

“They tracked him,” Jason sighs. “I wondered.”

“He’s not easy to catch,” she says, and to her credit it’s only mildly sulky. “And his place is boobytrapped to hell and back; I doubt the GIW found his portal even if they managed to chase him off.”

“How does he just have a portal to the Infinite Realms?” Jason asks, pausing for a moment to scan the quiet dark woods.

“Technically, he had his first,” she says, pausing. She transforms, feeling the familiar rise of energy. Instead of the press of freedom, the rush of flight, there’s a bitter edge, a warning. “We should fly from here; we should be far enough from any other GIW Agents.” There’s a curl of energy, a flicker of light, and Jason stands transformed beside her.

He’s got more going on with his ghost form. There’s a lot of movement—his jacket flickers and coils around him, and while some of him looks fairly solid, other parts are nearly see through.

Apparently she’s due for a revamp of her style, ‘cause he looks cool, and she’s still mostly rocking her original outfit. Oh, well, something to do later.

“I want you to know,” Jason says, and hey, why does his voice get a cool echo?? She wants a cool echo! “That you are just as bad at explaining as your brother is.”

She grins, starting to rise towards Vlad’s mansion. Mischief sparks. “I guess the cloning process did get some things right!”

She leaves Jason sputtering behind her.

“You’re a brat!” Rings out, but she doesn’t pause. They’ve got a decent flight to get to Vlad’s from here, and she doubts it’ll be free of assholes along the way. Especially if they are around Vlad’s mansion. It has to be better than Amity—between the utter concentration of GIW agents and the built in anti-ghost tech, it’d be too much of a fight.

(And she doesn’t care if it’s cowardly, she doesn’t want to face the Fentons. Jack and Maddie are, technically, sorta, her parents—even though they don’t know she exists. They’d never accept her. Never believe her. Never want her. But there’s a small part of her that wishes they would. That they’d accept Danny and her. It’s a pipe dream, but one she can’t quite let go of, despite it all.)

Jason catches up quickly. Silence falls between them as the landscape blurs beneath them. She can tell he has questions, but it seems he can tell she doesn’t want to talk about it.

Her worry for Danny is growing with every moment. She’s not boasting or exaggerating when she says Danny’s powerful, that he rarely loses a fight. It’s simply fact. She doesn’t understand how he’s fallen, not just as a ghost, but as king.

If he was fighting, if someone had challenged the throne, why didn’t she hear about it? Sense it? She should have.

And who the hell could’ve won?

Pariah’s powerful, but without the ring and the crown, he’s hardly invincible, even if he had managed to escape. Vlad might be able to beat Danny, but…

It just doesn’t seem like a simple fight. Not with the pain that’s pulsing in her core. Not with the feeling of a riptide shuddering through the air. This feels like something broken.

(There’s one ghost that might’ve been able to pull something like this, crash in and defeat Danny without any of them getting a head’s up, but how would the GIW be involved with that? If…if it was him, they’d know, because he’d be razing his way across the country by now. The GIW would be dying by his hand, not joining in on whatever happened.)

None of it makes sense.

“Gonna tell me what’s got you thinking so hard I can smell it?” Jason asks, just slightly behind her.

Elle sighs. “It just doesn’t make sense. Danny doesn’t go down easily, and this…It was so sudden.”

Jason’s silent for a long moment. “Knowing the kind of shit I get into, I’m going to guess he did something that me and my siblings are all guilty of.” He sighs and looks at her. “He found something to look into, didn’t tell anyone, didn’t think he needed help, thought he could handle it, and stepped into something much bigger than he expected.”

Her first instinct is to protest—Danny’s not stupid! And he’s usually pretty honest with them. Most of the time. But—

If he thought it wasn’t a big deal, or not something for them to worry about then…he’d do exactly that.

“Dammit, Danny,” she whines. “He’s an idiot.”

“Probably,” Jason agrees. “But like I said—he wouldn’t be the first to do this. Hell, Batman himself has done it, and he’s supposed to be the world’s greatest detective.”

“And how did it play out for your siblings?” she demands. Tell me this ends with us saving him. It’s dumb, Jason can’t promise anything and she wouldn’t believe it anyway, but there’s a childish part of her that wants to hear it.

“We tracked them down, rescued their dumbasses, and gave them the lecture of a lifetime,” Jason says, but there’s something hidden under his words. “Most of the time, that’s how it works.”

She shouldn’t ask, she really shouldn’t— “And the rest of the time?”

Jason laughs, the sound of it hollow. “The rest of the time, you crawl through an empty warehouse, knowing there’s no one and nothing to save you.”

A snap in the air, and whip of a moaning wind.

And she knows.

He died. He went off, did exactly what he described, and didn’t make it out alive. Not fully.

“Oh,” she manages. She—she hasn’t talked to a lot of ghosts about how they died. It’s not a subject brought up lightly. And she went and slammed into it. “Sorry-I didn’t…”

“I’m not shy about it,” Jason says, even though there’s a bit of tension in the air. “It happened, and there’s nothing to change it now. It’s what I did after that…well, I’d do a lot to change it.”

There’s a whole lot there to unpack and she’s too damn curious for her own good. But she does have manners! Sometimes. Mostly.

“But Danny’s got a whole lot more people helping him right now,” Jason continues, like he didn’t notice her hitch. “No matter what he managed to get himself into, we’ll figure it out.”

That is. That is not what she was worried about—but maybe it should’ve been. Danny’s been lucky so many times, got himself out of trouble countless times. At…at what point does his luck run out?

She just wished she knew what happened.

“I’m going to rag on him so hard after this,” Ellie says, trying for her usual cheer. “Making me worry like this.”

Jason snorts. “He’s going to get smothered, that’s for sure. Kid’s in for a lecture about communication, and recognizing limits.”

“Ugh,” Ellie says on reflex. That sounds so boring. “He deserves it.”

“Yeah,” Jason agrees. “It’s even more boring than you think, I promise. The powerpoint is in beige.”

Ellie recoils, nearly loses altitude. “Beige?”

Jason looks over, expression pained. “With the exact same transitions on every graph, picture, and quote.”

“...Maybe he doesn’t deserve it,” she mutters and Jason laughs.

“That’ll depend on what exactly he managed to get into.” Jason says. “Speaking of, do we have any clue what he could’ve messed with?”

Ellie sighs, “Nothing that makes sense! Anyone strong enough to defeat Danny wouldn’t side with the GIW. The GIW shouldn’t be able to get into the Realms, and a defeat by a human organization shouldn’t count as the Ghost King falling. Unless they’re just, like, saying that for the drama of it and know they aren’t actually taking the title.”

“Would him losing the title feel like this?” Jason asks, pressing a hand over his core. “And…” Jason looks at her, brows scrunched in confusion. “It…it doesn’t feel like he’s not King anymore.”

Ellie purses her lips, because Jason’s right. It doesn’t feel like he’s not King—honestly, it feels deeper than that. Than a simple loss of title.

“I…I don’t think it’s so simple,” Ellie says. “‘Cause he is still King, he’s just…” Just what? It’s all twisted inside. And now that some of the shock’s faded, it’s a little easier to sort through what she is feeling, not that any of it makes sense.

Jason looks and feels just as frustrated.

“The Ghost King has fallen,” Jason mutters to himself. “That—fallen. Not defeated, or dethroned. Fallen. It’s an odd word choice. They didn’t say captured either. And this feeling…” He growls—and she knows what he means. There’s something fractured. Something fundamentally wrong.

“Let’s hope the fruitloop knows something useful for once,” Ellie says, because she doesn’t know what else to say. Because Jason’s right, but she doesn’t know what it means.

“One day you’ll explain something fully,” Jason snarks, and she manages a bit of a giggle, but it’s hard when she’s full of dread.

“Probably not,” she says, teasing.

In the end, the fruitloop finds them.

A shiver moves through the air, raising the hairs on Jason’s neck, down his arms. There’s the sudden sense that he’s not alone, but it’s not like before. It’s not the sense of hunted he’d had before, but it’s not exactly pleasant either.

Ellie wrinkles her nose, eyes flashing green.

“Oh, come on,” she whispers. “I thought we had a couple more hours before we dealt with him.”

There’s a tug, a whisper of familiar-known-same and suddenly Jason knows there’s another ghost in the area. He tenses; he’s never met another ghost beyond the blobs and shades that run wild in his haunt—and Nocturn. The sense he’s getting is odd though, feels more like—no way. He flicks his gaze down at Ellie, who looks torn.

Jason looks up in time to see another ghost appear in front of them and it’s only slightly less of a shock to meet eyes with another halfa the second time in less than an hour. This halfa is transformed too, his human features well blurred.

…Is he an asshole—more of one than usual—if he thinks the third member of his unique—species? Hybrid?—looks like a discount dracula?

Who is he kidding? He’s an asshole and he’s not wrong. There’s a tug of same same same that lurks inside, the sense of knowing there’s only a few people who walk the same lines he does. But unlike with Ellie, there’s no need to protect, there’s no Call between them. In fact, he feels downright wary for no real reason he can name.

He eyes up the older halfa, gauging who they’re dealing with. It’s an odd place for a meeting, he supposes, they’re in the air somewhere above what he thinks is South Dakota, but he's not actually sure. The man’s all red eyes and spiky hair, with sharp features. Maybe it’s the cape, or the white of most of his clothes that has him so on edge.

(Seriously, a cape? Obviously this guy’s never heard the name Edna Mode.)

“Vlad,” Ellie grinds out, annoyance emanating. The rest of her emotions are still a desperate twist and he can see the tension in her frame. There’s a weird undercurrent to the desperation; a part of her is relieved to see this halfa—the other part is worried.

Is this the fruitloop? He’s pretty colorless for that remark, honestly.

“Danielle,” Vlad says. It’s said with a bit of snark, or like he’s hoping for a reaction. Ellie scowls but seems disinclined to start anything. She’s a bundle of nerves, and she’s searching the ghost for signs of damage.

Considering they have much more important things to worry about, Jason can’t blame her for not rising to the bait. There’s a burning twist in his chest, aching like a wound. Urgency yanks along his limbs, begging him forward.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Ellie asks, voice terse but nearly hopeful.

“Which are you referring to? There’s a number of things happening,” Vlad says, easing closer, a prowl to his movements.

His obnoxious cape doesn’t make a sound as he moves.

“Do you mean the GIW’s appearance? Their new competence? Do you mean the fact that nearly every ghost across the country is on the run right now? Or,” Vlad pauses, hands curling. “Or, do you mean what happened to young Daniel?”

“It’s all connected, fucker,” Jason says, anger boiling. This isn’t a fucking joke. And if he’s got any idea what happened and won’t tell them, Jason’s going to find out what color this Vlad bleeds.

Vlad cocks an eyebrow, gaze locking onto Jason. He can’t help but bear his teeth as Vlad rakes a judgemental eye over him. “And a new player, I see. We have been busy, haven’t we?”

“Get to the point Vlad,” Ellie snaps. “Why are you here?”

“Is that any way to speak to me?” Vlad smiles, but there’s no humor in it. “I am technically a royal advisor. And let’s pretend that you weren’t coming to find me.”

Ellie snorts, the sound so dismissive Jason doesn’t even have time to be shocked at Vlad’s declaration. “You’re the royal annoyance, you know you don’t have a real title. And we wanted your portal, not you. ”

Something’s not quite truthful about that statement, and despite all the bluster and taunting from them both—Jason gets the idea that they’re both glad to see each other in one piece.

“Of course not, Princess,” Vlad says, lip curled. His accent slips through, slightly nasal with a softer hit to the Ts, turning them more into Ds. “Not that titles matter right now.” Vlad cocks a brow. “What an odd way of asking for a favor.”

“Are you here to help or live up to the annoyance title?” Jason asks idly, trying to ignore how much his body feels like a live wire right now. Every second they stand here, doing nothing, slams at him. There’s no time for this. At least before they were making progress.

(At the very least, he’s got an answer on who they were going to. He’s not quite sure why Ellie called Vlad a fruitloop, but this is one halfa Jason would like to see less of.)

“Hmm, I see the newest halfa is made of the same cloth as you and Daniel,” Vlad muses, but Jason gets the faintest sense of calculation/disquiet/scrutiny. “But there is something I came here for,”

“Of course,” Ellie mutters.

“Spill,”

Vlad sighs, as if exhausted by them, pausing to rub his nails against his suit before he looks back to them.

“To answer your question, Danielle,” Vlad says. “I had nothing to do with what happened to Daniel. Not even I would go this far. Not even at my worst,”

Ellie’s gaze snaps up to Vlad’s and Jason steps forward. “So you do know what happened to Danny!” Ellie snarls. “Is he okay?”

“I have a suspicion,” Vlad says. “Can’t you feel it? The ache that won’t go away, the way your core feels jagged, your ectoplasm sharper? What happened to Daniel is nothing compared to what will happen to the Realms, or us.”

“What are you talking about?” Jason snarls, power flaring. Vlad flares his in return and his power is deeper, older. There’s a refined edge to it, a weight. Vlad’s power is…almost greasy, greedy, and self-serving. Whatever Vlad found them for, it’s more for Vlad’s benefit than theirs.

(But also not the whole story—there’s a lot he’s not understanding from Vlad. There’s a slippery undercurrent that he can’t understand, something he’s missing.)

“Would you like to test me, little halfa?” Vlad asks, his voice smooth and edging on mocking.

“I want you to stop talking in fucking riddles,” Jason snaps, power crackling. He doesn’t have the control, the presence, that Vlad can fold over like a cloak, like Danny can exude with barely a thought. That doesn’t mean Jason couldn’t test it. But—

They don’t have time for a knock out fight with Vlad, though something in Jason wants so badly to. This is a challenger—worse, this is someone keeping him from Danny.

“I will not procrastinate with you,” Vlad says, irritation flaring. “Only a fool would expect this to end well for anyone. If this isn’t stopped both the Realms, and perhaps more beyond it, are doomed.”

“You still haven’t said what this is, or why you’re here.” Ellie says, eyes narrowed.

Vlad lets out a put upon sigh, reaching—somewhere. It’s not quite like Danny’s trick with his backpack, but it’s similar in that something still appears out of thin air.

“I suppose it wasn’t entirely an idiotic plan to come to me for a portal. Unfortunately, there were enough agents in my home that leaving seemed…prudent. The lab and the portal are beyond them, unless they blow the entire mansion.” Vlad pauses, lets out a small puff of a sigh, all while rolling his eyes. “Which, knowing the type of people the GIW employees, isn’t impossible, I suppose. In any case, I have little desire to see either Realm destroyed, and if you both are volunteering to be the heroes here…”

“You want it fixed, but you don’t want to do it yourself,” Jason says flatly, and Vlad’s smile is all smarmy satisfaction.

“Why would I, when you’re willing to do all the hard work for me?” he questions, entirely smug.

“And what do you want, for helping us?” Ellie asks, eyeing up the…thing Vlad’s holding. It’s a chunky device, thick metal built into a rough circle, accented with green. It’s sleeker than the tech Jason usually associates with anything ecto related, the design just slightly off from the Fenton Tech he’s seen.

“Oh, nothing really,” Vlad says, offhand. Every ounce of Jason goes tense. That’s the biggest load of bullshit he’s heard in a while, and Vlad’s not even pretending to try and hide it. “I thought that perhaps our benevolent king might find it in his heart to offer me a boon. A little more freedom, a favor of my choosing. Simple things. I am but a humble servant, after all.”

Ellie puffs up, fury crossing her features alongside a quick flare of shock. “Danny’s in trouble and you said both Realms might fall apart, and you want to use it as a bargaining chip?”

Of course he does, Jason thinks but does not say. It’s a move he’s seen hundreds of times before. Vlad has something they want, they need, and he’s not above using it. They could call him on it—the part where Vlad doesn’t want either Realm destroyed is true, as is the part where he doesn’t want to get his hands dirty. If they call his bluff, say they’d figure something else out and leave, he’s not sure what Vlad would do. Vlad might break, might give it to them anyway or…

Or he’d find someone else to do his dirty work.

Besides, there isn’t another option, and Vlad knows it.

Rock and a hard place, Jason thinks. He’s been here before.

It’s just a matter of what they have to give up, what bargain they have to make.

Jason’s been there before too.

“Spell it out,” Jason says flatly. There’s a lot at stake here, a lot that Jason would do to save Danny. But there’s something here he doesn’t know—more than a tension. It’s a fissure, a break. There’s undercurrents he can feel but not read.

Obviously, Danny has Vlad on a leash. Obviously, Vlad will use whatever he can to gain leverage, to build his own power. He doesn’t think Vlad would go for the Throne—no, Vlad wouldn’t want the responsibility, the scrutiny that being a King comes with. He’d like the power.

But there’s other places that don’t have the added weight of the crown or draw as much attention. These places can have power, sway. There’s a lot happening behind a crown, gears and machinations and twisting favors gained or owed.

Vlad would do well, Jason muses, in the shadows behind the throne. He’s the type that can be the worst enemy or the greatest ally.

(There’s still something he’s missing, some thread or knowledge, something that Vlad’s keeping under lock and key but Jason can’t divine it.)

“Oh, but there’s so much I could ask,” Vlad demures, and Jason narrows his eyes. He may not be able to tell all of Vlad’s motives, but he’ll be as cautious as he can be with what he does know.

“You know what you want,” Jason says, holding the instinctive snap of temper back with long, long practice. “Don’t pretend you don’t already have every favor plotted, every restriction you want lifted laid out. We both know we don’t have time to play games. What do you want?”

Vlad smiles, and it’s nothing friendly.

“Not quite the same cloth as Daniel, then,” he says. “Alright, little halfa, let’s negotiate.”

“Ready?” Jason asks Ellie, who nods. Jason holds the strange bit of tech that Vlad gave them, uncurling some ecto to feed it. Vlad had warned that it doesn’t take much.

The metal sphere hums, lighting up. Jason lets it drop once the entire thing is lit.

It never hits the ground.

It unforms, spots of light drifting out, opening. From one instant to the next, the sphere is gone, and in its wake there’s simply light. The spot of it is hard to look at, this growing circle of broken reality. Finally it reaches its full size—just barely six feet around, shaky and curling at the edges.

The center sparks, and the hum grows, as a familiar toxic green drips into the circle and spreads. The edges burn with excess ecto, and Jason waits for the right moment, Ellie twitchy with the wait at his side.

The pocket portal is a slightly ill-advised, mostly-tested bit of tech. It’s Vlad’s invention, his answer to his own inability to form reliable portals to the Infinite on his own. It’s not an easy skill, Jason garners, and Vlad’s inability to master it is a weakness he hates.

The pocket portal will create a temporary stable portal into the Infinite Realms, but it’s a matter, Vlad had insisted, of timing.

The edges of the small portal stabilize, the portal itself swirls clockwise steadily, smoothly, a mix of bright toxic green and darker shades. For bare moments, the portal thrums steadily.

They don’t hesitate—they dive through, crossing into the unknown.

The portal stays open for a few more seconds, before it folds in on itself, green fading to stark, impossible white, until there’s nothing.

Somewhere, two signatures vanish from a map.

Their absence is not unnoticed.

Chapter Text

Going through all the files only fuels Tim’s fury. Every fact, every research paper, every internet post, and warning builds it. Every update from Babs makes it worse, the pieces she and the JLA have fished out building an ugly picture.

Fact one, the Fenton parents (he won’t dare to call them doctors) hate everything about ghosts. Their papers are full of disdain, of fear, and derision. They drip with false pity, with dire warnings, and contradicting theories with little basis. Ghosts are somehow able to lie and manipulate, hate and want, all while being labeled as mindless creatures who can only mimic humanity.

How can something want and also be a pale mimic? How can it hate humanity enough to want to destroy it but also be mindless? Don’t they see the contradiction?

Then they get to the articles, the warnings, and social media posts about Phantom.

Some of it is a mess, in the typical way reporters and news articles can be—confusing information, updates that can’t keep up with fights, general confusion, and a slight hint of panic. The first few months of Danny’s debut as a superhero were rough. Tim finds himself glad, not for the first time, that he had people to help him—even beyond Bruce. He had a safety net, and it’s painfully clear that Danny had nothing.

Oh, there’s a little help here or there, some things that seemed edited or retracted, evidence of boosting Danny’s grades, of erasing some footage. Tim can see the hacker improving, can see Danny getting better with fighting and doing well with the press. Or well, getting better at avoiding it, which is half the battle.

It’s honestly impressive.

There’s a clear story Tim can follow. There’s also a clear divide.

That is, divides.

The Fentons aren’t the only ones who are unconvinced about ghosts. There’s people who want them all gone, not so much in the destruction sense, but in the sense of shutting the Portal down.

Tim’s seen a lot, but the idea of someone just having a portal to another dimension in their basement is a wilder one. Not the craziest, not by a long stretch, but not the usual level of crazy.

Then there’s the people who want to coexist with the ghosts, others who want to study them, others who think they’re just part of life and to let it all be, and a rabid Phantom fanclub that seems to have died down a bit in their ferocity.

There’s people who think Phantom is a hero, others who blame him for it all, still more who utterly hate him, and some that call for the destruction of anything even remotely ecto-adjacent.

No bet on which camp the Fentons fall into, only with a side of wanting to tear them apart molecule by molecule to see how they’re built.

Which, Tim would like to note, as he grits his teeth, is almost a direct quote.

It’s a good thing the Batplane is fast and that Illinois isn’t that bad of a flight, even in a commercial plane. One more second reading everything they’ve gathered from Amity Park would have driven him to insanity.

They’re two minutes from landing, the plane’s cloaking tech is firmly in place, and all three of them are armed with everything they could fit on their person.

The GIW, from what Tim’s been reading, is using Amity as its own personal playground. And with the show of force across the country, Tim has no doubt that Amity itself is crawling with bright white suits.

“Where to first, Oh Captain, my Captain?” Steph asks, her words bright and bubbly but every inch of her coiled and ready. She’s wearing her sturdiest combat boots, the soles thick, and tread deep. She’s layered in extra padding, and there’s more than one weapon on clear display. Her hair looks wild and untamed—and grabbable—but there’s hidden pins and clips that hold it back, that keep it from being so simple.

She’s got her mask pulled right up under her eyes, which glitter with feral glee. Cass is a black shadow besides her, streamlined but no less dangerous. She’s also wearing some thicker padding, her shoes a little more reinforced, her gloves subtly gleaming with metal bands.

There’s not a weapon on her that’s visible beyond that, but it’s hard to tell where she begins and the shadows end.

“FentonWorks,” Tim declares. He’s not going to beat around the bush with this, not going to play any games. This is not an investigation, this is an infiltration, a rescue mission, and a war if necessary.

He’s got his team on call, and he knows the girls have their own allies to call in if there’s a need.

There’s not a soul in Amity Park that’s prepared for what’s about to hit it.

The town is chaos. The GIW is everywhere, but it’s not like Tim imagined. They aren’t in control. Of course, it doesn’t look like anyone is, but the GIW isn’t the oppressive force that Tim thought they’d be here.

There’s something deeply wrong with the town.

It’s drenched in ecto, in a way Tim didn’t think was possible. He’s felt Gotham, felt some of the other places that have a natural source of it. Amity feels like it’s made of it.

It also feels like an open wound.

Cass had made a small sound as they’d entered the town, one single note of pain. Steph had stumbled and gasped, and Tim—

Tim had taken the gut punch with all the grace of a car to the face, had nearly hit his knees.

The town is a scream. There’s a crush of emotion that defies definition, a broken, ragged feel that rips through him. He feels pulled apart, too thin. Something vital is broken, and he’s drowning in it all.

They’d spent a few minutes pulling themselves back together, and the hit of pain hadn’t touched the core of rage that’s made itself a home in his chest.

Steph leans into him as they reach FentonWorks, having just parked the bikes they’d loaded into the plane.

“Watch your anger,” she whispers, before stepping back and guarding his back. Cass had vanished a while back, slipping into the chaos with a bare ripple.

The feel of the ecto around them is even more fraught here, concentrated. Tim can almost see it rippling down the street in waves, and the endless scream of it gains teeth.

Just before Tim gets the door, he takes a moment. There’s not a Robin, Bat, or Bird who doesn’t know anger, who doesn’t know fury. They’ve learned to channel it, to use it, and not be ruled by it.

He flicks a quick hand signal to Steph, a wordless thanks.

He doesn’t bother knocking.

He’s almost disappointed by the fact the door’s open, that nothing attempts to stop them. The sign isn’t even lit up.

The front door leads almost immediately into the kitchen, which has a clear arch into the living room. There’s a door that catches Tim’s attention immediately. It’s metal, with warning stickers plastered over it, a heavy handle with heavier hinges.

Well, if that’s not the door to the lab, and the portal, Tim will eat his socks. Before he can head towards it, though, there’s rapid steps coming up the stairs, heavy ones, and the door slams open.

“Freeze, intruder!! The Fenton’s Fabulous Ghost Defense System may be down, but Jack Fenton’s not out!” a large man in an orange hazmat suit declares, armed with an ecto-weapon that reminds Tim of a bazooka. It doesn’t look quite like the one Jason used against Nocturn, however. It’s a little more angular, a lot more beefy.

Red Robin cocks a brow. “Jack Fenton. We need to talk.”

Jack blinks, lowering his weapon slightly. Not enough for Tim’s comfort, but he’ll take it. “You’re one of them vigilantes!”

“Red Robin,” he replies, and stares at Danny’s father. Salt and pepper hair, large, muscular but not just for show, loud, brash. It’d be easy to dismiss him as an idiot, but it’s an act Tim’s seen too many times to simply accept at face value.

It’s insult to injury, how much Jack Fenton looks like a dad. How much he reminds Tim of Bruce. Bruce, who has his own passions, his own obsessions, and yet has forced himself to take time for his kids. Bruce, who would rather cut off his own hands than hurt his own kids, even by accident. Jack Fenton is built like a dad.

And he’s done everything wrong.

The bazooka lowers all the way, and Jack grins.

“Maddie!” he shouts, gleeful. “Maddie, the Justice League’s sent people! Come on!”

Tim can literally feel the careful locks on his rage rattle, even as he takes a mental step back to analyze. This isn’t the response he’d thought he’d get from the Fentons. It’s with a level of detachment that he listens to Jack Fenton explain about how it’s about time the Justice League and other heroes realized what was happening and came to help.

It’s like watching a play, the way Madeline Fentons comes up from the basement, her own weapon in hand but lowered, looking cautious, but still perfectly welcoming.

“Dr. Madeline Fenton,” she says, and Tim tracks her every move, shakes her hand in reflex. She smiles, easily, relaxed, and seemingly just as happy to see him. “We’re so thrilled you’re here; we can usually handle whatever happens in Amity Park, but…” she exchanges a glance with her husband. Lines pull at the corners of her mouth, and there’s tension around her eyes.

“It’s been more than usual!” Jack exclaims. “Portals are opening across the town, and ghost scum are popping out everywhere! Can’t begin to keep up, but there’s so many targets you can’t miss!”

“No time to study the ones we’ve captured though,” Madeline sighs. “The G.I.W has taken some of the specimens to their facility, but we haven’t had the chance to investigate. I don’t understand why the Justice League hasn’t stepped in before and taken out the Ghost King on their own.”

It’s like watching someone dig their own grave. Mildly horrifying on one level, but on the other, you can’t help but wonder how far they’re going to go.

“It’s made it all so much easier!” Jack grins, opens a kitchen cabinet and pulls out a couple of ecto-pistols. They’re familiar in design. Very similar to the ones taken from the G.I.W in Gotham. There’s something slightly different about them, though. The second Jack pulls them from the cabinet, Tim can feel their energy in his teeth.

“Easier,” Red Robin intones. It feels like someone else is speaking. These are Danny’s parents. These people.

They haven’t said a word about their children. Haven’t expressed any concerns for the civilians in their town. Haven’t thought a thing about why there might be so many portals opening as a result of the Ghost King falling. He knows they don’t know that they’re celebrating the fall of their son, but it doesn’t seem like they care about consequences in general.

After all, Jack just pulled weapons from a cabinet in their home that Tim can see has food in it, and he’s fairly sure those weapons are leaking ecto-radiation.

“Oh, it’s been fish in a barrel!” Madeline says, something viciously satisfied in her tone. “We haven’t had it this easy…well, ever.”

“There haven't been this many ghosts around! Not even after the portal first opened.” Jack opens the fridge, and while Tim can’t see past his bulk, he can see the sickly green glow that emanates from it. “Would you like a drink? We have—”

“No,” Red Robin says shortly. Tim’s always wondered how Danny became a halfa. Wondered what particular set of circumstances allowed such a thing to happen. It’s becoming alarmingly clear that such an event had far too many opportunities in this house. There’s ectoplasm everywhere. “How long has the portal been open?”

Madeline and Jack exchange glances.

“Why, it’s certainly been a while,” Madeline says, nearly scolding. “Really, you’d think someone in the hero department would’ve noticed long ago. It’s been just about three years.”

“A portal to another dimension isn’t a small thing,” Red Robin says, not quite ignoring her. “Quite the research opportunity.”

How deep, Tim wonders, will you dig this hole?

Jack laughs, loud and boisterous. “Oh, we’ve gotten so much material, it’ll take us decades to go through it all! Danny-boy fixing up the portal for us led to huge breakthroughs.”

“It’s too bad neither he or his sister are big on ghost fighting,” Madeline sighs.

Tim’s ears are ringing. No. No. He has to be wrong—

Danny-boy fixing up the portal for us—

The arrival of Phantom in the wake of the portal’s activation, the articles about “Inviso-bill” directly following the first ghost attacks. Everything they’ve pieced together, from what Danny has said, from the information freed from Amity Park’s firewalls, has had Danny in the middle of it since the start.

But…was it from the very first moment? Is it simply that Danny fixed the portal, or is there more to it? At some point Danny died. That’s undeniable, given what he is.

But…the sheer amount of energy that must be in that portal—

If that’s what happened, how the fuck did the sacks of shit that call themselves his parents not notice?

They’re still talking, Tim realizes.

“—it’ll be nice working with professionals,” Madeline continues, heedless of Tim’s distraction. At some point, Steph has come closer, her fingers just barely brushing the middle of his back. “Between you and me, the G.I.W is very inconsistent in their professionalism and they can be wildly unpredictable. We have enough weapons in the lab to give you a decent kit, at least to get started.”

Jack grins. “FentonWorks’ defense system is down, but make no mistake, our weapons are the best at destroying and detaining ghost scum!”

Tim gets one last slippery handle on his rage.

“Tell me,” he says, voice almost robotic, “where are your children?”

For a moment, both Fenton’s faces go completely blank. Jack gives an almost awkward chuckle. Tim waits. He doesn’t know where Danny’s sister might be, but he knows that Danny hasn’t been home. He doesn’t know how long Danny might’ve been elsewhere with Ghost King duties, if he wasn’t in Amity at the time he was attacked, but it’s been nearly two days since everything went to hell.

That’s a long, long time not to know where your child is.

“Our daughter is at a friend’s house,” Madeline says, recovering faster than her husband. “Our son had a sleepover with his best friend the other night. He didn’t come home, but his friend said they’re staying at his house until the situation calms down.”

“Have you seen either of them?” Red Robin asks, taking one half step further into the kitchen. “Talked to them?”

“Jazz texted, and Danny’s best friend call—”

“So no, you haven’t,” Red Robin finishes for her. Her lips twist but he doesn’t give her a chance to speak. “Your town is overrun with ghosts and the unpredictable and inconsistent ghost hunters called the G.I.W. Random portals are opening throughout the town. You can’t keep up, nor document, all the ghosts that are coming through. But you haven’t laid eyes on your children in days. You have no real idea if they are hurt, or missing.”

“Excuse me—” Madeline stutters, while Jack opens his mouth in protest.

“Shut up,” Red Robin snaps, his voice low and sharp edged. “Not only do you have no idea where your children are, but you’re continuing to work with an organization you do not trust. You have done nothing to try and stabilize or stop the portals that may, at this very moment, be sending the people of Amity Park into the Infinite Realms with no way of getting back. In spite of this situation you admit you cannot keep up with, you have made no effort to try and contact the Justice League. You have also admitted to attacking sovereign beings from another dimension. You have invited me and my colleague to continue said attacks.

“Let me be very, very clear, I am not here to join you. I am not here to help you destroy or hunt ghosts. The Justice League recognizes the Infinite Realms as a sovereign dimension, and its citizens to be treated as sentient beings with the basic rights that accompany any sentient—”

“This is outrageous!” Madeline snaps, hands slamming on the dining table. “Ghosts are not sentients—”

“Furthermore, anyone who aids or abets the G.I.W in harming or kidnapping citizens of the Infinite—” Red Robin cuts in, only to have to throw himself to the ground.

“The ghosts have taken over the Justice League!” Jack shouts, bazooka still smoking from the shot it fired.

The feral grin that passes over Tim’s face probably doesn’t help dissuade the notion, but oh—

Finally.

He’s moving in an instant, dodging the swing of Madeline’s glowing bo staff as he leaps the table. He kicks the bazooka from Jack’s grip, feels more than sees the motion of Spoiler behind him. Her heavy boots slam onto the kitchen floor and he can hear the whip of Madeline’s bo staff. But Steph has been training with Tim for years, and Madeline might be good with the bo staff, but Tim is better.

And Steph has never fought fair.

Tim focuses on Jack. The man’s strong, but the bazooka is out of reach, and pressed into the corner of the kitchen, his range of motion is limited. Tim catches Jack’s fist, twists Jack’s arm and dodges the lurching charge as Jack attempts to free himself. Tim lets go, and spins to the side, a foot sweeping at Jack’s feet. Jack stumbles, crashing into the table, but doesn’t quite fall.

Tim’s ready when Jack spins back around, pulling something from the pocket of his orange hazmat suit.

“I’ll free you!” Jack shouts, even as Madeline gives a wordless cry of rage, and goes flying into the living room. The Specter Deflector belt that’s now dangling from Jack’s hand is only jarring in the fact that so much of Danny’s weapons and gear is made by the very people who would love to see him destroyed.

“I’m not a ghost, nor possessed,” Red Robin snaps, though he’s not really trying to talk Jack down.

Jack charges back in, a giant orange battering ram. Tim goes low, ducking under Jack’s arms. As Jack is passing, Tim lifts a foot and slams his toes right into the back of Jack’s knee.

As before, it doesn’t take Jack all the way down, but this time Tim’s prepared. He pulls cuffs from his belt, catches one of Jack’s wrists as he fumbles, as one knee hits the ground. Jack is a large man and clearly has brawled a time or two in his past, but there’s no real fighting style. Still, he’s stronger than Tim, so he has to work fast.

A foot directly to the middle of Jack’s back keeps him off balance, doesn’t allow him to lift his knee, and sends his other arm flailing to try and steady himself. Tim pulls out another pair of cuffs, and catches Jack’s other wrist while keeping hold of the first set of cuffs. Jack jerks, tries to pull away, but Tim anticipates the move and slams the tips of his toes into the back of Jack’s other knee.

He hits hard and for a moment loses control of his arms as instinct has him leaning back to avoid face planting onto the floor. It’s all Tim needs to connect the cuffs and lock Jack’s arms behind his back. With a shove, he sends Jack sideways, refusing to allow him enough time to get his wits. Even with his arms behind his back, Jack’s still dangerous. He has no problem throwing himself at people.

Tim feels no remorse as he locks Jack’s feet together.

“Spoiler!” he calls, ignoring Jack’s shouts of rage. There’s a thud and a thump from the living room, some truly vile shouts containing words Tim would never dare repeat lest Alfred appear out of thin air and scold him into oblivion, and the familiar click of cuffs.

“She’s secure,” Spoiler calls back.

“Bring her in here, we weren’t done talking,” Red Robin says, and grimaces as Madeline’s furious ranting is brought closer.

In a few moments, both Fentons are propped up and can clearly see both him and Spoiler. Red Robin makes a show of slowly walking across the kitchen, and picking up the Specter Deflector that Jack had dropped in their fight. Without a word, he carefully places it around his waist.

In theory, even though he’s liminal, so long as he’s not actively using his abilities, the belt shouldn’t have much of an effect. They’re made for anti-possession from what he’s gathered, and would prevent him from using his powers, but they shouldn’t do much right now.

He lets the Fentons see him turn it on and—he can feel it, a bit. Like he’s suddenly wearing a weighted blanket, like he’s two steps back from the senses he’s starting to grow used to. It’s not something he’d like to wear for long, and he can tell if he makes one wrong move, tries to reach with his abilities, it won’t be pleasant. He doesn’t know how Danny, who’s stronger with his ghost abilities, stands to wear anything like this. It’s been a minute and Tim’s ready to rip this off. How many times has Danny worn a Specter Deflector to make a point to his parents? How many times has he had to deal with worse?

It’s something to talk about later, when he’s safe back at the Manor and Tim can yell at him for being an idiot.

For now, it’s worth the discomfort for the faces the Fentons make as their own tech proves he’s not a ghost.

“I’m going to add assault to your charges,” Red Robin says, and the shock on their faces morphs back to disbelief and rage.

“You—why would you arrest us! We’ve done nothing but try to save Amity Park from ghosts!” Madeline protests, pulling uselessly at her cuffs.

“And have done nothing but put Amity Park into more danger,” Spoilers says, her heavy boots tap-tap-tapping on the floor. “As Red Robin said, the Infinite Realms is recognized as its own sovereign dimension. Do you know how many laws you’ve broken by attacking them without cause? Then there’s the kidnapping of the Infinite’s citizens, and handing them over to the G.I.W, knowing they’d be locked up at best and experimented on at worst.”

“Then there’s the Ghost King,” Red Robin adds. “Did you know that someone was going to attack him? Did you allow anyone into the portal with that purpose?”

“Attempted regicide isn’t a charge you see much anymore, but I’m sure we’ll figure out the sentence for it,” Spoiler says, calmly furious.

“We didn’t know there was a Ghost King until the G.I.W said it had fallen!” Madeline snaps. “However you came to the conclusion that ghosts are sentient, your research is incorrect! They’ve tricked you, it’s what they do. They want nothing more than to see the destruction of humanity. They’re jealous of our life and can only manage a pale mimicry of humanity!”

“See, I think it’s your research that’s wrong,” Red Robin says. “You don’t seem to be able to find the flaws in your own thoughts. How can something non sentient be jealous?”

“We’ve met the Ghost King,” Spoiler says, almost idly. She steps forward, and Tim adjusts, letting her take over. “We’ve spoken to him at length. It seems that most ghosts don’t really care about the Living Realm, they have their own things going in the Infinite Realms. Like any people, they have their share of…bad eggs, if you will. Those who commit crimes. And then of course, like any people, they have their mischief makers. You’ve met a few of both types of ghosts, but you also have attacked any ghost that’s so much as stepped foot into the Living Realms, oftentimes without any provocation. Should they not have defended themselves?” Spoiler cocks her head. “Well?”

“Of course he’d tell you that!” Madeline spits.

“They’re liars, all of them,” Jack says, his tone almost reasonable. “They want us to let our guard down! Their King wouldn’t be any different.”

“We have ways to detect the truth,” Spoiler counters. “The Infinite isn’t the first people we’ve made contact with that were assumed to be hostile. But this isn’t a debate. The G.I.W is participating in a large-scale attack against the Infinite Realms and its people, and the entire organization is to surrender and be disbanded. Anyone aiding and abetting the G.I.W will be arrested and investigated.”

“You-you can’t arrest us!” Madeline protests.

“You admitted to helping the G.I.W and attacking ghosts of your own free will.” Spoiler reminds them.

“Our kids,” Jack says, and Madeline goes a bit pale.

“We will locate your kids and make arrangements,” Red Robin says. “Given their ages, they will have a say in where they end up while they await your trial.”

Madeline sucks in a rough breath. “You’re making a mistake, trusting ghosts.”

“It’s worked out for me so far,” Red Robin counters. “You’re going to be transferred to a holding facility while the League and various hero groups work to undo the damage the G.I.W has wrought. You will be read your rights there.”

“You can’t just move us—”

“Superboy,” Red Robin says, speaking no louder than he was before. There’s a moment of nothing, then, a sharp sound, like air shearing. Boots hit the edge of the kitchen and skid across the floor.

Superboy comes to a stop just behind Red Robin and Spoiler, the ring in his ear glinting a bit in the bright lights of the kitchen. His leather jacket takes a moment to settle, and he takes in the scene.

“Rob,” he greets, voice nearly violently cheerful. “Spoils,”

“Supes,” Red Robin greets. “Two for holding, got a list of their charges already sent to you.”

“Efficient as always, Rob.” Superboy says with a grin.

“When you’re done with transport, gather the team,” Red Robin orders. “I want all G.I.W agents here rounded up. They have prisoners, but I have someone on that already. Coordinate with the Watchtower and get aid supplies in, and see if anyone knows a way to stop or at least slow the random portals from opening.”

“On it,” Superboy says, and in a flash both Fentons are gone. Tim wastes no time removing the Specter Deflector and adding it to his supplies. It’s a relief to have it off.

“What are we doing next?” Steph asks, gaze still locked on where the Fentons were moments ago.

Danny-boy fixing up the portal for us—

“We’re checking out this portal and their lab and seeing if there’s anything we can use to help Danny.” Tim says, heading for the thick, nearly foreboding door that led to the lab. “Then we’re going to find his sister, and his friends.”

Chapter Text

Getting into the lab is stupid simple. If there was a functional lock, or even a keycode at any point, it’s long gone. The deadbolt that’s built into the door is snapped off, and based on the wearing of the metal, has been for some time.

There’s no decontamination showers, no shielding on the stairs, no protection of any kind. A couple of hazmat suits in various sizes hang haphazardly on hooks at the bottom of the stairs, and there’s a cheap dollar store shoe tray below them, but even that’s cracked.

There’s visible ectoplasm stains on the walls, and at least one of the hazmat suits is obviously ripped and stained.

The lab itself is a chaotic thing, unorganized and so unsafe if Tim weren’t already liminal, just stepping onto the lab floor would’ve made him so. There’s beakers filled with ectoplasm, half-assembled weapons, blueprints scattered over tables, more weapons on racks on the walls, and strange devices that Tim can’t decipher that have ectoplasm flowing through them.

There’s cabinets, some busted open, some barely shut, an idling computer, and—

“Oh, holy shit,” Spoiler breathes. The portal is larger than Tim imagined, built into the back wall of the lab. It’s an easy eight feet tall and wide, maybe more, surrounded by riveted metal. There’s a control panel on the side, and a concerning amount of wires and tools just scattered on the floor.

“Watch your step,” Tim says, a warning he wouldn’t normally give—but this lab is a hazard on so many levels he doesn’t know where to start.

“You should tell your team not to come down here,” Steph says, fingers hovering over an ectoplasm stain on one of the stainless steel tables. “And they should get some extra gear before they spend time in town.”

They’d already grabbed some radiation protection, and Kon isn’t affected by much, but—

Tim passes the warning on, sending it onto Oracle to make a general warning for anyone heading in or around Amity Park. They’d known Amity was likely an area with higher ectoplasm, but so is Gotham, and that’s never caused an issue. Danny had assured them that it wouldn’t affect the average person, and that ectoplasm usually dissipated from the living realm too quickly to do much damage. Based on the research they’d done in Gotham, they’d agreed. Gotham’s levels were higher, but the amount of true liminals was barely remarkable once the outliers—namely Tim and his family—were removed from the data.

It takes more than exposure to create a liminal.

Most of the time. Tim gets the feeling Amity Park might be the exception to rule.

He gets a near instant confirmation from Oracle, along with a you got it, Boss Rob, from Bart. Kon sends a Fentons secured just after Bart’s message.

“I messaged them,” Tim says, and glances at Steph. “Are you alright?” She’s liminal too, but this place—

“I’m fine,” she says, eyes narrowed on a blueprint. “It’s more the content than the…atmosphere, if you get me.”

Tim looks around, and can’t help but to stare at the portal again.

“Yeah,” he says. “I get you.”

He breaks his gaze, and heads for the computer. A simple mouse movement wakes the computer—no password prompt, just a computer ready to be accessed. Jack had said their security was down, but not even a password?

Tim sits, pulling up the files, the computer logs, laying everything he can out. The computer responds easily, the keyboard practically humming under his hands. He’s barely using his abilities—liminal or hacking ones—and the computer is giving him everything. It’s confusing for a moment, before it clicks.

This computer has been down here a long time, ectoplasm has practically soaked into every part of it. Tim doesn’t really have to use his liminal abilities, the computer is simply responding to his ectoplasm. It’s like a bluetooth connection—you don’t think how fast your phone and car are sending data back and forth, they simply are and it’s seamless.

On a whim, Tim pauses his typing, and thinks about what he’s looking for. A video, security camera maybe, Danny in the lab, Phantom in the lab, one becoming the other. He thinks of the dates of the first ghost attacks, flicks backwards through file after video after document until—

Hidden, deleted once, but held deep in the hard drive, is a video. Tim pulls it up.

“Spoiler,” he says, because before he even hits play he knows.

She moves behind him, and Tim hits play without a word.

“—What are your parents even doing down here?” asks a male voice, not Danny, just out of frame.

“Ghost hunting,” another voice, familiar but—younger. He’s laughing, a little embarrassed, this young version of Danny that doesn’t know what’s coming.

“Ghostbusters,” a third voice, female and teasing. They banter for a bit, still off screen.

It’s not a shock to see them move towards the dark portal, three small kids that Tim can’t save. They’re laughing, teasing, egging each other on.

“You should totally go in that,” the girl says, dark haired and daring. “Come on, you said it’s busted right?”

Danny shrugs. “They’ve been moping upstairs for days about it.”

“I don’t know,” the other boy, dark skinned and a little more wary. “You sure they won’t catch us down here?”

“They’re shopping with Jazz,” Danny says, waving a hand. “We need food and Jazz is getting some books from the big book store in Elmerton. They’ll be hours yet.”

“I’ll get the camera,” the girl says, even as the boy snorts out a laugh.

“Okay, but you gotta put on the hazmat suit,” he says, reaching over to grab one hanging over a chair. “It completes the whole thing, exploring the creepy lab basement in search of ghoossts!”

Danny snorts, catching the thrown hazmat suit and trying to get the girl to put the camera away. He starts over to the portal, putting on the hazmat suit as he goes. It’s a simple one, white with black accents, and it’s easy to see it inverted, to see where the start of Phantom’s suit came from.

There’s more jokes, more ribbing, and Danny steps into the sleeping portal, cords and tools scattered around, more even than there is now. There’s a moment of nothing, where Danny’s friends stand outside the portal and Danny himself has vanished into the depths.

There’s something that might be a gasp, and Danny’s friends jerk—light, the portal bursting open, the shock of it shooting outwards, green filling the camera’s vision.

The sound is a bit tinny, the portal opening making the camera and its audio glitch, but through it all, a scream shatters out. Steph sucks in a breath, her hand finding his shoulder and gripping.

The scream is long, and agonized. Under it, Danny’s friends are frantically calling his name.

The glitching slows, steadies, stops. The scream cuts out.

For a moment, there’s nothing. Danny’s friends stand frozen, gripping each other, and the portal swirls in front of them, bathing them in green light.

Something darker moves behind the green, a hand—Phantom falls through, landing roughly on the floor. His friends stay frozen, before Phantom shifts, and his face becomes clearer.

“Danny!” They cry as one, rushing over to him, voices frantic and overlapping, begging and crying.

Eventually, Danny stirs, confused, groggy, not understanding until—

“It…it worked,” Danny says. “I-I was in that.”

“I’m sorry,” the girl sobs, shaking. “I’m so sorry. I killed you.”

Tim pauses the video.

He’d wanted to be wrong. Danny had died in some way, it was a fact they couldn’t deny but—

He looks over to the portal, the green swirl of ectoplasm idly moving.

“How did they never know?” Steph whispers, her hand still on his shoulder. “How did they never see this?”

“It was deleted at some point,” Tim says, saving the video to his wrist computer. “I can’t quite tell when. But if they were too excited about the portal working…”

“Then they wouldn’t have even checked on how it happened,” Steph finishes grimly. “His friends never meant for this.”

“An accident,” Tim agrees, letting out a breath. “They were just bored kids.”

“This doesn’t help us find him now though,” Steph says, mostly to herself. She squeezes his shoulder one more time, and pulls herself together.

“No,” Tim agrees, but they both know the importance of knowledge. They know how Danny died and became Phantom. It’s the foundation to put everything else they’re discovering on.

It also puts several things Danny’s said before into context, including everything he’s mentioned about his parents. No one can hurt a ghost like family can. How many times did his parents wound him without ever realizing? What scars did they put on their son that they’ll never see?

His parents might not have felled the Ghost King themselves, but did they open the path? Did they weaken him?

Cores are everything and anything that touches your core changes it.

How did Danny’s parents change his core? Tim refuses to believe that Danny wasn’t bonded to them, even if at the time he hadn’t even known it.

What damage did it cause, when they inevitably snapped that bond? Did it contribute to Danny’s fall? They’re missing too much to know.

Steph starts looking over the schematics, matching them to the weapons that hang from far too many surfaces. Seriously, Jason’s apartment has less visible weaponry and sometimes Tim wonders if Jason adds more to that particular apartment just to see their reactions.

Tim digs into the computer. There’s original copies of some of the papers and articles that he’d gotten at the Batcave, plus several unfinished pieces that run the same lines as the rest. Hundreds of hours of security footage that seems to be unwatched, and an email account that shows the history of the Fentons communicating with G.I.W.

He quickly saves those emails, and sends them to Oracle for later use. Good to have it in their arsenal, if the Fentons try to bitch about losing parental rights. He doesn’t dare look at those emails yet, his fury is in check but only just. He watched Danny die, and there was nothing he could do. His parents never even looked. Three kids somewhere they shouldn’t have been, in a lab that’s so many hazards wrapped into one it’s somehow impressive. It takes work to create this big of a problem.

It seems the Fentons were quite skilled in that sort of thing.

There’s still more on the computer, random documents with a few scattered sentences that are mostly nonsense, lists of all varieties—including grocery lists, reams of saved schematics, and more. It’s too much, and none of it has anything real about the Infinite Realms, or any clues about what could have happened to Danny.

If the Fentons were telling the truth, they didn’t even know the Infinite had a monarchy. It seems a rather basic bit of knowledge…but it’s possible Tim’s biased.

He sits back, frowns, thinking for a moment.

No, no he’s not fucking biased. If anyone with even the slightest bit of common sense and actual scientific curiosity had discovered the Infinite Realms, they’d have wondered how that sort of society would work. It would have been a basic fucking question: Does this realm have a government and if so how does it work? It’s not that much of a damned stretch. Especially when it’s pretty fucking obvious the residents of the realm are sentient.

He shoves up from the computer, sending it into sleep mode with a careless flick of his hand. He stalks across the lab, eyes locked on the swirl of green that dominates the back wall.

Pauses at the foot of it, the crawl of ectoplasm thick on his skin, even through his suit. The sheer amount of energy the portal puts out is insane—more than he’s ever felt anywhere. Nocturn’s power streams come close but…not quite. They had power, yes, and wild amounts of it, but this? This is something else. It’s damn near incomprehensible. Tim hovers a hand over the surface of the portal, and ectoplasm drifts from it, curling around his hand with a thrumming pulse.

He pulls his hand back, and it settles back. The line between the portal and the lab is defined, almost like glass holds it back. But there’s nothing there. What keeps it separate? Something built into the portal itself, or the very polar nature of the realms themselves? Life and death, human and ghost, a clear line.

Is that why Danny lived, when he should have died? He stepped between and became between? Neither realm could claim him wholly, so they claimed a piece?

Chewing on his lip, Tim looks at the control panel beside the portal. It’s simple, a readout keeping track of some sort of levels, a red button that controls the “blast doors,” a filter and its own readout—it’s been cleaned recently, as the sticky note with last Monday’s date scrawled on it shows. Tim closes his eyes against a pang of pain—the handwriting is Danny’s.

Is this one of the things he keeps an eye on? Making sure basic maintenance happens to the portal? It's not enough that he’s king of a realm at far too young an age, and has a city to watch over, plus whatever else happens in his private life, he has to make sure his parents don’t forget simple tasks?

Tim adds another point to his ever expanding mental file of why the Fentons are never seeing any of their children ever again and will be charged with enough child endangerment and neglect to be in jail for several lifetimes. He banks the fury, again, and steps back from the portal. A quick chat with Steph to see what she’s found, and then they should move on. Danny’s not here, his parents are out of play, but they have a town to secure and ghosts to rescue.

Danny’s not here to help his people, but Tim’s more than happy to break some G.I.W. jaws if that’s what’s needed.

There is something deeply fucking wrong with this code, Babara decides. Of course, she’s just working with the pieces of it, after Tim just decided it no longer mattered. She’d done a good bit to start chipping away at the firewalls that kept Amity Park hidden, but it was Tim that blew them open.

Overdramatic Batboys.

The sheer amount of information that they’d gotten was impossible for one person to go through, but they’ve got shifts going on the Watchtower, and she’s fresh from some sleep.

(The fact that someone nearly had to unplug her computer to get her to rest is irrelevant. She knows her limits…but it’s hard to keep to them, when so much is on the line.)

Still, they’re never going to get through everything right now. The priority is organizing, and finding anything that might tell them where the G.I.W might be.

She’s got several programs going, pre-sorting everything that’s going to the Watchtower, and it’s going well. They’ve isolated several potential G.I.W bases, and have mentions of whatever it is they’re using to track ghosts across the country—and perhaps across the world.

There’s no mention of Danny, yet. At least, not anything current. There’s plenty of talk about Phantom. News, blogs, speculation, kill orders, capture orders, and general bitching but nothing about where he is.

It makes her think that they don’t have him either—surely there would be something mentioning the capture of the ghost they hate most.

But now it’s the coding that protected Amity Park that’s got her attention.

It’s healing.

It shouldn’t be possible. Sure, some advanced firewalls and security systems have ways of repairing themselves, of patching code, activating more security measures, backups, even shutting themselves down but—

This isn’t like that.

It’s not replicating its old code, or pulling uncorrupted files from a backup, it’s quite literally healing. It’s not the same as it was, which…it’s impossible and yet she can hardly find it in herself to be surprised.

She’s been watching it rebuild, watching it change. There’s no one guiding it, no one making the code. There’s no typing, no user, just a bunch of code putting itself back together like that horror movie villain that refuses to die.

It’s honestly par for the course at this point.

There’s a signature to the coding, though. She’s never met a hacker or programming that didn’t have their own tells. The little bits of themselves that they left behind. She’s done well, as Oracle, to leave minimal trace, and she’s very, very careful of how she codes things for vigilante work, and how she does for anything else.

It seems that this hacker never had to, or never bothered. The way they form code is…interesting, to say the least. There’s at least two different coding languages that have been frankensteined together, and she’s not sure what several of the rules and limits are supposed to do.

It reminds her of movie programming—it looks legit, but it’s completely fake. This isn’t quite like that, but if she didn’t know what this had been, and how long she’d spent attempting to crack it, she’d call it barely functional at best.

She follows the code, tries to pick out the meaning, the intent behind the choices made, the changes. Some of it she understands, the rest…

Well, it’s certainly unique.

Several messages come in, and she turns to handle them, redirect some requests, answer a few questions. She takes a moment to skim through the newest pieces of information that were sorted, sends another burst up to the Watchtower. They’re getting through most of the big stuff, and now it’s little details. Messages, forums, Facebook, and more. Smaller, but…complex, and harder to sort through, in some cases.

She turns back and—

Well then. The code’s expanded, healed faster than it had before, and it’s not just the code’s impossible rebuilding.

There’s someone in it. Someone typing up nonsense and yet it’s working.

Babs smiles, slides herself closer to her keyboard.

Hello Duat.