Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Batman is not having a good day.

Batman is well-used to the depravity of the Joker’s tricks, but this is bad, even for him. Underneath a vat of bubbling acid, there are two clear glass containers. In one is Robin, looking supremely miffed to have gotten captured, and in the other is a civilian boy, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years of age. The part of his brain that isn’t trying to distract the Joker notes that the boy would fit in well with his own children, with his black hair and vivid blue eyes. 

“I have trouble believing you’d set this up and then only give me the usual demands,” Batman tells the Joker, carefully avoiding looking at where Nightwing and Red Robin are dismantling the complicated wiring that controls the acid vat. 

The Joker (predictably) laughs, waving the remote with two red buttons that he holds in one hand. The other hand has a gun trained on Batman, but that is the least of his concerns. “Oh, Batsy, do I need a reason to force you to make this choice? Why, just the other day I was thinking to myself-“

“Do it, no balls. You fuckin won't." 

The Joker turns to the civilian boy, who gives them a feral smile that could pass as a snarl. Batman stares too, unsure if the horror he feels is hidden from his expression. While the Joker stares, Batman shakes his head, trying to signal how extremely terribly bad of an idea baiting the Joker is. 

"Kiddo, do you have any idea-" the Joker starts, sounding marginally amused but mostly threatening. 

The boy is still grinning, posture casual. "Everyone from Illinois knows Joker's just a bitch, anyways."

The Joker waggles the remote in the air.  "Yeah, no. This is between me and the Bat, but I’m not going to tolerate that kind of cheek. Last chance, brat.”

Batman glances behind the hostages, but there’s been no signal that the acid vat trigger has been disabled. “Joker, are you really going to take the choice away from me? What about your master plan?” Batman says loudly, desperate to draw attention from the possibly suicidal boy. Does he think that Batman is in danger, with a single gun pointed at him? That he needs to try and save the heroes?

"You also don't know how to tell a joke, or how to take one.” The boy’s voice is clearly audible over Batman’s, and Batman despairs as the Joker’s posture goes stiff. They don’t have any more time, he has to-

Joker presses one of the red buttons, and the vat of acid pours into the civilian’s container. Batman (and his children) are forced to watch as the boy disappears, a sacrifice that wasn’t needed at all. As soon as the acid hits the glass, he’s completely gone. 

This one is going to haunt him, Batman knows, although he’s more worried about the guilt Robin or the others may feel. Before he can take those feelings out on the Joker, a strange chill grips the room. There’s a shape forming, rising out of the acid, that solidifies from top to bottom, the outline of shoes gaining color just as they clear the container. The shape is that of a kid, white haired with eyes the sickly bright green of a Lazarus Pit. 

He’s wearing the very same smile as the now dead civilian boy. 

—————

OK, so Danny has not been as cautious about actions and consequences today as he normally might be, but in his defense, this isn’t actually his universe. He’d been in the Ghost Zone fighting Skulker (and winning, thanks) when a stray blast had knocked him through an unassuming door nearby. 

At first, he’d assumed that he was in his own world, just another location, but after picking up a newspaper and reading A. the name of a major city he’d never heard of and B. stories about multiple superheroes that weren’t him, it’d become clear that he wasn’t in his own universe. One of the heroes might be able to help him get back (he hopes) but the first one he’d encountered had been a fellow kid and then they were both being subjected to knock-out gas suddenly enough that he’d forgotten to stop breathing. 

After waking up in a glass container, things had gone very… comic-book-y. Threats of death, a superhero trying to stall for time, all that good stuff. The thing was, Danny was not in danger here. 

And he really hated clowns. 

And it’d suck if anything happened to the heroes, especially before they could help him get home. Danny did not want to wait until a portal opened naturally— he had a history essay due tomorrow that wasn’t even halfway done!

This brings us to now, where Danny has remembered that he doesn’t really need to care about his secret identity in this universe and feels he deserves to have a bit of fun. He lets his invisibility fade at a dramatically slow pace, wearing a smile that Sam and Tucker have described as unsettling. 

Everyone’s faces are priceless, Danny wishes he had a camera. Letting his voice echo in a spooky manner, he looks at the Joker and says, “looks like you’ve killed me, I’m a ghost!” This is technically true, which makes it extra funny to Danny. “ Now what are you gonna threaten me with, dipshit?” 

To his credit, the clown is pretty quick to recover and immediately tries to shoot him, which isn’t a problem since he’s still intangible. The hero darts forward silently and knocks the remote out of his hand, so Joker tries to shoot him too. 

Danny cackles and flies to the side of the room, picking up one of his favorite improvised weapons. With it in hand, he swoops over the clown. “AND IT’S DANNY WITH THE STEEL CHAIR,” he yells in an excellent impression of a wrestling announcer as he does his best to give the clown as severe of a concussion he can without actually killing him.

The Joker crumples to the floor, unconscious.

The hero stares. The tinier hero in the other glass tube stares. Another two heroes come out from behind the contraption and stare. 

Danny is having a great day, actually. 

Chapter Text

“Sooooo…..” the kid says, dropping the chair on the Joker and clapping his hands together as if dusting them off. 

Batman should probably check to see if Joker is in need of medical attention— the answer is almost certainly yes as hard as that hit had looked— but he’s pretty stuck on just what is happening at the moment, because he doesn’t understand it and desperately needs to. 

“Fuckin’ clowns, am I right? Just the worst,” the kid continues, spreading his arms as if inviting a reaction or agreement. He’s disturbingly casual in tone and body language, and either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that his legs are hazy and shifting around almost to look like a tail. 

Nightwing swallows, he and Red Robin having stepped out of hiding. “They sure are,” he says, probably also aiming for casual but missing the mark by a fair margin. 

The boy grins at Nightwing, then appears to notice that Robin is still in his own glass container. “Oh, sorry, let me get you out of there!” Swooping through the air easily, one arm goes more transparent, color dissipating, as the boy sticks it through the glass. As the boy’s hand grasps Robin’s arm, Robin also turning transparent and colorless. Batman’s heart is in his throat as the boy drags Robin through the glass and then lets go, the intangibility fading. It’s not like Batman has never seen the power used before, he knows J’onn, but the ease at which this just-killed child uses it is chilling. 

Actually, the room is colder than it was, noticeably so. The part of Batman’s mind that isn’t an emotional mess (which is most of it, he has discipline after all and this isn’t the worst or strangest thing he’s ever seen) wonders if there’s a way to scientifically measure or differentiate the ‘chill of death’ from normal atmospheric temperature changes. Red Robin will probably look into it later, if he knows him.

“There, that’s better!” the boy chirps, looking satisfied. “Anyways, I was wondering,” and here he looks at each of them in turn— “do any of you know how to get to the Ghost Zone?” The way he says it makes it clear it’s a proper noun, capitalization necessary. At the same time, it’s not a desperate-sounding request; the boy seems a bit sheepish, if anything. 

“The Ghost Zone?” Red Robin asks. 

“Yeah!” The boy is very animated for someone who’s dead. A ghost, to be exact, possibly trying to move on without a fuss? Like he hadn’t just goaded the Joker into killing him? The tonal shift is giving Batman a headache. “Otherwise known as the Infinite Realms, but that doesn’t roll off the tongue very easily.” 

Nightwing looks like he might have a similar headache. “So… that’s where uh, ghosts go after they die?” he asks delicately. “Do you need help moving on?” 

The boy is still hovering, expression perfectly at ease. “Yeah, I’m feeling pretty good after clobbering the clown, but I am hungry. Does anywhere around here sell taquitos?”

It seems strange that a ghost would eat human food, but then again there are many cultures across the world that leave offerings of food at graves. Will this dingy warehouse count as the boy’s grave, since there’s nothing left to bury? “We can get you some taquitos, if that would help. What’s your name?” 

The boy’s smile is so, so bright. “I’m Danny! Hey, ghosts aren’t illegal here, right?”

“I can double check if you like?” Red Robin offers, although Oracle is probably already on it. “That seems unlikely.”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” 

—————

Thankfully, ghosts are not illegal, so Batman instructs Nightwing and Red Robin to wrap things up at the warehouse and hand over the Joker to emergency services. After, they’ll meet back up in an alleyway near the 24-hour corner shop that carries the best taquitos in this part of town. Batman can admit to himself that this division of labor is based on his relief to see Robin unharmed, and judging by the level of scowling, Robin is probably aware of this. 

Danny seems completely content to float a few inches off the ground and follow them, looking at the Batmobile with interest but not as if it’s particularly special. He does hang back as Batman buys the taquitos though, and when the food is handed to him, sighs happily. 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Danny says. “Although it’s a little weird to eat human food looking like a ghost. Let me just-“ A ring of silver light appears around his stomach, separating into two rings that seem to turn Danny back into what he looked like as a human. He lands lightly on the ground and starts eating. 

Batman is staring, but it’s Robin who asks, “Are all ghosts able to change their form like that?”

Danny shrugs noncommittally. “Most ghosts above a certain power level can change their shape to some extent. It’s usually based on emotions and self-conception.”

How does Danny know that, if he just died? It doesn’t sound like it’s simply instinctual knowledge among the dead or something like that. Batman has so many questions, but doesn’t want to overwhelm the kid or upset him. Why isn’t Danny upset about dying? It’s almost suspicious. Finally, several taquitos later, he asks, “I hope it isn’t too rude to ask, but I’ve seen people die before and not create visible ghosts. Do you know why you’re different?” 

Danny’s cheerfulness finally fades a bit. “Well, only the worst kind of deaths tend to create ghosts. It also has to do with the amount of ambient ectoplasm. Gotham seems to have a fair amount, actually.”

“How do you know so much about ghosts?” asks Robin, who is openly suspicious. 

“My parents are ghost hunting scientists,” Danny says. “I’ve picked up a lot over the years. I am glad to be here in Gotham though, them trying to shoot me with a bazooka would be a total pain.” 

Oh, Batman doesn’t like the sound of that. If ambient ectoplasm (whatever that substance actually is) influences the creation of ghosts, then Danny’s parents could be responsible for him becoming a ghost, whether knowingly or not. At best, it’s negligence, and at worst— well, Danny mentioned a bazooka, so it could be pretty bad. 

“So you don’t want your family to be notified?” Batman asks. 

Danny shakes his head. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I left a USB drive under my bed for them to find if I don’t make it home.” The fact that this was a concern that Danny had planned ahead for was a very bad sign. Batman is absolutely going to be checking in on this family regardless of what happens. 

“Nothing is coming up via facial recognition so far, in Illinois or otherwise,” Oracle says over the comms. “Also, the Joker made it to the hospital and they suspect he may have brain damage. Kid might not know his own strength.” 

As much as he hates working with the man, Batman has already sent a message to John Constantine. Hopefully he’ll have more information on ghosts and the so-called Ghost Zone. Until then, they can take Danny to a safehouse and keep an eye on him there. Batman is about to suggest the move when a cloud of mist comes out of Danny’s mouth, like an exhale in cold weather. 

“Ah, crud, there’s another ghost around here somewhere,” Danny groans, and shoves the last taquito in his mouth as he looks about. 

“Do you know how close?” Robin asks, hand on the hilt of his sword. 

Danny floats up off the ground, still looking around warily. “Half mile, tops. I don’t think this is their normal haunt, though.” Again, the two rings of light appear around his middle and transform him, now back to his ghostly form. 

Batman hears Oracle in his ears again. “Red Hood finally turned his comms back on and is asking me if I have any info on an intangible enemy that looks like a robot with a flaming green mohawk. It’s currently chasing him.” 

“Reroute Nightwing, Red Robin, and Orphan to try and surround it, we’re on our way,” Batman replies. 

Danny raises his eyebrows. “Your person in the chair found it already, huh? That’s convenient, lead the way!”

“We’re not taking an untrained civilian to fight,” Robin says flatly. “Stay here, we can come back for you after.” 

Danny snorts. “I’m already a ghost, what do you think is gonna happen to me? I'll die again? I’ll see ya there.” He disappears from view, and Batman can’t even sense a cold spot anymore. 

—————

Red Hood is having a weird day. For several hours now, the raging pits that are never far from gripping his very soul in their angry grasp have been… resonating. Not in the green vision, blacking out and committing terrible violence way, but in a more neutral and anticipatory way. 

It’s driving him up the wall. 

What are the pits reacting to, or waiting for? Even an attempt to meditate (yes, he knows how, it’s not like he enjoys going into mindless rages so he’s tried it before) has gotten him nowhere. 

After instructing his lieutenants to cover his territory, Red Hood has been trying different directions to see if he can home in on whatever sort of signal he’s getting. What if the feeling means there’s another Lazarus pit forming nearby? And if there is one, does that mean the League of Assassins is trying to infiltrate Gotham? Not on his fucking watch. 

He’d thought he was getting closer for a half hour or so but then the feeling had moved farther away again. A moving target perhaps? Ugh, maybe it’d be worth turning his comms back on even if the inane chatter destroyed his ability to concentrate. Oracle, at least, should have something for him. 

There’s a prickle of the back of his neck that has him swerving his motorcycle before conscious thought can register. A blast of some sort of energy weapon hits the pavement where he had been as loud laughter fills the air— Red Hood looks in his rearview mirror to see a glowing shape appearing behind him. 

“What luck! Another rare specimen to add to my collection, and one that will be enjoyable to hunt! You’re not going to make it too easy for me, are you?” the creature proclaims, pointing some kind of wrist-mounted laser at him. 

Red Hood grounds his teeth. Although the being feels odd, it’s not what he’s been looking for. He doesn’t have time for this bullshit, so he turns his comm back on for Oracle’s channel only. “Hey O, you got a sec?” 

“Nice of you to answer any of our calls,” Oracle says, sounding more annoyed with him than usual. “I know you said you were busy, but-“ 

Red Hood swerves around a corner and shoots back at the being, grimacing as the bullets sail through like he’s shooting through a ghost. “Oh, just a little,” he snarls into his helmet. 

“You can’t escape me, for I am Skulker, the ultimate hunter!” 

Oracle is silent for a moment— no doubt she’s accessed his helmet’s camera now and can see his ridiculous glowing attacker. “Something strange seems to be going on tonight,” she finally says. “Lead this Skulker guy north, we might need magic to fight him and we have a safehouse with supplies in that direction.”

“Fine,” Red Hood bites out, tires screeching against the pavement as he makes a tight turn. “Keep me updated.”

—————

The theory that Skulker is a ghost has not stopped him from being the most annoying fight that Red Hood can currently recall. Skulker’s gun took out the back tire of his bike, so Red Hood is dodging like crazy and trying to get in closer. If physical weapons don’t work, maybe a taser? He’s honestly running low on options, which is unfortunate because if his family has to rescue him, he’ll be hearing about it for months. 

“I have you cornered now,” Skulker laughs, readying his net gun. “Soon, I’ll have your pelt on my wall!” 

“Really, Skulker? I’m busy for like an hour and you find someone else to hunt? I thought we had something special!” 

Red Hood watches in surprise as another glowing figure floats down from the sky, putting themselves between Red Hood and Skulker. This figure is much smaller, though, like a wiry teen— a wiry teen radiating as much sassy disappointment as the time Stephanie had informed Bruce he missed her birthday.

Skulker unfortunately looks extremely pleased. “Phantom, here for more fun? This revenant isn’t putting up much of a fight.”

Phantom (if that is his name) glances back at Red Hood, looking a bit surprised, but rolls his eyes at Skulker. “Two choices, man, either you go start peacefully looking for a portal to the Ghost Zone or you get soup time. What’ll it be?” 

“Like you can make me!” Skulker yells, and chaos breaks out. The bats and birds are starting to arrive, Red Robin with a bag that he opens to reveal candles and other magic shit. As he starts to draw some sort of circle, Red Hood gets out of the corner he’d been in and races up the nearest fire escape. Skulker and that Phantom kid may be flying around chasing each other, but that’s not gonna stop Red Hood from punching Skulker in the face. 

“Heads up Red Hood, the kid is a ghost with unknown strength levels, although he’s been friendly to us so far,” Nightwing says as he swings past. 

The ghost kid is firing green blasts that look as powerful as Starfire’s starbolts, but Red Hood’s gut is roiling with the weirdest mixture of relief and exhaustion. He feels safe in a way that should be triggering paranoia and absolutely isn’t. 

Although none of the vigilantes have yet to land a hit on Skulker, Phantom keeps the hunter well-occupied, flying fast and making sure to keep the others out of the crossfire. It speaks to experience, which makes sense with their earlier comments. It’s not long before Phantom has knocked Skulker into the ground and covered him with ice so he can’t move. (How many powers do ghosts have? Seems like a lot.) 

“It seems that you’ve chosen soup time,” Phantom says. His tone is stern but there’s a grin on his face as he sticks a hand inside his own chest and pulls out a large thermos. Is he… is he giving Skulker soup? Is this some sort of ghost punishment?

A beam of light comes out of the uncapped thermos, sucking Skulker in, and Phantom shoves the lid back on. “No need to worry about him anymore. Is everyone OK?”

Red Hood really feels like he should be angry right now, green haze at the edges of his vision. The others are moving away quietly, probably recognizing his struggle to breathe normally, but it’s not rage choking his lungs right now,  it’s not rage at all. It’s something he hasn’t felt in years. 

—————

Even after the hunter ghost has been defeated, Red Robin continues working on the summoning circle. It’s actually supposed to summon the nearest powerful magic entity to the circle like a magnet and trap it there, but at this point Red Robin absolutely does not trust this kid Danny. His eyes and energy blasts are precisely the garish green glow as the Lazarus Pits, a comparison that’s easy to see as Red Hood’s eyes are glowing clearly through his helmet. 

“Hey kid, you might want to back away from Red Hood, when he gets glowy like that, he tends to go in a violent rage…” Nightwing says quietly, motioning for Danny to back up. Orphan is swinging over to Red Hood’s fire escape, hands up to show her non-aggression, and thankfully Hood hasn’t objected yet. She’s the one that seems to annoy Hood the least and if he does pull a gun she should be able to disarm him quickly. 

Danny blinks, posture casual as he floats in midair, and turns to study Hood. “He’s not angry,” the ghost says after a moment. “He’s- damn, dude, what’s with your ectoplasm? It’s really nasty.”

“Ectoplasm?” Batman cuts in. 

“You know, the glowing green stuff,” Danny says casually, drifting closer to Hood even as half the vigilantes stiffen in alarm. 

Hood stares at Danny. “What do you know about the Lazarus Pits?” Hood asks, and it’s not the low growl Red Robin expects. 

Danny tilts his head. “Lazarus Pits? I have no idea what those are, but as someone who’s died, I can usually sense when others have too. Are you OK though? Seems like your resurrection did not go super smoothly.” 

“You can say that again,” Hood says, choking on a strangled laugh. This is absolutely not his typical behavior— Red Robin can hardly believe he hasn’t attacked Danny yet for bringing this up. Is this some type of hypnosis? There’s no way Danny is just a random ghost kid. 

“Would you like some help with that?” Danny asks, sounding perfectly nice and honest. “Seems like you’ve got like, extra emotions imprinted in there that aren’t your own. I think I can filter some of that out.” 

This is absolutely a trick. The fact that Hood is stepping forward to meet Danny instead of warning him off with weapons (or outright attacking) basically proves it, he has no reason to trust Danny. Even though Danny got rid of the other ghost, who’s to say they didn’t arrive together and set things up so Danny seemed more trustworthy? They certainly seemed familiar with each other. 

Orphan is watching carefully, but on the side that Danny can’t see, she’s signing honest, wait, and trust to the other Bats. Danny being dead must be throwing her off, as much as they’d all usually trust her judgment. Even Oracle has gone silent, although Red Robin is sure she’s also pulling up everything she can find on ectoplasm. 

The quiet is taut, a narrow thread holding everyone in place as Danny comes within arm’s length of Red Hood. Finally, Hood nods, taking off his helmet so he’s only wearing his domino mask. “If you can… then yeah. Please.”

Surely Red Robin is not the only one flabbergasted by Hood saying please but there’s no time to process it as Danny shoves both his hands inside of Hood’s chest. Batman takes a sharp intake of breath, moving half a step forward, then looks to Red Robin and the circle. Red Robin nods— he’s ready to activate it at any time. 

After the longest minute, Danny pulls his hands back, clutching globs of goo that are a darker and more sickly green than the Lazarus Pits. The goo is also moving, even as Danny is trying to push it together into one ball. Red Hood stumbles back, letting Orphan steady him, and points at the goo. “That’s what was inside me?” he asks, his eyes wide and no longer green. He looks nauseous. 

“Yeah dude, super nasty, I bet you’ve felt like shit with this in you,” Danny says, pulling the thermos out of his chest again and sucking up the goo. “I would recommend staying away from wherever you got it.” 

Red Hood exhales, sitting down on the fire escape and putting his head in his hands. “Yeah, definitely planning on avoiding a repeat performance.” Orphan rubs his back but flashes the rest of them a thumbs up. 

“You didn’t just die today,” Red Robin accuses, no longer able to hold himself back. “Who are you really?”

Danny turns back towards Red Robin, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I died when I was fourteen, but I’m still just a guy named Danny. I was fighting Skulker and accidentally ended up in Gotham, it’s not my usual haunt.” 

“We should take this to a more secure location,” Batman says tightly. “Hood, you should get checked over by a medical professional.” 

Red Hood looks up, and his expression is more relaxed than they’ve ever seen since the resurrection. “Fuck no, B, are you kidding me? I’m sticking with the guy who made the Pits go away.”

Chapter Text

Nightwing has very good self-esteem most of the time, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t open to the idea that there’s more to the universe than even his widely varied experiences cover. He’s been to space, met an alternate universe version of himself, encountered aliens and metas and magic users; he’s killed, lost people, and experienced the majority of his family members dying and coming back to life. 

No one who’s died and come back is really the same again, and neither are their relationships with other people. Nightwing knows this so many times over, knows that this experience is different for every person. Red Hood has been a pretty severe level of difference— their relationship as brothers has only recently been recovering, thanks to Oracle spilling the beans that Nightwing had killed the Joker for his brother’s sake, even if it didn’t stick. 

Nightwing is intimately aware that Red Hood will never be the same as he was before his death, and has been working on being the best support possible, learning the new ways to mesh together as the people they are now. The balance of minding his brother’s boundaries while reaching out to get closer is probably the hardest part, but Nightwing likes to think he’s gotten pretty good at it. 

Today has thrown Nightwing for a pretty extreme loop. Probably a double loop, actually. First there’s Danny, a ghost who’s very chipper for a dead teen and drops emotional landmines in conversation like it’s going out of style. Then there’s whatever effect Danny has had on Ja- Red Hood, the gunk he pulled out of his chest and Hood’s extreme (for him) level of chill ever since. 

Hood had accepted hugs from both Nightwing and Orphan, and even a few questions about his welfare from Batman whereas yesterday those would have resulted in anger and possibly violence, particularly in regards to Batman. He also is currently cooking pancakes in the safehouse’s tiny kitchen after a comment from Danny about being hungry again. 

Overall it’s been a really weird day, and it’s going to get weirder if Constantine actually shows up instead of ignoring Batman’s messages as usual. It’d probably be good to build some rapport before the cranky Brit shows up, come to think of it. 

“So, Danny, I loved how you hit the Joker in the head with a steel chair,” Nightwing says brightly. “Do you watch a lot of WWE?”

Red Hood turns around quickly. “Wait, he did? Is there video?”

“I’ll send it to you if Oracle doesn’t first,” Nightwing grins. 

Danny laughs, pouring yet more syrup on his already drenched pancakes. “Oh yeah, I don’t have much time to watch it, but I love the ridiculous storylines, they make my life feel a bit less absurd.” 

“I know the feeling,” Nightwing agrees. “The life of a vigilante is never dull.” 

“Tell me about it,” Danny grumbles good naturedly. “Like yeah, my arch-nemesis wants to kill my dad, marry my mom, and adopt me, but at least he hasn’t faked a suicide attempt via Mad Cow Disease serum for sympathy like that storyline with the injured referee.” 

“So you’re a vigilante as well? In your own city?” Batman asks seriously. Trying to keep him and Red Robin from straight-up interrogating Danny has been a job and a half— even with Nightwing, Orphan, Oracle, and Red Hood running interference, they’ve only managed to slow the two most paranoid members of the family. Oddly enough, Robin has been taking more of a passive stance, watching carefully but not speaking much. A result of Danny saving him from the Joker perhaps? Nightwing hasn’t had time to corner his youngest brother about it yet.

Danny takes another bite of pancake. “Yeah, I guess you could say I am, secret identity and all that. Honestly most of the ghosts who show up to make trouble, it’s more of a cultural misunderstanding. It’s pretty hard to permanently hurt a ghost, so they don’t always understand that humans would get hurt from falling rubble or high-velocity lunch meat, stuff like that.” 

“Why are ghosts showing up in your town but nowhere else that we’ve heard of?” Red Robin presses. 

Danny snorts. “Probably because my parents decided to punch a hole between dimensions by building a portal to the Ghost Zone. How many times have I told them to put a ghost shield over the portal so ghosts can’t sneak through? But no, Danno, I have an idea to improve the Ghost Peeler, I need to do it this instant so I don’t forget!”

Batman narrows his eyes. “So when you say secret identity, does that mean your ghosthunting parents are unaware that you’re a ghost at all?”

Red Hood had turned around again in alarm and now was choking on air as Danny nods. “So they didn’t notice that you died?” 

“Well… it’s not something that’s exactly easy to say,” Danny mumbles around a bite of food. “After hearing about how much they want to dissect a ghost or tear my ghostly alter ego apart molecule by molecule enough times, it just doesn’t seem safe.” 

Nightwing hears a noise not unlike a balloon slowly deflating and realizes after a moment that it was him. Orphan signs ‘new brother?’ and nearly everyone is looking at Batman with various levels of eagerness and warning— besides Danny, who is still stubbornly focused on his pancakes. 

There’s a slight popping noise in the adjoining living room and John Constantine appears.

—————

Let it be known that John Constantine does not come to Gotham lightly. Not only does he hate the place, but the spirit/curse of the city doesn’t care for him either, and that’s on top of the shitty working relationship John has with Batman. The detective is too attached to his logic and deductive bullshit to understand that Magic, by its very nature, often defies understanding and that sometimes the best thing you can do to protect yourself is not to pry into it. Batman always pries, so John has had to clean up messes that he really shouldn’t have had to. 

Batman’s report of a ghost kid powerful enough to fuck shite up without possessing anyone is alarming. Deadman is pretty powerful for a ghost but he can’t even be visible to most people— the kid apparently can seem human enough that no one had noticed he was already dead until he revealed it. The bats, not noticing? Even as unattuned to magic as they are, that really says something. 

What it said is that they’re probably in deep shite. 

The other alarming part of the report is that the ghost kid apparently needs to return to the fucking Infinite Realms , which is a place John tries not to fuck with because literal gods live there and he really doesn’t want their attention. Sure, ghosts can live there too, but according to Deadman, the ectoplasm of the Infinite Realms is purer and more concentrated than anywhere else, which results in much stronger ghosts. 

John teleports into the safehouse using the Bat’s sent coordinates, ready for a fight. Even so, he’s nearly knocked on his arse by the intensity of the deathly aura. The tableau of very concerned bats and one normal-looking teen shoveling pancakes in his mouth isn’t reassuring either— who knows what powers this being possesses? Best to get to the point.  “What the fuck kind of ghost are you, kid?” 

The kid looks at him skeptically. “What the fuck kind of human are you? That’s a rude question. No hello first, or introduction?”

John already desperately wants a cigarette. “Names have power, and you already seem pretty overpowered, no offense. I’m the chump Batsy here calls for magic and supernatural bullshit.” 

“I’m pretty sure that asking what kind of ghost I am counts as a HIPAA violation,” the kid says faux-thoughtfully.

Nightwing wheezes slightly like he’s trying not to laugh, whether from despair or at the quip John can’t be sure. “Do they… have healthcare in the afterlife?”

Danny gives a small shrug. “I’m sure not every ghost does, but I do. My doctor is a yeti, he’s nice.” 

This definitely calls for a cigarette. John steps over to the small living room window and opens it carefully, eye out for traps (there are three, all currently inactive) before lighting up. Batman is glaring; John ignores him. “Alright, kid. It’s Danny, right?” The kid nods so he continues, “why did you come here?” 

“I was fighting one of my rogues in the Ghost Zone and he got a lucky shot, sending me through one of a million floating doorways,” Danny says casually. “Haven’t found a portal back yet.”

Red Hood turns off the stove, apparently done cooking. “And that rogue was the ghost who chased me, right? Skulker?” 

“Yeah, he says he wants my pelt on his wall but when the shit really hits the fan he’s not so bad,” Danny explains. “Plus he’s like mouse-sized under the robotic suit, so it’s not hard to defeat him if I wreck that.”

The faces on the bats all scream that it seemed pretty hard to them, but that’s probably because they don’t have ways to fight anything ghost-level intangible. Still, the last thing John wants to do is underestimate the kid. Lady Gotham seems to be accepting him in stride, oddly enough— John would be far more nauseous if she didn’t. “So all you need at this point is a portal back to the Infinite Realms?” 

Danny smiles, and John notes that he’s got subtle fangs even in this human-looking form. “Yeah, I’ve got homework to do. Speaking of which, do one of you have a pen and paper?” 

“Sure, what for?” Red Robin asks as he hands him some. 

“Just my contact info if Red Hood here needs any more help with that contaminated ectoplasm,”  Danny explains as he scribbles out a summoning circle and a small list of ingredients. John desperately wants to see but the way Danny has his arm around the paper doesn’t exactly invite spectators. When finished, he folds it up and hands it to Hood. “Please don’t spread that around, especially to demon-associated weirdos like Trenchcoat McChump here.” 

“I won’t,” Hood promises. 

Trenchcoat McChump? Nightwing is obviously suppressing a laugh but whatever, it’s far from the worst thing John’s been called. “Bloody hell. OK, one portal to the fucking Infinite Realms coming up,” he says, absolutely terrified at what he’s about to do. Anyone who knows anything about the various dimensions will tell you to never go there, don’t draw attention from the beings who live there, and if you value the structural integrity of your dimension, don’t ever summon from there. 

John still knows how to, though. He’s stopped cultists from trying in the past. Getting this being out of their dimension is definitely the lesser of two fuck-ups. 

Speaking of fuck-ups, while John is taking out chalk and starting a spell circle on the floor, Batman has put on his voice reserved for traumatized young people. “Danny… is it safe for you to go back? From what you’ve described… we could look into other options.” Options?! Really, Batman? Does he not know that this kid could probably be a Justice League level threat if he wanted to be?

Danny looks… a bit confused at the question. John can relate. “Yeah dude, I’m fine, if things get too bad I’m sure Clockwork will intervene in the timeline again.” 

John drops his cigarette. “I’m sorry, do you actually know a bloody god of time ?!” 

“Yeah, he sends me post-it notes every once in a while.”

Batman owes John a fucking vacation. In like, the Bahamas or something, a five star resort with an open bar. Jesus Christ on a cracker! “Fan-fucking-tastic, y’see Bats? Danny will be fine.” 

It looks like multiple people want to argue, but John puts his head down and stubbornly ignores them in favor of concentrating on the spell circle— if he gets it wrong, there could quite literally be Hell to pay. Still, listening with one ear of a survival tactic, John hears Danny say thank you for taquitos and the pancakes in his polite midwestern accent. 

Finally, the spell is ready, and John channels his magic into it until a swirling green portal six feet in diameter opens up. Danny accepts various handshakes and a couple of hugs goodbye, then walks up to the portal. “Thanks, chump,” Danny says with a smirk at John, and then there’s a flash of light and the kid actually looks like a ghost. It’s hard to watch as he leaves through the portal, because the second Danny is in his ghost form John is on the ground, completely overwhelmed by the spike in deathly aura. What the fuck. What the FUCK. 

The portal closes; the aura fades back down to its usual Bat conglomerate levels. John sits up and takes a long drink from his flask, ignoring the questions coming his way. After running out of cheap whiskey, John takes a deep breath and looks up again. “I’m 80% sure that kid was a baby god. Next time you muck about with the Infinite Realms, do not fucking invite me.”