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Watching Sam and the Gotham vigilantes leave to bring Danny home was, admittedly, a lot harder than anticipated. For all that she knows where she can do the most good, Jasmine Fenton has never been one to sit down and let life pass her by. Originally, it was for Danny's sake. He was still so little when their parents stopped remembering that children needed to eat at regular intervals and she was terrified that he'd be hurt if she didn't learn how to feed him and hold his hand when they crossed the street.
Eventually, school took up a pretty large chunk of her focus, because if she could be perfect and get into a school far enough away she could take Danny and get him out of that house. Even before the accident, she had plans to be perfect enough that they'd let her have a larger living arrangement so that she could take Danny. Getting their parents to sign the form to give her temporary custody would have been child's play. They never read what she asked them to sign.
Now, she's trained and taught but this isn't her city and she isn't needed in the same capacity. She doesn't need to fight to keep him anymore. Danny had settled once their parents learned the truth and finally changed how they thought and acted. Once they stopped hunting him for something they caused. She's never going to forget, even though Danny has long since forgiven.
A faintly steaming cup interrupts her mental wandering, and she blinks somewhat sleepily up at the person holding it. The mug is taken gratefully as the smell of warm cocoa wafts up and finally registers. "You holding up?" Dick asks softly, sounding for all the world like he already knows the answer, and expects it to be bad.
Jazz can't help but hum as she sips. She's outside the MedBay, standing with a clear line of sight to the bed Danny's laying on, Tim's slumped form in the chair beside it. "He's going to be okay," she says in lieu of a less-than-accurate answer. "This isn't the first time I've seen him hurt." Dick glances back at the two, likely pondering his answer.
He's clearly bothered by something given how deeply his brow is furrowed, but she lets him work through it without being prodded. "This shouldn't have snuck up on us like this," he finally mutters, an interesting mix of angry and petulant.
Jazz sighs. "You're getting stuck," she says, meeting his gaze without flinching when he whips his head around to stare at her. "You know now, and Tucker's helping figure out the best way to keep Oracle hooked to the algorithm he wrote to see ecto-infused firewalls. You didn't know before, and we didn't know we still needed to look for them. Getting lost in 'what ifs' after everything has been handled is only going to compromise you."
Dick blinks, but doesn't look away. "You say that with such surety," he says, nearly accusing. She understands the feeling of harboring searing, roiling anger and having no outlet to release it. She doesn't hold the tone of voice against him.
Jazz nods. "It's what nearly cost me Danny's trust after The Accident." She watches the way he turns those words over in his head. She doesn't elaborate, but she's heard enough by now to know he's an Eldest Sibling much the same way she is, just a little more involved from much earlier on.
He appears to still be turning it over when there's a shift of cloth against sterile sheets, and she glances over just in time to see Tim jolt into sudden wakefulness at the sound. Danny blinks blearily at the ceiling and promptly tries to sit up.
"Don't try to sit up yet," Tim murmurs, having tried to keep Danny lying with a hand on his shoulder. Danny, however, had kept sitting up, and now Tim's staring at his hand resting on Danny's chest and growing redder with each passing second.
Jazz just watches, amused, as Danny says Tim's name twice before there's a response. Danny's clearly concerned, but Jazz knows it's just Tim's own crush. He hasn't been subtle, everyone knows despite the man himself not saying the words that will get Danny to accept those truths.
"You shouldn't be moving," Tim rasps, clearing his throat and obviously ignoring how flustered he is.
Danny, meanwhile, pats his side gently to test how tender it still is, and then pokes when there's no pain. Jazz suspects he's fully healed, or nearly so, given how often he used to get hurt. She's got a distressingly accurate timeframe for a multitude of injuries. "I'm fine, Tim," Danny says, confirming her theory. "Someone gave me a solid dose of ectoplasm, everything's fully healed." He gives his side one last pat as proof.
Jazz watches Tim nod as Jason approaches from the direction of the training area, the latter sharing a look with Dick before moving near-silently to the door to check for himself. Given what Jason had to do to get the bullet out of Danny, she lets him be. "Yeah, someone brought stuff over from your ghost doctor and stayed with Jazz to show Alfred what all needs to happen when you go down. Sam hadn't stopped shaking yet and Tucker was still at the big computer," Tim says, picking at his nails as he speaks, though Jazz can't tell what part of this moment has him uncomfortable.
Danny, far from being fooled, gives Tim a look that Jazz would bet money he learned from her. Whoops. "You have no idea who dropped it off, do you?" he asks like he doesn't actually need an answer.
"He was too busy hyperventilating," Jason announces gleefully from the door and promptly ducking the thrown Batarang.
Tim's pulling another one to threaten a still-laughing Jason. Danny looks content for a heartbeat to simply watch the brothers interact, as fond now as he was watching Sam and Tucker have mostly harmless 'debates' about their respective diets. "You do know that I never doubted you guys would find me, right?" comes the soft question.
Jason's laughter peters off gently, but Tim's head swivels like it's on a spring. Jazz can't help her smile at seeing how easily Tim is drawn back towards Danny's attention like a moth to a freshly lit bulb. Danny shrugs like it's nothing. "There's a reason I made sure Sam and Tuck knew who you all were and how much of my past I'd trusted you with. Everyone that we've folded into Team Phantom takes their cues from Sam. It's no secret that she'll absolutely bash someone's skull in over preserving my secrets." Tim's brows furrow, and he clearly doesn't like the declaration.
While she can't see Jason's face, Jazz suspects he's got a similar expression based on the tension in his biceps. A glance to her side shows Dick worrying his lip and likely contemplating interrupting. "We got those stupid laws repealed a while ago," Jason mutters.
Danny gives them a sardonic grin and gestures to the MedBay around him. "Biases like that don't care about legality," he answers quietly enough that she struggles to hear. "It's why I kept Phantom under such a tight lockdown after I left Amity Park. I couldn't risk being seen anywhere else, and I no longer had unrestricted access to a portal. Using the portal gun creates a sudden spike in ectoplasm readings; they'd see it if I was constantly hopping back and forth." Jazz wraps her arms around herself at the reminder, cocoa long since forgotten. She hates how much of himself he's had to hide just to be allowed to live.
The elevator dings, soft but somehow still echoing, and everyone turns to Alfred as he moves confidently to the boys with a drink in each hand. One mug is handed to Tim, and the other offered to Danny. "Good to see you awake," the butler comments warmly. "May I?"
Jazz turns away while Alfred confirms there's no wound. She's seen enough to stay calm in the knowledge that Danny is healed. She doesn't need to linger now that he's awake. There's nothing more she can do at this moment. She's spent enough time watching out for him back in Amity Park that she's more assured in Danny being alright than the Waynes likely are at the current juncture. Hovering is only going to mean she's in their way, and Danny's going to have more than enough people around him this time. She remembers his early ghost hunting days, when she hovered too close and overstayed her welcome. Alfred will keep him from being overwhelmed this time, she thinks, so she needs only mind herself.
She meanders around the platforms, taking in the various areas. She doesn't go prying, but the weapons lockers are fairly self explanatory and the training area is obvious. Her mother had one for a time. Smaller, of course, but there was a moment in her younger days when Mom began teaching her to defend herself before they'd started building the portal in earnest. She'd adored the one-on-one time with her mom, having all that sharp focus on her as she learned.
Things changed when they started building the portal, of course. They got more and more distant, and she had to let go of her personal resentments so she could focus on taking care of Danny. She doesn't regret it. She'd sat down and had a lengthy conversation with their mom about it, actually. They both started getting separate one-on-one lessons from her after that. Jazz started first while Danny's broken trust was repaired, but he quickly grew to thrive on having so much positive attention for himself almost as much as she had.
He's the one who convinced her to learn how to make fudge. He had his time building things with Dad, but she has no interest in tinkering. He'd convinced her one afternoon to ask him to teach her how to make fudge. Family recipes should be passed down, and fudge remains one of Jack Fenton's favorite things. They make it every time she goes home, and if she's around he won't make it without her anymore. It fixed a hole she hadn't realized was oozing.
With a jolt, she drags herself out of her thoughts. A brief glance reorients her with where the exits are since all the walls are stone and much of it is poorly lit. Likely intentionally, but it means a more conscious effort to navigate. She hadn't meant to get so lost in her head once she was no longer focused solely on Danny, though she suspects it's one of the safest places to do so. A faint whisper of shifting fabric at the base of the long staircase leading up to the Manor proper, however, has her slowing her pace further. The pause allows her to catch Valerie watching the MedBay from the shadows. A quick glance confirms no one is watching them, so she steps easily out of sight.
There's so many questions she could ask. Unfortunately, she knows the answer to most of them. "He's alright," she says, suspecting it needs to be heard despite being clear to see.
Val nods, and takes a slow, measured breath. There's something caught in her throat that concerns Jazz. A statement or a question, she can't tell. But given there's a part of Valerie that never actually got over Danny, Jazz can only hope it won't cause problems. They've got a complicated history, and Jazz has often wondered if they'd still be together if it hadn't been for the ghosts and Vlad's manipulation of Valerie's rage. There's a chance they might have stayed together in another life, for all that it means nothing now.
"You see it," Val murmurs quietly. It's not phrased as a question. "The way he looks at Danny." Jazz hums, and nods.
She sees it. More than that, however, is that she knows Danny sees it. "Everyone does, I think," Jazz finally allows. "You know how Danny is, he won't do anything until he's sure it's wanted."
Valerie snorts. "It's absolutely wanted," the sulking woman counters. "I just can't figure out why Tim hasn't said anything. Literally all he has to do is blink intentionally in Danny's direction with how besotted he is." She'd sound disgusted to most, but Jazz can hear what Val's really saying. She, more than most, knows better than to take Danny's attention and proximity for granted. Very little is guaranteed for more than a moment and if that moment isn't seized there could very well never be another. Jazz sees clearly how much Valerie wishes she'd had just one more moment. And how far she's buried it to keep the surviving friendship.
She wants to hug the woman, but knows that kind of casual contact doesn't get taken well with Val. She's not really sure how to broach this one, however, despite how often she lets them believe she's got all the answers. She's pondering the best way to convince Val to come upstairs with her for something warm when the woman slumps, wrapping her arms around herself.
It's an old gesture she picked up after Mrs. Gray, her mother, passed. Jazz remembers seeing it when Val would visit the graveyard every weekend that first year. A gesture she'd worked hard to hide because of the way it supposedly made her father's face pinch. Danny had confided in her when he'd seen it, bothered in a way he hadn't quite figured out how to express yet. "Would he have looked at me like that?" comes the question at last, soft enough that Jazz nearly doesn't catch it.
She blinks, not nearly as surprised as she'd like to be. She doesn't answer immediately, glancing back towards the others. Alfred is clearly done with his check and appears to be making another comment to Mr. Wayne about getting some rest. Tim, however, is sitting on the edge of Danny's bed and appears to be trying to keep Danny from lifting anything despite his wound being closed. Danny's just watching Tim with such soft, fond indulgence that it makes her heart squeeze.
Suspecting the sight is why Val's gone hunched in on herself, Jazz gives herself an extra moment to consider her words. "You know as well as I do that he gives all of himself once he's decided," she replies, turning back to catch the look of sorrowful longing as Val stares. "You weren't the only one who had baggage, Val. He doesn't think any less of you for it." Valerie's scowl deepens, but there's no immediate counter, so Jazz knows she's on track.
Val's fingers dig into her arms. "Most of the time, I'm over it. But every now and then..." she sighs, tension slowly bleeding out of her. Jazz is proud of her for admitting her feelings. For acknowledging that seeing someone getting so close to Danny still catches her sometimes.
Jazz just smiles. "Healing isn't linear, and grief isn't logical," she reminds the younger girl. The petulant scoff is welcome in its familiarity, but her 'psychobabble logic' does the trick.
They'd had all the talks, of course. Jazz had to constantly remind Danny of healing being non-linear while he recovered after his rescue from the G.I.W. lab, and several other moments besides. Sam had taken Danny's imprisonment shockingly personally and had gotten lectures of her own. Eventually, Jazz had sat everyone down and told them all the same things. They needed to be reminded that they're not less for their feelings or weak for their traumas. It made them human.
Val's gaze doesn't waver, so Jazz takes a very intentional step into her line of sight and rests a hand on the girl's shoulder. "We don't know what Tim's baggage is," she says gently. "Though from what I've been told, he's now painfully aware that Danny knows of his feelings. We'll give it until after the trial so there's no weight of responsibility for either of them to hide behind. If they still haven't figured it out after that, I'll let you be the one to tell Tim he's being stupid." Valerie chuckles weakly, a victory Jazz holds close.
"Yeah, alright. Better to make sure Danny doesn't have stupid excuses," she agrees, finally turning towards the stairs. Jazz falls into step with her, though she'll probably leave the girl to Alfred's capable eye once they hit the kitchen, seeing as he's nowhere to be seen. He may very well have gone back upstairs to get dinner together. The man radiates enough calm to mellow an elephant.
"Gives me more time to get a proper shovel talk together," she mutters just before she steps through the clock's entry back into the study. Jazz takes three seconds to process the words before she's chasing Val through in the hope of explaining all the ways that's a terrible idea even as Valerie cackles.
The morning dawns like any other. It's strangely bright for Gotham and feels like the city is trying to lend its strength to those weighed down by today's schedule. Jazz, having slept rather poorly, was up with the sun. She checks herself in the mirror, her makeup subtle but in place to hopefully keep her resolve bolstered. It's not obvious: a little foundation to smooth her skin, thin eyeliner and mascara to compliment her eyes. Pale pink lips are only a few shades brighter than their natural color. She straightens the modest teal wrap dress that stops at her knees. The V-neck is modest, coming just below the hollow of her throat. She doesn't want anything revealing, having no interest in taking away from the severity of the day.
Securing a simple black belt at her waist, she adds two more pins to the messy bun so nothing falls out of place and slips into sensible black pumps. Just as she's gathering her bag, which will most likely stay in the car anyway, a knock comes at the door.
She calls for entry without looking up, grabbing a simple black blazer just in case the room is cold. "You look far better than I feel," Jason says from the door. He's in a suit to avoid standing out or reflecting badly on the family name, though most of the family will likely be in full costume. He's coming with her in civvies, given he's technically possibly still a crime lord according to several officials, so he's got to be a 'proper Wayne'.
She huffs a humorless laugh. "Plenty of practice," she answers.
He doesn't reply, but his face says plenty as they head down to the Cave. They're all going to Zeta to a nearby area and a car will take them to the UN building being allotted for Oa's trial. They've come to ensure that the guilty parties answer for intergalactic crimes intentionally hidden in plain sight.
Jazz was, admittedly, surprised to discover that someone within the G.I.W. fold was actually aware of the lines they were dancing over. That they hid the ECTO Acts specifically so the Green Lanterns wouldn't get involved for the clear intergalactic breach. There's a fair amount of anger from several of the Justice League as well as the Waynes themselves over the discovery that this wasn't done in ignorance, but in clear malice. It also means that Oa can run their trial without anyone questioning whether they have a right to interfere. Most of the United Nations delegates will be attending to watch and to bring the verdict back to their respective countries. This day will set a precedent that won't soon be forgotten.
Once down in the cave with Sam, Tucker, and Valerie, Jason inputs the necessary coordinates. The others have gone ahead to work as security as well as to prepare. A deep breath is all Jazz allows herself before she steps into the Zeta and finds herself standing under a bridge. She buries her confusion with long practice, taking in the sounds of traffic overhead and the glaring lack of any sense of eyes upon her as she steps aside for the other three.
Jason scuffs a shoe, drawing her attention just before the Zeta whirs faintly to life again behind her and allowing another group to come through one by one. The appearance of Wes Weston, Kwan, Star, Mr. Gray, and Tucker's parents surprise her. She hadn't expected so many from Amity Park. Just her and Sam and Tucker as the ones most often exposed to the Fentons, and Valerie because she refused to be left behind. Besides Danny, of course, but he's attending as Phantom and the necessary excuses have already been made about his absence. His kidnapping unfortunately made a wonderful reason to excuse him from the proceedings.
The Foleys approach easily, fussing over Tucker and Sam and sparing her a few worried pats as well. Jason just watches fondly until a car pulls up in an empty lot nearby. There's some awkward greetings as they make for the limo, and Jazz can't help but relax at the sight of Alfred behind the wheel. He looks harmless enough to be largely ignored. Jason assured her early on that he's the furthest thing from.
They pile in silently, and only when they're on the road and properly secure does everyone look to Jazz. Sam's on one side with Valerie next to her, Tucker on the other so his mother can keep hold of his hand. "Was Wes right?" Starr asks quietly. She sounds afraid.
Jazz remembers suddenly when they were young, before the cliques started and the separations were defined. Starr was Danny's friend once, standing where Sam does now. Danny had, for one horrible weekend, been inconsolable when Starr 'sided' with Paulina and stopped playing with him. It appears that she's not nearly as indifferent as she's had to seem.
She sighs softly. "Yes. Wes is right," she answers just as softly. It's enough. They'd all heard Wes trying to convince everyone that Danny is Phantom almost since the Accident. It had only taken a couple of months for the redhead to latch onto Danny's identity and he'd been trying to out Danny ever since.
Tucker leans into his mother's side, and Jazz pities the Foleys. They'd built a whole trundle specifically so Danny always had a bed when he turned up at their door regardless of time. It was never a secret that the Fenton household was chaotic. To know beyond a doubt that Danny was the one his own parents had hunted likely doesn't sit well with them, despite having not been in a position to be able to do anything more than they had.
Wes, however, is scowling despite his vindication. "They tried to End him," he hisses, a clear accusation. It appears he doesn't agree with Danny being on much better terms with his parents now.
Jazz nods. "They did. And when we finally told them the truth it broke something in them that I'm not certain will ever truly be fixed," she says. The admittance still burns, though she'll never tell Danny so. He's made his peace with them and is far happier for the rekindled bonds. She won't taint that for him. He's been through enough.
Valerie, meanwhile, has apparently been glaring holes in Wes since he arrived. "Do you finally understand what you risked with your bullshit in high school?" she spits, immediately being chastised by her father for the crass language. Beside her, Sam crosses her arms, notably silent.
Wes shrinks in his seat, curling in on himself. "Did any of us actually know how bad it was, though?" Kwan counters, surprising Jazz. He'd always struck her as more of a follower, always trailing Dash and Paulina. "How much did he never let us see? Sure, we know the reasons now, but that doesn't change what we didn't know before." The ensuing staring contest gets them all the way to the barricades around the United Nations building, and they stay silent as Alfred navigates them through the crowds. There's a very heavily guarded parking garage, thankfully, because Jazz really doesn't want to try and navigate the front doors.
They all pile out, silent and largely lost in their own thoughts, if any of the faces are an indication. Valerie keeps her eyes moving, and Jazz suspects she's not going to calm for some time yet. Surprisingly, they can hear Lex Luthor above the crowd. When Jazz steps close to one of the gaps in the parking garage's wall, she can see him standing on the front steps loudly calling the repealed ECTO acts a horrendous oversight of justice and demanding that every last agent who'd broken the law after repeal never see the light of day again. Lois Lane stands nearby, likely transcribing every word and facial expression the man makes. At least that's what Jazz would do if she had even half the animosity the papers suggest exists between those two.
They're guided inside by Alfred, down a well-lit hall, and into a repurposed conference room. Jazz keeps her shoulders back, letting the others crowd close to her as she takes in the sight. A half oval of chairs fills much of the room, ringing a series of desks set in the same half oval shape with gaps at the connections where the long sides would meet the short one. Microphones mounted into the desks allow those speaking to be heard. There's a separate line of tables at the front of the room, also with mounted microphones and raised a step above the rest.
She glances over the clusters of people talking quietly and realizes that most of them wear an enamel flag pin denoting their home country. Delegates have already started pouring in, and several mounted cameras connect to a series of monitors set up in the back of the room that she suspects will live-stream the proceedings to those that could not make it today.
The glow of the Green Lantern draws her gaze, Wonder Woman standing beside him. Her eyes catch sight of Phantom coming in through the door where the pair of Leaguers are standing. He's in full kingly regalia, which she expected, but a gasp behind her assures her that not everyone is used to seeing him look like a king. Pandora comes in behind him shrunk down to a much more manageable seven or eight feet, Ghostwriter and Ember following. Nocturn surprises her when he steps through in conversation with Dorathea.
The last one through the door is a surprise, though the more Jazz thinks about it, she shouldn't be. While Frostbite may be the Far Frozen's chief, his partner is the one who has been personally overseeing Ellie's care. If she's going to be brought up, then Hailwind needs to be present to speak of her. It probably helps that Hailwind's glacial horns are curved backwards much like an oryx instead of the more aggressive, upwards arch of Frostbite's. A leaner frame and fluffier tail reminiscent of a snow leopard will almost certainly help keep the humans calm while they adjust to the presence of beings so clearly Other.
The ghosts settle at one of the longer edges of the tabled seats. Wonder Woman and Superman, who had followed the ghosts in, take the short end. It's clear that they intend to sit between the opposing parties. Aquaman and Martian Manhunter join them just as the door behind Jazz swings open hard enough to bounce off the wall. She herds the Amity Parkers back as several men she's never seen march through in distressingly familiar white suits. She may not recognize them, but she'd know the G.I.W. starch anywhere.
Alfred gets them moving, settling them in a line of chairs behind the delegates to wait for their turn to speak. They're not the focus, but Jazz hopes that their words will help move these governments towards progress. She's tired of living in terror that her brother is going to vanish again. She doesn't think she can handle it a second time.
Floating beings with almost ghost-blue skin enter just as the last of the delegates take their seats. She watches impassively as they head directly to the front of the room, settling in the raised line of seats. The Green Lantern joins them, insinuating who they must be to everyone who doesn't recognize them. It takes several more minutes, but eventually, the room falls silent.
"Good afternoon and welcome," one of the beings says. "We are the Guardians of Oa, and are joined by the Earth-based Green Lantern to oversee the best interests of the planet he protects. We are gathered to hear the appeals of the Ghost Investigation Ward before they are sentenced and removed from this planet. We are joined by the commissioners of the Ward, headed by Director Omeg Franklin, as well as by High King Phantom and delegates of His Majesty's Council. We remind all present that the High King and his people are at present under the protection of both local law and the governance of Oa." The last is said with a pointed glare at the G.I.W., and Jazz watches them all sneer openly.
She can't see the faces of the ghosts, and with bodies that are only corporeal at will, they don't possess the same tells of stress from any other angle. She knows the tension in Phantom's shoulders, however, and prays things will remain civil. Everyone should have been searched for weapons, but the lipstick lasers and vacuum-shaped Fenton Weasel are the longest-running proof Jazz has that such weapons aren't always obvious.
Attention turns to the G.I.W., and Jazz can't help but brace herself for terrible things to be said. "Director Franklin, please present your appeal," a different Guardian says. "We ask that you remain respectful." There's a clear twisting of the director's face; his thoughts on 'respecting' ghosts are clear.
The director leans forward, his attention focused solely on the Guardians. "We wish to reinstate the ECTO Acts and resume our work protecting humanity," he begins with all the bravado of any other agent. "We are open to modifying the wording to make clear we're not after anyone else. The ghosts have proven themselves a threat, and have been allowed to come through without regulation to cause significant harm to our planet. They'd been doing so for years. This sudden political shift and ensuing rescission is extremely suspect, especially with the ghosts' penchant for possessing people to get their way. I cannot, in good conscience, stand idly by while they're allowed to trample freely across our world."
He falls silent, and Jazz hopes no one else can taste the silent rumble echoing back to her from one of the ghosts. They all taste of ire and fury, which doesn't surprise her. The Guardians remain outwardly impassive, silent as they seem to ponder briefly. She doesn't know if they have some form of telepathic communication, though she thinks it likely the longer they say nothing.
Eventually, a Guardian speaks. "Your concerns are heard," they acknowledge. "We will see these concerns addressed, and will make a determination accordingly. Now, King Phantom-"
The Guardian is cut off as one of the agents scoffs. "We have to hear more lies? They don't belong here, and still they get to interfere," he says, and it would have been said low enough to be missed if not for the microphones amplifying every word.
The room goes eerily silent as all motion ceases. No one scratches a pen across paper or flips through a file. Jazz suspects several of the delegates don't even breath for several tense seconds. "If you cannot be civil, you will be removed," the Green Lantern says from his place beside the line of the Guardian's tables. There's a clear threat in his voice, backed by the flare of power from his ring.
The Guardians wait another moment before speaking again. "If you would, King Phantom, kindly speak your peace," the one who'd been cut off says again.
Jazz watches Phantom's shoulders shift as he takes a breath he doesn't technically need. He angles himself to speak to the Guardians, ignoring the G.I.W. "The first matter I would like to address is our access to this world," he begins. Jazz can hear how carefully he chooses his words. "Many of us do not come from the other side, having once been alive. Most who die cross over, yes. But not all. Secondly, the rift that was referred to was a portal that human scientists punched in the Veil. We did not seek and carve the rift. The living did. They broke into another dimension, into our home."
Several people murmur, but Phantom doesn't give them more than a moment. "As for the claims of threats to the living," he continues, drawing attention once more, "I would ask you if Earth will likewise be condemned when we conclude." This does pull outcry, though the green glow of the Lantern's largely formless construct overhead draws attention before it can get out of hand.
The Guardians remain seated, though Jazz feels the combined weight of their attention now despite it not being focused on her. "Should we?" they ask, likely trying to retain their impartiality.
Phantom, Jazz is shocked to see, shrugs. "If we are to be condemned as a whole for the actions of the few, will Earth not bear the same judgment for the actions of Gotham's Rouges? Rogues who, I would like to remind you, have caused significantly greater harm to their own realm's people than mine ever did. What sets us apart so much as to be worthy of genocide?" This pulls silence for several terrifying seconds before much more frantic whispers break out all around. While she despises how he worded the argument, she sees that the intention behind it has definitely struck true.
Even the attending members of the Justice League are thoughtful now. Aquaman sits forward, briefly gesturing towards the Guardians, who nod. "King Phantom has an important point," the Atlantian says confidently. "It is in this point in particular that we have invited several of Amity Park's residents to speak today. We have welcomed outside opinions on the harm that has been caused from the mouths of the citizens themselves. Who better to tell us how that rift has truly impacted them?." The G.I.W. covers their mics and hisses angrily amongst themselves as Aquaman speaks.
Jazz is thankful he's the one who does. She remembers reading about his own fight to have his people acknowledged while groups were denouncing them as lesser because they come from the sea. Superman and Martian Manhunter had their trials as well, being seen as intruders to this planet even after it was made known that neither of them has a home to return to. She hates how cruel humans can be sometimes.
"King Phantom, you may continue," the Guardians say.
Phantom dips his head in acknowledgement. "Regarding the claims of being without regulation," he continues, and Jazz is proud of how steady his voice is, "I dispute this, as well. The Justice League undoubtedly has many a file to prove that I myself, as a freshly formed ghost, regulated those that came through and spilled my own blood to see the humans protected. Around the time it became more than a small handful coming through and I was rapidly becoming in over my head, I met a ghost who runs one of the Infinite Realms's prisons. Those who sought true harm have not been seen since, properly imprisoned once I had captured them and returned them to the Infinite Realms. My very title as I sit before you confirms that my people are regulated with as much authority as the governments represented here can govern their own people."
Jazz watches contemplation spread and tries not to feel threatened by so many eyes turning to study Phantom properly. Not all of the conversations are in English, which isn't surprising, but what Jazz does understand is promising. It seems that many countries are already on the ghosts' side by virtue of them attending this hearing at all. Most of what the G.I.W. says has been disproved simply by no one being harmed.
When the director sits forward and calls attention to himself, Val hisses a curse under her breath. "If any of that is true, then why have you functioned outside the purview of this world's government for so long? Not even other countries can come here and simply do as they please! There are regulations that must be followed," he challenges, staring at Phantom.
"Because you refused to hear us," Phantom replies calmly. "We attempted to open communication several times. You kept a media blackout around the city to ensure that neither I nor the humans residing within that city could call for help. I never wanted to do this alone. Truthfully, I never wanted to do this at all. I died as a teenager and took on governing an entire dimension because your agency would not let anyone seek help. I believe the Justice League also has proof of this."
The confirmation of Phantom's death age sends angry ripples through the crowd, many glaring at the white suited visitors coldly. A couple of them have stood, but Green Lantern sets a glowing, semi-transparent wall between them and the ghosts so no harm can come. One delegate raises their hand, and Jazz thinks she can see the Swiss flag pin.
Thankfully, she doesn't do more until the surge of emotions is contained, and she steps delicately forward to stand beside Wonder Woman. "May I ask what other offenses have been levied?" she asks. She's clearly staying diplomatic, though Jazz doesn't miss the steel in the woman's spine. There's no telling what arguments she's had to endure to maintain her country's famed neutrality. She wants to talk to the woman sometime.
"There have been many, for we bear different customs," comes a voice Jazz hadn't expected to speak up. "I am Nocturn, the Ancient of Slumber and Master of Dreams. Unlike our King, I am not a post-mortal being. I was never 'born' as defined by the living. I, and a great many others, formed within the Infinite Realms of the belief of humans long ago. Our home is not called the Infinite lightly. We, the ones that you call Primordial, also call the Realms home. The foundations of creation itself are scattered within the Realms: Life and Death, Space and Time, Growth and Hope. This Ward sought to destroy them all and expected reality to remain intact."
He doesn't stand, but he does lift a hand towards Phantom, ever-shifting night skies flowing freely across his body. "The Son of Stars, the Tyrant's Bane. Our King, and King he was when he was captured by the Ward, has befriended us. Has seen us and Known. His station is not one given, but one earned. For a King is not a ruler within the Realms, little mortal, but a balance. His is not to command. He protects. He preserves. And, in such cases as the destruction of places like Azarath, like Krypton, he Witnesses. By the will of the King, the departed may rest. We have long been out of balance because we have not had a proper King in millennia. He has a great deal to stabilize, this Protector that you sought to steal from us."
A chuff and rumble from the end of the table draws everyone's eye. Jazz watches Hailwind sit forward. The dark turquoise sash over his torso shifts slightly against his fur, bringing out his amber eyes as he turns his head to address the Swiss delegate. "It is difficult, I have found, to try and explain the differences," Hailwind begins gently. "Time passes steadily here. The living are marked by change; it is your foundation. It is in every birth and death. Every summer fading to fall. Every howling wind shifting the sand. Every sprouting seed. To change is to live. And we do not. Much of the Infinite Realms exists primarily in a state of stagnation because we are outside the flow of Time.
"Change, to us, is rare. It is cherished because it is not a guarantee for us as it is for you. One of the freed prisoners I tended after the raid on the Ward was a young Neverborn. She'd been formed only seven scant years ago by living time, and had been celebrated across the Realms. New Neverborns are one of our rarest and most treasured marks of change, and she was nearly taken from us. Nearly Ended entirely and erased from existence. It will be decades or more before she will be stable enough to be away from the energy of her parents for more than minutes at a time, thus no longer playing with other young ghosts of all walks."
"Many of my friends mourn that she cannot come play anymore," Dorathea adds softly from her spot beside Nocturn. "I am Lady Dorathea. I oversee the predominantly post-mortal Middle Ages kingdoms, and we have many young children lost to plagues and famine and war that ask about the dear girl often. Such connections are precious to us. They remind us that we are still here. We still have our voices."
Another delegate, having risen while Dora talked, steps up beside the Swiss woman. Jazz has to strain her eyes to catch the Swedish flag. "Pardon me," he says, waiting for a nod from Phantom to continue. "You mentioned genocide. Is that what those Acts were to you?"
Phantom is not the only ghost who nods. "They sought to remove us all without regard for what we are or whether we have caused harm," Pandora says. "More than that, those laws gave them freedom to punish anyone still among the living who had strayed too close to death. Most of King Phantom's origin city applied to the damnation of those laws for no other reason than they resided within the city where the rift was carved. They did nothing to warrant condemnation, but they were condemned all the same. Several of the Justice League's own also qualified, as we discovered when they assisted us in getting those that had been captured back home. None of them had come into contact with us before that moment, but they reacted strongly enough to our presence that they were undoubtedly subject to those abysmal Acts. You have seen what they've done. Would you leave Robin to the Ward's mercy and trust in it?"
Both delegates rock back at her words, and Jazz watches horror bloom across the Swiss delegate's face. A voice from the back with an accent that Jazz would tentatively place as one of the African countries, speaks up, "I would like to hear from the witnesses." There's a murmur of assent, and the Guardians all nod in unison.
"We will hear from at least three of them," a Guardian confirms. "Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, may we place them at the microphone between you two so as to keep them from being too close to either side while they speak?" Martian Manhunter is already moving over, Superman at his side also moving to free the chair directly in the middle. It saves them from being attacked by the G.I.W. without making it look like they're hiding behind the ghosts. The two delegates that had come up to speak also take this moment to return to their chairs.
She sighs near silently. If they're taking three, then she'll almost certainly be speaking, having grown up in the home that started it all. She suspects either Mr. or Mrs. Foley will be another. The third could realistically be any of them.
Once the shuffling has concluded, Green Lantern steps over. "None of you are required to speak," he reminds them gently.
Starr scoffs. "We shouldn't have been required to adjust to the government blowing up the high school, either," she mutters. "I'll go first." Jazz tries to stop her, but Mr. Gray puts a hand on her shoulder, a silent request to let the girl do as she wished. She has as much right as anyone else those laws have harmed.
Green Lantern walks Starr to the seat, clearly not wanting anything to happen to her. She settles confidently, holding herself the way Jazz remembers her doing during cheer competitions. Swallow the nerves, and they'll never know you're terrified. When she's asked to introduce herself, she grins with teeth. "My name is Starr Thunder. I was a student at Casper High during the height of the ghost attacks, and my father is Lance Thunder, the weatherman that was regularly caught up in the fighting." There's a hum of curiosity at her introduction.
The Guardians look her over, and Jazz would call them curious if she didn't have an odd feeling they were looking for something. "Very well. What is your testimony?" one of them inquires.
Starr folds her hands on the table. Her gaze doesn't waver. "The high school was a regular target of the ghost attacks, mostly because that's where Phantom was most often found," she begins, earning several raised eyebrows. "Given that he didn't look any older than the rest of us, we didn't think his presence was strange. The school was also the safest place for him for a while since there were sensors and people with weapons everywhere else. We were the only ones not shooting at him for a few years, at least. Ghosts didn't come looking to hurt us, they were looking to attack Phantom, and after the initial terror wore off we realized that they weren't even really doing any lasting damage to him. It was almost like watching an extreme version of the jocks wrestling in the gym after practice.
"We started paying more attention after that. The G.I.W. had certainly made their splash by this point. They constantly chased the ghosts around screaming obscenities at the sky, but the only shots that ever regularly connected with us or our cars were the human's weapons. The ghosts were wrestling in the air; we weren't in danger except for falling rubble and things because they weren't used to this side's construction. The one-timers who did actually intend to do damage weren't stopped by the government, or by any of the ghost hunters. Phantom was the one who saved us every single time. Honestly I've lost count of how many times Phantom's had to carry my dad away from the heavily armored cars the G.I.W. would go tearing through town in. They're the ones who nearly ran him over so many times because they had no regard for who was around or how wild their shots were landing. They're the only ones who ever did any serious damage to people. I don't think the ghosts ever actually hospitalized anyone. Phantom made sure of that, despite the adults' best attempts."
Silence meets her words, but it is a weighted silence. "Such conjecture from one so young," comments one of the G.I.W.'s board members idly. Jazz can see the attempt at dismissing her words, can see how they wish to prove that they're all just children trying to play adult.
It makes Jazz angrier than she's been in a very long time. It sounds like every single adult that ever told her she shouldn't worry about her brother. Every school administrator and librarian and coffee shop worker that ever patted her on the head and told her she was 'acting so grown up' in that same sickly sweet, condescending voice. Every teacher that told her to sit down and let someone else handle Danny's early years because they hadn't yet realized that their parents weren't coming. That she was the only one who was around to be her brother's advocate. She hears every person who told her it wasn't her job like she wasn't excruciatingly well aware of that.
She doesn't regret taking care of her family. She will never regret what she's done and become for her brother. And then again for her sister, when Danielle entered their lives. She hid an entire child from their parents until she was absolutely certain that the girl would be safe in the house that had once threatened Danny. Jazz can't count anymore all the nights she spent with a trembling little girl curled up against her just wanting to be loved without fear.
She doesn't realize she's stood until the Lantern puts a soft hand on her shoulder. Not a true grip, nothing that could be taken as binding, but a touch to ground her back into her body. All eyes are on her, and the fact that most of the white-suited hands are beneath the table means her eyes are most likely reflecting light in her fury. Starr hasn't flinched, and leans into her when she steps up to Starr's back so the microphone will pick her voice up.
Unlike everyone else thus far, she pins the G.I.W. director with her gaze and doesn't blink. "What right have you to condemn us?" she hisses, the distance between her and the microphone ensuring the crackling in her voice doesn't short the tech. "What right have you to look down on us, when we were the ones holding a sobbing little girl while she physically fell apart? You took and tortured Phantom's daughter, and you took and tortured Phantom when he risked his own existence to get her out. You dare to judge us, when our pain is your fault and yours alone?" She doesn't waver, and her peripheral vision catches Starr turning to glare at the director as well.
The fury on the man's face only grows, his ebony skin tinting as the flush of his rage spreads across his cheeks. "Do not dare to speak of that abomination to me! We would have been rid of it if that thing parading as a ruler had not interfered!" he thunders, pulling an odd, bent tube from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
Unfortunately, Jazz recognizes the way metal folds out of the otherwise harmless device, and she and Starr dive out of the line of fire just as the first shot is loosed, tearing a chunk out of the table where Starr's hands had been folded just seconds ago. She has no idea when they figured out how to modify the Fenton Peeler, but that wasn't important now. Her hands dropped to her thigh instinctively, but unfortunately, she'd adhered to the rules and didn't actually have any of her weapons on her. The only thing she has that might be useful is her Court band, which she can not afford to unfold here. They cannot afford to know just how tied she is to the Realms.
Instinct has her shoving Starr to one side as one of the other board members rushes them. A bright silver rod extends into a modified Boo-staff that he brings down with poorly-trained form. Having been taught by the warriors of Acropolis, Jazz pivots under the blow easily. The force he used to swing overshoots him, and he stumbles before turning to focus on her once more, staff gripped tight.
Before he can swing again, however, Valerie collides with him, her legs knocking his knees while her arms lock around his waist. Before anyone else can react, she's bent her knees and pulled him off the ground and over her head in a textbook suplex. Jazz can't help her flinch as the man's back connects with the largely unforgiving floor, hearing how badly he landed. That's going to bruise, at the very least.
A distinctive whine fills the room even above the cacophony of panicking delegates, and Jazz glances back to see Sam diving over Starr to shove her into Kwan's hands. The director's gun is trained on Sam, his face contorted into such fury that Jazz shudders at the sight. She knows what they've done. What they want to continue to do. But that doesn't brace for the sight of such unfiltered, all-encompassing rage scant feet from her.
Before she can spiral into panic about all that rage focused on someone so dear to her, a glowing green pincer snaps the recharging gun before separating into multiple ropes and binding every G.I.W. member who had stood. She's not surprised to see that means every single one. Other weapons lay destroyed beneath them, and Jazz glances over to see Superman hovering in front of Nocturn. Wonder Woman stands in front of Phantom and Pandora, shield held ready and scuffed as though it had already blocked a blow. Martian Manhunter hovers next to Aquaman, standing before Dora and Hailwind. The ghosts were protected, shielded. Acknowledged. There wasn't time for a debate, they didn't ponder whether the ghosts mattered; when the time came to act, the ghosts were valued. Something long coiled tight in Jazz's chest loosens at this, because it means she just might be able to relax. Her family will be safe.
The Guardians rise, hovering in a line over the desks. "We have heard enough, and seen what we needed to," one says sharply, gaze locked on the G.I.W.
"We deny your appeal, and confirm the protection of the denizens of the Infinite Realms will hold in accordance with intergalactic law. Those who have drawn weapons at this hearing will henceforth be returned to Oa for imprisonment for your crimes, both today and before," another says darkly. None of the floating entities look happy, which Jazz thinks is a little frightening after how neutral they'd remained until this point.
The agents are gathered up effortlessly, and when they try to spew obscenities again, three of them are gagged. The Lantern floats after them, removing them from the room without letting any of them touch the floor. She refocuses on the Amity Parkers, Sam and Tucker crowding her the first chance they get. Even Starr hovers nearby, and Jazz can't help but pull the girl closer in comfort.
Phantom and the others have already been ushered through the door they'd entered by when one of the Guardians calls for Superman's attention. "Please inform His Majesty that we would like a word with him before we leave," they say softly. "There is one final matter not suited to such publicity that must be addressed, and sooner will likely be preferred." Jazz watches Superman tilt his head.
She doesn't know what the gesture means until the man answers, "He's willing to meet you on the Watchtower in two hours, once he and his people are calm." With a jolt, she remembers that he can hear his name from anywhere, and must have been listening to Phantom's answer. The Guardians nod their allowance just as Mr. Gray steps up beside her to assist Alfred in herding them back out the side door. Security wants the place emptied and everyone scattered to secure locations after such a blatant breach, so they trek quickly back to the car. There's a much louder uproar coming from the front, but Jazz pays them no mind this time.
Jazz glances at the others as they all pile into the limo. Kwan curls easily against Starr, who appears to be deflating as the adrenaline fades. Neither of them are usually in the thick of the sharper violence, always being in a crowd and rarely being anyone's primary focus. She's not surprised that they're not doing well, but Mr. Gray seems to be talking them through it. Considering what he most likely had to learn to handle when he realized his daughter was the Red Huntress, she lets him have that one. He'll know the right words.
For now she focuses on Danny's team. Valerie is still angry, curling in one of the corner seats. Jazz can hear her teeth grinding, which tells her that anything she tries to say isn't going to be truly heard yet. Sam is a mix of anger and adrenaline after staring down a gun regardless of color or type of bullet. Her hands haven't stopped shaking. Jazz bundles her close, one arm around her shoulder, and doesn't so much as blink when there's a sniffle being muffled in her blazer.
Tucker tucks himself at her other side, much quieter and meeting subdued than normal. She has mild concerns about shock, but she wraps her other arm around him and lets him lean into her so he can wrap an arm around Sam's shoulders. There's a decent chance that not having Danny here after such an incident is doing terrible things to their instincts, but she'll hold them together until everyone is together again. Danny's likely fairing no better, fretting over the ghosts until he can fret over his family in a few hours.
Jazz steps out of the ship that had brought them to the Watchtower and glances around. Sam and Valerie are with her, though Tucker insisted on staying back so they weren't all contained. Most of the adults objected, of course, but Sam was unashamed in reminding them all that the living have no right to keep those of the King's Court from Phantom's side. They'd begrudgingly gotten everyone to the big League ship to clear the atmosphere and get them up into the space station that the Justice League uses as a home base.
With Sam on one side and Valerie on the other, they follow Nightwing and Red Robin to the League's meeting room. They'd been warned that most of the League's roster was descending to hear what the Guardians had been so adamant about. She personally thinks it's overkill, but as long as none of them wish her or her brother harm she's going to breathe through those thoughts and let Phantom handle it. Even though he'll always be her little brother, she has to remember that he is also King.
She walks into the big conference room and finds what she can only describe as contained chaos. There's a clear divide between the generations, and enough camaraderie that she could probably identify most of the individual younger teams. The Flashes are zipping about in almost headache-inducing zigzags. Several fliers are hovering, clearly too excited to limit their motions with gravity. Even the magicians are present, huddled away from the brighter members and mostly watching the ghosts. Hands are waving everywhere in conversation, and the emotions in the room are nearly cloying.
She heads for the ghosts, looking mostly settled in one of the corners. Nocturn nearly blends in with the window, though he reflects a vastly different sky. Phantom leans against the wall, eyes tracking the sharper movements. Dora and Hailwind appear to be conversing quietly. Pandora simply stands with one set of arms crossed and the other on her hips, as if daring anyone to approach. Not ideal, perhaps, but there's no blatant aggression so Jazz lets it be.
The door opens once more, pulling everyone's attention. The Lantern comes through, the Guardians floating in behind him. The third in the line has a box, roughly the shape of a larger shoe box designed for tall boots. It's plain, a nice cream if Jazz had to guess around all the glowing. She doesn't think anything of it until the temperature of the room plummets sharply.
She isn't the only one who turns to stare at Phantom. His face is blank, a mark of the rage he's trying not to show, and his eyes are locked onto the box with a focus that scares her. She steps aside, uncaring that she's essentially half-hiding behind Pandora. Sam and Valerie have also cleared a very noticeable path.
Phantom stands upright, his gaze never wavering. "Explain," he says, voice a low rumble. The single word echoes briefly in deference to his tight reign on his control.
The Guardians move until they are lined up before him, and all of them drop to the ground and bow, the box held out before them. "We do not know what this box contains," one of them says carefully. "We know that it was entrusted to us some millennia ago, to be returned only to the Son of Stars when His dawn breaks. We never attempted to open the seal binding it closed."
None of them move, Phantom staring for just long enough that Jazz would be sweating if her breath wasn't fogging. Sam takes a step, likely to try and break him out of it when he strides forward with far sharper movements than he's used before. He's still ethereal and graceful, but his motions are clearly that of a predator in a way he usually tries not to be.
"Bloody Hell, that could be a problem," mutters the gruff British man from the other side of the room. Jazz wonders if he knows what has Phantom so bothered. The lid is ripped off the box, Phantom's hand curling gently around a baseball sized jewel with wide, sparkling facets. It swirls with brilliant greens and spots of gray, like grass and cobblestones. Jazz can't help her gasp. It's a Core. The Guardians had a ghost's Core in a box for who-knows-how-long.
There's another round of cursing from the magician, but her eyes are on Phantom. The Core is cradled against his chest, arm curled protectively as he reaches into the box again with the other hand. He pulls out a book, a journal of some kind, and flicks it open with clear trepidation on his face. "It can't be," he murmurs, almost to himself.
"I knew that diary, once," Nocturn whispers, form flowing shapelessly. "Why would this Living Council have him?" Pandora hums thoughtfully, but nothing else is said as the book floats about Phantom's head.
He pulls his glove off, bracer after it, and Jazz watches several aborted jerks from panicked Leaguers as Phantom sinks his fangs into his own wrist. Neon green bubbles instantly, arm tilting so that it flows down to coat the Core. Jazz has no idea how depleted the Core is, and watches as it absorbs as much ectoplasm as Phantom can offer. Jazz expects it to take longer to see any change, from what little she knows about how a ghost is forced into their Core. Partially lost in thought, she can't help her gasp as the Core suddenly glows brighter, lifting from Phantom's hand as what looks like slime pours from each facet and coiling around the Core and condensing into a single form.
The head is bald, skin a deeper green than many of the ghosts, hovering somewhere between green and blue. Teal, mostly, but that doesn't quite do it justice. A deep turquoise tunic drapes over the form, and gold bands around the biceps and a gold belt hold it in place. A shockingly white cloak pours over the head, draping almost down to the curled tail. Legs don't form, the tail reminding her of Clockwork's.
There's a whimper from the magician, but her focus is on the ghosts, who stare reverently at the newly formed addition. "How did this happen?" Pandora asks, sharper than Jazz likes in current company. She can't risk worrying about the living heroes, too focused on watching for the tells that her brother needs to leave.
The ghost gives them a small smile, reaching into the box for a small golden rod. It's the length of a pencil, but wider around like a flashlight handle. "I willingly drained myself and retreated into my Core when Pariah Dark's rise to power became the only path," he says. Jazz is surprised at how distant his voice sounds, like someone who's so lost in thought that their voice sounds far away. "It was the only way to protect Elsewhere, to preserve any chance of Balance one day being restored. If he had consumed Elsewhere, the Realms would have never recovered from his tyranny."
Wonder Woman steps forward, glancing at the still deferential Guardians curiously. "You were not being held against your will?" she asks, likely seeking clarification. Jazz is thankful for her foresight in setting that distinction early.
The ghost nods. "That is correct, Heiress of Themyscira," he answers. "I am Sojourn, the Ancient of Gateways, the Pathwalker, Child of the Archivist, and Keeper of Elsewhere. I have awaited the King's return for longer than your universe has existed. My father spoke his name when Creation began, and he will one day Ascend us all." Jazz isn't the only one who chokes on a breath, and even the ghosts look thrown. She's only peripherally familiar with the Archivist, the keeper of existence and historian of everything that ever was and will be.
A glance around the room now that it's resumed a reasonable temperature shows most of the younger heroes backed against the walls and out of the most immediate range of harm. The Lantern still stands with the Guardians, and the Bats have all appeared to rally together. Batman's continued stoicism will probably be a problem, but they can talk that through later. She'll call Alfred if she needs to have another level head to deal with him.
Phantom hasn't moved from where he'd rushed to release Sojourn from his extended slumber. He's still studying the Guardians, though she can't pinpoint what for. "Why was he entrusted to you specifically?" Phantom asks suddenly. He doesn't sound angry anymore, and Jazz can see several heroes relax at the shift in his tone.
Shockingly, Sojourn is the one who answers, flicking his fingers to open the journal still floating in Phantom's telekinesis. "It appears to have become lost knowledge that both the Council of Guardians and the Council of Observants were created by one of the First Kings back when Balance was sure. One to walk within the mortal realm and ensure balance was maintained, one to serve as eyes to the infinite that the Veil held firm. They held contracts once that bound them to Balance's will, and with my return they shall again. I hold the keys to those pathways same as I hold the keys to the gates of Elsewhere."
The Lantern makes a rather interesting noise, and even the Guardians look somewhat chastised for some reason. Either for forgetting, or for failing to uphold it because they didn't forget, if Jazz had to guess. It'll be addressed sooner or later, most likely. For now, she checks on Sam and Valerie and then refocuses on Phantom, who runs his still-bare hand through his hair. The wound on his wrist is healed but the glove hasn't been retrieved. They need to do that sooner or later.
The king's sigh pulls the room's attention. "Can't wait to see how much paperwork this causes," he grouses just as a clock's second hand pops into place and turns, opening a portal. She doesn't tense at this, recognizing Clockwork's portals with ease.
"Come now, Kingling, it won't be nearly as bad as the backlogged thrall contracts," Clockwork says as they float through, the Fright Knight on his tail. She can't tell why, at first, until the figure sitting in Clockwork's arms registers.
Phantom has lifted off the ground with a gasp that sounds like tears and has flung himself into Clockwork's chest. His form ripples as he curls around his clone-daughter's form, nuzzling into her with a relief Jazz can only imagine. "I've missed you, Starshine," he murmurs into stark white hair floating freely.
The girl giggles, clinging tightly to Phantom as he extracts himself from Clockwork, body wavering closer to serpentine as he remains curled protectively around Danielle's form. Jazz steps forward, moving around the reunited pair to stand before the Fright Knight. He's getting several very wary looks, likely for the scent of Fear rolling off of him.
She has no fear of him anymore and gives him a dip of her head. "Thank you, Fright Knight, the Spirit of Halloween and Commander of the armies of the King, for accompanying Clockwork and guarding the king's daughter," she says formally. She found it easier when dealing with him, as he is himself still wrapped in formality by preference.
True to form, he bows deeply, one hand fisted over his chest. "It is, and shall always be, an honor to guard His Majesty's dearest," he answers in his usual rumble. She smiles, genuinely thankful.
Footsteps alert her to an approaching figure, and when she realizes it's Batman she decides hearing him coming was a deliberate approach. "Is Fright Knight a name or a title?" he asks, and while it's as blunt as she expects, his voice is softer than she's come to understand it would be if he were seeking leverage.
Jazz smiles. "Fright Knight is his title, one given to him when he was knighted by Phantom's predecessor. His official name is the Spirit of Halloween, though I've heard several of the ancients simply call him Hallows. It's a familiarity he allows to very few. The vast majority of the Realms simply call him Fright Knight in deference to his place as the King's bodyguard and commander of his forces." She'd considered ignoring his status as the head of the Realms armies, but for all that she doesn't want to set off anyone's paranoia she cannot do the Fright Knight such a disservice as to disregard one of his titles.
Batman hums his acknowledgement, and appears to be sizing up the giant flaming suit of armor. Jazz lets him be, watching Nightwing and Red Robin skirting the room with one of the Superboys. The ghosts had converged around Phantom, but Clockwork has waved them off with a casualty that speaks of no harm befalling either of them. They've dispersed into the crowd, talking freely with the heroes. It warms her to see, because it proves there is hope.
Valerie is in a lively debate with one of the Amazons, and even Sam has started conversing with Robin and Beast Boy about their favorite vegan dishes. Fright Knight stands a few paces away from Phantom, an illusion of privacy while he guards his charge, so Jazz is close enough to hear what happens when the Bats finally reach Phantom, who hasn't yet uncurled from around Danielle.
"I'm glad she's finally awake," Red Robin says earnestly. "Superboy the Elder wanted to introduce himself. Technically he's a clone of Superman, so he tends to automatically fret about other clones when he hears of them." Superboy is hovering scant inches off the ground, and Jazz watches the way his eyes skate over her and trail down the arms holding her. She can't help her smile.
Phantom, despite not relinquishing her, beams. "I've been so afraid she'd never wake," he admits.
Danielle huffs, swatting harmlessly at his face several times. "You hush, I wanna meet another clone," she announces imperiously, smacking at his arms until he loosens them so she can float. She never phases out of his hold, however, which Jazz takes note of, but that'll be a conversation for later. For now, she watches the way Red Robin stares at Phantom's arm while it hovers just under Danielle until the girl snaps her teeth at him for the constant fretting.
Phantom sighs. "My baby's so grownup she won't let me take care of her," he laments, letting his legs form as he lands. Nightwing laughs, Superboy focused on introductions and what sounds like gentle questions about her care. Red Robin, near as Jazz can tell, is still staring at Phantom. Before any of them can blink, a gloved hand grips Phantom's armor and yanks him forward so Red Robin can slot their lips together.