Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's quiet. An uncommon occurrence in Fentonworks. Though the hum of electronics persisted, there was no boisterous laughter or impassioned discussions, it was just… quiet.

Despite that, Danny didn't feel particularly productive. His parents had become background noise as he worked, something for his mind latch onto. Without their presence, he felt his thoughts drift. His hands tapped along the metal island surface of his workstation, giving a full thud with each tap. He sighed, this project wasn't going to be completed any time soon.

He leaned back, pulling out his phone, giving a brief smile at the most recent notifications. Sam was screaming about Pamela, her classmate, agreeing to go out on a date with her. Danny sent a congratulatory string of emojis, having met Pamela the last time he was in Seattle to see Sam. Though she was a bit of a timid woman, Pamela was passionate about environmental conservation and the green initiative. The two had been to protests together over the past few years, doing their best to fight for their future.

He closed the messaging app, flicking over to his inbox. It took a few seconds as the contents loaded, grimacing when he found himself with 20+ new messages. He scrolled through the names, seeing which were important, and which were unimportant. So far, most of them seemed unimportant and wouldn't need immediate feedback for 1-2 days at most. There was only really one email he was concerned with, one that he'd been panicking about on end for the past month or so, and using the project he'd gotten distracted from to distract himself with.

He sighed, letting the phone fall to the wayside, not wanting to his thoughts and anxieties to spiral. They'll tell you if you do or don't get the offer, Danny thought, though bitterly remembering previous job hunting experiences where the recruiter hadn't provided an answer until six months later, only for it to be a refusal.

It didn't matter that he graduated with a double major and honours from Princeton University, nor the accolades his former professors' sung. He didn't have any legitimate experience, as his parents' work was still mostly considered a pseudo-science by their peers. The research of ghosts and ectology was a hoax. Any of Danny's inventions and accomplishments were diminished simply due to that. He tried not to let it get to him, and he could feel the sadness, guilt and disappointment eating at his parents with each rejection he received, but Danny wasn't a quitter. He'd been at this for two years now. Two years! He wasn't going to stop now.

His eyes wandered towards the largest source of humming within the lab, the ghost portal. It had been updated to modern standards, without an on switch inside this time. There wasn't really much else for him to do in the lab, and his parents were due back shortly anyway. A little trip to the zone couldn't hurt, right?

He rose from his chair, pushing it back into place so neither of his parents would trip and fall on it as they ran excitedly into the lab (it had happened, more than once), before turning towards biometric lock, one of their modernizations. It was keyed in only to family's biometrics. It was also able to detect if either his mom or dad were overshadowed, immediately ejecting the ghost once they pressed their hand to the portal. Though it wasn't a necessity it made his parents fell safer in their own home. They'd even redone the security system with his ectosignature in mind. Little things that made him feel safer in his own home.

He rested his hand against scanner, waiting as it registered him, before giving a slight airy chime, confirming his identity. He looked up to the screen above the scanner, entering in the command string to open the portal. With baited breath, he watched as stainless steel doors pulled apart, the hiss of hydrolic pistons demonstrating how much force was necessary to push them in and out of place. As the doors finally pulled open, he was greeted with the familiar sight of the portal.

The radioactive green shade of the Zone overtook the lab, painting shiny gray surfaces with a green tinge. It swirled like a vortex, a riptide waiting for an unsuspecting victim to pull it further down the currents. No matter how many times he saw it, there was something absolutely mesmerizing about the portal.

Who exactly would he pop in to visit today? He didn't need to see Frostbite for any sort of medical concerns, as he'd been given a clean slate of health not even three months ago. He could always go bother Johnny and Kitty, or Ember. Ember probably the safest bet. He'd love to go see Pandora, but the leader of Ancient Greece, and protector of the box, had been undeniably busy as of late. He didn't want to be a bother to her. Not when he could be a bother to people who always bothered him.

The portal hummed, and Danny felt his mind made up. He'll go bother Ember. She owed him for almost ruining his finals, even if she complained each time that she had 'already made up for it' and 'it was an accident dipshit'. Yeah. Danny was just going to live up to his dipshit name.

He readied himself, preparing to fly into the portal when something collided with his chest. Danny let out a slight gasp of surprise, falling back to the ground and cradling whatever had collided with him in his arms. Looking down, he was met with hair as white as snow, tan skin tinged a slight green, and a pink suit. It was a subtle pink, almost like the pink camo spirfires, though with that luminescence ghosts are known for. His midsection was torn: a stab wound, recent with the way it seemed to be knitting itself back together. The angle of the cut was parallel to the ground, meaning it hadn't been a self inflicted stab wound. As the wound closed, the man groaned, and with a flash of bright light, there was a human in his arms.

A Halfa. Just like him.

Chapter Text

If it weren't for the body laying soundly in the spare bedroom, formerly Jazz's bedroom, Danny wouldn't have ever believed it happened, but the fact of the matter was that there was someone laying in the spare bedroom. A tall man, with a chiselled jawline as though he were some sort of model. He was tall, at the very least past 6 feet since that's how tall Danny himself was. His hair was a crisp black, though it was long around the edges, and he was unshaven, the rough beginnings of a beard painting his cheeks. His nose was straight, though Danny could tell it had been broken a few times from slight distension where the bone of the nose and nose cartilage connected. His skin was pale, as though he'd been hiding from the sun itself.

As he'd undressed the man from his strange clothes, Danny had noticed the scars along his body. Other stab wounds, all non fatal, were etched into his skin. Some were faded, nearly blending into the skin. The pearlescent sheen of the scar was the only thing that gave it away. Others were new and pink, fresh skin having finally knit itself back together. Some of those scars were long, made by swords, while others were short, made by daggers and knives.

Not only was the man covered in scars, though. He was incredibly muscular; if it weren't for the clothes and scars, Danny would have assumed he were some sort of Olympian athlete. He was in peak condition, when Danny had checked over his vitals in the lab: a stable heartbeat, at about 30 beats per minute, average blood pressure, normal oxygen levels, no signs of internal bleeding. His pupils had dilated when he had passed a light over them to be certain he wasn't concussed. There'd been a normal reaction there too.

The man was handsome, undeniably so.

Still, the clothes were an oddity. Danny didn't want to make any sort of assumptions, but the man looked like some sort of ninja, or even a stereotypical assassin in the dark green robes he had been wearing. Though there had been no face mask to cover his features, Danny was certain the outfit must have come with one. Was he part of some sort of cult, or secret shadow organization? And how had he gotten into the Zone and thrown out the Fenton portal anyway?

Wait.

Was this guy from the past? Had he gotten lost in time?

Before he could even begin to panic about the possibility of paradoxes and the Observants finding a reason to remove him from reality, something hideously neon green blurred his vision. He blinked, perplexed. Gingerly, he reached for the monstrosity blocking his vision, peeling it off his forehead to see a neat cursive script.

He's neither from the future or the past, Daniel. —CW

Well. Weren't they being weirdly helpful.

At least one crisis averted, Danny let out a breath, now wondering where in the world this man even came from. Really, it could be anywhere in the world. He'll just need to wait until the man wakes up… if or when he does.

Danny shook his head and slapped his cheeks. Nope! The man would wake up, Danny could get some answers, and then he'd have one more Halfa friend in the world. He was practically an endangered species as it was, and maybe he was projecting a little, but hopefully the mysterious man wouldn't feel as ostracized knowing he wasn't alone.

He'd left the room after about an hour of distractedly watching the man. Danny doubted he would regain consciousness so soon. Still, he'd left an alarm system nearby to send him a notification if ever the mysterious man woke up.

He made his way downstairs, deciding to order some food for himself. His parents had texted him they'd be out a little longer because the ghost they had befriended was more than eager to share her story about the afterlife and the life she had lived. So, it was an order from Nasty Burger for him.

He moved towards the living room, b lining for the worn and well loved sofa. It was old, groaning pitifully under his weight, but Danny loved the thing to pieces. It was soft and worn in, just enough that he comfortably sank in as he sat. His dad now had his own custom seat, a birthday present from a few years ago. Now, one side of the sofa would not be a disproportionate from the other, due to his dad's extreme weight and height. The man was nearly seven feet tall and weighed over 300lbs. While Danny may not have inherited his full height, he was still tall compared to everyone else around him.

He pulled out his phone again, mindlessly scrolling through YouTube as he waited for his order. His mind was far away from the silly videos though, as he debated what exactly he should say to everyone. Hey, a Halfa just appeared in my house after being spat out from the zone? No, they'd be too suspicious of that. His friends would think it was some sort of ploy from Vlad, for the man still had never gotten over his beef with teenage Danny. In hindsight, it was absolutely pathetic a man in his forties, almost fifties, had a fourteen year old for an arch nemesis. Like, what kind of person antagonized a child like that? Vlad Masters, apparently.

Maybe he should just wait a day or so? See if the man woke up, and get his story? Actually, what would he say to his parents? Actually, knowing them, the truth would go over best. Probably with everyone, now that he thought about it.

He pulled up his contacts and sent a quick message to the group chat, and then his family chat.

Hey, some Halfa just got spat out from the portal. He's unconscious, but no serious injuries. I'll keep you guys posted if anything happens.

From there, he muted the friend chat knowing the notifications would blow up immediately, while his own parents seemed concerned and delighted about another Halfa. They even asked if they should pick up anything on the way home. Danny debated if for a moment, before shrugging and letting them know to pick up some additional food and spare clothes. The mysterious man would drown in his dad's clothes, but Danny's own would be far too tight. He hadn't gained the broad shoulders his father had, or his future evil self had, but was more lithe, just like his mother. He wasn't as muscular as the man, but there was still some definition to his muscles that didn't go unnoticed by his peers. It was a far cry from his noodle like body as a teenager, all gangling limbs, in that awkward transition phase.

He sighed, deciding to scope the fridge for anything to drink. It was a shame beer didn't work on him. Or any alcohol for that matter. The inebriating effects would be instantly processed by his fast acting metabolism, and all he really got from those beverages was the horrible sting of rubbing alcohol going down his throat.

Drugs worked the same way too. They often times needed to triple his doses to get any sort of effect on him. They'd learned that the hard way unfortunately.

His phone pinged that his order had arrived, and not a moment sooner the doorbell rang. Pulling open the door, the delivery guy held his order and Danny took it. He handed the guy a five dollar tip, and closed the door as he grabbed his bag of food. The bottom of the paper bag was seeped in grease from the the burger and fries. Over the years, Nasty Burger had barely changed, save for the sauce, that had been deemed an extreme health hazard. He settled down at the table, and pulled his food out of his bag, indulging in his trashy fast food.

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

The world was dark. It was cold. There was the sound of water dripping from stalagmites, echoing all around, disorienting his senses. Those were the things Danny noticed when he opened his eyes. Had he not just taken a nap on the sofa? Maybe this was some sort of dream then. It would be the only way to explain the sudden shift in environment. Strange though… why would his brain think of this? He hadn't been camping with his parents recently, and certainly not cave diving. How strange…

Danny peered around, using his ghostly abilities to give himself darkvision; his eyes took on a green sheen as the world came into view around him.

It seemed to be some sort of underground cave, though the walls were obviously man made. They were too neat and orderly. Natural caves tended to have more deviations along the surface of the walls this deep underground, but the surface of these tunnels were flat, as was the floor. There was nothing natural about his surroundings, and the air around him felt slimy, like he was trudging through a humid summer day. Through the sound of dripping water, he could hear footsteps. They seemed distant, and growing further with each step they took. Taking a moment, Danny turned invisible, making his way towards the source of the sound.

The path was long and winding, as though this place had been designed as a sort of labyrinth to deter people from going in deeper. Danny wasn't sure exactly why they would design it like that. It wasn't efficient in anyway whatsoever, and felt like something someone in the zone would make. Maybe his dream had designed it in such a way because of his own knowledge of the zone? It would make sense, that his dreams would draw upon those recollections, even if it didn't make sense for those of the material plane.

The footsteps grew louder, clearer now that he could tell there were at least two individuals. They stepped in pace with one another, before suddenly stopping. As Danny rounded the corner, he caught sight of two men. A tall man, with black hair, dressed in dark green, nearly black robes, and an elderly man with dark skin the colour of rosewood. His hair was graying along the sides, much like his dad's own hair, but this strange man had a goatee as well. His eyes were the most distinguishing feature, for they were a luminescent green. Nothing like Danny's own eyes that now glowed green in their entirety, but a shade a little beyond the scope of simply human.

"And you're certain of this decision?" The elderly man asked, his arms crossed behind his back as he looked at the other man with a vacant gaze.

The other man bowed their head, but his face was still a mystery to Danny. "I am." He said, his voice clear. It was a deep baritone, a rumbling voice that Danny could easily imagine in an audio book.

The elderly man sighed, something disappointed. Eerily, it reminded the halfa of Vlad. From the appearance to even the mannerisms, everything screamed Vlad Masters. "If that is what you have chosen, then."

The younger man thanked the elder man, adding a respectable Master at the end, which was even worse on Danny's creep scale. Who called someone Master now a days anyway?

As the younger man began to turn, Danny caught sight of a chiselled jawline and clear ice blue eyes a few shades lighter than his own. They seemed determined, with a weight off their shoulders. It took not even a moment for those very same eyes to widen in shock as they glanced down, a blade, a katana in particular, protruding from his stomach.

"I'm afraid I cannot let you go." The elderly man said. "An individual such as yourself only comes every few hundred years or so. I'm certain we can change your mind on what it takes to make this world a better place." The younger man staggered as the blade was pulled from his stomach, having hit a critical organ with such precision the elder man had clearly done that on purpose. Not an instant death, but still a fatal blow.

As the younger man crumpled to the ground, the elder man reached for the collar of the dark green uniform, dragging the younger man along the dirt ground, smearing a trail of blood as they moved.

Danny rushed to the younger man's aide, attempting to push the elder man away but as he attempted to shoulder check the elderly man, Danny merely passed right through them, unable to even alter the dream. That wasn't right though… he would be able to alter his dreams if he knew he was within one. He'd been much more susceptible to lucid dreaming ever since that encounter with Nocturne.

Now though? Maybe this wasn't a dream. Maybe this was… a memory? It must the younger man's memory, the one sleeping soundly in the spare bedroom. Was this what had happened to him? Would this even explain how he had ended up in Fentonworks?

Quickly, Danny followed after the two as the continued to move along down the path, making way to same grand chamber, where lying in the middle of it all was some in-ground pool, writhing with something truly foul. It was large, and bubbling despite the lack of heat. It was not the familiar bright ectoplasmic green, but something a few shades darker. Something use… something so overrun with imprints of emotion, it created its own feedback loop. With horror, Danny watched the younger man be pitched into the disgusting waters, barely putting up a fight.

The elderly man stood there, watching as the younger man sunk deeper beneath the water, composed and unbothered, almost as though this were a normal occurrence. Did he often throw people down into those pits? If so, what was he expecting? Seconds turned to minutes, and the younger man did not emerge from the pool. The elder man’s face once cool and calculating, turned disbelieving and furious. The remaining man clicked his tongue, as he stormed away.

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

Danny woke with a startled gasp, his heart pounding in his chest. His head swivelled around, quickly taking in his environment. No cave. No pool. No strange old man. Just Fentonworks, and its tacky walls, with its paint peeling at the corners from age. There was no disgusting moisture in the air from whatever thought green pools had been, just the free feeling of ectoplasm.

What in the actual fuck… Danny’s gaze turned towards the stairs, where the mysterious man rested. What sort of mess had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Text

It took three days for the man to wake up.

His parents had come a few hours after he had awoken from those memories, because there was nothing else the dream could be then the mysterious man’s memories. He’d explained to them what had happened, just as perplexed about it all. His dad had said that so long as the man needed help, the Fenton home would be open to him, and his mom readily agreed. Though, she was a bit curious about what he had been doing before landing in their home. It didn’t matter immediately, but she was curious, and sometimes her curiosity could get the better of her.

After building up some courage, he checked his friend group chat, and was absolutely unsurprised to see a slew of notifications from his friends. All of them had at first posted a string of question marks at the brazen message, before following up with additional messages that he couldn’t leave them hanging like that. Maybe it was a bit silly of him to do that, but he didn’t want to deal with the explanations while he was trying to just process the entire thing. He’d processed it a bit now, but… Danny was still just as perplexed. Who was he? Where did he come from? And what had happened to cause that elderly man to murder him in hopes of changing his mind?

Like who even did that?

… Well, he could name someone who would do that.

Danny put the thoughts of Vlad Masters aside, well aware the man wouldn’t ever be able to bother him again. He was on a tight leash, and one wrong play would assure the man’s destruction. No recovery, no attempt to escape. Just assured retribution for years of abuse.

He decided to head up the stairs to check up on the mysterious man. His parents had been able to MacGyver an IV drip of ectoplasm for the man, while using other things around the house to make sure the bed stayed clean in case of any accidents. Thankful, there hadn’t been any yet, but his mom had said it was better to be safe than sorry.

He rounded the stairs towards Jazz’s old bedroom, the door closed, and weathered with time. It had seen its fair share of disasters over the years, put back together in patches here and there where it had been singed by ecto weapons. The door had recently been repainted a fresh set of white after Jazz had moved out, as well as the entire room changing to a warm amber colour. Jazz had been on a quick about colour theory and the emotional states it evoked in an individual, and how a white room felt impersonal and dehumanization and— it had been a very long winded rant, was all Danny could say.

Pushing the door open, the man laid upon the bed. Danny stepped into the room, taking stock of the ectoplasm in the drip, before moving around to make sure the man was still alive. Well, their version of alive anyway.

He moved to take the man’s pulse at his jugular, only for a hand to reach out and grab him. Danny startled, phasing his hand through the hold and taking a few steps back. The mysterious man blinked, just as perplexed by the action as he looked down to his own two hands. He looked up, running a hand through his overgrown hair.

“Wh—where am I?” The man’s voice was a deep baritone, just like the memory, though hoarse from days of disuse. He coughed, clicking his tongue a few times in an attempt to draw moisture in his mouth.

Danny fumbled for a moment, debating on answering the question or getting the water the man so desperately needed. “Amity Park.” He finally settled on. “In Vermont. Here lemme just get some water real quick. Back in a moment.” With that, Danny rushed out of the room towards the bathroom down the hall. He phased through the door and rushed to grabbed the glass by the sink. He filled it up with tap water before returning to the spare room, phasing through the bathroom door on the way back.

The man hadn’t gotten out of his bed, but he was still taking in the room with a calculating gaze, one Danny often saw from Pandora when she was practicing war games with the rest of the Ancient Greek Warriors. Apparently, she had once been an Amazon, like the legends spoke off. When Danny walked back in, his cool blue gaze was back to him. The man seemed to take the water with hesitation, examining it for a few moments, before taking a sip.

That… totally wasn’t weird and worrisome. “I’m Danny. You sort of… got spat out from the zone through my portal?” Danny cringed, knowing it sounded absurd, and the mysterious man was just as baffled, mouthing words like portal and spat out. Yeah, the truth sounded worse than a lie.

“I’m…” the man paused, as though he were drawing a blank. Amnesia then? Considering there was potential for a traumatic brain injury, amnesia wasn’t so far fetched. “Chum? No. No that doesn't sound—” the mysterious man continued to mumble, muttering things like sweetie and sweetheart which was good in a way? Well, not, it really wasn’t good. “Brucie. Brucie Bear.” The man, Brucie finally settled on. Which was most likely some sort of childhood nickname his parents called him.

At least it’s a unique nickname, Danny thought, knowing well Brucie could only mean the man’s name was actually Bruce, but since he seemed so inclined on Brucie, Danny wasn’t going to correct him on it. What exactly was he going to do with the knowledge of the name Bruce though? The man was probably not even American, and there could be hundreds of thousands of missing people across the world! It would be a needle in a haystack.

What mattered right now was to evaluate the situation at hand. He had a name, but no last name. Just a nickname. Asking for more with someone who has amnesia may be pushing it, but gosh darn it was Danny going to try.

“Do you remember where you last were?”

“…no.”

Bruce glanced to the side, avoiding eye contact as he gripped the sheets tighter. He seemed almost ashamed of being unaware of his previous location. That was okay though.

“And how old are you?”

“… nineteen? No—twenty.”

Okay. A little much younger than Danny’s solid 24, but it was no biggie. Who knows how long he had been in the ghost zone for either. It was possible he had been drifting for a few months or years even—okay no maybe not years. That just sounded ridiculous, but maybe a few months, at year or two at most? Or he could actually be twenty, and he hadn’t been in the zone for more than a few hours.

Ugh. He hated liminal spaces. They made no sense! It didn’t seem to take long though for Bruce to fall back asleep. Right. Coma patients sometimes just woke up and went back to sleep. No big deal. At the very least, he had some things to work with. Sort of.

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

He’d cashed in one of his many favours Tucker owed him. He’d made his way over to Tucker’s house, travelling through the portals to Gotham where his best friend now lived. He was working for Wayne Enterprises, hired right out of MIT by a man named Lucius Fox. The place Tucker lived in wasn’t the greatest, but it wasn’t Crime Alley. Gotham Heights was respectable, and Tucker was easily able to support himself . Still, he had a roommate who lived with him, a cyber security specialist by the name of Eddie. The redhead was fond of riddles, and Tucker often found himself tongue tied about the answer.

Eddie was out of the house when Danny had wandered over, which was all the better since he did not want to explain to Tucker’s roommate how he’d gotten to Gotham so easily and quickly.

Tucker was up to the challenge of finding some guy named Bruce who could be between his early to late twenties. The picture Danny had taken would certainly help narrow down the search, but it could take some time. Still, Danny was thankful for the help.

When Danny had come back to Fentonworks, Bruce had apparently woken a few times. At the sight of Maddie, Bruce had nearly broken down crying, clinging to the woman and calling her mom. He’d been half delirious, apologizing about taking the shortcut, asking for her to never leave him again.

Maddie had been absolutely frazzled by the ordeal, gently petting Bruce’s hair until the man cried himself to sleep. He’s found his mom and dad talking about it over dinner, the two of them seated as the nice round table they had gotten to replace the old one. His dad had accidentally broken it, for some odd reason thinking the table could support his body weight. It didn’t. It shattered like glass beneath him. He’d seemed so shocked and sad that Danny had almost felt bad for laughing at him. Almost.

“He’ll probably wake up again in the next few hours. He’s been staying conscious for longer periods of time now.” His mom supplied, as she took a bite of her pizza. It was a thankful thing they no longer kept their ecto samples in the fridge. Instead, they’d gotten another fridge to put in the basement specifically for ectoplasm. It had caused a fight between him and his parents, but he had put his foot down and made a point in explaining how their lacklustre attitude in not separating work from home had nearly fractured their family beyond repair, and killed him in the process. It had been a low blow, all of it over another fridge in the basement, but the resentment had been bubbling for years now, wondering what his parents were even thinking half the time?

Danny slid into the seat between his mom and dad, both directly across from one another. His dad passed him a plate of pizza, which he graciously took. It looked disgusting. Which meant it was absolutely delicious. The first bite was heaven sent. Greasy cheese pizza from a local home made pizza place, prepared in a stone oven. When they’d properly added a working door to the portal, which kept the ghosts out, for the most part, more people had begun to setup shop in town, due to low property prices those very same ghost attacks had caused.

There wasn’t really much else exchanged at the table, other than the usual small talk. How was your day, or how his project was coming along, if he talked to Sam or Tucker recently, if he’d gotten any response back from the jobs he’d applied for. Mindless things, really.

When supper was done, he put his plate in the sink and made his way upstairs.

Chapter Text

It took almost two weeks for Bruce to fully remain conscious. Over the course of that time, Bruce had come to the conclusion that his name was in fact Bruce, and not Brucie, though he didn't remember anything else. He did not talk about the incident with Maddie Fenton, probably barely remembering it had even happened.

As days passed, Danny would catch him reading some of the books left in the guest room bookshelf. A lot of them were Jazz’s old books on various topics of psychology, though there was a fair share of fiction novels too. Every time Danny came to check on Bruce while he was conscious, there would be a book in hand, and a concentrated look on his face.

Was he able to understand the complex academic material? Had he ever had the ability to study his own thing?

His parents and he had been talking, and the only logical conclusion they could come to was that Bruce had been part of a cult, and when he had attempted to leave, he’d been killed. Unfortunately, the death didn’t stick for him, much like it hadn’t for Danny. The likelihood of the cult looking for Bruce was slim to none, so there was a high possibility they could… just let Bruce live a normal life. Help him if or when his memories return, and be as supportive as they could be.

So, Danny was doing his best to consider all the angles. If Bruce didn't remember, they’d have to get him some new identification. Still, they were going to wait on that for now, but he did mention it to Tucker as a possibility. His best friend already had everything ready, Danny only needed to say when.

God he loved his friends.

Danny knocked on the door to Bruce’s room, for that’s what it was now. A deep baritone responded with come in and Danny pushed the door ajar to peer inside.

Bruce was not on the bed. That was one thing Danny had noticed over the past few weeks. When Bruce could, he would often curl up in corners, bundled up in blankets with his back to the wall. He was always facing the door. It was an obvious reaction to being in an unknown area, even if Bruce didn’t understand why he was doing it. It was a subconscious thing. His memories may be gone, for now, but the subconscious has a hard time forgetting things.

This time too, he was in the corner, curled up in a black fuzzy blanket his dad had gotten their guest. Bruce had taken to it quickly, gently cradling the object to his face as though it were the most precious thing in the world. His fingers had slowly threaded along the soft material, getting a feel for how the texture felt against his skin. It was obviously good, because his shoulders began to relax, and his posture slackened ever so slightly. It was small things.

A book was between his fingers, well read and worn with time. It was a mystery novel, an odd French one about a mystery of a murder inside a room that almost seemed impossible. He couldn’t quite understand the title, Le Mystère de la Chambre Jaune. It was one of his dad’s books, and according to him, it meant The Mystery of the Yellow Room. Despite his general disposition that made people think he was an airhead, Jack Fenton was a polyglot, and kept his skills by reading books in different languages. He was also a big fan of mystery novels too, from the classics such as Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle, to Hercule Poirot by Agatha Christie, to Joseph Rouletabille by Gaston Leroux, the author of Le Mystère de la Chambre Jaune and, surprisingly, The Phantom of the Opera.

At the slightest sound of the door creaking open fully, Bruce’s blue gaze flicked upwards to meet Danny’s own, the two stopping as though they were caught in the act.

Bruce recovered first, steeling his expression as he closed the book and placed it over his lap. The black blanket was still wrapped around himself tightly, and he could even see some additions of teddy bears gifted by his parents tucked in on each side. Bruce almost seemed embarrassed about it, as he did his best to hide both of them. Jazz still had Bearbert Einstein despite the wear and tear on the old plushie. It wasn't something Jazz would part with willingly. There wasn’t any reason to be ashamed. Taking comfort from a plushie wasn’t a weakness. It was managing his anxiety. A comfort object, just like the blanket.

“I was going to head out, and wanted to know if you wanted to join me?” That was a lie. Danny didn’t need to go out, but he’d learned quickly that Bruce wouldn’t leave the house if it was simply just for him. He didn’t want to impose or seem like a bother, easily curling up into the black blanket and wasting his day away.

Bruce nodded, pushing the book aside to get up. “I’ll join you.” And it really was too easy to get him to go outside once they’d figured it out. It felt manipulative, but it really was the only way to get the man outside. His mom had been worried they might need to give him vitamin D supplements from the lack of sun.

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

Danny’s small electric vehicle pulled up to Amity Park’s mall. It was a large in door mall, with a dedicated food court, including a Nasty Burger location, the vegan restaurant chain Ida Manson had established for her granddaughter, as well as a few other popular fast food restaurants, and some local hole in the wall type places. Just a few years ago an Indian restaurant had setup shop with a couple that had seen the low cost of the area and wanted to give it a shot. Suffice to say, the place had been a hit and had a steady flow of loyal customers. While it wasn’t Danny’s favourite place to eat, the food was beyond delicious, with decent sized portions for his voracious appetite.

The air conditioning of the mall felt nice against his skin. The summer weather was unnatural hot for this time of year, or even his general area. This weather seemed like it belonged more in Florida than Vermont, but it would be letting up soon, according to Lance Thunder. A heat wave for the week, bound to rise over the next few days before settling and being slammed by a cold front from the west. The conditions were unfortunately perfect for the formation of supercells, so they would need to be careful. Fentonworks had a storm shelter, but many other places didn’t, and Danny felt partially responsible to make sure his fellow neighbours would be safe during the storm.

The mall was packed with teens beating the heat, hanging out with their friends with not a care in the world. Bruce was in step behind him, his gait cautious and guarded. Danny kept turning his head back to keep Bruce in his sights.

There was a vague plan at the back of Danny’s mind: Bruce was most likely going to be staying long term, and they needed to get him properly accommodated. Good clothes, nicer personal objects, potential redecorating of the room… all of this disguised as Danny doing this for himself.

Well, it really was about time. His room had not changed since he was a teenager. It was almost like a time capsule. There were so many memories attached to everything. The good, the bad and the painful. It was best he started fresh too.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” A familiar voice called out. Danny blinked, turning to look around, Bruce stopping as well , the taller man tensing his shoulders at the new voice. Turning around, Danny saw a sight he had not seen for a very long time. Dressed modestly, though not lavishly like in their youth, strode up Valerie Gray. She looked good. Her hair was cut shorter than the mid back length she wore as a teen. There were bags under her eyes, but she did not seem fatigued, currently anyway. She wore a simple orange cardigan and gray pants. She looked good.

“Val! Hey, Central treating you well?” After graduation, Val had gone into the police academy, deciding to put her vigilante days behind her and try doing things by the law. Danny knew she didn’t always agree with the rules, and broke them when needs must, but being a police officer gave her purpose. It had been a bit of a contentious point with Sam, the goth woman a vocal proponent of de-funding the police, and Valerie didn't disagree with the statement, but she wanted to be there for the people. She wanted to protect and serve in a meaningful way. Meaningful to her.

So as soon as she’d graduated the academy, she took a job at the Central City police department in Missouri. A bit of a ways away from Vermont, but Val had wanted to get away from it all.

She pulled him in for a hug, giving a slight pat on his back before pulling apart. There was a smile on her lips, it wasn't a wide thing, in fact it was a small smile, but those were some of Val’s most genuine smiles. She was happy.

“Mmm. It’s been okay. Definitely nothing crazy I haven’t seen before, but I don’t think Central could ever top Amity in crazy.” They gave each other a knowing look, well aware of the crazy Amity Park brought along. His parents had been the reason for it, and Val had been pulled along for the ride, fighting ghosts when she shouldn’t have had to.

It was neither here nor there though, as Danny tried to wave away those thoughts. It was in the past.

Val leaned over his shoulder, eyebrow raised at the sight behind him. It was Bruce, standing there a bit awkwardly, taking in the full scene.

“And this is…?” She asked, her voice tapering off in a way that Danny recognized as suspicion.

He rubbed the back of his neck, waving a hand to Bruce. “This is… my cousin, Bruce. Bruce, this is Valerie, a close friend from middle school.” Valerie extended a hand out, though she had a brow raised, her gaze fixing Danny an unconvinced look. Cautiously, Bruce took Val’s hand, give one firm shake before pulling it back to rest beside him.

“Your cousin.” Her voice was flat, though her gaze softened a bit as she shook Bruce’s hand. Pulling away, she turned back to Danny and crossed her arms below her bust. “And this cousin. Is he Danni’s brother?” She jutted out her lip, eyebrow raised even higher now, beckoning him to please answer the question.

Oh. Val had been rather close to Danni before she… before she finally destabilized, when she developed a resistance to the ecto-dejecto. A burning rage that never simmered was nestled in Val’s heart, waiting to enact vengeance on Vlad Masters. One step out of line. Just one, and Val wouldn’t hesitate to take the man out, any means necessary. So far, Vlad had been quiet, licking his wounds after Danny had made it clear his presence was no longer tolerated in Amity Park, and their pact of mutually assured destruction was no longer necessary.

It didn’t do well to ponder on the past though. It was done.

Danny leaned in, pulling Val close to whisper in her ear. “So he’s not actually my cousin. Or like Danni. He sort of just… like me?” He winced as his voice cracked, pulling away from Val. God he was still terrible at talking to her, or even remotely explaining anything well. Well, he did bomb his public speaking class in college, so that was a given.

Val nodded slowly, her gaze falling back to Bruce. A Halfa. It was the obvious answer to the question that lingered unspoken. She hummed for a moment, her mood turning upbeat as she hooked her arms between both men. “So Bruce, how you liking Amity Park so far?”

Bruce looked down to the inter chained arms, keeping whatever emotion he was feeling well off his face, but Danny could feel the confusion projecting off his being. Both a benefit and a curse of being a ghost: giving empathetic abilities. It’d taken time for him to fully understand what he was feeling, but soon enough, Danny had honed the sense like any of his other powers. Now, it came as natural as breathing.

“It’s… quiet.” Bruce’s eyes wandered, taking in the entirety of the mall. Despite being summer, there wasn’t much hustle and bustle. It was indeed quiet. Amity Park was a small town, with a smaller population. Though now it was steadily growing, it would still be a small town. Danny took note of that, wondering maybe if Bruce came from a big city. Those places were always hustle and bustle, full of noise every hour of the day. Of course a place like Amity Park would be quiet by comparison.

Danny and Val looked to one another, before the older woman turned back, a slight laugh leaving her lips.

“It didn’t use to be this quiet. A few years ago you’d have a ghost attack every other day.” She sighed, though her tone was nostalgic, she wouldn’t wish to ever return to those times that had caused her such grief. “But enough about the past. Where to?” She asked, slapping a smile on her face, she too hoping to put the past behind her, where it rightfully belonged.

The trio made their way towards different clothing stores, mostly with the intent of getting clothes for Bruce. Though, Danny did have to buy things for himself since he did say he was going out first and foremost for himself. They weren’t anything fancy, like Calvin Klein or Abercrombie and Fitch. It was mostly just moving between local shops that carried different styles of clothing. Bruce seemed to treat towards the darker colours, with long black turtle necks and slim gray pants. It wasn't anything eye catching, in fact, he almost looked like a stage hand, ready to blend into the background to assist the actors front and center.

They were able to get him at least three pairs of shirts and pants, as well as a packet of underwear and socks. Danny picked up his own replacement boxers, knowing his were almost threads barely holding onto the elastic.

“If your ever in Central, give me a call.” Val said as she waved them off, going to her car, and returning to her father’s apartment. She was in town to spend time with him, as he often spoke of being lonely with her so far away.

Danny and Bruce pilled into the car he owned, not the GAV. It was a workhorse vehicle, the Mazda protege, with its manual windows and basic functionality. So long as it could drive and had working breaks, that’s all that really mattered to Danny. The only thing to take care of was the accumulated rust from the amount of salt used during the winter to de-ice the roads. It was a common issue with the car, apparently. Nothing Danny couldn’t handle, or his dad either. They’d been able to modify the car to their needs, even if it meant upgrading the engine, coating the metal on the car, and a few other things here or there.

Silence sat between them, something that itched at Danny’s brain. He wasn't a fan of silence, the two of them so close together. It felt… awkward. Bruce didn’t seem to mind though, his eyes looking out the window and taking in the scenery.

Not for the first time, Danny wondered who Bruce actually was, or rather, who he had once been. He was an odd man, one who was trained to be some sort of assassin, in some assassin cult environment, if the way he held himself was anything to go by, or the respect he showed Maddie Fenton, as a 9th dan black belt. Then there had been the incident with Maddie… it painted a picture of a boy who lost his mother, and had gone down the wrong path for vengeance. Danny could feel the grief and anger emanating from Bruce’s very being, though the man himself did not consciously understand why he felt such a way.

When they arrived back at Fentonworks, parking the car on the street and unloading the bags of clothes and necessities into the house, Danny wondered if he’d ever get answers to those questions, or if they would remain just that: questions without an answer.

Chapter Text

The smell of butter filled the air. It was familiar in a comforting sort of way, like a hug from your parents, or a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. The theatre was always a fun time, where he could simply sit and enjoy the company of those he loved most.

The chairs were plush and comfortable, but everything in—was always comfortable. It was an up and coming district, according to his mother. She was the deputy mayor for the city of—. Bruce loved his mother and father, and thought he wanted to be like both of them when he grew up. Kind and compassionate, willing to help others with the resources life had given him in hopes of making his home a safer place to live in.

The lights dimmed and the film began to roll.

Silence.

It was meant to be without sound, but it was deafening to his ears.

It was the sound of pearls clattering against the pavement, pulled from the cord that connected them. They rolled along the wet pavement, making odd sounds as though children were playing a game of marbles.

The air was cold. Frigid, bone settling chill that left one seeing their breath when they breathed. It was late at night, the sun already down hours prior, though it was hard to tell for it was always dark in—. Why were they out so late at night?

The movie. He’d just been at the the theatre minutes ago. He had wanted to go see a movie with his parents for his birthday, like every year. He had simply wanted to spend time with them, and not some lavish party where his parents would pay more attention to schmoozing and networking than the birthday boy himself. A quaint movie, a black and white re-release of a movie his father’s father had loved. It had been the happiest moment of his life.

There’s loud ringing in his ears, three shots followed by screaming. It’s almost like a whistle right next to his ear, so loud he can't even focus on his thoughts.

Bruce’s eyes stuttered open, harshly rising from his bed, his breath coming out in frantic pants. He could hear the repetitive popping sound, just like gunshots. The ringing in his ear persisted long into wakefulness.

There was a knock at his door, pulling his attention towards the aging wood. There was wear and tear from posters and hanging organizers that had once laid against it, now awfully plain in the face of a new occupant with not much to his name.

“Bruce? Are you okay, sweetie?” Maddie called from the other side of the door. Over the past few months he had stayed here, the Fenton family had treated him with boundless kindness. He barely knew his own name, nor where he came from, but these people took him in without a second thought. He’d quite literally had been thrown on their doorstep, and they did not once hesitate regarding his stay. It was… it was an unfamiliar feeling that burned in Bruce’s chest, and he wasn’t sure why. Was kindness a rarity for him? What life did he lead, that kindness was such a luxury than a commodity?

“I’m okay.” His voice was hoarse, lacking water, almost certainly, but had he screamed? It felt a bit tender and raw, like after one of his most vicious nightmares. The nightmares… he was certain they were flashes of his forgotten memories. Maybe his mind twisted them into a dramatized version of events, or maybe his mind was showing them unfiltered. He didn’t know. He didn’t understand.

Did he even want to remember, when so much of it was festering pain? A darkness that gnawed at his very bones, chipping away at the foundation of who he was? Or was this forgetful spell purely duct tape on an open wound that would bleed out over time, never truly healed?

“Can I come in?”

Bruce gave a weak nod, before flushing to himself, realizing Maddie couldn’t exactly see him. “Yes.” He called out in turn.

The sound of the doorknob rattling signalled Maddie’s entrance into the room, almost with the sounds of the door groaning against its hinges. She took a few steps into the room, before moving to sit on the edge of his bed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close.

“Jack’s already gone down to tell them to knock off the fireworks. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Maddie whispered like a mantra, gently rubbing circles into the bottom his his back. Slowly, he felt his heart rate begin to settle back into its resting rhythm, and an anxious film leave his skin.

Maddie’s tender comfort felt oddly familiar, pulling at his memories of a soft, elderly voice whispering, you’re safe now, my dear boy, to him in the same manner as Maddie was now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked after a few minutes of silence, willing to be a shoulder to lean on. Bruce bit his lip, and shook his head. “That’s okay.”

They sat together for a few moments longer, Maddie making sure Bruce had fully calmed down from his traumatic awakening. It was kind of her to do so, but she never once made a big deal of it.

It took far too long for him to fall back asleep that night, staring blankly at the white ceiling, gripping tightly onto the sheets. In his mind, the dream replayed like a loop.

Who exactly had he been, and what had he lived through?

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

It had been a few weeks since the 4th of July incident. Jack had really told the Baxters off about the hole thing apparently. Speaking about how rude it was to light fireworks in the middle of the night, and how the type of fireworks they had were illegal in Vermont anyway. Which was rich, apparently, coming from Jack Fenton.

Bruce didn’t think the Fentons needed to go so far, just for him, but Maddie had simply shaken her head and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re safety is our number one priority. If anything is distressing you, you let us know.” Maddie’s eyes were hard, and there was a no nonsense tone to her voice. It was oddly sweet, and comforting in a way his heart told him he had not felt in a very long time. A mother’s love and compassion was completely foreign to him, yet Maddie Fenton still made that feeling swell deep within his chest.

Despite that though, it wouldn’t be the last time Bruce had that dream. However, it was not on his mind every single night since then. More dreams cropped up every now and then over the weeks. Some were simply vague notions of playing the piano or sitting in a solarium with an older gentleman well dressed, with what Bruce could only assume was a British accent. He wasn’t exactly sure who the man was, but he was a frequent flier in his dreams. His grandfather, maybe? Bruce wasn’t exactly sure, as the man was always so prim and proper, but the look on his face… it was one of unconditional love. That of a parent for their child.

There was also a boy, a teenager really, wearing a crisp uniform, though the specific details like the crest were an absolute blur to Bruce, as were the details of the boy’s face. He had sandy blonde hair, green eyes and a smile that spoke trouble, yet made Bruce’s heart throb.

Who was he?

Bruce knew he wouldn’t have a name, but he could tell from the way the other boy acted they were more than just friends. The closeness, shoulders bumping one another, faces close their lips practically touched, the slight tinge of pink on both their cheeks… Bruce had been in love.

He’d been in love with the one he thought was for him, only to pull away, because Bruce couldn’t hurt him. The other boy didn’t deserve him. So he left.

Often after that dream, he would stand in front of the mirror, looking at his bloodshot and angry red eyes. Had it been worth it? He thought to his past self. Was that boy safe?

Bruce didn’t know.

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

After breakfast, the two went through kata together. The kata were familiar, and he knew muscle memory would remember where his amnesia had forgotten. It was almost impossible to forget what the body was actively trained to do. Bruce knew his skills were dangerous, far beyond simple joy for the art. As he moved through stances, voices at the back of his mind supplied the best ways to take down a threat. He imagined a foe, and knew the most effective techniques to take them out.

Why did he know this? Why did he have this uncanny knowledge of the human body and every little known weakness? What even was the purpose of such knowledge?

He felt his feet drag across the mats, before his body jerked in an unnatural way. Looking down, he saw a sight he’d not ever seen before. His foot, it was down to the ankle, clean through the floor. He felt himself begin to panic, though his face was completely blank: another skill he had, but did not understand why.

It didn’t take long for Maddie to notice he’d stopped his motions. When her eyes caught sight of Bruce, she stopped . “Bruce honey, are you okay?” She reached out a hand to rest on his shoulder, before looking down to catch sight of his foot throw the floor.

As he felt his panic rise, his foot sank deeper into the floor. It was to his mid calf at this point, and as he rested a hand on the floor, it too phased through the mats as though it wasn’t solid matter.

“Danny, sweetie! We need your help please!” Maddie called out not a moment later.

The sound of feet thumping down the stairs was almost immediate. It was still early in the morning, and Bruce had practically memorized all of their schedules after a few weeks of being in the Fenton household. While Maddie was a morning person, Jack and Danny were decidedly the opposite. The two Fenton men could sleep through practically anything, something Bruce had seen with his own eyes.

It was unsurprising to see Danny run down in a pair of NASA pants and a rumbled t-shirt. The shirt seemed to a band shirt, promoting a tour for an artist called Ember McClain and her death day bash. It looked fairly old now, with the lettering having torn off and faded over the years. As Danny descended the final stair, he caught sight of the two martial artists and blinked, before letting out an incredibly tired sigh.

“Alright, let’s get you out.” Danny marched over, bending down to scoop Bruce beneath the armpits and hoist upwards. Bruce felt a tingle pass over him, before his two feet were on solid ground once more. He tapped them for extra measure, content when his foot connected with the mats beneath his feet. However, he knew what happened wasn’t a fluke or some sort of fever dream.

He’d really gone through the floor, as if it weren’t a solid material. He hadn't really believed Danny when he’d explained it, how they had found him and what the young man had seen that day, but Bruce had experienced it himself. He couldn’t deny the fact that… well… he’d died, and yet, he was very much alive.

A Halfa. That’s what Danny had called him. Called them.

“We’ll stop practice for today. We’ll pick up again on Thursday.” Maddie moved around the room, putting away the equipment scattered around the place. As she moved around the room, Bruce felt himself at a standstill, his mind racing with, well, everything. He stood there, dazed, staring at his own hands.

Before he even noticed, the dojo was clean, leaving him standing in place. He blinked, watching as Maddie and Danny spoke in hushed tones for a brief moment before giving each other a nod. The redheaded woman gently tapped the raven haired man on the shoulder, easily offering support, as she began to make her way upstairs. Once it was clear she was gone, Danny moved forward, stopping right before him.

“Looks like your powers are finally kicking in. It took a month after my accident for my own powers to kick in.” Danny hummed, his eyes elsewhere, glazed over in deep thought. “Though we hypothesized it had to do with the excessive amount of ectoplasm Fentonworks produce. Had we been anywhere else, it may have taken months or even years before anything occurred.” Danny shook his head, knowing well enough that if he continued down the track, he would talk about ectoplasm and its properties for hours.

“We’ll get started on training your powers. We’ll start with intangibility, then…” Bruce listened as Danny went on listing various powers he would most likely acquire. Some will be unique purely to him, but such things would only happen months, if not a year or so down the line, due to Amity Park’s ectoplasm.

It was a lot to take in, and it was all that was on his mind for the rest of the day. He forewent his book reading to simply walk around the block and digest his thoughts. The buildings itself were familiar, what Danny called the ‘downtown core’. Brownstones felt nostalgic in a painful way, and no matter how long he stared, Bruce could not gain a smidgen of a clue as to why.

Still, the walk was good. His feet led him towards a park, one shinning with greenery; wisteria and lilac trees in shades of violet and blue, along with pine and spruce lined the gravel paths, scattered around the park in ways that provided coverage for passers-by. The flowers were in full bloom too, with constant access to sunlight if the species required so. He could see black petunias, black hollyhocks, black dahlias, and black violas, to name a few. In fact the garden was oddly… purple and black, with the exception of the conifers.

He made his way farther into the park, looking for a secluded tree to simply sit, and think.

There was simply so much to take in from the afternoon, and the crushing reality that he’d well and truly died, yet he barely remebered how. Who had he been and what had he done? Was it a senseless act of murder or an assassination?

Bruce couldn’t say.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and rest his head along the top. The summer breeze was gentle, a simple gust that help staved off the otherwise hot day. The sky was cloudless and a clear blue, unfettered by pollution. It was a rarity, wherever he came from. It could be any major city in the world, really. He spoke so many language, who knew where he even came from?

He sighed, feeling the wind dance along his skin. He wished he could let it all go. Move on from the shadow of himself and start something new here in Amity Park, but his memories haunted his dreams. They left crumbs for him to desperately lick at without a single desire satiated. It frustrated him to no end, waking up almost every other night with more questions than answers, and without any evidence of who he’d been.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Bruce cried.

Chapter Text

Bruce’s time was well scheduled, despite no longer being in school. In the morning, he practised his kata with Maddie, or rather Sensei as he called her during their practice time. Taking a short break to see what Jack and Danny were working on in the lab, as he seemed to have a comprehensive understanding of mechanical engineering, electrical engineering as well as chemistry, and biochemistry. Often times all three Fentons would ask him questions to see if he somehow knew the answer. Most of the time, it was a yes, he was able to answer the complex equations they threw his way. He wondered what he had been doing before he lost his memory. What was the purpose for accumulating all that knowledge? What did he want to do with it? With his level of skill, the academic would would have certainly heard of him, yet there was not even a splash in the pond. Had he even gone to school for it? Where had he been learning it?

The three Fentons would often make faces at one another, ones Bruce could easily read from their body language—another odd thing about himself he had learned over time—as well as the emotions he could sense due to his ghostly nature. In the afternoon, after lunch, when Danny was free, the two would practice Bruce’s control over his ghostly abilities. First, the most important lesson Danny had instilled in him, was to remember to remain tangible.

“When I first got my powers,” he said, “I was often phasing through my clothes or objects. Losing your pants and flashing your boxers as a teen is probably one of the most mortifying things you can go through.”

Bruce could only imagine how Danny had felt, knowing the man wore his emotions on his sleeve. Being a teenager was such a vulnerable and volatile time, that most of anything could often be seen as a catastrophe, when at times it was simply a minor inconvenience at best. An odd feeling to have, but Bruce was certain if he could recall his memories, he would be justified in such thoughts.

It took some time to fully grasp the scope of his intangibility, and the finer control to not accidentally use it during periods of emotional stress, but Bruce was able to catch onto it rather quickly, faster than Danny had.

“Though, I didn’t have a teacher to help me when I first got them.” Had been his reasoning, and Bruce could see merit to that thought. It was far harder to learn on your own, to fully understand something so out of your scope, then learning it from a teacher who had mastered the craft. Danny truly understood his powers.

Other ghosts weren’t the best teachers, according to Danny, as their powers simply came innately to them, like how a human knew how to breathe, or a fish to swim. For them, it wasn’t like learning to ride a bike, but rather learning to do cool tricks on their dirt bikes instead. Which had certainly been an analogy Danny had used, but Bruce could easily understand the point he was making. To master his powers to the level fo his ghostly peers, more effort and dedication would need to go into practicing them.

After those lessons, he would find himself reading more of Jack’s books, often conversing with the man about them once he had completed them. Supper was often a heated affair when the two discussed the reasoning behind the discovery of the mystery in those books, as well as the level of realism and the probability of such a thing even occurring.

When not discussing their books, supper was still a lively affair, as the two Fenton parents were not quiet people. Despite what the two studied, they were lively individuals, full of love and compassion for their son.

It was evident in the way the house was decorated, with all the pictures on the walls or the mantle, mostly of a family of four, a young red head he’d never quite seen before. He’d learned from Danny that was his sister Jazz. An individual Bruce had never meet, but had heard about in passing. After all, he was staying in her former room and had even read some of her books that she had left behind. Some of them were unfortunately outdated materials or quack psychologist, Freud’s work being the utmost example, however, as theory, they were still important reading materials. It was odd though, that Jazz had left those books behind and that so much of the room had only changed once Bruce had been thrown into the Fentons’ lives. It was as though that room had been a time capsule, unsullied by time. Had Jazz…?

Bruce had made the mistake asking about Jazz only once, when his curiosity and need to know had gotten the better of him. The table had grown solemn, the two parents eyes filling with hurt and regret, as Danny softly shook his head. Supper had quickly finished after the fact, Danny meeting him in what was now his bedroom to fill in the blanks.

“Jazz… she—we—I didn't always have the easy relationship with my parents like I do now.” Danny had said, knuckles white as he gripped the denim of his jeans tightly. “For the longest time, my parents were wrapped up in their work more than their duty to take care of us.” He grimaced, most likely remembering some of those very instances. “They know now, that they’d really messed up, but it was too little too late for Jazz when they finally cleaned up their act.” Danny sighed, running as hand through his hair, everything about him screaming tired. “She left. Went no contact with them, and me, when I told her I forgave them.”

Bruce simply sat by Danny’s side, offering gentle support through touch. The older boy’s breathing grew ragged, and Bruce could feel wet drops upon his neck and shoulder. “I miss her so much.” He gasped between ragged breaths. Arms quickly engulfed the younger boy in a bone tight hug, Danny’s ragged breathing shaking the both of them as his emotions ran their course.

Bruce knew, despite not being dead, Jazz Fenton had made herself dead to her family, with no hope to ever regain what they’d lost.

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

Seasons passed, as summer waned, and fall approached. The days grew shorter, and the leaves left their branches in waves, leaving trees in a pathetic, withered state. To some, the weather may paint a sombre tableau, one that played with one’s mood, but Bruce found peace. In a way, Fall was much like himself. Something once pure and beautiful withered away, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left. Stripped of his protection, left vulnerable to the world.

He’d had another dream, one that made him feel like Fall, one that had made his skin crawl. That made him sit beneath the shower for an hour, his skin red and raw as he tried to clean away the disgusting feeling he felt inside. Bruce must have been standing there for what seemed like hours, simply shaking as the feeling of hands danced along his skin.

Something in his heart quivered in betrayal at the flash of the man in his mind’s eye. The face was familiar, in a way that made his heart yearn, in a way that gave his body chills, in a way his mind simply could not comprehend as it fought itself to a standstill, leaving Bruce a mess caught in between it all.

Why did he feel so hurt? Why did his very being reverberate with searing pain from the centre of himself, from the epicentre of his stab wound, out?

His mind raced with ideas, some more ludicrous than the last. It couldn’t be possible though. Maybe he had been reading too many detective novels. Maybe he was putting too much thought into these vague allusions that were his dreams. Surely…? No, no.

Bruce took a deep breath and turned off the shower head. It was best to leave those thoughts behind for now, flushed down the drain with the rest of his shower.

He grabbed a towel and dried himself off as efficiently as possible, making sure that there was not a single drop of water left behind. He moved to grab his clothes, neatly laid upon the bathroom sink, as there was no bathroom connected to his bedroom. Once more he wore a black turtle neck and jeans. Easy, comfortable, familiar. Feeling the cotton cover his skin lifted a sense of unease from his chest, one that he did not ponder upon for too long.

He placed his clothes in the laundry hamper in the bathroom, before deciding to make his way downstairs. His day would be a slightly challenging one. He had agreed to Maddie’s offer of academic placements to potentially start the process of getting a degree, with the end goal of being a job.

Jack had told him on numerous occasions that Bruce was welcome in the Fenton household regardless of anything, but that simply did not sit right with him. Bruce felt the need to pay back the Fentons, and be useful in some way, other than simply mooching off of their money, even if they were well off due to their patents. Life could easily be unpredictable, and one could never know where the money goes.

So, Bruce needed to do something. He had all this knowledge inside his head, wasting away without being put to practical use. He knew he could make some sort of difference if he just applied himself.

As he made his way down the stairs, Maddie waited with a pile of papers. They were each evenly placed along the table, into categories to test his skills. Both Jack and Maddie had pulled some strings with MIT to do online courses, however, he first needed to complete his GED, which he had passed with a near perfect score last month. Now, it was time to do advanced placements to determine his skill level. He would be listed as an independent student, and that suited Bruce well.

Maddie looked up from where she had been seated, startled at the sight of Bruce who had not made a single noise coming down the stairs. She gave a smile, welcoming him down to sit at the table beside her.

“For today you’ll be completing chemistry and biology. Once done, you’re free to do as you please. Danny and Jack are out for the day, and I've left you’re breakfast on the counter.” Bruce moved towards the counter to pick up some eggs and toast that had been made, preserved in the patented Fenton Capsule™. According to Jack, he’d been frustrated with the moisture bowls would leave on food, and invented the square cube to keep his food warm, without accumulating moisture and turning the food soggy.

Bruce had to say, he did appreciate his food remaining crisp and warm, no longer soggy from the condensation.

He took his seat at the table and ate, leafing over the packets with questions. He could see each packet was sectioned by course, each clearly labelled at the top. General Chemistry, Organic Chemistry, Inorganic Chemistry, Quantum Chemistry, Physical Chemistry, Biochemistry… there was a long list, and yet Bruce did not feel overwhelmed. In fact, he felt quite in his element, reading the questions and puzzling them out on paper, providing insight when needed.

He repeated the process with Biology after taking a short lunch break, as completing the chemistry portion had taken almost 5 hours. Still, once he’d felt himself replenished, he tackled the biology packet, Maddie near by keeping an eye on him the entire time.

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

It took two weeks, but Bruce had completed his advanced placements. The Fentons had decided to space them out, knowing that taking test after test back to back would not provide the most accurate test results to his skill level, and while Bruce had disagreed that he was perfectly capable of doing the tests back to back, so as to finish them as soon as possible, Danny had stepped in to let him know they would not budge on such a topic.

“It was something Jazz had once nagged them about, always running tests without taking any sort of break. They won’t budge… not when they know first hand the harm it caused.” Danny grimaced, his own eyes glazed over, lost in memories. Glancing back, Bruce noticed the way Jack and Maddie spoke in hushed tones to one another, as though pretending to not have heard what had been said, but the walls were paper thin.

Bruce sighed, agreeing to the small break period between exams to recuperate his mental faculties. They were right. Running oneself ragged only weakened cognitive abilities to make sound, logical decisions. It wouldn’t do him well to simply speedrun through this as quickly as possible to get it done.

So, as the ideom went, slow and steady wins the race.

It would not be for another two weeks until he knew his results, and the decision to allow his enrollment into MIT. So, he took the time to himself. He continued his routines with Maddie and Danny, refining his martial arts skills and learning to control his ghost abilities. According to Danny, he’d perfected his intangibility, and his control was good. They could move on to other things. For that, however, they would need to travel to a more remote location. Thankfully, Amity Park was surrounded by vast forests, far away from human population. The dense forest created its own sort of ferriday cage, and the density made it difficult for humans to see. The perfect place for ghosts to train.

Bruce watched as Danny began to charge up his ectoblasts, his hand glowing a neon green. It grew in size, before it shot towards the target hung on the rotting bark, hitting square in the center and leaving nothing but slight charring.

“Ghosts powers are powered by emotions.” Danny explained. “The stronger the emotion, the stronger the power.” Bruce nodded, though he wondered how they quantified the strength of emotions. Was that not something abstract? “My mentors, Pandora and Frostbite, told me that some people call it the emotional electromagnetic spectrum. I couldn’t really find any research into it though.” Danny hummed with a frown, annoyed that he couldn’t find any sort of datasets to further explore the topic. In a way, Bruce understood. He’d made certain to find verifiable masters to train from rather than learning it himself—Bruce paused, those thoughts completely foreign to him. Had he been on a mission to train? Had he found masters in their respective skills and been betrayed by someone he had trusted?

Danny continued to talk about the potency of emotions, with the strongest being hope, though it was not the emotion he felt comfortable channeling to use his powers. He’d never really been a symbol of hope, and never embodied it either, but willpower? Danny had that in spades. He was as stubborn as one could get, never backing down from a fight or fighting what was right.

“How about you try now.” Danny stepped aside, making space for Bruce to aim at any of the targets he so liked.

Bruce took a calming breath, letting everything else wash away to focus on the now. He could deal with it all later. Simply compartmentalize; focus. He raised his arm, feeling for a strong emotion within him to power the energy beam, for that’s what it really was. He could feel himself dangling over a precipice, something vast and never ending, something deep down he knew he couldn’t fully control. His hand glowed a striking red, flickering between yellow and green in turn. The more he pulled on his emotions however, the more he began to feel the rage swell up inside him, beginning to consume him. It’s call was a lullaby for the damned, the weary and the broken. It spoke to him in ways nothing else ever had before.

He simply needed to let go.

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

It was dark. Not the simple dim of the forest, with little light filtering through the branches and tree leaves. There was a total abcense of light, leaving Bruce without one of his key senses.

“Bruce…” A voice called for him. He looked around in the direction of the voice, expecting to see something, but it was still dark. “Bruce…” it called again, and this time, he took a step in the direction of the voice. A light lit up from above him. It looked almost like an old wall mounted light, familiar in a nostalgic sort of way. He leaned his hand against the wall, feeling the texture of the old wallpaper. It was a beautiful thing, if not antiquated. It too felt familiar.

“Bruce…” the voice called out once more, and he did not hesitate to run, following after it. He felt his heart hammer in his chest as one by one the lights lit up beside him, illuminating his path just a little further, but never quite enough. Soon, he reached the very end of the hall, unaware of the door at the end. The impact was instantaneous, as he tumbled through, the sound of wood shattering, and yet not a single sensation of scraps along his skin. Rather, it felt wet. The world was bright around him, as he swam upwards towards the light. His hand reached around for any sort of ledge he could grasp onto, and when he found it, he hoisted himself upwards, over the side of what he now knew was glass, and onto solid ground. He took a breath of air, bring his heart rate down to resting, as he assessed the environment he found himself in.

Just out of sight, a man stood, slowly moving from light to shadows, from one end of the stage, to the other. The figure bore the features of a middle aged man were not distinct, but there was enough for a general understanding in his mind. He was a man of average height with slicked back, short salt and pepper hair, with a slight tan to his skin. He cut an imposing figure, of a man that had seen many things, and fallen deep into despair. “You should have listened to me.”

Listened to him? What exactly was he supposed to remember from him? Just a few months ago he could barely remember his own name. And now? Practically insignificant. What memories he could recall were only pain. The burned a darkness deep inside of him that clawed at his heart, festering deep crevices into his mind that made him weaker with each passing night. How much more could he take, this carrot dangling in front of his face with nothing to yield?

He stood at the other end of the stage, masked by the curtains, his face darkened by shadows, lines around him glowing an ominous red. “Power only takes. It requires a price. And men like you? Men consumed by their darkness with nothing left to give? You become monsters.”

Men like him? Men like him? He felt a rage simmer deep within him at this man his mind had conjured. What right did he have to judge him in such a way? What right did he have to decide that he only would become a monster. If power came with a price, then it certainly wasn’t by becoming a monster, but completely losing who he was. What purpose was there to gain power for a cause, only to forget what that cause even was? What was the point, then?

He felt raw anger course through him, the red hue growing stronger as it boiled, thinking of all the ways he could prove exactly the type of monster he truly was, before he completely sizzled it, knowing there was no point to blowing his rage in such a childish way. What would become of him if he became the monster he said? Proving him right? A man he barely even remembered? He gave a bitter laugh at the thought. He knew how to control his emotions. His grief would turn to anger, moulded into a fine blade for him to wield. It was best honed, and not acted upon prematurely. It was a precipice one constantly balanced, walking along a tightrope to hold back, to never succumb to the darkness. He may live deep within it, where light does not touch, but he knows there cannot be light without shadow, and thus, no hope without fear.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out. Ten times each, he slowly felt the anger return beneath the surface, ever constant, but manageable. Simmering, waiting for its moment to strike. The red dimmed, and in its place it turned a brilliant blue.

Chapter Text

There were signs that things were not as good as they seemed, but Danny chose to ignore them out of respect for Bruce. He did not push, he did not pull, and he did not try to psychoanalyze him. Bruce deserved his privacy and would come to them when he was ready, or so Danny hoped.

Things often went bump in the night, more so than usual in the Fenton household. Danny’s heightened senses couldn’t ignore the whimpers or held back tears. He couldn’t ignore the choked off sobs, or the frantic breathing from a fresh nightmare. Bruce didn’t reach out, so Danny did not push. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but that growing up with Jazz had changed his outlook on life. She had meant well, but always being in his business had only ever pushed him away. Not once would he have felt the desire to confess to her, to tell his every burden, and uplift them off his chess.

In turn, he didn’t want to be the same person he had hated for Bruce. If he was struggling, surely he would reach out?Danny thought, now, that might have been a mistake.

There was a fine line between giving space to someone who so clearly needed it, and gripping one’s hand so tightly for someone who’s lost their way. By avoiding being one end of the spectrum, Danny had ended up on the other.

It was a disaster, really. While trying not to be his sister, Bruce may have ended up spiraling more without the help he deserved. It was hard to discern Bruce’s emotions from the over encumbering melancholy that followed him like his own personal storm cloud. There were small variations that the halfa could pick up on, but they were so few and far between from his established baseline. Sometimes, it felt practically useless to have this sort of empathetic ability.

For here they were now, alone in the middle of the forest, just the two of them. Bruce had not moved from his spot in nearly ten minutes, and Danny didn’t want to leave him alone. The man was radiating such intense emotions, flickering between fear, anguish, melancholy and unfiltered rage. A rage so intense it felt like standing before the sun.

His phone didn’t work either, the forest far too dense to get any signal out. He didn’t think anything bad would happen, honest! He’d assumed it would be like any normal training session they’d had in the past; He would show the basics, and Bruce would catch on quickly, replicating the moves with a natural ease, as though his ghost powers had always been there. It was impressive how quickly Bruce picked up on things once he was able to deconstruct them, and he did so scarily fast. His mind analytical in a way that reminded him of his Mom, both calculated and cold in their actions, for Maddie creating a distinct divide between Scientist, Hunter and Mother. While Danny may not have names for the masks he wore they were so distinct as though he’d always worn masks overlaid upon one another, switching with what suited his needs best.

Yet Danny had seen the cracks, and the biggest was before him now.

The wind whistled between the trees, while the song of birds abruptly stopped. There was not a single sound of life around him now, as a cold chill over took the clearing. No, not a chill, his ghost sense.

He saw them, familiar hellions from his youth that had spent so much time terrorizing him on behalf of another. Those blasted vultures commanded by one man: Vlad Masters. What would make Vlad act out now, after all these years? Had Danny’s threat worn off? Or was he truly two-faced? It was certainly the former, for the man had played ‘best friend’ to his dad for so long in hopes of winning his mom’s heart. Danny felt his hackles rise, and the familiar tinge a power prickling beneath his skin. How dare Vlad go back on his word, after so long. Was it a mistake to have given the man a second chance after everything? Was it not the bigger person thing to do?

Sam and Tucker had commended him for it, even if they had disagreed, as Vlad left with his tail between his legs, but his identity secured. No one would link Vlad Masters to Plasmius, and no one would link Phantom to Danny Fenton, all thanks to the reality gauntlet.

The three vultures circled overhead, the diameter diminishing as they closed in on their prey. Danny quickly changed forms, knowing that the vultures were only heralds for something far worse. What exactly was Vlad planning? What did he want, exactly? Danny watched as the vultures dove towards him at neck breaking speeds, but it was child’s play for him, as he dodged and weaved, sending ecto blasts at them in response. They gave out shrill cries as the blasts connected with the bodies. It was a bit of a pathetic display, if Vlad was going to use these old tricks on Phantom, one who had grown in the past ten years. He wasn’t the same teenage boy anymore. He wasn't lost and confused, or in conflict with his family and his values. He was whole, and far stronger than Plasmius had ever been in his prime.

The vultures backed off, circling overhead once more, giving out a series of caws as they dispersed, though they did not retreat. He gaze glanced back to Bruce’s sweat dripping down along his brow as his fingers clenched so tightly they had turned white. What was going on inside his head? Why was he like this? Danny himself may have struggled with his own emotions that fuelled his powers, but it didn’t compare to this.

Another chill danced through the trees, as thundering footsteps grew louder and ever closer. Danny squinted, extending his eyesight to peer into the darkness. He startled, back straightening at the approaching stampede. As the center of the pack was a chimpanzee riding a lioness, with her pride following in tow. The sight in of itself was ridiculous, almost like something out of a cartoon, and yet, so completely Vlad.

It was an absolutely terrible time to have lest his Fenton thermos at home, and yet he hadn’t even needed the thing over the past few years. Ghosts were hardly ever an issue in Amity Park anymore. The only ghosts of cause issues were those looking for Phantom, and even then, it was the likes of Young-blood, Johnny and Kitty, and Ember, who were bored out of their mind and looking for fun. There wasn’t any need for the Thermos unless Kitty and Johnny were having a feud of some sort, and needed time out soup.

Though, Danny had met many sorts of ghosts over the years, some kind enough to teach him new tips and tricks. One such ghost was his friend Wulf, able to tear rifts in realities between the realms. He hadn’t honed it to perfection, like Wulf, but Danny didn’t need exact coordinates. He just needed the Zone itself.

Mind made, he waited as the horde approached, charging at him. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the vultures circling once more, this time swooping in towards Bruce. He cursed, turning his gaze back to the advancing stampeded. With a split second decision, he charged towards Bruce as the vultures sunk their claws into the younger man's shoulders. On his tail, he could hear the pride following hot on his tail, with a war cry from the chimpanzee ring leader. He rushed upwards, wrapping one arm around Bruce’s midsection, while he aimed a finger at one of the offending vultures, charging up an ectoblast to knock it off.

The overgrown bird looked down and cawed, bringing its two pack members to the offending hitchhiker. The two vultures swooped at Danny, but he fire quick shots at them, sending them off course. With the two others attended too, Danny took aim at the bird holding onto Bruce for dear life, though missed as the bird took a sharp angle, sending his shot off course. He cursed, glaring angrily at the bird as he tried clawing at its talons, only to be peeked by its oversized beak.

In the altercation, neither noticed the growing blue glow, as it began to pulse outwards, faint, as it grew in intensity. The vulture let go at the bright light, as though burned, while Danny held on tightly, feeling invigorated as though he’d been hit with ecto-dejecto. The two halfas slowly began to descend to the ground below, a distance away from the original location, just on the outskirts of the forest, and the way back to town. From this height, Danny could see the infamous Fentonworks building, with its large neon sign, and redesigned ops center.

As the two touched down, there were distance shouts of rage, from a familiar voice Danny had not heard in a while. Skulker had stopped hunting him for sport years prior, though demanded upon occasion to have the Halfa partake in a hunt to test his skills, or whatever. Danny thought the ghost was probably lonely, and asking for company in his own weird way. Now, the ghost was handling the pride and chimpanzee, cursing about that blasted ghost child as he gave hunt to his prey.

“Danny—” The Halfa startled at the call of his name, looking down to the younger man still held tightly in his arms. He flushed, having not realized he’d been holding on so tightly to Bruce through it all. Bruce gave a relieved sigh as Danny’s grip loosened, though his cheeks were still flushed a pale green. He didn’t want to think as to why he had been holding onto Bruce so tightly, though he was acutely aware as to why. He wasn’t oblivious to his growing fondness for the younger man, though he’d pushed it all aside for the sake of Bruce’s recovery. Bruce didn’t need that type of relationship. He needed stability and acceptance as he struggled with his sense of self. It wouldn’t have been fair.

The young Halfa turned around, their gazes locking onto one another. Green met blue, and there was something as heavy as glaciers below sea level on that gaze. Something far deeper than had ever been there before. What had happened in Bruce’s mind? Had he remembered something?

Bruce seemed at odds with himself, though his face was stoic, there was clear doubt and hesitation. An inner turmoil that had been brewing silently beneath the surface, fully coming to a head. There was grief, guilt, shame, and a glimmer of hope. There were words on the tip of his tongue, caught in his throat as though his lungs were filled with water once more, and he was drowning. He licked his lips, taking a breath to finally speak—

“My… playing teacher now, are we Daniel?” A voice that haunted so many sleepless nights and nearly tore his family apart before it had ever been made echoed through the air. Rage, already so prevalent in the air, began to boil within him to has he turned to the sight of a man he’d sworn he’d never see again.

Vlad Masters was an absolute piece of shit that stained Danny’s line of sight.

He’d aged considerably, and unfortunately, the effects of ectoplasm kept him looking young still. A silver fox, that’s how Sam had described him once. Unfortunately attractive, with a soave attitude to ensnare those around him. Though, it was all for appearances. He was a supercilious man, with a desire to have everything under control. Danny knew it intimately, the way that man wanted to have everything meticulously under his thumb. It wasn’t healthy, and in another world, he’d succeeded. Danny had been at his lowest when Vlad had taken him in, and Dan had been born. Maybe it had been done with good intentions, maybe it had been done with ulterior motives, Danny couldn’t say, since that timeline no longer existed in this world.

“A better one than you’d ever be.” And it was true. For how much Vlad believed, as the only other Halfa, that he could teach Danny the ropes, that he could nurture Danny’s powers, he’d done so in a way that had forced Danny to learn on his own. “I thought I told you to never step foot in Amity Park ever again.”

Vlad took a few steps forward, slow, calculated, as though making a statement. It grated the younger man’s nerves. It was a purposeful tactic to set off his temper, and play him like a fiddle, but Danny knew better now. He wouldn’t play so easily into Vlad’s hands.

“This isn’t Amity Park, now is it?” Danny’s eyes narrowed at the coy reply. Of course the man would play semantics. He was a cruel business man, always about technicalities and loopholes. It wouldn’t surprise Danny if Vlad had continued to spy on his family despite being told to back off. Vlad was an ungrateful man, always desperately clinging for more; a disgusting parasite.

The older man placed his hands behind his back as he gave Danny an assessing look, eyes guarded, a small hum leaving his lips. “Word through the grapevine is that a new Halfa was found in your company, is that right?” His eyes were apathetic as they turned towards Bruce, coolly examining the younger man for anything of note.

Danny’s fist clenched as he glared at the vile man. Of course. Of course he’d be curious about something like this. This was Vlad Masters, self proclaimed expert on Halfas, despite his only source of information being himself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said as he took a step forward, blocking Bruce from Vlad’s line of sight.

Vlad did not seem enthused by the answer, in fact, he seemed insulted as his gaze turned towards Danny, rolling his eyes as he sighed.

“Come now Daniel, lying is most unbecoming of you.” Danny wanted to absolutely kick the man’s ass back to Wisconsin where he belonged. He grinned his teeth, watching as the older man teetered, being as much a nuisance as he always was.

“What do you want Vlad?” He hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowed into a nasty glare, knowing that, while he may not have laser vision, if he prayed enough maybe it would manifest itself miraculously. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d developed a power in such a way.

“Why, I’ve come to offer my services and take our young friend here off your hands. You know, his parents and I are old friends.” It was something familiar in the way he said old friends that reminded Danny of the way Vlad had once seen his Dad: an obstacle. It was so fake it took someone, unfortunately, like his father to not see through it. “I’ve heard he’s lost his memories, and as a close family friend, I can surely help you recollect them. Especially since they left him in my care. He’s practically a son to me, you know?” He hummed preening as though he were proud of his blatant lie, his gaze glimmering as he looked at Bruce.

Frankly, Danny wanted to gag. Really, he did. What sort of plan even was that? Having a Halfa son to play pretend? If it hadn’t worked when Danny was 14, it wouldn’t work with an early 20 year old Bruce, even if he was an amnesiac. Danny was certain the younger man, at the very least, remembered his parents, for he’s well aware the nightmare that has kept Bruce awake at night for weeks on end had been the murder of his parents.

Trauma lingers, even if they don't remember.

“Seriously? That’s your deal?” Danny threw his hands up in the air, his irritation more poignant due to two others emanating the same emotion. “You show up here to kidnap Bruce and pretend he’s your son?” It was still just as deranged as the first time.

Vlad rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, feeling as though he were talking to a toddler and not a mature adult with at least more functioning neurons then the supposedly wise old gentleman. “Kidnapping is rather crude. I would call it repatriation.”

Danny wanted to scream. The man made no sense even on a good day. “Yeah, no. I’m done entertaining your bullshit.” Before he could even take a shot at the older man, a hand placed itself upon his shoulder, his gaze followed to see Bruce’s jaw firmly set in place, a glare of his own just sharp. Bruce stepped forward, making it quite clear that this battle was his own now, and not something Danny should meddle with.

“Masters. I would say it’s a pleasure, but it’s not.” The younger Halfa’s voice was flat, devoid of any sort of friendly emotion. It was frigid, guarded.

Danny noticed the way Vlad blinked, somewhat surprised by the blatant acknowledgement. He was too. How exactly did Bruce know Vlad? Had he remembered something? He must have.

“I beg your pardon?” Vlad asked, aghast by the disrespect, as though he was not used to it by this point. The man absolutely should be. No one who knew him would pay him any sort of respect at all.

Bruce took a step forward, a sudden air of grandeur surrounding him, as though all the oxygen had been snuffed out, leaving only him. His eyes glowed a vibrant blue, alight with his powers, the same way Danny’s were when he used his ice powers, though a few shades darker. He marched onward, singing the ground with each step as leaves disintegrated to ash. He stopped inches before Vlad, eye to eye.

“My parents never trusted you. They barely even knew you. You had walked into our home on the heels of my grandfather’s death after he left my Dad the company. You tried to steal it away, for your own selfish gains.” Bruce sneered, raw fury in his eyes that glowed a vibrant blue, reacting to his strong emotions. “And now I know how you almost did it.” There was a pause, and between the blink of an eye, a glowing blue fist connected with Vlad’s jaw with impeccable force and precision, practically throwing the man to the ground.

“ Leave.” He growled, an impressive deep, dark timber Danny had never heard from the other man before, it was guttural, in the way that stones crumbled to Earth. So much so, it made his own vocal cords hurt. It was sharp, and brokered no room for arguments, ones that not even Vlad could ignore.

The older man scurried to his feet, quickly dusting himself off as he stumbled away from the younger Halfa. He turned his sights towards the two, giving them a critical once over, though his hands continued to shake, a sign that gave away how afraid he was. “I can tell when I’m not wanted.” Vlad’s gaze lingered between the other two Halfas for a few moments longer, before turning away, the man transforming and taking to the sky. He paused mid flight, turning back to the two boys on the ground. “You’ll come to regret this.” He sneered, as he finally vanished for good, leaving the two alone in the clearing once more.

Chapter Text

Neither of them talked as they returned back to the brownstone. It was quiet, knowing that if either of them spoke now, it would devolve into a very personal conversation in a very public place. The house was empty when they returned, a note plastered by the front door in Jack Fenton’s boyant scrawl that they’d left for the evening and would be back on Friday, tomorrow. In Maddie Fenton’s cleaner handwriting that there was a ghost citing the next town over and they’d been called to assist. Nothing unusual, though, Danny wondered if it had something to do with Vlad. Deciding not to ponder too much on it, the two made their way up the stairs, and converged on Danny’s room. The bed was unkept, its fluffy blankets perfect for rumpling and curling around oneself, slowly processing the events that had transpired.

Vlad. While annoying that he had shown face, it was unsurprising he had heard of Bruce’s existence. Ghosts were terrible gossips, after all. There wasn’t much else for them to do, in their eternal afterlife. Talking shit about one another was simply a cultural norm, according to Ember, but Danny had rightfully called bullshit on that. They were all just nosy with literally nothing better to do with their time. He would know. His enemies turned friends would never stop complaining about how boring eternal life was. None of them really wanted to move on, either.

There were micro expressions flickering across Bruce’s face, Danny noticed. The way his eyes glazed over, deep in thought, the furrowing of his brows as he attempted to puzzle something out, almost painful, to the adorable scrunch of his lips. Despite the situation, Bruce really was stunning, and expressive, with the right observations.

“How do you know Vladimir Masters?” Danny lifted his head at the sound of Bruce’s voice, steady and cautious, so very different from the tone he had gotten used to after all these months.

Danny sighed as he ran a hand down his face, wondering why he even knew Vlad either, but was well aware of the unfortunate history that intertwined the Fentons and Masters. “My parents were best friends with him at University. They were part of the paranormal club together, trying to pierce a whole through dimensions to prove the existence of ghosts.” Danny noticed the way Bruce’s expression was firm; a mask, deep in place, even now. “My dad was a little oblivious that Vlad hated him and only wanted to be with Mom. There was… an accident, with their first portal, and Vlad was exposed to ectoplasm. It caused tumours, cancerous tumours, and he’d later died in hospital, and resuscitated as a Halfa.” Danny winced, well aware that, compared to Bruce and himself, Vlad’s death had been the most painful of them all. The man had lied to his parents, simply writing it off as ecto-acne to explain why he had been absent for so long, and why he was well now.

Bruce made a small humming sound, cataloguing the information. “My parents had never liked him.” He supplied in turn, soft and steady. “When they thought no one would hear, they’d whisper about all the ways he could have gained his fortune.” Bruce paused, his gaze turning to Danny, their eyes meeting, blue and blue, imploring in a way that felt so raw and honest. “They’d been right. He overshadowed them to sell their fortunes away, didn't he?”

Danny nodded, noticing the way Bruce’s mask had fallen, a little more open now by the way his shoulders sagged with audible relief, vindicated by being right. “Yeah.” Danny coughed to clear his throat, feeling a little dry and parched. “He did. The man was smart, but his family were immigrants with nothing to their name, according to Mom and Dad.”

Bruce hummed again, the two falling into tangible silence. It was overwhelming, like a weighted blanket draped on top of them. “So he coerced people into suboptimal deals and stole away everything to their name.” It was more rhetorical, but Danny nodded regardless. Bruce hummed once more, his eyes glazed over, the man deep in thought.

Danny twiddled his thumbs nervously, looking between his bedroom wall and Bruce, debating bitting the bullet on the elephant in the room. “So….” He trailed off, his eyes slowly turning to look at Bruce from the corner of his eye. “You remember?”

Silence sat between for a few seconds longer, the question left dangling in the air. Danny waited, and watched as Bruce bowed his head, looking down to his intertwined fingers. “Everything.”

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

Bruce Wayne had once been a normal boy, with an ordinary family. While he may have been on the upper echilons of society, his mother and father had always taught him to be humble. His father had been a surgeon, well known for his successful operations, and his code to treat anyone regardless of their misdeeds, while his mother was prominent social worker assisting with lower income households. She had founded the Martha Wayne foundation in hopes of furthering her goal, and gaining donations from other socialites in Gotham.

The Waynes, while old money, had never been exorbitantly rich. They had lived in their ancestral home in old Gotham for generations, but it wasn’t until Bruce’s grandfather that their fortune had grown. With it, so too did their standing with the other socialites.

Bruce barely remembered his grandfather, but he knew that there had often been conflict between him and his father. Thomas Wayne had wanted to remain a surgeon, while his grandfather had wanted his father to take over the company. That dream had never come to pass, and Frederick Wayne had died without ever convincing his son to take over. Wayne Enterprises had been taken over by a man named Lucius Fox until succession could be settled. Thomas had decided it would remain permanent.

Life had been hectic after that, with many things in the background Bruce had not understood at the time. His parents had been struggling with the board wanting Thomas to take over the company, while Thomas continued his practice in Park Row with friend Leslie Thompson. Their practice was the only thing keeping people from dying in droves due to lack of medical care. They did not ask questions, they simply helped, because everyone deserved basic care. Wayne Enterprises was on the downswing, with Lucius being removed from CEO and relocated as head of R&D, while the newly elected CEO ran the company to the ground with collusion and corruption.

But Bruce hadn’t cared. Bruce was 6 years old, mourning the loss of his grandfather and enjoying life as a child. Naive, innocent and curious. They were blissful times, filled with laughter and love he would cherish with him forever.

Not even two years later on the night of his birthday did his world change. Right before his very eyes, what should have been an ordinary end to a night, through a normal alley used by many others in the past, his parents were slain in cold blood, before his very eyes.

That night had shattered something deep within, something near irreparable. It had carved him out and left him hollow within. His parents had done nothing to deserve it. His parents had been nothing but kind and caring to Gotham City. His parents had only ever given everything they could in hopes of repairing something they loved so deeply. And they had been taken without a care. All for money.

Bruce had cried and screamed at Joe Chill’s trial, wished the murderer was on death row, that taking the lives of his parents would be paid with Chill’s own, but it didn't come to pass. He’d been sentenced to life with no parole. A voluntary manslaughter, the defence ended up arguing. It had burned deeply in his gut, that they’d been able to argue such a sentencing in the first place, but the judge and jury had been persuaded by the the defence’s silver-tongue. Bruce hoped the rest of Chill’s life would be miserable. He’d been miserable and hurt, wanting nothing more than his parents back. That he could hold them and hug them, without the feeling of blood staining his arms. Without hearing his mother rasp out with her dying breath that she loved him, covering his cheek with her stained fingers, the warm iron liquid drying on his face.

When the trial had ended, and Joe Chill had been sentenced, taken away by guards to be transferred to his new forever home, Bruce had been pulled out by Alfred, away from the flashes of cameras, away from the screaming journalists asking for comments, and held tightly as he cried vacantly into the elderly man’s chest. He felt nothing. He felt everything. Most of all, he was tired.

Not even months later, Joe Chill had been found dead in his cell. They’d called it a suicide, but the general public knew better. Martha Wayne had been a well known advocate for prisoner rehabilitation, assisting individuals with criminal records to find jobs after their sentences. She had been beloved by people in the system, and they’d taken an eye for an eye.

Bruce didn’t feel any sort of joy at the news. He didn’t feel anything. Joe Chill’s death didn’t bring his parents back. It didn’t mend the whole in his heart. It didn't solve anything. It made things worse, because Chill had a family of his own. He had a wife and a daughter. His death didn’t solve anything. It only created a bigger whole in the world, where more full hearts had been laid to rest.

The only sort of penance he had ever received had been from detective Gordon, the man who made sure Joe Chill was caught. None of the other officers had cared; it was Gotham. He’d learned, over the years, that his parents had a target on their back from the other families, socialites and mob alike. They may have been old, the blood and bones of Gotham, but they were different.

Crime didn’t stop in Gotham City. In fact, crime was on the rise. Something needed to change. It couldn’t be subtle. It couldn’t be by the books because Gotham didn’t play by the rules. Bruce made a vow to himself. He would clean up Gotham City, no matter the cost.

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

“I went on to travel the world, searching for masters of their crafts who were willing to teach me.” Bruce paused, his jaw set firmly as though he were grinding his teeth. “It was on this journey I met him.”

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

Through freezing mountains, raging storms and blistering deserts, Bruce had finally been allowed entry into the Crystal Hills, Lazarus, the home of Ra’s Al Ghul, the demon’s head and founder of the league of shadows. It had been an arduous battle, from having his equipment rigged learning to base-jump in Hong Kong, to his battle with The Still, one meant to test his worth and skill, and he’d come out the victor. Everything he’d done had lead to this moment.

Three years of arduous training. He was 20 now. Skipping grades and getting his diplomas early. Taking a trip around the world in search of masters willing to teach him everything he could, all for it to culminate at this very moment. A man who believed in the very same goal he did. A man with power and influence to change the world, for the better. There were a few things Bruce was not fond of in Ra’s methods, the primary being the use of lethal force, but it was still important to know what was lethal, so that he was simply one grade behind it. Still, at the time, Bruce did not heed his instincts that something was off, that he should turn tail and never come back. He had disregarded them, with a deep rooted desire to learn everything he could, despite the risks. If he could, he would do the same thing again.

Just like the city, Ra’s was beyond words. He had this presence to him that enthralled people in, that he could understand why people would grovel at his feet, as Talia, Ra’s daughter, would come to tell him. However, not Bruce. Though, that was hard to believe, that in five hundred years Ra’s had not seen another man so focused? Another soul so focused on a singular role as to not grovel at his feet? Or was he only now humouring it that he found himself in such an unprecedented position of power? Or was it something else entirely?

As days turned to weeks, Bruce spent most of his waking moments with Ra’s, and when not with the demon’s head, he was with the demon’s hand, Talia. He learned to draw from deep within himself reservoirs of stamina he could have not previously used. He learned techniques lost to history, and natural medicine passed down for generations.

With each sparring session, Bruce felt something bloom from deep within his chest. There was a certain thrill, fighting with Ra’s, one that he had not felt since the pit fights in Gotham. Ra’s made him feel alive in a way he had not felt in years—not since—

Ra’s made him feel love.

And love made him blind.

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

Danny grimaced as Bruce told him about Ra’s luring him down into the caverns of Crystal Hill where the Lazarus pits laid, remembering that first night all those months ago of that dream he had seen. He knew now what it was, after talking about it with Johnny, that it had been a death echo. A way for ghosts to communicate their deaths to other ghosts in simply ways. A way to empathize with the pain. Only another ghost could really, truly understand what it was like to die. Walk a mile in someone else’s shoes, Sam would say.

Apparently it’s how many of his ghost friends knew he was a Halfa, practically broadcasting his death the same way Bruce had done all those months ago. It was harder to do to humans, as the ghost needed to focus solely on the human, and it didn’t bring the same reaction it would for a ghost. While a ghost would have understanding and empathy, a human would only feel terror and pain, as they experienced the event as though they were the ghost themselves.

Danny grimaced, his hand clenching tightly as he remembered the events as though it were yesterday. Ra’s had truly loved Bruce, if the title of the Demon’s heart was any indication, and yet he would so callously kill the man and what? Use those Lazarus pits to bring the younger man back and molded into Ra’s image? It brought a shiver up Danny’s spine, one Bruce did not miss with his keen eyes. In fact, Danny’s emotions were broadcasted louder than he would have liked, easily picked up by the other half's sitting right beside him.

“Danny?” Bruce was so open, body turned towards Danny, reaching out to the other in hopes that everything was okay.

It was truly a testament to the trust the two had built over the past few months, that Bruce felt safe talking about his tumultuous past to Danny. That the younger man felt safe to tell his tale, one of heartbreak and betrayal. Danny couldn’t help the swell of love he felt, emanating out from him like a beacon, so strongly that Bruce had so quickly caught onto it. The raven haired man’s cheeks rosied, as he bit down on his bottom lip, guard completely down. It was adorable, Danny couldn’t help, but think.

He reached his hand out, letting it sit beside Bruce, offering his support in a way that the other man decided if he wanted to reciprocate it or not. He didn’t want overwhelm Bruce more than he already felt, with a storm of memories and emotions rampaging in his mind. Bruce’s gaze flickered down, taking notice of the hand atop the sheets. Gingerly, he placed his own hand atop Danny’s the sensation warm, that left a fluttering feeling in his stomach. He offered the older Halfa a tentative, small smile, one that expressed all the gratitude he felt from this.

Danny didn’t coddle him. Danny didn’t pity him. Bruce was simply seen and heard without judgement. He wasn’t called an idiot for falling for a man practically forty times his age. He wasn't mocked for being a fool, blinded by his feelings. Bruce simply existed, and that was somehow the best feeling in the world.

Chapter Text

They stayed together, in silence, for the rest of the evening, simply basking in each other’s presence. There wasn’t a particular need for words. Bruce had grabbed a book from his nightstand, a different one from the typical detective novels titled Jurassic Park. It had been odd to find out it was a book, before it was ever a movie.

Danny bit his lip, overthinking how to break the ice with Bruce. Despite everything they’d been through, how was he to explain ‘hey, so I sorta of saw how you died months ago. It’s totally a normal thing for ghosts to do with one another.’ He groaned, letting the blank notepad on his lap falling to the wayside as he collapsed onto his bed.

To his right, there was an aggrevied sigh, followed by the sound of a book closing shut. Danny craned his neck to the right, only to meet Bruce’s intense gaze staring him down. The intensity was like no other, as though the weight of a million stars was rested upon his shoulders. “Talk.” It was clipped, but the emotions Danny could feel filtering off from Bruce supplemented what the other didn’t say; There’s something bothering you. Spit it out.

It was Danny’s turn to sigh, pulling himself up into a seated position to better face Bruce. He ran a hand through his wild hair, soon to be in need of a trim, catching on stray knots. His other hand sunk into the mattress, supporting his weight. “I haven’t really—there’s something I didn’t tell you.” Danny winced internally, sparring a short glance at Bruce’s expression but the younger man’s expression didn’t change. It was quite stoic, not letting a single emotion be parsed from his face, but Danny could feel the faintest fluctuation of anxiety. He could sense the moment Bruce smashed it down like a cigarette bud on the ashphalft.

Well, Danny thought, here goes nothing.

“There’s something unique to ghosts—The night you showed up, I dreamed of a cave system, an old man, and a boy with black hair, maybe a few years younger than me.” Danny’s throat bobbed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts and let Bruce process the information. “When I was younger—when I first became a Halfa, all the ghosts knew I wasn’t like them. I thought there was just something about me that they could sense—something that just made me different. But it turned out I was broadcasting the memory of my death to them.”

“It’s called a Death Echo.”

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

A Death Echo. It was a troublesome and interesting phenomena that Danny had explained to him. In a twisted way, it made sense; who better to empathize with your death, than another ghost? Still, the thought of broadcasting it so clearly for any and all to see was just… troublesome.

These powers presented a loss of control Bruce had not felt in years. It was no wonder he had thrown himself so feverishly into mastering them. To have so much power… to be a sharpened blade without a refined hand… he would be a liability.

He had plans he needed to see through, a destination he was delaying by taking time on his journey. The Fentons… they were so kind. It was a kindness Bruce hadn’t felt from anyone, but Alfred.

Maddie Fenton was a smart woman, who truly knew her stuff, and Bruce would say he may not have ever found her had he stuck to his list from Ducard. There were masters everywhere around the world, some not even the great Ducard knew of. Still, the list had been helpful, and Bruce had met great people along his journey.

In his own right, Jack Fenton was an incredibly brilliant mind, though truly the definition of a teddy bear. He was a bit clumsy, and gunho, but despite his flaws, Bruce respected him. Bruce saw a sort of kindred spirit in himself. What Bruce himself could have been had his path not taken a crossroad over ten years ago now. It was both painful, and beautiful.

And Danny Fenton. Danny. Bruce found himself at a lack of words trying to describe the older man. He was earnestly kind, with his heart on his sleeve. Though there was a look in his eyes, something calloused and jaded. A look of a man that had seen things too young, too early. Bruce knew that look well. He saw it every day in the mirror.

There was just something about Danny that Bruce found himself drawn to. He couldn’t quite parse out why, or even really put his finger on it. Danny was patient, he was kind, he had a bright smile, just like…

Oh.

Oh.

Was he… did he…?

Bruce’s eyes lingered upon Danny’s sleeping form, collapsed haphazardly on the mattress. It was incredible how easily the older man could let his body relax. Bruce himself still felt a buzz crawling beneath his skin; anxiety. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. In fact, when he’d been younger a psychiatrist had given him a laundry list of diagnoses after one too many fights at school. General anxiety disorder. Massive depressive disorder. Childhood post traumatic stress disorder. It went on, and on, but not a single person ever really did anything. They tried to push some pills, and call it a day. Even threatened his place at Gotham Academy if he wasn’t medicated. Alfred had made swift work of it, and not another peep had been made. Bruce turned to underground fighting instead. That way, another student wouldn’t be pulled out from school, and Bruce could channel his anger from a shiv to a dagger.

He laid beside Danny, his eyes wide open as he stared at the star charts lovingly painted onto the ceiling. His mind was abuzz with thoughts and ideas bouncing inside his head, unable to quiet down to grant him a moment’s reprieve.

Still, there was one thought that was louder than the rest: he was in love with Danny Fenton.

And that terrified him.

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

When morning came, Bruce had formulated a plan of action. He needed to return to Gotham. He needed to contact Alfred. Gently, he phased out from Danny’s hold around him, surprised that the man had curled up so tightly to him in his sleep. It made his heart flutter in an unfamiliar manner, and he felt himself flushed. Extricated from the older man, Bruce took stock of the house. It was quiet still, though Danny’s alarm clock read 5:48pm. A bit later than Bruce was used to waking up at, but considering the day they had had yesterday, a bit of deviation in his sleep to recuperate wasn’t improbable. He’d certainly been emotionally vulnerable for a large part of the evening, only to calm down and find himself with a life changing revelation—right.

Bruce made his way down the stairs, noticing the quiet of the house. By now, Maddie would already be awake, doing a morning workout before going to the basement lab. The two hadn’t returned from their tipoff yet, and the timing was suspicious. Had Vlad orchestrated the incident to pull the Fenton parents out of town? Highly probable. Anything was possible, without the right clues to guide him.

Regardless, he made his way towards the kitchen where he knew the landline was. It was a fairly standard model, much like the one his father had installed in the kitchen for Alfred. He dialed the number, waiting for the line to connect, hearing a few dial tones before finally, finally, the phone was picked up.

“Wayne Residence, Mr. Pennyworth speaking.” Alfred’s voice was still the same posh British he remembered, steady and firm, much like the man himself.

“Alfred…” He wasn't quite sure what to say. Everything had been so clear in his head, but as soon as Alfred spoke, something snapped. His mind had gone completely blank, overwhelmed by the need to hold Alfred, to hug him.

“My word, Master Bruce! Where in the heavens have you been? You’re not hurt are you? Do you need me to collect you?” It was as though Alfred had not taken a single breath between his words, getting it all out at once.

Had he not left a message for Alfred? Though… Alfred did care for him when he didn’t have to. He’d been but a butler to the Wayne family for barely a decade, and yet had taken Bruce in like his own. In a way, Alfred was like a father to him, in the same way Leslie was a mother.

Leslie… she was going to absolutely reem him when he showed face again.

“I’m fine Alfred. I’m—Safe. I’ll be home soon. Just some loose ends to tie up.”

“I—of course, Master Bruce. I will freshen up your bedroom, awaiting your return. Ms. Thompkins will be glad to know your little journey did not get you killed.” Bruce winced on the other end of the line, his hand gently hovering over the faded scar of his stab wound. Alfred didn’t know, but he couldn’t have been more right.

Bruce hung up, not sure what else to say. He wasn’t an expert at communication. In fact, he’d always been terrible at it. His mother had made sure to teach him proper conversational etiquette, so that other socialites wouldn’t ostracize him, yet, the mask was draining. Not to mention, he was exhausted, emotionally. Opening up to Danny had reopened old wounds though, they felt less painful then they had ten years ago. Hmm. Maybe that therapist had been right.

Placing the phone back in its dock, Bruce looked around the kitchen, deciding it would be best to start breakfast. He wasn’t the best cook, but during his journey, he had learned to make do. Though, nothing could compare to Alfred’s home cooking.

He picked something easy, something he knew the Fentons had ingredients for. He could make eggs, and he could make toast, though he knew Danny wasn’t particularly fond of toast on its own. As an alternative, he chose to make French toast. He’d seen Alfred do it as a child, and he’d made it a few times himself for the sake of variety. With the right ingredients, it could be a very healthy meal, due to high fiber and high protein contents. The proper use of natural sugars was also important, but could be skipped. Bruce knew Danny had a bit of a sweet tooth, and kept natural maple syrup in stock.

He moved around the kitchen, quickly turning on the ectoplasm powered stove. It was impressive that they were able to fully power their house on ectoplasm, though, according to Danny, early prototypes due to sample contamination left food… reanimated, which was a horror of itself. The more he learned about Jack and Maddie of the past, the more he could empathize with the estranged Jazz Fenton, and the more he respected Danny for remaining with his parents through it all.

When the bread was properly soaked in egg and milk, he placed them in the pan, over the burner. He repeated the process a few more times until four pieces of French toast were stacked neatly on a serving plate. A plate, Bruce noted, that was decorated with tiny ghosts.

The sound of groaning stairs drew his attention, the familiar sound of Danny’s footsteps descending down the steps. He familiarized himself with each of the gaits, how heavy the steeps they took were, and how fast they walked. Maddie’s were swift and light, though much louder than Bruce’s own. Jack, by comparison, was loud, but longer, due to his height and size. You could hear the man, both from his booming voice and clattering footsteps often before you saw him. Danny’s steps were even, that of an untrained civilian, but for Danny, it made sense. In the even of anything, he simply had to use his powers, than rely upon training for stealth.

“Something smells good.” Danny’s head bobbed as he sniffed the air. He yawned, stretching out his arms in tandem. Danny rounded the table, reaching to grab some glasses, utensils and plates. From the corner of his eyes, Bruce could see the fridge door open and a cartoon of orange juice float towards the table. In the comfort of the Fenton household, Danny used his powers freely.

The older man took a seat at the table, setting out a glass of juice for himself, and one for Bruce. With the last of the French toast ready, Bruce moved towards the table, placing two slices on each plate. Without a moment hesitation, Danny dug into the food, letting out little groans of delight as he ate. Bruce, in contrast, ate at a slower pace, cutting the toast into smaller pieces and taking one bite at a time. It was good, so such a simple meal. A bit of cinnamon and vanilla extract can greatly improve taste. For a properly rounded meal, some yogurt and fruit would go nicely on the side.

The sound of cutlery clanking against a plate caught Bruce’s attention, his gaze landing on Danny, twidling his thumbs awkwardly as he’d already finished his meal.

“So… I don’t think I ever told you how I got my powers, did I?” Danny head leaned to the side, his gaze flickering between Bruce and his own thumbs skittishly. Bruce could see the subtle way the older man bit his lip, his anxiety plain as day to read.

Bruce put down his own cutlery, giving Danny his full attention. “No, I don’t think you have.” He crossed his arms, attentive, waiting patiently for Danny to begin his tale.

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

Gotham Heights: a relatively safe part of town, compared to Crime Alley, the once up and coming Park Row. Two decades certainly change the landscape of a city. Rich neighbourhoods became poor, and poor neighbourhoods were bought out by the rich. Reminiscing about the past was not why Alfred was here, however. No, he was here for a very specific reason. A location. Specifically, his wayward ward’s location. Five years. The boy had not contacted him in five years and left him with a measley note, as though that would aswage his worries and fears. By the heavens, it only made it worse. The poor Brit felt as though he’d failed his late employers, letting their son run around the world without any means of communication, staying up late at night wondering if the poor boy was dead or alive. Alfred could only imagine the worst, with the horrors he had once seen. Bruce could be buried beneath the sands, his carcass slowly decaying as it was scavenged by local wildlife. First the eyes and tongues, then, as the body decomposes, the limbs go next, before finally they attack the nutrient rich organs and bones for their marrow. He’d seen vultures carry the bones of the fallen, friend or foe, taking them to greater heights only to let gravity take the lead to reach the marrow within.

He couldn’t bare to imagine Bruce subcoming to such a fate.

The apartment complex looming tall above him wasn’t the most secure of location, except for apartment 606. As he walked into the reception area, the guard greeted him with a curt nod. Neither of them were unfamiliar with one another at this time. Alfred had made many a trips over the past few years, all for one man. One man whom he had stumbled upon by chance, or rather, who had stumbled upon him.

Edward Nygma was a bright young man with a knack for destroying cyber defences. It was all a game to him, and those who knew his pseudonym were all to familiar with the type of breadcrumbs he left.

Alfred made his way towards the elevator, entering in the floor number with practiced ease. Nygma had been his informant into the wrongdoings of Wayne Enterprises, once Lucius Fox had been ousted as CEO. He’d been replaced by a man named George Bedforth, and since then Wayne Enterprises had begun to tank. It had started small, with a drawback in quality of the products distributed, followed by cutting corners with the whispers of safety violations and health hazards on site or in manufacturing centers.

Even if Thomas had not wanted to take over the company, he would have never let it rot so profoundly. With Master Bruce gone, it was up to Alfred to snag upon the threads of what remained of Martha and Thomas Wayne. Their son, the manor, and the company.

As he exited the elevator, he walked a small distance before he arrived in front of door 606. Raising his hand, he gave a series of knocks, loud enough for the occupants on the other side to hear. Nygma did not live alone. He lived with another man named Tucker Fowley. A bright young man working at Wayne Enterprises, and well aware of the collusion and corruption behind closed doors.

Not a moment passed before the door opened, and Tucker opened the door, a pair of headphones around his neck, and his PDA fastened at his hip. “Mr. P! Weren’t expecting you around.” The young man moved aside, allowing Alfred to step into the humble apartment. It was a two bedroom with a reasonably sized living room, though it had been converted into a tech area with larges desks sprawled across each end of the room. Wires were neatly hidden against the wells, though some dragged across the floor, from one end of the room to the other. “Eddie’s out of town for a hackathon he’d been invited too. Just me manning down the fort here.” Tucker have a bit of an awkward laugh as he closed the door behind him, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Appologies for the intrusion at such an early hour, Mr. Foley. I required Mr. Nygma’s assistance with a sensitive matter, but if he’s not here, maybe you could be of assistance?” Alfred raised a brow, turning to face the man head on.

“Sure! Lay it on me.” Tucker moved towards his side of the living room, where his desk rested snuggly against the wall. The desk itself was modestly decorated, with multiple large computer screens that took up most of the space. There was a picture of a group of three people, an obviously much younger Tucker, a black haired, blue eyed man, with a snow white complexion, smiling brightly at the camera, and a black haired, purple eyed woman with a bit of a darker complex, though still pale, smiling just as brightly. All of them were wearing graduation robes with little tassels that indicated class of ‘96.

“I received a phone call from this number and need to track its origin.” Alfred pulled out a piece of paper from his breast pocket, where he had quickly scribbled down the number that Bruce had called him on. It wasn’t a local area code, in fact, if his knowledge were correct, it was the area code for Vermont. Unfortunately, he had no way to access any numbers from that specific state. As such, he needed to rely on outside help to gather the information he needed.

Tucker took the piece of paper and pulled it open, taking note of the number scribbled down.

“You sure this is the number, Mr. P?” Tucker seemed a bit dubious, if not outright perplexed by the number in front of his face. Was there something the matter with it?

“Positive.”