Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There is a boy at the Wayne Gala.

He had black hair with white streaks and blue eyes and was incredibly quiet, almost as quiet as Cass herself, not saying more than a couple of words as he stayed close to his father, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched, like he was trying to make himself smaller.

Or maybe he was trying to hide the longing in his eyes as he surveyed the ballroom and Gotham’s elite gathered in it, shining bright amid the dullness sheening them.

That’s another thing Cass had noticed about the boy. He was very sickly—skin pallid, eyes dim and shadows bruised underneath, a tremor he was trying to conceal with clenched hands, the way the suit sagged off his frame like it didn’t quite fit, the cough he smothered every time it clawed out of his throat.

It was one of the many things Cass had noticed about the boy, ever since she saw black hair and blue eyes and thought he was another brother. Then she looked closer when she saw white streaks in dark hair that reminded her of her second eldest brother, and hadn’t stopped looking since she noticed those signs of illness, at seeing the longing in his eyes.

Longing that tugged at Cass, that reminded her of the longing she felt before she had found freedom and a new family.

Now, Cass kept one eye on the boy as he remained close with his father, a man Cass knew well and never particularly liked, his grin oozing false charm and veiled threats, of something much sinister lurking beneath his curated mask, and yet she never got a good read on him, something about his body language evading even her.

Vlad Masters.

He was standing in the centre of the room, slick grin in place, laughter ringing out as he commanded the attention of some socialites like he was a king, holding a champagne glass in one hand and the other firmly clasping the boy’s shoulder. The tightly pressed lips on the boy’s face, the stiff way he was standing, was another thing Cass marked about the boy, that presented two options—he wasn’t happy about the attention…

Or he wasn’t comfortable being near his father.

A couple walked across Cass’ line of sight, blocking the boy and Vlad from her. She tried to peer around them until a voice loudly exclaimed, “Oh, Miss. Cain-Wayne! I am so glad to catch you, I’ve been dying to talk to you all night!”

A socialite bustled in front of Cass, taking up her fields of vision, champagne sloshing in her glass. She was grinning broadly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, which were bloodshot from drinking all night. She swayed slightly as a clammy, ring-adorned hand clamped itself onto Cass’ shoulder, squeezing tightly as she pushed her face close to Cass’ as she said, “I have this proposition, you see, that could be very beneficial for Wayne Enterprises, you see…”

Cass heard enough. Giving her a blank-faced look, she twisted out of the woman’s grip and left her gaping behind her, scanning the room for the boy, but he’d disappeared. And when she caught sight of Vlad, he too was searching for his son, a dark look on his face that had a warning tingle prickle at Cass’ senses.

She looked around the ballroom, finding Bruce and Tim, her brother valiantly keeping up with the person chattering in his ear even though Cass knew he’d only gotten three hours of sleep the night before while her dad was vapidly smiling as he engaged in conversation with another socialite, his own mask firmly in place. Cass kept a mark of where they had been as she kept looking for the boy, just in case she needed their help to hide him from Vlad Masters, fielding off people as politely as she could or just ignoring them.

Until—there.

A shock of white-streaked, messy black hair, slipping into the shadows of hanging curtains at the edge of the room, with only a ripple of movement showing he had been there.

Cass clocked it as she looked at Tim, still engaged in conversation. Her brother noticed she was looking at him, eyes snapping to her and instantly more alert as he saw the look on her face.

Raising her hands, Cass signed, Found someone. Potential new brother.

If Tim hadn’t been alert before, he was now as he excused himself from the socialite he was talking to and made his way to Cass, asking her in a quiet voice, “Where?”

Cass pointed to the curtains as she made her way to them, Tim beside her.

As they walked through the crowd, Tim questioned quietly, “The usual suspect?”

Cass nodded. “Black hair, blue eyes. Quiet. Seemed uncomfortable being near his father.”

Tim huffed. “Definitely adoption bait. Who’s his father?”

“Vlad Masters,” Cass answered.

Tim’s mouth twisted into a grimace, his displeasure easily read on his body even without her abilities. “I know him, and I’ve met him before. Really lives up to being a rich, sleazy asshole. He’s always trying to convince me or Bruce to let him buy out a share of WE, but he’s never succeeded and he’s not going to. We suspect he’s corrupt, but trying to hack into his files is a nightmare. He’s the kid’s dad?”

“Yes,” Cass murmured as they were almost at the curtains.

Tim’s expression twisted, sympathy glazing it. “Poor kid.”

“Something else,” Cass said, keeping her voice to a whisper. “The boy’s hair. It has white streaks.”

Tim nearly stumbled, whipping to face her, eyes rounded with shock. “White streaks? Are you sure?”

“Yes. Am sure,” Cass confirmed.

Tim was quiet, but he didn’t need to say anything. They both knew exactly what white-streaked hair meant, what it signified for the boy.

Especially when there was so much white in his hair.

Ducking behind the curtain, Cass looked around to find the boy, Tim doing the same beside her. Behind the curtains, the sound of the gala was muffled and the light shifted between dimness and darkness, shadows long and dark against the bare walls and moving across the floor in the golden spots of light peeking underneath the edges of the curtain.

It didn’t take long for them to find the boy.

The boy was standing in front of the curtain, pulling it back slightly as he watched the gala. Light sliced across his face, a look of longing and wonder across his expression. In the half-darkness, the boy seemed frailer, like he was about to break apart and disappear into the shadows at the slightest breath.

So engrossed was he in the people-watching that the boy didn’t notice Cass and Tim until he turned his head and saw them in the shadows, visibly jumping.

“Uh, hi there! I, uh, wasn’t expecting company,” the boy said, expression bashful. His eyes rounded and he asked, “Wait, are we allowed to be back here? Oh man, wish I knew that before I left…”

“Technically, you’re not supposed to be back here. Unofficially? It’s fine,” Tim answered, shrugging as he and Cass exchanged a glance—they and their siblings had spent many galas behind curtains and other places to hide out from the crowds.

“Oh. That’s good to hear,” the boy replied, sighing in relief. Cass frowned at hearing it rattle in his chest as the boy’s brows crept together as he questioned, “Who are you, anyway? And how did you find me?”

“My name’s Tim and this is my sister, Cass,” Tim introduced, Cass waving at the boy as she continued, “Saw you go behind the curtain.”

“Uh, okay,” the boy said. He gave them a quizzical look. “You guys are siblings?”

“Adopted,” Tim clarified.

“That makes more sense,” the boy muttered, before doubling over as loud coughs wracked through his body. Concern shot through Cass as she moved toward the boy but he straightened as he gave a weak smile. “I’m fine.”

He looked back through the gap between curtains, that longing look on his face. Cass tilted her head, studying the boy’s body language as she questioned, “Why back here?”

“It was getting kinda overwhelming and my dad… he wasn’t really helping,” the boy answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it. This is my first time at one of these things and I’ve been… pretty sick, and he’s worried about me. But I just wanted some time to breathe, y’know? Thought coming back here would be a good idea.”

Cass nodded. “Understand. First gala is hard.”

“Yeah. I actually prefer being back here than being out there. It’s… easier to watch, I guess,” the boy admitted, the longing open and raw across his face.

“Because you’re sick?” Tim asked. The boy tensed, but nodded as Tim said sympathetically, “Yeah, that would be rough. You told your dad?”

“No. I… I wanted to be here, though,” the boy murmured quietly, eyes straying to the gala beyond.

Cass and Tim exchanged a look before Tim offered, “Mind some company?”

The boy looked back at them, eyes wide with alarm. “Uh, sure. But you don’t have to—you probably want to be out there than stay with some sick kid. And your parents—”

“Between us, the sick kid sounds like better company than who’s out there,” Tim interrupted with a half-smile. “Besides, B is used to us disappearing at galas.”

If you have not fallen asleep into dinner first, Cass signed with a wicked smile. Tim glared at her.

“That was one time, Cass!” Tim defended.

Cass gave him a skeptical look before looking at the boy as she said, “Want to stay.”

The boy looked hesitant and nervous, like he didn’t want them to stay or hadn’t expected them to choose to stay with him, before his shoulders slumped and he scooted aside. Cass and Tim moved into the space provided for them, the boy lifting the curtain to widen the gap and allow them to see the gala. Cass spotted Bruce first, who’d noticed they disappeared but wasn’t surprised, and then Vlad, still looking for the boy.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Tim questioned.

“Oh,” the boy said, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry. I should have introduced myself earlier. My name is—“

“Daniel!”

The boy jolted as Vlad Masters stormed toward the curtain, a furious look on his face as he scolded, “What are you doing hiding back there? Do you have any idea how many business opportunities I lost searching for you, or how worried I was? You know you cannot be left alone, not when you’re u—“

Vlad cut himself off at noticing Tim and Cass, who were both giving Vlad suspicious glares as Daniel shrunk into himself.

“My apologies, Mr. Drake-Wayne, Miss. Cain-Wayne,” Vlad apologised, voice smooth and false as he took Daniel’s arm and dragged him from behind the curtain, pulling him to his side. “This is my son’s first gala and his health is quite fragile. I told him many times he has to stay by my side should it take a turn for the worse. You can understand I was quite concerned when I noticed he was gone, especially when he has such a terrible time judging the limits for his health and how to properly handle it.”

Cass’s frown deepened. Concern was not an emotion she’d read on his body when he’d been looking for Daniel. Worry, definitely, but also anger at losing Daniel.

Like he’d lost a pet or toy, rather than his son.

“Really? It looks to me like Daniel knows his limits and can handle it pretty well,” Tim remarked, voice carefully controlled, hiding the suspicion and that he didn’t buy what Vlad Masters was spinning.

“He has good and bad days. This is one of Daniel’s good days. I thought he could handle attending an event like this myself, but I can see this has been too taxing on him. We will be making our leave now. Give my apologies to Bruce,” Vlad explained.

“Dad, I feel fine, I—“ Daniel protested, until he hunched over and a series of coughs rattled through his body, loud and wet, hand over his mouth. When he pulled it away, Cass spotted blood on his hand along with something green and glowing that Vlad hurriedly wiped away with a handkerchief he then tucked away.

“As I said, this has taken a toll on my son’s health and we shall be leaving. Perhaps we might meet again soon to talk business, Timothy, but I’m afraid I must attend to my son first,” Vlad said. “Goodbye, Timothy. Cassandra.”

Then he was walking away, Daniel right by his side as they left the gala, Tim and Cass remaining by the curtain. After the father and son had left, they turned to each other as Tim asked her, “Was that weird to you, or was it just me?”

“No. Odd to me too,” Cass replied.

“Okay. Glad to hear I’m not being paranoid,” Tim muttered, and amended, “More than usual.”

Cass let out a giggle as Tim gave a self-deprecating smile before he frowned. “Something’s up between them.”

“Strange,” Cass agreed. “Could be hurting Daniel.”

“Maybe. Or worse,” Tim murmured, eyeing Cass as she thought the same thing, the white streaks playing in her mind again.

“Could be behind sickness too,” Cass theorised. “Saw something, too. Green among the blood. Looked like Lazarus Waters.”

Tim grew quiet, before he said, “We’re keeping an eye on Vlad and Daniel Masters.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Cass agreed as she and Tim rejoined the gala, the decision made without further debate, a case between the two of them that they would investigate further.

Something wasn’t right. The white streaks, Daniel’s sickness, the green in his blood, Vlad Masters’ demeanour towards his son… there was something more going on here. Something that required further looking into, to see what exactly was going on, if Daniel was being killed and resurrected continuously by Vlad, and that was another reason for investigation if Vlad Masters had access to a Lazarus Pit, that the rest of their family might be pulled into the case once they knew about it.

And that, depending on how bad it really was and what she and Tim might find, if Daniel Masters needed help to escape his father before it was too late for him.

***

“Daniel, I am disappointed in your behaviour tonight.”

Daniel didn’t say anything, wincing at the prick of the needle in his arm before the cold buzz of ectoplasm filled his bloodstream. Instantly, the pain eased and he felt like he could breathe again as his dad pulled the plunge needle out of his arm and disposed of it, giving him a disapproving look that conveyed all the disappointment he had in him.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I just wanted to get some space,” Daniel mumbled, casting his gaze down as he tugged his sleeve over his arm, rubbing the spot where the needle had been in, a bright pinprick of pain. A pain that Daniel didn’t mind. It was easier to deal with than the pain he dealt with everyday.

His dad pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “Daniel, this is why I considered you were not ready for events like this. I specifically told you to stay by my side at all times during the gala due to your low health. You know what would happen to you if you get too unstable, and with the time I spent looking for you, worried I would find nothing but ectoplasm and all the business opportunities I lost…”

“I know,” Daniel snapped. At the glare he got from his dad, Daniel hunched into himself and repeated in a quiet voice, “I know, Dad. I’m sorry.”

Silence stretched between them, tense and thick, before his dad said softly, “I’m looking out for you, Daniel. I do not want you to destabilise—not when I finally have you, my perfect son, at long last. It would break my heart and core to lose you.”

Daniel didn’t say anything, only kept his head ducked, strands of white and black hair covering his field of vision.

The seconds dragged by as his dad let out another sigh and announced, “I will up your ectoplasm injections twice a day for a full month and we will be commencing the tests again. And that you will not be accompanying me to more public events or leave the penthouse.”

Daniel’s head jerked up, eyes wide. “What? Dad, you promised if I didn’t melt I could leave home and you’d stop with the tests! I’m fine, I—“

Coughs interrupted Daniel, tearing through his body. He hunched over, the coughs phlegmy, a death rattle in his chest. His bones creaked with the force of the coughs, the ache he learned to cope with, that only ectoplasm injections relieved, rising up to the surface as the ectoplasm in his veins burned underneath his skin like fiery needles, warring with the perpetual chill that never left him, his core clenching. The coughing subsided, but the pain lingered, pain Daniel had known his whole life, shivering.

His dad gave him a pitying look. Daniel would never admit it, but he hated that look even though that meant his dad cared about him—he wanted him to be healthy, to be stable. That was what all the injections and even the tests were for.

Still, Daniel wished his father didn’t look at him like he was about to fade away or melt into ectoplasm like the others had sometimes.

“Daniel, your ghost half is clearly still unstable and affecting your human body. It pains me to punish you like this, but it is the only way that will keep you safe until you finally stabilise. That will keep you alive, my greatest creation,” his dad informed him, voice softening at the term of endearment. He paused, then added, “If you show signs of improvement by the end of the month, I may let you accompany me to another event again.”

Daniel’s head lifted, mood perking as he grinned. “Really? Thanks, Dad!”

“Of course. Anything for my son,” his dad said, smiling at him as he patted his head. Daniel’s core warmed at the affectionate gesture.

“Now,” his dad continued as he took his hand, leading Daniel to the open pod against the wall, the chamber dark and empty, “time to sleep, Daniel. You must rest to regain your strength.”

Daniel tensed, looking at the open pod, the hollow cavity and the lifted glass opening, the tubes attached to the pod that fed ectoplasm into the pod. The pod that Daniel had come from, that he slept in every night since his creation.

The pod he didn’t think he’d go back in after tonight.

“Do I really have to sleep in that again? I thought I would sleep in a real bed this time, like…” Daniel questioned, voice trailing off but the words still lingered in the air.

Like a real person.

“Of course, Daniel, but given the poor quality of your health, it is better for you if you remain in the pod and absorb the ectoplasm for the night,” his dad told him as he let Daniel go to adjust the dials and check the ectoplasm filters. He looked over to Daniel and assured, “Once you are stable, my son, I promise you will sleep in a real bed and never use the pod again.”

Daniel bit his lip, fangs tearing through the thin skin. He didn’t know if he could believe that, that he was still annoyed and disappointed he had to be in the pod again, but his dad was right—it would help him and make him feel better.

This was all to make him better.

“Okay,” Daniel muttered, reminding himself it was for another month, that at the end he would be stable and never go into the pod again, as he transformed into his ghost form—it was easier to absorb the ectoplasm when he was a ghost instead of a human.

Even though the pain was worse as a ghost.

Daniel resisted the urge to double over, his body a symphony of pain. His core was tight in his chest, a knotted, swollen ball. His limbs felt light and heavy and wobbly at once, like with one tug he would come apart. Using his powers just made it worse.

Green dripped into Daniel’s vision. He rubbed it away, and saw more green blooming against his white glove. He was coming apart, melting right in front of his eyes.

Another reason he didn’t transform—he almost always started melting.

“Daniel,” his dad said, a stern reminder, a quiver of fear in his voice.

Daniel clenched his hand and floated into the pod, grimacing as he clutched his chest, the mild use of his flight power having pain shudder through him. When he was inside, back meeting the cool metal, the lid started lowering down. Once it was down, ectoplasm would fill up the pod and Daniel would go into stasis and be unable to speak, unable to move or hear or do anything but rest and absorb. Normally, he accepted it with no complaint.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he said, “Dad?”

The lid paused. “Yes, Daniel?”

“What… what were they like? The ones before me?” Daniel questioned even as he internally cursed himself. He was always curious about the other clones, the brothers that had come before him, the ones who had melted, curious about the original they were cloned from, curious about…

About her.

He’d never asked, though, as it was a touchy subject and the times he hinted at it, his dad waved him off and he never tried again. But tonight…

Tonight, Daniel had gone outside. Tonight, he met so many people, including the nice, quiet girl and her brother who stayed with him behind the curtain—Cass and Tim. Tonight, Daniel had gotten a glimpse of what a proper life was like with no pain or fear of dissolving into ectoplasm at the slightest chance, of what an actual chance to be the son his dad wanted was like.

What it was like to be alive.

And that had Daniel wondering, even for a moment, if the others had gotten that before they had died, as fleeting as it might have been.

His dad was quiet and that gave Daniel courage as he continued, “The other clones… were they like me? Were… are we like him? The original Daniel? And what was she like? My sister? What… what was Danielle like?”

His dad was so quiet, Daniel feared he’d overstepped, before he answered, “The other clones were not like you, Daniel. They were obedient, but mindless, and too unstable, and were nothing like your original. You are like him, though, in some ways. Out of all of the clones, you look the most like him. And Danielle…”

He turned, letting Daniel see the glint of red in his eyes, the hint of fangs in his snarl as he continued, “She was wilful, disobedient and uncontrollable, nothing like you or even her original—the boy was always headstrong, but she was more so, a rebellious child that ran away from me when the first clones started melting. I tried to help her, but she refused, and that cost that girl her life. She… was a failure. But not you. You are the perfect version, the perfect son I’ve always wanted. And that is all that matters. No more questions about the others, about your original and Danielle. Understood?”

“Understood,” Daniel mumbled.

“Goodnight, Daniel,” his dad said after a moment, the lid closing with a quiet snick. Almost immediately, ectoplasm rushed in, the pod filling up in moments with the green, viscous liquid. Daniel let it cover him from head to toe, drowning him in green as it took away the pain and left nothing but calm and drowsiness in him as it froze him in place, his core now a gentle pulse in his chest.

As Daniel’s eyes slid close, he looked up at the ceiling, dark and featureless, thinking of the high, grand ceiling, the city he glimpsed as they drove to the gala.

He wished he could see the city one last time before he fell into green-hazed darkness.

Chapter Text

There is a girl in Crime Alley.

She has blue-streaked black hair, blue eyes and a penchant for vigilantism that could rival any of the Bats as she ran around Crime Alley, taking on muggers and rapists and leaving them bruised and bleeding and with broken bones, no one getting a clear look at her face, for a full week. Jason had heard of the kid, in both civvies and as Red Hood, from those she had saved during that week, but he had never met her though he’d been wanting to, curious about the kid vigilante running around in his turf beating the shit out of those who deserved it.

Until tonight.

Jason crouched in the shadows of the warehouse, eyes locked on the arms deal that was happening in front of him, voices shifting from quiet mutters to careless laughter as the arms dealers and the buyers drifted through the warehouse space, crates full of the weapons spread throughout the warehouse, ready to be shown to the clients.

Jason had spent a month chasing this down after hearing rumours of strange, new weapons being trafficked into Gotham and aiming to be sold to the highest bidder from his network of street kids who exchanged whispers for money and food, low-level goons he interrogated with a few threatens thrown in and eavesdropping on the associates of the arms dealers that were gathered in this warehouse. The latter was how Jason had learned the deal would be happening tonight, with nearly every single dealer and their most high-paying buyers gathered in one room.

One rumour he’d heard frequently was Black Mask was one of the buyers, aiming to see if these weapons could finally take down the Red Hood and muscle his way back into Crime Alley. Well, tough luck, Sionis. New weapons or not, the Alley was his, and Jason wasn’t letting that son of a bitch take any part of his territory, the Pit snarling in agreement.

One of the dealers—the seller—clapped his hands and announced, “Now that we’re all here, gentleman, shall we get to the auction?”

“Ya sure Red Hood hasn’t caught wind of this and is here?” one of the buyers questioned, Narrows accent thick, looking around cautiously. “This is his territory.”

Another buyer snorted. “Scared of that red-helmeted maniac, Phelps?”

“I’d rather keep my kneecaps, Tommy,” Phelps snapped back, giving another cautious look.

“Mr. Phelps, I can assure you that Red Hood doesn’t know of the deal happening,” the seller assured and Jason smiled under his helmet, hands sliding over his guns as he double-checked they were loaded and silencers were on, aware of his guns and the other weapons hidden inside his suit. “And if he were here, we have… precautions to deal with him.”

He smiled, and something about that had alarm prickle in Jason, senses on alert—or that could be the slight chill in the air, the barest hint of static charge. When had the warehouse gotten so cold?

The creak of crate lids opening drew Jason back to the arms deal as the seller announced, “Take a look at these beauties, gentlemen. Never have they been seen before in Gotham, and if you get your hands on these first, you’ll gain an upper hand on whoever you want to take down—your rivals, a rogue, the Red Hood… even Batman himself won’t have a way against them.”

“And are you certain these can take out the Red Hood? My client is… particularly keen on that aspect,” a buyer interrogated.

The seller’s smile widened. “I assure both you and your client, that these weapons will do the job on the Red Hood. Shall we begin?”

That was Jason’s cue as he slid his guns out of their holsters strapped to his thighs and stepped out of the shadows, the voice modulator filled with more static than usual as he announced, “Hate to interrupt the party, boys, but the deal’s off.”

The buyers and some arms dealers jolted, panic and fear crossing their faces, but the seller was unruffled, smile still fixed on his face. “Ah, Red Hood. I was wondering when you would show your face. Interested in buying?”

“Sorry, but hard pass there. Those aren’t my style,” Red Hood snarked. “Now, are we gonna do this the easy way, or the way where you’ll have a bullet in your knee before you even blink?”

The seller only grinned. “Oh, Red Hood, I think you’re underestimating who exactly is in control here.”

The click of guns rang in Jason’s ears as on the railings more goons appeared, toting both rifles and bulky silver gun-like weapons with green accents—the new weapon, Jason was guessing, and if he was wrong he’d take a swim in the Gotham harbour—all trained on him.

“You’re outnumbered, Red Hood. Not even you have enough luck to fight your way out of this,” the seller said, a smug look on his face like he already won.

“I’ve faced worse odds,” Jason returned, eyeing the guards. Twenty, maybe thirty. If he was smart, he could evade the bullet spray if he got behind one of those crates and hope that the weapons inside were more important than killing him, then make his way up the railing and start taking the gunmen down. He’d get shot, but he’d gotten shot before and as long as he evaded being hit in vital areas…

But something about those silver guns, the green accents that seemed to nearly glow in the semi-darkness, crawled across Jason’s skin, had something itch in his chest and the Pit stir uneasily in his veins. And he still had the arms dealers and buyers here on the floor to deal with—especially if someone decided to grab one of those guns and start shooting.

Jason could deal with bullets, but he had a feeling he did not want to be hit with one of those weapons.

“Are you so certain about that, Red Hood? You’re alone and without any Bats to help you,” the seller questioned, his smug self-assuredness oily and slick.

Jason gripped the guns tighter, recalculating the odds. Fuck, he may be outmatched here, and as much as it had him grind his teeth, he might need to call in backup to get out of this if he couldn’t handle it first.

And depending on who started shooting first.

Guns remained cocked, fingers hovering over triggers, Jason took in a breath and prepared to start firing and then run like hell to a crate and—

“Am I late to the party?”

All heads whipped up toward the ceiling—and the girl standing on one of the rafter beams.

The girl had black, messy bangs with blue streaks sticking out from under her hood, icy blue eyes the only feature to be discerned from her face as a blue mask covered the lower half. She was wearing a spiked leather jacket over a blue hoodie with a green logo that almost looked to be spray painted on, black fingerless gloves, grey jeans with ripped knees and more green spray paint splattered over them and combat boots. A baseball bat with nails studded in it was resting over her shoulder and her posture was casual and easy, like she walked into a party and not an arms deal about to turn into a shootout, eyes glinting with mischief, the irises seeming to almost glow.

Jason was certain the girl hadn’t been there before she’d spoken, and he could see that the seller, dealers, buyers and goons hadn’t noticed this kid had infiltrated the warehouse with Bat-level stealth.

And he was also certain this was the same kid he’d been hearing about for a week.

“Scram, kid, before you get hurt,” one of the arms dealers demanded.

The girl shifted her position, twirling her bat. “So rude. I just asked a question. Am I late or what?”

“If you’re hoping to buy, then—“ the seller cajoled, but the girl cut him off as she said, “Oh, I’m not here to buy, but glad to hear I’m not late after all!”

“Late to what? What the fuck you talkin’ about kid?” a buyer demanded.

While the mask hid her mouth, Jason got the feeling she was grinning, the mischief becoming something vicious, a glint of green burning in her eyes.

“To kicking your asses, of course.”

The moment she said that, any light that existed in the warehouse went dark.

Shouts rang out as Jason stepped slightly back, looking around for the kid, squinting his eyes as he pushed his night vision to the limit, but the kid had vanished again with no sign of where she was going to pop up next. It was like the kid had turned in—

“Boo.”

A pained yell rang out at the same time the lights switched back on. And Jason found the kid.

She had taken her nail-bat to the knees of an arms dealer, shattering his kneecaps as he howled before pivoting and throat-punching a buyer as she slammed the nail-bat into his stomach. Leaving him crumpled on the ground, the kid ducked to the ground to sweep the legs out of another arms dealer and slamming the butt of her bat on his head, knocking him out cold.

The click of a gun snapped Jason back into the fight and he lunged, firing his gun as the rubber bullet connected with the buyer’s knee, sending him to the ground, teeth gritted. He grabbed for the gun but Jason planted his foot on his hand, the heavy boot grinding the bones as he bent down and snarled, “Tell your client that Crime Alley is mine, and there’ll be hell to pay if he steps one foot in it, new weapons or not.”

He whipped the gun across the buyer’s face before he dodged a punch thrown at him, returning the gesture with a fist to the teeth and a rubber bullet to his stomach, twisting around to fire the gun out of a dealer’s hands before it could go off.

Gunfire roared overhead as the goons snapped out of their stupor and started firing on Jason and the kid. Curses caught between his teeth, Jason ducked behind a crate, taking cover as he reloaded his guns and peered around for the kid.

The kid who was still fighting, dodging out of the bullets’ way with almost inhuman speed as she kept punching, kicking and swinging her nail-bat, leaving behind bloody and broken men either unconscious or groaning in pain. At times, Jason could swear the bullets went through the kid as she finished off the dealer she was fighting, looking up at the goons.

“That all you got? You should go back to shooting school, your aim is shit!” the girl taunted, eyes glinting savagely as she twirled her bat.

And not noticing the gun aimed at her head, too close to dodge.

Jason was already firing as he ran out from behind the crate, green hazing his vision as rage snarled in the back of his head, the bullet striking the seller’s hand. He yelled as the girl turned, eyes wide as Jason kicked the gun away from the seller and shot his kneecap, like he promised. The seller didn’t get a chance to scream before the kid swung her nail bat into his other kneecap, shattering it.

“Thanks for the save, but I could have handled it,” the kid said.

“Sure you could’ve, kid,” Jason grunted as he and the kid stood back to back, guns raised and nail-bat aloft. “Now, who the hell are you?”

Around them, the remaining dealers and goons were lifting their guns as the seller yelled, “Shoot them! What are you idiots waiting for?! Shoot Red Hood and that fucking bitch!”

“You wanna ask questions?” the kid questioned, not taking her eyes off their enemies. “Or you wanna kick some ass?”

Jason grinned viciously as he squeezed the triggers and fired at two of the goons on the railing, aim landing true.

And all hell broke loose.

The kid dove into the fray, nail bat swinging, as Jason slammed his shoulder into an arms dealer, pinning him under his weight and the increased strength the Lazarus Pit had granted him, the Pit still burning through him. Jason shot two more down, the crack of gunfire echoing through the warehouse, the metal warming underneath his hands through his gloves. Holstering one of his guns, Jason swung out a fist, cracking the nose of a goon before he grabbed his arm and twisted it into a hold Bruce had taught him, forcing the goon to drop his gun as Jason pistol-whipped him across the back of the head.

“Look out!” the kid warned before Jason saw the glint of a knife. Jason dodged out of the way, ducking low to sweep the goon’s legs from under him as he collided with the ground. He planted his foot on the goon’s wrist, forcing him to drop the knife, raising his gun and shooting in the leg the other arms dealer charging in to save his comrade out of the corner of his eye.

Turning, Jason looked over to the kid who was fighting against a goon. “Thanks for the warning, kid!”

“I owed you one!” she shouted back as she kicked the goon in the groin, then slammed her bat against his knees, pivoting to the next one as he collapsed, screaming.

Jason grinned under his mask, turning to fight the next goon. The goon decided to tackle Jason instead of firing, but that was his mistake as Jason stepped out of the way and grabbed the goon by his arm, yanking him back as he drove his knee into the man’s jaw, knocking him out.

He’d just let the goon go when a sharp pain ricocheted across his shoulder, ripping through his jacket and suit.

Jason cursed heavily, twisting around as arms grabbed him, trapping him in a headlock. Jason gritted his teeth, struggling in the hold, as a buyer that Jason recognised as Tommy walked up to him, a manic grin on his face as he held up a gun to Jason’s face.

“I finally have ya, Hood. I can’t wait to drive this bullet into your skull,” Tommy jeered.

Jason grinned viciously under his helmet, teeth bared. “You can try. I don’t stay dead easily, and you wouldn’t want to miss.”

Tommy’s face reddened, lifting the gun higher. “Oh, it’s gonna be a fucking joy finally killing ya, you son of a bitch.”

He cocked the gun, but Jason was already moving.

He threw his head back against the goon holding him, helmet cracking against his nose. The man screamed as Jason whipped out his knife and stabbed the goon in the thigh, pulling it out and twisting out of the goon’s hold as he threw the knife at the buyer’s hand, knocking the gun out of it. Tommy didn’t get a moment to breathe before Jason was on top of him, knee slamming into his chest with enough force to bruise ribs in one moment and throwing an elbow into the buyer’s nose with the other with a satisfying crack.

He fell to the ground as Jason turned away, holstering his knife as he picked up his other gun, ducking behind another crate to reload. Taking the breather, Jason looked at his bullet wound, pain slicing through him from it. From what he could see, it looked like a graze, the accelerated healing factor the Lazarus Pits had given him already taking care of it.

Looking away, Jason scanned the warehouse, the scattered assortment of arms dealers still standing, the buyers having fled, the seller screaming his head off.

And the kid, who was eyeing the guards on top of the railing before she looked at him. An understanding passed between them, the sort of understanding Jason had with the Outlaws, that he sometimes had with his siblings, that he used to have with Bruce when he was still Robin.

The understanding only found when fighting together.

After it passed, neither Jason or the kid hesitated, Jason jumping out from behind the crates while the kid vaulted over the railing using the crates and a high amount of force to achieve some truly impressive jumps, tearing through the goons up top with glee while Jason took down the ones down below, using his guns and the fighting style that was a mixture of all the training he had from Bruce and the League of Assassins and the street brawling he never quite shook away, working in tandem and watching each other’s backs even though they were fighting in separately.

“Forget it! I ain’t stickin’ ‘round! Take the goods and go!” a dealer shouted near the end of the fight as the ones Jason still hadn’t dealt with grabbed the crates and hurried out of the warehouse. On top, the goons the kid hadn’t got to did the same.

“You fucking traitors! Get back here!” the seller screamed, but to no avail as his men abandoned him, leaving him alone with the crumpled, injured and unconscious forms of the goons Jason and the kid had dealt with.

Stalking towards the seller, Jason crouched down as he pressed the barrel of his gun under the man’s chin. “The weapons. Where did you get them? Who supplied them to you?”

“I’m not telling you anything, you bastard!” the seller yelled, defiance in his face.

Jason grinned cruelly under the helmet. “You know, a rubber bullet won’t kill someone, but from this distance, at your throat… maybe that might change.”

He cocked the gun. “Want to test that theory?”

The man gulped, whites of his eyes showing.

“Tell me who your supplier is. Now,” Jason demanded, voice low and growling, green creeping into his vision.

A moment of hesitation, then the seller broke.

“No one! We have no idea—crates arrived to us anonymously! Told us to sell to the highest bidder, claimed they were something none of you Bats knew how to deal with! Said they could hurt you specifically, if anyone with high enough of a grudge against you was interested!” the seller babbled, lips unsurprisingly loose at the threat of death.

Jason lowered the gun as he straightened, holstering it and the other gun. Grabbing a zip tie from his utility belt, he tied the seller’s hands together, ensuring he wouldn’t go anywhere before turning away.

At the same time, the kid dropped down onto the floor, landing as silently as Cass did. The nail bat was propped against her shoulder, and now that he had a better look at the kid, Jason could see the logo on her hoodie was a green, cartoonish ghost amid the mess of green spray paint, that on her bat underneath the nails was a matching logo.

“Well, that was fun!” the kid exclaimed with way too much cheer. “Would definitely kick these guys’ asses and fuck things up for them again. Ten out of ten ass-kicking experience.”

Though the mask hid the lower half of her face, Jason got the feeling she was grinning.

“You’re the new vigilante who’s been going around Crime Alley,” Jason said. It wasn’t a question.

The kid nodded. “Sure am. I was wondering if you knew about me.”

“Who are you? Why were you here, kid? How’d you even know about this?” Jason questioned.

Putting her bat head-down on the ground, the kid leaned against as she explained, “Name’s Poltergeist. I was in the area and felt like beating the shit out of these bastards. That, and I thought those weapons…”

She looked to where the crates had been before her eyes snapped to the bullet wound on his shoulder. “You’re hurt.”

“Just a graze, kid. It won’t kill me,” Jason assured, hiding the pain. Poltergeist. That fit the kid well, with her ghost logo and penchant for causing chaos.

Poltergeist frowned, but shrugged, like she was used to hearing that—or used to saying that for herself.

Something about the kid’s reaction had Jason’s instincts flaring, until he registered Poltergeist’s offhand comment about the weapons. “Those weapons. You know what they are, kid?”

Poltergeist tensed, hands gripping the nail-bat tighter, before she answered in a tight voice, “No. I thought they looked familiar, but I was wrong. It doesn’t matter anyway. Those assholes needed an ass-kicking and I was all too happy to give them one. That, and it looked like you needed backup.”

“I didn’t need backup, kid. I had it handled,” Jason denied.

“Sure you did,” Poltergeist snarked, rolling her eyes.

Behind the helmet, Jason was fighting a grin. “Alright, smartass. Maybe I did. But that stays between us, okay?”

“My lips are sealed,” Poltergeist promised, her ice-blue eyes flashing toxic green. A familiar shade of green.

Jason tensed, swallowing the knee-jerk reaction he had at seeing Poltergeist’s eyes glow that damning shade, the Pit stirring in his veins, green creeping into his own vision. The vigilante’s head tilted, giving him a quizzical look with eyes that were once more blue, an almost hopeful look on her face that disappeared as she kept staring at him, like she was looking right through him, into the depths of Jason’s soul.

Like she was sensing the Pit in him, too.

As quickly as it came, it cleared as she lifted her bat onto her shoulder and announced, “I better get going! Later, Hood!”

She pivoted but stumbled, hand reaching for her side.

“You okay, kid?” Jason asked, concern rising.

“I’m fine. Nothing I can’t handle,” Poltergeist assured, waving him off.

Jason frowned. “Kid, if you need help…”

“I’m fine,” Poltergeist insisted. “It’s just a flesh wound. It’ll heal.”

Jason’s frown deepened, but just like the kid did for him, he backed off.

Seeing that, Poltergeist continued walking away, climbing up the crates toward the rafters and the skylight she must have come through.

She was halfway up there when Jason offered, “Hey, kid, if you need help, any sort of help… you can come to me, okay?”

Poltergeist tensed, before she said, “Appreciate the offer, but I’m okay. I can handle myself just fine. Thanks, anyway. See you around, Hood!”

Then she was gone, slipping out of the skylight like she hadn’t been there.

Jason watched her go before he turned to the seller and the assortment of unconscious people that hadn’t made a run for it, getting to work dragging them toward the seller and tying them together, including the ones on the railing. Once that was taken care of, Jason left, climbing onto his motorcycle and roared away from the warehouse, toward his safe house, where the old man, one of his siblings or, shockingly, the cops would arrive and take the dealers in. Jason highly doubted the ones who got out would return, not when they were more concerned about saving their own skins.

And the weapons.

Jason frowned as he sped down Crime Alley’s streets, thinking over what was supposed to be the raid that had gone off the rails, of the weapons that had something underneath his skin crawl at being near them, what the seller had told Jason about them. Of the kid, Poltergeist, who showed up seemingly out of nowhere bringing chaos and a nail bat with her.

The way she lied about how the weapons were familiar to her, and her eyes had glowed Lazarus-green, how she had looked at him with something almost like hope in her eyes. The sense of likeness that he’d felt from her.

That, more than anything, stuck with Jason as he arrived at his safe house and entered it. Inside, he changed into comfortable clothes and sat down, thinking over what had happened with the failed arms deal raid, adding it to what he’d already known about the case beforehand, frowning at the picture it made.

There was something more going on here with this case, something deeper than a simple arms deal with new weapons that Gotham’s underworld was confident none of the Bats could deal with and have nothing to counter them—that they were confident Jason would have nothing to counter them, that they could take him down specifically—than he had first thought. That these weapons were connected to the new vigilante with eyes that flashed green.

Who Jason had felt a surge of protectiveness over, the same protectiveness he had over the scrappy street kids in the Alley, over his younger siblings, and yet it felt deeper than that. Who reminded Jason a little bit of himself, both before and after he’d died and come back.

Who might have already died and been resurrected herself, the blue in her hair hiding her own white streaks. That as much as Jason wanted to be wrong there, he knew that he wasn’t, especially given how the Pit had reacted, and he would make damn sure that Poltergeist wouldn’t die again, that she wouldn’t drown in the Pit Rage. Not like he had.

That while she said she didn’t need any help, as long as she was in Crime Alley, Jason would keep an eye out for the Poltergeist running around in his Alley, that his safe houses would always be open for the vigilante, if she was struggling to deal with the Pit Rage more than she had showed, that he would return the favour and step in if a fight was going badly for her, that his offer was always open.

Just in case she did need it.

***

Dani crouched on the windowsill, rapping on the window, ignoring the biting pain of the bullet wounds in her side.

A second later, the window opened and Jazz stared at her, eyes wide. “Dani?!”

Dani waved with her free hand, the other holding the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick she’d modified with her logo and the handful of nails she’d hammered into the end, mask lowered so her older sister could see her grin, slightly strained from pain. “Hey Jazz. Could you patch me up, please?”

Jazz gaped at her before she opened the window higher, hissing, “Hurry and get in. You’re lucky I don’t have a roommate.”

“Thanks, Jazz. You’re the best big sister ever,” Dani thanked, gratitude flowing off her as she climbed into Jazz’s dorm room.

Her sister rolled her eyes, but she made her way for the well-stocked med kit she had stashed away under her bed, which had seen its use in patching up Dani after her nights moonlighting as a vigilante in Gotham, mostly in Crime Alley after silently asking permission from the ghost who claimed it, the Narrows and where Gotham U was.

Neither of them mentioned why Jazz still had a med kit even after she moved out of Amity Park and thought her days of patching up her reckless crime-fighting and ghost-fighting younger siblings were over. The reason why Jazz didn’t have a roommate but still a second bed, or why she always answered her window even if it was a Poltergeist instead of a Phantom on the other side.

Instead, Dani moved to the second bed, taking off her jacket and hoodie as Jazz rummaged through it, asking, “What was it?”

“Bullets—some fucker managed to get me twice before I could go intangible,” Dani answered, hissing sharply as the hoodie fabric tugged on the bullet wounds, dark blood flecked with green blooming on the hoodie. She’d need to turn it intangible before most of the blood dried, then wash out what remained, and then patch up the holes left behind. At least the jacket hadn’t been damaged—it’d been a birthday gift from Sam.

Jazz gave her a reproaching look. “Dani.”

“What? I did try to go intangible. He just got me before I did,” Dani defended, shoving the hoodie and the leather jacket to the side. She thought over the bullets inside her body and added, “I don’t think the bullets hit any organs, though. That would be bad if they did, right?”

Her sister stared at her. “Yes, Dani, it would be bad if bullets hit your organs.”

“Oh, okay. Just checking,” Dani said. She sometimes forgot what injuries would actually be really bad for her since she was a halfa and most of the time fatal wounds weren’t very worrying.

Jazz let out an exasperated sigh as she crouched in front of Dani. Pressing her hand over Dani’s wounds, Jazz looked at the mess of blood that was Dani’s side while still maintaining pressure. Dani hissed in pain, but the pain had faded from a sharp sting to a dull throb, her healing factor taking over.

“It looks like the bullets are still in there,” Jazz observed as she continued pressing on the injury. “Keep applying pressure. I’m going to clean the wound and see if I need to pull the bullets out or not.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dani replied with a salute, hand clamping onto the bullet wounds when Jazz let go, biting back another hiss of pain as her sister went to grab some water and a towel, soaking the towel with the water as she cleaned the wounds.

Dani let Jazz do it, used to the routine by now as Jazz looked at the bullet holes without blood gushing out. “I can see the bullets—your healing factor is pushing them out, but I’ll take them out anyway, then disinfect and stitch you up. You’re really lucky these didn’t hit any of your organs, Ellie.”

“Well, I’m already half-dead. I feel like having a lot of luck makes up for it,” Dani joked. Jazz gave her a disapproving look as she took a pair of medical-grade tweezers out, raising them over the bullet wounds.

“This is going to hurt,” Jazz warned.

Dani nodded. “I know. But can’t be worse than melting, right?”

Jazz gave her another disappointed big sister look before she lowered the tweezers into the bullet wounds after Dani raised her hand, digging in a little before they clamped around the first bullet and pulled it out. Dani sucked in a sharp breath, stars pinwheeling in her vision. Jazz gave her a worried look, but at Dani’s jerky nod to go ahead, she went back in and took the second bullet out.

“Fuck, I never want to be shot again,” Dani muttered, hand once more pressed tight to her side as blood gushed out, though not as much as before—without the bullets in her body, nothing was obstructing her healing from knitting together her muscles and flesh together. Still, Dani knew this would need stitches.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t go crime-fighting,” Jazz said pointedly, arching an eyebrow as she grabbed the rubbing alcohol and another towel.

“You know I can’t, Jazz. It’s part of my Obsession. Besides, it’s so good when I get the chance to crack a bastard’s skull before they can hurt some—fuck,” Dani argued, the curse biting out of her at the press of the alcohol-soaked fabric on her skin.

“I know. I just don’t like seeing you or Danny getting hurt,” Jazz said as she cleaned the bullet holes, the alcohol stinging but Dani beared through it—she had a good pain tolerance, after all.

Constantly being on the edge of destabilisation for months and being experimented on before that would do wonders for your pain tolerance.

When Jazz deemed the wounds clean, she got a needle and a reel of the ecto-fishing line used for both Dani and Danny when injuries were so bad they needed stitches but regular thread would dissolve from their ectoplasm-infused blood. She threaded the needle after sterilising it in a heated ball of ecto-energy Dani summoned before the needle met Dani’s skin, threading her back together bit by bit with well-practiced hands.

“How did you even get shot?” Jazz asked, the question as much for her own curiosity as it was to have Dani’s mind off the bite of the needle slipping through her skin.

“I heard on the streets that there were some new weapons being dealt in Crime Alley. Weapons that apparently no one, not even Batman himself, could have a counter plan against,” Dani explained.

“You were in Crime Alley? I thought that was a Haunt with a really violent ghost,” Jazz questioned, looking at her in shock that also had that big sister flair of exasperation at the younger sibling doing something stupid.

“It is, but as long as I keep asking permission before I enter, I’m fine,” Dani answered, shrugging. “Anyways, a ghost told me some big arms deal was happening tonight. I connected the dots and followed them to some cliche warehouse and got in with some handy invisibility. I was just expecting to look and see what the weapons were, honest. But things got… complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“Red Hood was there.”

Jazz froze. “Red Hood?”

“Yeah,” Dani affirmed. “He looked pretty outnumbered—I don’t think he had anyone else to back him up. I decided to make my grand entrance and give him some. We joined forces and kicked ass. It was awesome.”

Jazz sighed. “My little sister got into a fight with the Red Hood. Great. That’s totally fine. And at some point you got shot?”

“It was near the end—most of the dealers were handled, but there were some goons on the railings. I decided to go after them while Hood dealt with the ones on the ground,” Dani explained. “One of them got me before I went intangible, like I said. Then the ones still standing all ran with the weapons and Hood and I parted ways. And we’re now here.”

Jazz was quiet as she finished the last of the stitches, knotting and cutting the thread. She handed Dani a vial full of glowing green, viscous liquid. “Here you go, Ellie. That should give you a boost.”

“Thanks, Jazz. You’re the best,” Dani replied, taking the ecto-shot as she jabbed it into her thigh, sighing as the healing ectoplasm coursed through her veins, rejuvenating her own and speeding up her healing factor. With her quick healing and the ecto-shot, the bullet holes should be fully healed in a couple of weeks.

Jazz was still frowning as she packed up the med kit. “You’re hiding something.”

Dani tensed, ready to lie, but this was Jazz. She’d read through her bullshit in a second, and that would be breaking the promise they’d made to each other when Dani started going out on the streets as a vigilante: They wouldn’t lie to each other, whether it was Jazz’s studies, Dani’s vigilantism, or ghost stuff. Especially ghost stuff.

“I am,” Dani admitted as she slumped against the wall. Looking around the room, scanning for any sign of bugs, she lowered her voice as she revealed, “Those weapons… they looked a lot like anti-ghost tech. Like… like Fenton tech.”

Jazz stiffened. “Are you sure?”

“I didn’t get a good look, but they were silver and green, and I could feel the ectoplasm powering them, like my skin was on fire. I’d bet all my non-existent money those were ghost weapons,” Dani answered.

Jazz’s knuckles had turned white from where she was gripping the med kit. “Fuck. No wonder they sound confident Batman or the others wouldn’t know how to handle that. I don’t think they even know ghosts exist. But it must be someone else, or stolen—my parents don’t sell their tech outside of Amity Park.”

“I thought the same. But that’s not all. A big selling point was that the weapons could hurt Red Hood specifically,” Dani revealed. Looking around again, she dropped her voice lower, almost edging onto Ghost Speak as she whispered, “And I think they could. Jazz, I… I’m pretty sure I sensed a core in him.”

Jazz froze again. “A core? Is he…?”

“I don’t know. Between the fight and the tainted ecto and how weak and bad it felt, I couldn’t exactly tell,” Dani admitted. “But it’s a maybe.”

Silence filled the dorm, as Jazz looked at her.

“I’m assuming this means you’re staying longer in Gotham?” she asked.

“Trust me, I’d love to go and travel to some new city, but I can’t. Not right now. Those weapons… the seller had no idea who supplied them, and if they go out on the streets, it’s not just Red Hood who could get hurt. And I just have a bad feeling about these weapons being here,” Dani said, looking out the window, her Obsession beating in her like a second heartbeat, whispering about finding more about those weapons to ensure the ghosts in Gotham could be safe, could still remain free. That the vigilante she fought alongside, who had a core, weak and damaged as it was, who might be another like her and Danny, could be safe from those weapons.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I kept that second bed,” Jazz said, smiling at her.

Dani whipped around to face her sister, eyes wide. “Jazz, no. I’ll find somewhere else to stay. This bed’s for—“

“This bed’s for both you and Danny, if one of you ever needed it,” Jazz cut in, voice determined but soft and full of love. “I’ll always let you and Danny stay with me if you needed that safe place. You’re my little siblings, and I’d do anything for you both.”

Dani’s heart and core swelled and she flew off the bed to hug Jazz tightly. “Thanks, Jazz. You really are the best.”

Jazz hugged her back, just as tightly. “Of course, Ellie. But you should be more careful. I don’t want you tearing those stitches.”

“Yes, Mom,” Dani teased with mock annoyance as she pulled back and floated down on the bed, saluting Jazz.

She rolled her eyes but was smiling as she walked over to her drawers, digging through them before she came back with a pair of folded clothes she handed to Dani. The halfa immediately took them, momentarily surprised before remembering this was Jazz. Of course she prepared some pyjamas for Dani, just in case.

As Dani went into the bathroom with another warning to to not tear her stitches, she phased most of the blood from her hoodie and wiped it up with wipes Jazz lent her before incinerating them with her ecto-energy and shimmied out of her bloody shirt, jeans and boots and into the comfy pyjamas. Waking back out, Dani tossed her hoodie and shirt into the laundry hamper and joining the towels resting in there as Jazz tucked the med kit back under her bed, and noticed the used needle and bullets were on the desk, sealed in a plastic bag, ready to be disposed of discretely and thoroughly.

Jazz knew as much as Dani did the consequences of someone getting their hands on her DNA. What it would mean for Danny if they did.

Speaking of her brother…

“How’s Danny?” Dani asked as she took the bullets and needle out, bubbling ectoplasm brimming up and onto the metal in her grip, remembering Jazz had given him a call while she was out.

“Stressed,” Jazz answered, brows furrowed. “He tried to hide it when we talked, but I could tell. The ghosts, our parents, the GIW… it’s putting a lot of pressure on his shoulders.”

Concern built in Dani as the ectoplasm now heated up into supercharged energy, disintegrating the melted remains. “Do we need to plan for the worst case scenario with Tucker and Sam?”

“I don’t know. Danny said he was fine and handling it, but we both know how stubborn he can be, especially about help. And with his Obsession and Amity being his Haunt… I’m really worried for him. And I’m planning anyway if we have to and I get the call from him or Tucker and Sam,” Jazz admitted, a steely glint in her eyes, the protectiveness she felt over Danny and Dani rising to the surface. It warmed Dani even as the talk about Danny’s situation worried her.

“Well, if he’s still stressed, I might make a quick flight to Amity Park to make him relax and practice self-care,” Dani commented as she brushed her hands free of the disintegrated remnants of the bullets and needle, wilfully ignoring that she could be almost as bad as Danny sometimes. Which was completely Danny‘s fault—it was a result of the cloning process.

Jazz laughed as she got into her bed, Dani deciding to follow her lead as she got into her own. As she climbed in, careful of her stitches, her sister looked at her and said, “If anyone comes in—“

“I’ll pull my disappearing act and vacate the premises,” Dani finished, knowing what Jazz would ask almost before she asked it. “I know. I’ll probably head out early anyway to talk to some of the ghosts about the weapons.”

Quiet lingered before Dani realised something and she grinned. “But now that I’m sticking around for the foreseeable future… any chance you could introduce me to your oh-so-mysterious literature buddy?”

“I never agreed to that,” Jazz muttered from her side of the room.

“Come on, Jazz! You keep mentioning him so many times this past week! It’s been literally killing me again!” Dani needled, amping up the dramatics.

Jazz let out a long, heavy sigh. “Okay. If there’s a chance, I’ll introduce you guys.”

“Yes!” Dani cheered, fist pumping the air. “I get to meet your literature buddy before Danny and pull the annoying younger sibling card first!”

Jazz let out a long-suffering sigh, but Dani could feel the amusement and faint excitement from her big sister as she turned over. “Night, Dani.”

“Night, Jazz,” Dani replied, closing her eyes as her mind raced over everything.

The weapons that looked like they were anti-ghost tech, like Fenton tech, but Dani wanted to investigate further to be positive. Weapons that, if they got loose, would tear Gotham apart as the numerous ghosts of the city, from apparitions to maybe even Lady Gotham herself, would be affected by them and they would instantly retaliate. What Jazz had said about Danny, how much he was dealing with, that things sounded like they were getting bad in Amity. Red Hood, and the weak, damaged core she’d felt between the chaos of fighting and the gross vibes of the ambient ectoplasm in Crime Alley, the brief spark of hope Dani had felt that he could be like her, like Danny, that she had sensed some likeness between them she only felt around Danny and Vlad, before the damage in his core had killed it. That even if he may not be a halfa, he was still someone who would be hurt by those weapons.

Who had given her an offer of help.

Which Dani didn’t need. She could handle herself quite fine with her powers and nail bat, and she had Jazz. She didn’t need any help.

And yet, Dani didn’t completely mentally reject it, either.

Chapter Text

There is a boy in Amity Park.

He has black hair and blue eyes and the weight of two worlds hanging heavy on his shoulders, emphasised in the dark circles under his eyes and the look on his face that he tried to hide from everyone, hoping no one would notice except for his undyingly loyal and fiercely protective best friends and his sister who had graduated and soon left for college and his twin that he never expected but loved anyway despite her origins who was currently travelling the world but was always a call away if he needed her.

But Valerie noticed. She always did.

She looked over at Danny, picking out his shaggy mess of dark hair and the baggy hoodie he wore easily amid the crowd of her fellow classmates as he remained near his locker, icy blue eyes that Valerie had once gotten herself lost in lowered as he sipped from a coffee cup. Sam and Tucker were at his side, heads bent together and sharing conversation before class.

Valerie turned away from the trio, from the boy she loved and had broken the heart of, grabbing her textbook out of her locker she needed for her next class, shoving aside an emergency ecto-gun she had stashed away in her locker to grab for it.

“Hey, Val,” a familiar voice greeted and Valerie turned to her best friend.

“Hey, Star,” she greeted back as she got the textbook out. She winced as the movement tugged on the still-healing burn that skimmed across her ribs she’d gotten from a fight two days ago.

Star immediately noticed, eyes filling with concern. “Are you okay, Val?”

“I’m fine. Just a graze from a ghost fight,” Valerie muttered, not bothering to lie to her best friend about her ghost fighting. She had, in the beginning, but she’d been unable to after Amity Park had been pulled into the Ghost Zone and then pulled out of it, that she couldn’t keep lying to Star anymore and had told her the truth. Star had been shocked, but accepted it and tried to look out for and cover Valerie when she needed to summon her suit and fight ghosts; Valerie was also certain Star had been researching first aid so she could better help her with her injuries when Valerie needed someone to patch her up that wasn’t herself or her dad.

That had Valerie not regret telling Star her identity, that she had the two of the most important people in her life knowing the truth despite the fear she held of them getting hurt because of her ghost hunting, even though she still hated Phantom for how her dad found out.

Well, except for one.

But that had been Valerie’s choice. While she didn’t want Star or her dad to get hurt, she knew she couldn’t get Danny involved in her ghost fighting, that she couldn’t see him get hurt. That she’d rather die than let him be caught in the crossfire or used against her.

Even if it meant breaking his heart and her own and regretting what could have been while knowing she had made the right choice.

Clearing her head, Valerie refocused on Star, who was frowning and visibly concerned, as she assured, “I’m okay, Star. It’s just a graze. I’ve got a lot worse injuries than this before.”

“That’s not nearly as comforting as you think it is, Val,” Star commented as she leaned against the locker, still frowning.

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m gonna be fine. And it’ll probably heal over by lunch anyway,” Valerie assured as she slammed her locker shut, all that she needed now in her bag.

It wasn’t a lie—given the suit that was literally underneath her skin, she healed a lot faster than before. Not as quick as she’d seen ghosts like Phantom heal, but a hell of a lost faster than the average human.

It sometimes had Valerie wonder if that meant she was still human along with… other things, but she was still alive. She still had a heartbeat. She wasn’t a ghost. Besides, there were plenty of people in the world who had weird abilities and tech like her. She was just like them, just like the metas. She was still human.

Wasn’t she?

The crackle of the speakers spooked Valerie out of her thoughts as the staticky voice of Principal Ishiyama announced, “Attention students! Another ghost safety PSA lead by the GIW will be happening at the end of third period! Attendance is mandatory! Thank you and have a good day!”

The speakers switched off as Star rolled her eyes.

“What are the odds it’s gonna be another announcement on the evils of ghosts and that we should always remain vigilant and that Phantom is the worst of them all?” the blonde predicted as they headed to their classes.

“Probably,” Valerie agreed, a scowl on her face at the mention of Phantom.

“I mean, it’s not like the GIW or even the Fentons are good. You’re the best ghost hunter out of them and so is Phantom, and he’s a ghost,” Star went on, the same thing she always said about the Fentons’ and the GIW’s competence in hunting the ghosts—which was, safe to say, bad. It was something Valerie agreed with.

What she would never agree with was Star’s view on Phantom.

“He’s still a ghost, Star,” Valerie countered. “Doesn’t matter how many times he fights the other ghosts, he has another motive. They all do.”

“And yet you have a truce with him,” Star pointed out.

“For now,” Valerie muttered, a glare still on her face. Hers and Phantom’s truces never lasted long, but this was the one that had lasted the longest, going over the course of nearly three months with them reluctantly working together despite neither of them trusting each other—at least, Valerie still didn’t—and focusing on the ghosts and evading the other ghost hunters instead of fighting each other, including the GIW.

Especially the GIW.

Over the past few months, the GIW were becoming more noticeable, their presence known among Amity Park. They would do announcements like this at the school, reinforce the Anti-Ecto Acts, restrict anyone going in or out of Amity Park to prevent any ecto-contamination or from spreading to anywhere else, especially to cities with prominent hero presences like Gotham or Metropolis or had high meta populations like Central City, and keep ghosts overshadowing humans from escaping and freeing humans from the ghosts controlling them, make constant press conferences about the dangers of ghosts and Phantom, that they were on the side of Amity Park and humanity in general, that ghosts or anyone connected to ghosts wasn’t to be trusted, that they all had to be stopped.

No matter what.

That was why Valerie still kept the truce, that neither she or Phantom could get distracted in fighting each other, not with the GIW sinking their claws deeper into Amity Park, not when Valerie got the creeping feeling that they would turn their guns against her, that her enemy and sometimes-ally looked more stressed than usual whenever she saw him, that there was glints of fear creeping into his face whenever she looked at him. That the truce was a case of them working together against bigger threats.

But this truce wouldn’t last for the long term. None of their truces ever did.

The warning bell blared through Valerie’s thoughts as she and Star shifted from ghosts to talking about colleges, Star excitedly sharing her top law schools to go to after college as Valerie listened and chimed in. As she did, the graze on her side sparked to life, twinging with new pain as Valerie let out a reluctant hiss of pain, holding her side.

Star immediately noticed, concern flooding her face. “Valerie, you’re clearly hurt. Do you want me to take you to the nurse’s office, or—“

“No. The nurse will ask questions. I’ll be fine. The suit will fix me up in a minute. It just hurts right now,” Valerie interrupted, pushing back the pain with clenched teeth and spite.

Star still looked concerned. “Are you sure? I know you have your suit and everything, but you’re not invincible, Val. And don’t think I can’t see those dark circles under your eyes—when was the last time you slept for more than a couple of hours? I know I said you’re the best ghost hunter, but you can’t protect Amity Park if you burn yourself out. You need to take a break and let Phantom handle the ghosts or maybe just give it up.”

“You know I can’t, Star. I’d love to give it up, but as long as ghosts keep attacking, I can’t,” Valerie interrupted, giving her best friend a steely look.

It was true—Valerie was the only one who could keep Amity Park safe from the ghosts constantly threatening it, that her new suit helped her better protect it than her old one had. That she was the only thing between Amity Park’s destruction and everyone she loved and cared about dying and the ghosts who wanted to tear it all down. That she was the only one who could stop Phantom if he turned against them all. It didn’t matter how tired she got, how many injuries she endured, how much it felt like her suit was changing her, altering her body at the cellular level the longer it remained under her skin and the more she used it, not when it would keep her town and everyone in it safe, keep her dad and Star and Danny safe.

She would love to stop ghost fighting, to be a normal kid, but if Valerie stopped fighting, if she gave up the suit and put away her guns… then who else could keep Amity Park safe? How would she forgive herself if someone she could have protected ended up being hurt or killed in a ghost attack because she wasn’t there, or accidentally harmed by one of the Fentons’ or GIW’s weapons? If her dad or Star or anyone else she cared about got killed and she hadn’t been there to fight off the ghost, to save them? If Danny got killed?

The short answer was that she never would. Not for as long as she lived. She couldn’t lose another person, not after her mom. Not when she had the ability and drive to protect those she cared about and her town, that what started as a grudge had shifted into something more noble, a determination to keep innocent people safe from the supernatural dangers threatening them, from even the hunters promising their protection. From even the ghost who claimed to be ok their side, who Valerie still maintained a shaky truce with.

She had to be the protector Amity Park needed, no matter what.

And no matter the cost to her body.

“I know,” Star murmured, looking at Valerie with pain in her eyes and yet understanding at once. “I just don’t want to see you kill yourself in the process.”

Valerie’s heart twisted and she sighed. “I promise I’ll end patrol early and take it easy tonight. I swear sometimes you’re worse than my dad about this.”

“I’m just being your best friend and make sure you take care of yourself,” Star said, smiling. Both of them ignored the strain around the corners, the concern still shadowing her eyes.

Still, Valerie returned it as they kept up their conversation and resumed their walk to their class, passing by the trio at their lockers.

Passing Danny.

Once again, Valerie’s gaze turned to him, locking on the dark-haired boy. His head was downcast and he was laughing at something Foley had said, but there was a strain to it, a tell as much as the heavy shadows under his eyes, his slouched-form despite how he had apparently gotten a growth spurt last summer and was now much taller than he had been in freshman year, the way his icy eyes roved around the school, a look in them that was almost familiar, buried under the stress and exhaustion.

Still looking at Danny, Valerie murmured, “Hey, have you noticed Danny’s been more exhausted lately?”

“In what world would I notice that from Fenton?” Star asked haughtily before she sighed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I know you and Fenton dated and you really liked him.”

“It’s fine,” Valerie mumbled as she looked at Danny, like she could see the invisible weight crushing down on him. “He’s always looked tired, but he just looks really exhausted now, and he’s always been uncomfortable around ghosts and ghost hunting. I just hope he’s doing okay with what’s going on with the GIW.”

“Well, he has his loser friends and his family. I’m sure they’re helping him,” Star pointed out. Looking at her, she murmured, “I know you broke up with him because you didn’t want to get him hurt with ghost fighting, but… you can still help him as a friend, if you’re really that worried. But I’m sure he’s fine. It’s not like he needs to be worried about all the shit that’s going on with the assholes in white and his parents right now.”

“Maybe,” Valerie muttered as she looked at Danny, who was now looking at her. Ice-blue eyes locked with forest green as they stared at each other across the hall, as Valerie saw the invisible struggle on his face, the weight bearing down on him so hard it was close to crushing him, that while she didn’t know what it was she wanted to help him bear it, to help him in any way that she could. That she still cared about him and wanted to help him, even though she didn’t know if they could ever be like what they had almost been.

But Valerie didn’t know how she could, not when she didn’t want Danny to get hurt, to hurt him more than she already had. That she didn’t want him to be a target of the ghosts or even the GIW, despite that he was the son of ghost hunters himself. That almost still lying between them.

That as much as she was worried about Danny, that she wanted to help him… she just didn’t know how to extend that hand. Not when it could inevitably lead into him being tangled with her ghost hunting, or another person she cared about being involved. Something that she could not, would not, risk.

No matter how much it hurt.

So Valerie did what she always did after they dated and then broke up, what she always did over the last two years every time they caught each other’s eye and the weight of everything laid between them, as she made her way to her classroom with Star and Danny did the same with his friends.

She looked away.

***

Danny Fenton was exhausted.

That felt like an understatement, but he really, truly was fucking exhausted. He didn’t think he’d been this exhausted since Pariah Dark was released and pretty much every single ghost had fled to Amity Park, and for a good reason. Actually, several reasons. The ghosts, for one, who while he was on good terms with most would still come for a friendly brawl with him, cause chaos and fulfil their Obsessions or wanted to genuinely attack Amity Park and hurt people and he had to stop them.

The other reasons were in white suits or brightly-coloured jumpsuits, both toting guns and bringing a fear and worry that made sleep impossible for Danny as he tried to keep the ghosts safe from them along with himself, that he couldn’t relax at his own house with how tense things had gotten. That as the months crawled on, it was all he could do to keep his secret identity a secret, let alone feel like he could take a second to just breathe.

So yeah, Danny was exhausted. And with all the stress in his half-life, it was an Ancients-damned miracle that Danny got more than a couple of hours of sleep. At least he had coffee, or he would be more dead to the world than he already was.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to keep himself awake as he shambled out of his class, making for the auditorium for the mandatory announcement. Sam and Tucker, noticing immediately, gave him concerned looks as Tucker asked, “You okay, man?”

Danny groaned. “Not really. Just… everything that’s been going on.”

His friends didn’t say anything, immediately understanding what Danny meant. Looking at him, Sam asked, “Do you want us to cover for you so you can get some sleep in study hall?”

“No. Thank you, but considering what this announcement is about, I don’t want them to get suspicious of me,” Danny declined, grimacing.

Tucker and Sam looked at each other, knowing what Danny meant by that, before Tucker looked back to him and offered, “Well, if you need us to do anything or at least handle the ghosts, we’re up for it.”

Danny smiled. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it.”

His friends returned the smile, Tucker bumping Danny’s shoulder as Sam gave his hand a squeeze. Danny returned the gestures, appreciating the support in them, as the bell rang and the speaker crackled, “Attention, the ghost safety PSA is starting now! All students come to the auditorium right now! This is a mandatory assembly! All students come to the auditorium right now!”

Danny let out a heavy sigh, gripping the strap of his backpack tighter, knuckles whitening. “Let’s get this over with.”

Tucker and Sam seemed to be thinking the same as the trio joined everyone heading to the auditorium, blending into the crowd. Entering the auditorium, the trio made a beeline to the back row, where nobody would notice them—or Danny, if he needed to slip out and deal with a ghost—and sat down. Out of habit, Danny slouched in his seat, despite his much-taller height now after finally hitting his growth spurt last summer, crossing his arms as he stared at the stage.

At the GIW standing on it, getting ready for their “ghost safety” PSA.

Which was a load of bullshit. Originally, it had been about safety during a ghost attack, headed by Principal Ishiyama and, occasionally, his parents, and especially before Danny and the ghosts had come to an understanding about the humans he protected in Amity Park. It had been all about drills, evacuation plans, what to do if you got injured in a ghost attack or got an open wound exposed to ectoplasm, that you should never get near a ghost fight, stuff like that for nearly three years.

And then the GIW got involved, nearly three months ago.

Danny hunched further into his seat as Principal Ishiyama walked forward to the podium. She tapped the mic as everyone went quiet, sending a look at the GIW agents standing with her as she spoke, “Good morning, students. Today, we have yet another impromptu PSA about ghost safety lead by Ghost Investigation Ward agent, Agent O. Would you please remain silent and attentive as he speaks. Thank you.”

No one spoke as Principal Ishiyama walked away, casting another look at Agent O as he stepped toward the podium, full of wariness, shoulders taut with the same tension strung throughout the hall.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Agent O said. Clearing his throat, he looked out at them, dark tinted sunglasses covering his eyes as he adjusted his tie and began, “Students of Casper High, it is imperative that you know ghosts are, inherently, dangerous.”

“Yeah, no shit. Not like you and the other white-suited assholes say that a hundred times already,” someone muttered under their breath a few rows away from the back. In the silence of the auditorium, Danny’s enhanced hearing picked it up and he looked down to hide his eye-roll of agreement, bangs shielding his eyes and the faint glow they gave off in the dark of the auditorium.

“They are beings of ectoplasm and imprints of post-human consciousness after death, and some have never been human, never been alive,” Agent O continued, thinly veiled hatred and disgust coating his voice, a fervor underlying it. “Whatever emotions or humanity they may show, it is all a trick to lower your guard and get yourself or your friends overshadowed or killed. A ghost will do anything to trick you, to make you believe you are its friend before it backstabs you. It will lie and maim and overshadow to get what it and all its kind wants—the destruction of our world. It is only because of the Ghost Investigation Ward and the Anti-Ecto Control Acts that ghosts and the ecto-contamination they bring hasn’t spread out of Amity Park, that they haven’t taken control of heroes like Superman to bring the world to ruin.”

Danny gripped his arms, fingernails digging in, so tight he knew bruises would form underneath the baggy sleeves of his hoodie before they would fade away, tension so thick in the air he could almost taste it. Bracing himself for what would come next as Agent O sucked in a breath, gripping the podium tightly, before he continued his spiel with the words Danny had expected, that he had long grown used to hearing by now.

“The worst of them all is Phantom. Yes, it may look human, but it is just like all the other ghosts, pretending at heroism to get the destruction it so craves. It is the reason why Amity Park gets so many ghosts, why ecto-contamination is rampant, why we are needed. That the ghosts are only here so they and Phantom can keep picking fights with each other.”

Danny’s core twisted at the accusation, stabbing into the self-blame he harboured for exactly what the GIW were saying. That while it was exactly like he had been expecting to hear, it didn’t hurt any less, didn’t make the anger, frustration and his own guilt churn inside him, make the barely-hidden anger he could feel from Sam and Tucker any less intense.

That he heard this kind of thing from both the GIW and his own parents, especially over the past three years. And that he had long learned to keep his mouth shut and take it. Not when it could risk his secret if he spoke in defence of Phantom and ghosts in general.

It didn’t sting any less, though.

He got himself ready to hear more vitriol when one of his classmates shot to his feet and yelled, “That isn’t true! Phantom is a hero! If he really does want to destroy us all, then why aren’t we all freaking dead yet? Why is Amity Park even standing at all?”

“Yeah! He saved us during that huge ghost attack with all the skeletons and when Amity Park was in the ghost realm! He protects us constantly! Most of us have been saved by him personally!” another shouted as a chorus of agreement rang up.

In the back, Danny listened with a stunned expression, the defensive support from his classmates for his alter ego making his core thrum.

To his shock, Wes Weston stood up and shouted, “I’m not a big fan of Phantom myself, but he’s the reason we’re all still here! If it weren’t for him, we’d all be dead a hundred times over. And if you were so needed, then why are you so bad at catching ghosts?”

This time, everyone agreed with Wes as Danny took it all in, the thrumming in his core spiking. On the stage, Agent O’s face twisted before he regained his composure as Principal Ishiyama walked back to the podium and spoke, “Students, silence, please.”

Reluctantly, the noise died down as Agent O spoke again.

“That is the reason why we continue these PSAs. The ghost has fooled you all into believing its act, that it is the hero it pretends to be. But you have to remember that’s all it is—an act. It may be… different from other ghosts, but it is still a ghost. All it does is lie and manipulate for its own gain, whatever that may be. You cannot trust it or what it does, cannot trust what any ghost does. No matter how it acts, how human it may look… it’s still a ghost. It’s still an emotionless, evil, mindless being who only remains to cause destruction and trick humans instead of passing on peacefully like it should have after death. Underneath it’s human facade, it’s still a monster, and it will always be a monster.”

Fury sparked in Sam’s eyes and Tucker’s jaw clenched as they started to rise from their seats, but a look from Danny had his best friends stay in their seats instead of attacking Agent O as he continued speaking, “That is why you must always be vigilant, why you must always be cautious, even of those around you, and report suspicious or paranormal activity to the proper authorities, to follow and obey the Anti-Ecto Control Acts. Phantom and ghosts like it want to end humanity and will do anything to achieve it, that you can never trust a ghost. If you believe someone is acting suspicious, that they may be overshadowed or a disguised ghost pretending to be human or you see someone with a severe case of ecto-contamination, contact the Ghost Investigation Ward and follow proper procedure dealing with ghosts and overshadowed humans and ecto-contamination as per the Anti-Ecto Control Acts, and we will handle it. Your vigilance helps us protect humanity from the ghosts and ectoplasm.”

Agent O had been looking over the crowd, but it felt like he was looking right at Danny, eyes boring into him past the dark shades, like he could see the ectoplasm in his bloodstream, see the core pulsing alongside his heartbeat, as he went on, “And while we have’s caught Phantom yet, it is only a matter of time before we do. That no matter how elusive it is, how well it hides its ecto-signature, it can’t evade us forever. That we will find it, wherever it is hiding, and capture it and stop its threat for good and make Amity Park safe from ghosts once more. Even if it is hiding among us humans, its disguise won’t last forever. A ghost will always reveal its true monstrosity, no matter how hard it pretends to be human. It’s only a matter of time.”

Danny gripped the seat arms so hard they began to crumple under his grip. He loosened them, but he still had his fists clenched tight, the words from the GIW agent ringing in his head, cutting right to his core.

Cutting right to all the fears and insecurities he had.

The air was heavy and thick with tension and unease as Agent O had a small smirk before it disappeared as he said, “Now, when a ghost attack happens, you must follow evacuation procedure as per the Anti-Ecto Control Acts and let the Ghost Investigation Ward handle the ghosts. Listen to your teachers or available authorities and ensure that no one is left behind—a ghost will go as far to take hostages of a human, if it doesn’t decide to overshadow them instead. If you are alone, self-defence weapons provided by the Ghost Investigation Ward and FentonWorks are allowed to hold off the ghost until you get to a safe place and contact us. If you or someone you know is injured from a ghost fight or ecto-contaminated, contact us and we will handle it. Remember, your vigilance and caution is how you keep yourselves, your peers, your family, your town and humanity itself safe. Are there any questions?”

Silence was Agent O’s response.

“No questions? Then this PSA is over. Principal Ishiyama, Casper High, thank you.”

Agent O walked away as Principale Ishiyama stood at the podium, a strained smile on her face.

“Well, thank you, Agent O, for that… informative announcement,” she said, voice as strained as her smile. “Students, this assembly is adjourned. You may all attend fourth period now. Thank you, and stay safe.”

At that, a mass exodus occurred of students getting up and leaving out of the auditorium, that while fourth period wasn’t exactly great, it was better than remaining a moment longer in a room with the GIW.

Danny certainly felt that way as he got up, his friends sending him concerned looks.

“Danny, are you okay?” Sam asked, lavender eyes soft with her concern.

“I’m fine. I just need some air,” he muttered, turning to the doors.

“You sure? That was way more brutal than usual,” Tucker pressed, reaching for Danny.

“I’m fine, okay? It’s the same shit they’ve always said. I’m used to it,” Danny insisted, bitterness coating his words.

“You shouldn’t be. It’s all a load of bullshit, and we just… we’re your friends, Danny. We just want to make sure you are okay,” Sam replied, voice quiet.

“We always have your back, Danny. Especially when the assholes in white are saying shit like that about you and the other ghosts,” Tucker said, voice also quiet, the concern and care from his friends radiating off of them.

Some of the frustration eased from Danny as his shoulders loosened slightly. “I know. But I… I think I just need some air and some time alone, okay?”

His friends looked at each other before Tucker said, “Okay. I think fourth period is study hall anyway, but we’ll cover for you just in case.”

Danny gave them a half-smile. “Thanks, guys.”

Then he was walking out of the doors, trying to not look suspicious as he made his way to the nearest janitor’s closet. Slipping in, Danny locked the door and leaned against it, the smell of chemicals and cleaning products assaulting his senses and grounding him in reality at once.

In the privacy of the janitor’s closet, Danny leaned against the door, hands behind his neck as he breathed in and out, trying to calm himself down and not go into a panic attack in the process.

“Pull yourself together, Fenton,” he muttered. “It’s not true, it’s all lies. You know it isn’t true. It’s all the same bullshit the assholes in white have always said. You know it’s all just lies. It’s not true.”

Danny let his hands drop away as he pressed himself further into the door, head leaning back against it. He ran a hand through his hair, making it more messy as he closed his eyes. He just needed a minute, like he told Tucker and Sam, after hearing what the GIW had said about ghosts and his alter ego, then he would be fine. Which felt stupid. Danny had heard worse before, both as Fenton and Phantom. It shouldn’t be hitting him this hard.

Except it was.

Because Tucker was right, that it had been more brutal than their usual spiel, even with all his classmates, including Wes, defending Phantom.

That it was the same thing Danny heard constantly from his parents, among their usual discussions of how they would dissect his ghost form once they caught him.

All of it, compounded into what the GIW said, hit right at his core, at where Danny’s own self-blame lived, whispering about how it was his fault the ghosts had easy access to attack Amity Park, that if he never turned on the portal Amity Park wouldn’t be so mercilessly attacked, people wouldn’t live in constant fear of a ghost attack, the GIW wouldn’t have infiltrated his town and leaving the ghosts in danger of being captured, tortured and experimented on, that it was his fault.

At his own thoughts and fears of becoming exactly the monster his parents and the GIW claimed he was, that he feared he would inevitably become, that in his nightmares and in the mirror he saw a glimpse of blue skin, white flames of hair, red eyes and a sadistic smile, the words taunting in his head. That he would become something much worse no matter how hard he tried to stay a hero.

Danny knew that was ridiculous—even if he hadn’t turned on the portal, his parents would have found a way and ghosts would still come into Amity Park, the GIW would have dug their heels into Amity Park sooner or later. Sam, Tucker and Jazz had told him that multiple times it wasn’t his fault. But it was his responsibility and his Obsession to protect his town, his Haunt, to keep his fraid and his people safe from any and all threats that came for what was his, no matter if they were among the living, the dead, or somewhere in-between like himself. He would do anything to make sure everyone was safe, that he would give everything to protect Amity Park and everyone who lived in it. That he wasn’t a monster just like the ghosts weren’t, that he was nothing like what his parents or the GIW said, that he wasn’t like him and never would be.

But sometimes that was hard to believe. That sometimes it was hard to keep fighting, that it was a struggle to do so with his parents and the GIW breathing down his neck along with the ghosts and still commit to school, that Danny was incredibly glad he and Valerie still had their truce—their longest one, that Danny hoped this truce would be the one that would last for the long-term—and he didn’t need to worry about her turning her guns onto him as well. That he was just trying his best to keep humans safe from the ghosts and the ghosts safe from the hunters, to maintain the delicate balance he managed to work out with the ghosts, especially after their understanding, and keep it from collapsing, straining himself to almost breaking point to accomplish it. That Danny knew Sam, Tucker, Dani and Jazz and his parents were worried, but Danny couldn’t stop, and it was not just because of his Obsession whispering protect protect, but that it was his responsibility, that he was the best chance of defending Amity Park from whatever the Ghost Zone threw at it and keep it still standing in the aftermath, that he couldn’t even rely on the JLA to help now and he doubted they could help anyway against ghosts, no matter what vitriol he suffered under as Phantom, no matter the lost sleep and missed meals and fights with parents and tanking grades and disappointed faces of his teachers.

That he was just tired. Tired of exhaustion, tired of keeping this secret, tired of holding the weight of two worlds on his shoulders when he should be doing things like video games and hanging out with his friends and going to high school parties and doing stupid teenage things and just be a normal kid, that he never got after that portal turned on.

That he was just tired of it all.

Danny blew out a sigh, opening his eyes. He turned back to the janitor’s closet and unlocked it just as a shiver racked his spine and blue mist slithered out of his mouth. He held back a groan as he let go of the door handle and stepped back as the rings burst to life—he was in here, might as well transform—and went ghost as he phased through the roof, going toward the ghost he sensed, hoping it would be a quick fight and he could still make his fourth period.

He might be tired, but Danny would still keep going. He would still keep fighting, still keep ghosts and humans safe from each other, still defend his Haunt and his fraid and his people, still protect two worlds and carry them upon his shoulders, no matter how exhausted he got, no matter what happened with the GIW and his parents, no matter what dangers or threats he faced, Danny would still keep up the fight, would still protect, that he had his friends, sisters and ghostly allies on his side—even his rogues were on friendlier terms with him now.

He didn’t know what else he could do other than keep holding onto those weights and have them on his shoulders.

Danny just hoped it wouldn’t crush him.