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Chapter Text

It isn't until well into their acquaintanceship that Jason notices something odd about Phantom.

That's not exactly true—Jason noticed it on their third mission together in a passing thought, but decided to not care about it on account of all the bullets and daggers being thrown at him and his team at the time.

Phantom is an ally, of sorts. A consult, perhaps, Jason doesn't really know.

It's hard to really say when they still don't really know what he does.

Though, again, that's not exactly true—Jason supposes it's more accurate to say they still don't really know what he can't do.

They go to him when the supernatural is involved, introduced to them via Zatanna when Jason expressed an adamant dislike of needing to ask JL Dark for anything (needing to ask Bruce for anything).

The ghost, a big name in the so called Realms world, is friendly and happy to help most of the time. He's a delight to work with in Jason's book, seeming to use his so-called ghost sense to read the room empathically—filling in the spaces when the quiet is too dark for the team, trailing behind silent as a shadow when even breathing is too loud, staying mostly out of the way and chiming in when necessary.

It helps that if shit hits the fan, Phantom can do something about it—it helps that that's the only time Phantom will ever butt in.

The Outlaws, Jason, is still to raw to handle playing nice, but Phantom makes it easy.

Phantom makes it effortless.

It makes Jason's gut roil in ways he's not sure how to deal with, beyond shooting it.

Either way, Jason, Red Hood, isn't supposed to be here in the Realms.

It's not that he's not allowed, per say, it's just that he wasn't exactly invited to this particular corner and Jason's a Bat, sure, but even he knows the supernatural have rules.

Jason was trying to summon Phantom for a quick mission, an in and out kind of deal that may or may not have had a cult involved in it that made Jason a little leery.

Except the summons was denied, which can happen sometimes when Phantom is busy.

Only instead of the circle simply going dark, like usual, Jason got pulled in instead.

So now he's here, in what he assumes to be Phantom's lair.

It's nice, the lair, if a little dark and mood-lighted. It has a dome-like structure, with stars and constellations all over like a planetarium. There's even one of those big ass telescopes peeking out the roof like one, though it seems to only point outwards towards the green of the Realms. Symbolic, or decorative in nature.

There's bookshelves of astrology and astronomy and all sorts of science and space related things littered throughout the shelves. Every now and then the stacks of books are interrupted with some kind of LEGO space creation, or a miniature of a rocket, or some of those weird weapons Phantom sometimes pulls out.

There's a work area, neat and messy at the same time, with a work table and a large toolbox drawer set. Metal detritus is piled neatly next to it, a project or two laid out under a heavy dark blue cloth on the table to keep it from getting dusty or be moved around if Jason has to guess.

In another area, there's living room-like space with a big monitor and beanbags and soft chairs surrounding it, typical of a college dorm room-esque gaming set up. Just beside it there's a large computer that hums softly, a picture of a female werewolf acting as a screensaver.

In yet another, there's a gathering of plants of many varieties growing this way and that. Jason spots a couple he recognizes from his run-ins with Pamela, and spots a copious amount of plants he doesn't recognize of this Earth. Ghost plants, he's assuming, from the glow of them.

There is even, curiously, one of those "at-home" basketball games that can fold away reminiscent of the ones you can see at the arcade with a couple miniature basketballs. Beside it, some kind of sleek mechanical looking surfboard rests against the wall in metallic reds and black with another toolbox set hidden just behind where it leans.

The kitchen area has a fridge that's absolutely covered in magnets from all over the world, a picture in crayon that is disconcertingly good pinned up here or there signed by someone named Ellie.

And then, of course, the main draw at the center of the room: a bed of sorts, stacked with pillows and blankets and assorted plushies of varying sizes.

Buried within is Phantom himself, huddled up in a nest of pillows and breathing heavy, angelic face flushed green the way a human would in fever. Jason, for the first time since meeting the halfa, truly wonders extensively how much the he isn't telling them.

Which brings Jason back to the odd thing.

Well, the odd thing that Jason is focusing on right now:

Phantom, contrary to his self-proclaimed ghostly nature, is very solid.

More than that, he's very, utterly, alive.

It's all the more apparent when Jason takes off one of his gloves to feel Phantom's forehead, the way Bruce would when Jason was Robin.

The way Jason wishes he could with his family.

Jason realizes, with the kind of starkness that comes from a photo flipbook of memories cascading through him, that he's never touched Phantom before. Not skin to skin or outside of a spar, and never like this.

He realizes, as the pocket book extends to not just him but his teammates as well, that Phantom's never touched anyone before.

Always hovering just 6 feet away, like quarantine.

Like the depth of a grave.

Phantom is not quite hot to the touch, as Jason expects he would be. He had suspected a fever, of a sort. But he supposes it makes sense that a ghost would run cold, considering.

In the first place, Jason's not sure what possessed him to touch the ghost—he doesn't even have a baseline temperature to compare to so there's no real point.

He's not sure what possessed him to think this was okay, touching an ally like this without consent.

Not when his touch has never been welcomed, especially not when he's Red Hood.

He's just about to pull his hand away, careful not to wake the ghost, when Phantom starts to purr.

It rattles through him, like it's not used to being let out, as Phantom nuzzles at the tips of Jason's fingers.

As if Jason's touch was wanted, as if it comforts the ghost, as if Phantom wants nothing more.

As if this very hand didn't burn buildings to the ground, didn't shoot men into the fathoms, didn't carry bloody duffle bags, didn't fucking hurt hurt hurt .

Jason withdraws his hand carefully, gliding as gently as he can manage, breathing slow and deep.

He's been trained bloody enough to know pulling back in knee-jerk reaction can give things away.

He does not want Phantom to know he touched him.

Jason puts his glove back on, tight and unforgiving, and steps back.

He flexes his hand once, twice. Shakes it, before forcefully relaxing every muscle, trying to melt away the cold traces of Phantom's skin on his.

He clears his throat once, twice a little harsher, until Phantom mewls and blinks glowing green eyes up at him. His gaze is hazy with fever, soft like feathers, child-like in confusion.

And here, another odd thing Jason has not noticed until now:

When did Phantom's Lazarus green eyes become comforting?

When did Phantom's watery green eyes become forgiving?

Chapter Text

The thing about Danny—no, the thing about Phantom is that he's cold all the time.

Not that, as Elsa would say, the cold ever really bothered him.

Cold, as a concept, doesn't register to Phantom—his base temperature is like ice, and he's been pseudo adopted by the Yetis of the Far Frozen, it'd be difficult for him if Phantom couldn't withstand the cold.

The problem about the cold, Phantom thinks bitterly, is that it makes warmth all the more stark.

It makes Phantom needy.

And Danny hates being needy.

It doesn't help that, medically speaking, Danny is required to be Phantom for his health—something about balancing both sides, making sure his human side can survive, making sure his ghost side can emote, Danny didn't pay attention.

That's not true, Danny did pay attention, it's just that Danny doesn't want to think about his stupid condition.

Because that's what it's become now: a condition.

It wasn't enough that his human side had heart problems and a tremor in his left side, nooo.

His ghost side had to be cold all the damn time—had to be drawn to warmth and touch like a cat to a sun spot.

Like a moth to a flame.

Don't get Danny wrong, it's not like he's touch starved.

His friends and family are all very accommodating, very touchy feely, very loving.

They dole out cuddles and touches like there's no tomorrow.

But then, again, the problem is this: Phantom is cold, all the damn time.

And it's not very comfortable to cuddle someone who runs almost ice cold.

Not that his friends and family won't try—Danny just won't risk it.

So he limits himself—knows, intimately, when his touch has run too long and tracks how cold he actually is because it fluctuates. Besides, it's not like he needs it 24/7.

It's just nice, is all.

Like when you're alone and you're okay, but you see best friends or couples or kids out in the world and you want.

And ghosts are very bad at not wanting.

So he makes sure not to touch anybody who isn't part of his circle, makes sure to think warm thoughts, even if that just makes him crave it—even if it backfires, just a little.

It's better than the alternative.

It doesn't help to turn back human—when he's human he doesn't have these problems. His skin is different when he's Phantom—it tingles and crackles and itches sometimes.

And sometimes when he's Phantom and someone alive, someone warm touches him suddenly and roughly it's like a sudden burst of inferno—like a shock to his system, like a raking of coals.

So he has to be careful with his touches, he has to be gentle and have them be gentle back, and in the long run who wants to go through all that trouble just to cozy up to an icycle?

Danny isn't touch starved.

But maybe, just maybe, Phantom might be.

Chapter Text

"…Hood?" Phantom rasps out, groggily. "What—"

"I tried to summon you," Jason explains, keeping tight control over every inch of his body to make sure he doesn't reach out or give anything away. "It didn't work."

Phantom huffs, a crackle of a laugh that reminds Jason of wind chimes in winter. "I can see that."

"I'm guessing you're feeling…" Jason tilts his head a bit, thinking. "Under the weather? I didn't know ghosts could get sick."

"Yeah well," Phantom grumbles as he tries to tangle himself out of his little bed nest, "I'm a special little snowflake aren't I?" He blows out an exasperated air, a singular sardonic little snowflake tipping out in a lonely flurry.

Jason can't help the laugh he makes at that. The noise makes Phantom smirk like he's won something, which really shouldn't be the case.

Especially when the ghost is still battling with his sheets when he could just, you know, go intangible.

But Jason's not going to tell him, so he just watches on with bemusement. "That didn't answer my question."

"It kind of did," Phantom shrugs, forming his legs into a tail so that the blankets finally slip off. "But yes, I've got a sort of…" Phantom makes a face. "thing."

"Thing." Jason repeats, unamused now as he crosses his arms.

"Don't worry about it, it'll pass." Phantom flaps a hand as if to swat away Jason's concerns.

Because Jason is concerned—as far as he knew, Phantom was a powerhouse like one of the Supes. It took a lot to get those fuckers down, so he finds it a little hard to believe that Phantom is okay.

"Don't tell me what to do." Jason gruffs out, petulantly.

"Aww does that mean you care?" Phantom grins with all his shiny pointy teeth. "Did I finally break you down?"

"Something's gonna break," Jason threatens jokingly, putting a hand on his hip so the tips of his fingers brush against the holster of his gun.

"We've done this dance before." Phantom hums, smile going a little more smug. "I don't need to remind you how that ended up, do I?"

"Last time I didn't have ecto-bullets." Jason grins, and despite the fact that the ghost doesn't have x-ray vision, he knows Phantom can feel it. "Try me."

"Maybe next time." Phantom's laughs, eyes flashing as he comes to a float just shy of 6 feet away from Jason.

Again, with the distance.

But it's close enough for Jason to be reminded that Phantom isn't feeling well, is sweating a little, even.

"Seriously though, what's going on?" Jason puts a hand up to stop Phantom's words for a moment, "And don't say it's nothing. I can see it's not nothing."

Phantom hums for a bit, hugging himself for a moment before sighing. "I exerted myself a bit—I have…a condition that I have to maintain a balance for, medically speaking. I went a little too long without my metaphorical PT."

Phantom circles around him, like Jason has a stupid barrier or something, to a little area where a summoning circle is chalked in. It's unnecessary, if Jason recalls Phantom can make portals just about anywhere as long as it's a place he's been to or someone he's familiar enough with.

It tells Jason a lot about how much, exactly, this thing is affecting Phantom.

So much for don't worry about it.

"My body is trying to find…equilibrium, so-to-speak." Phantom's voice breaks him out of his discoveries, "To make up for it. I'll be right as rain in a day or two."

Jason reluctantly walks over to the circle, stands at the edge of it as it starts to glow.

"Summon me after three days, just in case." Phantom smiles, eyes half-lidded and blurry. "Consider it PTO."

The ghost gestures for Jason to step into the circle, but he hesitates.

He's not sure why he does.

He's not sure why his hand itches inside his glove, not sure why he wants to touch Phantom again, why the cold touch of him soothed something in him.

Jason, fool that he is, belatedly realizes he's never really liked 6 foot distances.

For obvious reasons.

For not so obvious reasons too.

He steps closer towards Phantom instead, skirting the border of the circle.

Phantom tilts his head like a dog, face scrunching up in confusion as Jason carefully steps into the 6 foot bubble.

Nothing happens, so Jason does it again.

This time, Phantom freezes, unsure. He floats just a tad bit higher.

Jason does it again, 3 feet now.

Phantom, for all that he's a ghost, is built like a human. Jason can see the exact muscles flexing and bracing to move back, can see it happening soon.

It is here, on the precipice of one circle and the inner depths of another that Jason realizes the final revelation to be had at this sudden adventure:

Phantom, despite Jason's best efforts, is not just an ally—not just an acquaintance.

Phantom, Jason is horrified and thrilled to notice, has somehow become more—a kind of puzzle for Jason to crack.

And Jason is, against all odds, a Bat through and through.

He hums, which makes Phantom jolt in place, skittish.

He decides to take the win, for now. Bats are patient.

It won't end well, but Bats will burn themselves twelve times over at the slightest curiousity.

"Three days." Jason confirms, before finally stepping into the circle to head home.

Through the green of the glow, he can just barely make out Phantom letting out an icy breath in utter confusion.

It'll do for now.

Chapter Text

Phantom has a good thing going with the Outlaws.

Ever since the JL Dark decided to step in and actually help Amity Park with the GIW and the Anti ECTO Acts, Danny's life has been nothing but positives.

He got his grades back on track, he and his friends and family are free to roam about without worrying about ghost attacks, his parents fully turned around on their stance on ghosts, and he's having a good time chilling in the Realms and working as an engineer at STAR Labs.

It's just that his friends are doing their own thing now, and his sisters are living their own lives, and none of that really involved Danny on a daily basis.

He's not gonna even get into the shenanigans his parents are into.

That's not to say they've grown apart or forgotten each other completely—they have their own spaces in Phantom's lair for gods sake—it's just that. Well.

They all have outside friends, and Danny's maybe not so good at making friends like they are.

One could argue that his former rogues consider him a friend, and that's not even taking into account the yetis, but they're—well.

They're dead.

And Danny's dead, halfway at least, so that's not exactly a deal breaker—

Nobody talks about the culture shock of mingling with dead, is all!

Danny can look up 70s punk rock, can look up motorcycles and biker culture in the 90s, pop culture references in the 50s, he can even check out history books to try and get on the medieval level of communicating with Royalty—there's just a limit, is all.

Ghosts are always willing to learn about the things after their deaths, so it's not even that Danny's feeling unheard. They're really good at blending, considering they have to mingle with others from other eras.

It just doesn't feel like Danny got that part of the deal of being dead.

Like how Ghosts have this innate idea of what they can and can't do, but Danny got the short end of the stick as a Halfa.

And the yetis are nice, very accepting and treat him like one of their young ones.

But Phantom's sort of everyone's boss? And that also puts a sort of…perspective to his ghost friendships.

And his coworkers at work at wonderful, they're lovely and accepting and sometimes they go out for drinks even! But Danny is weird, he knows it.

It's hard to be Danny without talking about Phantom. To be Danny and not talk about the weirdness of his family, of his small town.

It's not impossible, he can skate by with his Obsession with stars and kind of spin it in a way that Danny's become one of the office's pagan astrology witch guy that's sort of…ghost/cryptid/dead themed.

He's no goth, but he's happy to break that stereotype anyway.

The point is, neither Danny nor Phantom really have any close friends beyond Sam and Tucker, and he loves his sisters, but they're all mostly adults now so they don't live together anymore and—

It's just.

Danny's realizing that a lot of his personality is Phantom, and Phantom?

Well, Phantom is lonely.

It feels selfish to say that, even in his own head.

Johnny 13 and Kitty are always down to have a race, Ember's been harping on him to let her teach him an instrument, and the yetis have all but pleaded Danny to come over for more cuddles.

But they'll never really understand the feeling of being alive again, and if Danny is being honest with himself?

It feels unfair that Danny is alive. It feels unfair that Danny can have all this, and nothing at once.

Which bring Danny back to this: Phantom's got a good thing going with the Outlaws.

They're not exactly friends, they're closer to coworkers more than anything, but Danny can be more himself with them, and that's what matters. He can be open about Phantom, and because these people understand secret identities more than anyone, he can also be relatively open about Danny.

They know he's of a special supernatural species—that he's both alive and dead. It makes him uniquely qualified to deal with certain magicks, and with his powerset and normal human skills Phantom is a good fit for the Outlaws who work on the edge of things.

They've somehow, through circumstances Danny is still unsure of to this day, become the JL Dark's designated "cult smashing team."

Thank you, Arsenal, for that direct quote.

It still baffles Danny, because as far as he knows, only one of them is even remotely magically and/or supernaturally inclined—and that's on a technicality, Danny thinks.

Red Hood's got the scent of the All-Caste on him, but he doesn't even use it? Ever? That's not even mentioning his whole…revenant status. Danny doesn't really think Hood is even aware?

The rest are just…well. Amazonians, Kryptonians and Tamaranians can dabble in magic-like elements, sure—but they don't actually do magic.

Danny's not even gonna ask why Arsenal gets involved—his arrows are scientific, they're not even technomagic?

But Arsenal's mostly a dad now, if the hero grape-vine is to be believed, so he's not even really in the picture most of the time?

The point is, Danny can be the most himself with the Outlaws, and maybe, hopefully, one day, they can be actual friends.

It'd be nice, is all.

He thought they were on that track, and certainly, Bizarro's been a real hoot to hang out with. Arsenal, when he is around, loves to talk shop about the chemical make up of some of his arrows—not to mention Danny loves gushing about the engineering of them, so they get along great!

Artemis has been a delight to spar with, especially since Danny's also been taking lessons from Pandora. Starfire is…well. Starfire's an alien. Danny's sort of been a fan since her Teen Titan days!

And he thought that maybe Hood tolerated him, enjoyed his company even! He's nice in a gruff way, and always listens when Danny yaps away about whatever topic. They've even, on occasion, had conversations about the books Hood has been reading.

So it makes Danny a little…uneasy, when Hood starts to act a little strange.

The others have been business as usual, but Hood?

Hood has been getting…well. Hood has been staring at Danny a lot more, and the amount of times Danny's jolted in surprise at how close the revenant suddenly is has risen exponentially since Hood inadvertently visited him in his lair.

It makes this complicated, he feels like he's let his guard down somehow without realizing it.

Danny was already trying to be extra careful with Hood—revenant status not-withstanding, Hood runs hot with the All-Caste fire burning in him.

It makes Phantom want to curl up like a scarf, and Danny would rather eat Dash's dirty shorts again than humiliate himself and Hood that way.

But Hood is making it very hard for him—he keeps summoning him, and popping up out of nowhere, and somehow sitting next to Danny for who knows how long without Danny even really noticing, which is a feat when Phantom can innately sense when one of the dead is nearby.

And Hood is, once again on a technicality, of the dead.

It's driving Phantom mad.

It's driving Danny to an early grave.

Chapter Text

Phantom, Jason is amused to recognize, is very much like a street cat who is very unused to affection.

He circles around his people like a little satellite, allows for people to give him gifts, but adamantly keeps his distance.

The second you look at him, he's aware of you and where you are relative to his position.

Maybe street cat is the wrong comparison to make—Jason's interacted with a lot of street cats, hard not to when you're in charge of Stay Central (the Alley's a dumpster fire and cats tend to like that, go figure) and you have a little demon of a brother who is determined to own a whole damn zoo or three by the time he's 17.

Street cats are aloof, unassuming, and though not always inherently threatening, have an aura about them that tells you to tread carefully.

Phantom is, at worst, a beaming puppy eager to talk and help and play.

(Nevermind, that Phantom can be the eldritch horror of your nightmares—as long as you haven't committed war crimes it isn't even in the realm of possibility.)

Street cats are never afraid to hiss and scratch at you if you so much as move a centimeter too close to their liking.

Phantom, when faced with even the slightest possibility of physical affection, freezes like a doe in headlights.

This is where Jason is at right now, employing all the street cat tricks in his pocket and shaking his errant thoughts about what animal Phantom actually is more reminiscent of.

He’s sitting right at the edge of Phantom’s little bubble, on a chair he dragged over himself and plopped down on to read his latest book, trying his damnedest not to smile—nevermind that Phantom can't even see it under Jason's helmet.

Somehow, he'll know. Jason suspects that perhaps it's something with the half-ghost's powers but has no proof.

Phantom is eyeing him, looking confused and distraught, probably wondering whether he should approach Jason, or stay where he is curled up with his ghost tail like a large pile of snake. The tip of his tail keeps flicking, as Phantom looks around the room before landing inevitably back on Jason.

Jason flips the page, seriously contemplating asking Zatanna for some books on Realms denizen behavior. There are so many god damn names to Phantom’s species, and so little literature that Jason’s been kind of flying it blind.

Whilst the stray cat treatment is working so far, he doesn’t want to push it and accidentally make some kind of faux pas.

The rest of the Outlaws are out fetching lunch and other such necessities for their upcoming mission, so it’s just the two of them in one of Jason’s safehouses.

Normally, Phantom would be yapping away on the couch as Jason either cleaned his weapons, read a book, or cooked across the room.

Sometimes, when Jason’s got things to say, Phantom will keep the stream going with questions as he float around the room, giving Jason space to pace or sit or even lay on the couch as he worked out his thoughts. 

Phantom’s good like that, Jason is noticing belatedly, again. 

But Jason supposes Phantom’s still wary that one encounter (the one that started it all), or unsure because Jason’s been summoning him alot nowadays.

Before, Phantom would visit once every couple of months or so. 

Today, it’s been Phantom’s fourth summoning in two months. 

Jason may or may not have tunnel vision—may or may not have explicitly searched out cults from all over, minor or major, just to have an excuse. 

Jason stretches, which causes Phantom’s tail to flick in surprise again, those glowing green eyes darting back and forth between the door and Jason’s whole body. 

The gaze rakes over him and it makes him tingle, so he purposefully takes his time. He gets up, placing the book on the coffee table with a bookmark to mark his place—it doesn’t matter anyway, he wasn’t even reading—and heads towards the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

“Want anything to drink?” Jason asks over his shoulder, making sure not to make eye contact or any sudden movements.

“...Water, please.” Phantom adjusts himself, clenching and unclenching his hands—no doubt only just realizing how stiff he’s been since Jason sat down. 

When Jason comes back, he hands Phantom the glass, making sure to linger his touch.

Phantom’s face flushes green, even as it contorts into more confusion.

Jason then twists his chair, the loud screeching of it being moved just a scant bit closer echoing loud in the room. He plops himself down, exchanging his glass of water for his book and sits back to read.

He’s 5 feet away now, right next to the opposite edge of the sofa Phantom is lounging on. 

At first, Phantom is stiff, still flushed and confused in his periphery.

But the longer time crawls on, the more he relaxes—his shoulders start to slump a little as he takes delicate sips of his water.

A moment later, Phantom reaches over towards the coffee table. Jason makes sure not to move a muscle, makes sure to say relaxed and entrenched in his so-called reading.

The halfa slowly lifts Jason’s cup with telekinesis, and slides a coaster under it before settling back on the sofa, a little more nestled in the middle of it. 

Just that scant bit closer to Jason.

Phantom, Jason is helpless to note, is too damn adorable for his own god damn good.

(Too damn endearing for Jason's own damn good.)

Chapter Text

"It's just that he's been acting weird lately!" Danny slumps over his table, head in his hands.

"Weird how?" Tucker asks through the screen, tilting his head in inquiry. "You keep texting us about this but never actually elaborating."

"Break it down for us one by one." Sam follows up from her side of the screen.

They're on Vroom for a catch up video call with Danny in his apartment in Central City, Tuck sitting in his office in Gotham City, and Sam somewhere out in the Himalayas doing…something.

She's explained her so-called 'eco-exploits' many times, and how she's used her parents' connections in a way that both supports her values and gets her parents off her back, but Danny and Tucker are still so very confused as to how.

It's ironic that Tucker works for Wayne Enterprises, so close to where Danny always gets summoned, but their schedules are so busy or conflicting that they rarely ever get to hang out.

He gets to see his family basically every two weeks, but he and his friends are all working towards goals that don't include each other as much anymore—they maybe see each other every other month or so.

It makes these occasional Vroom calls all the more precious, even if they do text basically every day.

"He keeps, like, standing there," Danny gestures widely with his arms, "menacingly!"

"Dude, I'm gonna hold your hand when I tell you this…" Tucker looks left and right, before leaning into the camera and extending his hand forward as if he could actually hold Danny's hand, "Red Hood, by nature, is menacing."

"And he keeps getting me drinks!" Danny ignores Tucker, barely even able to hear him as he gets up to pace, "He keeps—he keeps asking if I want anything to drink, or eat??"

"Didn't you say Hood cooks for the team?" Sam asks, once again lost to Danny as she addresses Tucker. "Didn't he say Hood doesn't trust food he hasn't seen prepared in front of him?"

"And the—the sitting!" Danny throws his hands up, gesturing to his own chair, "He keeps sitting like, 5 feet away from me, but he won't even make eye contact with me!"

"Can he even make eye contact?" Tucker thinks aloud, "Didn't you have a laugh about how Hood has a domino under that creepy helmet?"

"It's not creepy, it's meant to be intimidating," Danny points a finger at Tucker, "And that's not the point!"

"So what is the point?" Sam presents her hands like what the fuck? "It just sounds like he's being respectful?"

Danny plops back into his chair, spinning listlessly as he stares up at the ceiling. He slaps his hands against his face, jolting his friends by how loud the sound is. They lean in as he mumbles into them helplessly.

"What was that dude?" Tucker calls out, "We can't hear you."

"I said," Danny enunciates as he drops his hands and feels like crying. "I said he keeps, almost touching me."

A long silence echoes in his room. He feels like his face is on fire, and his skin tingles in both rage and anticipation for something he doesn't even know he should anticipate. He feels like maybe he might be going insane.

"I feel like I might be going insane." Danny says aloud into the silence, rolling his head to face his friends who are looking at him like they're trying not to laugh. "It's not funny, is this some kind of elaborate way Hood is trying to kill me? I thought Phantom did good work!"

"Are you more bothered that he isn't touching you," Sam asks in a way that possibly kills Danny for the third time via embarrassment, "Or are you bothered that you aren't touching him?"

"I don't want to touch him!" Danny squeaks, but even he can tell he's lying like a rug. "I don't want him to touch me!"

"Right." Tuck's voice seems with doubt, "Sure, dude."

"Hood is kind of your type, isn't he?" Sam grins, tapping her cheek in thought. "He does kind of remind me of Val. Red theme and everything."

"He kind of reminds me of you too, Sam." Tucker smirks, leaning back in his chair and gesturing to the screen. "You guys have the same kill everyone for a minor inconvenience vibe going on."

Sam shrugs ruefully, as if to say touche.

"Guys," Danny whines, sinking into his chair, "Guys, please…"

Suddenly, Tucker jolts up. "Wait—wait, no eye contact, feeding you, sitting just a little in reach—"

Sam and Danny sit up in surprise at Tucker's excited rambling.

"Dude—dude," Tucker's smile is wide and giddy, hopping in his seat in excitement, "he's doing the stray cat thing!!!"

"What?" Danny asks, at the same time Sam begins to guffaw and fall out of her chair. "What?! Tucker, what the fuck does that mean??"

"Danny wouldn't kn-know," Sam gasps through her laughter, "animals have always liked him!"

"Normal people like me," Tucker explains, "have to employ specific tactics to get along with strays."

"You're not making any sense—" Danny huffs, before Sam interrupts him by pitching her voice sternly above his.

"Offer food, do not crowd it, and do not expect the cat to immediately take to you." She twirls a finger, seemingly quoting some kind of…Danny doesn't know, handbook? "Stray cats are cautious and wary of danger at all times from living on the streets, and will not tolerate forced affection."

"If you have the time, and determination," Tucker grins, crossing his arms and leaning on the table on his elbows. "Place a plate of food about 5 feet away from you, sit down and kill time on your phone."

"Make sure not to make prolonged eye contact, stray cats take that as aggression, and to act is if you have no care in the world as you keep your distance quietly." Sam finishes, smirking. "It's to show the cat you mean no harm, and give them easy access so that they can investigate you at their own pace."

"It make take a couple of visits," Tucker chuckles, "But eventually, a stray cat might bestow upon you affection—in which case the final step finally comes to fruition: Profit!"

Danny freezes, mind going into overdrive with memories of the last ten or so missions over the course of three months. Sam and Tucker, ever his best friends since childhood, wait him out patiently.

"Oh my god." Danny breathes, before jerking into action and slamming his hands down to screech—"oh my god, he's doing a stray cat thing!!!"

"Do we think this is a romance thing," Sam's smug face would infuriate Danny, if he weren't already emotionally occupied with an overload of, well, emotions, "Or is this a Bat thing?"

"What even is a Bat thing in this case?" Tucker responds, tapping his desk in thought. "I have no doubts they've investigated Phantom on a surface level at least, that's in their nature but…Red Hood is barely one of them isn't he?"

"What does it matter?" Danny grumbles, falling back onto the desktop, "I can't believe he sees me as a stray cat, do I really look that pathetic? I thought I was pretty affable."

"You're focusing on the wrong thing, Danny." Sam admonishes, even wagging her finger in disagreement. "That's not even the best part!"

"What should I be focusing on then?" Danny groans, "It's debatable this is even a good thing."

"Au contraire, my half-dead friend!" Tucker beams, "Because motives aside, if he's treating you like a stray cat…"

"That means he wants to keep you." Sam smiles with all her teeth. "Or at the very least, wants you to touch him first!"

Danny, of course, has no idea what to think about that. (Except he does. He really really does know.)

His imagination starts running wild, conjuring up images of Phantom casually exchanging touches with Red Hood. Would their hands touch? Hood has big hands—no no no, stop.

…He's seen Arsenal sling an arm around Hood before, Danny's wingspan isn't quite as long and he's a little shorter than both of them but maybe Hood would put an arm around Phantom? With Hood's All Caste magic, he runs so warm—would that counteract Phantom's cold? Would Phantom's touch be refreshing to him?

Does Hood suffer in the summers? Does the heat consume him or is he like Danny—is he like Phantom, unbothered by the heat but craving cold touches? Maybe they could cuddle? Like…like quid pro quo?

Phantom could do that, Hood's been really nice to Phantom. Phantom could absolutely do that.

"Aaaand we've lost him." Tucker's voice yanks him back to reality, his face flushing with heat. "Heeeey dude, Ground Control to Major Tom! Phan-Tom, hellooooo—"

"I'm here!" Danny coughs. "I'm here and—and that's absurd. Hood doesn't want…that."

"Sure, Danny." Sam rolls her eyes. "Whatever you say. We've said our piece, so at least you're thinking about it."

"Just let us know when you finally make a move, yeah?" Tucker backs up, twisting around in his seat. "Anyway, let's get this Doomed train on track!"

Danny puts his hands on his cheeks, palms almost melting against the heat radiating through them as he keeps thinking absolutely batshit crazy things throughout the rest of the night.

Like what Hood's hands would feel like underneath the gloves, about the bits and pieces he's seen through Hood's cracked helmet, what his color his eyes are.

Like the time Phantom was practicing morphing his form and accidentally conjured up cat ears and a tail, and if Hood would like to see that…if Hood would pet him under the chin, or scratch his fingers through Phantom's hair…

Needless to say, Danny doesn't win a single game of Doomed that night.

Sam and Tucker, best friends that they are, only laugh about it for 30 minutes or so.

They also, kindly, limit themselves to three handmade memes each.

Per night.

Danny is, essentially, fucked.

Chapter Text

Jason has run out of excuses to call upon Phantom.

It turns out, there aren't that many cults active at a time—and most of them aren't supernatural.

Jason feels an odd sort of dissatisfaction even as he and his team fuck up another cult easily.

He stomps vindictively at the cult leader, grinding him into the dirt. This particular one had child brides, and Jason relishes making the man eat dirt.

Maybe he could summon Phantom to send this guy (and the other husbands) to the Nightmare Dimension.

Maybe Jason's just completely lost it.

"My guy," Roy grumbles as he drags another cult member and dumps him into the pile they have inside the church the cult has made their base. "If you want to summon Phantom just summon him."

"…What." Jason hates that he sounds so much like Bruce right now.

"Hood grumpy." Bizzaro agrees, dumping four more cult members. "Phantom not here, Hood grumpy."

Jason, proving he is actually his father's son, says nothing in order not to incriminate himself.

"I am sure Phantom will be understanding." Artemis chimes in as she drags a woman by the collar. "He has said before that he finds our company pleasing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Jason lies, and to his credit his team hesitates for a second, before they come to their senses and call him out on his bullshit.

"Listen, we won't pry." Roy tries again, dusting his hands off as they all exit the church and leave before the authorities arrive. "But we're not blind. I got a kid now, and you trying to eliminate every single cult in the country just to hang out with Phantom is seriously feeling like overtime."

"I will be visiting Themiscyra for the forseeable future." Artemis agrees, rotating a shoulder and cracking her neck. "I will be resting with my sisters, and will not know when I will be back."

"Me visit…Family?" Bizarro pauses. coughs. "Me…busy. For a long time."

Jason feels his shoulders ride up, biting his lip as he scratches the back of his neck. His helmet feels heavy, and this weird discomfort swirls inside him like an irritating splinter that refuses to be plucked out no matter how Jason picks at it.

They arrive on a nearby rooftop, watching as, not a few minutes later, authorities arrive in a chaotic mess of lights and sounds. When the sirens shut off, Jason heaves a heavy sigh.

"It's not just Phantom." Jason admits, because against all odds, they're his friends, and unlike certain Bats he learns from his mistakes and knows when to bottle up and when not to.

Most importantly, he knows who he can open up to.

"What else?" Bizarro asks, softly. "Me need to beat up?"

Jason shakes his head, bringing up a hand to cover his mouth over the helmet. It doesn't bring him comfort. "Nightwing ambushed me yesterday. Tried to, I don't know, talk. Brought me donuts and everything."

"And we are all aware how much you do not like to…" Artemis scrunches her nose. "talk, even with the promise of donuts."

"Ha, ha." Jason snarks, before sobering his tone. "Batman…interrupted. It didn't go so hot."

All three of this teammates wince at that. It's still a sore subject, Bruce and his…trying to make amends.

Jason's still grappling with how he almost killed Tim.

Jason's still grappling with how he ruins everything he touches, regardless of whether or not he's sane .

"Focusing on the Phantom puzzle is…helping." Jason admits, getting up and heading back to the batplane he stole from Bruce for this mission. "But only marginally. Phantom has his guard up and it's hard to nudge through."

"Phantom puzzle?" Bizarro asks, "Phantom do something weird?"

"Phantom doesn't touch anybody." Jason explains, allowing Roy to fly the plane and sitting heavily into one of the open seats beside him. "He does this thing, where he keeps a 6ft radius."

"…Huh." Artemis hums, "I suppose he does, doesn't he? How strange, I wonder why that is?"

"Why not just ask?" Bizarro tilts his large head, confusion writ all over his face, "Phantom love answer questions."

"There's a lot of reasons why I can't just ask." Jason argues, "At this point it's the principle of the thing."

"Wait—" Roy rubs at his temples. before starting up the plane, "You mean to tell me all of this is because you want to know why Phantom doesn't like to touch people?"

"…Yes?" Jason's shoulders involuntarily hike up to his ears, "What else would it be?"

"Are you fucking serious dude?" Roy's face is disbelieving and annoyed at once, but doesn't answer Jason's question, even as he grumbles under his breath, "These fucking Bats are trying to kill me."

"Do you know why?" It rankles at Jason that Roy would know but Jason doesn't.

"No." Roy pinches the bridge of his nose as he puts the plane on autopilot. "I don't. I don't need to—Jason, you don't like to fucking touch people, why does it matter that Phantom doesn't?"

"Because." Jason shrugs, mood instantly lifting. "I was curious."

Roy throws his hands up, groaning. He looks back towards Artemis and Bizarro, who have started up a game of Go Fish. "A little help?"

"I'm afraid he's going to have to figure this one out himself." Artemis draws a card and curses, though her voice stays deadpan and uninterested. "It's fine. Bats need enrichment."

"Bizarro?" Roy pleads, cutting off Jason's retort to that, much to his annoyance.

"Little no cut it." Bizarro huffs, triumphantly placing down a pair of Queens and Twos. "Need big help. Me not even big enough for that."

"Where the fuck is Starfire when you need her." Roy grumbles under his breath, "She could handle this, she would want to handle this bitch's Bat standard low EQ. She would love to, even, why did she have to visit home now when I need her the most—"

"I am right here." Jason huffs, to which the entire team says in unison "We know!"

"Look, my guy." Roy levels with Jason, putting his hands together as if to pray and breathing deep, pointing them at Jason on the exhale. "Solve this puzzle anyway you like, just don't bring us into it. For the Love of God, do not bring us into it."

"I would not be opposed to being brought into it." Artemis chimes in, apropro of nothing. "But I don't think you like sharing."

"Do NOT bring me, specifically, into this!" Roy hisses, pointing at Artemis with one hand and gesturing at Jason with the other. "His brother has already traumatized me enough with his messy shit!"

"Me don't mind." Bizarro ignores Roy, who starts screaming into his hands. "Funny to watch."

Artemis and Bizarro share a fist bump over the pile of cards between them. Jason sinks into his chair, feeling disconnected, sullen, and distinctly like he's missing something.

Jason does not like that feeling. He does not like that feeling at all.

"I know where you guys live." Jason growls, but nobody on the plane is intimidated. "I know where you sleep."

"If you wake up Lian that's your mistake to deal with." Roy points at Jason threateningly, before moving over to join the others in Go Fish. "Good luck with that."

"Me not scared." Bizarro continues trying to shuffle Roy in but failing, "Me cuddle, if Hood wants. Big spoon, little spoon, me okay with both, Hood warm, very comfy."

"Do not threaten me with a good time." Artemis picks up, successfully shuffling Roy in and smirking. "Not when you have a Phantom to puzzle through."

"Are you hitting on me again?" Jason squints at her, feeling like he's gotten some kind of inkling, but the water's all muddy so it's hard to see. "Didn't we establish we could never work because I'm not into pet play?"

"OUT OF IT, TODD." Roy loudly yells over Artemis' response to that, slamming down a pair of Kings. "Summon Phantom to ask him about his fucking species, what the fuck ever, just leave me OUT of it!"

Chapter Text

Ellie and Jazz give Danny a cape for his Death Day.

It shimmers in the light, like flecks of gold have embedded itself into the dark green velvet sheen of it. The inside lining is heavy black wool, lined all around the hem and hood with yeti fur dyed black to match the lining. Gold trim lines the outside of it, intricate designs of filigree and swooping curls, making Danny feel fancy.

It's soft, fluffy, and most of all warm.

Not to him, not in his Phantom form, but to others it acts as a barrier between him and the people he loves.

It's a little impractical to take on the field so he rarely ever wears them, despite owning at least 10 of them.

Because unlike any of the clothes he conjures up in his Phantom form he can't just…magic it all better.

Which is a shame, because his friends and family outdo themselves every year—it's like tradition, at this point, to give Danny a cape for his Death Day.

They trade off who "heads the project" every year, and sometimes it results in two capes being given out of sheer stubbornness.

The point is Danny loves his capes, his favorite being the newest one, and rarely ever wears it outside of his lair or any of the households he has access to and haunts on occassion.

But Hood has asked Phantom to visit today to talk about some questions he had about Realm's culture, instead of just summoning him for a mission, and it being what it is…

Well, maybe Hood would appreciate a prime example of Death Day celebrations.

It has nothing to do with how this is the third time he's been summoned by Hood in the last two weeks, and how weirdly tingly it makes Danny feel. Nothing to do with the weird proximity and alone time these visits have resulted in, or how Phantom's caught himself at least 16 times drifting closer to the other man without knowing it. Nothing at all to do with Danny needing his cape to shield him, shield Hood, from Phantom's cold touch—from Phantom's want.

Nothing to do with Sam's comments on this new cape really bringing out Phantom's eyes, or about Sam and Tucker still insisting (in the way that they pointedly don't talk about it) on Hood wanting to get closer to Phantom, Hood wanting Phantom to touch him.

Nothing at all. Absolutely not.

He checks himself in the mirror once more, admiring the heavy shape of the cape, how it contrasts weirdly well with his almost neon, bright pale green eyes like Sam said, how it falls against his white hair.

Danny's even done up his hair, morphing his ecto to give him longer locks that he's twisted into a simple braid that hangs over his shoulder, long enough for Danny to fiddle with if necessary.

He's opted to dress up a little too, to do the cape justice, manipulating his ecto into some sort of facsimile of an outfit. He's not much of a fashion guy so it's on the simpler side—black fitted pants with a cable knit sweater in slightly lighter shade of green thank the cape tucked in. He's even gotten a little gold chain to clasp the cape together, opting to make the rest of his accessories (belt, boots, gloves) a sleek black.

The clasp to his cape, a sort of golden hook and clasp sort of situation, connects together to make Phantom's stylized logo, the one that Sam made him all those years ago.

He may or may not feel extremely overdressed, but! But in his defense, he just got out of a belated Death Day celebration (an accomodation for Danny to be able to spend his actual Death Day with his friends and family) at the Far Frozen, and it would be a shame to let all this work go to waste!

That's what Danny tells himself, when he steps through the portal.

He has his excuse ready on his tongue when Gotham air touches his skin, just in case Hood asks, but comes to a silent stop when he actually takes in what he's seeing.

Hood doesn't have his helmet on, for one thing.

It's the first time Danny's really seen Hood without his helmet on. He's seen it cracked to all hell, hence the discovery of the domino mask (and true to form, Hood does at least have his domino on). but he's never actually fully seen the helmet off.

Hood, it turns out, has a little tuft of white hair that Danny apparently finds very attractive.

He also has a scar that trails from the corner of his lip all the way up the side of his temple, disappearing into his hair. That, too, is very attractive to Danny.

Danny is learning a lot of new things about himself, as he learns these things about Hood.

And then Hood speaks, and Danny notices the rest of Hood's appearance.

"Hey, Phantom." Hood tiredly greets from where he sits on one of the bar stools icing his bruised cheek. "Sorry, I forgot you were coming today. Extenuating circumstances."

Ancients, Danny doesn't have time to swoon over Hood's voice right now. The man is bleeding all over the fucking kitchen counter.

"Hello, Hood." Danny carefully greets, floating over and examining the damage. "It's alright, would you like to rain check?"

"Nah, just let me bandage up this arm and it'll be fine." Hood dismisses. He's got a long gash going up his forearm that's sluggishly bleeding still, and bandages wrapped around one of his calves. There's a patch of gauze taped over to cover, presumably, an injury to the back of his shoulder, and a Wonder Woman bandaid over a cut under one 0f his eyes.

There is. A lot more skin that Danny's not used to being shown right now.

"Let me help." Danny gently reaches out, careful not to lean or hover over the man, and rummages through the first aid kit. Hood lets him, which almost shakes Danny to the core.

Danny starts the meticulous process of cleaning out the injury without causing any undue cold.

"You're good at this." Hood rumbles low, and it's weird to hear him without the modulator now that Danny has the vague brain capacity to really listen.

Weird, but good.

"I've had my fair share of injuries." Danny smirks wryly, "In my human form, I'm actually kind of clumsy. My sister forced me to take a first aid class with her, which probably tells you all you need to know."

Hood chuckles, making Danny shiver. The silence sits for a moment, before Hood reaches to delicately tug at the cape, brushing it delicately away. "Careful. Don't want to get your nice cape dirty."

"It's washable." Phantom's face flushes green, tugging the bandage a little. "Your injury is more important."

There is an art to wrapping someone's injuries up without touching them. Danny doesn't want Hood to jerk away in surprise and ruin the wrapping if Phantom's cold shocks him. He's careful to only let his fingertips, with the added barrier of the bandages and gloves, ever come close,

"It looks nice," Hood smiles, tilting back a little bit to look even as he keeps his arm steady for Danny. "You look nice. Did I write in a dress code and forget or something?"

"Thank you. And no, I was at a party before this," Danny huffs a laugh, even has his face burns in bashfulness, "I didn't want to be late, is all."

"What was the occasion?" Hood asks, just as Danny finishes up the bandages. He flexes his arm to test it, and nods in approval. "For the party I mean."

"It was a late celebration of my Death Day with my…well, Ghost family." Danny responds, packing up the first aid kit. "I celebrated the actual day with my live family—that's when I got this cape. My sisters made it."

Danny beams, turns towards Hood and floating away to give the man space only to freeze.

Hood is looking at Phantom like he's trying very hard to parse something out.

"What's wrong?" Danny scans Hood, trying to see if something still needs tending to.

"Nothing. I just—Is that something Realms people do?" Hood coughs, looking away and visibly gathering himself. "Celebrate Death Days, I mean. Even half-dead ones?"

Is this what he's like under the helmet? Is that what the helmet is for? Hood is so expressive like this, with his body language of course, but his expressions…Danny supposes if you're used to full head coverage you don't learn stoicism automatically.

"Yes," Danny smiles softly, thinking about the yetis and his other ghost friends fondly. "Not everyone in the Realms is a ghost, mind you—there are many Neverborns who celebrate something different. But those who are, who do have Death Days celebrate in a multitude of ways—not many remember their lives from when they were still…"

Danny trails off, smile going a little more sad. He watches as Hood gets up with a low grunt that may or may not wreak havoc on Danny's insides. Thankfully, Phantom's insides mostly consist of a frozen ice ball, his civilian phone, wallet, keys, and a frankly inordinate amount of accoutrement that Danny deems worthy to carry around.

Y'know, like chapstick, or a pen. Or a 10 year anniversary limited edition bento box shaped Sushi Go board game. Important things that could come in handy at any time.

"Do they ever get confused?" Hood's voice is rough and tentative, like he's unsure why he's asking but can't help himself.

"Confused about their Death Day?" Danny trails after Hood as he walks towards the living room proper and seats himself on the loveseat.

"Confused about their deaths in general." Hood clarifies, eyeing the way Danny simply floats in the air, but makes no comment when Danny doesn't move to sit himself. "Is there ever a disconnect between when they die and when they realize they're dead?"

"Like in the movies?" Danny hums, deciding to simply sit on the arm of the couch. It's a little hard to sit gracefully on a couch with a cape on, and Danny wants this little barrier between him and Hood as a last line of defense. "I suppose it depends."

"On what?" Hood shifts, as if uncomfortable. "On how they died?"

"Sometimes," Danny tries to parse out his thoughts, what his ghost friends have said to him on the rare occasions they bring up their deaths. "I didn't know I was dead, not for a while."

That brings Hood up short. He knows, of course, that Danny is half dead and that he's a special existence amongst ghosts. That Phantom's closer to a metahuman with ghost powers than an actual ghost.

And Danny doesn't disagree! Did, in fact, have that assumption until…well.

Honestly, it would make a lot of things easier to understand if that were that case—it's an easier pill to swallow than your death irrevocably changed you down to your atoms and marrow and soul, changed you into an entirely different species you know nothing about.

"How did you figure it out?" Hood asks, after a long moment. "That you were dead."

"My doctor told me." Danny shrugs, making an embarrassed little pout. "I…didn't handle it well. For a variety of reasons."

Hood snorts. "It can't be worse than going on a murderous rampage and almost killing your brother."

The air in the room suddenly feels suffocating, like when you walk into a sauna without realizing and the sudden heat sears your throat. Hood didn't mean to say that, and Danny can almost taste the regret and guilt in the condensation of the air.

Flashes of Dan, of how Danny cried and cried and cried in the Realms until he decimated four islands with his wail the day he found out about his…everything, flows over him like ice water.

He knew he died, he knew he was half ghost, he knew he was different after the accident. That was already a lot to deal with.

Nobody comes back from that unchanged—it's just. It's one thing to know you've changed, it's an entirely different thing to learn you're not even remotely the same person, the same species, possibly not even the same soul.

The cells in your body replace themselves fully in the span of 7 years. Danny died when he was fourteen.

He's twenty five now, and the cornerstone of his existence has been replaced with a core made of ice—is he even Danny anymore?

"Grief drives ghosts crazy, did you know that?" Danny whispers. This feels like a delicate moment, fragile enough that anything above a whisper can shatter it.

"What?" Hood croaks, equally quiet and almost sounding scared—like he doesn't actually want Danny to answer him.

"Ghosts are made up almost entirely of ectoplasm. I'd say 99% even, but ectoplasm doesn't feel, it doesn't have a shape." Danny rambles, gesturing vaguely towards…somewhere, he's sure. "it doesn't even have a real temperature."

"Ectoplasm feels just shy of hot water to me." Hood says, still not looking at Danny. It hurts more than Danny thought it would.

"That's the other 1% working." Danny delicately slides himself down into the cushions of the loveseat. There's only a foot between them, and it feels like chasms. "it feels like ice water to me."

"Sure." Hood chuckles, staring at his own hands like they've committed atrocities. It's a feeling Danny is unfortunately too familiar with. "So ghosts and grief don't mix. What's that got to do with me hurting my brother?"

"Ghosts have this thing, we call them cores—it's your heart and liver and, well, all your organs wrapped up into one thing. It's the one facet of your existence that is solely you." Danny reaches in, feeling for that icy chill, that bite of fresh fallen snow, the frosty sting when you touch an icicle. "This is that 1%—the most important part. Mine is an ice core."

His core glows bright in the room, round and glass-like, tundras spinning and spinning and spinning. It's barely 3 inches in diameter, and smooth like coppered ice.

Hood stares at Danny's core reverently, doesn't move a muscle to even try to touch it even though Danny knows he wants to, which he appreciates. "I don't understand—"

"You have a core, didn't you know? Well, with all the other stuff going on it's more of a suggestion of one, but it's close enough." Danny gently presses his core back in, holds his hands to his chest tightly for a moment and breathing as if his lungs have slotted back in place.

"That's why ecto feels warm to me?" Hood touches his own chest, as if he can feel the heat of it. "Because of my core?"

"I think you have a fire core, or at least a semblance of one." Danny agrees, before shifting back on topic. "You had an Obsession, didn't you?"

"I guess…I felt like I was obsessed with revenge." Hood hesitantly responds, thinking through his words. "With…with payback."

"Did you get it?" Danny asks, clarifying when Hood doesn't respond. "Payback."

"I…suppose." Hood finally answers, though he doesn't look happy about it. "In a way."

"Then you felt better right?" Danny scooches closer, hovers hand on top of Hood's gloved ones, not quite daring to touch. "You didn't feel so…I guess, hyperfixated on it."

"I guess I did" Hood laughs but it's heartbreaking, like it was stabbed out of him. He turns his hand under Danny's and gently snatches his hand, squeezes and holds. "And then I didn't. They ever tell you about it? My other…past transgressions."

Danny watches amusedly as Hood does an air quote with his free hand, tries not to feel all sort of things when Hood pointedly doesn't let go of Danny's hand to do it.

"They didn't have to," Danny shrugs, "Even if you were volatile, I can kill you in less than a heartbeat."

There's a second of silence that makes Danny regret the words that come out of his mouth, so in true Fenton fashion he digs the hole a little deeper.

"Plus, I'm technically bulletproof remember? And already dead in this form. What are you gonna do, kill me deader?"

This time, the laugh Hood gives Danny warms him from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head more effectively than a hot water bath. It travels through him like he's been placed directly on a radiator.

"Okay, hotshot." Hood leans back, taking his hand away from Danny's delicately. Danny tries not to whimper, or protest in any way. What he's been given should be more than enough, even if Danny feels starving for more. "The long and short of it is that I murdered a bunch of people, hurt a shitton more, before I got a hold of myself. You're saying that's because I'm, what, a quarter ghost?"

Danny would love to answer, truly, but he's too transfixed by the way Hood takes off his gloves as he speaks. It feels slow, sensual for no good reason, and makes Danny's eyes narrow into slits as he watches Hood shed the gloves for the first time.

Because it is, Danny is realizing this very second, the first time. On purpose, at least.

Hood, Danny is dismayed to notice, has every inch of him covered. The only skin Danny's ever seen is the little gap between the top of neckline and the bottom of the helmet, when Hood looks up a certain way—which is rare, considering how fucking tall the other man is.

Well, there are also the times Hood gets so scraped up his clothes get ripped, but Danny actively tries not to think about those times because he's busy, y'know, making sure everybody's not dying.

Danny hasn't truly had any time to process the state of Hood until this very moment, more occupied by what he saw of Hood's face, of the blood and injuries.

Hood has on a fitted black tee-shirt, so fitted Danny might even suspect it's painted on, with that red bat spanning tight across his chest. One arm has the bandages Danny helped wrap, but the other is bare, mottled with scars of various sizes and color. The other arm has the sleeve pushed all the way up to accommodate the shoulder bandage.

His customary leather jacket is nowhere to be seen for obvious reasons, though the thigh holsters are easily spotted on the coffee table.

Danny does not want to face the disappointment he feels about that. He has enough going through his head. Hood has those black combat pants on, though one leg is rolled up to accommodate the bandage on the calf.

Danny doesn't know what it means that Hood has decided to take off the gloves now, and not before Phantom arrived.

Danny doesn't know why this small action is more mind boggling than the rest of the skin being shown on display.

Lost in his thoughts, he unthinkingly leans forward on both his hands as Hood splays his legs, drapes an arm over the back of the loveseat as if to make the perfect space for Danny to just…snuggle into.

Hood's heat is radiating against Danny, even though they aren't touching anymore. Danny feels like he's sinking into it—his head tilts as he eyes the space that's being made. Hood surely knows what he's doing, made all the more apparent when Hood tilts his head back, rolling it to meet Danny's eyes.

It's this, this image of Hood being the very picture of relaxed and open and welcoming, with all his handsome glory and white tuft and scar running along his left cheek, that Danny finally snaps back into himself.

He'd been this close to just…burrowing in.

He clears his throat instead, gathering his thoughts like soldiers, forcing them to stand at attention. Hood had asked a question—what was it again? Right—quarter ghost, thing.

"I'm…not sure." Danny finally settles on, leaning back and fiddling with the end of his braid. "If you're a quarter ghost, I mean. You feel like you have a core like one, but your magic makes it all…funky."

"My….magic." Hood repeats, warily. Danny perks up, suddenly very concerned.

"Yes, your magic." Danny leans forward, eyes flashing in a way that makes Hood tense "You—was magic forced upon you? I thought All-Caste magic had to be learned—"

"Oh." Suddenly, Hood relaxes, waving one bare hand carelessly as if Danny's eyes don't latch on it like a cat to a laser. "No, that was voluntary. I forgot about that."

"You…forgot you have magic?" Danny's gaze slowly travels to Hood's face, meeting his eyes as best he can behind the domino. "All-Caste magic is hot, how can you forget you have magic??"

Hood pauses, smirking at Danny as he tilts his head in a smug way that shouldn't look so god damn good on the man. "You think I'm hot because of my very restrictive and specific magic?"

"What—" Danny splutters, backing away even more and feeling his face heat up like a thousand infernos. "I meant temperature hot!"

Somehow, Hood looks disappointed at that answer, but Danny's firmly not going to think about it. He won't.

"I've always run warm." Hood shrugs, "I haven't really noticed the difference."

Danny's heart jumps into his throat. He had briefly entertained the idea during his call with Sam and Tuck, but didn't want to get his hopes up. But—but maybe Hood is just like Phantom.

"Does heat bother you?" Danny's voice shakes a little, "Hot weather feel uncomfortable?"

Hood thinks for a moment, heavy brows scrunching up in thought. "No, I don't think so. That's weird—Gotham summers used to be unbearable."

"Does…" Danny's brain is scrambled, heart thumping loudly when it doesn't even need to beat. "Do you crave cold things? Passively or all the time or…"

Hood's attention is on Danny now, intense like Phantom's a puzzle that he's on the cusp of solving.

Like Hood would like nothing more than to crack Phantom open and figure out his inner machinations.

It makes Danny shiver.

"You run pretty cold." Hood thinks aloud, purely for Danny's benefit he's sure. Danny looks away with what little strength he has. "Frost practically wafts from you. You mentioned before you have an ice core—is that why?"

Danny doesn't answer, Hood didn't answer so it's fair that Phantom doesn't answer.

Danny's getting dizzy because he's just realized Danny and Phantom are different but the same and it's difficult keeping the names and identities apart and meshed together at once.

He's so lost in his thoughts he doesn't realize Hood has come closer, has leaned in so that they're barely touching, is so close Danny can feel the heat of him radiate like Danny's stuck his hand directly above a campfire.

"Do you crave the heat, Phantom?" His voice is like molten lava, and Danny doesn't think he can withstand it.

He curls into himself, legs mending together into his tail, but before he can fully turn himself in a ball, before he can float away from this embarrassment, a hand stops him.

Hood's hand is on his, tugging him gently back down onto the cushions beside him. The tips of his fingers drag down against Phantom's sleeve, fiddles at the seam where it meets the hem of his gloves.

Hood is so hot, and Danny might melt.

"May I?" Hood's voice is low, coaxing. Like he's trying to tame a wild animal. Danny realizes he's shaking, simply from how solid Hood feels from this small little connection. "If you run cold and I run hot…I can help, can't I?"

"There's nothing to help." Danny whispers, though he doesn't pull away. "It's not—it doesn't hurt me, I just like it."

"You said crave." Hood argues, still niggling at the edge of Phantom's gloves. "I take ice baths, Phantom. I thought it was for muscle pain but maybe—maybe we can help each other out."

Danny shudders, closes his eyes as his body involuntarily leans a little closer to Hood without his input.

"May I?" Hood asks again, as Danny sinks into the loveseat, as he feels the heat of Hood hovering over him, caging him in.

Danny breathes out a shakey but bracing sigh, then nods.

Phantom's glove slowly, gently, comes off.

Chapter Text

Phantom's skin is textured different from a humans, Jason realizes, as he slowly divests the Halfa of his glove.

It's a nice glove, black and leather-like. Supple.

Jason takes great pleasure in peeling it off inch by inch.

He likes how Phantom trembles underneath him, how he shakes like a little rabbit as Jason slowly presses his fingertips to the other man's, tilting his hand up until Jason can press their palms together and slot his fingers between Phantom's.

It makes him feel reckless, the way he knows that even despite it all Phantom could kill him within the blink of an eye. Is only like this because of Jason's touch.

A different kind of destruction, the kind that Jason wants to explore, instead of fear.

The chill of the Halfa soothes some ache in Jason, fizzles like steam, brushes through him from this scant contact like a breath of fresh air.

Phantom relaxes like he can't help himself, eyes shut tight even as the rest his body starts to flow into Jason.

Jason slowly backs up, delicately leading, not even tugging, as he keeps their hands pressed close together.

The cape Phantom has on starts to bunch, so he helps the Halfa unclasp it and drape it safely along the back of the loveseat away from them and any possible mishaps.

Phantom looks very soft and approachable, in his little green sweater. Jason realizes he's never seen Phantom in anything but his hero outfit—somehow, the loose sweater and fitted black pants look much more alluring than the skin tightness of Phantom's usual fare.

Eventually, Jason is leaning back half against the arm of the loveseat, half into the cushions.

Eventually, Phantom melts into Jason, nestled under one arm that's draped over the back of the loveseat, holding the other on Jason's lap. It's like he's siphoning the heat from Jason, and for the first time he realizes just how hot his blood boiled.

Endo- and Exo-thermic all at once. Symbiotic.

They stay like that for a long time, giving and taking, before Jason decides to finally solve the puzzle.

"Is this why you keep your distance?" Jason whispers, squeezing Phantom's hand. "Because you run cold?"

Phantom freezes, thankfully not literally, before sighing an icy breath. "Yes. I keep my distance because I run ice cold."

Phantom bites his lip, says almost under his breath, "It's not very…comfortable, touching something so cold."

"Did someone say that?" Jason tries to soften his voice, fiddles with Phantom's braid. He likes Phantom with long hair, though his usual short hair is nice too. "That they didn't like it?"

"No." Phantom huffs, though he sinks deeper into Jason. "They didn't have to. Most of my family are humans—they start to shiver after a time."

"I dunno." Jason muses, slipping the arm that was on the back of the loveseat to curl around Phantom. "You seem pretty comfortable to me."

Phantom jolts, cheeks and nose going green in a way that Jason quite adores, actually. Phantom's shoulders hunch up, the Halfa trying to become smaller as he mumbles, "We have compatible elements."

"What happens if you cuddle with an incompatible element?" Something flares inside of Jason, some kind of swirling uncomfortable feeling he doesn't want to name.

"Nothing, mostly." Phantom relaxes, as always more concerned about thinking through his answers so that they're as correct as they can be. "One of my sisters, she's got a wind core. It doesn't really soothe the ache, but it's…nice."

"Yeah?" Jason tries to think warm thoughts, wonders if he could control his core even if it seems like it's more of an idea of a core than anything. "I'm glad you weren't totally alone."

"She indulges me, she doesn't really appreciate body heat and warmth like I do." Phantom chuckles, reverberating through Jason pleasantly. "She can't sit still most of the time, so it's almost torture for her."

Jason huffs a laugh, thinking about Dick and Steph. "I know what you mean. Some of my siblings are like that too."

They share a smile, and suddenly, suddenly, Jason gets it.

He suddenly fucking gets it.

Phantom smiles soft and endearing, freckles littered all over his face like little kisses. He never would have noticed them if he hadn't bridged this gap, this distance that Phantom kept.

Phantom smiles and Jason wants to kiss it off of him, wants to test if Phantom doesn't actually need to breathe, wants to know if Phantom's tongue will soothe the lava masquerading as his tongue. He wants to untangle the braid and run his fingers through it, wants to feel the silky strands slip through and grip.

Suddenly, Jason understands Roy's anguish. Roy's had to deal with Dickie's love shenanigans for years, and Jason would never wish that upon anybody ever. Not even Black Mask.

…Maybe a little bit on Joker.

"You never answered." Phantom's voice jerks Jason back to the present.

"Answered what?" Jason has no time to actually face his newfound revelation, or what he's actually going to do about it. For now, Jason will enjoy this for as long as he can.

Then he'll make a dozen or so plans, but not a second before.

Jason is old hat by now in never looking a gift horse in the mouth.

He'll question it to bits and pieces, but not until after he reaps the benefits. Never let it be said that Jason is a stupid, unambitious man.

"If you crave cold things." Phantom tilts up, looking at Jason with those big ol' doe eyes. "You said before that you take ice baths sometimes. Is this…helping you?"

Jason takes a moment to properly think through this answer. Phantom always makes sure he answers their questions carefully, and Jason doesn't want to be flippant—especially when it feels like Phantom is actually asking something different entirely.

Is this helping Jason? He considers Phantom for a moment, what he's really asking. Is Phantom helping Jason?

"Yes." Jason finally admits. "Nightwing recommended I take an ice bath after a particularly brutal mission once. I guess it became habit after that, and I just didn't realize it was to help soothe my core."

Phantom hums. "How often?"

"About once a week." Jason leans back a little more, pretty much fully laying down on the couch now. He's pushing his luck, but thankfully Phantom goes with it, chasing Jason's heat as he follows and lays upon Jason's chest. "More, if there's been a particularly bad patrol."

"There's no tub in this bathroom though?" Phantom turns, seemingly unnoticing of their change in position. He presses his chin onto his free hand, pillowing himself on Jason's chest like a little cat. The braid slides off his shoulder, the ends tickling at a spot just above his ribs where it lands against his side.

"I do it at home." Jason is pleased to note that they're still holding hands. His other hand is resting on Phantom's lower back, rubbing circles with his thumb. "Did you think I lived here?"

"I know it's one of your safehouses." Phantom argues with a cute little pout. "I figured you'd change here before heading home. Separate work and personal life and all?"

Jason snorts. "No such thing for a Bat."

"That can't be true." Phantom argues, puffing up. "I know for a fact Red Robin has a demanding job in his civvies, and he definitely manages to hang out with the YJ kids often enough with how they talk."

"Red's a bit of a workaholic." Jason shrugs, grinning. "And he's got aliases for days. His work is his personal life and his personal life is his work."

"You don't have any hobbies? Special interests?" Phantom needles, "Do you have a job or schooling or—"

"I cook." Jason interrupts. "I run the Alley, if you can count that as a job. My special interest is being Red Hood, and no—I died before I finished high school."

"I do count running the Alley as a job." Phantom sniffs, before grinning wide. "And I knew you cooked, but I didn't know you liked cooking. Did you learn on your own?"

"My grandpa taught me." Jason smirks. "I'm the only one of the Bats allowed in the kitchen."

Phantom giggles, giggles, it's so fucking cute. Jason might need to punch something. His ghost tail curls around Jason's legs heavily, squeezing like it can't help itself—like its got a mind of its own and it really really likes how warm Jason is.

This is good, because Jason really really likes how cold Phantom is.

"What's so funny?" Jason teases, adjusting a little so Phantom moves a scant bit closer. "Is it that hard to believe?"

"No!" Phantom smiles, inhuman teeth gleaming against the shitty lights of the safehouse, "Your food is to die for!"

Jason groans, thumping his head back against the arm of the loveseat, "I forgot you and Nightwing pun like there's no goddamn tomorrow."

"Our humor is top-notch." Phantom sniffs, before he giggles again. "I just think it's cute, is all. Big Bad Red Hood learning how to cook with his grandpa, lording it over his horde of siblings."

"Cute?" Jason scrunches his nose, squeezing Phantom a little tighter, like he'll tickle him or something. "I got downgraded from Hot to cute?"

"Did I stutter?" Phantom laughs before pouting, digging his chin into Jason's chest a little more pointedly. "And being cute is not a downgrade—you take that back. Cuteness runs this world, just ask my sister!"

"Why would I do that when I can just ask you instead?" Jason blurts out, for once smooth and thanking Wonder Woman and any other goddesses listening in on his paltry prayers.

Phantom flushes a deep green from the tip of his nose to the apples of his cheeks, and it makes Jason helplessly smitten. He wants to smooth his thumb across the blush, wants to see if he can feel the difference in temperature.

Jason's oblivious, sure, but he's a Bat. They always get a clue eventually.

All signs point to Phantom at least enjoying Hood's company. Jason squeezes Phantom's hand, brings it slowly up until the back of his hand is poised just under Jason's lips.

He keeps eye contact with the Halfa's wide, glowing gaze, projects his next move as best he can.

Phantom, thank all these goddesses in his life, nods imperceptibly in allowance.

Jason's heart is beating so fast he's surprised it doesn't burst, pulling to place the softest kiss he can manage on the back of Phantom's hand.

Just as his lips brush skin, a loud bang! echoes in the room, causing Phantom to squeak in surprise and go invisible.

Dick, in his Nightwing garb, tumbles in through the window but Jason doesn't care. He's too busy trying to keep hold of Phantom's hand, trying to hold Phantom by the dip of his back, trying to reassure, but it's far too late. Phantom's gone intangible and slipped away, no doubt already out of the room and opening a Portal home on the rooftop.

"Hood?" Dick garbles from where he's face planted on the floor, "Little Wing, could you help your dear old brother out with a—what are you doing with that gun?"

Jason has unthinkingly cocked his gun at Dick, and he sighs as he lets his gun-hand drop. "Someone better be dying. Why are you even in Crime Alley?"

Dick rolls into a sit, holding up what looks like a crumpled up plastic back barely able to carry whatever is inside it. "Well you see, I heard from RR who heard from Oracle who was on comms tonight that—"

"Concisely, Dickwad." Jason growls, putting the gun away and grunting as he stands up. Phantom's cape has disappeared, and it makes Jason's guts sink at the confirmation. It's fine—Jason can summon Phantom another time, he has plans to make anyway.

Dick thinks for a moment, counting fingers. "Heard Batman crashed your party, got Chinese, stopped a drug deal on the way, got shot, saved the food, Grappled here." He does jazz hands, directly above the gun shot wound on his leg.

"You got fucking shot and you grappled here?!" Jason jerks towards the kitchen counter where Phantom left the first aid kit, "You could have just fucking called."

"Yyyyeeeees…." Dick draws out, voice pained from the fucking gunshot wound. "But you would have just ignored me. And it's not healthy, bottling up your emotions."

"First of all, that's the fucking point." Jason grumbles as he sets the kit on the coffee table and heads towards Dick to sling an arm over his shoulder. "Second of all, I don't wanna hear anything about bottling or canning or vacuum sealing emotions from you of all people. You ever talk to B about that time—"

"I see your point!" Dick loudly interrupts, groaning when Jason unceremoniously drops him on the couch and starts to roughly treat the wound. "Would it kill you to treat me a little softer? What's got you all up in arms??"

"I was in the middle of something, 'Wing." Jason growls, though he does gentle his hands. "And B didn't crash my party. He ambushed me after it."

"Was this after or before the injuries?" Dick asks, tapping a foot against Jason's as he finishes the bandaging, pointing at where Jason's leg wound is also wrapped. "Oh, hey, twinsies."

Jason doesn't answer, vindictively tightening the bandages too tight for a moment just to see his brother wince, before finishing it up at a perfect tightness.

"If I promise not to talk about feelings again," Dick pushes his luck, "Will you eat this food I definitely watched someone make from start to finish and watch terrible TV with me?"

Jason huffs, getting up and letting the silence percolate as he puts away the supplies and cleaned everything up. He comes back with an assortment of plates, utensils, napkins and a glass of water for both of them.

He pretends not to notice Dick's relief when he sits back down and distributes the food.

"What were you doing?" Dick settles back, beginning to munch on his food.

"Cleaning up." Jason raises an eyebrow, turning on the TV and taking a bite of his own food.

"No, I mean—before I came. You said you were in the middle of something. What was it?"

Jason thinks about Phantom, laying on top of him. How he barely weighed anything. Thinks about the comforting chill of him, the way his hand fit into Jason's, the smile and giggle and flash of his eyes.

The way he shook when Jason lightly caged him in, the flush of his cheeks when he nodded his consent, the feel of him.

"A puzzle." Jason finally answers, after a commercial or two has played. "I was in the middle of a puzzle."

"O…kaaay….." Dick looks at him weirdly, confused to all hell as he looks around the living room and sees no puzzle pieces. "So what, were you stuck on it or something?"

"Yeah." Jason smirks as he takes a sip of his water, not fully elaborating and already thinking about all the possibilities. "I didn't have the whole picture yet."

"But you have it now." The gleam in Dick's eye says he knows Jason's not talking about an actual puzzle.

"I do." Jason snorts, ignoring how excited Dick seems to be about Jason's excitement. "Now I just have to work for it."

Chapter Text

"You're off your game, Fenton!" Wes jeers from the sidelines.

Danny, in the middle of throwing a punch, yells back "Keep talking and you'll be next, Weston!"

"Typical," Val grunts, kicking at Danny's side heavily. "Weston picking up my sloppy seconds as usual."

"I resent that!" Danny and Wes yell at the same time.

"We speak not of the before times." Danny huffs as he dodges another hit.

"Fuck you," Wes calls over as Val tries to sweep Danny with a low kick spin. "You're the reason he swore off women and came to me in the first place!"

"You mean me and Sam set the Bar for women, because let's face it Weston—" Val flips away from Danny's grip after Danny jumps over Val's leg and lunges in to grab her. "You're easy."

"Are you slut shaming me??" Wes shrieks incredulously, "We're dating!! What does that make you??"

"Bored." Val grits out once Danny gets in a good punch to her gut. "And too lazy for the dating scene."

"Hi, hello—" Danny grabs Val finally, tossing her effortlessly onto the matted floor. He braces himself on his knees, looking at Val where she pants spread eagle and watching Wes come over to them with water bottles. "Can we not??"

"Fine." Val and Wes say in unison. Wes sits himself beside where Val's head is, and she scooches herself up so that her head is pillowed on his lap.

Danny feels a pang in his throat. He's jealous, not of Val or of Wes, those ships have long since sailed though he still loves them dearly even if they aren't that close anymore.

He's jealous of the intimacy they have. The closeness.

He sighs and he plops himself down, bringing his knees up to rest his chin on after he takes long swigs of his water.

"Alright Fenton." Val breaks the silence, sitting up to drink her own water and leaning against Wes like it's second nature. "Spit it out."

"Spit what out?" Danny pouts. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You've got that..." Wes makes a vague gesture that means absolutely nothing to Danny, "look about you."

"The stupid one." Val continues, "where you overthink shit."

Danny huffs, capping off his water bottle and hugging his knees in closer. "I know you have a group chat with Sam and Tucker, the one where you guys talk about me when you're worried."

"Danny's 3 evil exes and Tuck." Wes nods, as if he's ever even watched Scott Pilgrim. He hasn't, by the way—Tuck and Danny keep trying to get him to but he refuses simply because he likes being an asshole. "What about it?"

"Don't tell me—is this about Red Hood?" Val smirks, capping her own bottle and tossing it away. Wes and Danny watch it roll towards their bags. "Did he ask you out? Did you kiss him? Did you let him fu—"

"Val!" Danny hisses, looking around. There's no-one around, of course. They're in one of the gyms he's conjured up at Pariah's Keep, and he's ordered the servants away during his time with his old friends.

It's become Danny's Keep, but he wants to put off any kingly duties as far away as he can. The only reason he has the gym here instead of at his lair is simply because he wanted to keep things relatively small over there—and the Observants begged him to use the Keep somehow.

People with Eyeballs for their heads should not have tear glands, is all Danny's saying.

"Oh please." Val scoff. "It's not like you're some wilting flower—Sam told me all about what you guys were up to when—"

"Val!" Danny injects a little of Phantom's voice into it, shutting her up when the Keep rattles. It's true, Danny's no prude, but that's different. It doesn't exactly please Danny whenever his escapades are talked about amongst his exes, but he supposes he's somewhat at fault for staying friends with them.

It's not truly a problem, it's just…weird. Severely weird. Val and Tucker are pretty free with that kind of thing, and Wes and Sam simply do not care one way or another.

Danny doesn't mind it, and has no problem talking about sex in an abstract way—but not when it's him, not when his friends know who he's sleeping with.

Not when it's Danny, and especially not when it's Phantom—not that any of his exes ever really explored Phantom all that much.

Val mimes zipping her lips, raising her hands up in surrender as Wes sighs heavily. "You know it embarrasses him, so why would you push?"

"It only embarrasses him when it's about a crush." Val waves off, "It never bothered him when he was single with no prospects."

"Just because you're right," Wes jabs Val in the side, "doesn't mean it makes you any more pleasant to be around. This is almost a surefire way to make him clam up."

Wes gestures over to Danny, who has indeed clammed up. He bites his lip, feeling a flush cover his face.

"Look, I'm sorry okay?" Val gentles her voice, tapping her shoe against Danny's. "You know I was just teasing. C'mon. There must be a reason you're coming to us instead of the wonder duo. What is it?"

Danny groans. "It is about Red Hood. And yes, there's a reason I came to you guys."

"Well, go on then." Wes smiles crookedly. Abstractly, Danny remembers this smile being the one that got them together in college. "Spill, space case."

"I couldn't ask Sam or Tuck because our boundaries are a little…loose." Danny hesitantly starts, which causes both of his friends to snort loudly.

"You're lucky neither of us were the jealous type." Val agrees, draping an arm around Wes' shoulders. Wes, ever the nice boyfriend, slouches so it is easier for his shorter girlfriend to do so. "But you've outgrown it a bit, haven't you?"

"Yes…" Danny sighs, "But—I just. I just couldn't remember what was normal or not."

"You're dancing around the subject." Wes says calmly, coaxing. "Tell us what happened from the beginning."

"Red Hood has been…trying to get closer to Phantom." Danny runs his hands through his hair, back and forth to soothe himself. "Tuck called it a stray cat thing. Long story short, he's been…I don't know, testing boundaries."

"Stray cat thing?" Val scrunches her nose cutely.

"Like sitting next to it, but not making eye contact?" Wes hums, thinking. "Uhm, and treats right?"

"Yeah." Danny huffs. "It made me realize I—Phantom keeps a sort of…bubble? Around everyone."

"It's about six feet, give or take." Val nods, which causes Danny to blink. She explains. "Ever since you accidentally got Tucker sick, you keep your distance in Phantom form."

"All of us knew," Wes picks up, "That's why we wear long sleeves and, well, you know—the capes."

"Jazz said pointing it out would make it worse." Val finishes, gesticulating with her hands. "We were trying to figure out some kind of solution, but we're all so scattered and busy—Tucker's kind of mad you never visit him even though you're in Gotham a lot for missions you know?"

Danny feels like tearing up, and both of them clearly can tell so they drag him over and the three of them relocate to lean against the gym wall. Danny sits snugly between them, half tempting him to transform just to siphon their warmth.

He doesn't, for obvious reasons.

"So he's trying to get closer to you by treating you like a stray cat." Wes finally breaks the silence, leaning his hand atop Danny's. "what happened after that?"

"He's been summoning me a lot, to ask questions about Realms culture." Danny fiddles with Val's fingers, with Wes', just for something to do. "A couple days ago, I went over and he—I guess he got back from a particularly rough patrol."

"He was injured?" Val guesses, to which Danny nods.

"I patched him up, and we talked. It was nice." Danny smiles, oblivious to his friends' gazes as he gets lost in the memory. "He…his magic, it makes him like me but opposite I think."

Wes hums, encouraging as Val murmurs a low "uh huh?"

"So I asked him and somehow he—" Danny scrunches up, letting go of their hands to cover his face as it burns. "He uhm, asked if we could hold hands, so we did. And—he realized we could help each other so we—cuddled."

A long silence falls over them, making Danny squirm. His friends squeeze in closer, as if to comfort, or simply to prevent him from escaping due to sheer embarrassment.

He continues, if only so the silence doesn't throttle him, whispering. "He…kissed my hand, and then his brother tumbled through the window and I ran away."

Another second, before the gym echoes with loud, bursting laughter.

Danny curls up even further, even has his friends try to uncurl him.

It's no use, Danny is stronger than both of them combined even if they weren't weak from laughter.

Danny briefly wonders if Hood did something to him, if perhaps the All-Caste magic is contagious and that's why Danny feels like he might burn to a crisp under the flush of his embarrassment.

"You're a mess over a kiss on the back of your hand??" Val breathes through her loud guffaws.

"Gods," Wes chuckles, lifting a hand to push back his hair. "What are we, in Bridgerton?"

"No, no—" Val snorts, "Hood's a regular Darcy, ain't he?"

That sets off another bout of breathless laughter.

"Are we done?" Danny deadpans, hands dropping as his embarrassment quickly drains into deadpan exhaustion. Which, he supposes, was probably the point.

"Yeah, Lizzie." Val grins, bumping her head against his. "We're done."

"So what's the problem anyway?" Wes asks, wiping a tear away and smiling widely, "Clearly he's interested, and the mishap with his brother aside, you…were…"

Wes stares at Danny, whose cheeks start to burn again. Wes jolts up, trying to make eye contact with Danny, but he shuts his eyes tight as he bites his lips.

This prompts Val to jerk away too, and he can feel their gazes burning on him. It is decidedly less pleasant than when Hood does it.

"Danny—" Val pleads, now a little distraught, "You ran away because you were caught in flagrante, Jane Austen style right? Right?"

Danny stays silent, shoulders hunching up. He wishes he could be anywhere but here.

"Danny you can't be serious." Wes slowly enunciates each and every word, words going sharp when Danny tries to cover his face again. Wes and Val each grab a hand to prevent him. "Danny—did you call us over because you don't know how you feel about Red Hood??"

Danny winces. His friends groan as they slump back into the wall.

"I don't know what's normal anymore!" Danny cries, looking at his friends desperately. "I'm friends with all my exes, my one platonic soulmate helped me figure out I was bi, we all cuddle!"

Wes and Val each look like they have something to say to that, but Danny's on a roll now.

"We hold hands." Danny stresses, jerking up said hands and shaking them in their respective faces. "I've seen both of you naked and you're dating each other now and we hold hands and the worst part is it's not weird."

Danny proper worked up now so he jumps up, pacing back and forth across the gym floor—always disturbingly shiney from how many times the servants clean the damn place even though they barely use it twice a month.

"Hood is attractive, sure, but I've always been susceptible to pretty people and on the whole it doesn't actually mean much because, like, Kwan was nice and handsome and even though there were times when he got real close and my heart stuttered I didn't actually like him romantically." Danny gesticulates, trying to convey his scattered thoughts. "And Phantom is touch starved. I vaguely knew about it but I'm a procrastinator and it turns out, the deadline for figuring that kind of thing out passed two days ago, when I was on the verge of exploding just from him holding my hand."

"We get along, and have nice conversations when he's in a conversational kind of mood, but until recently we were just colleagues, maybe, at a push, sort of friends." Danny stops, breathing heavy. He buries his face into his heads, groaning. "Red Hood treats me really well, sure. And maybe, maybe I can believe he's attracted to Phantom. But how do I know if I like him when it could be any number of things?!"

"Red Hood has fire magic and, I cannot stress this enough: Phantom is touch starved." He twirls around putting his hands out helplessly towards his friends, as if presenting these two options to them physically. "Jazz would have my hide if I went into this recklessly and…and possibly hurt Hood's feelings—he's already traumatized, has a boat load of trust and abandonment issues, and don't even get me started on his family problems."

Danny crouches down, hugging himself and feeling like he's going to cry, possibly throw up. "We don't even know each other's secret identities, and I'm not in the business of demanding anything but Hood is a Bat. Those guys can never leave well enough alone, and I don't want to resent him if he finds out and won't reveal himself in return. I don't think I will, considering the whole thing with Huntress, but I am also the guy who became evil in another timeline so what do I actually know?!"

Another silence threatens to chew Danny up, but luckily Val bulldozes through it.

"Wow. I thought maybe you tuned her out when she lectured you," Val starts, amazed and breathless, "But you really listen when Jazz talks to you about all that psychoanalysis stuff huh."

Danny, for lack of anything else to do, rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Obviously."

"I think." Wes cuts in, when Val has the gleam in her eye that precludes a tussle. "this could be an easy fix."

Both Danny and Val whip their heads towards the red-head. "Explain."

"Well, there's only two problems right?" Wes tilts his head in thought, tipping over until he's leaning into Val. "If Phantom is touch-starved, then y'know, touch people more. Compare and contrast."

"And if you think it's his fire magic—" Val continues the thread, "Ask Etrigan."

Danny blinks. "The…demon ghost guy?"

"Demon meaning hellfire and all that?" Val pauses. "Or you could ask Zatanna, since she's your fave JL Dark member. She can use fire magic, can't she? Or at least, knows someone who can."

Danny considers this. "But…Hood. How do I…"

"Danny." Wes sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Use your big boy words. If you listened to Jazz you know that you can just talk to the guy, ask for some space to figure it out—actually no, ask him what his intentions are in the first place."

"That sounds way too reasonable and logical." Danny jokes, trying for a smile and probably failing.

"You're twenty-five." Val deadpans. "Be an adult and talk about your feelings."

Danny groans as he falls back to starfish on the gym floor again. "Yuck."

Chapter Text

Jason doesn't want to be here.

Here, of course, being Wayne Enterprises.

But it's for the good of the Alley, his Alley, and even if it's not Batman and Red Robin invading his territory it still rankles.

He supposes there's something to be said here, about olive branches or what have you, that they asked him instead of just doing it behind his back.

He supposes it says a lot, then, that he's willing to come here in his civvies to accommodate it in his own way too. He tightens his gloves, makes sure they're on snug, and walks in after parking his bike.

"Mr. Todd," A receptionist smiles widely at him—it makes him feel uncomfortable, but he weathers it with the experience of a dozen galas in his childhood. "Mr. Wayne and Mr. Drake are expecting you in Conference Room 5 on Floor 32. Here is your badge, do you need an escort?"

"No." Jason stuffs the badge in his jacket pocket, trying for a smile and knowing it's more of a grimace, judging from the guy's reaction. "Thanks, I know my way around."

Jason trudges through to the elevators, pressing the badge in the appropriate places and rolling his shoulders against the discomfort of being here.

He's been back from the dead for a while now, but Wayne Enterprises still feels like a place from before. He used to come here and run around like the little kid he was, made the papers as a rambunctious little mascot even. It helped soften Bruce's image, kept Jason out of trouble.

Bruce had thought that maybe Jason could help WE, not quite in the same way Tim has but somewhere in one of the obscure departments depending on what interested Jason.

Jason had scoffed then, and he's scoffing about it now.

It's not that Jason doesn't think he can do the job—it's that WE is still too raw, one of the constant reminders that he's not who he was anymore, as if it isn't crystal clear every time Jason looks in the mirror.

Jason wonders if the little demon tyke will have the run of WE now, as its mascot. Highly unlikely, considering he almost killed Tim not one week ago, but you never know.

Kids bounce back quick, and they're always unpredictable.

Jason braces himself just outside the door of Conference Room 5, steadying himself before opening it.

"Oh!" An unfamiliar man stands up, rounding the table inside the room to come shake Jason's hand. "Hello, Mr. Todd. I'm Tucker Foley, the secondary lead for this project."

Jason blinks at the man, an African American man dressed in muted yellows and reds, dreads wrapped up in a flared out ponytail style. His glasses shine oddly, in a way Jason recognizes as smart tech, and he has a couple of gold accessories of vaguely Egyptian style.

"Call me Jason. Mr. Todd is my father." He reaches over, and shakes Foley's hand. If the other man finds it odd that Jason still has his gloves on, he doesn't show it.

"I thought Mr. Wayne was your father?" Foley jokes, grinning. "Either way, Jason, feel free to call me Tucker or Tuck. I'm not really big on formalities myself."

Jason nods, following the man back towards the head of the table where has has a laptop and a cluttered stack of papers set up. There's a tablet in sleep mode at one of the chairs, which Tucker directs him to.

"Mr. Drake will be joining us in a bit," Tucker continues, neatening the pile of papers and clicking a couple things so that a projector turns on. "I'm sure Mr. Wayne will pop in towards the end, even if he's supposed to be in back-to-back meetings."

"Why would you say that?" Jason absentmindedly asks, picking up the tablet to find a copy of the presentation with expanded points. A little digging, and he sees there's also a bundle of documents to the project as well. "If he's busy, he's busy. I thought I was only meeting up with Tim."

Tucker pauses in his fussing, staring at Jason. It takes a moment for him to notice, with the way he's perusing the project files, but when he does he meets Tucker's confused gaze.

"Uh…so I don't mean to be like, too casual with you but." Tucker bites his lip, glancing away before leaning in to whisper. "Why wouldn't he? You're like, the favorite."

Jason bluescreens. "…What?"

"Listen—don't tell Mr. Drake but everyone knows you're the favorite. Favorite boy, at least. I mean Miss Cain is clearly the favorite of the girls, but to be fair to them, the other girls aren't even Waynes!"

"I am not the favorite." Jason's voice is deadpan and disbelieving. "That would be my older brother you're thinking of."

"Uh, yes you are?" Tucker looks just as confused as Jason is. "Or at least, the one he's most—"

But the rest of whatever it is Tucker wants to say is lost to the wind as Tim swans in with his eyes glued to his tablet. A small horde of people follow in his wake, quietly discussing this or that.

"Hey, Jason." Tim greets, across from Tucker. It's then that Jason realizes he's been placed at the head of the table, with Tucker and Tim acting as a barrier against the other shmucks at the table. "Glad you could come. I think you'll really like this project."

"Sure, Timberly." Jason agrees, because even just from that little glance he knows he will. Why wouldn't he, if it helps the Alley? "A magic fluid that can fortify the tensile and impact strength of other material? Who wouldn't be interested?"

"With Gotham getting more and more rogues, and subsequently more collateral damage, it is more important than ever to—" Tucker takes his cue and launches into his presentation.

It's a good presentation, engaging and full of questions and hypotheticals that get answered bit by bit.

The general idea is this: Wayne Enterprises wants to develop a liquid, a paint, that can be applied to the old infrastructures around Gotham to help strengthen these old and historically important buildings.

Renovations are, of course, not off the table. But a lot of Gotham was built upon old blood, landmarks that are so important they've been deemed government property.

It's the same reason that causes Gotham to stay "safe" from Superman's prying eyes, why a lot of the buildings in this city still have lead in its blood.

The fluid, theoretically, will not only buttress existing buildings, but also aim to neutralize the side effects of lead paint lingering in the old city. Two birds with one convenient can of paint.

Development of the liquid is already in the works, early testing proving that it is possible, even if the only samples they have result in short-term success.

And, of course, the reason why Jason is here in the first place: Park Row is the lucky guinea pig.

It's the perfect site, ticking off all the boxes the research team was looking for:

Lots of apartment buildings from various eras of Gotham, no historical sites that could possibly cause them to step on government toes, heavy wear and tear from frequent small scale rogue attacks, and most important of all: no blue bloods to oppose it.

Jason knows that a couple other neighborhoods tick these boxes (the Narrows, for one), so he also suspects it ticks a very important box unbeknownst to the research team too:

Park Row, Crime Alley, involvement means Jason involvement.

Against all odds, his family wants Jason involved, and Jason is too worn down to even fight it.

He'll do this project, for the Alley, and then he'll go back to keeping to his lane.

Easy peasy.

So why, then, does Jason feel so uneasy?

"Our main contact with Park Row will be my brother, Jason." Tim rounds out the presentation, Tucker having said his spiel and already taken a seat back down. "He has close contact with all of the people there, so any questions regarding when and where will go through him."

Jason nods, feeling uncomfortable sitting in front of all these important people. He doesn't feel inferior, but he also knows without a shadow of doubt that they think he's some nepo baby, some kid in his twenties who knows his neighbors and probably plays pick up basketball at the one park in the Alley.

He's twenty seven now, he hardly qualifies as a young man much less a kid.

A man raises his hand, but before he can ask his question a knock interrupts them.

Bruce pops in, smiling a little too awkwardly to be Brucie. "Hello boys. Finished with your presentation?"

"One minute, Bruce." Tim turns back towards the group. "Any further questions?"

The man with his hand up slowly brings it down, causing Tucker to snicker a bit. Bruce shuts the door quietly and waits, leaning against the jamb.

"You said as of right now the research team is struggling with stability of the product?" Tim addresses Tucker next. "Do you have any actionable solutions?"

"I'm on it, boss." Tucker mocks a salute, before smirking. "I know a guy."

"Good, meeting adjourned then." Tim concludes the meeting, prompting everyone to start gathering their stuff and exit as swiftly as he can. Jason tries to hand Tucker the tablet, but the other man shakes his head and pushes it back.

"It has your name on it, dude. You're supposed to keep it so we can stay in touch with you." Tucker nods a head over at Bruce. "Big man didn't want anybody having your number."

And with those parting words, suddenly Jason is left alone with his brother and his dad.

"Lunch, Jaylad?" Bruce tentatively asks, Tim standing beside him and waiting patiently. "We can go to that sandwhich place you like—with the pickled onions."

Like this, the look more like father and son than Tim did with his actual parents.

Like this, with both of them in their neat, three piece suits, with Jason in his leather jacket and gloves, he feels that disconnect again.

He hasn't liked pickled onions since before.

"Can't." Jason finally croaks. "Got plans."

He catalogues the way Bruce's brow twitches, the way Tim's grip on his tablet slackens.

"…Alright." Bruce says softly. "Stay safe, chum."

"I'm on comms tonight." Tim says just as softly. "Babs will pitch a fit if you don't patch in."

"Yeah, yeah." Jason tries to make his voice flippant, waving a hand as he makes his way to the door. "If I feel like it."

He'll have to pass through them, if they don't move. He'll have to squeeze, maybe weather Bruce putting his hand on his shoulder, might have nudge Tim aside a little.

He stops just a couple feet away instead, waiting for them to clear out.

He realizes then that he and Phantom have a lot in common, for very different reasons.

Thinking of the halfa soothes an ache in him, a burning he didn't realize he'd been boiling up bubbling in his gut.

The long pause that follows thrums through Jason's chest, his heart beat quickening in anxiety and discomfort.

Is this how Phantom felt? Jason doesn't touch people sure, but has he been avoiding other people touching him this whole time? Roy had joked about it before, but maybe it wasn't a joke after all.

Suddenly, the gloves don't really feel like it's enough.

Suddenly, he realizes he's covered from head to toe—temporary hair dye to mask the stripe in his hair, make up caking his face to cover the scar, high necked long sleeve shirts, long back pants.

How long has that been going on?

Finally, finally, Bruce and Tim clear out, walking together down the hall and quietly discussing some other project or meeting or whatever else co-CEOs talk about. Budgets, maybe. He tries not to notice how they glance at him occasionally even as he walks the opposite way to the elevators back to his bike.

He tries not to notice that, for him to catch those glances, he'd have to be looking too.

Well, Jason's always been sort of a failure anyway.

The elevator doors close with a heavy thud, dinging at him mockingly as their backs disappear and he meets his own eyes in the shiny metal reflection.

Chapter Text

"I'm an engineer Tuck," Danny stresses as they walk through the entrance of Wayne Enterprises, "not a chemist!"

"Technically," Tucker's grin oozes confidence as he signs Danny in, smiling at the receptionist. "this is still within the purview of civil engineering."

"I know this is a hard concept for you, a literal certified genius, to grasp," Danny groans, rubbing a hand down his face in exasperation, "but just because it is technically within my purview does not mean I can work miracles for you."

"You excel in all things science!" Tucker argues, miming a cylindrical form with his hands. "You did a bunch of experiments with ecto didn't you? I know you and your mom developed some batteries out of it a couple of times."

"That's different." Danny hisses, taking the badge being handed to him and following Tuck into an elevator. "Ecto is 60% death magic, 20% physical decomposition, and 20% mysterious liquid."

"Which," Tucker smugly points out, pressing buttons that Danny doesn't care to keep track of. "is basically a hop skip and a jump away from building fortifying paint!"

Danny groans, but doesn't answer as he watches the numbers crawl up.

"You owe me, Danny." Tucker's face goes serious now, a little hurt even. "I miss you, man. What happened to platonic soulmates? I haven't been accused of being gay in months. You can't do this to me in June!"

That gets Danny to laugh, Tucker grinning in triumph before pouting.

"You're here all the time as Phantom," Tucker needles, guilt tripping him in a way he definitely learned from Ellie. "Plus, don't lie. You know you can do this. You do seven impossible things before breakfast, you can do one miracle for your best friend."

"Butchering an Alice in Wonderland quote will not make me believe I can do this." Danny tiredly smiles. "But fine. Fine. I'm here, aren't I? I still think Miriam was a better fit—"

"That's your opinion." Tucker scoffs, before beaming so wide Danny can probably count each tooth. "Now you can't escape from me—Sam's gonna be so jealous."

"Sam should have thought of that before going off to save the world." Danny scoffs, though he does feel a pang at the mention of their other best friend. He should call her, after this. "Doesn't she know I'm only part-time now?"

"Oh she knows." Tucker turns sly, which rings alarm bells in Danny's head. "All hero exploits are being monopolized by Darcy and his team."

Danny splutters, much to Tucker's amusement. "I work for the government!"

"And they only ever send you over to Darcy's team. Your point?" Tucker raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms and leaning a cheek on his hand. "How's that going by the way?"

Danny goes quiet. "…I've been, I guess. Trying to figure out how I feel about him still. He hasn't really called me all that much since…"

"The cuddlefest of the century?" Tucker finishes, grinning. "Which I'm still jealous of, by the way. You only ever cuddle me in bed."

"Why is it that, in a friend group comprised of most of my exes," Danny sighs, "You're the one who flirts with me the most?"

"I wanna be part of the club, Danny." Tucker whines exaggeratedly. "Danny's 4 evil exes is a way better group chat name. Rolls off the tongue more."

"You're straight." Danny smiles, helplessly humored at the old joke. "We've been through this."

"I could stand to kiss my homies good night more often." Tucker waggles his eyebrows. "Sam should thank me for prepping you."

"Our kiss didn't even last three seconds." Danny deadpans. "I hope you have more faith in my skills than that."

"Oh believe me, I've heard all about it in the group chat" Tucker rolls his eyes. "It really makes you wonder why Darcy holding your hand gets you so hot and bothered."

"Did I mention how much I hate that nickname you guys have given him?" Danny groans, burying his face in his hands. "I liked it better when you were trying to make me do impossible things."

"Poor baby." Tucker mocks as the elevator dings. He leads Danny over to a lab, where a couple of people are milling about. Some are actively working on experiments, some are recording, some can be seen testing the material in the next room over through a large glass wall. "Welcome to your temporary cave, I expect to see you no less than every night for dinner."

"For a straight guy you sure ask me out to dinner a lot." Danny huffs, knowing Tucker means it as a preventative measure to make sure Danny doesn't overwork.

"Thin ice, Fenton." Tucker threatens, jabbing a finger into the center of his chest. "We will not be repeating the STAR Labs debacle of 2022."

"What happened in 2022?" A voice cuts in, amusement laced through. They turn around to see a man in a three piece suit, lightly covered by a lab coat with safety goggles perched on top of his black hair. Danny's seen this guy's face on magazine covers since he was a kid .

"Danny is a workaholic, Tim." Tucker narrows his eyes. "Gets all hyperfixated. Sure sounds familiar, huh?"

Tim Drake-Wayne, co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises, chuckles uncomfortably. "Ah. Is that why you're so skilled in handling my bad habits?"

"You don't know the half of it. Tim, this is Danny Fenton, the engineer I was telling you about." Tucker gestures between the men. "Danny, this is Tim Drake-Wayne."

"Pleased to meet you," Tim smiles, and it's a nice smile, one that isn't camera ready and more grounded. Humble. "Please, call me Tim."

"Nice to meet you Tim, call me Danny." Danny shakes the man's hand, firm grip. Danny absently wonders if seeing the man grow up via paparazzi photos makes someone feel so familiar.

"I'll admit, we focused priority on chemists and the like." Tim tilts his head, "But I realize now that an engineer should have been involved a lot sooner. It's been easier to see the applications in the testing once we got Abigail involved."

"Abigail being one of our WE engineers." Tuck explains, gesturing to the woman in the testing room intently painting some kind of brick. "You're going to be hopping into her team to bounce ideas off of. With your experience in biochemical materials, I was hoping you could be the go-between for the engineers and the chemists."

"High hopes." Danny drawls. "No pressure or anything."

"From what I've seen of your projects at STAR Labs," Tim chimes in with a charming albeit tired smile, "They're well founded hopes."

"Most of that is my team." Danny scratches the back of his head, shrugging with a shy smile. "But enough about that. Show me where I'm working."

"Happily," Tim grins, a little more alert. Danny bids Tucker goodbye as his best friend excuses himself to work on his own projects.

Tim takes him around the lab, introducing him to the team and leaving him to it after he hands Danny his own personal tablet with all the project files loaded up into it.

It's different from his STAR Labs one, of course, but the OS functions in the same way. It's user friendly, with a bunch of handy apps Danny can't wait to get into.

The team is lovely, and the project is fascinating. Danny is, as he's said before, far from a chemist but the molecular composition of the paint makes Danny itch to get back in his parents' lab.

He hasn't played with ectoplasm since they got Frostbite involved, and it became less lab time with parents and more check Phantom is healthy via nagging masquerading as ethical experimentation.

His late teens were a mess of his parents worrying too much about Phantom's well being, and Frostbite worrying too much about Danny's well being.

Danny doesn't like to think about it.

Overall, the day goes by in a blur of names, files, and onboarding documents so that PR can write an article about the collaboration between WE and SL.

"Good first day?" Tim's voice causes Danny to blink out of the calculations he's been running. Math has always been his worst subject, despite needing it for basically every facet of his job. "I hope WE has been treating you well. Don't want STAR Labs to file a complaint about how we treat one of their top engineers."

"It was great." Danny beams, excited to get into the nitty gritty. He had his doubts, but Abigail has been extremely helpful and friendly, so Danny's mostly just fascinated. "I'll be sure to leave a 5 star review when I get back to my lab."

"We take tips too." Tim jokes, causing Danny to laugh. "I wanted to come by and personally thank you for agreeing to joining this team. This project is important to Bruce and I, and Tucker was insistent that you were integral to figuring out the mythical solution."

"I'm not sure about integral, but I'm happy to help regardless." Danny smiles, gathering his things and getting ready to leave. "Plus, who wouldn't say no to working in the same building as your best friend?"

"True!" Tim chuckles. walking with Danny as they leave the lab. The younger man bids everyone a personal goodbye, and though Danny doesn't need to shadow him as he does so, somehow he feels compelled to do so.

Something about the younger man makes Danny feel like this project is very important to him. Call it intuition, but Tim looks ragged and anxious. Throughout the day he's been coming in and out of the lab, checking in on people and hovering—like this project might be his last chance at something.

"Why this project in particular?" Danny asks as they walk towards the elevator. "Why is it so important I mean. If you don't mind my asking."

Tim ponders Danny's sudden question good-naturedly, seems to think about what he can say. Danny's written an NDA about anything Wayne Enterprises related but he's a virtual stranger, and Tim's only talked to him for about 10 minutes collectively.

But Danny knows that sometimes a stranger's the best person to talk to.

"My brother is on the project." Tim bites his lip, thinks his words through. "He's had a rough patch these past couple of years, and this project could directly help him. Bruce and I…we want to help, is all."

"That's nice of you." Danny hums, not quite sure why Tim would feel so anxious about a single project when he runs a successful multi-billion dollar company. "I'm sure your brother appreciates the hard work you're putting into his project."

"That's the hope, at least." Tim scratches as his cheek, looking away. "And I mean—it's nice that I can see him in the building sometimes."

"Don't see him often?" Danny ventures sympathetically. "I get it. My sisters and I barely get to see each other these days."

"Yeah," Tim awkwardly smiles, looking nothing like those magazine covers. "It's been a while. He avoids family dinners like the plague."

Tim tries to make it sound like a joke, to play it off.

The way he fidgets and looks faintly hurt by it tells Danny it's far from something to laugh about.

"You're talking about Jason Todd." Danny realizes, finally connecting the dots. "Park Row is where he's from isn't he?"

Tim blinks, just in time for the elevator to ding as it arrives. "Not many people know about that."

"Don't tell Tucker," Danny grins as they hop in. "But I know a lot about you Waynes because he's been wanting to work here since we were kids."

That makes Tim laugh, before he mimes zipping his lips. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Keep this one for me too," Danny focuses on the numbers slowly dwindling down. "I saw the articles about him, about what he went through. It's not quite the same, lord knows that gossip mags aren't going to be accurate, but I know what it feels like."

"Know what…." Tim pauses. clears his throat. "how what feels like?"

"To come back completely changed, only for everyone else to be frozen in time." Danny smiles, but it hurts. "It's not easy, bouncing back. Especially when everyone keeps searching for the kid from before, even though that kid died."

The elevator dings. Danny steps out, smile melting into a softer one when he sees Tuck by the front doors waiting. Something about the Waynes…it makes Danny a little more open, like they need it.

The way their hurt tastes in the air…it reminds him of Hood. In some ways, it reminds him of the Outlaws, even the JL Dark.

It reminds him of the other heroes too, the people working in the hospitals, the officers on the streets, the volunteers who have seen things.

Wayne Enterprises, a multi-billion dollar company working to help even a little bit of a city like Gotham?

Yeah, he can understand. He's understood since he was fourteen.

"I'll do my best here, Tim." Danny meets the man's eyes, and can see the grief, see that he understands what Danny's actually saying. "I'm sure he's doing his best too. New beginnings are tough that way."

Tim nods, looking pensive as the elevator doors shut close.

Danny walks on with a little bit of hope in his step, towards the oldest friend he's ever known.

A comfort and reminder all at once.

Chapter Text

Jason is going to be totally normal about this.

Phantom, just 10 feet ahead, inches a little closer to Bizarro as he answers the big guy's question about…something or other.

Jason is very focused on the rapidly decreasing distance between the other two to really pay attention.

(This is another lie to himself, because they are talking about dogs. Phantom, apparently, has a ghost dog named Cujo.)

It's just that this seriously feels like the shit icing on a really bad cake.

Going to WE every other day for 2 weeks is surprisingly tiring, way more tiring than after a long patrol in Crime Alley if Jason is being honest.

Jason is rarely, if ever, honest with himself.

"You could join, you know." Starfire smirks at him as she walks beside him. "You have a pet too, no? What was her name again?"

"Dog." Jason grumbles. Starfire pauses at that, looking at Jason like seriously? He shrugs in response, keeping his eyes on Phantom and Bizarro.

Bizarro is saying something, making Phantom smother a laugh behind a delicate hand, and Jason is A-OK about it. Phantom conjures up a little ice sculpture of a dog, presumably Cujo, placing it gently into Bizarro's big hands and—

It is 3am, Jason has had a trying week of weathering emotional molotovs masquerading as Bruce inviting him to lunch or dinner like he did when he was little, of Tim acting fucking weird and asking him questions like he's creating some kind of criminal profile, of the WE employees on his team being so fucking nice—

It's 3am, the four of them have just come back from a mediocre but grueling assignment from the JL Dark, and Jason is watching Phantom touch Bizarro like he didn't use to keep a 6 foot bubble around himself as if his life fucking depended on it.

Jason has been so busy that Hood hasn't been able to summon Phantom as much as he wants to, and Phantom keeps giving Hood looks and Hood is a Crime Lord but Jason is just a guy.

A guy who is tired, and obviously so fucking green-eyed he's surprised pit madness isn't involved in it.

Jason has never been normal in his entire fucking life.

Fingers snapping in front of his face brings his ears back in rotation, Starfire huffing like she's been talking for the past 5 minutes with Jason solidly ignoring her. When Jason glances at the clock in the corner of his helmet display and confirms it, he sheepishly apologizes under his breath.

"So." Starfire amusedly crosses her arms and floating up and in front of Jason, flying backwards implicitly to block his view of the other two in front. "How goes the Phantom puzzle?"

"Fine." Jason quickly says, even though he knows for damn sure she doesn't believe him. He huffs. "I'm working on it."

"By working on it, do you mean the same way your father would work on it," She's doing this on purpose, even if Jason doesn't have proof he knows it down to his marrows. "Or in the way my darling husband does?"

Jason, through years of self preservation of dealing with the women in his life, admits defeat by keeping silence.

His lovely sister-in-law laughs at him.

"At least you are aware now." She giggles, twirling around to drape an arm over his shoulders. "So what is the next step? Stare in envy as he gets closer to others?"

"I don't know why 'Wing married you." Jason mutters instead of answering.

Starfire gets a lascivious smile then, which makes Jason regret every choice he's ever made to get to this exact moment of his life.

Actually, glancing at Phantom, not everything, but the intent is true and there.

"I lied." He puts a hand up to stop whatever nasty thing she's about to say about his brother in bed. "I know why he married you, I know why you married him, and no, I do NOT want tips Starfire."

Starfire belly laughs at his predictions, which causes Phantom and Bizarro to turn around to look at them in interest. Jason tries not to throw something at his sister-in-law, especially when he realizes Phantom is practically rubbing shoulders with their other team-mate.

Jason waves them off, intensely glad that he has the full helmet on. Bizarro continues on his merry way, and though Phantom hesitates a little bit he follows suit. Jason drops his hand.

"We…held hands." Jason says lowly as he starts walking. He reluctantly continues on in starts and stops. "Cuddled. A month ago."

Starfire squeals in delight, thankfully low enough that the other two either don't notice or don't care. "Wonderful!"

"I…made my intentions clear," Jason hesitates. "I summoned him a week after the, uh, incident and—it was. awkward."

"How did you make it clear?" Starfire eagerly asks, though she frowns a bit at the rest of Jason's sentence. "Is it perhaps Phantom's first relationship?"

"I kissed the back of his hand." Jason feels heat surge through him, flaring out. Ahead, he can see Phantom shiver, glancing back at Jason for a moment before hastily addressing Bizarro again. "And...no. He's talked about exes before, vaguely."

"Oh that's so sweet." Starfire beams. "Like one of your pride books!"

That startles a laugh out of Jason. "You mean Pride and Prejudice?"

"Nightwing told me it's one of your favorites, no?" Starfire smiles, going thoughtful after a moment. "But kissing someone on the back of the hand isn't exactly a clear cut love confession."

"Lo—" Jason chokes, hissing, "nobody said anything about love!"

"Like confession, then." Starfire hits him on the back, way too hard as usual, as she frowns properly now. "You just kissed his hand? Did you—"

"Your darling husband crashed through my window and he freaked." Jason sighs. "He left before we could talk about it, and then…"

"And then the next meeting was awkward?" Starfire crosses her arms, taps her lip in thought. "What did you do?"

"He—I…" Jason covers his face with his hands, only to realize his helmet is in the way. "We ended up cuddling again, watching a movie. I think he wanted to talk, but…"

"But of course," Starfire sighs, patting him on the shoulder, "You skillfully avoided the topic. For not being blood related you Bats are so very…similar."

"Lies and slander." Jason shrugs her arm off, gently. "I've been busy—Replacement called after and. Well. I've been busy with the…thing."

"The thing?" Starfire pauses, before thumping a fist against a palm in an aha! moment. "Ah, yes! The thing. Nightwing was very excited you know. Perhaps you will pity my husband and come to dinner one of these nights?"

"Maybe." Jason groans, tilting his head back in discomfort. "We'll see."

"See what?" Phantom's voice yanks Jason back to the present, and he realizes they've arrived at their destination: the only late night diner open at this time of night in Gotham that Jason is willing to eat at.

Red Hood, of course, owns it. The chef is one of his neighbors, who'd rather die than put anything even remotely poisonous in her food. She avoids peanuts like the plague because her son is allergic—won't even serve it even though her son is in college out in the West now.

"I am trying to get Hood to join my husband and I for dinner." Starfire explains as Bizarro tries to squeeze his way through the door. "He is mean, you see, keeps refusing because he likes to bully his brother."

"Red Hood is very nice." Phantom argues, placing a hesitant hand on Bizarro's back to make him intangible and push him through the doorway. It's a move he's done before to all of them, on the field.

But never just. Off mission. The heat in him flares again, and Jason is helpless to notice that Phantom leans towards him for just that second before catching himself and moving through the door after Bizarro.

"I am not nice." Jason automatically refutes. For why, he doesn't know. Maybe just to talk to Phantom, maybe because Jason is a fucking fool.

Phantom gives him a look, an unreadable one over his shoulder, but huffs and pouts about it and nothing more. Jason focuses on putting one foot in front of the other instead of kissing that pout away.

Starfire snickers into her hand and they all take a seat. Because his sister in law loves hates him, she gestures for Jason and Phantom to slide into the booth first. When she slips in, she purposefully leans in close so that Phantom either has to touch her or him.

Phantom, much to his sanity's dismay, firmly decides to stick to Jason.

Bizarro takes up the entire bench on the other side, and part of Jason is jealous about that. A very small part. A very very small part that is dwindling the more Phantom adjusts himself to get comfortable against Jason.

Phantom is cool to the touch, as usual, soothing a lot of aches Jason didn't realize he had. He noticed this last time they cuddled, and is still unsure how to feel about it.

He's so accustomed to hurting that when it suddenly doesn't hurt, it makes everything more technicolor to behold. Like taking off your sunglasses and realizing it is way brighter than you thought it was, and it actually kind of hurts for a moment before you readjust.

Jason distracts himself by taking off his helmet, placing it out of the way on Bizarro's side of the booth. He then casually lays an arm on the back of the booth, studiously ignoring the way both Phantom and Starfire look at him. Phantom in a shy side glance, almost too quick to notice, and Starfire with that infuriatingly smug big sister look.

Phantom fits very snug against Jason, under the crook of his arm.

He doesn't know if its better or worse that neither teammate makes fun of him for eating with his left hand, once the bickering and ordering is over with, and food arrives.

But then Phantom starts to fiddle with his fingers, starts to slowly tug at the hem of it, bit by bit. As if testing how far Jason will let him go.

Starfire and Bizarro are chatting happily about something or other, and Phantom is sneakily trying to take off Hood's glove.

Phantom could just phase it off. He could just slip it off in one smooth slide. He could do any number of things.

Instead he rubs at each finger, pinching the tips and tugging gently. Instead, he loosens the wrist of it, just that scant bit, not entirely, little by little.

Instead, he slowly drives Jason mad between bites of his waffle.

Jason can't even taste his own pancakes, not with the way Phantom occasionally, thoughtlessly, nuzzles at Jason's arm with his cheek.

Which is another thing: Jason's arm is firmly around Phantom now. That is a thing that is happening.

Jason was trained by assassins, when did he lose control over his own body?

Starfire's voice is loud and giddy, and Bizarro is laughing about something she's said. Phantom is chiming in with a joke or two, Jason with the occasional cutting remark that's as sharp as a child's kitchen playset.

It's all so very normal except for the metaphorical game of chicken Phantom is playing with Jason and his fucking glove.

He doesn't know why Phantom freezes (metaphorically) when he finally, finally divests Jason of his glove. Jason has not made any indication he wants him to stop, has infact, spread his legs enough so that their thighs are touching.

When he laughs, he makes sure it's smothered in Phantom's wispy white hair, pulling him in close as if out of habit and not on purpose, not at all.

But Jason's hand is free now, Bizarro is regaling them about the time he started a cult of his own, and Phantom is frozen as a popsicle.

Phantom is practically sitting in Jason's lap, and this is the thing that makes him nervous?

They're on dessert now, Phantom opting to pass. Bizarro and Jason had completely obliterated their pie slices, and Starfire is slowly and steadily making her way through hers between old stories of the Titans.

They have very little time left, which makes Jason heavily contemplate doing something, even if it risks scaring Phantom away.

Before he can decide on a course of action, however, he notices Phantom move his hands in his lap very slowly. When he lifts his hands up to Jason's, he has to swallow his tongue and force his muscles to relax.

Phantom has taken off his own gloves.

Jason can see them dissolve into ecto, the way they did when Jason had taken one of them off that fateful night, misting away into non-existence or perhaps back into Phantom. He doesn't know.

He swallows heavily as Phantom ever so slowly cups Jason's hand in his, pulling it closer to his chest, forcing Jason to hug him closer.

Jason moves with it, feels the tickle of Phantoms wispy white hair even through his jacket and shirt sleeve. It's definitely his imagination, but it doesn't matter. It feels real, and so it is real, in this moment.

What matters is that Phantom is pressing Jason's hand against his chest, and Jason can feel Phantom's heartbeat. It's irregular, he remembers it's supposed to be slower than a human's, and still.

It beats fast, for Jason. For Jason.

For a handful of moments, Phantom is all Jason can focus on—Phantom's heart beat, the scent of him, electric and frosty, the feel of Phantom soothing ice cold in his embrace.

The embers that threaten to swallow him alive simmers down, the taste of snowflakes and the unexpected spread of frost touches the tip of every part of him.

Like dipping a burn into ice water, like ice slipping onto your tongue in hundred degree weather, Jason begins to float into himself like a lake on the verge of freezing.

And still, the heat of something utterly different starts to consume him.

Jason squeezes the hand in his, takes comfort in the other hand blanketing it, leans a cheek against the top of Phantom's head. Takes in the breadth of the Halfa next to him.

"Excuse me, waiter!" Starfire's voice brings him crashing back down to Earth. "Check, please."

He blinks (when had his eyes closed?) and Bizarro is smiling widely at them. A quick glance shows Starfire smirking and resting a cheek on her hand, leaning on an elbow and even though she's not looking at them it is implied.

Phantom's normally pale blue skin is so flushed with green that he looks like he might be related to Martain Manhunter.

Jason carefully keeps his arm around Phantom, and shoves his helmet back on with one hand.

They get the check, and Jason pays it.

Nobody refutes this, but most of them give him a look when he stuffs his hands and wallet into his pockets.

Phantom is still so very green, and not meeting anybody's eyes. Jason hovers beside him, tries to think warm thoughts but not hot thoughts, not quite touching but almost.

They chat amicably about anything else, and Jason forcibly pretends everything is normal and fine.

Phantom keeps avoiding looking at Jason, his friends have shit-eating grins, but it is fine.

The walk back to the safehouse is long, and Jason has to clench his fists hard enough to almost draw blood to keep his hands to himself.

At some point, Phantom has re-manifested his gloves, and that makes Jason clench his hands hard enough to actually draw blood.

But, again. It is fine. They shoot the shit the entire time and they firmly don't talk about it. Even if Phantom is a little shyer, a little more fidgety, it is fine. After Starfire and Bizarro leave they can talk and then—

This time, Jason bites his lips.

When they finally arrive, Starfire and Bizarro hem and haw about leaving as Jason staunchly ignores them, quietly separating from Phantom's side to put his helmet way in his room.

Hoping against hope that Starfire and Bizarro will leave so that Phantom and he can talk.

But when he comes back out, Phantom has apparently disappeared with a quiet and shy goodbye instead of staying.

Bizarro and Starfire wait all of 2 seconds before turning to him in exasperation.

"This is what happens," Starfire gestures to the empty spot where Jason left Phantom, "When you don't use your words."

Chapter Text

"This is the first prototype to last so long, isn't it?" An unfamiliar voice brings Danny out of his squint.

When he directs his squint upwards, Bruce Wayne is standing opposite to Danny, observing the slab of "building" covered in experimental paint.

"It is." Danny confirms, blinking away estimated depths and lengths, "Almost 1.5 times as long, but the damage visible is just as, if not more than the previous prototype. Which, as you know, is a little peculiar."

Mr. Wayne hums, glancing at Danny briefly before focusing on the prototype again. "That is peculiar, yes."

Danny waits for him to say something else, but the man simply smiles innocently.

Danny, through years of dealing with Vlad, sighs and moves to grab his tablet to take photos. "How can I help you, Mr. Wayne?"

"Simply curious, is all." Mr. Wayne shrugs, fingering the edge of the prototype's encasing. "And please, call me Bruce."

"About?" Danny tilts his head, pursing his lips.

"Oh, you know." Bruce waves a hand about. "Project progress, why you're here so late, what your name is. The usual things."

"My name is Danny Fenton." Danny resists raising an eyebrow and grabs his tablet and fiddles with it until he finds the right file. "Our team lead should have sent you a progress report this morning…yes, at 9:32am specifically."

"And why are you here so late, Danny?" Bruce encourages, as if Danny is a child. Even though he knows it's an act, it's still kind of annoying.

"I'm a workaholic, Bruce." Danny deadpans. And depressed beyond any thing he had ever known before.

…Danny should not have decided to reread Pride and Predjudice last night, if he was only going to butcher quotes from it this way.

"Oh come now!" Bruce laughs, light and airy and utterly charming. "Aren't you Tucker Foley's friend? Go out on the town with him—young men like you should live a little!"

"He's got a prior appointment tonight, I'm afraid." Danny is too battered and wrung out to play along with Bruce's usual shtick of "airheaded but not too airheaded" billionaire act, but he's Tucker's boss so he simply shrugs and says wryly, "And I'd say I'm living it up quite a bit, not many can say they'd spent Friday night with the Bruce Wayne."

"I suppose you're not wrong!" Bruce chuckles at that, movie star smile all silver fox and charisma. It kind of makes Danny squint again. "Tell me, you're one of those STAR Lab technicians aren't you? Which branch did you come from?"

"Yes sir," Danny suspects that, for whatever reason, Bruce intends to interrogate him for a while yet, so he turns away and heads back over to his workstation as he answers. "I started out in the Chicago location, specifically in the rocket technology department. I was transferred over to the Missouri branch in Central City when I expressed interest in civic engineering."

Bruce follows in Danny's footsteps, and artfully leans against a nearby work table as Danny starts to mess around around with the chemical compound ratios and runs them through a simulation.

"Fascinating." the CEO titters, "And now here you are!"

"Here I am," Danny tiredly agrees, adjusting some numbers and running another simulation. "Which begs the question: What is known Playboy, also famously busy CEO, and Father of at least one baseball team's worth of adult children Bruce Wayne doing here?"

Bruce blinks guilelessly, genuinely a little thrown, Danny supposes. "Oh, I'm not all that—"

"My godfather is Vlad Masters." Danny drawls, still fiddling with numbers and recording some promising combinations to try later. "And humans are faceted, Bruce."

The older man pauses for a moment, before his voice noticeably changes: a little more serious, a little more…genuine. "Usually, people tend to focus on one thing."

Danny gestures to the lab around them, where Danny clearly has at least four different things going on at once. "Usually, people answer questions instead of trying to divert the conversation."

"You got me." Bruce chuckles, prompting Danny to spin around in his chair to give the man his attention. The CEO has settled himself against one of the work tables, arms crossed and nodding his head at Danny as if to say nicely done once they make eye contact.

"And yet still you do not answer." Danny smiles wryly. A corner of Bruce's lips quirk up.

"I truly was here to check up on you, as we at WE do not really condone overtime if we can help it." Bruce puts a hand up to stave off Danny's next remark, which is for the better really—he shouldn't be sassing CEOs he technically works for even if it's temporary. "Also, I've heard a lot about you."

"Must have been riveting." Danny raises an eyebrow, silently asking the man to elaborate, even as he drawls out a sarcastic "And here I thought you didn't know my name."

"I hope you don't mind—" Bruce coughs, sighing. "Tim told me, about what you said to him in the elevator. About…"

"Dying." Danny finishes, watching Bruce tip a hand over as if to concede the floor. "I don't mind—it's public record, after all."

"Right." Bruce seems to stumble a little then, with his thoughts, parsing them out slowly. "My family and I, we're not strangers to near-accidents, we're not careless mind you but—"

"Thrill seekers." Danny smirks at Bruce's sheepish smile. It's all so very carefully crafted, Danny can almost believe it if he didn't know better—didn't know Vlad and how people like Bruce Wayne work. Vlad's taken him to any number of galas, Sam's lamented more than enough times, it all makes one so very jaded when ghosts have no use for pleasantries and pomp. "Extreme sports—wasn't Dick Grayson in contention for Olympics at one point?"

"Gold Medal winner, actually." Bruce beams, before sobering up. "But yes, my family has unfortunately been through a lot of ups and downs, considering our nature and how my children were raised before me, with me, even. But Jason…"

"He was the first one to come back different." Danny surmises, trying to recall the articles Tucker had showed him back when they were in high school. "He healed elsewhere and had a bout of amnesia, didn't he? Came back almost a year or two later. Probably sooner, just out of the limelight."

"Yes." Bruce eyes Danny in a way he's sure he's not supposed to notice. Like he's impressed and needs to be careful all at once. "We've been having a bit of trouble reconnecting with my second eldest, I'm afraid."

"And, like Tim, you suppose talking to a stranger who might understand would help you understand." Danny guesses. "Plus, the NDA probably doesn't hurt."

"I've also done some background checks." Bruce grins, joking even if he isn't. Danny's sure he's run several, considering the scant articles he's seen of the man being fiercely defensive of his children. "I wondered if you would be willing to talk with me, though I would understand if you wished to avoid the topic of your accident."

"I guess that depends on what exactly you're trying to get out of this conversation." Danny shrugs, rubbing at his left arm. When he notices what he's doing, he makes himself put his hands in his lap. Bruce watches this with a hawk's eye.

"Anything, really." Bruce sighs, raking a hand over his hair. "I saw your accident report, how it was one of your parents' machines that injured you, and wondered…It's my fault, you see. Jaylad's accident was because I didn't help him enough, couldn't keep him safe. He did some questionable things during his time recovering, and now that he's back I'm afraid he feels too isolated."

Danny watches as the man grips the edge of the work table, leaning back. "I love him, he's my son, and all I want to do is help. We used to have lunch and dinner almost everyday, and now…"

"Well, first and foremost, I would highly recommend going to therapy." Danny firmly states. Bruce huffs out a laugh, but nods.

"Several of my children and I go regularly." Bruce makes a moue of discomfort. "I am not sure about Jason, and I'm not sure he would want me to know regardless."

Danny nods, humming as he grabs his stylus pen to keep his fingers occupied. Bruce's request is strange, and so very heavy for a stranger like Danny, but just like with Tim it seems that these Waynes need someone like Danny.

Fenton Luck strikes again.

Danny tries to reason it out, as he carefully constructs what he wants to say, how he wants to say what he wants to say.

Danny knows a lot about the Waynes, which is a very common circumstance. Danny doesn't actually care, nor does he hold that knowledge as gospel, which is probably a slightly less common occurrence now that he thinks about it.

Danny has also died, and though he didn't disappear for a year before coming back like Jason Todd did, it's on multiple records that something in Danny changed after the accident.

Acting not like himself, grades going down, attendance shabby, notably nervous around his parents—the list goes on and on in his school records he's sure.

He takes a breath, spins the stylus in his hand. "There was a time I blamed my parents for my accident."

The worktable under Bruce's hands creak. Bruce had said he blamed himself, but whether or not that's true will remain a mystery to Danny. He has no intentions of finding that out.

"It would be a lie to say I wasn't ever mad about it," Danny continues, fiddling with his stylus pen. "But it wasn't entirely their fault—I blamed myself first, for a very long time."

Bruce stays silent, taking in his words, thinking long and hard about what parallels could be drawn.

"I was just a stupid kid, you know?" Danny laughs, and it doesn't hurt as much to do so after all these years. "I went in because my friend wanted a picture. I made sure to put on a hazmat suit, safety first of course, but it wasn't enough."

Danny loses grip on his stylus, and it falls to the floor in a clatter. His left arm trembles, and he grabs at it to try and quell it. Bruce leans down to grab the stylus, carefully offers it to Danny. Danny stares at it for a moment.

"So I blamed myself for a long time, tried to deal with it on my own, internalized a lot of the hurt. You don't really go through something like that and come back pristine and mentally sound." Danny pries his right hand off to grab it and place it behind him next to his tablet. His left hand clenches and unclenches over nothing. "And then my parents said something—they say a lot of things, you know? And—and it just all boiled over."

Danny huffs a laugh, pulls at his sleeve and clutches at it.

"I don't even remember what it was we said, the thing that started it. I just remember what made it stop," Danny meets Bruce's gaze. "My mom said it was like I was a stranger, that her baby boy used to be different."

Bruce flinches, imperceptibly. Danny remembers the tone and cadence Mom had when she said it, too. Remembers the color of her eyes going watery, remembers Dad covering his mouth like he was scared of what he would say after.

"I love my parents, and my parents love me. I know that, and they know that. But that doesn't mean everything was okay. This isn't a movie Bruce, love isn't a cure-all." Danny chuckles, humorlessly. "Do you know what I said to her, after that?"

"What?" Bruce croaks, and this—this is the core of it. This is the real Bruce Wayne, a father who lost and mourned his son, and is attending his funeral every time he sees Jason Todd before him.

"I said nobody really thinks about how their loved ones change after Death." Danny licks his lips, gaze far off in memory of being barely 18 and telling his parents he was Phantom. Making plans with Jazz in case the JL Dark didn't come through, in case this all went bad and Danny had to leave before he got torn apart molecule by molecule.

He closes his eyes, shuts them tight until little lights start to flash in the dark, until he's back in the present. It's only a scant moment but it feels like eons. When he opens them, Bruce is still watching him, velvet blue eyes dark with emotion, watery like Mom's was when—

"I said to her, they only care," Danny finally finishes, enunciating each word, "that they came back."

Bruce falters, on uneven footing, so Danny rips his gaze away. He clips his stylus onto his tablet, starts the methodical process of shutting the lab down in quick, smooth movements. Lets the silence sit for a moment so that the older man can gather himself for a bit.

When Danny has his bag packed and all the machines are in sleep mode, Bruce is standing at the door waiting for him.

It tells Danny that he was giving time for Danny to gather his thoughts too.

They make their way to the elevators, where Bruce presses both the up and down button.

"My parents worked to be better after that, worked with me to heal, met their son over again and learned him anew." Danny continues, as if this is all normal and they're talking about the Sunday paper, "I obviously don't know the full story on your end, but…"

Danny watches as the numbers above the elevators change, one going steadily up to their floor, another going steadily down. He seems to be doing this a lot lately.

"Instead of the usual lunch or dinner with your son," The elevator doing down makes a noisy little ding, and Danny steps in. "Maybe try asking Jason Todd if he'd like to get breakfast with you? Shake things up a bit."

Bruce smiles, and it brings a pang to Danny's chest. He hasn't called his parents in a while, maybe he'll do that when he gets home. "Maybe I will. Thanks, Danny."

"No problem, bossman." Danny gives a little salute, and the elevator doors close quietly.

He takes the moment, and breathes. Something about these Waynes remind him of too many things, and it makes his thoughts swirl. He misses his family, his friends, his ghost menagerie.

He's only been Phantom for the Outlaws lately—Hood has been keeping Danny occupied and…

He'll head home, get to the Realms and hang out with the menagerie before stopping by Amity. Maybe he'll even nab Ellie, text Jazz and pick her up for an impromptu family dinner. Shake things up.

He'll try and see where Sam's at, portal over for some mayhem even, Tucker's got the day off tomorrow—

The elevator dings, and he steps out with a smile and a plan.

Chapter Text

Jason is not afraid to admit he's wrong.

Jason is not really afraid of much of anything, really.

Which is a lie, because he's currently sitting at a table across from Bruce, having breakfast and he's not sure what's worse: the silence, or the fact that he agreed to have breakfast with the man in the first place.

It's just that something about Bruce felt different when he had asked Jason yesterday if he would be willing to have breakfast with him before he went to WE to check on his project's progress.

So he unthinkingly said yes, and now Jason doesn't know what the hell he's doing here.

"So how are you?" Bruce's voice hits him like a shot of caffeine. "What do you do nowadays to fill the time?"

"You know what I do." Jason answers, glancing at his motorcycle helmet seated beside him. It's no Red Hood helmet, but it's got red accents, and Bruce is smart enough to know what he means anyway.

"What else, though?" Bruce is not deterred, waving his fork around. He had chosen a burger, and is eating it with a knife and fork like the heathen he is. "You and your siblings have so many hobbies it's hard to keep track of."

Jason gives Bruce a disbelieving look. He knows for a fact that Bruce and Alfred have some kind of spreadsheet tracking system on every single one of the Batkids. He knows they update it obsessively.

He also knows his section is horribly out of date and the smallest of the bunch.

"I'm an old man, Jay—" Bruce coughs. "Jason, have pity on me and my terrible memory."

That gets Jason to raise an eyebrow. Slow, because he's an asshole like that. He stuffs his face with a pancake just as equally tasteless as the one from before—the one he couldn't focus on the taste of for vastly different reasons.

He really needs to summon Phantom again, but he's afraid Phantom won't answer.

"Indulge me?" Bruce practically begs. Jason huffs, swallowing his bite.

"I…read, still." Jason reluctantly answers. "And I've been building a bike with Roy. For Lian. An actual bicycle, not—not a motobike. When she's older obviously."

"How is she?" Bruce's eyes sparkle, the way it always does when children are involved. "I haven't seen her in a while, she's big now isn't she?"

"Four years old." Jason confirms, smiling almost reflexively. "She swore the other day, gave Dick a heart attack from what I heard. He didn't know Roy was the one that taught her."

They share a laugh at that, and it feels…it feels good. It feels normal, in an unfamiliar way.

For some reason, the newness sets him at ease.

"And the books?" Bruce encourages. "What have you been reading lately?"

"YAs, mostly." Jason quirks a smile. "Mysteries. I've been…I just finished this book, Thursday Murder Club."

"Interesting title." Bruce raises an eyebrow over a bite of his burger. "Was it good?"

"Yeah." Jason grins. "Kind of reminded me of you, actually."

"Yeah? How so?" Bruce encourages. Jason recognizes the look in his eyes—he's calculating something, no doubt immediately making a note to read the book when he has the time. It reminds Jason of when he was younger, when Bruce would watch Gray Ghost with him and would talk about the finer points of the plots and clues.

It makes the already warm core in his chest burn a little hotter, warms him from the tips of his head to the soles of his shoes, and it's hard not to feel good as he talks about the lastest book series.

It goes on for the rest of breakfast, Jason sinking into this new and not-new-before feeling of connecting with Bruce in some way. Just talking about this whacky, tender, and deeply fascinating view on growing older and being not only different but the same—a culmination of experiences of who you are and who you weren't and how all of those become you, all wrapped in a murder mystery.

It makes Jason yap.

And Bruce listens.

He always listens, even if he doesn't hear, and even though nothing is the same anymore it's like Jason's 13 years old again, comfortable for once in this huge Manor of a house, getting used to the idea of having not just a brother and a father again, but having a grandfather, of having family and a place to sleep and not being alone.

Before either of them can really know it, it's time to pay and get to WE. They've just stepped into the elevator when it all sort of clicks suddenly in his brain.

"Why did you invite me to breakfast?" Jason asks as the elevator doors close. The elevator music isn't quite soothing, but it's familiar in that way that all classical music seems to be. "Usually…"

Jason trails off, Bruce humming in that way that lets Jason know he's carefully picking his words.

Everything about Bruce is familiar and aching. It guts him, scares him with the possibility of routine.

Because no matter how familiar and comforting everything is, Jason's never going to react the same way as before. He's always going to be different, do things different, and he's already a walking reminder of things passed.

They keep trying to find Robin in him, and he doesn't know how else to show them that Robin is dead—Robin is in Damian, in Steph, in Tim, in Dick.

But the Robin Jason was choked on smoke and is still sitting in the fire.

That Robin is never coming back.

"I got some advice." Bruce finally settles on. "And I realized that I'd been unfair to you."

Jason raises an eyebrow, but before they can really dig into what all that means the elevator dings for Jason's floor. Bruce pats a heavy hand on Jason's shoulder, squeezing.

"I'm sorry, chum. It's not nearly enough for how much I've pushed and prodded and…and not done, but…for what it's worth, I'll do better." Bruce gently pushes Jason out, and god fuck it all, he's sincere about it too.

He's always been sincere, but this time…this time it feels different.

Jason doesn't want to hope, he's outgrown hope the way he's outgrown pixie boots, but somehow he can't help himself.

"Have a good day, son," Bruce waves with a little quirk to his lips. "It was nice getting to know you again."

Jason, baffled, waves back as the doors slide shut.

"Jason?" Jason blinks, turning to see Tucker and Tim at the end of the hall, just outside the door to the lab. Jason's been there a couple of times, but he's mostly been confined to meeting rooms and office areas for the more administrative side of the equation.

"Timbit." Jason greets, still a little thrown. "Tucker, morning."

"Hi, Jason." Tucker greets with a wide smile. "You have impeccable timing—my buddy Danny just ran off to do some field testing on the latest prototype!"

"Yeah?" Jason smiles back as he meets them at the door of the lab to enter with them. "Last I heard the prototype was still brittle even if it lasted longer."

"Abigail and Danny figured it out last night." Tim grins proudly, "There was an odd chemical reaction happening between two ingredients that was easily fixed with a substitution."

"Henri got the new batch mixed 30 minutes ago," Tuck continues as they walk into the lab to hustle and bustle. "Danny volunteered to get his legs stretched out, until then we can chat with Penelope about color pigments. Eventually we're going to have a wide array, but right now we want to choose a color that's recognizable but doesn't stand out."

"We need it to be distinct enough for us to recognize from a distance," Tim explains, "But won't stick out as targets to the Alley."

Jason hums as he's brought to a table of swatches, a variety of colors laid out on the table. Colors of all shades are arranged in rainbow order, though some have been marked future releases.

His eyes catch on a dark forest green, almost black in nature from certain angles.

He reaches for it, slides it closer to him, turns it this way and that in his gloved hands.

It's the color of Phantom's cape, a little darker to compensate for the different materials being used. It's matte, and looks almost velvet, despite being smooth to the touch.

His thumb rubs over it, back and forth, as if trying to trick itself into feeling that thick, soft fabric. All he can feel is the slight catch of plastic against the leather of his gloves.

"This one." Jason mutters, handing it over to Tim. He makes sure not to touch him when he does so, rubbing his thumb and index finger as if to try and keep the sense-memory of Phantom in his arms. "I want this one."

Tim's eyes light up in curiousity, but blessedly, he doesn't pry. He hands it over to Tucker, who tucks it away in the pocket of his tablet protector.

Jason is dragged away to choose other things—locations for the first building to be painted, logo designs, names.

He goes through them in a daze, rubbing his fingers and remembering.

Remembering the feel of Phantom's hands, of how he felt in his arms, on his chest, in his lap.

Something about today—the way Bruce has changed, the way the colors look brighter, the way he feels some cliche'd weight on his shoulders becoming infinitesimally lighter…it all makes him feel reckless and bold.

He'll summon Phantom tonight, try to talk it out. His plans of slow and careful wooing, of subtlety and letting Phantom make the decisions and moves get thrown out the window.

Tonight.

Chapter Text

Phantom is being summoned.

Gods damn it all, he's being summoned and he is stuck here with Richard "Dick" Grayson in the cafeteria of Wayne Enterprises.

How did he even get here? Why is Red Hood summoning him at 7pm on a Thursday night?

Because it is Red Hood—he's burned one of the non-emergency summoning circles Danny's left him before this entire…thing.

Before the cuddling, before the experimental touching of other people, before the fucking diner and Hood adamantly not making eye contact with Phantom afterward and leaving him to go into the back of the safehouse without so much as a hint of whether Hood was pleased or displeased or—

"Nowadays he won't even have lunch with me!" Dick whines into his soup.

"Uh huh." Who even orders soup in the Summer?

"And now, we barely have dinner together like, once every couple of months if I'm lucky." Furthermore, why did Dick Grayson even decide to sit at Danny's table? "And only if I surprise him at his house for it!"

"That seems a bit intrusive." There are so many other tables, empty tables, tables with people who are not Danny.

"We used to have dinner all the time!" Dick argues, gesturing wildly with his free hand.

"Was this before or after the dead thing?" Danny tiredly asks into his much more reasonable chicken caesar salad.

"Before." His unwelcome companion answers, sulkily slurping his soup. His piping hot soup. It is 96 degrees outside right now. Ice core aside, Danny is disgusted.

"So…when he was like, 14 years old and only had school to deal with?" Danny of all people understands how easy it is to just. Put homework aside for more concerning things.

"His job is very flexible." Dick defends himself. "He—he always loved hanging out with me."

"Okay…" Danny draws out, brows scrunching, "And I used to go to the park with my sister twice a week."

"That's not the same—" Dick pouts, but Danny puts a hand up to stave him off.

"I see my sister maybe once a month now. That's part of growing up." Danny raises an eyebrow. "Are you trying to say I'm not important to her life anymore?"

Dick bites his lip, shaking his head. The pinging has stopped, the circle fully petering out into ash on Hood's end probably. Danny shakes his head, tries not to feel anxious and guilty. Hood can wait, Danny still has to check the results of today's field tests after he finishes up his dinner and—and deal with Dick Grayson.

Hood will wait. Danny will wait, and hope that Hood understands later.

"Listen." Danny pushes his tray to the side, spreading his hands over the table. "I get it. It's easy to compare your brother from before to your brother now. I had an accident when I was a kid too—I'm not gonna sit here and tell you that didn't play a part in me and my sister's relationship."

Danny claps his hands together, almost like a plea. "But you have to understand—this isn't something exclusive to people who have had accidents. It's natural to grow apart when you grow older—your brother is, what, 27 now? I don't know anything about your familial relationships, but I know that he's probably made his own friends, created his own space, is living his own life apart from you."

Dick looks like he might want to cry at that, and Danny does not want to deal with tears in the cafeteria of his temporary workspace so he speeds it along.

"Just because you're not doing everything together anymore doesn't mean you can't still be close." Danny grabs his tray, gets up and looks down at Dick Grayson staring forelornly at his soup. "You've grown out of your own teenage self, let your brother do that too, yeah?"

Danny rushes off, wondering if he can get everything done in 30 minutes before he stops, turns around and rushes back to the table.

"Also, even if you aren't close anymore that should be okay." Danny points a finger at the wide blinking eyes of the other man. "If he has boundaries or grown into a different type of person who needs a different type of relationship to be who he wants to be comfortably you should respect that."

Dick raises his hands up in surrender, nodding. "Right! Of course. Mhm. Yep."

Danny squints at the man, pausing just for a moment before power walking away again. He has to get those results sorted and get home.

Except, of course, the machine has multiple error windows popping up on it's tiny screen, which means Danny either set the parameters wrong or something happened on a chemical level that demands Danny record and try to replicate.

It takes him the better part of two hours, exhausted and eyes burning, to sort it out enough to a good stopping point. He shuts down the lab dejectedly, feeling like maybe he wants to cry.

Danny's been trying, is the thing. He's been talking with the yeti's about his condition, asking the JL Dark if they'd be okay with him touching them platonically—

He's been taking Wes and Val's advice to heart, and it's been kind of ruining his nerves.

Touching people randomly, it turns out, does not actually help the anxiety that comes with being touch-starved. It, in fact, exacerbates it.

Not to mention the sheer embarrassment that comes with asking this in the first p[ace.

Not that it's an embarrassing thing to be touch starved, or to take steps to understand and/or treat it. But these are his peers. His senior coworkers, even.

Embarrassing doesn't fully encompass the feelings Danny has about it.

Thankfully Zatanna understood and Jason Blood was accommodating—even Constantine tried to help!

Zatanna's hug felt eerily akin to hugging Jazz. Etrigan was pleasant to hold hands with, and the warmth was definitely very appreciated, but neither of them were close enough as people to really feel comfortable with it long.

What happened with Constantine stays between him and Constantine, the House of Mysteries, and Clockwork. Danny just knows Clockwork was watching and it makes his soul shrivel just thinking about it. So he won't. Ever.

All in all, it meant that even though Phantom sought warmth, sought touch, it wasn't enough.

It's put him on edge, made his skin tingle, but the result was clear:

Phantom, Danny, likes Red Hood. He likes touching him, the warmth of him, how gentle he is when they're alone. He likes that Hood lets him do these things, likes that Hood wants to learn more about him.

And when Danny tried to—tried to make a move, Hood had let him. He let him!

But then proceeded to ignore Phantom the rest of the way back to the safehouse.

Danny is a mess. He knows, logically speaking, Hood might just be shy.

He probably didn't want to talk about it in front of Starfire, or Bizarro—he might have even wanted Phantom to stay.

It's what Jazz and Mom said was probably the case anyway, at that surprise dinner the other night. Ellie had laughed at how much Danny was overthinking it, and Dad had given him a heavy pat on the back and said Fenton men should go forth boldly and loudly but—

But Hood didn't say anything. Wouldn't even look at him. Everything about Hood screamed do not touch, and even with Phantom's ghost-empathy it's impossible to tell whether those feelings projected were at him, or at their teammates.

Danny didn't want to take that chance. Phantom is the hero, but Danny is the scaredy cat.

Danny Fenton, scared of ghosts in a family of ghost hunters.

The elevator dings, sliding open to the lobby and jostling Danny out of his thoughts.

He rushes through, bag bumping into a man as he jerks to the side to avoid them. The contents spill all over the floor, some inside the elevator and some out.

"I'm so sorry," Danny drops down, starts frantically picking up his tablet and wallet and scooting all of his things out the elevator so that the man can be on his way. "I was in a rush."

"It's alright." The other man says, holding open the elevator for a brief moment and crouching down to help Danny with the rest of his things—pens and notebooks, medication for his heart and tremors. "I was lost in thought too."

The man hands them back to him one by one, waiting as Danny sorts it all into their correct places with the other things he's gathered.

The sudden interaction and his haste has gotten him shakey, panicked for no reason as the elevator doors close and the guilt starts to kick in.

Danny's hand trembles and drops things in his haste, and though he apologizes the man simply continues to hold out items for him to take when he's ready.

Danny forces himself to breathe, tries to calm his heart so the tremors get a little better, twisting to use his right hand instead.

It takes him a moment longer to realize that the man is breathing slowly and deliberately with him, keeping his distance so as to not overcrowd Danny, as Danny finally has all his things gathered together.

He closes his eyes, just for a moment, to take a quick deep breath. The tremors have lessened, and his heart feels in tact and less jittery.

Everything is fine.

"Thank you," When Danny finally looks up, he realizes he recognizes his helper.

"You're welcome." Jason Todd quietly responds as they both stand and dust themselves off. Danny is inordinately grateful he doesn't comment on Danny's tremors and panic.

"Rough night?" Danny asks, eyeing the man's eye bags. He looks tired, and wrung out.

He's seen the man on paparazzi covers, of course, but much less so than the man's famous siblings and only in a blurry captures. His hair is in disarray, either from the motorcycle helmet that's on the floor beside him or from running his still gloved hands through it multiple times. It's hard to see the man's face fully in the lower lights of the lobby at this time of night, but he looks worn down. His entire body screams tired.

Even still, his jaw line is strong and his shoulders are solid. His eyes almost shine in the dark, blue-green reflecting a little in a way that Danny feels like he should recognize, but can't.

Blood related or not, Danny has to admit the Wayne family are all very attractive.

"Yeah." Jason chuckles humorlessly. "You could say that."

"I'm sorry, mine's a little rough too." Danny laughs helplessly, scratching the back of his neck. As if the man didn't just witness Danny's whole…thing.

The man concedes Danny's point, nodding as he puts his hands into his jacket pockets. Isolating himself.

Danny feels a little pang of sympathy, the man's complicated emotions wafting through the air and mixing in with the man's cologne—a deep, spicy scent that kind of throws Danny off, reminds him of rich foods and warm beverages. He decides to cut the man loose, he's held him up long enough.

"I hope your night gets better." Danny offers, as he slowly backs away.

"Thanks, you too." Jason nods as he presses the button to the elevator again. It dings almost immediately, not having been called anywhere else, opening up to let the man in. Danny makes his way towards the entrance, before he remembers something.

"Oh!" Danny calls out, adjusting his bag as he turns around. "Dick Grayson was in the cafeteria a while ago—in case, uhm. You wanted to avoid him. It's been a couple hours but…"

This time, Jason Todd smiles like he can't help it, even if a little confusedly. "Thanks. That—that's good to know."

Danny waves with a small smile and Jason Todd, to Danny's delight, does a little wave back as the doors close.

Danny lets that little interaction fill him with hope all the way home, oddly warm and comforted.

Except when Phantom finally answers the summons, the safehouse is empty. Hood is nowhere to be seen, and there's not even a note.

Well, Danny thinks morosely as he portals back to Tucker's guest room, hopefully Jason's night goes a little better than his.

Chapter Text

Jason knows he should be rational about this.

It's not the first time Phantom hasn't answered a summons, the halfa has a whole secret identity to maintain—a busy one at that.

It's a miracle Phantom has answered as many summons as he has so far.

Just because this is the first time summons since the diner—that doesn't mean anything.

It's a Thursday night, and Phantom had said before he's been recruited to a big project didn't he?

Jason rubs a hand through his hair, only to stop when he remembers the dye.

He jerks his hand away, inspecting his glove. It's hard to tell if any of the dye rubbed off, so he rips the glove off and checks himself against the reflection of the elevator doors. Some white is peeking out, but on the whole isn't too noticeable. The make up on his skin is lighter, the scar little more than blended in.

He sighs heavily, he doesn't even know why he's come here.

He should have left a note,

He should have done any number of things.

Like ask Phantom for an ecto-treated communicator, or Zatanna for a scrying bowl, anything instead of just…relying on summoning circles with no answering machines.

Jason was half tempted to write a goddamn letter, except he would rather die than leave it in the safehouse for any number of his nosy siblings or teammates to find and he doesn't have any other address to send it to for Phantom to receive it.

He should have just left a fucking note, instead of waiting for two hours and storming back to WE to check on test results of all things.

One of the STAR lab liaisons came back from the field and immediately processed the results, and Jason wanted to see it for himself.

Daniel Fenton, Jason has noticed, does good work. If it weren't for him, Abigail Hodgins would be up to her eyeballs just trying to explain herself to chemists in any sort of useable way.

Jason has to hand it to Tucker, when he said he knew a guy he really meant it.

The man himself seemed nice, albeit a little scattered, when Jason bumped into him to get into the elevator. Jason was pleasantly surprised at the other man's thoughtfulness regarding avoiding Dick. Not many people know, and the people who do wouldn't warn him.

It was nice of the man to do so even after his attack. The way his hand trembled and his apparent panic made Jason feel for him. At least Fenton seemed alright when he bid Jason a good night—his crystal blue eyes seemed to glow in the low light, reminding Jason a little of Phantom's little ice sculptures.

Thinking about Phantom makes Jason sigh, impatience and regret and hope and all sort of emotions tangle up inside him once more.

He should have left the fucking note.

It's no matter—even if it feels like a loss, like rejection, he knows that it's not. It's just bad timing, and Jason can just…try again another day.

At a more reasonable time than 7pm on a Thursday night.

Jesus, what the hell was he thinking.

The elevator dings, and he makes his way through the darkened halls towards the lab.

Part of Jason is a little disappointed that he bumped into the Fenton on the man's way out—he was hoping the other man would be willing to walk him through the results he found and help keep Jason distracted.

But WE actively encourages people to leave on time, denoted by the automatic low lighting that dims through the building once 6 o'clock hits.

The way Fenton smiled sympathetically with the little crease to his brow and almost kitten like mannerisms, it felt like if Jason did ask, he'd stay.

Tucker had talked the guy up to Jason before, said Fenton was a real mid-western boy type, and from just the few moments with him Jason already knew he was right.

So Jason didn't ask, because Fenton would stay even if it seemed like he was in a rush somewhere, and Jason isn't that selfish. It's already almost 10pm—it's abnormal of the man to even stay this long.

Still, he can be a little disappointed, is all. The company would have been nice, even if it was a stranger.

Hell, being a stranger might even be better—it's not like talking to his family is actually going to amount to anything.

Except it did, didn't it? With Bruce?

Truly, Jason is running on all cylinders today.

Jason huffs. Listen to him, talking nonsense in his own thoughts. Sarcasm towards oneself can only count as folly.

He walks into the lab, goes through the results, and leftover prototypes—makes sure not to mess with anything and only observe.

It looks like Fenton's left the prototype inside the testing cage, and the shade of green makes Jason want to run his fingers over it.

Before he can do anything stupid, like open the cage or try summoning Phantom again, the door to the lab opens.

"Jason?" An entirely unexpected but also unsurprising voice hesitatingly calls out.

"Timbuktu." Jason greets, "I knew Dick was around earlier, but I thought you would have left by now."

"He left to have late dinner with B, and Bernard cancelled on me," Tim shrugs, coming in closer. Late dinner being code for patrol.

"And B doesn't want you joining dinner tonight because Alfie tattled on you." Jason chuckles. "Should have known better."

"It was only 72 hours." Tim rolls his eyes, settling just beside Jason and leaning against the work table with him.

"Only 72 hours he says," Jason shakes his head, huffing. "Three days of no sleep is not something to brag about, Timberly."

"I would have been fine." Tim grumbles, but says nothing further on the matter. Instead, he knocks on the table between them. It's then that Jason notices his younger brother has left about a foot and half distance between them.

Normally, Jason doesn't really mind people touching him. It's usually the other way around that he's careful about. Now that he's realized that his wardrobe firmly rebukes that, now that he's realized it's not that simple, Jason is feeling…adrift.

He doesn't know if he should be grateful that Tim has apparently also noticed, or sad about it.

He's grateful, of course. And inordinately sad about being grateful about it.

"I thought you'd be sick of this place by now." Tim gently goads Jason into conversation. "You were just in here earlier today."

"And I thought you'd be on a hot date by now." Jason shoots back, though it fires like a blank. "But instead of cuddles and ice cream you're here."

"I don't like how you know us so well." Tim scrunches his nose. "Also, are you implying you think my boyfriend is hot?"

"He ain't my type." Jason scoffs.

"Sure," Tim grins, "Your type is less hot and more cool."

Jason freezes, which is a mistake. He might as well have put up a neon sign that confirms Tim's suspicions. "How."

"Roy was whining about it to Dick." Tim shrugs, "And Dick whined about it to me."

"Of course he did." Jason wipes a hand down his face exasperatedly. "And to think, he begged me to leave him out of it."

Tim laughs, before sobering up. "You think it's gonna go anywhere?"

Jason takes a long moment to think about that, crossing his arms and breathing in deep. He exhales slowly. "I'm here because I tried making it go somewhere, but it didn't."

Tim winces. "I thought…"

"He could, still." Jason says, trying to sound hopeful but not too hopeful. "It was just bad timing today."

"So now you're here." Tim hums, tapping his chin. "Because you don't want to overthink it?"

"Sometimes, Timtam," Jason tiredly smiles. "I see why you earn the big bucks."

"Do you…wanna talk about it?" Tim hesitatingly offers. "Or do you want to change the subject instead?"

"Change." Jason practically begs. "Why are you still here?"

"Danny sent out some promising chemical combinations." Tim showcases his tablet, where an email from a D.Fenton is pulled up, "Wanted to see if I could catch him before he left."

"Bumped into him on his way out in the lobby." Jason crosses his arms. "Seemed to be in a hurry."

"Probably a date." Tim chuckles. "His buddy Tucker's been calling the mystery guy Darcy."

"What, did he insult your boy Lizzie to his face upon their first meeting by refusing to dance and calling his looks subpar?” Jason grins. Tim shrugs amusedly in response.

"Something about glacial paced wooing." Tim grins back. "And I believe the phrase autistically courting was thrown out once or twice, though Danny seemed to deny it vehemently."

Jason's eyebrows lift, whistling. “Now that…is amusingly accurate to describe Darcy.”

“Right? I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

Jason huffs a laugh in response, shaking his head and rubbing at his five o’clock shadow.

There’s a short pause then, as Tim refocuses on his tablet and Jason stares at the green shade of the paint.

He contemplates this companionable silence, the ease in which Tim stays near him quietly tapping something on his little screen.

This might be the first time they've had any semblance of conversation since…since Jason lost it on Tim.

Jason thinks in this moment, as the silence stretches comfortably around them.

He’s already had two emotional upheavals today, but…well. There’s a reason they say the third time’s the charm right?”

“I’m sorry.” Jason blurts out, a little too loudly, startling both of them.

Tim blinks wide, crystalline eyes at him. That’s the thing that crushes Jason, he thinks. How bright Tim’s eyes are despite all that’s happened to him.

Even Steph, who is perpetually a jokester, has a bit of a jaded shine to her gaze.

“For what?” Tim asks after a moment, still clutching the tablet. His hand is poised as if he was about to click something, frozen in the air.

“For everything. I wasn’t always the nicest person in the world to you, Tim.” If Bruce can do it, there’s no reason Jason can’t. And Tim...

Well, Jason didn’t know Tim from Before—the problem is that Tim knows Robin Jason was too well.

And Jason has never liked high places, even if it’s a gilded pedestal.

“You came back to life, Jason.” Tim sighs, almost sad. “After you got murdered. It was a lot to digest.”

“And after?” Jason makes a face, unsure of how to react to Tim’s apparent understanding.

“And after,” Tim carefully says, slowly, “I kept treating you like Robin. My Robin. Instead of treating you like Jason Todd.”

“You do know a concerning amount about me.” Jason mumbles. “Even though you were stalking Bruce and Dickward first.”

“I knew a lot about you.” Tim corrects, blushing and focusing on his tablet again. “Someone reminded me that I don’t know anything about you now. A lot of things can change for a person in 13 years, even without the whole…”

“Death thing?” Jason’s lips quirk. “You and Bruce don’t happen to be sharing the same therapist are you?”

“What? No.” Tim scrunches his face. “At least, I don’t think so. Babs made me promise not to look into your guys’ medical stuff.”

“Remind me to get Barbie a big bouquet of flowers.” Jason grins.

“I would, but you ignore everyone’s texts.” Tim challenges, which Jason concedes with a slump to his shoulders.

“Subtlety is a lost art.” Jason grumbles.

“With how much we willingly let subtlety fade into obscurity,” Tim drawls, “Are you even surprised?”

“I take back my apology.” Jason immediately pushes himself off the table, rocking it enough that Tim tips a little. “I don’t appreciate being perceived.”

“Did you know that Cass is subscribed to all the theaters in Gotham?” Tim smiles beatifically. Jason doesn’t like how Cheshire-like it is. “She gets pamphlets for pretty much all productions around the city.”

“That’s nice,” Jason does not run, but he does walk away at a faster pace even as Tim doggedly follows. “That’s very fascinating, look at the time—“

“I’m offended,” Tim continues over him as they rush through the halls of WE like children. “Cass gets front row seats to Hamlet, but—“

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jason says, very very calmly. “Cass can afford front row seats easy with the black card Bruce gave her—“

“Alfie was complaining you know,” Tim insists, as Jason attempts to trip him, “That someone stole the skull of—“

“I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT.” Jason says again, very very calmly as he’s running full tilt to jump out one of the fake ceiling to floor window panels created explicitly for secret grappling purposes. “BYE.”

“I BETTER GET A TICKET FOR NEXT MONTH!” Jason yanks out his grapple as he free falls, swinging away as Tim calls out through the panel. “FRONT ROW, OR I’M TATTLING TO THE GROUP CHAT ABOUT PRINCE FIYERO!”

Jason flips him off, before he jams on a domino and rubs away the black hair dye.

The third time, it turns out, is more of a hex.

Maybe a curse.

He’ll ask Elphaba about it later, he’s sure Lucy will appreciate the method acting practice.

For now, he swings off into the night a little lighter.

Chapter Text

"We need to talk."

Danny, in all his ice core glory, somehow manages to not actually freeze. He does, however, freeze metaphorically halfway through the portal he's created.

"I…" Danny swallows heavily, slowly pulling himself through all the way. "Alright. Let's talk."

He makes himself look Hood in the eye, or the best approximation of where his eyes are in the helmet.

Except when he looks up, he meets domino instead.

Hood has his hair styled into a sort of effortless coif, the already weirdly charming white tuft swirling into a cute little curl over the man's forehead. The rest of the outfit is par for Hood, just a little more cleaned up: Leather jacket looking less scuffed up, tight black shirt with the red bat stretching tauntingly taut over his chest, combat pants and boots with—yes, of course, the holster thighs.

Danny does not want to examine why Hood left those on when there are no guns in them.

Especially not when he can see, just behind Hood, the coffee table set up with an assortment of food and snacks.

Like a picnic, but in the living room.

Like a date.

Ancients, Danny is not ready for this.

"I feel hauntingly underdressed." Danny laughs nervously, tugging at his hazmat suit. "Talk about role reversal."

"But this time I'm not coming from a party." Hood smiles, and for the first time Danny realizes the man is nervous. "I…wanted to look nice for you."

"That's sweet of you." Danny steps onto the floor delicately, but does not go closer. "You do look very nice."

"Thanks." Hood cautiously steps forward, and though Danny doesn't stop him or step away, the fact that he wants to is…not good.

"So, uhm, you wanted to talk?" It feels ridiculous that now that Danny has what he wants, i.e. an actual sit down and talk it out conversation, the first thing he feels is the need to run away.

"I wanted to make sure we were on the same page." Hood stops, putting his hands into his pockets. The motion is familiar, but Danny is too preoccupied trying to keep himself in this plane of existence to really recognize it. "About us."

"Are we?" Danny's voice trembles, and even though he's in Phantom form it feels like his heart stutters in a way that is Not Good. "On the same page, I mean."

There's a long pause, before Hood's shoulder's hunch a little. It makes Danny's heart hurt even more. "Well, now I'm not so sure."

Danny blows out a breath. Jazz has always said clear communication is the key to any relationship; platonic, romantic, work, or otherwise. Time to use this adult words, he supposes.

"I like you, I do." Hood perks up, but Danny's not done. "But I have some…reservations."

"About?" Hood gestures for Danny to sit, so he does. Thankfully Hood doesn't sit close—he chooses the arm chair to give Danny more space. He's pathetically thankful for it.

"I'm touch starved." Danny blurts out. "In this form, I mean. And I didn't—I didn't know?"

Hood nods as if this isn't surprising, which is kind of embarrassing.

"And you're, well. Hot." Hood smirks, but thankfully doesn't say anything to that. "In both sense of the word. So I'm—I'm not sure if I'm feeling the way I'm feeling because of…because of my core, or because your touch is—safe, or…"

"Or because you like me." Hood has adjusted his position now, legs a little spread as he leans his elbows on them, gloved hands clasped together and fidgeting a little in thought. "Romantically."

"Right." Danny feels his face burn. "I know that I like you, I just don't want to be hasty—I just want to be sure."

"What if I'm okay with that?" Hood offers, "What if I promise not to, I don't know, hold it against you if you decide that you…"

"Promises like that hardly ever pan out, you know." Danny cuts him off, despite being living proof that it can be done. But for people like them? People who have been hurt in ways that need delicate handling? It's not impossible but…"I can at least be open to the idea, but…I just need a little more time. I've been, well. I've been trying to get closer to other people—people who are safe. So far, all signs point to you being special in some way but…"

"But?" Hood encourages, when Danny trails off. Danny huffs, swallowing as he braces himself.

"But, I mean—why do you even like me?" Danny feels juvenile, like he's in high school again. It's not a good feeling. "I don't mean this in a bad way but…it's not just me with the hang ups here."

"My reputation seems to precede me." Hood tilts his head in confusion. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Don't quote me, but…" Danny sighs as he starts counting on his fingers. "Touch averse to a certain extent, slow to trust, and let's just say you have a big umbrella for the phrase family issues."

Hood seems to think on that, before conceding the point. "I realized the touch averse thing recently too, but I seem to be fine with you."

"But why?" Danny refuses to call his voice whiney. "From my perspective you just…suddenly changed one day."

"Does there need to be a reason?" Hood counters. "We got along before all this, pretty well even."

"Sure." Danny concedes, "But there's a big difference between both us going from avoiding touch to slowly getting closer, and you suddenly deciding to one day suddenly treat me like a stray cat."

"I was just curious." Hood shrugs, as if that is a reasonable thing to say. "I wanted to know why."

"And instead of just asking you decided to hold my hand and cuddle with me?" Danny says incredulously, "Platonically?"

"It started out platonic." Hood defends himself, weakly, before gesturing to the spread of delights between them on the coffee table. There's a little tray of finger sandwiches. Finger sandwiches. Danny might scream. "Clearly, it became non-platonic. Romantic. Both. I wasn't the only one slipping off gloves is all I'm saying."

Danny gives up. He puts his face into his hands, and screams.

"This is not boding well for my chances." Hood drawls out, seemingly uncaring. The way he crosses his arms tightly, scrunching his shoulders up, gives away how much Danny's reactions are affecting him.

Danny feels extremely bad. He does, he really really does. But—But Danny is just Danny.

"Forgive me," Danny practically begs, sarcasm laced through it despite his sincerity, "For not really understanding how curiosity about a low key traumatic experience can lead to finger sandwiches and—are those cupcakes? Did you make cupcakes??"

"Trauma bonding. It's a Bat thing." Hood shrugs, forcefully. He slumps down looking as pathetic as possible. "And yes. They're lemon."

Danny knows for a god damn fact that Hood is a better liar than this, which means that he's doing this on purpose to torture Phantom, or—or this is actually hurting his feelings.

Both options fucking suck.

"I love lemon." Danny says forlornly.

"I know." Hood mutters, almost smugly. He pushes the tray of cupcakes closer to Danny delicately, like he's trying to feed a wild animal.

"How?" Danny practically wails, humanly, as he stuffs a cupcake into his face petulantly. They're fucking delicious, and it makes him both madder and sadder.

Hood shrugs, not elaborating because he's evil. "So where does that leave us?"

"I don't know." Danny sighs, wanting to cry. He grabs a a god damn finger sandwich and sulkily eats it.

This too, is delicious. It feels like salt on a wound.

"To recap," Hood valiantly tries to get them on track, even as he exudes victory watching Danny slowly but surely consuming the picnic. "You like me, I like you."

"Yes." Danny mumbles through his food.

"But you're not sure if you actually like me." Hood continues, picking up a delicious cracker and fig butter combo thing. "And you're especially not sure if I actually like you."

"When you put it that way," Danny can actually feel the weird tickling in his nose that precedes tears. "It sounds really stupid."

"It's not stupid." Hood placates, and to his credit he actually sounds like he means it.

This is what Danny means by Hood being a good fucking liar.

"I just need time." Danny finally says, softly and seriously on the verge of tears. "To get my head together."

"I can do time." Hood offers, before pausing. He continues a little unsure, "I can wait, I mean. For you. And, if it makes you feel better about this, us, I can—I don't know. Do some soul searching. Get references?"

"At the risk of sounding cliche," Danny doesn't have anymore food to distract himself with, so he fiddles with his hands. "Now that I've actually said these things out loud, I realize—It really is me, not you."

Hood huffs a laugh. "No, no. You're right. I—I came in hot, pun not intended, and we didn't really talk. At all."

"The picnic was nice." Danny offers, smiling tremulously. "Everything was delicious."

"But I did spring it on you." Hood counters, getting up to start clearing away the dishes. "Just like how I tested your invisible bubble and…well."

"Normal people do that." Danny argues, picking up some of the trash. "These are normal progressions in relationships."

"One of us is touch starved and the other is touch averse," Hood sighs, coming back to stand at the head of the coffee table. Danny floats on the opposite side, and though the table itself isn't that big, it feels like there's a wall between them they're struggling to break down. "We're hardly normal."

"Some might even argue," Danny quirks a smile, "That we're the furthest thing from normal."

"All the best people are." Hood smiles back. A little bit of that warmth wafts into the air. It makes Danny shiver. "Either way, I can do slow. I haven't given you much reason to feel wooed after all."

Danny laughs, helplessly charmed but the idea of it. "The cupcakes were definitely the right step towards it."

"Not the hand kiss?" Hood teases, though Danny is pleased to note a little bit of red bleeding into the tips of his ears.

"The hand kiss was interrupted." Danny reminds him.

"I could always try again?" Hood grins cheekily, but again, his ears give him away.

Danny's face flushes, smiling like he doesn't know what to do with this man. He floats over the coffee table, slowly projecting his movements so that Hood can dodge if necessary. He kisses Hood on the cheek, just below where his scar meets the domino, and lingers.

"Thank you." Danny says, breath dusting over Hood's cheek. He can see Hood shiver with the iciness of it as he floats himself back, and tries not to explode in embarrassment and triumph. "For the picnic, and being so understanding."

"Anytime." Hood croaks out, flustered and warming Danny down to his toes.

Danny prepares himself a portal home, when Hood suddenly jolts into movement.

"Wait, take this." Hood fishes something out of his pocket, handing it to Danny. It's a folded up note, with a number on it. "This is my Red Hood number. I know that I can summon you, and that you have a JL communicator but…"

Danny grins, carefully phasing the paper inside him for safekeeping. "I'll text you."

"Perfect, that's—" Hood coughs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "When you can, whenever you want. We'll take it slow."

"Glacial, even." Danny confirms, to Hood amusement. Danny waves, disappearing into the green feeling much better about, well. Everything.

Doubt aside, it's a big step. Taking it slow is leagues better than confused cuddling.

He whoops as he flies home, twirling and giddy and so very helplessly happy.

Chapter Text

"The Lazarus Pit in Nanda Parbat has been stolen."

Jason blinks. "Come again?"

"The Lazarus Pit," Damian says again slowly, carefully enunciating his words, "has been stolen."

Jason blinks again. When he decided to come to the Cave for the first time in…a long time, this was not the conversation he thought he would be having. He meets Tim's eyes above Damian's head, where he is sitting in front of the BatComputer.

"Are you…sure?" Tim asks. Damian breathes out a slow breath.

"Grandfather dissipated into dust shortly after it happened, in full view of my mother and several of their associates, so I am fairly sure."

Neither Jason nor Tim know what to say to that. Except…

"I knew Ra's was dependent on the Pits, but…" Jason's expression twists. "Dust?"

"Do you have any idea who did it?" Tim's nose scrunches. "Were there any traces?"

"Father is meeting with Phantom about it now." Damian informs them, which makes Jason perk up. "So far, we have not had any official JL Dark members confirm anything, but Mother said there was traces of magic left."

"So why tell us, specifically?" Tim leans back, warily. The Demon Brat hasn't ever volunteered information unless it benefits him somehow.

"I was informing Todd." Damian mutters, poshly. Even though he partially helped raise the tyke he's still a little disappointed he didn't pick up any of Jason's Alley accent. "And I know Grandfather did some questionable things to you, Drake. So informing you of his sudden nonexistence was simply a bonus."

"Kid." Jason sighs, putting a hand on Damian's shoulder. "He did a lot of questionable things to you too."

"That is irrelevant." Damian sniffs. Which is entirely untrue. "Mother wishes to see me. Father is with the JL, and Richard does not like her."

"Yeah, alright." Jason looks down at Damian, amused. "Sure. I'll take you to see Mama T."

"I dislike that you call her that." Damian's brow furrows, which Jason pokes at until he relaxes.

"Tough Nuggets." Jason grins, bidding Tim goodbye. "See ya later, Timmers."

"Have fun." Tim finger waves at them, though Damian solidly ignores him.

They do not have fun.

What was meant to be a quick illicit meet up on the outskirts of Gotham turns into a huge Mother-Son argument about who will be the next heir of the LOA.

Argument is a strong word, when it's more like Talia calmly trying to persuade Damian into keeping his options open enough to at least consider it.

It turns out, Damian doesn't want to be the heir again, even if Talia has become the new Demon Head and therefore it would be in name only for at least 20 more years. He, too, refuses the title very calmly.

Jason, stuck on the outside and spectating, suddenly really misses Phantom's chilling aura. The cold war happening before him is not nearly as comforting as his boyfriend(?)'s cool touch.

He texts him throughout the entire thing, exchanging little memes and jokes and banter.

Phantom, apparently, is suffering through powerpoints and JL bureaucracy. Jason does not envy the man, judging by the pure agony in text form that's being sent to him.

Jason is delighted to know that Phantom texts with proper grammar and spelling, but still devolves into keysmashes and copious amounts of punctuation to convey emphasis and embarrassment.

He is not delighted when, somehow, someway, Talia ends up convincing Damian to take up a mission so that he doesn't have to become the heir.

How that works, Jason still doesn't fucking know. He was too busy trying to decipher what caused Phantom to keysmash at him in what he guesses is the text version of flustered blushing to pay attention. It's an amateur mistake.

All he knows is that he has to arrange for his goons to cover his absence for at least three weeks, with one of the Bats jumping in on their patrols every now and then to make sure nobody tries anything funny.

All he knows is that he and Damian find themselves cashing in favors to get Constantine of all people giving them some kind of stone to trace the magic user responsible for the missing Lazarus Pit, and roaming so far away from Asia that they end up in Europe.

All he knows is that Damian got separated from him 30 minutes ago in this weird fucking jungle, and he's facing the magic user by himself.

A magic user who looks like a very normal gothic woman vaguely Jason's age.

"Red Hood." The woman greets, absurdly, considering she is sitting on a rock on the edge of a lake pleasantly eating peaches. "I didn't expect to see you here. Very Scott Pilgrim of you, but I don't dislike your enthusiasm."

There's a waterfall literally 40 feet away, and she's looks like she stepped right out of a Hot Topic, studded belts and all. She would already look out of place with her long slitted black skirt and tear-ridden black shirt, but the veil she wears over her eyes really seals the deal for him.

Especially since it seems to be spelled to conceal her identity, with the way her face is entirely vague to him even though only her eyes are covered. The only thing Jason can really discern is her dark purple lipstick, and probably only because she's eating.

"…What?" Jason grunts, guns still aimed at her with the safeties off. She tilts her head, seemingly unperturbed.

"Phantom didn't send you?" The woman asks, before shaking her head. "No, he wouldn't have. Was it Huntress?"

"How do you know Phantom?" Jason cocks his guns. "Who is Huntress? Is that why you took the Lazarus Pit?"

The woman blinks. "Oh. You're here for that?"

"I was here for that." Jason confirms. "But now I'm here for that and the Phantom thing. Answer my questions, Morticia."

"Morticia!" The woman delights, "That's good. I'm more of a Wednesday, really. Haven't gotten over my girlish murderous urges yet."

Jason shoots at her feet, cocking his gun again. "I'm not really known for my patience, Wednesday."

Wednesday rolls her eyes. "I didn't take the Pit. I cleansed it."

This time, Jason blinks. "You…cleansed it."

"Yes, I used an ecto-filter and everything." Wednesday tosses the remains of her peach aside, delicately wiping her hands with a black, cobweb patterned hanky. "It's not my fault that it was so corrupted it all turned into dust anyway."

"Lazarus water isn't the same as Ectoplasm." Jason argues, though he's not actually sure about that. Bruce had tested it, but it always bothered Jason how similar the substances were.

"It turns out, it is." Wednesday shrugs carelessly. "This would have been cleared up if Batman let Phantom do it when he was first indicted in, but the existence of the pits was kept from him, wasn't it?"

"It was on a need to know basis." Jason grumbles, though he distinctly remembers arguing with Bruce about this very exact thing. Wednesday scoffs as if she can read his mind.

"Sure. But to answer your other questions—Huntress didn't send me to do anything. I just found it on my travels and did it on my own." She smirks. "Huntress and I are Phantom's…let's say past paramores."

Jason's brain stalls, trying and failing to quell this sudden surge of…jealousy. "You're…one of Phantom's exes?"

Wednesday grins, pearly whites all on display. "I am indeed. His very first one even."

"I don't understand." Jason mutters, finally putting on the safeties for his guns and holstering them. "How does you being his ex mean me hunting you down?"

Wednesday frowns. "Aren't you courting him?"

"I—" Jason feels his face flame, almost literally. "Well. Yes."

"Realm's courting is a very personal thing for ghosts—there are a million different rituals because there are a million different types of beings in the Realms." Wednesday twirls a finger boredly through the air. "Phantom is a Halfa, so it's not really necessary, but some part of him craves some kind of validation—proof of your love, so-to-speak. It's part of his nature."

Jason perks up, because this—this is why… "Does Phantom know this?"

"He does." Wednesday makes a face, and even though the spell conceals her identity it does not conceal her clearly unimpressed expression. "Or, well. He should, but he also has very low self esteem."

"That…makes a lot of sense." Jason mumbles under his breath.

"I thought that maybe you decided to go the Scott Pilgrim route." Wednesday continues, amused.

Jason searches his memory for a moment, shaking his head when he draws a blank. "Who's Scott Pilgrim?"

"He's a character in a movie, have you not seen it? 7 evil exes?"

"Doesn't ring a bell." Jason admits. "I might have been dead when it came out."

"Ah." Wednesday nods in understanding. "Give it a watch. In the meantime, you can spar me for one of my trinkets. Even if you decide to go a different route, you might as well while you're here."

Jason shrugs, still confused but willing anyway.

It takes him a couple hours, as it somehow devolves into a weird game of jungle tag with the surprise element of Wednesday possessing powers similar to Poison Ivy, but he manages to win the trinket from her.

He's laying on the ground, sweaty and covered in leaves, when Damian finally comes flipping through the tree line.

That takes its own hour just to convince the Demon Brat to calm down, and work out a solution that will somehow satisfy his mother enough to consider the mission complete.

Jason doesn't care, he's admiring the weird little purple crystal pendant hanging off his hand, spinning and reflecting lights all over.

Suddenly, wooing Phantom seems a little more attainable.

He takes a picture, opening up the special app Phantom's IT guy created with Oracle for easy contact with the Realms.

Hoodlum sent an image.

BigPhan: ???

BigPhan: Is that what I think it is?

BigPhan: How did you even find her?!

Hoodlum: Wednesday sends her regards

BigPhan: !!!

Jason smirks. He's got a movie to watch, and apparently more exes to track down.

This will be fun.

Chapter Text

"Hello?" Wes groggily answers the video call. He's shirtless, and clearly in bed. A groan rumbles through the speakers that is clearly Val shortly after he settles the phone into a good position.

"Danny?" Tucker questions 2 seconds after. His background is the kitchen of his own apartment. "Why are you calling from—wait, where are you? What am I supposed to do with breakfast?? I made you eggs!"

"Make this quick, Casper." Sam grunts when she connects. It's dark where she's at, and she has Nocturne's veil on for some reason. "I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"Wednesday, Sam????" Danny hisses, power walking through the city in the early morning.

"What's this about?" Val grumbles, popping out from the covers under Wes. "It's fucking Monday."

"He dubbed me that," Sam argues. "And he showed up out of nowhere, guns blazing. What else was I supposed to think?"

"Did you sneak past me while I was cooking?" Tucker cuts in, the plate of eggs in his hand clanking onto the counter. "Did you seriously use Phantom against me this way? My cooking is way better than yours dude."

Danny ignores him.

"Normal things!" Danny cries out, which makes people around him look at him weirdly. He lowers his voice. "Normal things, Sam, like follow up on the fucking Lazarus Pit you stole."

"I didn't steal anything." Sam huffs at the same time Wes snores. Val nudges him with an elbow and he snorts awake.

"Care to explain to the class, Fentina?" Val rasps, annoyed. To be fair, it is her day off today, and Wes doesn't go in on Mondays until the afternoon. "What did Sam steal and why do you care?"

"She stole some ecto from the league of assassins." Danny snitches at the same time Sam loudly argues "I said I didn't steal anything!"

"I had to sit in a 3 hour meeting with Batman, Sam!" Danny stresses in a harsh whisper. "There were powerpoints."

Tucker snorts, but Danny continues to ignore him. "Three weeks of meetings on top of my day job, only for Batman to drag me into another meeting to talk about my rogues and threat levels and to reiterate my people's boundaries."

"As if that wasn't enough, Wonder Woman has been chasing me down to talk diplomacy, and how this incident will affect Realms politics." Danny grips his hair in distress. "Politics Sam, Clockwork promised me I wouldn't have to deal with that until I was actually dead, but here I am!"

"Bet Frostbite was real happy about that." Val mutters. Tucker full on giggles at that, and Danny hopes he chokes on his eggs. Lovingly.

"I knew, abstractly, about assassins existing—but now I have to contend with a whole LEAGUE of them?!" Danny is about to lose his shit. Has been losing his shit but only now has the time to deal with it.

"Batman's baby mama is the new head, isn't she?" Wes yawns, flopping heavily onto Val.

"How do you know that?" Tucker points a spatula at the camera. "Also, is this why you haven't been home like, at all?

"Val told me." Wes shrugs, jostling the aforementioned girlfriend, as Danny dejectedly says "Yes."

"And how does Val know that?" Tucker questions, mouth full of what looks like bacon.

"Sam told me." Val grunts, rubbing her eyes and flopping back down under the covers. Wes rolls off screen with a thump.

Danny gestures towards the screen and Tucker, because he's his oldest friend, understands immediately and tiredly asks, "And Sam found out because…"

"I found out from Robin himself." Sam shrugs. Tucker throws his hands up, grumbling about the unfairness of the league of Danny's three evil exes. "During your meeting with Batman."

"I can't believe this." Danny feels a migraine coming on.

"Look." Sam's voice becomes serious, making Danny finally register that she has the veil on. "Are you mad about the pits, Hood, or me?"

Wes and Val settle, a little more awake, back into frame on the bed. Tucker munches at his breakfast sulkily, but is attentive.

Danny sighs.

He detours just around a corner, into an empty alley. He leans against the wall, holding his phone up with one hand and rubbing his face with the other.

"What are you doing out there, Sam? I didn't even know you took the veil out of the Realms." Danny settles on. "We—I thought you were saving the world the human way."

"I am." Sam protests, but Tucker and Val scoff almost in unison. She winces. "I was. I took the veil just in case—it makes it easier, during protests and rallies."

"You broke into their compound, Sam. You're using Daughter of the Green magic, leaving traces all over the place. And yes, I know about the other places. You introduced yourself to Hood as my ex."

Sam says nothing, but there's movement on her side of the screen where it starts to become lighter. She's in some kind of woods, and that worries him. Sam does too many questionable things surrounded by nature. Danny bites his lip.

"You're tied to me now, and I had no choice but to name you as one of the Realms." Danny's voice is helpless, "You named Huntress."

Val sits up, Wes clutching at her to keep her steady. "You what?"

Tucker winces, muttering a soft fuck. Danny watches as he swiftly starts to put away his dishes, as if to run away. Danny sympathizes—he too wants to walk away from this conversation.

Huntress is a bit of a sore topic between them. Val wasn't happy to learn the whole truth of her 'righteous crusade.' She hung up Huntress for a good long while because of it. It wasn't until she started dating Wes that she felt like maybe she could take up the mantle again.

Amity Park is still a well visited place, as Danny's true haunt. Sure, most of the ghosts are simply there to relive experiences and are largely accepted from the locals, but that doesn't mean there aren't any ghost rogues.

To this day, therapists are monitored very closely in the school districts.

A carnival hasn't been welcomed into their borders since…

Well, it doesn't matter now. Not with Huntress occasionally prowling around and his parents' barrier keystones. And with the JL now involved…

"We couldn't hide it forever." Sam mutters, but all of them recognize the guilt laced through it. "I'm sorry, okay? It slipped out. I didn't think Hood would report to Batman."

"Robin reported it." Danny corrects, closing his eyes. "But it's…your actions will be monitored now, and I can't do anything about it."

"And Huntress?" Wes asks softly, rubbing Val's back up and down in comfort. The woman herself seems to be seething—her anger has become quieter, sharper, now that they're in their twenties.

"Luckily, Robin didn't report that—Hood told me about it later. Though, it probably wouldn't have mattered." Danny sighs, tilting his head back until it bumps against the brick wall with a dull thud. "She's already tied to the Realms, and they know she wants nothing to do with the JL."

Despite it all, despite the JL Dark being the only reason Danny can even live elsewhere, despite the JL being the driving force behind getting the Anti ECTO Acts repealed, some part of Val has never forgiven them for letting everything happen in the first place. It's a big part of why Huntress is only active in Amity, despite living in Metropolis with Wes half the time.

Some small part of Danny thinks that she blamed Big Blue for not hearing the town cries when Amity got sucked into the Realms in high school, but even she knows that's an unreasonable thing to put on one hero.

He knows she still has those Superman articles Lois Lane used to publish almost weekly back when they were children somewhere, buried deep in the confines of her father's apartment attic.

A hand touches his shoulder gently, startling him. When he looks to his right, Tucker is there with his own phone out. He looks down into his screen, and realizes his oldest friend must have started walking the way towards WE after he put away the dishes.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispers, an apology they know is for Val specifically. The scenery around her is very still, very green. "I'll be more careful."

Val huffs, but offers an olive branch in forgiveness. "What's your code name?"

"I don't know, I'm kind of attached to Wednesday." Sam's voice is light, but still low. Grateful and guilty all at once, and careful, like she doesn't want to be heard. "Any ideas from the peanut gallery?"

"Belladonna?" Tucker grins, jostling into Danny's frame and exiting the app on his own phone. "Can't go wrong with a classic."

Sam lifts the veil briefly, ensuring they all see her roll her eyes. "With judgment on the line? Maybe don't make me Poison Ivy 2.0."

"You're doing that all on your own." Wes argues, tilting his head in thought. "Undertaker?"

"Still sounds rogue-chic." Val purses her lips. "Grave Lily?"

"Pretty." Danny leans into Tucker, taking comfort. "Bit long though."

"And Wonder Woman isn't a mouthful?" Tucker snorts, wrapping an arm around Danny's shoulders. "Or Martian Manhunter?"

"I don't wear enough white to be Grave Lily." Sam points out. "Is the Death theme even applicable?"

"You wear a mourning veil." Wes deadpans. "With matching mourning clothes."

"Mourning Glory?" Danny offers with a grin. The entire group groans.

"I'm reminded why we broke up, suddenly." Sam smiles.

"Me two." Val says, followed shortly by Wes' sleepy "Me three."

"Don't even front, I know for a fact ya'll thought it was cute." Tucker laughs, tugging Danny along to continue the walk towards WE.

"Deadnettle." Sam says suddenly, neither confirming nor denying.

"Dead what now?" Tucker responds.

"Deadnettle." Sam repeats, holding up a purple-ish flower that, frankly, looks like mint's poisonous cousin. "My codename. It's a forageable. It can be medicinal, but looks poisonous so people generally stay away,"

"Fitting." Val smirks. "Still on that ultra-recyclo vegetarian diet?"

"Vegan, now." Sam smirks back, wry. "Anyway, I really am in the middle of something so I gotta go."

Danny opens his mouth, but Sam cuts over him. "It's nothing illegal!"

"Stay safe." All of them say at once, ready to sign off. He and Tucker can see WE just half a block away.

"Oh, by the way." Sam says quickly, stopping everyone short. "Hood may or may not be hunting down Phantom's exes Scott Pilgrim style okaybye!"

Sam's feed cuts. Tucker and Danny share a look.

"That bitch!" Val shrieks, jumping out of bed and out of frame. Farther away, her voice echos. "My hoverboard is still in the shop, and I have three meetings this week!"

"Do I count as Phantom's ex?" Wes wonders aloud, already looking sleepier by the minute. "Does this mean I need a codename too?"

"Frat boy says what?" Tucker drawls, opening the door for Danny to step through. "Even if you did count what are you gonna do, throw a basketball at him?"

"Ouch." Wes scrunches his nose, forcing himself to get up and get ready for his work day. "No need to be mean about it."

"I'm always mean, it's how I show my affection." Tucker shoots back, greeting the receptionist as they walk through. "We definitely have to go soon though, we just stepped into WE."

Val grabs the phone from Wes, face too close to the camera. "If Darcy steps foot in Amity this week I will scream, Fenton. I do not have the time or equipment to deal with him this week!"

"To clarify," Danny squints as Tucker and he wait for the elevator to pick them up. "You're not mad that he wants to fight you for my hand, but that he might want to do so when you're busy?"

"Duh, Lizzie." The elevator dings, opening up slowly as Val rolls her eyes. "If you don't get laid soon, I'm going to riot."

Inside the elevator, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, and Lucius Fox stare amusedly at Danny and Tucker.

Danny can feel Tucker trying not to die from laughing beside him as Danny's face flushes with all the blood in his body.

"Right." Danny squeaks out, mortified as he moves out of the way. "I'll uh. Let Darcy know, Val. Tuck and I gotta go now."

"Bye!" Wes and Val say in unison, before cutting out.

"Have a good day, gentlemen." Lucius smiles, Bruce giving Danny a wink as they exit the elevator. Tim is doing a poor job of concealing his laughter as he trails after.

"Thanksyoutoobye." Danny practically has to haul Tucker onto the elevator, jamming the close door button until it listens to him.

Once the doors close, Danny slaps his hands against his face and screams.

Tucker falls to the floor laughing.

Chapter Text

"And you came to me because…?" Dick tilts his head like a little puppy, looking lost sitting in Bruce's armchair at the Manor. Jason stands before him, making gestures with his hands as he replies—pointer fingers and thumbs making circles.

"Because you know the hero grape vine." Jason says slowly, as if he's actually talking to a puppy. "And I need to know if you know who Huntress is."

"You already know who Huntress is." Dick's brows scrunch up, talking to Jason just as slowly. Jason may or may not want to punch him in his face, but knows Starfire would give him hell for it. "She's—Birds of Prey? With the crossbow? Besties (sort of) with Harley Quinn?"

"How do you do that?" Duke asks from where he is lounging on the sofa nearby. "I swear I heard the parenthesis."

"Not that Huntress." Jason huffs, ignoring Duke and crossing his arms. "I checked. There's another Huntress around, one associated with Phantom."

"And why would you assume I know anything about Phantom?" Dick asks, still very confused and also ignoring Duke. "You see him more than I do."

"Because, Dickie," Jason heaves a heavy sigh. "You know the hero grape vine."

"What does that even mean???" Dick puts out his hands helplessly.

"It means you're a big gossip, Dick." Steph chimes in as she walks through to plop onto the other couch where Cass is sitting. "You know all the tea."

"Huntress is Phantom's ex." Cass agrees. "You would know, if anybody."

"Oh!" Dick jolts up. "You mean Red Huntress!"

Steph shrieks with laughter. "Hold up, Red Huntress, Red Hood???"

"Talk about a type." Duke agrees. "Was the other ex Red too?"

"No." Jason grumbles, but doesn't elaborate with a name. Wednesday never actually told him her real name, or her…hero(?) name. "She wore all black."

All his terrible siblings present look him up and down, at his tight black teeshirt and black jeans and black boots. His brown leather jacket was taken from him by Alfie earlier.

"Where is Huntress based Dickolas." Jason growls, refusing to address any of that. He can only be thankful that Tim and Bruce are at WE, and the Demon Brat is in Kansas with the Kents.

"Phantom's haunt." Dick says, the duh is implied. "She's not on a set schedule or anything, and last I heard she hates the JL with the passion of a thousand suns. She's got beef with Big Blue, apparently. Clark kind of hates it."

Before Jason can say anything else, like ask if there are any particular days he could theoretically meet her, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

BigPhan: Huntress says if you step foot in AP before the end of this week you can't kiss me anymore.

Jason smiles, involuntarily.

Hoodlum: We haven't even had our first kiss yet.

BigPhan: And we never will, if you visit AP before the end of the week.

Hoodlum: Heard loud and clear, baby.

BigPhan: Askljdfhgaiglrgkjeg

"That's definitely his lover boy face." Steph stage whispers, which makes Jason stuff his phone back into his pocket. "Hey, Phantom's made of ectoplasm right?"

"What does that matter?" Jason gruffs, crossing his arms and slumping on the couch next to Duke. The younger man lifts his legs in time for Jason to slot under, dropping it into his lap once he's seated like they've practiced the move before.

Jason refuses to feel warm and fuzzy about it.

"I tasted ecto once." Steph grins. "Kinda zesty, with a weird kick to it. Is that what his kisses taste like?"

"Oh my gosh," Dick practically squeals, leaning forward. "What was your first kiss like? How did it happen? How did you guys happen?"

"Spill the tea." Cass smiles, leaning into Steph. "All the Hot Goss."

Steph dissolves into laughter at Cass' deadpan delivery, which seems to be the point.

"Have you even had your first kiss yet?" Duke nudges his feet against Jason's thighs. "Are you even together? Or just in the talking stage."

"Why are you trying to find his ex anyway?" Steph asks through giggles. "Is Phantom still hung up on them?"

Jason heaves a heavy sigh. He knew this would happen, but Huntress is barely even a rumor. He could have asked Barbie, of course, but he already owed her his first, second, and third born.

Luckily, at this moment in time, babies seem to be a nonissue.

Not that he could have asked her anyway, since she's busy with Birds of Prey business for the foreseeable future.

"We haven't fully kissed yet." Jason admits reluctantly, ears burning. "We've admitted feelings for each other, but we're taking it slow."

There's a long, shocked silence after his words. He's not surprised—they probably expected him to brush them off or ignore them and stomp out like he always does when they try to meddle in his life get curious about his affairs.

He steam rolls through it anyway, feeling his face start to flush.

"His ex told me that ghost courting rituals vary, but mostly involve proving your love in some way." Jason shrugs trying and failing to be nonchalant in a room full of detectives. "Apparently, he likes this movie, Scott Pilgrim. Or—I mean, he at least refers to his exes jokingly as his evil-exes."

"No fucking way," He meets Duke's eyes, wide and shocked. He remembers Tim saying the newest addition was a movie buff. "Are you fighting his exes for the right to date him???"

Dick starts to squeal. "Oh my god??? That is so romantic???"

Steph join Dick in the squealing, jumping up and down. "That is so cute are you flipping shitting me?"

"Very cute." Cass agrees. "Very thoughtful of you."

"Thanks." Jason mumbles, scratching his nose and feeling terribly shy. "I already got the first trinket, so next up is Huntress."

He pulls out the crystal pendant, shows it off as his siblings all ooh and aah.

His siblings clamber over each other, over Jason, asking more questions and teasing him to no end, but it's nice. It's nicer than nice.

It's good. It's great.

It feels really fucking weird.

After his talk with Bruce, and with Tim—Jason's been trying. He told Starfire he'd visit for dinner just yesterday, which still feels like a mistake with how much Dick has been texting him about food options. He asked Jason to come early so he could watch them cook, and even though it's knowledge everyone knows about Jason, it's the first time it's been planned for.

Dick has always just surprised him, pushed his bubble when he had the chance, before. Because Jason never let him—and no matter what, Jason knows Dick tried.

So now he's here, willingly subjecting himself to his siblings' teasing because he's trying.

He joked with Phantom he would do some soul searching, but maybe it shouldn't have been a joke.

Something changed, with his family. Something changed with Phantom.

Like somehow, the stars have aligned for both sides of Jason's life.

Jason has never been fond of change, but the quiet ones?

The quiet ones made of little things, of monumental meanings packaged in small gestures?

He'd never miss a chance—he's too greedy for it.

Even if it comes packed together with the horrifying ordeal of leaving the cave to sit in what could be considered his childhood home and subject himself to the mortifying trials of sibling teasing, of being perceived and cooed at.

Steph and Cass are pressing down on his shoulders, sandwiching his head as they peer at the crystal at varying angles. Dickie is sitting on the back of the sofa, commenting idly on the light refractions of it, and his foot is somehow digging into Jason's gallbladder. Duke, somehow, has ended up under Jason, getting horribly crushed because everyone else is on top of him in some way.

Another buzz draws him out of his head and away from the overload of touch that is somehow comforting and foreign at once, and somehow he manages to pull his phone out.

BigPhan: You know you don't have to do this right?

BigPhan: You already have me, I just...need a little more time.

"Is that him?" Dick asks somewhere to his right. "He's all smile-y!"

"Probably." Duke guesses from beside him. "His face looks gushy."

"Has to be," Steph says from somewhere to his left. "Gushy as hell."

"It is." Cass asserts, from somewhere. "Lovesick."

"Shut up." Jason says without looking up. His siblings, predictably, do not shut up.

They do, however, give him privacy to respond to Phantom.

Hoodlum: I know. I want to.

Hoodlum: You're worth the effort, and the time.

He smiles, letting his siblings chatter wash over him, excited for next week.

"Ah, Master Jason." Alfred's voice pulls his gaze up. "Joining us for dinner?"

His siblings look at him, hopeful and trying not to seem hopeful. Because even with the teasing and endless nosiness, they care, despite it all.

None of them discourage him from trying, ask him if he's sure, ask him if it's wise or treat him like a wild animal ready to attack. They haven't for a long time—they've treated him like someone ready to bolt.

And honestly? It's become impossible for Jason to fool himself any longer about it—he's tired of running.

Alfred stands tall, just outside the living room with an air about him that reminds Jason of the past. When the butler would ask if Jason wanted tea on those hard days from school, when he would have a tray of Jason's favorite cookies ready on the anniversary of Catherine's passing.

"Yeah, Alfie." Jason coughs, smiling up tremulously and remembering when he would beg Alfred to teach him how to bake. "I'll stay. You need a hand?"

"It would be nice," Alfred smiles, wistful, "to have a helping hand for once."

His siblings clamor at that, protesting and defending themselves as they tumble over each other and bicker, protesting about their cooking skills.

Jason laughs, jumping up and finally free to join Alfie in the kitchen for the first time in…a long while, actually.

As he leaves, bidding his siblings a mocking goodbye, his phone buzzes again.

BigPhan: You're worth the effort too, you know.

Jason smiles, he seems to be doing that a lot lately, and follows Alfie towards the kitchen.

Chapter Text

"It just feels disproportionate, is all!" Danny huffs, furiously scratching out the chemical equation before him.

He and Tucker are staying late today, along with a couple of other WE workers to try and get through the last stretch of the paint composition. It feels like they're so close, and clearly everyone else is in agreement. Something just isn't clicking.

Their other team members are spread out through the building: Some in the testing box next door, some grabbing snacks and dinner for the team in the cafeteria, and others meeting and updating the Waynes in a conference room somewhere a couple floors up.

It turns out, even the big guys are in late today on some other big project involving the JL.

Danny thinks it might have to do with the Lazarus Pits, but he's just a civilian now and Phantom has already had more than enough meetings about the damn thing.

"So Darcy wants to do something extra special for you," Tucker shrugs, tapping away at his laptop behind him. "That doesn't mean you need to stress yourself out trying to find this mythical, 'proportionate' gift."

"He's been really patient with me, Tuck." Danny blows out a breath, his bangs rustling in movement. "The only reason we aren't together is because I have some kind of stupid hang up—"

"Hey." A hand grips his shoulder, Tucker's voice suddenly a lot closer. "Be kinder to yourself. Didn't you say seeing Sam's trinket made you feel infinitely better?"

Danny inhales, slowly releasing it. "Yes."

"And didn't Frostbite say it might be ghost instincts driving your human anxiety?" Tucker squeezes his shoulder, before letting go with a pat. "Phantom and Danny aren't actually two separate entities you have to maintain you know."

"For the sake of my secret identity," Danny argues, turning around in his chair to watch Tucker sit back down. "I kind of do."

Tucker scoffs, ignoring Danny's very reasonable argument. "Missing the point entirely, as always dude."

"The point," Danny sulkily counters, "Is that I have no idea what I could possibly get Darcy to show him how much I appreciate the effort."

"The point," Tucker drawls, "Is that you could just kiss him, dumbass."

"I'm doing that anyway!" Danny flushes, tossing a pencil at his friend. He gets him in the eye, or rather, the pencil bounces off Tucker's glasses with a loud tink! "I wanna get him something more, asshole!"

"So fuck him! I don't know!" Tucker throws his hands up, tossing the pencil back at Danny and missing him entirely.

"Useless!" Danny goes to pick up the pencil and hisses. "Useless to me!"

"I know." Tucker says blandly, clacking away at his laptop again. "But not as useless as you trying to be romantic."

Danny sulks, because he's right. He's pretty sure Tucker isn't even working on the paint project Danny's toiling away at, and is actually working on one of the million coding projects he's also in charge of.

Danny is kind of sick of geniuses. Vlad has not gotten any easier to deal with, trying to foist heirship of VladCo on him just this past weekend. And that was just on a phone call.

He just hopes Ellie would want to take the mantle, though he highly doubts it.

Maybe Dan? He's due for some probation isn't he? Jazz had said there was progress on his mental health last time she visited, didn't she?

The door opens with a clatter, Tim Drake stumbling in with Abigail as they chat over a tablet about some composition that might be breaking down the material.

"Tim?" Tucker squints up at his boss. "I thought you were supposed to be off today."

"I was." Tim says distractedly, but doesn't elaborate and goes back to his conversation with Abigail about tensile strength. Riveting stuff, truly. He and Tucker share a glance before rolling their eyes.

Danny turns back around, sighing and focusing back on his equations. He really hates math, and even though it's chemistry, there's still all this…addition and subtraction nonsense going on and—

"Wait." Danny's head swings up, when he finally registers what the newcomers have been muttering about "Wait—waitwaitwait—"

All three of the other occupants of the room stare at Danny blankly, though they jolt when he suddenly shoots up, pointing at Abigail.

"You said—the matrix—" Danny swings to Tim, "And the—decomposition of—"

He starts jumping up and down, thoughts going a million miles a minute, mouth flapping like he's trying to articulate, but he can't because the sentences aren't sentencing.

He screams, close mouthed and muted, before gesturing at Tucker helplessly. "The—the thing! Chemical X!"

"Chemical X is a made up chemical, Danny." Tucker says slowly, eyes wide and glancing quickly at Tim and Abigail. Chemical X is the code name for ectoplasm, and Tucker is rightfully nervous about Danny mentioning it right now but he has to, because it's contradicting and symbiotic and it just might work. "You're doing the thing again."

"This is a common occurrence?" Tim whispers, to which Abigail simply stares at Tucker as if to ask if her life will be in danger or not.

Danny groans, practically ripping his hair out before rushing over to the chemical simulator and punching in possibly the answer to all their fucking prayers.

"Just let him do his thing." He can hear Tucker say, but he's gone, gone, gone.

Cornstarch. Tim and Abigail were talking about the chemical composition of cornstarch and—his mind is all chemicals now, flashing back to the first summer back from college when he and Mom had found out that ectoplasm had a flexible structure similar to, of all things oobleck.

But it didn't harden when punched or under any pressure, so why? It was similar enough to at least act a little like it, but something about the composition was off and—

The point is. Danny spent a large portion of that summer spiraling into non-newtonian fluids and what they were and—

"Yes!" Danny fist bumps, gesturing frantically to the simulator. It doesn't actually flash success! on the screen because that's not how it works, but it does relay that it is not only a possible combination, but it is also non-reactive, insultingly easy to make with the current in-house chemicals WE has on hand this very second, and pleasantly slated to be a muted white in color.

Perfect as a base for paint, and also laughably easy to test right now.

"Holy shit." Tucker whispers, smile miles wide, "Is that what I think it is?"

"I don't know," Danny's voice is also a whisper. "Not until we test it but, Tuck—I think it is."

"Abigail," Tim grins, manic in the late hour, "Grab Donovan would you?"

"You got it boss." Abigail grins, before running off to find the chemist.

Five hours later, at just around 11:43pm, they've got a working sample and a promising ongoing test programmed in the testing room.

Four days, five field tests, and three successful stress tests later, and they finally have a working product.

There's still a lot of trials and other such administrative nonsense that they have to go through, but so far?

Danny has apparently helped make a formerly impossible thing.

"Well Team," Bruce says a week later in a meeting, in that genuine proud dad kind of way. "It looks like a gala is in order to celebrate!"

Tucker nudges Danny in the side, leaning closer where they're seated together. "Maybe your big gesture can be taking Darcy on a gala date?"

"And how exactly," Danny whispers back, as the room bursts into excited chatter about the gala. "would I explain the other guy's association with WE?"

"I'm all out of ideas then." Tucker shrugs.

"Your other ideas have been skydiving, a paint and sip, a pottery class specifically to reenact that scene from Ghost, and what was that last one from yesterday?" Danny puts on a show of thinking, dramatically doing a Eureka! moment, "Right, right—taking him to Spike's slam poetry night in Amity."

Tucker smirks. "And they were all great ideas, I can't help that you can't see the romance in them."

"Useless." Danny hisses, with a forked tongue and everything, making Tucker laugh.

He'll have to figure out a tux thing for the gala, check in with his team back at STAR Labs, and sort out his apartment situation once his final day at WE is confirmed, but for now?

For now, maybe he'll call Jazz and ask for advice after the meeting.

Hood may not need a huge romantic gesture to know how grateful and smitten Danny is, but it would be nice is all he's saying.