Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all started with a breakdown in the kitchen.

"I think I need to leave Amity."

Danny didn’t mean to blurt it out. It just kind of... happened. Somewhere between three sleepless nights, two ghost attacks back-to-back, and one final conversation with Tucker and Sam that left him more numb than comforted. He hadn’t even meant to go into the kitchen. He just kind of... wandered. Like a ghost. Which, to be fair, was at least 50% accurate.

The light over the stove flickered as if echoing his exhaustion. Maddie Fenton blinked from behind her coffee mug. Jack Fenton paused mid-bite into a Fenton-branded toaster strudel.

"You mean like a vacation?" Maddie asked.

"No. I mean like... gone. I need to go. Find myself. Or lose myself. Honestly, either’s fine."

It was quiet for a long time. Jack slowly put his food down causing Danny to mentally ready himself for a scolding.

"You’re not in trouble," Maddie said softly.

"I know. That’s not it. It’s just..." Danny exhaled, eyes glowing faintly blue in the dim light. "I can’t breathe here anymore. Not because of you. Not because of anything you did. But this town? It keeps choking me. I walk down the street and every building is a reminder of something I almost lost. Or did lose."

He stared down at his hands—scarred, faintly glowing in places, fingers twitching involuntarily from phantom nerve damage.

"My hands cramp when I do my homework. My core flickers when I pass the Nasty Burger. I wake up floating above my bed and screaming. And nobody in school even looks at me anymore. I'm either the freak, or the hero. Never just... Danny."

Jack looked at him for a long, solemn moment. Then he nodded, slow and serious, placing a hand on Danny’s shoulder.

"Danno," he said gravely, "sometimes a Fenton has to go live among the cows."

…

…

…

Danny blinked. "...What?"

"We were country folk once, remember!" Jack boomed, with a wet sniff of emotion. "Before we moved to Amity! Tried to integrate into city life. It never really stuck."

Maddie smiled, a little sad but wistful. "We blew up so many barns."

Jack chuckled. "The pigs had to go through therapy."

Danny laughed, but it came out half-strangled. Especially cuz he could barely remember those times as he was so young and he didn't have time to adjust to being adopted before they decided to move.

"You mean it? I can go?"

Maddie stood and hugged him. Tight.

"If that’s what you need, sweetheart. Find your peace. We’ll be here. Always."

But as he packed the next day, folding clothes with numb hands and Cujo quietly pacing at his side, Danny couldn’t help but notice—

Neither of his parents came to his room.

They didn’t say goodbye.

Not really.

They just smiled and waved from the driveway like it was just another mission. Another ghost hunt. Another casual Tuesday.

And Danny… Danny didn’t say anything. He just phased into the truck and drove.

Sam and Tucker had already left.

Jazz was already making a life for herself.

They all promised to keep in touch. They meant it. But Danny could already feel the space growing between them. It wasn’t cold. Just distant. Life was pulling them in different directions.

And Danny? Danny was just trying to figure out which way was forward.

Chapter Text

Danny arrived at the farm to the sound of silence and cicadas.

It was bigger than he remembered. Overgrown. Unloved. The wooden porch creaked under his boots as he stepped out of the truck, Cujo phasing out through the door like a fuzzy green ghost-sheriff surveying his new territory. The house looked tired. Peeling paint, wild ivy, windows clouded with dust. The front door stuck when he tried to open it, like even the house wasn’t ready to let him in.

It belonged to his dad's grandparents—folks who died before he ever met them. But they’d left the land to them, and Maddie, bless her reckless soul, had told him over the phone, “You’ll know what to do with it when you get there.”

He didn’t. But he tried anyway.

The first day, Danny tried to air out the house. One window shattered in his hand from residual ghost strength. Cujo barked at a ceiling fan for ten minutes before phasing through it. The sink hissed when he turned it on, and the water ran red for a full thirty seconds.

"Okay," Danny muttered. "We're starting from scratch."

He slept on the couch that night because his bedframe collapsed under his weight. Cujo curled against his legs and drooled on his socks. It was kind of comforting.

The first week, he broke a rake.

By accident, obviously. Ghost Strength did that sometimes. He went to hang up the tool and ended up snapping the handle like a breadstick.

The second week, he learned cows were not afraid of ghosts. At least not Cujo, who became an unofficial barn supervisor and also stole their hay.

In the third week, he tried planting tomatoes. His hands cramped so badly he couldn’t uncurl them for twenty minutes. He had to phase them into a watering bucket for relief. Cujo whined the whole time, worried for his favorite human.

He laughed at first. Then he cried.

Ghost powers didn’t fix chronic pain. Who knew?

That night, he tried cooking.

He nearly burned the entire kitchen making scrambled eggs. The toast caught fire. Cujo stole a frozen pizza out of the trash and ran victory laps around the living room. The smoke alarm triggered, and Danny panicked—phased halfway into the ceiling beam before forcing himself to breathe.

He ended up eating cold cereal with phantom-numb hands.

That was when he found the letter.

It was folded inside one of his boxes filled with cereal back home, stuck behind a pack of almost expired fruitloops.

Jack’s handwriting, barely legible. A few words scratched out.

"You always liked cows. Or at least cow jokes. We hope this place feels like yours someday. –Mom & Dad."

Danny stared at it for a long time. It wasn’t bad. Wasn’t good either. Just distant. Like a goodbye from people who hadn’t known how to say it out loud.

He tucked it into a cabinet and didn’t look at it again.

That was when Martha Kent found him.

She was just walking over with a basket of zucchini and saw him lying on the ground behind the shed, staring at the sky like it had personally betrayed him. Cujo sat next to him, tail wagging slowly, ears pinned back.

“Oh sweetheart,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Are you injured or just emotionally done?”

“Both,” Danny croaked.

She gave him the basket. “I brought vegetables.”

He blinked. "You’re the cousin farmer?"

"Cousin-in-law, technically. You’re Jack’s grandson? We share a fence and some very stubborn cows.”

He stared from the ground.

“I also make pie.”

And just like that, Danny found himself sitting at the Kent kitchen table while Jonathan poured him lemonade and Martha handed him fresh cornbread and started gently interrogating him about his eating habits.

Apparently, my dad’s aunt's cousins owned the next farm over.

By the end of the week, they were sending food over.

By the second week, they invited him over for dinner.

By the third, Jon had adopted him as his new big brother.

Danny didn’t feel like he belonged. But he was safe. Fed. Not alone.

And Martha kept looking at him like she’d decided something very important.

Later that night, back at his house, Danny sat on the porch with Cujo curled up next to his leg.

"You know," he said softly, "I don’t think I’ve ever been this calm without being dead."

Cujo let out a soft bark and placed his head on Danny’s foot.

Danny scratched behind his ears. “Yeah. Drama queen. I know.”

The wind didn’t carry sirens here. Just crickets. And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The Kent family farm was quiet. Calm. Sun-drenched. Alive in a way Amity Park hadn’t felt in years.

Danny arrived expecting solitude. What he got instead was pie.

Martha Kent was a menace in the kitchen. Jonathan was a walking, flannel-wrapped version of a warm hug. Cujo got along with the cows immediately. It should’ve felt strange.

But it didn’t.

It felt... safe.

Then Clark Kent showed up.

“Hi,” he said, standing just off the porch in flannel and jeans, holding what looked like a store-bought apple pie. His smile was too practiced to be casual. “You must be Danny.”

Danny tilted his head. His core gave an odd, almost metallic buzz. There was a warmth coming off Clark that wasn’t heat but… radiance . Like standing in the sunshine for too long but only feeling it in your soul.

He shook Clark’s hand. The hum under his skin practically made his core vibrate.

“Oh,” Danny said. “Hi, Superman.”

Clark blinked. Visibly panicked. “Huh?”

“You’re wearing glasses, not a mask. Come on, man.”

Clark’s face twitched. “I don’t—”

“You’re glowing,” Danny said, squinting. “Not like me, but still. You hum like a nuclear space battery.”

“I—what?!”

Danny leaned in just slightly, grinning. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell. But I know. ”

Clark stood in stunned silence for exactly three seconds. Then he shoved the pie into Danny’s hands and left.

Without a word.
Without his pie.

He came back the next day.

Martha offered lemonade with a suspiciously knowing smile. Clark accepted it and sat on the porch beside Danny, stiff as a board.

Danny sipped his lemonade. “You okay there, glowstick?”

Clark blinked at him. “That’s not… how people usually talk to me.”

Danny shrugged. “I’m not ‘people.’ I’m half-ghost. Technically half-dead. I don’t get offended the same.”

Clark nodded slowly. “How did you figure it out? About me.”

Danny gestured vaguely at the air between them. “I see auras. I can feel the energy. My core screamed, ‘This man absorbs sunlight and anxiety.’ Honestly, I figured it out the second you smiled like you were trying not to crush the Earth.”

Clark cleared his throat. “And what about Jon? You didn’t say anything to him.”

Danny blinked. “Why would I? Jon’s cool. Glows like a baby lantern but less intense.”

“…Please don’t say that in front of Bruce,” Clark muttered. “He’ll take it personally.”

Danny laughed. “Oh, he’ll hate me even more than he already does?”

Clark gave him a look. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“He will,” Danny said cheerfully. “Eventually.”

There was a silence. Not uncomfortable. Just… honest.

“Don't worry, I get it.” Danny gave an eye roll but continued to smile, finding amusement in his cousin’s (? Uncle? He wasn't really sure.) reactions. “Ghost stuff’s complicated. My time ghost mentor says I’m technically his now. Makes me part god-adjacent. My niece agrees.”

Clark looked at him sideways. “You have a niece?”

“Yeah, but she's older than me.”

“…Okay.”

“I’m still not sure if you’re my cousin or my uncle,” Danny continued, thoughtful now. “Or like. Kryptonian-adjacent mentor-uncle figure?”

Clark stared.

Danny shrugged. “Look, ghost families are weird. You gave me pie. That’s half a bond ritual right there.”

Martha snorted from the window. Jonathan chuckled from inside the barn.

Clark gave in and let himself smile. “You’re serious?”

Danny looked him dead in the eye. “As serious as I'm dead.”

“Aren't you half dead?”

Danny didn't reply. Just floated back to his farm.

That night, Jon cornered Danny while carrying a bowl of fresh corn.

“Can you teach me how to fly weird like you do?” he asked, bouncing slightly in place.

Danny tilted his head. “Define weird.”

“You kind of… twist sideways and go whoosh like a floating ghost pancake.”

Danny grinned. “Depends. Are you okay with glowing?”

Jon’s eyes lit up. “Absolutely.”

“Then step one,” Danny said, floating just above the ground, “is to accept that gravity is a social construct.”

Jon dropped the corn.

Martha called from the house, “Danny, don’t corrupt my boy!”

“No promises!”

Chapter Text

It started with a chicken.

To be fair, it wasn’t the chicken’s fault. 

“Move,” Damian snapped, glaring at the bird.

The chicken blinked. Danny, standing behind the coop fence, leaned on a pitchfork and raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Leave Cluck Kent alone. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Damian froze. That voice—

“You—”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Me.”

Jon appeared behind Damian, arms full of fresh corn. “Oh! You two finally met. Uh… again?”

Damian dropped the corn Jon had handed him earlier. “You’re alive.”

Danny gave a half-hearted shrug. “Depends on your definition.”

“You died .”

“Twice,” Danny corrected. “But who’s counting?”

Damian’s eyes darted. The glimmer of Lazarus energy around Danny, the familiar shape of his face, older now.. but still his . Still his twin . A memory buried so deep it had started to rot. Danyal. Alive. Glowing. Smirking. Not running into his arms. Not saying his name.

“You didn’t come back.”

Danny’s grip on the pitchfork tightened. “Yeah. I didn’t.”

“You knew who you were. Who I was.”

“Eventually.”

“You never tried to contact me.”

“I had a new life. New family. After the second death, things got… complicated.”

“You could’ve come back.”

Danny’s core flickered cold. “To what, Damian? A family that let me die the first time? A twin who barely remembered I existed?”

Damian flinched like he’d been struck. “I didn’t forget .”

“You stopped looking.”

“I was a child !” Damian barked. “They told me you were dead. They buried a body.”

“Was it mine?”

Damian’s mouth opened, then closed. His face went blank.

Danny huffed a breath. “Didn’t think so.”

A long silence stretched, thick and bitter.

Cujo, sensing the tension, phased in with a low growl and placed himself between them.

Danny softened only slightly. “Down, boy. He’s not worth it.”

Damian blinked at the ghost dog. “That’s yours?”

“His name’s Cujo. He’s family.”

Jon cleared his throat. “Should I… be here for this?”

“No,” both twins snapped.

Jon shuffled backward out of the emotional blast radius.

Damian stared. “You really don’t want anything to do with me?”

Danny met his gaze, calm, and cutting. “I spent a decade rebuilding my identity. I finally feel like a whole person. I don’t need to tear that down to relive the ghost of a family I barely remember.”

“And yet you bonded to his ,” Damian muttered, nodding toward the Kent house.

“They offered me food and didn’t try to stab me. Pretty low bar.”

“I only did that once.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing.”

Damian’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “I wanted you back.”

Danny shrugged. “Too little. Too late.”

For a second, Damian’s expression cracked. The grief hit first—years of silence, guilt, blurry memories of shared cribs, and split birthdays that never happened. Then denial, then anger, then bargaining.

“Just give me something,” he said. “A way to make it right.”

“You can’t fix it.”

“I want to try.”

Danny hesitated.

Cujo walked over and sat on Damian’s foot. Damian blinked at him.

“…Traitor,” Danny mumbled.

Damian didn’t move away.

Danny exhaled. “Help me fix the chicken coop. Then we’ll talk.”

Damian nodded slowly. “Acceptable.”

As Damian helped, he couldn't help but steal glances at Danyal.

He didn't think he'd ever seen him this relaxed before. 

He didn't think he'd ever seen him smiling, even as they were five, a year before he lost him.

He doesn't remember ever hearing his laugh. Or maybe he did… Just not anymore.

Chapter Text

Clark heard the barn collapse before he saw it.

It wasn’t a full collapse—more like a sharp crack and a whoomp of something heavy hitting the ground. But it was enough to have Clark there in under a second, suit hidden beneath flannel and panic on full display.

“Danny?”

Jon was already inside, kneeling beside a slumped form. Cujo hovered protectively, snarling with glowing green eyes. The air smelled like ozone and burnt grass.

“Back off,” Danny rasped. His voice was hoarse.

Clark slowed. “What happened?”

“My hands gave out.”

Danny was curled over a cracked post, pale and shaking. His arms were dotted with glowing scars that flickered like lightning bugs under the skin. One hand was clenched so tight his fingernails had drawn blood.

Clark looked at Jon. Jon looked helpless.

“I told him not to overdo it,” Jon whispered. “He said he was fine.”

Danny barked a laugh, sharp and breathless. “Fine is relative.”

“You should’ve said something,” Clark said.

Danny turned his head, eyes glassy with pain but still sharp. “What, and get benched from ghost chores? This place runs on spite and coffee.”

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m always hurt.”

The silence that followed made the wind outside seem loud.

Cujo whined and licked Danny’s cheek.

“I’ll help you up,” Clark said.

“Don’t.”

“Danny—”

“I said don’t !” Danny exploded, flaring half-intangible. The barn lights shorted. One of the cows mooed in terror.

Clark backed off, hands raised.

Danny struggled upright, leaning on Cujo. “You don’t get it. I died . Twice. And now I get to shovel hay and hope my core doesn’t glitch in front of your son.”

Jon was crying. Clark’s heart cracked.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jon whispered.

Danny looked away. “Because I didn’t know how. Ghosts don’t operate like humans. We don’t cling to names or DNA. We claim people who feel like ours.”

He let his gaze fall on Jon, then Clark. “And I claimed you both before I even realized it. My core already did.”

Clark went very still.

“You don’t have to help me. You just have to stay. Please. ”

And so they did.

They just stayed there by Danny's side the whole time, letting him rest.

After an hour or so, Danny finally cleared his throat “Oh, uh… thanks. This meant a lot.” He started. “I really needed this after my parents let me leave too easily. I thought love meant holding on… not waving from the driveway.”

Not wanting to be too awkward, he let himself go invisible. Not wanting to talk about this anymore.

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne was not prepared for the Dr. Fentons.

Jack Fenton wore orange like it was armor and introduced himself with a handshake that nearly shattered Bruce’s wrist. Maddie Fenton held eye contact like she was assessing his soul for science.

“So you’re the one who missed out on your son’s life twice,” she said.

Bruce blinked. “Excuse me?”

Danny appeared behind her, arms crossed. “Hey, Mom. Don’t roast the billionaire vigilante in the first five minutes.”

“I make no promises.”

Jack clapped Bruce on the back. “At least you’re trying, Bats!”

Bruce tried not to wince.

Then Danny said it.

“If I hadn’t become a halfa, you wouldn’t even know I existed.”

Bruce froze.

Danny’s voice was calm, almost casual. “You wouldn’t have looked. Damian wouldn’t have said anything. I would’ve died, been buried, and no one would’ve known I was yours. That I existed. You would’ve missed me like you missed Jason.”

The world stopped.

Bruce sat down heavily.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

He had missed another son.

He hadn’t even known to look.

He hadn’t noticed. How could he not have noticed? 

How many children would slip through the cracks before he learned?

“Bruce?” Maddie asked, not unkindly. “You alright?”

But Bruce didn’t respond. His mind was spiraling:

A twin. Danny and Damian. Separated. One dead. One trained. One lost in the woods and found by ghost-hunting scientists who actually loved him. One raised to kill. One died. Twice.

He hadn’t known. He should’ve known.

His hands were shaking.

Back at the Manor, things weren’t any better.

Tim, Steph, Dick, and Cass stood around the monitor room awkwardly while Bruce glared at case files with the intensity of a collapsing star. Alfred stood nearby with tea and a knowing sigh.

Damian entered last.

“He won’t listen to reason, Dick already tried. Cornered him for an hour.” Tim whispered.

“And got grunted at,” Dick muttered, trying not to be too mad at B because he understands.

“I’ve noticed,” Damian muttered.

Their eldest brother became oddly silent.

Steph nudged Damian. “You’re the one who knew him. Say something.”

“I barely knew him,” he snapped. “We were barely six. He’s not the same. And neither am I.”

Cass tilted her head. “But you want him back.”

Damian didn’t answer.

Instead, he approached Bruce.

“Father.”

Bruce didn’t look away. “I failed him.”

Damian stood stiffly beside him. “So did I.”

They didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then Bruce whispered, “I need to fix this.”

Damian didn’t object.

The silence was thick enough to choke on…

Then Jason arrived while everyone was going through their silent emotional shutdown. 

He took one look at the family tree hologram, noticed Danny’s name blinking under Damian’s, and let out a very long yet seemingly fond sigh.

“Oh. Him. ”

Everyone turned.

“You knew?” Bruce asked.

“I was their babysitter when they were small. In the League. Yeah, I remember the twins. Damian was a cryptid. Danny was worse. Tried to eat a glowing centipede once.”

Steph choked. Damian gaped.

Clearly, Jason's time in the league had affected him more than he thought. Seems like Danyal wasn't the only brother Damian forgot in the league.

Jason sat down and put his feet up. “Honestly? I thought Danny was dead. Then I thought I was dead. Then I came back and figured if Lazarus Pits wanted to keep secrets, that was between them and karma.”

“You didn’t think to mention we had a ghost brother?” Tim asked.

“I didn’t know he turned into that . Last I saw, he was a little kid too kind for the League who couldn’t pronounce ‘assassin’ right.” Jason shrugged before adding, “Plus, you didn't ask.”

Dick pouted while Bruce remained silent.

Dick then turned to him seriously. “You’re spiraling.”

“I have to fix it.”

“Maybe start by not turning it into a lawsuit?” Dick tried to mediate.

But Bruce had already turned to the computer.

“If the Kents want a fight,” he muttered, “then they’ll get one.”

Alfred sighed again and handed Damian a teacup.

“Master Damian. Please keep your father from attempting to sue a ghost.”

Damian took the cup. “No promises.”

So began the 'war' for Danny ‘Danyal’ Fenton.

Chapter Text

The Watchtower conference room was already tense when Diana arrived.

Clark and Bruce were mid-argument. Half of the Justice League was pretending not to listen. 

It felt just yesterday the two acted as a sun and moon trope of bestfriends, but now? The whole JL felt like walking on eggshells around them.

It was sudden at first, with no one knowing what started their passive-aggressive ‘war’... Until one Danny Phantom was introduced into their midst.

Already, a lot recognized the young ghost, and he seems to be content with sharing his identity and origin. Although he never got too specific due to asking a ghost about their death being taboo, as said by the JL Dark.

Back to the present, Phantom, the “new” ghost hero, floated near the glass window, staring at the endless space, wearing flannel and holding a ghost thermos full of tea.

He looked very done.

“Enough,” Diana said, walking in with regal calm. “You’re upsetting my baby uncle.”

All heads turned.

Danny blinked. “Hi, Wonder Aunt.”

“Hi, little uncle,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Clockwork sends his love. You are his favorite granddaughter.”

“Said his favorite child.”

Danny gave a dismissive chuckle. “Ah yes… may Zeus wither in envy! Hades and Hera are cool, tho.”

“And Lord Poseidon?” Diana arched an eyebrow.

“Who?” Came Danny's cheeky smirk.

There was a beat of silence, other than Diana and Danny trying not to laugh at their own inside jokes, the League collectively struggled to process this.

“…I’m sorry, your what ?” Green Lantern finally asked.

“Baby uncle,” Diana repeated. “Clockwork adopted him. Ghost cores don’t care for bloodlines. They claim based on emotional truth. He is of my family now.”

Superman sputtered. Batman stared.

Aquaman raised a brow. “Ghost royalty? Or God?”

“Technically, yes to both,” Diana said. “Although he prefers farming.”

“I like cows,” Danny muttered.

Wonder Woman smiled. “And the cows like you, Uncle Balance.”

Clark cleared his throat. “But custody—”

“Is irrelevant,” Diana cut in smoothly. “He has already chosen. His core has bonded to the Kents, to Jon, to Cujo, and to Smallville. You are all fighting for a child who already has a home.”

Batman opened his mouth.

Diana raised a brow.

He closed it again.

Danny sipped his tea. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Ghosts don’t need permission to claim family,” Diana said. “They simply love.”

With a hum, Danny gave another chuckle. “Which, honestly, explains a LOT of Greek mythology and relationships.”

Chapter Text

The Watchtower’s meeting room had seen many things: intergalactic war planning, alien invasions, and two separate incidents involving magical musical numbers.

But it had never seen a custody battle fought through passive-aggressive flannel, ghost dogs, and one very exasperated redhead.

Jazz Fenton arrived with a clipboard, Cujo, and absolutely zero patience.

“I was told there would be peace talks,” she said, breezing in with clinical calm. “What I see is emotional stagnation and unresolved trauma manifesting in unnecessary pettiness.”

“Hi Jazz,” Danny said, sipping from a thermos. “They’re still fighting. Oh, also, Bruce tried to show me ghost custody papers. They caught fire.”

“You set them on fire.” Someone from the Justice League whispered while staring at the burnt papers on the ground but Danny ignored them.

“I can see that.”

Superman and Batman were in opposite corners of the room. Clark’s cape was slightly crumpled. Bruce looked like he hadn’t blinked in ten minutes.

Diana sat at the center like an unbothered goddess with tea.

Jon waved. “Hi, Miss Jazz.”

She smiled. “Hey Jon. You holding up?”

“I think so. Damian tried to strangle Hal.”

“Sounds about right.”

Across the room, Damian stood arms crossed, back rigid, glaring at everyone and everything—mostly Danny. The scowl hadn’t left his face since they arrived.

Cujo, in response, yawned and curled up beside Danny.

“Enough,” Damian said, voice sharp. “We need a decision.”

Danny didn’t flinch. He put down his thermos.

“Alright. You want a decision?” He stood up and stretched, the faint glow of his ghost core pulsing just under the skin. “Fine. I’ll make one.”

He looked Damian dead in the eye.

“You asked me once who I would choose as family.”

Danny raised a hand.

“Jazz.”

Damian blinked. “...And?”

Danny leaned down, scooped up Cujo, and held him like a judgmental baby.

“And Cujo.”

The room went silent.

Hal Jordan sputtered. Bruce blinked twice. Clark looked like someone had kicked his childhood dog.

Diana raised her tea.

“A fine choice.”

Damian’s jaw ticked, but he said nothing.

Danny narrowed his eyes. “What? No retort?”

Damian gave a short nod. “The dog is reliable. And not nearly as mouthy as you always were.”

Danny snorted. “At least Cujo doesn’t try to stab me during breakfast.”

“That was one time.”

“You say that like it was unreasonable!”

Jazz cleared her throat. Loudly.

Danny and Damian both stopped mid-glare. Jon scooted his chair away like this was familiar

“...I raised a cow in the Batcave,” Damian said softly after a minute. “I would’ve chosen Titus, Alfred, and Batcow over most people.”

“Fair,” Danny muttered.

Cujo let out a pleased bark.

Clark cleared his throat. “Danny, we’re not trying to—”

“No, no, I get it,” Danny said, turning on his heel. “You all want me to pick a side. You want legal documents. Adoption papers. Ghosts don’t work like that.”

Jazz stepped forward. “Let me explain. Briefly. Before anyone else throws a tantrum.”

She held up her clipboard and clicked a pen with menace.

“In ghost culture, family is chosen. Period. You die, your core reforms, and whatever bonds you form afterward? Those are your family. You don’t need blood, legal signatures, or matching DNA.”

Flash opened his mouth. Jazz pointed at him.

“Don’t interrupt. I will psychoanalyze you.”

He closed it.

“Danny’s core bonded to the Kents. To Jon. To Cujo. To me. Not because we demanded it—but because we showed up. We stayed. That’s what ghosts value.”

Diana nodded. “Exactly what I said.”

Bruce finally spoke. “So what does that mean for us?”

Danny looked at him. “It means you can visit. You can be around. You can be family if you want to be family. But if you want a signature? A court ruling? A trophy that says ‘We Win Danny’—then no.”

Clark ran a hand through his hair. “We just didn’t want to lose you.”

Danny’s expression softened.

“You didn’t,” he said. “but Bruce just didn’t know where to find me nor that I was lost. But I’m not lost anymore.”

Cujo barked in agreement.

“Besides,” Danny added with a grin, “if anyone wins, it’s Clockwork. He technically adopted me first.”

There was a collective sigh of cosmic exasperation.

“I KNEW IT,” Diana said triumphantly.

Jazz clapped her clipboard shut.

“Well. That concludes the emotional exorcism. Can we go home now?”

“I’m bringing pie,” Alfred's voice echoed faintly from someone's coms.

Danny brightened. “See? That’s family.”

Damian muttered, “Only if I don’t have to sit next to him.”

Danny shrugged. “Deal. As long as you stop calling Cujo a mutt.”

“I never said he was a mutt. I said he had more discipline than you.”

“…That's fair.”

Chapter Text

Jon, Danny, and Damian stood outside the Kent barn.

“Are you still mad?” Jon asked Damian.

Damian crossed his arms. “He picked a dog.”

Danny floated by, Cujo in his arms, sunglasses on.

“And I’d do it again.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “He’s a good dog. I would’ve picked him, too.”

Danny blinked. “...Did we just agree on something?”

“Don’t make it weird.”

Cujo barked, satisfied at being pampered by both twins.

Behind them, Bruce and Clark carried a new toolbox and reinforced gardening gloves.

Martha and Alfred exchanged recipes.

Danny's living family had never looked so alive.

Turns out ghost rules of custody aren’t really rules at all. Just vibes. And pie.