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bucketsofmonsters · 2 years

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The Witch's Apprentice - Part 3

cw: demon summoning, prolonged isolation, voyerism, masturbation, vaginal fingering, size difference, more tags will be added as the story continues

male demon x afab reader

Word count: 5k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

“It’s two days, I’ll be fine.”

It became clear after the thirtieth attempt to reassure her that your promises were doing nothing to settle her nerves but you refused to stop trying.

She was supposed to have left an hour ago but instead she’d been wandering around, checking that everything was in place over and over again. There was only so many times someone could check their warding before it became clear they were stalling.

She pointed accusationally in your direction as she lifted a rug to check once more that the carving underneath remained intact. “I need you to swear to me that you won’t try and pull anything. Just keep everything clean and stay out of trouble, okay?”

You nodded. “Promise.”

She left you with one final rule that you knew you’d be breaking. “Don’t be stupid.”

You stared out the window as she left, chin perched on the windowsill as you patiently waited.

She quickly exitted your line of sight, engulfed by the woods. When she did, you started counting.

one. two. three.

The wind blew through the leaves outside, the trees beckoning you forwards. They’d started to turn, shifting to bright reds and oranges. It suited them, like the bright colors poisonous animals had plastered across their backs.

one hundred. one hundred and one. one hundred and two.

You made sure to wait a beat between each number, refusing to accidentally speed through your counting. You wouldn’t get overeager. You wouldn’t blow this chance.

nine hundred ninety nine. one thousand.

You sprung up, your self imposed deadline complete. A thousand seconds and no sign of Eden turning back or losing faith in you. Whenever she turned back, she did it quickly, quick-witted and self assured even in her about-facing.

You tried to calm yourself, not wanting to summon your new second-favorite conversation partner with the frantic look you knew was in your eye right now.

Deep breaths. You’d done this before, you would be just fine.

You spoke the words slowly, with intention. Most of the waiting had already gone by, you could wait a few minutes more to make everything went right.

Finally, your patience paid off and Lucien appeared before you once more.

“Why didn’t you tell my witch about me summoning you,” you asked, skipping the formalities and rushing through your question, eager to reach the conclusion of the little script you’d been working over and over in your head.

“I thought she wasn’t your witch?”

You’d known he was going to dodge that question, you knew him well enough to figure that out by now. It was more of a primer than anything, establishing the subject of questioning.

“Are we friends?” It sounded a bit desperate but for the life of you you couldn’t figure out another way to phrase it.

“No.”

“Oh. Then why?”

“Friends don’t imprison each other in summoning circles.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to get your line of questioning back on track. “No, not why aren’t we friends, why didn’t you tell her? I can’t think of any other reason than you not wanting me to get in trouble and stop summoning you.”

“Then you lack imagination. Why aren’t you whispering?”

“What?”

“You always whisper, even when she’s out,” he noted. “You’re not whispering anymore.”

“I just got excited.” Your tone was too defensive to be convincing, not that it would have mattered anyways. He had a knack for figuring you out regardless of how hard you tried to hide things.

“Maybe. Do you know what I think? I think she’s left you alone and it’s made you braver.”

“You’re good at reading people.”

“Only when they’re easy to read,” he said offhandedly and you bristled at the comment. “So that’s it, is it? The cat’s away?”

“She doesn't mind, it's just a summoning.”

He tisked at you and you knew he didn’t believe you. “Keep lying to me and maybe I won’t cover for you next time.”

Maybe that was a hint for why he hadn’t told her. “If you’re trying to threaten me it won’t work,” you informed him. “Tell her if you want, you won’t be able to make me do anything.”

He appraised you and the confidence you were doing your best to put on. “I suppose we’ll see about that. Sweet of you to keep dragging me here and letting me try.”

That mocking tone was becoming ever so familiar to you.

“I just-” Your words were cut off by a bang coming from outside the house.

Your head jerked towards the door, where the echoing noise sounded like it had come from, and Lucien chucked behind you.

“Maybe you aren’t as alone as you thought you were.”

The demon’s teasing was immediately forgotten in favor of desperately trying to figure out what was going on. It had sounded like it came from behind the front door but it was far louder than any knocking you could imagine. It almost sounded like someone was barrelling into it.

The air was very still as you waited, staring the door down as if maybe if you looked hard enough you’d be able to see whatever was on the other side.

You’d half convinced yourself you’d imagined it when it happened again, the sound of someone slamming into the door echoing throughout the room.

Noone was supposed to be able to see this place at all, the warding kept anyone other than you and your witch from percieving it, let alone getting near enough to bang on the door. This wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be happening.

Surely Eden had protected you against this, right? She would never have left you vulnerable, You’d watched her check every single piece of warding in the house, you were safe.

The pounding at the door told a different story.

You should dismiss Lucien. He was a loose canon in a dangerous situation, having him around could only be a liability.

And yet you just stood there, frozen.

No dismissing the demon, no moving towards the door, just standing absolutely still.

At the sound of the next crash, you shrunk closer to the summoning circle without thinking, Lucien’s snickering getting louder as you pulled back and towards him, panic running through you.

Lucien was doing exactly what you’d expected, he was taking advantage of the situation.

You hadn’t even realized he’d begun talking, too focused on the pounding on the door. “I wonder who’s out there? You’re running out of options, better think fast.”

Your eyes darted around, looking as if there was anything in this room that you didn’t already know about, know exactly how it worked and where it lay. Nothing in here could help you. Maybe it could help Eden, or someone with some real power, but not you.

He was right, you were running out of options. But that didn’t mean you didn’t have any.

It was a stupid idea. Of course it was. But you liked your chances better with your demon than with whatever was out there.

You dragged your foot across the floor, through the summoning circle, breaking the continuous lines Eden had so painstakingly drawn.

For a moment he did nothing, staring down at you incredulously, completely unmoving.

The inaction didn’t last long. His arm shot out and yanked you towards him, wrapping around you as you were pulled into his chest protectively. You couldn’t see anything, your vision shielded by his embrace.

The banging stopped.

The first thing you noticed when you pulled away wasn’t the sudden change in setting.

The first thing you noticed was that you were hungry. No, not hungry, maybe you were tired? Or maybe you were lonely. You needed something, that much you were certain of. You were tired of waiting.

“How’s it hitting you?” He was looking down at you and only then did you realize you were still wrapped up in his arms.

“What?”

“Hell. How’s it feel?”

Is that what this was? It didn’t feel like eternal torment or burning fires, it just felt like want.

He let go of you and you pulled away, stumbling backwards. A hand grasped your arm, stopping you from tumbling to the ground.

He propped you up, gently leaning you against the wall so you could support yourself, hovering next to you to make sure you wouldn’t collapse again.

“There you go, easy does it.”

He left you to catch your breath and sort through the flurry of sensations and you leaned against the wall, catching your breath as you took in your surroundings.

Hell was cozier than you ever could have imagined. There were soft pillows and blankets scattered across the floor and you wanted nothing more than to curl up on one and fall asleep forever.

Everything was bright and colorful, the floors and walls covered in deep, rich shades. It was an assault on your senses. You were practically certain that Lucien was the only thing in the room that came in a shade of gray.

The colors were muted only by the lighting. It was dark, with an ambient glow like it was coming from candles but there were none in sight. Every time you tried to trace the glow it led nowhere, just drifting through the air as it pleased. It wasn’t dark enough that you couldn’t see properly but just dim enough that it made the room feel even cozier.

The wall you were leaning against was draped in a tapestry covered in the depiction of a bright, setting sun. You were close enough that you could see every stitch, your head leaning against a bright orange.

“What… why am I here?” you managed, not sure you had anything but questions in you right now.

“Didn’t have anywhere else to take you. I didn’t think you’d actually free me.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“Do you want a tour?” he asked casually, like you weren’t experiencing the most confusing torrent of sensations that had even filled you.

You stared up at him incredulously.

He rolled his eyes at your furrowed brow. “Don’t worry so much. Besides, if you faint the pillows will break your fall.”

Against all odds, that was mildly reassuring. No matter what happened, it did seem practically impossible to hurt yourself on anything in here.

He hovered above you as you started to walk, making sure you wouldn’t immediately collapse. You managed to walk just fine, although every bone in your body was begging for you to just lie down right now and go to sleep.

It was a quiet, small space, completely empty except for the two of you.

“Where’s everyone else?” you asked, your voice instinctively hushed so as not to disturb the peace.

“They’re all out there, this place is mine. I would stay in here if I were you, other demons might be less nice to a strange little human invading their space.”

It probably should have registered sooner that this was his home. You weren’t sure where else you thought he’d taken you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You aren’t. Just stay put, okay?”

Amidst the sea of soft things was a little table covered in food. Not just any food, it appeared to be exclusively sweets, dozens and dozens of them.

He presented it to you. “This is where I usually take humans,” he said. “You tend to respond well to it.”

You didn’t even reply, your instincts taking over as you sat by the table and immediately grabbed some chocolate, nothing more important to you than eating in that moment.

He stood across from you, just watching. “I’m shocked sloth didn’t get to you first, you really looked like you were nodding off there.”

You looked up from your food. “What?”

“You were staring at the pillows and you seemed like you might take a nap. This place, it encourages you to act on your desires. It isn’t strictly limited to the sins but those are the most common things you humans deprive yourselves of so they tend to pop up here. Most people get angry or self-absorbed or horny or fall asleep, you seemed like the sleepy kind.”

You half absorbed his explanation. At the very least it drew your attention away from the food and onto him.

“You’re really pretty, have I told you that?” you asked as you stared up at him.

“Maybe I was wrong, maybe you’re stopping by lust first.”

“No, not in a lust way, just in a look at you way. You seemed very convinced I’d be scared of you but like, you’re super pretty. Isn’t that a thing, demons being pretty? Lucifer was gorgeous from what I can remember, that’s part of the deal isn’t it.”

“I’m not pretty, I’m scary.”

“You’re not scary, you’re just big. Big and gray and also pretty. And your teeth! They're so big and sharp, I think about them more than I probably should.”

“Alright you need to get some rest, you’re getting a bit too honest.”

He couldn’t stop you fast enough. “Do you know who else is pretty?

He jumped in immediately. “Don’t say her name.”

You giggled. “Right, you’re not supposed to know that. Sweet of you to warn me. My sweet demon. I think I’m growing on you. She’s gorgeous though, have you seen her? And she’s incredible and smart and talented. She’s literally perfect, have you noticed that?”

“Not how I would describe her,” he spat, his resentment clear in his tone. “Don’t you feel a little bitter towards her? I’ve seen how she treats you. Or at least jealous of how much better at magic she is than you are.”

You shook your head adamantly. “No, of course she’s better at it than me, she’s perfect. Weren’t you listening? Perfect perfect witch.”

Lucien groaned. “Alright, I don’t know if I can stomach this much longer. You should try and sleep this off, you’ll adjust faster if you just give into it for a bit.”

You fell backwards onto one of the many pillows strewn about, giggling as you went down.

You managed to catch Lucien rolling his eyes playfully between fits of giggles before you were being swept across the floor, the pillow you were laying on being dragged over to Lucien in the corner.

Being moved across the floor didn’t bother you. You snuggled into the red pillow as Lucien haphazardly tossed a blanket on top of you. The way it fell, it was just draped across your midsection but you were warm enough already that you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

As he moved to stand, you grabbed at him, trying to keep him with you. You knew you couldn’t actually hold him there but your sleep addled brain insisted you try.

“You should stay,” you said.

“It could’ve been anger,” he bemoaned. “That would have been so much easier to deal with. Why couldn’t you just get angry?”

Despite his protests he didn’t pull away, settling down next to you as your grip remained firm on his arm.

It only took a heartbeat to fall asleep, it overtaking you the second you gave yourself permission to drift off and fall into a restful, dreamless sleep

The first thing you felt when your mind left its fuzzy, exhausted state was embarrassment as your ramblings from the day before came flooding back to you. It wasn’t the most dignified you’d ever been but you supposed there were worse things you could have done than go on a compliment rampage. At least that’s what you tried to tell yourself to cull the tides of the self-consciousness.

He was right, the sensations had settled down, or at least you’d gotten more used to them. They were still there, bubbling under the surface, making everything feel a little easier, but you felt like you could think properly. Like you were yourself again.

As your eyes cracked open you saw the same room you’d fallen asleep in. “I’m still here,” you muttered, the observation shattering the thought in the back of your head that perhaps this had all been an elaborate dream. You noticed Lucien looking down at you from beside you, your hand resting on his arm. “You’re still here,” you noted, somehow more surprised by him remaining next to you than by you still being tucked away in his little corner of hell.

He tactfully ignored your second observation. “You’re stuck here until I get summoned again. I can’t go back to your little cabin otherwise, your witch’s warding made sure of that.”

You pulled your hand away from him but that didn’t stop his unblinking gaze. It almost felt like he was dissecting you.

You stared back. He looked more lively here, his face brighter than it was in your world. He wasn’t on edge like he was when you usually saw him. This was his turf, it was your turn to be anxious and defensive.

And yet you just weren’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to be, it felt too safe here for that.

“You’re harmless,” he muttered. “I can’t believe you’re really harmless.”

“I’m not harmless,” you responded playfully, wanting desperately to break the tension. “I’m so scary, the opposite of harmless.” You scrunched up your nose and barred your teeth in the closest approximation to scariness you were capable of.

All he could do was laugh and watch as your thoughts drifted from your newfound scariness back to your supposed harmlessness.

“What would the opposite of harmless even be?” You asked. “I’m… what, harmful? No, that's not right.”

Despite the lengthy nap, your brain still felt a little slow, trying to quietly convince you to drift right back off to sleep on the soft, plush pillows. It would be so easy, it was so warm in here, and it smelled nice too. Just a few more minutes and then you’d be well rested. That was all you needed.

“Hell’s nice,” you noted as the room tried to lull you back to sleep. “It isn’t supposed to be nice, is it?”

“It’s not supposed to be anything, it just is. You shouldn’t be here anyways, it wasn’t made for you.”

“Then why did you take me here?”

“I told you, I didn’t have anywhere else to take you.”

“You could’ve left me,” you noted astutely.

“It’s be a shame to lose a perfectly good ally”

That didn’t sound right. “So I'm your ally now?”

”It’s starting to seem like it”

“Well thank you. For saving me. You really didn’t have to. I could be dead right now. Or worse than dead, and now I’m safe and warm and remarkably comfortable.”

“It was my turn to be a good host anyways.”

You nodded solemnly. “Mmhmm, turntables and all that.”

“You’re really just sleepy, aren’t you?”

“Don’t say that like it’s weird. It’s not my fault you’ve built a house that’s basically just a big bed, I can’t help it.”

“Go back to sleep then.”

“No!” you insisted. “You’re actually answering my questions, I can’t stop now.”

“What more questions could you possibly have?”

“Plenty. For starters, why didn’t you let me say her name?” There were decidedly more poignant questions you could have asked but right now, that was the thing that made the least sense to you.

“Okay, we’re done here.” He turned to leave, it apparently being a bridge too far for him.

“No, please don’t go, you were giving me so many answers! Please tell me,” you pleaded with him

“Just think of it as a thank you for opening up my summoning circle.”

“Was you saving me not my thank you?”

The question was genuine but he seemed stricken by it anyways. He looked down, avoiding your gaze.

“Listen, I need to head out for a bit. I meant what I said, you need to stay put, okay? Just take another nap or something.”

“Eventually, I will stop being tired,” you countered, knowing you couldn’t just keep taking naps forever.

“One would think, and yet here you are.”

Your yawn did anything but help your argument. He seemed to take that as his cue to depart, leaving you behind with no one left to protest to and instead opting to just take one more nap.

Apparently you’d been correct, eventually your body did stop prioritizing sleep in favor of other wants.

Thoughts you’d been pushing down started to tug at the corners of your mind, demanding your attention. Your thoughts drifted where they shouldn’t. To Eden, her soft hands and sharp words. To Lucien’s teeth and his broad frame and shockingly sweet demeanor for a demon that she’s freed from the prison she’d put him in.

It wasn’t the first time you’d woken up with thoughts like this but they were harder to push away here. You longed for your body to just beg for sleep again, that was a desire it was much easier to deliver on.

No matter how hard you tried your mind continued to wander. Tossing and turning on the pillows did nothing to stop the desire that was bubbling up to the surface.

Eventually it became too much to bear. Lucien was gone, it wasn’t like you’d be bothering anyone.

Your hand snaked down under the waistband of your pants. Your amplified desire meant you were already soaking wet before you’d laid a finger on yourself.

You knew it was the lust doing it, that normally you’d just force the thoughts away and pretend you’d never had an untoward thought about either of the only two people you cared about.

The lust of this place didn’t come accompanied with the guilt that you were used to.

Letting go felt good. It had been building up for too long, it needed a release and your body was determined to find one.

Your fingers slipped inside easily. The two fingers curled up but they did nothing other than frustrate you. Your walls clenched and you wanted more, you wanted them.

It smelled like him in here. It had been so hard to place earlier, just filling you with comfort, but now you couldn’t notice anything else.

“Someone’s been busy.”

You practically jumped out of your skin as the sound of Lucien’s voice filled the room. You pulled your hand away from yourself, wedging your legs together in a desperate attempt to cling to some of your dignity.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were here.”

He shook his head dismissively. “Don’t let me stop you.”

You hesitantly let your legs fall open once more, not wanting to let go of the feelings that had overtaken you.

He broke eye contact with you as you did. “I’ll leave you to tire yourself out.”

You whined out, “No, stay. Please”

He halted his retreat, remaining propped up in the doorway, his eyes refusing to wander from yours. Part of you couldn’t help but wish he’d look away, that there was something else he might want to see from you right now.

You’d expected more smugness from him. Normally it radiated from him anytime you showed any signs of vulnerability and right now, you were more vulnerable than you’d even been.

But there were no traces left of it on him, replaced by curiosity and interest and something that you just couldn’t place.

“Who are you thinking about?” he pressed, breaking the silence. “It’s not like you have many options.”

Any sense that would normally make you keep your mouth shut had long since abandoned you. “Both of you.”

“Both of us? Greedy. Your eyes might be bigger than your stomach, little one.”

Your fingers weren’t enough. You wanted more, wanted to be filled, wanted him.

You whined out again.

“Why are you complaining?” he asked, some of that incessant smugness returning. “I’m doing what you asked, I’m staying.”

You both knew what you wanted but he was going to make you say it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be annoyed with him for it.

“Ask nicely,” he goaded.

“Please touch me.”

He didn’t make you ask twice, sinking down to your side and gently moving your hand away.

The anticipation was burning through you as his hand rested on your stomach, slowly drifting down as if he wanted to let you get accustomed to his touch first.

His hand drifted even further down, his thumb caressing the inside of your clothed thigh as he stared down at you. Your breath caught in your throat as he finally touched you, his hand slipping into your pants and meeting the wetness that was seeping out of you.

He slowly thrust one finger inside of you and you already felt filled, more than your fingers could ever fill you. The rough palm of his hand rubbed against your clit as his finger dove deeper inside of you and you bucked up in search of more friction.

You went to move your hand back down instinctually and he pulled it back up immeidately, grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them above your head with his unoccupied hand.

“You asked for my help, let me take care of you,” he insisted.

His eyes raked up and down your form as you lay writhing beneath him.

“You are a pretty little thing, aren’t you. You should have freed me sooner, I would’ve been more convincing if I knew this was what you wanted. Just a little nap and for me to fuck you into the ground, is that right?”

A strained, “please” escaped you and he just chuckled.

“Maybe some other time. For right now let’s just focus on you. Come for me, I know you want to.”

His thumb rubbed up and down your pinned wrists, as if trying to soothe you while you pushed your hips up into his hand. It was comforting, giving you something to focus on as he worked you over, his finger curling up while his thumb rubbed over your clit.

Your walls clamped down around his finger as a pressure began to build up in your core. His movements on your clit stayed steady as he thrusted his finger in and out of you.

You could feel your heart pounding in your ears, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as you reached your peak. More whines escaped you as your hips pushed up, entirely overwhelmed and yet still pleading for more.

White hot pleasure raced through you, all that tension unwinding with a snap. He remained steady, working you patiently through your orgasm.

It felt like it lasted an eternity, wave after wave of repressed need being released all at once.

You were panting as you came down, your limbs feeling as if they were made of lead. You didn’t think you could stand up even if you needed to.

Lucien pulled out of you as you lay there, recovering. He pulled his middle finger up to his mouth and you watched it, slick with your juices, pass right by his lips. His focus had finally shifted from your form, eyes shut as he tasted you.

He wasn’t putting on a show for you like he normally did, like it was more for his sake than for yours.

This place refused to let you stop wanting and before you knew it you were asking more of him.

“Can you stay?” you asked once more, desperate in an entirely different way and trying not to let it seep into your words quite as much this time.

He complied, lying next to you on top of the soft pillows that you were certain had seen far worse things than this.

You were more aware of how this place affected you now but you still could barely stop yourself from just speaking. That’s all hell really was, it seemed. Not torture and misery but confessions and honestly, real honesty.

“Thank you for staying.”

“You didn’t need to ask, I wouldn’t have left you.”

A little voice in the back of your head swore that couldn’t be true, that he was just saying it for your sake, and you were too tired to counter it. “Oh. Well, thank you anyways.”

“You know what? I didn’t think it was possible to hate your witch any more but after getting to know you I think I’ve managed it. You’re too used to being alone, it isn’t right.”

“You’re too hard on her.”

“You’re not hard enough on her. She’s isolated you completely, you can’t honestly tell me it doesn’t make you angry.”

You weren’t sure why he could seem to understand it, incapable of wrapping his head around your feelings for her when he was so good at reading you in practically every other way. “No. It makes me feel very very alone but it doesn’t make me angry. She does what she has to, I’m lucky I even have her. I don’t think I’d mind it so much if someone actually wanted me.”

“I’m sure you’re wanted.”

“I’m not. I don’t even think E- my witch wants me but at least she lets me stick around and takes care of me.”

He graciously let the near slip of Eden’s name pass by once more, instead opting to focus on what you’d said. “That’s why you keep summoning me.”

“Mmhmm. I told you that, not my fault if you didn’t believe me.”

“The lonely little apprentice. I should give your witch a piece of my mind, it’s inhumane to keep you in these conditions.”

You snorted. “I’m not her pet.”

“I think someone should tell her that.”

Despite the tone of his questions, you couldn’t help but miss her the more you talked about her. “How long do you think I’ll be here?”

He shrugged. “I suppose that just depends on when your witch gets back. Broken summoning circle on the floor, her little apprentice gone, it doesn’t take much to figure out what happened.”

It was a horrifying scene to imagine. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be worried about how upset she would be at you, the image of Eden walking into an empty house with a broken summoning circle on the floor and whatever else had been done to your home was all you could think about.

“What if the people who were trying to break in are still there?” You hadn’t even considered the fact that they might hurt her when she got back. Guilt flooded through you as you thought about how carefree and happy you’d been while she could be in real danger.

You felt his chest raise in a sigh beside you. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

His frustration at your concern for her was understandable but discouraging nonetheless.

He’d started to connect with you but there was nothing you could do about the two of them. Your two favorite people, your two only people, forever at odds.

He gently nudged you out of your thoughts, pulling your chin up to make you look at him. “You can overthink later. Sleep now while you’re here, while it’s easy. Who knows, maybe you won’t sleep for a full day this time.”

“Did I really sleep for that long?” you asked, barely fighting off a yawn.

“You did. It’s alright though, don’t worry, I’ll wake you up if you need to be up.”

You began to drift off, sleep coming quickly to you once more.

You weren’t worried about anything. You believed him.

#terato #demon x reader #demon x human #monster bf #monster boyfriend #monster x human #monster x reader #demon #the witch's apprentice #this was such a fun chapter to write #the calm will not last but I love their little sweet moments

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starry-bi-sky · 9 months

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Childhood Friends Au: Danny's in Gotham Again

when the wool is off your eyes you'll stop counting sheep at night cause you'll eat your fill of them during the daytime

A few weeks after Danny’s visit to Gotham, he buys an apartment in the city. It’s this little thing, a studio apartment on the same street he grew up in. In Crime Alley. When he tells his parents, they protest heavily. They don’t think it's safe. They think he should reconsider. There were plenty of apartments and places to live somewhere else. And what about college?

Danny doesn’t think he’ll go to college. He isn’t sure what he wants to do, now that being an astronaut is off the table. It’d be a waste of money to go without a goal in mind, he thinks. He says he’ll take a gap year and apply at one of the community colleges funded by the Wayne Corporation, possibly. It just wasn’t in the cards right now.

“If things get tough,” He says at dinner that night, “then I can talk to the Waynes. I’m friends with the family, remember?” He ended up getting Bruce’s number in his phone again before he left, and in the process got Tim’s as well. They don’t talk much, Danny isn’t sure what to say. But he sends Tim memes whenever he comes across one and thinks he’ll like. Tim sends memes back in return.

His parents do remember. They remember. They also remember the horrified shriek that echoed through the house when Danny learned of Jason’s passing. They remember running up the stairs and bursting into their son’s room and finding him sobbing into his bed, curled up like a little kid, like he was in pain. He lost his voice that day, stuck between screaming out his grief and sobbing it.

They’re still not sure if they should let him go.

In the end, Danny wins them out, and he lets them help him search for an apartment. They take a break from their lab work to help search for cheap furniture to buy. They may have more money than when they were in Gotham, but that frugal part of you never fully goes away. They all agree that they don’t want Danny to be seen carrying in nice-looking furniture when he moves in.

He ends up with a basic furniture set, all mismatched, and in the warm summer of June, his parents rent out a u-haul and drive him down to Gotham to move in. They meet the landlord when they arrive, a skinny and frail old man with wispy white hair and a wrinkled face. He gives Danny the keys and tells him what apartment number he is, and then he leaves.

His parents help him move in. They help him carry his heavy furniture up to the second floor, where his apartment is. Danny isn’t sure if he wants them to help. His mom and dad are strong, but they are getting old, closer to their fifties now that their children are grown. His dad’s hair is slowly beginning to thin, and rather than the white eating at the sides of his head, it now streaks through his hair like salt-and-pepper. His mom’s hair is graying out too, and there are more lines in their faces than he remembers there being.

When he voices his concerns, his mom laughs spiritedly and says that they may be getting old, but they are still as spry as when they were in their twenties. Danny isn’t sure if he believes them or not. He can see his dad struggle a bit when they return to get his bed frame, and they have to take a break before they go back down for the rest of their things.

Five years ago, his dad could do this without breaking a sweat. It forces a heavy thing in the back of Danny’s throat. (He is less afraid of his own death than he is of his loved ones, and while he has always felt rocky with his parents, he still loves them more than anything else.)

Danny’s apartment is exactly as he would have expected it to be: shabby and worn through. The entire room smells like stale cigarette smoke and weed, nicotine stains the wall with poorly covered bullet holes, and stains in the carpet that are a color he can’t discern. The fridge has a broken light and when he tries to turn on the gas stove, it click-click-clicks before lighting, fire fwooshing out while the smell of gas fills the air. There’s rat droppings in the cupboards and the closet-like bathroom is just as bad.

The ghostly part of him can sense the heavy stench of death in the room; people have died in this room. People have died in every room of this building, he thinks. They have died on the streets outside and in the alleys squeezed between them. He can feel it like a heavy fog in the air.

It is painfully nostalgic, a bittersweet feeling in his chest that he grimaces to.

When the last box is placed in his apartment, his parents offer to help unpack. They are hesitant to leave and Danny knows it, although he doesn’t know if it’s from empty nest syndrome or because it's Gotham. He thinks it might be both. He is their youngest child finally leaving home to a city known for its danger.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay behind, sweetie?” His mother asks, a frown she tries to hide settled in the creases of her face. She fiddles with her hands, a nervous habit Danny has since noticed when she feels truly unsure and doesn’t need to hide it. Hesitancy looms over her like a heavy cloud.

His dad jumps in hastily, splaying his hands and smiling painfully wide to hide the glistening in his eyes. “You’re mother’s right! We can help you get everything set up, champ. I could probably do something with that stove of yours to make it faster!” He says, his voice still booming like it always does even if there’s a stumble in his words.

It makes his heart squeeze, knowing just how much they care. It was hard last summer, telling him that he was the Phantom. Terrifying, actually. They couldn’t comprehend it. He hadn’t felt his heart beat that fast in years when he stood in front of them at the kitchen table and told them he was a halfa, begging them to believe that ghosts weren’t inherently evil.

His parents were people of science, however, and after much, much shock, they slowly came to terms with it. How could they not? The evidence was right in front of them. Their son was dead-alive, alive-dead. Somewhere stuck in the between. The tears they shed that night could fill a river, moving from the kitchen to the living room as Danny explains how he died.

(When Danny tells them that he died after a week Jason did, his mom and dad look horrified. His mom covers her mouth when he adds that it was his idea to go inside it, his dad looks ashy pale, gripping his pant legs so tight that his knuckles turn white. There is a conclusion coming to their minds that he can tell they don’t like.)

(“You’ve always hated our inventions, Danny.” Mom says in a hushed voice, and Danny winces at the wording, sinking into the back of the cushions in shame. He never thought that his parents noticed. Mom quickly grabs his arm, “No, no, there’s nothing to be ashamed of Danny. We were… perhaps too careless with our inventions, too enthusiastic. You had every right to hate the things we made when they had a tendency to… to malfunction.”)

(Malfunction is a delicate way of putting it, when Danny remembers every time they had to evacuate their old apartment complex because whatever half-baked creation his parents made inevitably blew up into ash and smoke. There were soot marks permanently stained into the ceiling.)

(Her hand slides down and grabs his, and she cups it in both of her hands, squeezing tightly. He forces himself to look up, and there is a look like her heart breaking when he looks into his mother’s eyes. “You’ve always avoided the lab after we moved, Danny. And you had every right to, so why on Earth did you ever think about going into the portal?”)

(Danny struggles to come up with an adequate answer, a way to verbalize what came over him that day five years ago. The answer is there, hanging in the air like a knot in a noose. He opens his mouth, and then closes it.)

(Finally, with a tongue made of lead, he shrugs lamely and looks away. “I didn’t know there was an on button inside it.” He mumbles, and despite being the truth it feels like a lie. But that is the truth. He didn’t know there was an on button inside it. So he didn’t care what happened.)

(Something dulls in mom’s eyes, like she thought of something else that Danny hadn’t said. Her eyes shimmer, and she squeezes them shut, breathing in so deep that it shakes. And then she pulls him into a hug, a hand burying into his hair and pressing him close. “It must have hurt so much, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”)

(It is something that Danny doesn’t expect her to say, like missing the last step of the stairs. It startles him so much he laughs this short, bark of a thing. He feels his dad press against his back and wrap his big arms around them, his nose pushed into his hair.)

(Because yeah. Yeah, it did hurt. It hurt more than anything else he’s ever felt before. It had torn him apart and sewn him back together again, only to rinse and repeat. The pain was nothing he ever spoke to Sam or Tucker about, and it was something they never brought up. No, that’s not true. If they ever brought it up, Tucker would call it a zap. As if Danny only experienced a mild static shock. Like it was painless. It’s a pretty lie that Danny lets him and Sam believe.)

(His eyes sting and water immediately wobbles into his vision, coming up with such a force that he doesn’t even need to blink before it spills over. “Yeah.” He forces out, voice unexpectedly rough and cracking. “Yeah, it- it hurt. A lot.”)

He tells them about fighting the Lunch Lady a month later. He tells them about finding Jason. It comes spilling out like a waterfall. “I found him, mom.” He says, holding onto her tight while she keeps him tucked under his chin like a little kid. The secret of Jason being Robin stays hidden under his tongue, it is not his secret to tell. Not his identity to expose. He grips her tighter. “I found him, mom. Right there in the Ghost Zone, and he was my Jason. He wasn’t an echo or a— an imprint of him.”

Mom is silent; quiet and attentive, and so is dad, who rubs his large hands up and down Danny’s spine in an attempt to soothe him. It only works a little. Danny breathes in like a gasp as the urge to cry overcomes him again. He always avoids talking about Jason, his grief is like a never-healing scab that can be picked off at any time. It is ingrained into his core.

“And then I lost him.” He forces out, a sob layering under his words that he chokes on and swallows. The hand on his back stills, and he can feel mom and dad breathe in like a question. He turns his head and pushes it into mom’s shoulder. “He disappeared, mom. Just— just gone.”

“And he didn’t move on.” He says, voice snarling like teeth biting before his mom can ask, because he knows that’s what she was going to ask. It’s what Sam and Tucker asked when he came to them in tears hours after he found Jason gone. It’s what Jazz said when he finally told her about it. It’s what every one of his ghosts asked when he told them about it and begged for their help.

Danny grits his teeth and tries not to dig his nails into mom’s clothes as a fresh wave of tears run down his face. “His haunt is still there. If Jason really moved on it would have disappeared with him. That’s how it works. But it’s still in the zone, so Jason’s out there I just don’t know where.”

(Sam once asks him why Danny didn’t just move on from it a year after Jason’s disappearance. She asked him why he didn’t give it up. Danny nearly saw red, and nearly bit her head off for it. It was incomprehensible to him to just stop looking for Jason, to give up. Not when he was out in the zone somewhere. Because he had to be in the zone.)

(Danny once tried to take Jason through the portal with him, and much like what happened to Kitty, it didn’t work. Jason was too tied to the ghost zone to leave.)

(Some bonds are just unbreakable, he thinks. Bonds forged through blood and time and trust, and when you’re on the streets of Gotham, you hoard what little trust you have in someone like a dragon with its gold. It is scarcely given and fiercely kept.)

“I’ve been looking for him.” Danny whispers when talking becomes too hard for him, when it runs the risk of him crying. “When- when I’m not fighting ghosts or, or in school or with my friends, I’ve been looking for him.” He has explored the Ghost Zone in every reach he can. He has met so many people. He’s met the ghosts of aliens from planets in every corner of the galaxy. He has met gods or god-like beings and their disciples.

He’s met famous scholars and writers (he’s gotten the autographs of all of Jason’s favorite writers). He has found entire cities that have so much life in it that it's been permanently etched into the ghost zone, like a mirror version of itself.

He’s visited the ghostly vision of Gotham so many times, and he avoids the imprint of Wayne Manor like the plague. There are ghostly newspapers that he reads. There are the ghosts of Martha and Thomas Wayne in many of them.

Jason’s haunt connects to Wayne Manor, but it is also the street they grew up in. It is a small brick building with a door that leads to Jason’s room. A ghost knows when someone enters their haunt, it alerts them like a doorbell in the back of their mind. A foreign ecto-signature in a place drenched in your own.

Danny visits it every time he goes into the Ghost Zone. It’s always his first stop.

He tells his parents all of it. He tells them of the ghosts he’s met, of the places he’s seen. And when he feels brave, he tells them about Rath and the terror that his future self brings him. He keeps some details hidden, the ones that he can afford to keep without muddling up the story.

(Rath is a tall, spindly thing, like a funhouse mirror version of Danny himself. He has arms that are much too long and legs that are much too tall, with skinny fingers that extend into claws.He wears his suit the same as Danny does, with it partially undone and the sleeves wrapped around his waist.)

(There is a black hole in his chest that is much bigger than Danny’s own. It takes up his chest cavity and drips the same, viscous black liquid as the tears falling from his eyes. Danny never forgets his voice; a scraping, quiet thing like he’s screamed himself hoarse. Rath has a voice like goosebumps, and it haunts Danny like a bump in the night.)

Danny speaks and speaks and speaks until he can’t think of anything else to speak of. He is tired and sad, and it feels like his heart has been ripped out and rubbed raw again. And yet, he also feels so much better. Like a long heavy weight has been taken off his chest.

Yeah, last summer was hard. His parents walked on eggshells around him, and they forced themselves to unlearn their bias of ghosts. It was more than Danny could have ever dreamed of, and when they felt ready for it, they asked him more about the ghost zone.

He smiles sadly at his dad, “I think fixing the stove can be a priority another time, dad.” He says, watching him wilt and his smile fall. Jack Fenton was always so good at making himself look like a kicked puppy. “I can handle unpacking by myself, I promise.”

His parents still look so unsure, like they want to argue. Danny watches his mom purse her lips tightly, confliction running across her face like a datastream. She takes dad’s hand, squeezing their fingers together despite the droop in her shoulders.

“Oh, alright then, I suppose.” She relents, her hand placing on Jack’s arm. “I guess we could go, we’re just going to miss you so much, Danny.”

Tears seem to have won over his dad, and Jack Fenton sniffs back before he can cry properly. “Our little boy, all grown up.” He says, voice wobbling. It makes Danny laugh, and it makes his heart pang. His smile grows impossibly wider and so much fonder. “You’ve become such a kind, wonderful young man, Danno. We’re so proud of you.”

Danny laughs again, and it cracks. “You’re gonna make me cry, dad.” (He feels a welling of guilt in his gut that he ignores — he doesn’t feel like a kind man. He doesn’t feel like a good one either. Not with what he plans to do.)

His father holds out his arms in hopefulness, “One last hug for your old man before we head out?” He asks, mustering up a smile on his face.

Danny barrels into him, nearly knocking his dad over with an oomph. He’s as tall as him now, but he still feels little in his bear hugs. With arms wrapping around his middle, Danny hugs his father tight and breathes him in one last time.

“Careful there, Danno.” He laughs, patting Danny’s back roughly. “You’ll break my ribs with that ghostly strength of yours!” But he holds on just as tight.

Out of spite, Danny bends back and lifts him off his feet, laughing when Jack tenses up and nearly scrambles out of surprise. His mom laughs with him, stepping back to give them room for the few seconds that dad is in the air.

When it’s his mom’s turn, Danny has to hunch to hug her. Something bittersweet to him as she plants a kiss on his forehead and says that he’ll always be her baby. “Even if you do have that horrid smoking habit.” She adds on with a disapproving eyebrow raise.

Danny turns red in embarrassment, and walks them back to the GAV. Gothamites of all kinds slow to stop and boggle at the monstrous, road-illegal thing that is parallel-parked next to the curbside. In the past, Danny would have died with mortification to be seen with it. Now it just makes him laugh. Before he goes back into the apartment building, he buys a newspaper from a nearby convenience store.

The first thing he does when he gets back up to his room is one: make a mental note to buy a bicycle chain lock for the door. The locks jiggle and there are splinters along the side that show signs of it being broken into in the past. The second thing he does is pull his cigarettes out of his pocket and light one.

Danny starts to unpack with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, placing the newspaper he bought onto the counter. He has a cheap loveseat that he pushes off to the side, and he moves the boxes into the kitchen. It’s a matter of organization that Danny has to think about before he does anything.

It’s as he’s pushing the sofa up against the wall facing the windows that his phone rings a familiar tune: Sam. The phone is fished out before he can think about it and when he stares down at the screen, he realizes it's a facetime call.

He presses answer and walks over to prop his phone up onto the counter. The smiling faces of Sam and Tucker greet him, rather than just Sam. Immediately, Danny grins. “Hey Danny.” Sam greets, smiling a dark-painted lazy thing. From the background it looks like they’re in Tucker’s room. Sam is in Tucker’s desk chair, and Tucker is behind her, leaning against it. “Have you moved in yet?”

Danny pulls the cigarette from his mouth and huffs, a cloud of smoke following his breath. “Yeah! It’s a shithole.” He grins lopsidedly, and his feet carry him off to the side to allow Sam and Tucker view of his apartment. He lets thirty seconds pass, allowing the both of them to really see the rest of the room. And then he steps back into frame.

Sam and Tucker both look like they’re trying not to look judgemental, like they’re trying to hide a grimace that Danny sees anyway with the small turns at the corner of their mouths. He grins wider, mirth filling his lungs. “I know, it looks awful doesn’t it?”

“It’s— it’s not so bad.” Sam says with a strain in her voice, a forced smile on her face that tries to be reassuring. Tucker nods along readily, and he looks just as unsure as Sam does. Danny stifles laughter behind his teeth.

“No, no, it looks bad,” He takes a drag of his cigarette, shaking his head. “You can say it, I won’t get offended. It’s a fucking apartment in crime alley. Of course it looks bad.”

Sam remains silent, a rearing of her stubbornness showing itself. Tucker takes a different approach, and heaves a dramatic sigh of relief, slumping like a weight. “Okay, you’re right. It looks bad.” He frowns, “Sorry, man.”

While Danny snorts, Sam sighs. “Yeah, it looks bad. What even are those stains?” She asks, and both she and Tucker lean closer in tandem to the screen, eyes squinting at the floor behind him. Danny glances at the floor, and shrugs.

“Blood, probably.” He says, and while years in Amity Park have accustomed him to a clean environment, the desensitization of Gotham still remains. Tucker and Sam both make faces and lean away, as if the stain itself was capable of passing through to them. “Yeah, there are bullet holes in the walls.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to be there?” Tucker asks, a furrow appearing between his brows. He adjusts his glasses and leans against the chair. Sam is frowning heavily, and Danny can already see her thinking up of a new way to fix the problem.

“Oh, I never said this place was safe.” Danny tells him cheerily, taking a last hit of his cigarette before placing the dead stick onto the counter. He itches for another one. Instead he walks over to the shelf his parents brought in and starts moving it. “It’s Crime Alley, Tuck. Safe isn’t even in its vocabulary.”

Tucker and Sam look like they’ve both swallowed a lemon.

“But it’s where I want to be right now.” He says, grunting quietly when the shelf is against the wall he wants it to be, near the short hallway leading to the front door. He can push it in front of it if someone tries to break in. “And Crime Alley’s apartments are the only ones I can really afford right now without mooching off my parents, and I’d rather not depend on them.”

He can hear the disapproving hesitance from where he stands. And he ignores it.

Danny walks back into frame, lifting up a box onto the counter. He hums lightly, fingers run over the tape keeping it shut. “Why do you even want to be in Gotham, Danny?” Sam asks, and she sounds genuinely perplexed. Danny stills. “I thought this place only had bad memories for you.”

His blood turns cold, and like a dime being flipped his slow heartbeat fills his ears. “It does.” He replies automatically, before he can think. Shit, shit. He knows that Sam or Tucker would ask that question, and yet he still feels unprepared for it. His heart pulses quickly against his ribcage, knocking, asking him what he’s going to tell them that isn’t the truth.

Danny stammers, “I mean— I just— I guess I felt nostalgic.” He says, and it sounds like a weak defense. He looks away, finding himself instinctively scratching his jaw. A new tick of his when he’s nervous. From the corner of his eye, he sees Sam and Tucker both narrow their eyes at him.

He cannot tell them the real reason why he’s moved back to Gotham. He can’t tell them of the little secret and vow he told himself five years ago, the one that’s been left to fester and burn like an open wound close to his core. The one that, if he thinks too much about it, sends a searing hot electricity through him, filling him from crown to toe top-full of direst wrath.

(Danny was always the angrier one in the duo of Jason and Danny. He was always the one with glass in his mouth, cutting his teeth and tongue so that he could spit blood at the world around them. His knuckles had more blood and bruises on it than skin, once upon a time. All because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He has grown from it, that fury has turned to a small simmering candle.) (But sometimes, sometimes it rears its head, and electricity will buzz under Danny’s skin. There is lightning before the thunder, the second before a fist pulled to punch lands, the spark before it becomes a blaze.)

He stumbles over his words, and then sighs long and low, drooping his head. “I… was thinking that I can’t avoid this place forever.” He says, and the best lies always have the truth in it. Because it’s not a lie, not completely. But it’s not close enough to the truth either. “And that maybe if I came back, I’d be able to do something about those bad memories. Make them better or make it hurt less.”

Like wool over their eyes, it fools Sam and Tucker. Their narrowed eyes soften, and Danny feels like a snake is in his lungs as they both adopt their own versions of gentleness on their faces. “Oh, Danny.” Sam breathes out, and the snake squeezes, “Of course, we understand.”

Tucker nods, smiling at him. “Yeah, bro, that’s really brave of you. I know it can’t be easy coming back.” He says, “Maybe you can reconnect with the Waynes again, you always thought well of Mister Wayne whenever you came back from visiting.”

Danny smiles weakly, the gesture cutting into his cheeks like a knife. Perhaps he could. He was still upset with Bruce for hiding Jason’s killer from him. But he doesn’t hate him. Maybe five years ago, he did, when the death of Jason was still fresh in his mind and freshly bleeding in his heart. Now he just doesn’t know what to think of him. He was Batman. Jason was Robin, and the Joker killed Robin.

It would need to be something he’d have to speak to Bruce about in person, he thinks, in order to resolve it. To hear his judgment on it and make an opinion from there. Danny has learned in the last five years, much to Jazz’s smug delight, that talking to people about something he was upset about did make him feel better.

The conversation slips on from there into something more light, more breathable. And while they talk, Danny unpacks. He sets up his bed in the corner of the room, adjacent to the windows, and unpacks his cheap TV and table stand. It’s directly across from the couch, in front of the windows. He puts up knicks and knacks he’s collected over the years on the shelves.

When he puts up the curtains, he notices that more than one frame jiggles loosely. Sam makes a comment on the musty stains permanently dyed into the glass, and Danny talks about getting something to fix the cracks. Gotham winters can get brutal, and even if he can withstand the cold, doesn’t mean everything else in his apartment can.

“Oh, watch this.” He says halfway through unpacking, and pulls out a stick of thick white chalk from a box. “This is something I learned from Clockwork a while back; I think he knew I was going to move to Gotham.” He grins sillily, popping into the camera frame to show them. “I wonder how?”

Sam rolls her eyes, smiling while Tucker huffs. “It’s not like he’s the Master of Time and can see all past, present, and future.” Tucker snarks.

Danny hums lightly, curt like he isn’t sure he believes Tucker, and walks to a piece of bare wall not yet blocked by furniture. He starts to draw on it. The chalk shimmers with faint ectoplasm on the wall.

“Uhh…” Tucker’s voice cuts through, “Are you sure you should be doing that? Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

“There are bullet holes in the plaster, Tucker.” Danny retorts dryly, arching his hand to make a big circle. “I don’t think the landlord is gonna care if I get washable chalk on his walls.” Inside the circle, he inscribes the symbols of the Infinite Realms. “I don’t think he’d be able to see it anyways, he was really old.”

When he is done, Danny steps back to admire his work. It’s not bad, he thinks, for a lack of practice. He tosses the chalk off to the side, it lands on the couch and rolls back into the cushions. Ectoplasm heats under his hand, slowly glowing from his fingertips before stretching down the rest of his palm.

Danny’s fingers press against the wall, into the center of the circle. The result is immediate, ectoplasm is siphoned off his hand and into the circle. It glows, and then swirls. He steps off to the side for Sam and Tucker to watch its transformation. The circle fills with a swirling pool of ectoplasm, like a smaller version of the basement portal, and then it warps and stretches.

It fills out a rectangular shape, shifting like taffy being pulled this way and that, before settling into a solid shape. It solidifies, and instead of a wall there is a glowing purple door, warped in nature and seemingly shifting like a trick of the eyes. He can hear the gentle hum of the zone standing next to it, and can see the carving of the circle in the wood.

He gestures dramatically, grinning from ear to ear. “Ta-da~” He sings, “A door to my haunt! For whenever I feel like visiting it.” He pats the wood, making a strange thunk-thunk sound. “And then watch this.”

Danny touches the circle again, and the door twists and recedes like water going down a drain. The circle flashes bright green, and then fades into nothing on the wall, invisible to the naked eye. “I can hide it whenever I want! So if I ever invite someone over—” which he doubts, “—I won’t have to worry about them asking, ‘Hey Danny? Why is there a creepy fucking door in your studio apartment?’”

He gets a pair of laughs for his efforts, and Danny grins wider.

Sam and Tucker have to end the call when Danny is nearly done unpacking, leaving him alone with only his thoughts and the Gotham ambience outside. There were only a few boxes left, and they promise to call him tomorrow. He tells them that they better keep that promise.

The silence that follows after they leave feels somberly, as if the reality of moving in has finally set in and filled the air with its loneliness. With its change. Finally, Danny lets the strangeness of moving back to Gotham hit him when he reaches the last box, and he stops to take another smoke break to let it settle.

It feels so strange to be back in Gotham, he thinks. He’s all grown up, or almost grown up. He can vote and pay taxes, but he doesn’t feel much older than he was at fourteen. There’s a disconnect that makes him feel sad.

There are cars running outside, driving by. He can only catch glimpses of them, his apartment faces an alleyway. There are dogs barking in the distance, strays he bets. It’s already dark out, and he wonders if he looks out the window he would see the bat-signal shining through the night and staining the permanent cloud that hangs over Gotham.

Bruce would be so disappointed if he learned the reason for Danny’s return to Gotham. But Danny’s not here for him. He’s here for someone far more important. And like that, the simmering anger that has tucked itself into the furthest corners of his heart starts slipping through. His heart has teeth, ready to strike and snarl and bite.

He crushes the cigarette in his hand and throws it away. When he opens the last box, it is with hands that tremble and with a face of stone. With a delicateness he does not feel, he reaches in and pulls a corkboard from the box. On the corner frame is a small, near inconspicuous carving of another ghost rune.

Danny hangs it up on an empty space on the wall, out of sight from the window. It’s plain, and he has nothing to pin to it. He presses the small rune on the corner, pushing ectoplasm into it. Unlike the door, it does not twist and warp and shape itself into something new. Instead it bursts into green flame, eating away at the board and revealing the same thing underneath it, just in dark blue-black-purple.

Now this board, this board Danny has something to pin to it. The newspaper he bought earlier sits abandoned on the counter, and Danny unrolls it with something like viciousness in his chest. On the front page is an image of a damaged street, and above it is titled: “JOKER STRIKES AGAIN, 3 DEAD AND 27 INJURED”

Danny rips out the first page, he rips out every mention of him. His hands shake and threaten to crumple the paper as he turns back to the board, there is hot blood pounding in his ears. There is an impending sense of finally in his chest, like a setting sun giving the stage to a starless night. There is a stern set in his jaw, five years of festering rage rushing forth like a tidal wave, threatening to make his vision swim.

It would be so easy, he thinks, to go out as Phantom right now and hunt the clown down. It would only take a night. All it would take is a night, and then he could sink his hands into the Joker’s chest and rip out his heart where he stood. It would be so easy.

The thought alone forces Danny to stop as he is hit with another rush of fury, really making his head and vision swim. Thorny vines wrap around his throat, making it hard to breathe. He stares at a spot on the wall until the shaking passes.

If he wants to be discreet about this, then he can’t do it now. Even if he wants to. He doesn’t want witnesses. He doesn’t want an audience. He made a mistake, telling Red Hood about his plan. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking at all. But he can only hope that the Hood hasn’t mentioned it to Bruce. He knows it hasn’t been long since they started working together. He hopes that the Hood has already forgotten about it.

He pins the newspaper clippings onto the black-blue-board, and stands back. It’s bare now, but it won’t be forever.

He presses the circle again, and the pinboard reverts back to its original blank state.

-----

Was I expecting to make a third part?? No. No I was not. I was also not expecting to make an entire google doc filled with summaries for short story ideas about this au that all tie into each other so that way if i DO continue this i have a skeleton pathway to follow rather than making everything up from scratch and potentially cornering myself

you can find this on ao3 or on tumblr 1 2 :)

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #childhood friends au #cw swearing #cw smoking #im calling them short stories bc if i call them chapters i might intimidate myself #fun fact every single chapter will have a crane wives lyric on it i am DETERMINED #i hope yall are subscribed to this on ao3 bc i almost didnt post this on tumblr #the fentons being good parents were a surprise to me too but also i never really planned on them being BAD parents #okay so they appear as negligent in the first post but we'll just call that a plothole #i had the idea that danny was the angrier one out of the duo earlier today and it felt like an epiphany #there's no guarantee of a next part but yk immm kinda hoping there is #on the docs the ending bullet point for this chapter was #'make it feel like a tv show where the seemingly inconspicuous and friendly character has something sinister up their sleeve'#WE know that danny's not inconspicuous in the least he's been thinking of this murder for the last five years. but nobody but red hood know #i had to come up with a in-story reason why danny doesnt kill the joker NOW but my out-of-story excuse is: there'd be no tension otherwise #its about the BUILD UP. Its about the RISING TENSION. Its about KNOWING that danny is planning to kill the Joker but you dont know WHEN #its about knowing that something is going to explode but never knowing when #i made the doc yesterday and spent my entire pluralism for educators class going thru the crane wives albums and looking up the lyrics and #matching them to the *checks doc* 18 short story prompts i have prepared #i am still missing one :((#its the tim and danny story and i have NOTHING PLANNED FOR THEM. i cant think of a thing for them to bond over :(( so i cant match a CW son #even DICK has a story and that was also a surprise #my favorite lines: He was always the one with glass in his mouth cutting his teeth and tongue so that he could spit blood at the world #aND danny slapping his door like a used car salesman and going 'now people wont ask why i have a creepy fucking door in my studio aptm :)'

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