Danny Fenton is so damn sick of rich fruit loops. It’s worse now, since he’s one of them.
It’s not Vlad that he’s with, thank the Ancients, but Danny isn’t sure that this is better.
Because he’s Timothy Drake, a baby, and he’s been reincarnated after the Ancient of Reincarnation accidentally drank too much wine.
He’s going to kick their ass so hard when he gets back.
Danny huffs. He rolls over, ignoring the silent manor. Sure, he’s read the comics. Sure, he laughed and imagined being adopted by Batman- come on, Danny had black hair and blue eyes even back then, he was totally adoption bait- when his parents gave him reason to lose trust in their love. But that’s it, that’s all he thought it was. A day dream, a wish for a universe that didn’t exist.
Danny hadn’t understood the reality of the whole Infinite Realms thing, a place he was now the King of. Batman? Real. Danny? Reincarnated. Hotel? Trivago.
Like, this wasn’t what he meant, dammit.
And now he’s stuck as Timothy Drake, and Ancients, he was starting to see parallels.
——
Danny tried photography. He really did. He wanted to at least stick to the source material. But that’s not who he is. Even with the shiny new brain that memorized, catalogued, and put together clues at the snap of his fingers, but Danny’s never been one to take photos. It’s a respectable art, for sure, but Danny preferred to live in the moment instead of capturing it to remember forever. It’s just-
He watched the Graysons fall. He watched Dick Grayson turn into Robin. And Danny can’t and won’t ever betray his Obsession like that, ever again. He can’t let Jason die for his “story” to begin. That’s not how Danny works.
He’s there to protect.
Danny hasn’t ever been just Tim. Danny was also Tim and the Ghost King without a haunt. But now? Gotham is his haunt. He, in lieu of an actual city spirit, is Gotham. He’s also a Drake. And Drakes were meant to hoard.
Batman and Robin? They are his.
He claimed them, as a Drake. But that claim is weak. So he claimed them as their city, and that is a claim that will never be able to be challenged.
Danny’ll be damned before he allows some lanky starved clown beat the life out of one of his Robins. So, for the first time in his nine years on this planet, Tim-Danny goes ghost and flies.
“Who- who. Are you?” Robin slurred from his place in Danny’s hold. He is broken, yes. But not dead. Danny infuses some of his vitality, his ecto, into Jason’s injuries to help them heal.
“Gotham.” Danny replied, layering his ghostly voice with those of the city.
“Goth’m?”
“Gotham. Sleep, little bird. Your city has got you.”
When Robin, Jason, settled with a sense of trust that tugs at Danny’s core, Danny carried him to Batman, whose eyes were wild and manic. He glared menacingly at the green and white ghost in front of him, who was holding his broken and beaten son-
Well, it’d be menacing if Danny hadn’t watched him eat bricks and mortar, crashing into a building while using his grappling gun.
“You-”
“I am Gotham.” Danny cut him off. Despite his wary nature and natural paranoia, Batman settled at his city’s gaze rested on him. Danny knew that Batman recognized his city. Batman’s head bowed, but his eyes stayed on Robin. “You were supposed to take care of Robin.”
“I- I know.” And that voice was all Bruce Wayne the Dad instead of Batman the Vigilante. Danny gently placed Robin in Batman’s arms, taking in the tremors as he held his son close.
“Go back, Bruce. And make sure Jason knows how much you love him.”
He laughed as Bruce whipped his head upwards. “I am your city. You are mine as much as I am yours. I’ve known of you before you were born.”
Technically? Not untrue. But Bruce will chalk it up to weird magic shit. It’s not like it’s a secret that Gotham’s kind of curse. Besides, this way, Danny will be able to help out more often. And Bruce won’t be able to connect Tim Drake to the “Spirit of Gotham.”
“Return, my knight. This is not your city. I can not protect you as well as I can in Gotham.”
“Thank you… Gotham.”
Danny sighed. He wondered when he’ll have to field questions from a John Constantine. He’s pretty sure Bruce will call in magical help, even if it was his own city he was investigating.
Batman’s lucky Danny liked him enough to allow it.
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You Marry a Mermaid
You marry a mermaid and the first month you spend on land, teaching her about citrus. Lemons. Limes. Grapefruits. But not grapes?
No, grapes are not citrus.
You love the way she says "grapefruit."
Grapes froot.
You marry a mermaid and the second month you spend under water, learning about coral, tides. How sound flows differently.
You marry a mermaid and you spend the third month on land teaching her about warm colors. Red, yellow. Pink. They exist underwater, of course, but they appear different here, this atmosphere (air) splitting the prism differently than that atmosphere (water).
You marry a mermaid and you spend the fourth month under water learning about heat. You have heat on land, of course, but here there are volcanoes, minuscule to what you think of as a volcano. She teaches you how to enjoy the liminal space between the scalding water and the icy ocean depths.
You marry a mermaid and you spend the fifth month on land teaching her about potatoes. She makes a delightful sound when she tries her first fried potato. The texture almost unbearably crispy. You spend three days on a boardwalk eating potatoes.
When she tries cheese...
...when she tries cheese... on potatoes...
The memory of that expression on her face is worth every jewel, every coin, ever to pass through your fingers, from birth to death.
You marry a mermaid and you spend the sixth month under water learning about the color blue. You think you know the color blue, you've seen the sky, you've seen birds.
You have seen art.
She cups your face with her webbed hands and stares at you with an intensity you did not realize could be experienced in mortal flesh and asks you to say Blue.
"Blooo."
She loves how you say the word, how your tongue
curls like a wave to craft the sound
like you were taught
on land
where speaking is so different
because your tongue is reacting to a throat full of air
not water filtered into something breathable
by magic that
you do not
understand.
You marry a mermaid.
You spend every other month on land, the opposing under water.
You live.
Happily beyond reason.
For years beyond memory.
You marry a mermaid.
"Blooo."
"Grapes fruit."
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