Warning: Long post?
—
Jason did not expect his ghost form to feel…like this.
(Oh, dealing with his body randomly phasing through the ground and smacking his face onto hard concrete was not fun, but Jason dealt with that just like with every other hurdle in his life. By being more stubborn than the problem itself.)
It felt like something… settled into place. That was the best way he could describe it.
He felt as if spite and anger were finally not the only things keeping him awake and running.
He felt calm, almost. Stable, at least. Whatever pent up energy that was stuck in his chest cavity now flowed freely throughout his body, redistributed, instinctually easier to manage.
It's almost like he could breathe a little bit easier.
(After much… ranting that Jason decided to ignore for his own sanity, Danny said that his case ectoplasmic corruption was probably due to the fact that Death, as a concept, doesn’t let go of things easily, time shenanigans notwithstanding.)
(Becoming a half-ghost was seemingly the only working compromise.)
—
Danny once told him that broad strokes of a ghost’s personality could be guessed by looking at their physical appearance.
Despite the cool powers, this was a slight downside. Jason dealing with the filth of the Earth meant that being to hide his emotions and who he is was kind of important. Life saving, even.
He realized later on that his ghost form was way too easy to read.
—
He looked at his arms covered in bandages, and got reminded of the amount of times he had to patch himself up in the last month.
His jacket was ripped in place he knew that would have been sewn together when he was a living breathing human (well, as much as he could be).
He always looked slightly on fire?
(Danny told him it's probably related to his... core?)
(He know he died in an explosion but really?)
And then, there was his… veil? Shroud? Cloak?
It looked really nice.
But on the other hand…
It drooped when he felt under the weather. It flicked and thrashed around when he’s either irritated or barely holding back his urge to headshot someone.
And—
(No Danny, my cloak was not fucking wagging when you brought me fresh ectoplasm last week, you’ll have to get your goddamn eyes checked—)
He'll deny it until the day he dies (a second time).
And then his cloak could sometimes just…grow bigger. He figured that it acted as an extension of his own body, and had a nice add-on of allowing him to sense things he couldn't see. Hell, he could even make a hand out of it (wacking Danny with it - gently - never gets old). Jason had to also admit it looked cool, with the wispy bits and with one of its sides becoming a bright yellow.
(It reminded him a bit of his time as Robin.)
—
Being a ghost had a lotta perks.
Dealing with targets was so much easier when no one could see you. Inflitration was so much simpler when walls became optional. Cameras will glitch out when he's around, he left no traces visible to the naked eye and, combined with his training, to say that it was useful would be an understatement.
But, sometimes, he feels like he’s changing as well the more he transforms. Not drastically, but enough for him to look back and notice.
He usually was someone who prided on being efficient and straight to the point.
But now he’s starting to… have fun.
He started using his claws whenever he could. Don't het him wrong, he still uses his guns plenty, but there was just something deeply satisfying about vaulting over things, scaling a wall or crawling on the ceiling with bare hands.
(Punching people is still the most satisfying by far, though.)
That one time hunting down the Joker wannabes was fun too.
(Danny said he’d get along great with Skulker? Did Jason want to find out? No.)
Fading in and out of invisibility, he picked them off one by one, watching as panic and dread slowly but surely creeped up on the remaining ones.
(After all, he has no respect for those trying to emulate the dead clown.)
—
(Yeah, the Joker was dead.)
(Surprisingly, that has not been a good day.)
—
One of the favorite things he liked to do was rooftop parkour. The… bendability of gravity is… fun, not gonna lie.
(Not flying though. Jason is used to having feet in regular contact with solid ground, thank you very much. No offense, Danny.)
But he gets why ghosts love to fly. When he’s jumping from rooftop to rooftop in Gotham in the at night, watching the city light fly by, cloak spread behind him, it’s as if nothing else matters.
(No Joker, no petty criminals to beat up, no avoiding the Bats so they don’t find out about his existence—)
He can just enjoy, even just for a little bit.
—
(Somehow the Demon Brat and Orphan could sense him. Will keep and eyes on those two, and also the more reasons to avoid them.)
(The real problem was the new Bat in town. Bruce, what the fuck, another one? Again?)
(The yellow one, Signal. No time to check his profile yet, but probably a meta or something.)
(First night out and the guy almost managed to actually fucking see him —looked at him straight in the eyes and all, then did a double take. Jason never phased into the pavement so fast in his entire fucking life.)
(And so far no Bats on his cloak tails yet.)
(He did help the guy incognito, just a couple of times.)
(And he also did steal his escrima sticks for fun, and once the guy went out looking for them, he’d put them right back where they were.)
(Turns out, he discovered later, that being a little shit runs in the ghost community.)
—
(Sometimes he also wonders what happened to Danny before they met.)
(He wasn't a Gothamite, that was obvious. He doesn’t pry, but it doesn’t take a lot to piece two and two together.)
(He just wonders who he has to kill this time.)
—
(Jason could not believe he forgot and underestimated just how fucking persistent every single one of the Bats could be. Of course it had to run in the family.)
He gazed down, thought the agony, at the gaping wound under his right armpit.
(The Bats have been chasing him relentlessly for a while now. He got more injuries than he can count, especially from Bruce.)
(They know. Oh, they know.)
(It didn’t go well.)
(He knows the others are there surrounding him to prevent him from escaping, he knows that Dick is right behind him, but at the moment he couldn’t care less.)
It has been a long time since the last time he got shot.
(It felt like someone set his right side on fire.)
What was flowing out in abundance was a neon, toxic green.
(The Pit Waters, ectoplasm, he didn’t even know that he could fucking bleed in ghost form—)
(Danny—)
He looked back up at Batman, holding a (frankly) ugly gun, white casing and highlights in the same shade of toxic green.
(A gun that Danny warned him about. And everything behind it.)
Jason felt something in him... snap.
(Why did it have to be you, Bruce.)
His mouth opened—
(waitsincewhenhecoulddothatthroughtthe mask—)
(Jason could see the billows of neon green smoke—)
(He couldn’t see Bruce’s expression.)
(Every. Single. Goddamn. Time.)
— and wailed.
---------------------------------------------------
I am genuinely delighted that my last post got that much attention! Thank you so much, to all who liked, rebblogged and commented, it really does mean the most. 💕
This AU may be continued? No guarantees, tho.
For those interested: Part 01
@fandomnerd103 @phoenixdemonqueen @satisfactionbroughtmeback @ascetic-orange @apointlessbox @bathildaburp @fisticuffsatapplebees @aisforanonymity @phandomhyperfixationblog @help-i-need-a-cool-username @hashtagdrivebywrites @did-i-miss-anyone-tagging-is-a-monk's-job-first-time-doing-this-aaaaaaaaaaaaaa
2K notes
·
View notes
I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.
Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.
And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.
Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.
They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.
When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.
Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.
When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.
"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.
"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.
Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.
Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.
Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.
When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.
Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.
because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far
when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)
danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.
and god help him, he's going to help people.
424 notes
·
View notes