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Danny rolls his eyes for what had to be the fifth time in the last—what? Five minutes? Ten? He’s honestly lost track. He is so fed up with the stupid Observants and the fact that he can’t attack them without somehow summoning 15 more to his current location in the Infinite Realms.
Just yesterday had been his eighteenth birthday, and this is already the fifth time one of the giant eyeballs have approached him about taking the crown.
The first attempt had happened right after his mom woke him up with cinnamon rolls and birthday wishes. She’d still been standing in his room when the first Observant appeared, carrying the flaming metal nightmare like it was presenting the greatest honor in existence, instead of a miserable future mired in responsibilities he didn't have the skills to handle.
Thankfully, his parents already knew about his halfa nature. Trying to explain why a ghost was attempting to force a burning crown onto his head would have been a lot harder otherwise. Not that his mom reacted much better once she understood what was happening. She’d immediately started worrying about his weakness to fire/heat (thanks to his ice core), the fact that the crown was literally aflame and probably would light his hair on fire, and how he was eighteen years old and therefore much too young to be responsible for ruling anything, nevermind an infinite dimension.
Honestly, she has been a complete worrywart ever since learning she somehow missed the fact that her son had died. (Jack had just asked if his taste buds were the same and if a new fudge recipe should be developed for him to enjoy.)
Danny can’t really blame her, even though he hates it at times because it tends to get excessive and grate on his sense of freedom. Besides, the constant worrying is still a massive improvement over shooting him and partnering with the GIW - whom his parents now attack on sight.
A flicker of movement behind him snaps him out of his thoughts.
Oh, seriously?
Without even turning around, he senses another Observant trying to sneak up behind him. The accursed crown floats in its grasp, flames dancing eagerly around the metal.
This is it.
Enough is enough.
He has entertained them long enough to say he’s heard them out... Not that he’s actually been listening. After the first minute of the first speech, he had already put together their entire argument. Every attempt since then has just been the same sales pitch with slightly different wording that drags on forever.
The Infinite Realms need a king.
The Crown has chosen you.
You should be honored for this opportunity.
Yeah, yeah, he’s got it.
Spotting a random door that isn't giving off bad vibes drifting through the Zone nearby, Danny immediately seizes the opportunity. Before the Observant in front of him can finish whatever dramatic proclamation it is currently reciting or the Observant behind him can get too close with the object of his current fears, he darts sideways.
The Observant misses. (Phew.)
Danny doesn't give himself time to celebrate. Instead he continues his momentum, shooting straight toward the nearest floating door. He’ll have to approach Clockwork about ways to stop this insanity later.
“Good luck crowning someone who’s not here!”
He yanks the door open, slips inside, and slams it shut behind himself. His ice races across the frame a second later, sealing them outside.
Finally!
At this point, he’s happy to be in this unknown situation rather than listening to the lecture about why becoming Ghost King would apparently be the greatest thing to ever happen to him.
Now, he only has to hope that the ghost whose lair he’s invaded will be sympathetic to his plight. With the door (and all the walls plus the floor and ceiling) frozen in order to keep them out, he takes the chance to calm down and observe his surroundings.
He stares at what seems to be a human in an expensive apartment in bewilderment. “Hi?” Danny greets, tentatively.
The stranger, his ghost senses agree, is not a ghost. They do have some ectoplasm in their system, though. Aside from himself and his ice, the stranger seems to be the only concentrated source of ectoplasm in this place. So, thankfully, he can tell that there are no ecto-weapons nearby. They are also wearing some sort of hero(?) cosplay that is mainly red and black with yellow belts crisscrossed on their torso, with straight black hair and piercing blue eyes that shine as they flick over his form.
Danny returns their attention in kind, giving them a deeper look beyond noting their ecto-contamination, lack of weapons that could harm him, and general appearance. The fabric of their clothes is obviously of high quality and fitted them in such a way that they had full movement despite the high-quality armor enmeshed in the fabric. The cape he initially ignored looks to have enough metal pieces and wiring built within it that he wouldn’t be surprised to find that it allows its wearer limited flight or the ability to glide in some fashion based on its winged appearance.
Or… maybe not, he considers. Nobody sane puts that much money and engineering into a costume. Between the armor woven into the fabric and whatever was going on with the cape, the outfit looks to be more functional than just cool-looking. Could he be in the apartment of some sort of hero or villain?
He’s heard of and seen pictures of the Justice League, the Titans, and other such heroes over the years, along with their rogues, in passing, but he has never looked into them much since he got that visit from the JLD. Who, while being empathetic to his situation, explained that they couldn’t really do anything for Amity. Because, even attempting to close his parents’ portal or do any magic within miles of it could cause the portal to collapse in such a way that it would destroy their entire dimension and wipe it from existence. The best they could do was make a perimeter to stop the ghosts from leaving the town, which they did and he has since greatly appreciated. He did start having to write and turn in monthly reports though, which was the one downside.
Still, between the ectoplasm in the stranger’s system and the suspiciously practical costume, “random cosplayer” was rapidly dropping down the list of possibilities, while hero was rising up given the bird emblem on their chest and Danny can list off the top of his head way more heroes with that motif than villains. Isn't there a whole team of bird and bat themed vigilantes in Gotham? The Sirens or something… right?
The human, a man, Danny wants to guess based on his build but refuses to assume someone’s gender, gets a funny look on their face before they seem to compose themselves and say, “Hello. Who are you?”
“I-I’m Danny. Phantom. I mean, Danny Phantom at your service,” he stutters the quip falling from his lips without any conscious input as he nods his head. He hadn’t expected them to have such a smooth voice! Why is it hot? How can a voice sound hot???
They approach him in a way that is probably meant to look casual, and would probably fool anyone else. Danny would be among them, if he wasn’t a vigilante and hadn’t learned to read body language because his half-life depended on it. Danny can see the lines of tense muscles through their skin-tight suit. He can tell that one of their hands, despite wanting to appear relaxed at their side, stays close enough to the yellow belt that there’s probably a weapon, some sort of defensive tool, or a signal of some sort that would alert others to the situation in that bright yellow belt. And with his previous observations, he would bet that if a panic button was pressed, he wouldn’t have much time at all before their teammates arrived. No matter how they want to appear, he could tell they are ready for trouble. Danny finds himself respecting the other; too often had he been taken off guard in the beginning of things because he wasn’t cautious.
“What are you doing here, Danny?”
It’s his respect for them that drives Danny to answer honestly as he arranges himself into sitting cross-legged in the air as he speaks. Besides, given the stranger’s lack of recognition, he doubts he’s in Amity anymore and therefore he won’t be believed anyway - this will give him the time to think through a more “realistic” sounding answer for them.
Tim lets out a deep breath as he lands on the roof of The Nest. His muscles ache.
He is not injured enough for it to matter, but sore enough that every deep breath reminds him of the pipe he’d taken to the ribs earlier in the night when protecting a victim from their would-be mugger.
Patrol was a mess. Not a disaster. Nobody was dead. No one was even seriously hurt. But there had been a car chase, an arms deal, a meta-human with questionable impulse control, three attempted muggings, and a rooftop pursuit through freezing rain that Tim was fairly certain violated several laws of physics. So, a normal Thursday.
He slips through the window and lands silently on the hardwood floor of his apartment, closing the window behind himself as he re-engages his security.
The familiar space he calls safe settles him immediately. The lamp with the shade he had yet to replace, the hum of his home servers running in the background, his coffee maker turning on and brewing him a fresh pot.
Home, sweet home. Or at least the place where he occasionally remembered to sleep and mostly worked when he wasn’t in the office.
Tim rolls his shoulders, wincing slightly as his bruised ribs protest, and heads further into the apartment, putting his comm units on their charger and taking off his mask with relief as the fresh air hits his face
Then the door to the coat closet opens. His attention snaps toward it instantly. There is no reason for that door to be opening. Not from that side.
For a second, he thinks it’s one of his brothers, because who else would hide in his closet? But he instantly rejects that idea. None of his security measures had been messed with when he got in.
A flicker of neon green light spills through the crack, putting him on guard.
Tim wishes he had kept his comm on so that he could alert Oracle and the team to his situation, as his brain switches modes from at-home/safe to threat-assessment/could-be-in-danger.
Every muscle in Tim’s body tightens. Whatever is happening feels like getting too close to a Lazarus Pit, complete with goosebumps racing up and down his skin.
The door slams open and something- no, someone- flies out.
White hair. Black suit. Glowing green eyes. Pale blue skin. Looks to be young based on the minimal fat still on their cheeks.
He barely has any time to get more details before the stranger whirls around and slams the door shut behind himself. His eyes turn blue as ice explodes out from his hands, racing over wood panels and tile alike, spilling across rugs and walls and furniture. Crystalline patterns bloom over every available surface, transforming Tim’s apartment into a winter wonderland of glittering shades of white and blue. The temperature plummets, allowing Tim to see his own breath as the stranger’s eyes return to their previous green color.
Tim has encountered cryokinetics before and this obviously isn't that. It feels different; it leaves a tang in the air as it shines in unpredictable patterns, ignoring both the lights he already had on in the room and the laws of physics.
The stranger presses himself against the nearest wall almost immediately after sealing the room, as though his inch-thick ice isn’t enough to keep the door closed.
Before Tim can even process the observation, the stranger’s gaze sweeps across the room.
Not casually, systematically. Exits. Furniture. Potential threats. The behavior is so familiar Tim almost laughs. That isn’t safe civilian behavior. That’s trained behavior, or learned behavior. The kind that comes from experience. Experience from getting hurt when you miss something important.
Their eyes meet.
Tim’s first actual impression is that they are hiding. Running from something that they never want to have to deal with again.
His second is that they aren’t an immediate threat to him. People who have malicious intentions move differently from those who don’t. They occupy space. Expand into it. Make themselves larger. Make themselves a threat or get that glint in their eyes.
The probable alien has done the opposite. Even now, despite displaying that they have the power to freeze the apartment in seconds, he seems determined to take up as little room as possible.
Tim shifts his weight slightly. Their eyes immediately track the movement.
Hypervigilance. Tim’s heart aches. He hates meeting people like himself and his family in the wild. He despises what this means they have gone through.
The air has a pressure… or an energy to it. It’s strange. Tim can’t quite explain it. The closest comparison his brain produces is the feeling right before a thunderstorm, that strange tingling in the air that settles over everything moments before lightning splits the sky.
The white-haired anomaly feels like that. Not dangerous necessarily. Just powerful enough that the possibility lingers in the back of his mind and makes him want to watch his words and actions carefully.
“Hi?” Their voice draws his attention, stalling his thoughts.
The greeting is so awkward it nearly gives him emotional whiplash. He has to actively refrain from laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
The apartment is frozen. They coated everything in a layer of ice. They came out of a door that was somehow connected to a portal or alternate dimension or something, and yet! Somehow, this is the opening line.
They’re nervous. It’s obvious in the tension that shapes their shoulders. In the way their fingers flex. In how their eyes flick back toward the frozen door every few seconds, even as they study him.
Tim has seen that look before. People escaping danger wear it. People expecting danger to follow them wear it even more.
Whatever is chasing the glowing person clearly ranks higher on their list of concerns than discovering more about who’s apartment they have just broken into.It's especially worrying if they've clocked Tim as Red Robin, or at least as someone capable of fighting, and still consider the threat behind the door to be more worthy of their attention.
Between the fact that they are likely in some sort of danger and that they have shown no desire to cause him or anyone harm, Tim almost wants to use his victim-soothing voice. But something in him tells him that might be a bad idea, so instead he uses his regular voice, even though he does gentle it a touch because he can’t help but want them to be okay… and to learn what led to this moment. “Hello,” he responds, “who are you?”
“I-I’m Danny. Phantom- I mean Danny Phantom, at your service.”
The introduction came automatically. Practiced. Like muscle memory, even though it started with a stutter. Tim files that away, that most likely is their name - or at least some form of it. And given their name he can probably assume they’re a male. He’ll have to check that later.
Danny’s posture shifts slightly.
Not enough for most people to notice, but enough for Tim. Embarrassment, the kind of which accompanies saying something you intended to sound cooler. He’s kinda flattered at the genuine attempt.
Tim studies him once more. No obvious injuries. No visible weapons. Afraid, but not really showing it beyond constantly tapping on his ice, as if checking to make sure it is still there, still forcing the door to remain shut.
Whatever sent him crashing through his door is still occupying his attention, even though based on his glances, Tim is sure he has been pegged as someone capable. Which means Danny knows exactly what he’s afraid of and they are probably stronger than him and his insane ice abilities.
Tim mentally opens a case file as he slowly walks closer to them, stopping just out of arm’s reach and asks, “What are you doing here, Danny?”
Tim can see in real time as Danny debates internally what to say before his shoulders drop and his expression twists into something halfway between frustration and exhaustion as he floats up into a seated position in the air.
His reaction is so genuine that Tim knows whatever is about to come out of his mouth is the honest to Gotham truth.
Danny drags a hand down his face.
“Okay. So. In my defense, I didn’t mean to break into your apartment.”
Tim raises an eyebrow and Danny sags.
“I’m going to warn you. This is going to sound fake.”
“I’ll listen,” Tim says, not promising to believe the floating man even if he doubts he was going to lie.
“Uh huh.”
Danny doesn’t sound convinced. His fingers drum against his forearm before he catches himself and stops. A moment later he starts again.
“So,” Danny continues, visibly deciding to push forward anyway, “yesterday was my eighteenth birthday.”
Tim waits.
Danny waits.
Then his shoulders sag.
“Okay, I was expecting you to ask why that’s relevant.”
“Why is it relevant?”
“Thank you.” Danny sounds genuinely pleased. Tim isn’t entirely sure why, but he likes how it makes him sound. “Apparently, turning eighteen means I’m old enough to inherit things.”
The wording catches Tim’s attention. Not receive. Inherit. Perhaps some sort of family heirloom could be the cause of this?
Danny’s expression darkens.
“Unfortunately, the thing I inherited is a giant load of responsibilities that I want nothing to do with.”
Tim says nothing.
Danny takes that as permission to continue.
“That giant problem comes in the form of a crown.”
“A crown.”
“It’s literally always on fire and has been known to cause its wearers to descend into madness. I also don’t want to trust myself with the kind of responsibility that come with being a monarch.”
Tim nods, slowly. It sounds like some sort of magical artifact. He’ll probably need to get in contact with Zatanna, Raven, Jason Blood, or anyone on the JLD about this after Danny’s done explaining everything.
Danny nods back as though they’ve reached an important understanding. “Beyond that, the main problem is that a bunch of giant eyeballs have decided that my age means I can’t get out of wearing it anymore.”
“Why?”
Danny stares at him. Tim watches as Danny’s nose wrinkles and lips pull downward. The emotional response is pure exasperation. Tim finds it oddly endearing.
“Because they want me to be king,” he says with a groan and a look on his face that clearly depicts how little he likes that idea.
The statement hangs in the air. Tim studies him carefully. This sounds like more than just a magic artifact causing issues.
“You don’t want the position.”
Danny lets out a laugh that sounds more tired than amused.
“I am eighteen years old.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It absolutely is.” The response comes immediately. Danny throws one hand into the air. “I have homework.”
Tim’s lips twitch despite himself. He is also 18, but he hasn’t worried about something like homework since he dropped out and later took his GED.
Danny catches it instantly.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say nothing, but find my afterlife and problems amusing.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
Tim chooses not to argue.
Danny points at him, vindicated. The movement makes him drift several inches sideways before he corrects himself subconsciously.
Tim watches the adjustment; it’s effortless. Danny has likely always been able to fly- or at least has held that ability for years since he’s at the point where he can do it without thought. Having that sort of skill is something Tim can’t help but find attractive, as well as Danny's distinctly inhuman and striking visage, which Tim noticed almost as soon as he got a good look at his face. How expressive and free Danny is with his emotions certainly hasn’t helped. Every emotion crosses his features openly. And at the moment, that emotion appeared to be long-suffering frustration.
“They just keep showing up,” Danny continues with a groan, “Everywhere.” His head tips backward against the ice-coated wall. “No matter what I say or where I go, they appear. Do you know how hard it is to enjoy your birthday party if an eldritch eyeball is giving you a speech about destiny and right-of-conquest during it?”
“No,” Tim answers.
“It’s impossible,” Danny explains, like Tim would ever be in his situation… though, given the craziness that is his life, it or something similar just might. “They just keep talking even when your mouth is full of cake or while your family and friends try to drown them out with the birthday song.”
Danny’s voice deepens into an imitation of what Tim can assume they sound like. “It’s all ‘The Infinite Realms require stability’, and ‘The Crown has chosen,’ and ‘You should be honored by this opportunity.’” Danny releases a world-weary sigh. “I don’t want the opportunity.”
“You don’t want to be king.”
“I don’t want to be responsible for an infinite dimension.” He pauses. “Honestly, I’d prefer not being responsible for any dimension, infinite or not.”
Tim remains silent, though a look of confusion or something must be on his face because it isn’t long before Danny is yelling at him.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me!” He points at Tim accusingly.
“I haven’t said anything to that effect!” Tim immediately denies, because despite how outrageous the story is, he does, in fact, believe it. It’s far from the craziest scenario he's found himself in. And in the world that they live in, it’s hard to rule anything out. There are two things that Tim feels the need to ask first. “What are the Infinite Realms? And is there any way for the Observants to get here even though you’ve covered the room in ice?”
Danny immediately deflates. The accusation vanishes from his face so quickly that Tim almost feels bad. Almost. He isn’t the one doing the judging, after all.
“…Oh.”
His hand drops back into his lap.
“Oh.”
A pause.
Danny squints suspiciously at him. “Wait. You believe me?”
Tim shrugs. “As far as explanations for strangers appearing in my apartment go, ‘talking eyeballs want me to become king of an infinite dimension’ isn’t the strangest one I’ve heard.”
Danny stares.
Tim watches him reassess approximately everything.
“…You know what?” Danny says finally. “I’m not going to ask.”
“Probably wise.”
“Yeah.” Danny nods. “That feels like it’d open several cans of worms.”
Tim thinks about his family. About Batman. About the fact that one of his closest friends is a clone and another came from the thirtieth century. About the fact that one of his brothers had died and gotten better. “…Several.”
Danny shudders. “See? That’s exactly the tone people use right before explaining something horrible. I’m probably going to ask later though.”
Despite himself, Tim feels his mouth twitch.
Danny points at him. “There it is again!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” The accusation would be far more effective if Danny wasn’t smiling slightly. The expression softens his entire face.
Tim finds himself noticing that far more than he should. He redirects his attention before that train of thought can go anywhere else. “So, the Infinite Realms.”
Danny groans.
“Right.” He tips his head backward until it rests against the ice again. For a moment, he just stares at the ceiling.
Tim gets the distinct impression Danny’s trying to figure out where to even start.
After several moments, Danny brings his head down to face Tim again. “Okay, so imagine if someone took every afterlife, alternate dimension, pocket dimension, weird magical realm, a bunch of portals, and abandoned realities they could find and shoved them all into one giant, neverending dimension, made the sky green and put in random floating purple doors that would go to different places. That is the Infinite Realms. Through one of those doors is how I got here by the way.”
Tim blinks.
Danny winces.
“See? That’s the problem. Every explanation sounds fake.”
“Just… continue explaining,” Tim says, his brain hurting from trying to understand a place that most likely runs on magic instead of logic.
Danny gives him a look, but continues. “The Infinite Realms are basically what fills the cracks between all dimensions and time and space. Sort of. It’s complicated.”
A beat.
“I stopped trying to understand the metaphysics years ago. Just know that the dead, concepts given form, and anything that runs on emotion lives there. That and pretty much everything there runs on and is made out of ectoplasm.”
Tim can respect that. There are entire conversations he has had with Constantine and other magic users he’s mentally categorized as not my problem for similar reasons. He is still going to ask his friends who are more familiar with this sort of thing for more information later though.
“The important part is that it’s huge.”
Danny spreads his arms.
“Like. Really huge.”
His arms stretch beyond the proportions that they previously held.
“Bigger than huge.”
“Bigger than that?”
Danny pouts. “You’re mocking me.”
“I’m asking clarifying questions.”
“You sound exactly like Jazz,” he pauses before adding, “my sister.”
Tim isn’t sure whether that's meant to be an insult or not, given his unconventional relationships with his own siblings.
Danny continues before he can decide. “The point is that nobody actually knows how big it is. People have been exploring it for longer than time itself has existed and nobody has found an edge.”
His expression shifts. Not annoyance this time. Something fonder. Something almost awed.
“It has entire kingdoms. Islands. Civilizations. Each unique to themselves.”
Tim files every word away. He can tell Danny holds the place close to his heart. He probably lives there or goes there frequently, Tim concludes. Is he still an alien if he’s from another dimension, or is there another name for this?
“And they want you in charge of all that.”
Danny’s face warps into an expression Tim knows is impossible for him to make, but it easily conveys how horrified he is by the concept. “Right?!”
The force of his agreement nearly makes Tim laugh. Nearly.
“I don’t understand why almost everyone assumes this is a good thing.” His hands begin moving as he talks.
It’s distracting in a way Tim really doesn’t want to be thinking about while absorbing new information.
“I am eighteen. I’ve technically only been dead for four years.” Danny freezes as soon as the words finish leaving his lips.
Tim’s brain stalls before he forces it to reboot. Well, at least that answers that question - he must be some form of undead and most definitely lives in the Infinite Realms. What does it say about him that this information doesn’t stop him from finding Danny attractive?
The room is silent. Danny closes his eyes. “Oh no.”
Tim folds his arms. “Danny.”
“Yes?”
“You’ve technically only been dead for four years,” Tim repeats back to him, curious how Danny will respond - what explanation he’ll give.
Danny presses both hands over his face. Through his fingers comes a muffled groan. A deep breath. “That wasn’t how I wanted to reveal that.”
Tim waits.
Danny peeks at him through his fingers. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”
“You told me you’re dead.”
“Half-dead,” he seems to autocorrect on instinct.
“What?” How can someone be half dead? Isn't being alive or dead a perfect binary? Either you're still kicking or you're not! How can someone be half and half??? This isn't a dairy product, it’s a fact of life!
“Half-dead. Half-ghost,” Danny restates waving a hand like it’s indistinguishable information, though Tim can tell from his expression that it isn’t.
“A half-ghost,” Tim repeats, mind whirling. Ghost, huh? He must be a different kind of ghost from Dead Man or Secret.
“Yes.”
Tim tilts his head and wonders what that other half could be, probably something alive given his comment about only being half dead. How can something be only half dead? Tim wants to ask as his brain keeps returning to that question, but refrains. It looks like Danny has more to share and he can ask that question later.
Danny finally lowers his hands. “I died when I was fourteen.”
The statement is delivered with the same tone someone might use to explain they brought tea to a picnic.
Tim hates it immediately. Not because Danny seems upset. But because he doesn’t. Nobody should be that comfortable saying something like that. Not even Jason speaks of his death so casually, and he was revived! Before Tim can decide what he can say in response to that, Danny continues.
“It all started when my parents built a portal to the Infinite Realms.”
Tim closes his eyes briefly. Of course they did, why not? At least it seems his question is getting answered?
“They’re scientists.”
If they’re scientists, they must be of the mad variety, Tim thinks but doesn't say. Who else tries to build portals into other dimensions? Especially ones that contain the dearly departed?
Danny shifts awkwardly. The movement draws Tim’s attention again. The constant tapping has stopped. The tension in Danny’s shoulders has eased. His posture is more open now. Less ready to flee. More willing to stay despite the uncomfortable topic of discussion. Tim is absurdly pleased by that realization.
“So,” Danny continues, completely unaware of the effect he’s having on Tim’s thought process, “half-ghost. Half-human. Ghost king candidate. Temporary refugee. That’s pretty much the summary.”
“You skipped over stuff.”
“It’s the short version.”
Tim stares. “Danny.”
“Yeah?”
“I think your short version might be more complicated than most people’s long version. And it has left me with several more questions.”
Danny considers this. “…That’s fair.”
“So, as a half ghost, does that come with any perks beyond your ice and flying ability?”
Danny smirks, “I can do anything you imagine a ghost can - go invisible, go through solid objects, fly, and wail. In addition to my ice and ectoplasm manipulation powers.”
“Ectoplasm? You mentioned it before.”
“Yes. It’s energy given matter. It’s also what everything in the infinite realms is made up of, including its residents.”
They sit there in silence as Tim digests this new information.
Danny slams his fist into his palm as he remembers. “Oh! Right. Your second question. The Observants.”
Tim’s attention sharpens. “Yes…”
Danny grimaces. “The ice helps. They don’t like crossing active barriers if they can avoid it.”
“If they can avoid it.”
Danny groans.
“Can they get through?”
Danny hesitates.
Tim’s heart sinks at the pause.
Danny slowly lifts one hand and wiggles it side to side.
The universal gesture for maybe.
“Oh, come on,” Tim mutters.
Danny points at him again.
“See! You agree! It’s not fair!”
“They can get through.”
“…Eventually.”
“How eventually?”
Danny winces.
Tim doesn’t like that either.
“Define ‘eventually’.”
“Danny.”
“Okay, but in my defense, eventually is a really flexible measurement when you’re dealing with immortal cosmic entities.”
Tim pinches the bridge of his nose. Because these Observants seemed to be just getting worse and worse the more he learns about them.
Across from him, Danny looks genuinely apologetic.
And despite the situation, despite the impossible story, despite the fact that there may or may not be eldritch eyeballs attempting to force a magical monarchy onto the attractive half-ghost currently floating in his living room—
Tim believes him.
Every word. Which is probably a problem. Because if Danny is telling the truth, then somewhere out there exists an infinite dimension. And that infinite dimension apparently wants to crown an eighteen-year-old with expressive eyes, terrible impulse control, and absolutely no desire for the job.
Tim can’t help thinking that the dimension might have a point. Not about the crown, but about Danny. Because for all his complaining, Tim has yet to hear a single thing that suggests Danny would abuse that kind of power. And in Tim’s experience, the people who want authority the least are often the ones most qualified to wield it.
“How long?”
“If they’re not all that determined, a few years.”
“And if they are?” Tim asks, dreading the answer.
“Based on the emotions I had when making this barrier, I would guess a few hours give or take depending on how many actively work on it,” Danny answers. His shoulders tensing back up as he begins his nervous tapping habit again.
“So your last name is Phantom and you’re a half ghost. How did that happen?” Tim questions, doing his best to bring back Danny’s previously happier mood.
“Fenton,” Danny seems to autocorrect, before face palming. “My actual last name is Fenton, I just picked Phantom as a name for this form since it is more ghostly.”
“Danny Fenton is your actual name?”
He sighs, “yeah. And yours?”
Tim blinks, feeling the lack of mask against his face. He knows for a fact his face is on five different WE billboards across the city, but it’s also kinda nice? Like, he knows he’s become famous for being Bruce’s son and for stepping up as CEO despite only being 17 at the time. And with that notoriety Tim generally doesn't get to introduce himself since people like showing that they know him or they go up to him because they recognize his face and want an autograph or a picture or for him to hear about their great idea they had and ‘would you invest in it even though it sounds like a pyramid scheme’?
It’s certainly not everyday he meets and then gets to introduce himself as his civilian ID mostly still in the suit, but since his face is free from the mask, he might as well take advantage of his supposed good looks the magazines keep mentioning. “Tim Drake. And you said ‘form,’ like you have multiple?” Are all of them as attractive as this one? He barely refrains from asking.
“Just two. This one, and my human-looking one,” he explains and then with a flash of light a handsome human is standing in front of him, with black hair and blue eyes that sparkle with anxiety as they watch Tim’s face closely for his reaction.
“So you’re just as good looking alive as you are dead.”
Oops. He did not mean to say that.
The human—Danny, because apparently both versions go by that name—goes completely still for half a second before his face flushes.
Oh, well. That answers a few questions he was doing his best to ignore.
“So you’re just as good looking alive as you are dead,” Danny repeats to himself like the words aren’t computing and his brain is throwing syntax errors at him. Danny’s eyes somehow manage to get wider.
Tim finds himself oddly pleased by this.
Then Danny points at him, not accusingly, more like he’s trying to determine whether Tim is a real person. “You just said that.”
“I did.”
“You said it out loud.”
Tim considers lying but decides against it as there’s no point. “I did.”
Danny’s face somehow gets redder.
Tim hadn’t known that was possible. It was adorable and he needed to get his heart rate back under control or Kon might call him all concerned since he knows that Tim’s patrol ends at 3.
For several seconds, Danny just stares at him. Then he abruptly buries his face in his hands. A muffled groan escapes from those involved hands. Where were the gloves and all the other clothes? What happens to them when he switches forms? Tim can't help but wonder.
“Oh my Ancients.”
Tim watches his shoulders curl inward with embarrassment. The reaction is exactly what he expected, and yet somehow stronger. “Are you okay?” Tim asks.
“No.” The answer is immediate. “I was not prepared for that.”
Tim feels another smile threatening. He suppresses it. Mostly.
Danny peeks at him through his fingers. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because!” Danny gestures wildly.
Tim waits.
Danny continues gesturing.
Apparently that was the entire argument.
Eventually, he drops his hands.
“You just can’t.”
Tim hums, doing his best not to grin.
Danny narrows his eyes.
“You’re finding this funny.”
“A little.”
“A little?!”
Tim notices that Danny’s nervous tapping has completely stopped.
The anxiety is still there. He can see it in the slight tension around his eyes and the way he keeps adjusting his posture. But it is less than it was before, and Tim can't help but be glad about that.
“So,” he says, deciding a change of topic is probably wise. “You have two forms.”
Danny immediately latches onto the subject.
“Yes.”
The relief is obvious.
“Most halfas do.”
Tim catches the unfamiliar word immediately.
“Halfas.”
Danny blinks.
“Oh. Right.” For a moment he looks almost sheepish. “Half-ghost. Halfa. Same thing.” The explanation is delivered in the tone of someone realizing they accidentally used niche terminology.
Tim files the word away. “And there are enough of you that there’s terminology?” he asks, genuinely curious.
Danny winces. “…Technically?”
“Technically.”
Danny rubs the back of his neck. “It gets complicated.”
Tim is starting to suspect that everything involving Danny gets complicated. He can’t wait to learn about all of it.
“How many are there?”
Danny’s expression immediately becomes uncomfortable and not in a fun way. “Around today?” Danny asks.
Tim nods.
“Not many.”
“Oh.” Tim responds. He doesn’t know what to say to that. How is one supposed to respond when they find out they’ve been talking to an endangered species? Before Tim can decide what to do, Danny points at him.
“Your turn.”
“My turn?”
“You’ve spent like an hour interrogating me.”
“I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
Tim chooses not to argue because Danny is unfortunately correct and the vindication sparkling in his eyes is breathtaking.
Danny sits back down this time on the floor, crossing his legs once more. “So,” his eyes flick over Tim’s suit pointedly. “Who are you?”
Tim raises an eyebrow. “I’ve said this already.”
“Yeah, no. I know your name is Tim, but who are you?” He gestures towards Tim’s suit.
“You don’t know?”
Danny immediately looks offended. “Okay, wow.”
“That wasn’t—”
“No, no. Continue. Tell me how obvious it is.”
Tim pinches the bridge of his nose.
Across from him, Danny is trying very hard not to smile. And failing.
“You’re not from around here,” Tim says.
“That’s your conclusion?”
"It's part of it."
Danny gestures for him to continue.
Tim sighs. "I'm a fairly well known vigilante."
Danny blinks, like he’s finally put that last piece in a puzzle. Then brightens. "I knew it! I knew that you were a hero, like me!”
"Vigilante," Tim corrects. Though the new information that Danny also identifies as a person in the caped community doesn’t surprise him given: the symbol that adorned his chest while in ghost form, the different names, and the fact that, from what he’s been told, he has the right backstory to be in this kind of life. Even though Tim knows that there’s more to it, which he can’t wait to discover.
"Right, right, hero without official government support—"
"Not a hero."
Danny waves a hand. "Sure. Whatever you say."
Tim can already tell this argument isn't worth having and unlike with his brothers, he doesn’t feel a need to prove his point and start an argument.
Danny studies him for another second. "Are you a part of that Gotham group with all those bird themed heroes? What are they called? The Sirens?"
For half a second there is complete silence.
Then Tim laughs, actually belly laughs for what must be the first time in ages. As he continues to laugh, the pleased expression slowly falls off of Danny’s face.
"No," Tim says, still amused. "I'm part of the Batfamily, not the Sirens. The Sirens refer to the mostly reformed female rogues that operate here in Gotham.”
Danny immediately groans. "Oh my Ancients."
Tim lets himself smile. For some reason Tim finds himself unable to deduce, Danny smiles back at him and it lights up the room.
“I cannot believe I mixed up the Batfamily and the Sirens.”
Tim folded his arms. “In your defense, we are both based in the same city.”
Danny gives him a look.
Tim’s smile widened slightly.
Danny breaks down and his expression changes to one that makes him look unbearably pleased with himself. It softens some of the sharp edges of his usual presence. Not enough to make him completely forget that the man in front of him is likely as strong or stronger than Martian Manhunter, but just enough to remind Tim that, despite the absurd amount of power he wields with his crazy ice and ghost powers, Danny is the same age as him and somehow stuck dealing with extradimensional bureaucrats.
The realization makes this whole crown situation seem even more ridiculous.
Apparently, Danny’s mind is following the same track Tim’s is because he says, “Changing the topic, what kind of cosmic entity looks at an eighteen-year-old and goes, ‘Yes. That’s the person who should be in charge of an entire realm.’”
Tim thinks about the people he knows around their age - Bernard, Steph, Bart. “You know,” he says slowly, “that’s actually a very good question.”
Danny barks out a laugh.
“There is no way your answer is coming from a healthy place.”
“It’s not.”
“You’ve got to tell me those stories later.” The smile Danny shoots at him afterward feels strangely rewarding, but before Tim can examine that thought too closely, a sharp crack echoes through the apartment.
Both of them still.
Danny’s smile vanishes.
The transformation is startling, though Tim is sure his expression is a mirror of Danny’s. Tim follows his gaze.
A jagged fracture has appeared in the ice covering the door. A second crack split off from the first. A beat later a third makes its appearance.
Danny swears.
The word sounds old enough that Tim is fairly certain it isn't from any language currently spoken on Earth.
“Danny?” Tim asks.
Danny’s eyes meet his. “Tim.”
The sound of his name on Danny’s lips makes his heart skip a beat despite its already fast rhythm. “Yes?”
“The stupid eyeballs are breaking into your apartment.”
Another crack breaks through the ice, as if to punctuate the state and make sure Tim knows the seriousness of the situation. “I can see that,” he quips, sarcastic and defensive. He doesn’t want this moment to end. He doesn’t want Danny to leave. He doesn’t want to never see him again.
The entire wall shudders as the first crack deepens. One of Tim’s hands moves to where he has his collapsed bo as he widens his stance.
Danny’s expression softens. “You know,” he said, “you’re taking this way better than most people.”
“I’ve had practice.”
Danny laughs quietly. “I bet.”
The ice groans as Danny transforms back into his ghost form.
Despite the insanity of the conversation, despite the impossible circumstances, he’s genuinely enjoyed talking to Danny. “We should exchange numbers.”
The half ghost brightens visibly at his words. “If you’re sure.”
Tim feels his heartbeat do something rather unhelpful at Danny's fast and hopeful agreement. “I am. You seem cool.”
Danny smiles, the glow of his body increasing.
The crack widens further and Danny takes the time to fill it in with fresh ice, though from his facial expression Tim can tell it won’t buy them much time.
Neither of them look away from each other.
“…You think I’m cool?” Danny confirms, a green blush decorating his face.
His blush changes color with his forms? Cute.
“Oh my Ancients.”
Tim smiles, he wants to bask in the moment, but they sadly do not have time for that. “Give me your phone.”
Danny peeks through his fingers.
“What?”
“Your phone.”
“…Right!” He replies and promptly shoves a hand into his torso, removing it a second later, triumphant with an old phone clasped in his hand.
After some creative problem solving involving one of Tim’s spare devices, a hastily downloaded messaging app, and Danny’s ability to explain how his friend Tucker had modified his phone to work both in the Infinite Realms and not, they have a way to contact each other after this.
Tim isn’t entirely convinced Danny’s device obeys the known laws of physics, but when he voices his thoughts Danny acts all offended.
Another crack splits the ice. This one is significantly larger.
“Okay, now that’s definitely my cue.”
Tim nods.
Neither of them move or go to say their goodbyes. They are not eager for the other to leave.
Danny’s shoulders sag as he regretfully breaks the silence. “I should probably get going.”
“Yeah,” Tim weakly agrees.
Danny winces. “You’re going to make me say it first, aren’t you?”
Tim raises an eyebrow, what is Danny referring to?
“I had fun hanging out with you,” Danny says like it was a surprise. And honestly, Tim hadn’t expected to come back from patrol and make a new friend out of an intruder, but he did.
Tim smiles at the declaration. “So did I.”
For a second Danny simply stares at him. Then he grins, warm and bright enough that Tim briefly forgets about the entities trying to break into his apartment. Which is why he startles when the moment quite literally shatters. The door and the ice coating both explode simultaneously, sending shards of ice and splinters of wood scattering across the room as reality comes crashing back. Floating eyes somehow wearing robes force their way in through the opening.
Danny’s expression immediately transforms into a displeased one. “Oh you have got to be kidding me.”
Several voices speak at once, their odd quality making the inside of Tim’s ears buzz with their words.“HEIR.”
Danny points accusingly at them. “No.”
“THE CROWN AWAITS.”
“No.”
“THE REALMS REQUIRE—”
“I said, no.” Danny snaps his fingers and the ice coating the apartment vanishes in an instant. No melting, vanishing into thin air, not even becoming a vapor. Every single frozen surface returns to normal so quickly that Tim almost wants to believe it had only been an illusion. How is that possible? Tim wants to ask, but now isn't the time.
The sudden warmth prickles against his skin. It feels strange after having gotten used to the cold.
Danny shoots upward toward the ceiling and pauses.
The Observants turn as one, their eyes/heads following him like prissy bureaucrats spotting unfinished paperwork that’s past due.
Danny looks down at him one last time.
“Text me?”
Tim can’t stop smiling. “Try not to become king before I can finish consulting my friends on the JLD.”
Danny looks at him offended. “You do know that I’m a part of the JLD, right?”
“No?!” Tim responds, surprised. He’d acknowledged that Danny was a hero when it was briefly brought up earlier, but he had assumed that Danny was only a small local hero or perhaps one that only operated in the infinite dimension. Though now that he’s thinking about it more, it does make sense for him to be a part of, or at least affiliated with the JLD, given how secretive they can be and the fact that ghosts are considered magical creatures.
“Accept the crown!” The Observents call as one.
Danny grins, the expression was bright, mischievous, and entirely too attractive. “How about no? I’ve gotta jet. We can talk about this later! See you around, Tim.”
Danny flies for one of the far walls.
The Observants immediately surge after him.
A chorus of ancient voices echo throughout the apartment as they fly after him.
“THE HEIR MUST ACCEPT HIS DUTY.”
“THE HEIR IS BUSY!” Danny shouts back as he disappears from view, flies through the wall of Tim’s apartment and into the open Gotham air.
The Observants chase after him, never having given Tim even a passing glance.
Silence fills the apartment.
Tim stares at the empty space where Danny had been. Then, he looks down at his phone.
Danny Fenton He/Him
Tim considers the name, glad he got the pronouns right.
After a moment, he changes it:
Ghost King Candidate He/Him
His phone immediately buzzes.
A new message.
You better not have re-saved me under something stupid.
Tim chuckles and types back.
Too late.
The reply arrived almost instantly.
I knew trusting you with that power was a mistake.
Tim finds himself smiling as he puts down the phone. Danny should be focusing on getting away from the Observants. They can text later, and maybe go on a date, but for now, he’s going to have to call Jason to tell him that he’ll be crashing at his place tonight. There’s no way he’s staying in his destroyed apartment.