Dead Doesn't Mean Gone
Danny wakes up coughing and choking on the fine blue mist that is his ghost sense. This is not the first time this has happened, and he doubts it will be the last. His body is already tensed for a fight as he casts his awareness out, searching for the ghost that triggered his sense. Somewhere further into the building there’s a wave of fear, unknown, but there’s nothing anywhere else. A ghost, a baby ghost, by the intensity of their emotions, must’ve wandered in here and sensed him and gotten all scared. Danny slumps back against the wall, projecting safe, not-a-threat towards the baby ghost. As an afterthought, he adds share, not wanting the little guy to think they have to go searching for a different place to haunt.
Finding a second place to haunt? In this economy? Hell no.
He giggles at his own joke as sleep starts tugging at his consciousness again. A sudden spike of terror, confusion from the baby ghost has him sitting straight up, frowning at the walls as if he can see through them to the terrified ghostling. The gears in his brain are trying to chug past the cotton of sleep, working to figure out why the little ghost is suddenly more scared.
There’s still nothing else ghostly in the building, and it’s too quiet for any living beings—besides some bugs and mice—to be spooking them. It has to be Danny, but normally even the littlest of ghostlings are alright with him once he’s projected some comforting emotions at them. The only ones who weren’t were…ones who didn’t know they were dead. Well, shit. He should probably go find them and try to clear things up.
Danny projects safe, safe, concern at the ghostling as he gets his sluggish limbs on board with this new, very important mission. Tense, broken, anger comes back to him and, as he gets himself to his feet using the wall, it occurs to him that maybe he’s making it worse. They don’t know they’re dead, so there’s a really good chance they don’t understand what he’s trying to tell them. Hells, he didn’t know what anyone was trying to tell him for actual years and he knew he was dead!
He shakes his head to clear it, pausing as the little ghost’s signature comes closer. They're radiating nothing but anger now, though there’s something off about it. He knows very well what anger feels like from all sorts of ghosts, and this, this is new. He sighs, goes ghost and braces himself for the fight that he thought he’d avoided, mentally noting that he needs to get this ghostling to Frostbite.
Instead of a newly formed ghostling barreling through the door, a flesh-and-blood person kicks it in and snarls at him, eyes glowing classic Ectoplasmic Green.
Danny barely has time for an “oh shit!” before they’re lunging at him. He goes intangible on instinct and gets the air knocked out of him when they tackle him to the floor anyway. He drops through it before their punch can land and pops back up behind them. Their head whips around, twisting farther than any human’s neck should, their body following half a second later. Danny throws up an ecto dome, trapping them just before they can tackle him again. Their body slams into the shield and they stagger, momentarily disoriented. They scream and pound their fists against it. The dome shudders and cracks a little—which is worrying—but it’ll hold long enough for Danny to try to figure out what the mcfuck is going on.
The baby maybe-ghost is still radiating anger as they thrash around the enclosed space Danny’s trapped them in, which is definitely concerning. The fact that they have a body is very concerning. Are they overshadowing it? Is it their body, from when they were alive? Are they not a ghost ghost and are just someone who was revived? And why are they so angry?
And why is the body covered in ectoplasm?
He floats down to the floor, crossing his legs under him as he watches them continue to throw themself against the dome, cracks forming wherever they hit. Frowning, he sends out calm, safe, not-a-threat on the off-chance it’ll help and tries to follow their anger to its source.
There’s a core there, nestled right where their heart beats, and it’s clear and recognizable as a core—so no overshadowing. They’re not a zombie—too alert and aware for that—so they’re either a revenant or a halfa. That’s not as important as the fact that there’s something wrapped around their core, something that feels like a bunch of souls got put through a wood chipper and blended into a smoothie.
The sheer suffering and malice it gives off sends him reeling and breaks his concentration. The ghostling is pinning him to the floor before he can blink, growling and snarling. Their arm is up, obviously prepared to deck him, but they don’t swing. They just stay crouched over him, one hand gripping the front of his hoodie and breathing heavily. Danny waits, watching the green in their eyes dim slightly as their growl drifts off. They’re younger than him, he notes as confusion grows under the anger that he’s not so sure is theirs anymore. Maybe fourteen? Fourteen seems about right. He lets a careful bit of sympathy, understanding brush against them and, as the glow in their eyes fades away and leaves only green, phases out of their grip to crouch in front of them just in time to catch their slumping body. Which is covered with some type of superhero getup, though it’s not one Danny recognizes—and he knows all the suits because it’s hard to beef with people you don’t recognize.
The Soul Smoothie retreats with the impression of a hiss, pulling its anger back and revealing a wavering stream of confusion, pain, fear that belongs fully to the baby ghost in his arms. Danny can’t help sending safe, safe, safe, even as they startle and scramble away from him, wide green eyes accompanying a spike of terror.
“Hey,” Danny says, continuing his insistence that it’s safe here, “You good?”
They narrow their eyes at him, which is fair. Stupid question, on his part. “What are you doing?” They’ve got an accent that Danny tentatively places as from New York. What are they doing in Gotham? Did they die here? That’d suck.
They also can’t make out the emotions, which is great. Wonderful, even. Danny takes a deep breath, ignores them tensing, and reminds himself that yeah, it’s fucking scary to feel yourself react tosomethingand not know what it is. “Felt your fear down the hall,” he shrugs like it’s no big deal—which, to him, it isn’t, so it’s mostly to try to convince the ghostling to relax. “Was just trying to tell you it’s safe here.”
“You’re…” their eyes flick over his body, momentarily pausing at his floating white hair. “…an empath?”
He can’t help the snort that leaves him. “That’s a new one. Most people clock “ghost” right away.”
“Ghost,” they mutter, suspicious but not disbelieving. Well, if they already know ghosts exist it’ll be easier to convince them they are one. “I didn’t know ghosts could manipulate emotions.”
“It’s not manipulating, just communicating,” he explains, leaning back against the dirty wall and stretching his legs out, “and living things can’t really feel it.”
“So I’m just weird,” they conclude. Danny can’t argue with that, seeing as he doesn’t know them, but that’s not why they caught the emotion bug. He supposes that being weird is a more reasonable assumption than being dead, especially when they still have a beating heart.
“Sure,” he agrees, then decides to just rip the band-aid off. It’s not like he knows how to tell a sort-of alive ghost that they’re a ghost, anyway. The ones he’s had to tell previously were all very much completely dead. “But it’s more that it’s because you’re dead. Or died at some point and came back a good amount of ghostly.”
They freeze, staring at him. He stares back, unbothered. Everyone needs time to process their death, even if that time is a while after their actual death.
A minute passes. Danny idly pushes the door, just to know if he can close it from his seat. He can. Another minute passes, then another, then the baby ghost starts laughing hysterically.
Could be worse. Could’ve riled up the Soul Smoothie and gotten himself attacked again.
“I’m not dead,” they whisper, their laughter sputtering to a halt. “I’m not dead,” they say again, firmly, “I have a heartbeat.”
“So do I,” Danny says, resisting the urge to follow it up with ‘you’re not special’, because now is not the time. “Comes with my specific brand of ghostly.”
“Ghosts can’t have heartbeats. They don’t have blood,” the ghostling argues, confident. Danny can feel the uncertainty underneath it, though.
“You’re right, but we’re weird,” he says, leaning forward and extending his arm, “c’mere, check my pulse.”
He sits there for a few seconds, patiently waiting out their battle between fear and curiosity. Curiosity wins and they slowly crawl towards him, stopping where they can comfortably reach his wrist but aren’t very close to him. They take off one of their gloves and press their fingers against his pulse point. Just as their face starts to light up in a smug grin, they feel his heart beat and frown.
“It doesn’t beat very fast, but it beats.” Danny ignores the what the fuck energy coming off of them, “Yours is slower because you’re in what I’m assuming is your body. Mine beats about that speed when I’m in mine.” He’s not worried about revealing his status as a halfa to the ghostling, not when every other ghost already knows and when it’s likely to help convince them of their own ghostly status. Which is absolutely necessary because the Soul Smoothie cannot be healthy and needs a visit to Frostbite.
“Your body,” they repeat, skeptical. They keep their hand on his wrist as they ask, “what does that even mean?”
“I’m a halfa; half ghost half human,” he says, tempering their wave of disbelief, confusion with understanding, comfort, “and you’re something kind of like that, too. Either a revenant or a halfa, though a revenant’s more likely.”
“You’re dead and alive at the same time,” they say, releasing his wrist and placing their hands in their lap, twisting the fabric of their glove while anxiety leeches from them, “okay. Okay. Alright, then, that’s cool. I can’t be, though. I haven’t died.”
“Not every ghost remembers their death,” Danny says, sending reassurance. “You shouldn’t ask a ghost how they died, though, just in general. Tends to dredge up unpleasant memories.” The ghostling nods, though Danny’s pretty sure they’re lost in their thoughts. “Violent deaths tend to be hard to hold onto for most ghosts,” he says softly, gesturing to their suit, “and it seems like you tend to end up in dangerous situations.”
They huff, spilling denial, worry into the air, “There was an explosion, but I didn’t die in it. I would know.” their voice wavers on the last word, though.
Danny shrugs, “Maybe, maybe not. Whatever happened, you’re ghostly.” He smiles, letting joy, happy into the air, “Welcome to the club.”
“A club you have to die to join, I’m thrilled,” they say sarcastically, but there’s a small grin on their face. Score.
“Yes, it’s a very exclusive club. Everyone’s dying to get in,” he says as straight faced as he can manage.
“Oh my god,” they laugh, amusement coloring their emotions. Danny is totally killing this.
“I’m Danny, he/him,” he says, extending a hand, “your resident Schrodinger’s Boy and guide to the afterlife.”
They shake his hand, still apprehensive but less worried, “Peter, he/him. Traveling spider and bad luck magnet.”
“Nice to meet you, Peter. Cover your eyes for a second.” Peter does, with no small amount of hesitation, and Danny lets himself drop out of ghost form and back into (mostly) alive form in the same flash of light that heralded the opposite transformation. “All good.”
Peter blinks his eyes open and startles at his different look. “Okay. Cool magical girl transformation, Danny.”
Danny grins, “Thank you. So, spider, huh? Is there a story behind that or is it just your fursona, like Batman?”
His face scrunches up and he mouths “Batman?” to himself. Danny’s thoughts screech to a halt and start up on an entirely new track. Peter-the-ghostling doesn’t know who Batman is. Everyone knows who Batman is, though whether they believe he’s human or not is a different story. Did he escape from a cult or something? But that wouldn’t line up with the super suit that, from what he can see, is on-par with those of the Justice League.
Now, Danny’s no stranger to alternate timelines and dimensions—hells, his brother is a formerly-evil version of himself from a doomed timeline—and maybe it’s a stupid, stupid conclusion to jump to, but he’s a stupid, stupid ghost.
So, he points and exclaims, “Dimension traveler!”
To which Peter flinches and stares at him with wide, shocked eyes. He tenses, and Danny can see the rebuttal coming when Peter deflates and mumbles, “how’d you guess?”
“Holy shit, I was right?”
“You accused me of being from another dimension as a shot in the dark?!”
“You don’t know who Batman is!”
“That’s a stupid name!”
“Everyone’s hero names are stupid! It’s part of the job!”
“Batman is a stupid name! Spider-man is classy!”
“As classy as a ghost going by Phantom!”
“Hey—” Peter’s cut off by the roar of a motorcycle outside and both ghosts fall silent, glancing between each other and the windows as the roar gets louder and louder before cutting off. Blue mist escapes Danny’s mouth for the second time that night and he just sighs. Peter gives him a look and Danny gives him one back. He’ll explain later.
For a few seconds, during which Peter tilts his head and stares at the wall like he can either see or hear through it, which isn’t out of the realm of possibility for ghosts. Whatever he’s seeing or hearing, though, he doesn’t share with the class. Johnny and Kitty would’ve shouted for him by now if that was their bike, which means this is a new ghost.
He would just like one, one singular hour between ghost encounters, please.
“Someone’s in the alley,” Danny whispers, creeping silently towards the window he entered through. Peter follows, barely louder than Danny himself. He motions for Peter to stay down and tugs enough of his ghostliness to the surface to go invisible, fading away. Peter squints at where he is, or where he was, from Peter’s perspective, curiosity drifting off of him. Danny grins and stands up to look out the window.
His grin immediately falls.
The motherfucking Red Hood is stalking around outside his and Peter’s hideout. Danny swallows down the rabbiting of his heart. Red Hood is infamous for the Bag of Heads and his brutal methods of control over Park Row. Not even Batman goes against him anymore and nobody knows why. Of course he has to be a ghost, too, because Danny’s life is nothing but a series of horrible coincidences. The crime lord’s head snaps up, Ectoplasmic Green shining from the lenses in his helmet as he looks directly at Danny.
He holds his breath, frozen in place. Anger rolls off of Red Hood, the same kind of anger that the Soul Smoothie in Peter harbors. Fuck, Danny’s going to have to wrangle a super dangerous crime lord out to the Far Frozen. Dammit.
Red Hood snaps his head away after a minute, starting to pace in the narrow alley. Danny exhales, momentarily flickering back into the visible spectrum as he slides down the wall. Peter looks at him expectantly and Danny holds up a finger in front of his mouth, sending a short burst of danger, quiet at him. He bristles, but seems to get the message. Danny’s momentarily filled with pride at how fast Peter’s learning before he goes invisible again and peeks back out into the alley.
Red Hood is still stalking beneath their window, like he’s waiting for something.
Someone shouts “Yo, Hood!” and what looks like a teenager drops into the alley next to him. They’re wearing a grey suit with cat ears and chunky boots. One of the vigilantes that run around the city? Danny doesn’t recall anything about a cat-themed one. Just Catwoman, who isn’t quite a vigilante and is definitely an adult woman. Is the teen affiliated with her? “Nightwing’s requested you chill the flip out.” Or they’re a new member of Batman’s constantly growing gang of odd ducks.
“There’s something here,” Red Hood says, jerking his head around to look at the cat-themed presumably-hero. Cat Teen stills when they see the green light coming from his helmet and slowly reaches for something on their belt. Danny’s heart starts pounding again, his brain immediately deciding that he’s what Red Hood is looking for. He slaps that thought as far away as he can and ducks back under the window.
“What’s happening?” Peter murmurs, barely audible. He’s frowning, watching Danny for a sign about what he should do next.
Danny creeps back to the corner with his bag and gestures for Peter to follow him. Peter does, pressed nearly flat against the floor in a move he hasn’t seen humans or ghosts do before. Cool. He pulls Peter up so they’re sitting next to each other and whispers, “Red Hood’s out there, pissed as fuck. There’s some new vigilante with a cat theme, too. I think they’re trying to talk him down.”
Peter stares at him blankly, pointing at his own suit. Right. Dimension traveler.
“Crime lord known for decapitation,” he elaborates. Peter’s head snaps sharply towards the window, eyes narrowed. Danny recognizes that look as one that comes right before a teenage hero does something monumentally stupid and grabs his arm, “Don’t you dare.”
“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Peter says, indignant. His emotions tell on him by broadcasting his desire to help. Danny raises a single eyebrow and Peter huffs, “Fine. I won’t do anything.”
“Good,” he says, keeping his hand on Peter’s arm, just in case.
Peter frowns, tilting his head, then says quietly, “I think the cat is retreating.”
“Super hearing?” Danny asks, matching his volume. Peter nods and Danny gives him a strained smile. “Can’t blame them for running.”
“They’ve got other people on comms, I think,” he says, “I can’t hear what they’re saying, though.”
Danny hums, leaning back against the wall. Theoretically, they can stay here until at least the crime lord leaves, but who knows when that will be. Peter stays sitting straight up, still listening to the happenings of the outside world. An outside world that he knows basically nothing about, due to the whole multiversal traveler thing he’s got going on. Danny will have to give him a crash course tomorrow morning, ideally while they go out to get food. The gold detailing on Peter’s suit catches a stray bit of light, trying to shine through the layer of drying ectoplasm that covers him. Danny’s got some extra clothes that should fit Peter, but they’ll need to find somewhere where they can get the ectoplasm gone, and Peter will need his own clothes. He should write this down so he doesn’t forget.
He doesn’t want to make too much noise digging a notebook and pen out of his bag and risk drawing the attention of the prowling crime lord. He’ll just have to force himself to remember tomorrow’s plan. That’ll be easy, definitely.
“They found something,” Peter whispers, face scrunched as the gears in his mind turn over, “I can’t quite make it out, but they’re coming back towards the building.”
“I thought they left,” Danny hisses, sitting up.
“Just went around the building,” he says. Both their heads snap up when a dull thunk echoes through the room from the ceiling.
“Grappling hook,” he says, dragging a hand down his face, “I forgot about the fucking grappling hooks.”
“At least it’s not the crime lord,” Peter says, eyes tracking what must be the Cat Teen’s movement over the roof. “But they’re definitely on track to find us.”
“Shit.”
“If you haven’t heard of them, they’re probably not that bad, right?” Peter doesn’t even sound like he believes it and the anxiety drifting off of him corroborates it. His eyes drop to their floor level, still tracking them. Danny’s not entirely sure that Peter’s only doing it by sound, but now’s not the time to ask.
“You left a trail,” Danny realizes, eyeing the dried ectoplasm on his suit. Peter winces, gesturing for him to shut up as engines rumble to a stop outside the building. His head twitches, just slightly, and words filter through the door. They’re quiet, obviously not wanting to be heard, but Peter’s got super ears and Danny has slightly above average hearing so their wishes go ignored.
“I’m safe,” Cat Teen whispers to whoever’s on the other end of their comms. There’s a brief beat that Peter frowns during. He can probably hear the other end of the comms now that they’re closer. “I’m fine, Nightwing. I’ll stay right where I am until you’re done.”
A gun goes off from the alleyway right as they finish speaking and Peter flinches away from the noise. Danny just stares at the door, hoping Cat Teen sticks to their word.
Of course, being a teenage hero himself, he should’ve known better.
The door swings open on slightly squeaky hinges to reveal Cat Teen in all their nosy, suspicious glory. Fuck this shit.