Written in the Scars

Everyone stared at him, and he realized that they probably didn’t expect him to know Russian. He was too sleep deprived to think about that before he spoke but, well.

“Danny knows, like, a million languages. Don’t think about it too much,” Tucker spoke up, reaching over to pat Danny on the shoulder.

“Right. Well, okay, then,” Tony agreed.

Danny wasn’t sure what to say to that. He did know a lot of languages. He’d stopped counting a while ago. When he was a kid, after they finished ghost fighting, Jazz would sit with him and they’d watch shows in different languages because it was distracting. He’d picked a few things up then, but it was really after he had become half ghost that languages had started to come almost effortlessly. 

Natasha said something else in Russian, this time directed at Danny. He rolled his eyes when she literally asked, “So you speak Russian?”.

“Da,” he answered.

Natasha turned to Clint and signed something in...was that Japanese sign language? It totally was.

“The kid reminds me of me when I was his age,” Natasha signed to Clint, lifting her eyebrows.

“I didn’t know you when you were that age, but I believe it,” Clint signed back, glancing at Danny.

“We both grew up fighting. Though I doubt his parents threatened to kill him if he wasn’t good enough. Not that the instructors ever even pretended to be my parents,” Natasha signed back.

They both glanced at Danny. “Threatened, yes, carried out, no. Can’t have a ghost hunter’s son become a ghost, after all,” Danny signed, since they were paying attention to him anyway.

Natasha and Clint exchanged a glance. 

“Seriously?! That was Japanese sign language and everything!” Clint whined.

“I work with ghosts for a living. I can’t exactly get by with only English, now can I?” Danny retorted.

“Do ghosts have their own languages?” Spidey asked, musing.

“Oh yes,” Danny answered, immediately back in his comfort zone. “Ghosts have many of their own languages. A lot of them are bastardized versions of old languages, Latin, Greek, Egyptian, things like that. Then, of course, there’s Language.”

“Language?” Tony questioned.

Danny nodded. “Language. That’s the closest thing it comes to having a name, among the ghosts. Every ghost knows Language when they’re first formed. There are different theories about it, like that it’s an instinct from ectoplasm or that the core started it, but no one really knows. It’s a fascinating way of communicating. They use a series of noises mixed with words and these, like, signals between their cores. Humans can’t even start to speak or understand it, obviously, but it’s absolutely fascinating. And what’s really interesting about it is if ghosts want to communicate in other languages, they have to re-learn them, even if they’re Dead ghosts and they knew the language when they were alive.”

“Interesting,” Bruce, sitting next to Winter on a couch, murmured.

“It really is fascinating,” Winter added, mildly.

The elevator opened and Happy Hogan stepped out with two piles of pizzas taller than he was on a luggage caddy. 

“This is a lot of pizza,” he complained, as he pulled it towards the kitchen.

“Lotta people, Hap,” Tony returned, even as he stood to start unloading pizzas.

Steve and Sam got up and started helping too, organizing the different types on the coffee table and the kitchen table and any clear horizontal surface that wasn’t the floor. Bruce stood and started helping as well, digging a thing of paper plates out of the abyss that was the kitchen and setting drinks and cups out where there weren’t pizzas. Soon everything was set up, and people started piling pizza onto plates and pouring soda and water into cups. 

Danny didn’t move until Sebastian nudged him. Then, reluctantly, he got up and absconded to the nearest corner. Danny wasn’t a fan of eating, or particularly, of crowds. He was especially averse to eating in crowds. He leaned against the wall in the corner with his arms crossed in front of him, watching his people with an attentive eye. Jazz, Sam, and Tucker were sticking together, having gotten their pizza and returned to the couch they’d all been squished together on before. Winter was with Bruce Banner, their fingers entwined. She hadn’t said anything to Danny, but he thought it was obvious they were dating. Sebastian had ended up next to Tony Stark, chatting about ghost technology, and that made Danny bristle a little but he stayed in his corner.

He was not particularly happy when someone else joined him in his corner. It was Spidey, so that was a little better, but it still wasn’t great. Danny was tired, because it seemed like he was always tired these days, and he really wasn’t too keen on interacting with anyone.

“Are you okay?” Spidey asked in a low voice.

That took Danny by surprise. Usually no one outside his group of people cared if he was okay, let alone bothered to ask. So at first he didn’t say anything. Spidey waited, taking a bite out of his pizza.

“Just tired,” Danny settled on after a while. “Long day.”

“Long week,” Spidey agreed softly, taking another bite of pizza. “Why aren’t you eating?” he followed up.

“Not much appetite,” Danny answered on automatic, since “I don’t eat because I'm half ghost and my parents poisoned me without realizing it and also withheld food from me when I did something ‘wrong’ as a kid” wasn’t exactly an answer you just gave someone.

“Ah,” Spidey said, and didn’t push it. He kept eating his pizza.

“So do the Avengers not know your identity or is the commitment to the suit for our benefit?” Danny asked, because he felt like he should say something and he really had been wondering.

“Tony, Natasha, James Rhodes, and Pepper Potts know, but that’s it,” Spidey admitted.

“Why them?” Danny asked, pulling out a pocket knife so he had something to idly twirl in his fingers.

“Tony knew before I ever met him, he told Miss Potts and Mister Rhodes. I told Natasha, because we’re friends and I trust her,” Spidey answered, eyeing the knife that Danny still had dancing across his knuckles. “Also, what’s with the knife?”

Danny laughed softly, twirling the knife again. “Honestly? Not really sure. There are a lot more effective weapons, and I can use a lot of them, but there’s just something I love about knives. The intimidation factor, maybe. Maybe just that they’re small and easy to conceal but you can still do a lot of damage with them. Phantom always says I just like watching the blade glinting in the lights.”

“You and Phantom are...friends?” Spidey asked, taking the bait exactly like Danny had hoped he would.

“We are now, yes,” Danny answered. “We didn’t use to be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spidey asked, eagerly, and Danny could tell he had the attention of both Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff, even though they were subtle about it.

He shrugged delicately, switched the knife to his other hand. “I was a ghost hunter,” he began. “He was a ghost. My hometown is his haunt. We weren’t exactly friendly. I...I did some things to him that I regret. Then the Parises took me in. They were...they knew of Phantom, then, but they stayed out of each other’s ways. Until I came along. Phantom protects his allies, and that’s what the Parises were, at that time. He wasn’t too keen on me being with them. I’m just glad they came to an arrangement. Phantom and I...he’s...we’re...it’s complicated. If I’m here, he never will be. He has a thing about humans wielding ghost weapons. Especially when that human is me. He started liking me, well, not hating me I guess, about a year ago. We’re...we’ve worked on it. He gets that a lot of the things I did were because of the way I was raised, and I get why he did the things he did. Plus, we’re both the only responsible ones.”

“I resent that!”

“I haven’t blown anything up all week!”

Winter and Sebastian protested, at the same time.

“See what I mean?” Danny stage whispered to Spidey.

Spidey chuckled. “I see what you mean.”

When Danny finally deigned to come out of the corner, Peter sat next to him on the floor. They didn’t get a lot of opportunity to really talk to each other, because everyone else was talking and it was loud. But Danny would roll his eyes when someone made a terrible joke and he’d mutter things to Peter in Russian, and for that night it was good enough. And, miracle of all miracles, they finally exchanged phone numbers. 

“Text me, web slinger,” Danny teased, clapping Peter on the shoulder.

“Right back atcha, ghost boy,” Peter retorted, shaking Danny’s hand.

And then everyone filed out and soon Peter, Natasha, and Tony were the only ones left in the penthouse. Peter pulled his mask off and flopped down on the couch between them.

“That was fun,” he mumbled.

“Fun’s one word for it,” Tony agreed.

“Go to sleep, little spider,” Natasha added, running her fingers through his hair.

He ended up sprawled on the couch with his head in Natasha’s lap and his feet in Tony’s lap, fast asleep.

“They’re cute together,” Tony whispered to Natasha. “Peter and Danny, I mean.”

“They are,” Natasha agreed. “Do you think he’s realized it yet?” she added.

“That he’s gay?” Tony whispered. “I doubt it. But the kid has kept plenty of secrets.”

“He can be equally very clever and very oblivious,” Natasha agreed.

Tony snorted softly. “Yup, that’s my kid.”

“Your kid?” Natasha teased.

“What, you gonna fight me for him, Romanoff?” Tony cajoled, raising an eyebrow.

“He wouldn’t like it if we fought,” Natasha said, very seriously. “We may just have to share.”

“Hm,” Tony hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, now. “You do that.”

Peter was sitting on top of the same building he and Ellie had played with Cujo on. He had his mask off and he was breathing heavy, taking a break. He had stopped three robberies, saved a little kid from a pond, and helped an old lady carry her groceries home. The sun was setting, the colors mixing and blurring across the sky, almost but not quite overshadowed by the ever increasing lights of the city. It had been a long day, not least because Flash was being an asshole the entire day, even more so than usual.

Peter squinted into the setting sun, because he saw something coming towards him that he didn’t think belonged on the NYC skyline. He pulled his mask back on.

“Karen,” he ordered, “analyze that thing flying towards us.”

“Analyzing. I believe it’s Phantom, Peter.”

“Wait. Really?” Peter asked, raising his hand to his eyes so he could see past the blinding brightness of the setting sun.

“It is!”

“As I said,” Karen snarked.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, you were right, as always. What do you think he’s doing here?”

“It seems like he came to see you, Peter,” Karen answered, and sure enough, Phantom was headed straight for him.

“Spidey!” he yelled when he got closer, waving. “Hey!”

“Hi!” Peter yelled back.

Phantom slowed to a stop, floating in front of Peter. He grinned, wildly.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he declared.

“How?” Peter asked, bemused.

“I’m the apprentice of the master of time. My powers are beyond your mortal imagination,” Phantom answered, and then hestrated laughing. Peter laughed with him.

“Ok, ok, that’s fair. So why did you find me?” Peter asked.

In the distance, an emergency alarm wailed. Phantom grimaced.

“I wish it was a social call. As it is, disaster is going to strike in three, two, one,” Phantom pointed right as he said the last number, and a giant…. thing seemed to tear the very fabric of existence right where he was pointing. It was giant, and, well, giant.

“What is that?” Peter asked, gaping at the giant purple gooey.…..misshapen …many eyed….. sea monster?

Phantom spat a word in a language Peter didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if it was a curse or the name of the monster thing. Then Phantom turned back to him.

“It’s a Deeps monster. They don’t, I mean, they’re just monsters. Ghost monsters, I mean. The names they do have don’t translate well from Language. Let’s just call it Cthulhu and be done with it, fair enough?” Phantom asked.

“Fair enough,” Peter agreed.

Then everything stopped. As in, time stopped. He stopped, too but somehow he could tell that he was stopped. Then something warm and weighty was dropped around his neck and suddenly he could move again.

“Did you just stop time?” he asked.

Phantom blinked at him. “Yeah. You...you should not have been able to tell that until I put a time medallion on you. You must have some sort of latent temporal ability. We can worry about that later, though.”

“...okay?” Peter asked.

Phantom nodded, face going solemn. “If I hadn’t intervened, this fight would have ended very poorly. As it is, we have time. Not as much as I would like, but still.”

“Wait,” Peter said. “Can’t you just leave time stopped as long as you want?”

“Eh,” Phantom said, “sometimes. Clockwork can basically do whatever he wants in that regard. I’m powerful, but not that powerful. And Cthulhu over there has at least a little bit of temporal ability, I’m having to focus constantly just to keep it frozen. So we need to move, fast.”

“What do you need me to do?” Peter asked, standing, determined.

“Time medallions, like the one you’re wearing. That’s what lets you move through a time stop. Don’t lose that. Here, take these,” and Phantom shoved a handful of medallions on necklaces into his hands, “and put one on every Avenger. Get them here, but do not, I repeat do not engage Cthulhu. If you provoke it I won’t be able to keep it from attacking you right back. Just get them here, and get civilians out. You can move them while they’re frozen, they’ll be disoriented when time restarts, but they won’t question it too much. I need to get weapons, I’ll meet you back here. Sebastian and Tucker have some things in the works for all of you, I’ll grab what I can. Remember, do not engage Cthulhu! Ready, break.”

“Got it,” Peter called after Phantom as Phantom flew off.

He webbed the medallions against his suit and started swinging. So much for taking a break.