Chapter Text
Danny didn’t slam the door when he finally had the courage to leave his bedroom.
He closed it the same way he always had as a kid… careful, quiet, and if making too much noise might get him in trouble. The latch clicked softly with a small and polite sound that felt too big in the silence that followed.
The hallway stretched out in front of him long and dim, lit only by moonlight spilling in through tall windows. Wayne Manor hadn’t changed. Well not really. The walls were still the same dark wood, the floors polished to a muted shine, and the air was faintly cool no matter the season. It smelled the same too of old books, lemon cleaner, and something metallic he never could quite name.
Danny stood there for a second, just… existing for once.
His core hummed low in his chest, uneven but steady enough to keep him upright. He rested a hand over it without thinking, with his thumb pressing lightly against his sternum like he could reassure it by touch alone.
“Okay,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “It’s no big deal. Just… a walk.”
He took his first step into the hallway. The floorboard didn’t creak under his weight. That made him pause.
He remembered exactly which boards used to creak. He used to map them out in his head as a kid, memorizing where to step when he wandered the manor alone at night. Back then, the silence had felt dangerous like if he made a sound, someone would tell him to go back to his room. Or worse, ask him why he was up.
Danny shifted his weight deliberately, testing another spot. Still nothing.
“Huh,” he muttered. “Guess they fixed that when I was gone.”
Or maybe he just weighed less now….he is missing organs…. Or the floor was different. Or maybe the house didn’t react to him the same way it used to.
That thought made something tight twist in his chest.
He started walking.
The hallway felt longer than it should have. Every few steps, a memory brushed up against him soft and intrusive, like fog rolling in whether he wanted it or not.
There was the railing overlooking the lower level.
Danny slowed as he reached it.
He remembered sitting on the floor here once, knees pulled to his chest, watching Dick flip over the railing like gravity was optional. Dick had grinned at him upside down, hair falling into his eyes.
‘You gonna try that someday, kid?’ Dick would ask. Danny had shaken his head so hard his blue light glasses nearly fell off.
Yeah, that tracks, Danny thought now, lips twitching faintly. Still not happening unless he can use his powers.
He leaned his forearms on the railing, peering down into the dark below. The manor yawned open beneath him, vast and empty. No movement. No voices.
Was Dick still here?
The question slid into his head without warning. Danny didn’t like how natural it felt. He hadn’t seen Dick in… he wasn’t even sure how long. Back then, Dick had been older, busy, already pulling away from the house in ways Danny hadn’t understood at the time.
There’d been fights. Arguments behind closed doors. Doors that slammed harder than Danny ever dared to. He used to sit on his bed and count the seconds between raised voices, trying to guess what it was about this time.
He never knew if Dick left because he wanted to… or because staying hurt too much.
Danny pushed away from the railing and kept walking.
The sitting room came next.
He hesitated at the doorway. This room used to be where he waited the most.
He stepped inside slowly, the carpet muffling his footsteps. Moonlight filtered through tall windows, catching on the edges of furniture like ghosts of something warmer. Danny stood near the doorway, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants.
He remembered sitting on the couch, feet barely touching the floor, pretending to read while actually watching the door.
Waiting for Bruce to come in.
Waiting for someone to notice him.
Waiting for… anything honestly.
He swallowed and looked away.
“I was really good at waiting,” he murmured. “Kinda wish that had been useful when I first started off as Phantom.”
He wasn’t good at it anymore. Somewhere along the way, he’d learned that waiting didn’t mean help was coming. It just meant time was passing.
Danny left the sitting room behind.
The hallway curved, leading him toward the kitchen. He hadn’t even meant to go there, but his feet carried him anyway. Muscle memory. Or maybe heart memory. He stopped just outside the doorway, staring at the darkened room beyond.
Jason.
The thought hit harder than the others.
Jason always smelled like grease and cheap cologne and whatever trouble he’d gotten into that day. He used to sneak into the kitchen late at night, fridge light spilling out into the dark like a beacon.
‘You want one?’ Jason had asked once, holding out a half-wrapped burger. Danny had nodded so fast he’d almost tripped over his own feet.
Jason called him “kid,” ruffled his hair even when Danny scowled about it, sat on the floor with him until he finished eating when Danny didn’t have an appetite.
Jason had tried.
Danny pressed his lips together, jaw tightening.
Then Jason was gone.
No explanation. No warning. Just… absence. A hole in the house that everyone stepped around but never talked about.
But Jason wasn’t gone.
Not really.
Danny knew better now.
Jason is out there somewhere, Danny thought, staring into the empty kitchen. I know you are.
The thought was both comforting and painful in equal measure.
He turned away before it could hurt more.
As he walked, Damian’s face flickered through his mind with his sharp eyes, rigid posture, and a stupid blade in his hands like it belonged there. Danny’s steps slowed again.
Half-brother, he thought, as the word was still strange in his head.
Damian hadn’t chosen this. Danny knew that. He’d seen the League from the inside. He’d seen what they did to kids. What they turned them into.
Damian wasn’t cruel. He was trained. And that made Danny ache in a way he didn’t quite have words for.
He reached the far end of the hallway and stopped, resting his shoulder lightly against the wall. The manor felt… heavy. Like it was pressing in on him from all sides.
Danny let out a breath and laughed softly under it.
“Wow,” he whispered. “This place really knows how to make a guy feel welcomed home.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
He straightened his back, shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, and kept walking. He was moving through the house that had once been his home, and was feeling like a visitor in a place that remembered him better than the people ever had.
— - - - —
Danny found the phone on the wall just outside the kitchen. It was one of those old beige landlines, that was heavy and stiff with a cord that rattled faintly if you moved it too much. His pockets were empty, his real phone was nowhere to be found and for a moment he felt that familiar sinking panic. He didn’t know where Jazz was. He didn’t know what happened after he was taken. Didn’t know if she was okay or if his other friends were. Didn’t know if Jazz was safe. Didn’t even know if the world was still… normal there. Or if everyone he cared about had gone missing, scattered like ghosts themselves in the frozen timeline.
He lifted the receiver and held it to his ear. Dial tone hummed steady with a dull reminder that maybe just maybe someone would answer.
“Jazz?” His voice came out thin, hoarse, a little tight. “Jazz… it’s me.”
Nothing.
Danny swallowed and pressed the receiver tighter to his chest. “Jazz… c’mon… please… pick up,” he whispered, almost pleading. His stomach knotted with fear that she might not be anywhere. That she might not even exist anymore. His core is starting to squeeze at the thought of him failing Jazz.
He tried again. Another ring. Another voicemail. His chest ached with every unanswered call. Yet he couldn’t stop trying.
He hugged the phone close, curling his legs against his chest as he sank to the floor. The moonlight spilled across the tiles in long silver stripes, that was highlighting the dust floating lazily in the air.
Danny wanted Jazz here. Not Bruce. Not Dick. Not anyone else. Jazz. She had always been there. When he was younger and scared. When he got hurt. When the world felt too sharp or too loud. She had been steady. Funny. Warm. The one person who had made him feel… not like a mistake after Jason and his mom.
But she wasn’t here. And Danny didn’t know where she was. And he didn’t know if his friends—even the ones from Amity Park—were okay either.
His hands gripped the receiver tighter. “Jazz… please. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know where you are. I don’t know if anyone’s okay… and I—”
His voice caught. His throat burned. The phone pressed to his ear like a lifeline, like it might keep him tethered to something real.
Click. Voicemail. Click. Voicemail.
He stayed slumped against the wall, letting the silence fill the room. The Manor felt impossibly large now, the shadows reaching out like they might swallow him whole. Dust motes glinted in the moonlight, floating like ghosts themselves.
Danny pressed the phone to his chest and let himself tremble slightly. His lips quivered as he whispered, “I just… I just want someone who… who’s always been here. Please, Jazz… please.”
Another ring. Another voicemail. Another person he couldn’t protect.
His chest tightened again, the low hum in his core vibrating unevenly beneath his ribs. He let himself slump forward, forehead resting against his knees, phone pressed to his chest. A slow, shaky breath slipped past his lips. Another after another. And then it happened—the subtle, quiet crack he’d been holding back for weeks. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
“I… I don’t want to be alone,” he admitted softly, voice breaking just enough that even the empty kitchen could hear it. “…Not now. Not here. Not like this.”
He let himself cry quietly. No loud sobs, no dramatic collapse. Just small, shuddering tears that ran down his face while he held onto the phone, as if the warmth of it might be the only comfort left in a world that had become too empty.
Danny’s jaw tightened as he pressed his eyes closed. He could hear the house breathing in its own silence. Could feel the walls remembering him. Could feel the moonlight cold against his skin.
He whispered again, almost to himself now, almost to Jazz “I just… I need you here. I need someone. Please.”
For the first time in years, Danny Fenton let himself feel the ache of being truly, completely alone.
— - - - —
The conference room aboard the Watchtower was dim, the soft hum of the station’s systems filling the silence between voices. Holo screens glowed with streams of data from the Infinity Realms facility they had just visited, charts, energy signatures, and structural scans laid out across the table. The mood was tense, taut like a wire ready to snap.
Constantine paced at the far side, hands moving as if he could physically part the air and make his words manifest into reality. “I’m telling you,” he said, voice low but sharp, “this isn’t just… weird. It’s bad. I’ve been hearing things—rumors, whispers, portents from the Infinity Realms themselves. They’re talking about a hunt for the missing king. The king. Who was held and possibly hurt. And if the wrong people—or the wrong forces—interpret this as a sign of war, the consequences aren’t just local. Not just a realm. Entire dimensions could suffer. The whole lot could implode if this is mishandled.”
Wonder Woman leaned forward, with her fingers pressed to the table. “We still do not know who or what this king is,” she said evenly with her tone measured. “But clearly, his absence or his capture has drawn the attention of forces beyond our understanding. The Infinity Realms are reacting to him being gone.”
Martian Manhunter nodded, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “The energy fluctuations we detected align with Constantine’s warnings. Whoever or whatever was held at the facility was of significant power. They did not respond to containment the way other anomalies might. It suggests both importance and potential volatility.”
Cyborg’s fingers flew across a holo panel, pulling up schematics of the containment units and security logs. “The facility wasn’t quiet when we arrived, either. There were signatures technically embedded in the structure itself. Whoever was here didn’t leave through conventional means. That’s either teleportation, phasing, or… something else. We can’t be sure what they know or what they’re capable of.”
Constantine groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “And that’s the scary part. I don’t know a lot about the realms, truth be told but this is important. If the king takes the wrong path again, the Infinity Realms could punish… everything. Everything. And trust me, they do not do that lightly.”
Batman stood from the head of the table, his black cape folding perfectly over the chair back. His voice cut through the growing tension with calm, absolute authority. “We are not speculating on outcomes that are not imminent. We are gathering intelligence. That is all. Our priority is containment and protection. Until we have confirmation, we operate under the presumption that no further action is required beyond observation and precaution.”
Constantine spun around toward him, eyes wild. “Observation? Batman, you don’t understand! If this king was held here, he could have been—”
“Then we ensure nothing like that occurs again,” Batman said smoothly, not raising his voice. “We cannot act on fear or assumption. Our objective is clarity, not conjecture.”
Cyborg interjected, pointing to one of the holograms. “So… the obvious question: why was there a boy in the facility that shouldn’t have been there? We saw someone who is a survivor of what happened there. Someone who shouldn’t have been able to access those systems or be in there. We don’t know how or why, but clearly there’s someone or something moving through the security measures undetected with this information.”
Constantine groaned again, pacing faster. “Yes! And this is exactly why the realms are freaking out! It’s not just that the king was captured it’s that he could have been hurt. That’s why everything’s vibrating, metaphorically speaking. That’s why the energies are twitching. That’s why this is important, because we could be erased you bloody idiots!”
Batman’s gaze swept the room, landing briefly on Martian Manhunter, Wonder Woman, and Cyborg. “We do know the boys identity. We do not know their objective. We do know that the individual posed no immediate threat while in our care, and we know that they are currently… safe and healing after what this organization has done. That is all we can assert.”
Wonder Woman tilted her head slightly. “Safe? Where are they now?”
Batman’s jaw tightened. “Not under our supervision at this time. I am ensuring continued observation from a distance with a trusted friend, and contingency protocols are in place should their location or actions warrant intervention.”
Cyborg’s hologram flickered. “But why were they there at all? And what do they know? Clearly, the facility wasn’t just an accident. Someone or something placed them inside. They may have information critical to this situation that we need to know.”
Batman’s eyes darkened, his voice firm and controlled. “That is irrelevant to the matter at hand currently. They are not your concern, and they are not expendable. I will not have speculation cloud the judgment of this team regarding the well being of a child under my protection. That is all you need to know. No one else is to approach them without my express authorization. We shall get the information when the boy is ready and able to.”
Constantine pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about “rules, boundaries, bloody bureaucracy…” but even he faltered under the intensity of Batman’s gaze.
Martian Manhunter spoke next, voice low. “If the individual was present at the facility, it is possible they interacted with the containment units. Their presence may have influenced the energy signatures or the readings we gathered. That would be consistent with the behavior of high level entities the realms would respond to as kings or protectors.”
Batman’s voice was quiet but ironclad. “They were present. They did not endanger themselves or the mission. That is the only actionable information. Any conjecture beyond that is irrelevant to operational priorities.”
Cyborg frowned. “So… we just assume this person was there… by chance? Or that they are a victim in this whole situation that we have going on?”
“They knew nothing about what was going on due to the amount of harm they have gone through.,” Batman said, cutting him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And that is precisely why they were allowed to leave without interference. Our task is not to interrogate children. Our task is to ensure containment and to prevent harm. Understood?”
The table went quiet. Constantine muttered something else under his breath about “if the realms freak out, they’re going to find out anyway about what that organization did to their king,” but he stopped when Batman’s hand brushed the edge of the table with a subtle signal that his patience had limits.
Wonder Woman exhaled slowly, giving a small nod. “Understood. But the identity and motives of this individual remain unknown.”
Batman’s gaze hardened. “Which is why they remain under observation. And until I say otherwise, they are not to be approached or speculated about publicly. That is the final word.”
Cyborg tapped a few keys. “Alright… continuing with what we do know from facility scans, containment logs, and realm signatures. We can start cross referencing this data to try and anticipate any potential fallout. If the king or whoever triggered these energies reacts, we need to be ready.”
Constantine groaned again, muttering about how this was already too late, while Batman simply folded his arms, silent, keeping watch over the discussion like a sentinel over fragile glass.
The meeting moved forward but in the back of everyone’s mind lingered the same question: what did that boy know, and why were they in the facility at all?
And for now, no one dared ask Batman any further, because Bruce wanted his son to be left alone from this if he can.