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The road was packed, people shouting and bumping into each other as they moved. The sounds grated on Danny’s ears while he tried to shy away from the shoving that tugged nausea into the back of his throat. He knew he should have protested more when his parents insisted that he come with them on their work trip. Something about him never taking an interest in the family business.
But in the middle of the streets of Gotham with no clue as to where his parents were and his head pounding, he wished he had put up a bigger fight.
Or…better yet, that he hadn’t gotten into a fight in the first place.
In his defense, though, when they sprung the trip on him, he’d been home for less than a minute, and a fresh concussion was only just starting to brew in his skull, which meant he hadn’t been coherent enough to really understand what they were saying. He had muttered a passing affirmative with a very convincing thumbs up before stumbling upstairs while his vision swam and his mind lagged. Once inside his bedroom door, he swung the door shut behind him, and the momentum of it sent him in a downward arch. He never made it to his bed.
When he woke up to Jack and Maddie shouting through the door, urging him to hurry, it took nearly all his willpower not to puke right then and there. His head felt like it’d been overstuffed with cotton, his eyes ached fiercely, and the back of his head throbbed with each beat of his heart.
He only managed to stumble down the stairs and into the back of the car before his body felt completely spent. It was hard to get his mind to focus on any one thing for more than a minute, but he managed to piece together that he’d been conned into coming with his parents on another one of their ghost hunts. Mind as disjointed as it felt, he had no clue how long it was to be and had no clue who the hunt was for. Really, he wanted nothing more than to find somewhere that didn’t have light, noise, or movement so he could attempt to sleep away his concussion.
Regardless though, he got disoriented pretty quickly and lost sight of his parents with no clue of where they’d be going. They’d left the car at some point, and he’d figured out they were in Gotham, but he couldn’t get his mind to stop floating long enough to do anything with the information he’d gathered.
He tried to watch as people rushed past the spot he’d found himself, leaning against some sort of wall, but his eyes moved in jerky motions, which only aided in sending him staggering to the side with an intense wave of vertigo. He lowered himself to the ground as quickly as he could, mind slowly reminding him that another hit to the head was the last thing he needed.
The ground was cool beneath his hands, distracting from the ache behind his eyes and the waving streets.
If he could just figure out where the car was, he could wait until his parents returned. As long as they came back. Danny knew it wouldn’t be a first for them to forget him or to get distracted with their hunt. He just had to hope that it wasn’t longer than a couple days. Being concussed and in an unfamiliar city was not an equation he felt ready to learn the results of.
He startled when a heavy hand settled onto his shoulder, and his vision blurred. Wincing against the light, he brought his head up enough to make out a large figure in front of him. It took him a minute to figure out what the man was saying.
“What are you doing out here, bud?” the man asked.
Danny was proud of himself when it only took a moment to realize it was Jack when he took in the dark hair, broad shoulders, and large frame brought low to the ground. His dad spoke in a weirdly quiet tone that wasn’t common for the man, but Danny was just relieved he wasn’t stranded alone.
Then he realized he couldn’t remember the question and mumbled out, “Wha…?”
His dad hummed in a way that, if Danny didn’t know any better, he’d say sounded fond…maybe even a little concerned. Then there was a hand in his hair, soothing and gentle. He leaned into it, not questioning the attention. Every moment Jack had touched him like this, like a doting father, could be counted on his fingers, and he had no intention of stopping the man. He’d take whatever he could get, even if it took a concussion from a ghost fight and being abandoned on the streets of the country’s most cursed city.
The hand above his head continued carding through his hair when Jack’s other hand left his shoulder. He tilted his head away, though, when his dad’s cool hand rested on his forehead.
“Looks like you’ve got a bit of a fever. Let’s get you to the car, okay?” his dad asked, and Danny grumbled.
If he hadn’t been ditched, he wouldn’t have been sitting on the sidewalk in the first place. Or better yet, if Jack or even Maddie had paused to actually look at him, they might not have forced him to come at all. But he couldn’t make himself hold onto the thought. Jack came back for him after all, and though he wasn’t keeping track of time very well, it couldn’t have been more than an hour that he’d been wandering around on his own. Probably.
Danny bit back a protest when the hand left his hair, and he was tugged upright. He tilted to the side and said, “No…hurts.”
His dad steadied him and pulled him into his side while Danny let himself be moved around. If Jack was offering contact, Danny wouldn’t be the one to end it. He furrowed his brow and ran his hand along his dad’s sleeve.
“Sorry, bud. You feeling sick, or did you get hurt?” Jack asked, running his hands up and down Danny’s arm as he led them forward.
Danny’s vision stayed blurred, and he decided to just keep his eyes closed, hiding away from the sunlight that felt like daggers in his pupils. If his dad let him run into something, he thought all the contact, warm voice, gentle hands, and concern would more than make up for it. He couldn’t recall the question anymore.
“When did you change?” Danny asked, thumb petting the soft material under his hand.
His dad paused for a short moment before saying, “I’ve been wearing this all day.” Jack actually sounded a little concerned.
Danny just hummed, unconvinced. He was pretty sure he’d remember if his dad ever wore clothes that resembled a normal person more than his usual hazmat attire. But if it made the man happier to pretend, he wouldn’t be the one to stop him.
He stumbled when the ground dropped down in a step he hadn’t anticipated, but mumbled out, “M’kay.”
Jack tightened his arm around him and kept him upright. “Sorry, bud. You’ve got another step in front of you. Careful.”
Danny let his dad lead him down the next step and heard the car door open. Were they really so close to the car the whole time? He could have sworn the car had been parked in a different part of the city. Maybe his concussion was more serious than he’d realized.
“Wait, ‘ve gotta con-er, a conc..ubine…no. Uh,” Danny mumbled to himself as he tried figuring out what he was trying to say. “Hit my head…I think. Gotta…concurrence? No. Sorry, think I need a nap.” Jack paused, but when he spoke, Danny was almost surprised to hear genuine concern in his voice.
“You’ve got a concussion?” he asked. “Where’d you get hit? When?”
Danny struggled to move his hand as he felt disconnected from his body, but he managed to place his fingers next to the painful gash on the back of his head, “Tha’s the one. Contusion…Constitu…no, not tha’ one either. Wha’ever you said.”
Jack’s hand was gentle as he inspected the cut and sounded troubled as he said, “It looks like you didn’t get it cleaned. We’ve talked about this before, bud. You gotta tell someone when you get hurt. At least let Alfred know so he can help.” His dad nudged him forward, “Get in the car. We need to get that cleaned and treated before it gets infected.”
Danny let Jack maneuver him into the car and close the door behind him. The seats felt more comfortable than they had on the drive here. If it were because of the concussion, maybe he wouldn’t mind getting concussed every once in a while. The cushions usually felt so stiff and creaked with every move, but his mind floated too much for him to really study the car, and his head felt like it was pretending to be a dreidel. He didn’t dare open his eyes at the risk of losing the contents of his stomach. Admittedly, it wasn’t much as he’d missed making himself dinner the night before in efforts to try stopping Walker from terrorizing Amity Park too much. The ghost warden had slowly become more and more high-strung as he failed again and again to capture Danny.
Really, the ghost had gotten a lucky hit in. He was already being sucked into Danny’s thermos when he’d thrown one last projectile, which ended up being a really pointy rock. Instinctively, he’d ducked to miss it, but made a huge miscalculation as it slammed into his head instead.
It was a dumb mistake and one that Danny shouldn’t be making anymore, but he was also really sleep-deprived. He knew he made bad choices the longer he went without sleep, yet with the increased ghost attacks, he’d been scrambling to find any downtime to catch up. School was on break, so he hadn’t needed to worry about making appearances there, but he’d just about had it with the Ghost Zone.
But now, Jack was actually taking time to talk to him and sounded concerned for him. If Walker hadn’t thrown that rock and Danny hadn’t been sleep deprived, this wouldn’t have happened. He would have gotten out of the ghost hunt and not had these moments with Jack. But that also begged the question of who this Alfred guy was.
He could have misunderstood with his concussion fogging his mind, but try as he might, he couldn’t recall knowing anyone named Alfred. But…Jack and Maddie definitely don’t know anything about first aid, so it could be a doctor, he supposed. Weird that he wouldn’t be referred to as a doctor, though. Danny didn’t mind, however. Neither of his parents ever really showed any concern at him being hurt before…though he supposed that could have been due to them not taking notice of him in the first place.
Regardless, he felt comfortable curled up in the car, and he distantly noted Jack’s hand resting on his knee while he drove.
No, he decided. He didn’t mind this at all.
Bruce glanced over at Tim again before fixing his eyes back on the road.
The boy’s eyes were closed, and the way he was curled into himself worried Bruce. The young man rarely got this bad, and even then, he’d never seen him so…floaty. Disconnected. Every word Tim said was mumbled and slurred.
He’d known the boy was feeling a little under the weather that morning, but when they conversed, he sounded relatively normal. But between then and now, Tim had rapidly declined without Bruce catching any of the signs. They’d gone on an undercover trip to this new camera store that popped up several months ago. Tim had been talking about it for weeks, so when he made a major break in one of their recent cases, Bruce decided it would be a good opportunity to spend a little time with him.
They’d split up when Alfred texted, requesting that they pick up a couple of things for him before they returned. Bruce, trying to be kind, insisted that Tim explore the camera shop while he purchased the contents of the butler’s list. All the good that did them, Bruce chided himself.
He’d returned to find Tim, and instead of going inside as he’d planned, he found the boy hunched against the storefront, acting completely out of it.
He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and reminded himself that Tim regularly hid things like this from him, a deep seated desire to not inconvenience others. This wasn’t the first time he’d gone around concussed without telling someone, and, regrettably, probably wouldn’t be the last either. What concerned him though, was that Tim hadn’t even cleaned the gash in the back of his head. It was actually rather well hidden by his hair, but Bruce was still upset that he hadn’t picked up on it.
His lips twitched downward as he glanced back at Tim, then paused when the boy shifted, and the collar of his dark hoodie shifted to expose the scars on his neck. But they were the wrong scars. Instead of the scar that was left behind by Jason’s own hand, there were lines branching out and down, further under his clothes. Lichtenberg scars.
This was not Tim.
Bruce turned back to the road and swore.
He pulled a U-turn at the next light and tapped at the screen in the console of the car, clicking on Tim’s contact. It rang twice before the man’s voice filtered through the speakers.
“Hey, Bruce! You almost here? I found the film I was talking about!” Tim said. There was a shuffling sound, and then he asked, “…where’s the car?”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m two minutes out.”
“Two minutes out? Where’d you go?” Tim asked. “I thought you were just gonna walk to the stores at the end of the street.”
“I did,” Bruce agreed and glanced at the young man in the seat next to him. “When I came back to meet up with you, I found you outside with a concussion and had left to get you patched up.”
“…but I’m not concussed?” Tim said hesitantly. “Bruce…did you kidnap a random person?”
His silence spoke louder than anything he could have said.
“Oh my goodness, you did,” the young man laughed out, sounding more amused than concerned. The phone call cut off when Bruce pulled the car up to the side of the road, waving at his son through the window. Tim grinned as he made his way over and opened the back door, slipping inside, “Only you, Bruce.”
He huffed, “Let’s get him medical attention before we discuss this.”
Tim went to speak when their kidnapee grumbled, twisting to gesture at the back seat. The man whispered, “Buckle up before Dad’s bad driving gets you thrown around the car.”
Glancing at Bruce with a raised brow, Tim obediently buckled his seat belt and asked, “What’s your name?”
He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he sounded offended when he mumbled out, “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just ask me tha’…wait,” the man twisted some more until Tim could see his blue eyes peaking over the edge of his chair, squinting at him. “Did you get a…consu-constitution too, Dan?”
“Uh,” Tim blinked at the man. “I’m not Dan. My name’s Tim!”
The man closed his eyes and slumped down where he was, face smushed against the back of the chair, “When’d you change your name?”
Bruce cut in, “You’re a little confused, bud. You’ve got a concussion, remember?”
“Dad?” the man startled, leaning toward his door. “When’d you get here?”
“I found you sitting on the sidewalk, remember?” Bruce prodded.
The man sat still for a long moment before giving a thumbs up, “Sure, yeah.”
Bruce met Tim’s eye in the rear-view mirror.
“Can we get your name, bud?” Bruce asked, turning into the manor drive.
Sniffing, the man frowned and leaned his head against the window, “Tha’s not funny.”
Tim frowned and added, “Sorry. We’re not trying to tease you, promise. Just checking because of the concussion. You didn’t remember Bruce helping you to the car.”
“Oh, yeah. Tha’ makes sense,” the man nodded, then said, “Danny.”
“Good,” Bruce encouraged, silently hoping that was actually true. “How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” Danny said.
Tim looked at Bruce with a teasing grin, “At least this one’s almost an adult.”
Bruce ignored him as he put the car in park and unbuckled, “Alright, Danny. Let’s get you inside, yeah?”
Danny waved his hand vaguely.
Tim got out of the car and opened the passenger door, quickly putting his hands out to catch the young man from toppling out onto the driveway. Bruce came up right behind him and helped the concussed teen onto his feet.
“You’re fine, see? We’re right here. Come on, just a few steps up to the house.” Bruce encouraged while he and Tim carried most of the boy's weight.
Alfred greeted them at the door with a pointed look directed at him, which Bruce elected to deal with later. They had bigger fish to fry…or in this case, a concussed teen to worry over which was more important than discussing just where he ended up acquiring said boy.
Danny’s head spun with each step he took into the house. He’d assumed that his parents had rented a hotel room for them to stay in, but he supposed it wasn’t totally impossible that they had connections here. As long as whoever lived here was nothing like Vlad, he should be fine.
Well, really, he supposed that it didn’t really matter all that much to him at the moment since he was too concussed to focus on things like a normal person, so maybe it was actually the best time for him to be in another potential ghost's home. He definitely felt it when he entered the haunt and hadn’t been kicked out by the house spirit yet, so he’d take that as a step in the right direction.
Not physically, though.
He wasn’t fully grounded in his body, which he knew should be more concerning to him than it was, but even then, he kept tripping over his own feet, staggering from side to side. Really, he’d be back on the floor if it weren’t for his dad and Dan-er, Tim. He wasn’t completely sure what Tim was trying to get at, but for all he knew, the name change was for their dad’s sake.
Either way, with his dad pressed firmly against one side and his kind of brother on the other, something in Danny’s chest settled a little.
Something that sat behind his sternum.
He felt warm.
Someone placed a hand on his shoulder and gently guided him to sit and then to lie back on what felt like a ridiculously comfortable couch.
He really wouldn’t mind being concussed more often if it meant everything felt more comfortable. But now that he thought about it, he was fairly certain that when he’d gotten concussions before, things had been more uncomfortable, not less.
Did Walker get someone to enchant the rock he was hit with? Why would it have a positive side effect for him, though? Unless…no. He decided he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t need answers. He just wanted sleep…and for his body to stop attacking him. Even if only for a day.
A finger tapped at the back of his hand lightly, and Danny almost opened his eyes to check his surroundings, but decided against it as his eyes throbbed even without the direct lighting. “Hmm?” Danny turned his head carefully and startled when he realized he was lying down on something soft. “Wha’? When’d I get out of the car?”
A new voice spoke nearby, causing him to tense, “What happened?”
“I found Danny concussed while we were out. He has a gash on the back of his head. Although it’s not bad, it hasn’t been cleaned or taken care of yet,” Jack said.
Oh. The new voice was probably the doctor guy his dad mentioned. Al…bert? Something like that. But since Jack was actually deciding to be involved with this, Danny elected to ignore the conversation and relaxed back into the couch.
The hand on his tapped again, and he fought to suppress his flinch. “Danny, can you sit up for me?”
He really didn’t want to, but Dan rarely asked him questions this politely, and really, this whole day had been weird. Danny didn’t want it to end if it meant he continued to receive soft words and softer touches.
He sat up a bit, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as Dan stuffed something impossibly soft and cushioned behind his back to prop him up. At the hum of approval he received in return, he knew the spiraling room was worth it. It was rare for his former evil self to be so gentle…did Dan think he was seriously hurt?
“Wai’,” Danny fumbled with his hand until he found Dan’s. “It’s jus’ a conversation…concus-it’s just my head. Not dying, Dan. Promise. Gotta believe me.”
Dan paused before gently squeezing his hand, “That’s good. What happened? Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Shaking his head, Danny said, “No. Don’t think so.” After thinking it over for a moment, he added, “Maybe a bruise or two, but it was jus’ the Walker…guy. He wa’, well, I don’t remem’er wha’ he was doin’ bu’ he threw a rock at me. No worries. Jus’ a lil scratch.”
“A…walker or Walker as in a person named Walker?” Dan asked.
Danny clamped his mouth shut when he felt someone approach from behind where he was resting. He shrank back into the soft cushions and twitched when he felt the house spirit flutter around his shoulders. The spirit seemed motherly in the way she soothed him and impressed upon his mind the fatherly nature of the man behind him.
That couldn’t be Jack, so it must be Albert.
“Alber’?” Danny mumbled, daring to crack his eyes open just a bit to catch a glimpse of the man.
As soon as he took in the older gentleman, and he had to be a gentleman with the way he held himself, and how he was dressed, he knew the house spirit wasn’t lying. His eyes shone with concern, while his posture was soft, open, and inviting. The man looked like he could possibly be a grandfather, but if he was, then he would have to be a very young one. The wrinkles on his face spoke of many days filled with laughter and smiles.
The man smiled gently and said, “Yes, Alfred. Is it all right if I take a look at your head for you?”
Not wanting to jostle his head anymore, he lifted up a heavy hand in what he hoped passed as a thumbs up, even if a little wonky. The man’s smile deepened as he approached, and Danny just about melted as hands gentler than he could have ever imagined carded through his hair, trying to locate the wound.
Jack's voice nearly startled him, his eyes jumping open at the unexpected voice. When did he close his eyes again?
“It’s alright, Danny,” his dad assured as he placed a warm, heavy hand on Danny’s shoulder. After a quiet murmur he couldn’t catch from behind him, Jack continued, “Alfred says it’s not deep enough to require stitches, which is very good. You probably just got hit hard. Do you remember how you got here?”
Something about this didn’t sit right with him. Jack's hand felt…too gentle. Too attentive. Though his head pulsed distractingly, he latched onto that thought. Danny nodded, staring at Jack intently, waiting for the man’s face to come into focus before pausing, “Wai’, you’re not my…? Dan?” He turned to the young man crouched next to the couch and squinted at him, “You look-but…what happened to your eyes?”
Dan shook his head with an open expression, “Remember in the car? I’m Tim, and this is Bruce. Do you remember what you were doing before we found you? Were you with your family?”
Danny closed his eyes with a soul-deep sigh. They did say they had different names. Tim…not Dan. That meant it wasn’t Jack giving him attention, or concerned questions, or even the supportive and firm touches. Those all came from complete strangers.
The crushing disappointment hit deep. It felt gross and rotten as it curdled in his gut, but it actually did something to clear some of the cotton from his mind. He felt a tear slip down his cheek, yet he couldn’t find it within himself to do anything about it.
Of course it wouldn’t be Jack. Of course it wasn’t Dan. He could almost guarantee Jack and Maddie were still running around, unaware that Danny had been taken off the streets by strangers.
“Yeah,” he croaked out. “Yeah, I remember.”
Ja-er, Bruce squeezed his shoulder, “Hey, you’re gonna be okay. Is there someone we can call for you?”
With the gentle hands in his hair, tending to his wound, he settled for a whisper, “No, ‘m here with my parents, but they’re busy. I…was with them before I got lost. Jus’ need to get to our car.”
“Do you know where it is? Do you have the keys?” Tim asked.
“…no. But they’ll go back to the car an’ I c’n meet them there,” Danny mumbled, shivering slightly.
There was a moment of silence, but he really didn’t want to open his eyes again, so he let it sit while Alfred finished cleaning the cut and started securing gauze over it.
“Danny?” Alfred asked as he pulled away. “I’m sure you’re able to take care of yourself, but I’d much prefer it if you stayed for a minute more at the very least. Is there anyone we could call for you to let them know where you are?”
Danny nearly whined at the lost contact, regardless of the warm hand on his shoulder and the smaller but cooler touch on his hand. He really didn’t want to contact his parents. Ideally, he wouldn’t tell anyone about this.
Jazz technically still didn’t know that he was a ghost, and he was still feeling a little too concussed to spin a story that would actually turn out believable which meant the next best thing would be to call Sam or Tucker. And he really didn’t want to do that either. He’d only just convinced them to take a break from their ghost watch the day before, and if they found out he’d been hurt not even 24 hours later, they’d never take another break. They were paranoid enough as it was.
If only he could give them a number he could guarantee wouldn't be answered…now that he thought about it, he didn’t think he brought his phone. He could just give them his number and let them think the unanswered call was just because of busy schedules.
He muttered out the number while Bruce typed it into his phone and pressed call. It rang on speaker several times before there was a click, and Danny’s stomach dropped when Sam’s voice cut through the air.
“Hello?” Sam asked, and he could imagine that she was raising an eyebrow skeptically while staring at his phone like it was a puzzle.
“Yes, hello. This is Bruce here with Danny. Do you have a minute?” Bruce asked.
When Sam’s voice came back, Danny shrank back into the couch at her sharp tone, “Can he hear me?”
Bruce confirmed, saying, “Yes, it’s on speaker now. He has a concussion that we’ve treated, but wanted to get ahold of someone else so people knew where he was.”
“Danny, I swear!” Sam huffed. “It hasn’t even been a day! What —okay, no. We will have some words later, okay?”
“Fine,” Danny grumbled. “But le’ it be known it wasn’ my fault. ’m in Gotham. Business trip.”
“Gotham?!” He hadn’t heard her this exasperated in a long while. “You know what, I don’t want to know. Bruce, was it? How long until he should be fine to be up and moving?”
Danny almost wished his eyes were open so he could read the man’s body language or face, but with the throbbing continuing behind his eyes, he didn’t feel like making it worse.
“He’s been pretty disoriented. Didn’t realize he didn’t know us until after we started getting him medical attention, but he’s started to be more present,” Bruce paused before adding, "Ideally, I’d like for whoever he’s staying with right now to come pick him up so he can rest and have someone to monitor his symptoms.”
Sam didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Danny?”
He took a slow breath before answering the unasked question, “No. Was jus’ the three of us.”
She swore.
“It’s fine,” Danny insisted. “I jus’ need to ge’ to the car.”
“Danny,” Sam sighed. “There are so many reasons why I’m not letting you do that. Let me look up some hotels in the area. Bruce, as a local, where are the safer areas in the city to look?”
Danny cut Bruce off before he could respond, “Sam, no. You’re no’ paying to rent a hotel room for me jus’ ‘cause Walker is…well, tha’ doesn’t matter. Poin’ is, no money.”
“Yeah, I know you don’t have that kind of money. That’s why I’m paying,” Sam retorted and he was sure she was dramatically rolling her eyes too. “Deal with it.”
“Um,” Tim cut in. “Danny, you really shouldn’t be alone while this concussed. You were really confused and there’s no telling how long your current clarity will last. Are you certain there’s no one who could assist you?”
Bruce added, “You’re more than welcome to stay here in the meantime. We have plenty of extra rooms. I’d prefer to have parental consent though.”
“…what did you say your name was again?” Sam asked.
“Bruce Wayne,” the man said.
Danny wasn’t sure if that was supposed to mean something to him, but regardless, it clearly meant something to Sam if the sound of something shattering filled the phone speaker was anything to go off of. Once whatever broke stopped making sounds loud enough for the speakers to pick it up, silence filled his ears more than the sound did. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
“Sam?” Danny asked tentatively.
She swore quietly before saying, “I hate your life, Danny. Screw this. You’re staying the night. You’ll be safer there than anywhere else in that city.
“Wh-Sam!” Danny protested, blindly grabbing at the phone in Bruce’s hand. “You’re n’t actually serious righ’ now, are you?”
“Goodnight, Danny,” Sam said resolutely before the phone beeped and the room fell silent.
Grumbling, he gave up his search for the phone and pressed himself back into the couch where the house spirit curled around the arm rest. He waved away a stray wisp coming off the spirit as it tickled his ear and settled an arm over his eyes, letting the baggy hoodie sleeve block out more light.
“Um, Danny?” Tim asked from where he sat still on the edge of the couch.
“Don’ worry, I’m 90% certain you guys ar’nt killers, and you contacted people f’r me, so I feel pretty confiden’ in my assesm’nt. I’ll take a short nap, ‘n then I’ll be out of your metaphorical hair.” Danny waved his free hand at them lazily as he spoke. “Won’ stay long, promise.”
Alfred’s hand carded through his hair, and he didn’t even attempt to keep himself from leaning into the contact that loosened the tight knot in his chest. “How about you get some rest, Mr. Danny. We’re in no rush.”
Danny mumbled a half-hearted acknowledgement before his mind became fuzzy once more, the house spirit a comforting presence at his shoulders.
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tim, would you go grab the extra bedding from one of the guest bedrooms?”
Tim shot him a look that told him that the man knew exactly what he was doing. Regardless, he let out a sigh and stalked silently away from the doorway they stood in and up the stairs. Once Tim was out of sight, though, he took a moment to take a deep breath before turning back to face the doorway to the informal sitting room. The arch of the entrance to the room perfectly framed the small teen curled up under a small lap blanket on the worn couch, head propped on a soft pillow.
“I really don’t know what to do here, Alfred,” Bruce admitted quietly.
The butler simply laid a warm hand on his shoulder with a light squeeze, “That’s why I’m here, Master Bruce. No one has all the answers in life. We’re all here doing our best, which is all anyone can reasonably expect you to do.”
Shaking his head, he said, “It hasn’t even been a day, and I’m already displeased with what little I’ve seen of his home life. He’s been asleep for several hours now, yet I find that I’m incapable of finding anything about him or his parents! I can’t even get the cameras on the streets to show me anything about him. It’s like the files are all corrupted. With only three names and no clue where this kid is actually from, I have very little I can do for him right now.”
“You still have time, sir,” Alfred soothed. “You’ve taken in many children over the years, one might even say you’re well practiced at it…the point is, you’ve seen the signs. I’ve seen the signs. Tim has seen and lived those very same signs. We are all very aware of what that child’s life might be full of, or lack thereof.”
“But another one?” Bruce couldn’t help but ask.
Alfred studied him for a long moment, “Master Bruce, I think we both know that you’ve already made your decision regarding the young man. It’s not a weakness to have a big heart.”
When Tim peeked over the top of the stairs, Bruce waved him down with an amused huff, “Come on. We’ve got to get him settled a bit better before we need to help Alfred with dinner.”
The grin that split Tim’s face was worth being overheard. With how run-down the young man had been feeling and how single-minded he’d become on his cases and CEO work, Bruce took Danny’s appearance in their lives as a good thing to divert Tim’s attention to. Heaven knew the boy needed new puzzles and an incomplete investigation to fixate on.
Sound filtered through the room, soft voices, and the clinking of dishes. The room had gotten darker in the time Danny napped, and for a concerningly long minute, he couldn’t figure out where he was or why he’d been taking a nap at such a weird time.
The house spirit tugged on his hair and twirled around his head, urging him to move, so he begrudgingly struggled into an upright position, blankets slumping down into his lap while he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. His eyes watered as he yawned and struggled to his feet. The ground was plush under him, and he stared for a moment, wondering where his shoes had gone before dismissing the thought when the spirit seemed to move around him more insistently. With a huff, he slung one of the soft blankets on the couch over his shoulders and shuffled out of the room, eyes closing again.
Danny wasn’t worried. Wherever the house spirit wanted him to go, she would make sure he got there.
The temperature dipped as he crossed over into the halls and could feel the carpet switch to tile through his socks. Still determined to not be awake and to ignore the dull ache in his head, he pulled the blanket more firmly around himself, savoring the warmth it offered.
Though still technically alive, Danny’s biology was…different since his death. Both as a living person and a dead one. Too warm to be a full ghost but too cold to be fully alive. He could generate his own body heat, but it took a long time to build up his own warmth like that, so he was going to appreciate it while he could. While he’d like to deny what was now his reality, as much as he’s alive, he’s well and truly dead, too. The cold could do him no harm, just as heat couldn’t boil him. But that didn’t stop him from feeling the difference in temperatures. Really, most of his life, since he died, had been spent being cold. So when an opportunity presented itself to him and offered a few precious moments of warmth, true heat that actually reached down into his bones without crossing the line of being hot, he wouldn’t stop to question it. He’d stay in it for as long as he was allowed.
Danny nearly threw a punch when a hand settled on his shoulder; the only thing preventing his fist from landing anywhere was the blanket tangled around his torso. The hand disappeared immediately while he tried blinking at his surroundings, eyes adjusting to the light.
“Sorry! I didn’t want you to run into a wall and didn’t think,” a young voice said.
Danny’s mind lagged as he tried to place the familiar sound, and he nearly jumped again when he caught sight of a young man in front of him and two other men in the room behind him. It was…Not-Dan. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what the man’s actual name was or the two other men, but he’d cross that bridge only if he had to.
He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, croaking out, “Ancients, you guys are real.” The house spirit jingled faintly as if amused and left her spot around his ankles to sweep over to the older gentleman.
“Mr. Danny,” the man bowed slightly with a smile, British accent soothing and quiet. “It’s good to see you awake. I just finished making dinner.”
He blinked a few times before nodding and cautiously moving forward to take the offered chair at the long dining table. Once settled, the man quietly left the room while Not-Dan studied him quietly before taking the seat next to him.
“How’s your head feeling?” his fake dad asked while he pulled out the chair at the end of the table.
Danny shrugged lightly, temples throbbing slightly, “Still hurts, but I…can kinda remember talking with you guys earlier. But, ‘ve got no clue how I ended up here. The last 24 hours or so are pretty fuzzy.”
Fake-Dad nodded thoughtfully as he tugged at the cuffs of his sweater, “Concussions can mess with your memory, even when it’s not serious. What do you remember?”
“Uh, I remember…getting in a car…then most of the conversation on the phone with Sam, and then I woke up two minutes ago,” Danny said, hoping against all odds that he hadn’t done anything too dumb. Other than thinking they were his dad and kinda brother.
Albert came back into the room with a tray full of food, placing it in the center of the table. The smell of chicken and rice mingled with a mix of vegetables, effectively diverting all of Danny’s attention. It wasn’t a fancy meal by any means, but really, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to eat a meal that wasn’t likely to animate and bite him back.
Danny stared at the food like it might disappear if he blinked too hard.
It smelled…normal. Warm. Real. Not ectoplasm-tainted, not scorched, not hastily microwaved between ghost alarms. His stomach growled traitorously loud, and he winced, one hand instinctively drifting to his head before stopping himself.
“Sorry,” he muttered, mortified.
Not-Dan smiled—small and careful, like he didn’t want to spook him. “That’s a good sign. Food will help your body start patching you back up.”
His fake dad shot the other man a look but didn’t contradict him. “Eat slowly,” he said instead. “And tell us if you feel nauseous.”
Albert set a plate in front of Danny, movements unhurried and practiced. “No rush, Mr. Danny. You’re quite safe here.”
Safe. The word settled weirdly in Danny’s chest. Heavy. Unfamiliar.
He picked up his fork with hands that trembled just a little and took a tentative bite. The flavors hit him all at once—simple, well-seasoned, grounding—and his eyes burned unexpectedly. Oh. Crap. He was absolutely not crying over chicken and rice. That would be ridiculous.
The house spirit hummed approvingly near his shoulder, a soft presence like a shawl pulled tighter around him.
Fake-Dad noticed anyway. Of course he did. “You alright?” the man asked gently.
Danny nodded too fast. “Yeah. Jus’ hungry.”
No one called him out on it. They just started eating too, deliberately casual, as if all of this was the most normal thing in the world.
For a few minutes, the only sounds were utensils and quiet conversation between Fake-Dad and Albert about something Danny didn’t quite catch. His head still ached, but it was distant now, dulled by warmth and food and the way no one was rushing at him.
Eventually, Not-Dan glanced sideways at him. “You said earlier you were here on a business trip with your parents?”
Danny stiffened a fraction. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “They’re…ghost researchers.”
The whole table seemed to pause, Alfred’s eyebrow twitching. No one said anything for a long, drawn-out moment, and he questioned where his brain-to-mouth filter went. Apparently out the door as soon as the concussion made his head into a comfortable home.
Danny winced. “It’s not as weird as it sounds.”
“Ghost… researchers,” Fake-Dad repeated carefully.
Danny shrugged, poking at his rice. “They hunt ghosts. Study ‘em. Contain ‘em. Stuff like that.”
Not-Dan recovered first, eyes lighting with interest in a way that made Danny immediately suspicious. “Like…paranormal investigation? EMFs? Thermal imaging?”
“Like weapons,” Danny said flatly.
Silence crept in as his words settled and the temperature in the room dipped—not dramatically, but enough that Danny felt it slide across his skin like a familiar exhale. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders without thinking.
Fake-Dad eyed the movement for a breath. “…And you?” Bruce asked, voice even. “You help them?”
Danny hesitated.
This was dangerous ground. He knew it. Even concussed, even tired, every instinct screamed at him to dodge, deflect, lie. But lying took energy he didn’t have, and something about the way Bruce was watching him—not accusatory, not predatory—made his throat tighten.
“I stay outta the way,” he said instead. “Mostly. It’s more their thing than mine.” That wasn’t a lie. Just…not the whole truth.
Albert cleared his throat gently, saving him. “Mr. Danny, after you finish eating, I’d like you to get some proper rest. Head injuries are nothing to take lightly.”
Danny nodded, grateful for an out. “Yes, sir.”
Not-Dan blinked. “…Did you just yes-sir Alfred?”
Danny frowned. “Was that wrong?”
“No,” the young man said quickly, then laughed. “No, it’s just—never mind.”
His fake dad’s lips twitched, but said nothing.
They finished dinner without pushing him further. Danny was grateful for that. His head started to swim again halfway through the plate, and Alber—no. Not-Dan said his name is actually Alfred—immediately noticed, ushering him to his feet with a steadying hand.
Up close, Danny could feel it again—that hum in the walls, the deep, ancient awareness of the house. Not hostile. Not curious. Protective. It curled around Alfred especially, deferential and fond. Huh, Danny thought hazily. Guess that tracks. He hadn’t realized Gotham could have such a friendly spirit.
They set him up in a guest room—soft bed, dim lights, blackout curtains already drawn. Alfred handed him a glass of water and some painkillers, carefully vetted, and waited until Danny took them before stepping back.
“If you feel worse,” Alfred said, “or if you wake disoriented again, please ring the bell by the bed.”
Danny nodded, exhaustion crashing down hard now that he wasn’t fighting it. The older man lingered in the doorway for a moment before turning off the light.
As the door closed, the house spirit settled fully around Danny, like tucking him in. The last thing he registered before sleep dragged him under was the strange, sinking certainty that he had just fallen into something complicated.
And that Gotham—of all places—had noticed him.