Chapter Text
“You want me to do what?”
It’s probably a good thing that it’s the end of the night. The sun may not be up yet, but it’s late. When patrol nights are this slow, it’s torturous. The added challenge of patrolling with Robin, who isn’t as familiar with Bludhaven as Gotham proper, would have made things more interesting if there was anything more intense than a few muggings all night.
Of course, wishing for more excitement always backfires on him. See also: the bomb Damian and Tim are dropping on him at-- he checks the clocktower at the end of the block --four AM.
Damian crosses his arms, immovable. “As I have now explained twice, I want you to do nothing. Father has assigned us an extended recon mission. You are to take myself and Red Robin to--”
“Yeah, no, I heard you,” Dick says, closing his eyes in a bid to avoid the sudden onset headache. “You can’t really expect me to uproot my life to take you guys on a family trip to the middle of nowhere.”
“You don’t really have a life, to be fair,” Tim says over comms. “Like, I’m with you all the way. But that’s not the argument you wanna make here.”
That’s not fair, he has a life! Kinda. He has things he does when he occasionally has spare time. “What recon is worth a full month away from home? Why can’t B deal with it if it’s so important?”
“He will be otherwise occupied,” Damian says at the same time as Tim says, “He’s running interference on JL Dark.”
“We aren’t meant to know that, Red Robin,” Damian says stiffly.
“Well, we already do. Why not tell him?”
“Because we--”
“Okay, time out the both of you.” Dick sits down on the edge of a building. “RR, clarify.”
“But--”
He puts a finger to his lips. “Not your turn, Robin. RR. Clarify. What does JLD have to do with this?”
Translation: how pissed off will they be if Bruce needs to run interference himself? Dick is fairly certain he and Z are friends again, and he’d prefer not to push that too far just yet. Maybe Zatanna doesn’t even have anything to do with this.
Tim’s voice crackles in his earpiece. “Constantine and Zatanna warned him off it. In writing. John seemed pretty sure Dr. Fate would agree, but he’s offworld or something. Location unclear. Sounds interesting enough that I agreed, even with the Demon Brat caveat.”
Damn. That’s… way too many heavy hitters to just ignore.
“The mission is recon only,” Damian says, pouting. “He was warned not to engage.”
One day, Dick knows, the kid will grow out of his "Whatever You Say Bruce" phase. It’s a rite of passage for nearly every Robin. Doesn’t make it less irritating when situations like this arise, especially when it involves the League.
Time to break this down. Pros and cons. He’s good at this.
Pros: Family bonding trip with his two most volatile brothers, as much of a vacation as he’s ever going to want to take (read: not technically fighting), and if he does end up pissing off his ex girlfriend, at least he’ll be in a place she doesn’t want to go.
Cons: He’s going to a place even Zatanna, Constantine, and Dr. Fate don’t wanna go, which means massive supernatural threat, and potentially even worse, he’ll be stuck in the middle of nowhere with his two most volatile brothers.
Well, Tim hardly counts as volatile on his own, but the two of them? A timebomb.
“Why can’t Jay do it?” he finally asks.
The silence that follows, however brief, is uncomfortable.
“The town may have ties with the League,” Damian says, feigning aloofness. “I will be going along for my expertise in such matters. He seemed a poor choice.”
And the only part of the League that concerns JL Dark is the Pit. No matter how much this will suck for him, he can’t put Jason through that. The headache that’s been building is starting to pound.
“Alright,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m in. Exactly where are we going, what are we looking for, and when are we leaving?”
“Amity Park, Illinois. I’ll send you the brief,” Tim says, and Dick can hear the keyboard clicking through the speaker. “We leave in 36 hours.”
He blinks. Honestly, he’d been expecting a much shorter timeline. This must be important if they’re being given more than 12 hours to get their affairs in order. “Understood.”
It’s only after he gets home and goes through the brief, coffee in hand, that he fully understands what he’s agreed to.
Ghosts (or “ecto-entites,” who cares they’re ghosts and he’ll die on this hill after seeing the corrupted photos), ghost scientists, vigilante child ghosts, and ghost hunting ghost scientists with ghost hunting baseball bats in a tourist trap town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.
He needs a nap.
--------------------------
It’s far from the worst day Danny has ever had, but it’s the worst in a while.
Skulker decided last night was time for another death match, as repayment for leaving him alone during exams. Which, fine whatever. His bark is worse than his bite, but it did keep him out until half an hour before his alarm. On a Monday. At that point, he didn’t even bother going to sleep.
Specifically, on the Monday they’re due to get their precalc exams back. The same precalc exam he wasn’t able to study for last Thursday because of Johnny and Kitty’s latest breakup and makeup stunt. It took them almost to the edge of Gotham City, halfway across the country.
They’ll be serving out their Soup Sentence until Sunday. At least.
And on top of no sleep, burns from Skulker’s blasters, and the dread of receiving a failing grade in potentially his best subject, he’s out of energy drinks. So is Tucker.
On. A. Monday.
When he musters the strength of will to go downstairs in yesterday’s clothes, the smell of coffee is a siren’s call to the kitchen that he can’t ignore.
It’s blessedly quiet on the ground floor. Jazz is at the kitchen table, reading something on her laptop, and their parents are nowhere to be seen.
“Morning,” she says, not looking up. It’s midterms for her too, after all. “Your cup is over here. Normal thermos is on the counter, and the last empty ghost thermos is next to it. New case of RedBull is coming in this evening, and Danny, I am not above outright begging you to eat a bagel.”
For once, he’s actually hungry. Jazz thinks he needs to eat more to supplement the energy his ghost half takes, but it’s hard to make himself eat when he never feels hunger pangs anymore. It’s been a bit since he’s had more than pure caffeine in his system. “Jazz, for you, I’ll eat a bagel and a donut.”
“Rough night?” She does look up at that.
“It’s going to be a day,” he says, downing the hot coffee in one go. “I haven’t slept since Friday, and Lancer’s exam is tomorrow.”
When he’d collapsed into bed for a grand total of six hours after a seven hour round trip flight and a full day of exams. Good times.
Jazz winces. “You need to take better care of yourself.”
“When was the last time you drank water?” he retorts. Jazz may eat more, but he got his caffeine habit from somewhere that isn’t their perpetually peppy parents.
She narrows her eyes. “This isn’t about me.”
“And you’re too busy with APs to worry about me so early in the morning.” His phone goes off.
NotYourGothGF: you guys would bail me out of prison if you had to right
TechHellNo: probably not
CutMyLifeIntoPieces: It is seven in the morning.
CutMyLifeIntoPieces: Is something on fire at this exact moment?
NotYourGothGF: don’t tempt me
TechHellNo: eta 2min danny
“Yeah, it’s just Monday madness,” he groans. When his sister looks at him with glazed, but curious, eyes, he elaborates. “Sam is having a morning. They’re almost here. We’ll grab something on the way to school.”
Nasty Burger did just start breakfast a few months ago. Maybe he’ll leave something for Jazz in her locker too. She’ll probably need it.
“You’d better,” she says. She pushes the two thermoses toward him. “Please don’t pass out in class. My phone has to be off during my test, so they won’t be able to get ahold of me.”
Forget needing it, she deserves it. One Nasty Breakfast sandwich with extra bacon and no cheese, just for his weirdo sister who takes his emergency contact calls but not cheese on her sandwiches.
“Good luck with advanced chem,” he says over his shoulder, making sure to lock the front door behind him.
The sun is too bright for his tired eyes. Thank the Ancients for Sam and her parasol. Even if she looks like she’s liable to poke someone’s eye out with it.
“Wow, you look terrible,” Tucker says, ever the voice of tact. “Long night?”
“I just did this five minutes ago, let’s not,” Danny says. He’s not glaring at Tucker. He’s not. He’s a little sore that he had to patrol alone last night, but he’s not glaring at his best friend. He’s just tired. “Give the coffee a few minutes to kick in. In fact, let’s talk about something else. Sam, why are we considering arson?”
“When aren’t we?” she shoots back. Fair. She shakes her head as they walk. “My stupid parents agreed to host a bunch of stupid rich kids while they’re in town.”
“That’s not so bad,” Tucker says, and wow. The world is really upside down if he’s the one being reasonable. “It’s just a couple people. Your house is so big you’ll never even see ‘em. In and out.”
“They’ll be here,” Sam says through gritted teeth, “for a month. My parents want me to be their tour guide.”
Tucker whistles. “That’s rough, buddy.”
Danny elbows him, then looks at Sam. “When are they coming to town?”
“That’s the best part. Tomorrow! Starting tomorrow, the three of us are going to be playing tour guide for two of the richest brats in the Western Hemisphere. For a month!” Sam’s voice goes up a few octaves, like it does when she’s really irritated.
At least she’s still leaving him room under the parasol.
Wait.
“What do you mean, three of us?”
Sam turns to them, pleading in that same, slightly too high, too sweet voice. “You guys wouldn’t leave me to deal with them alone, would you?”
“Absolutely I would,” Tucker says, not missing a beat. “That’s your world. Geeks like us don’t belong.”
They’re walking up to the Nasty Burger, so she drops the act and looks at Tuck, unimpressed. “They’re Wayne kids. As in--”
“Wayne Industries?” His eyes light up. “I’m in! New tech, here I come!”
Stay away from Gotham City.
Danny hasn’t thought about that order in years. Now it’s echoed in his ears twice in a week.
“Welcome to Nasty Burger, may I take your order?” The clerk sounds like Danny feels.
Sam turns to him. “I’ll buy you breakfast if you say yes. You-sized breakfast. Every day. Please don’t leave me alone with these preppy kids.”
His core warms. It’s such a simple request, and it would make her… well, not happy, exactly, but it’ll make her feel better. It’s close enough to protecting her that it’s hard for him to refuse.
“Fine. But only for the breakfast.” It’s a lie and they all know it, but no one calls him out.
The morning goes by fairly quickly after that, thankfully without interruption of the spooky kind. His normal thermos-- the one with coffee and not an abundance of radiation --is his lifeline until lunch. He does try to pay attention in class, but it’s taking most of his energy to stay awake. At least he managed to scrape a B- on the precalc midterm. By a single point, maybe, but he’ll take it.
Lunch begins as it usually does, with Dash’s very original, “Hey Fent-nerd!”
The next five minutes end with Danny in a locker, though he does invisibly tie Dash’s shoes together before popping out of the tiny prison cell as though he never left.
“I can’ be’iev we ge’ ‘o han’ ou’ wif the Way’s,” Tucker says between bites of his own food.
Sam flicks a bit of tomato off her cheek in disgust. “Classy, Tuck. It’s only three of them anyway, so calm down. You don’t see Danny being weird about it.”
“Danny,” Danny says, yawning and putting his head down for the first time in hours, “is getting free food out of it. Vlad is the only evil billionaire I have room for in my calendar, thanks, so that won’t be my problem. Plus, I’ve already been adopted. That ship has sailed. What else could I possibly have to worry about from the Wayne family?”
“Man has a point,” Tucker says, licking barbecue sauce off his fingers. “You gotta lighten up, Sam.”
Sam says something acidic in response, but Danny’s phone goes off. It’s just a thank you from Jazz, but the thing that catches his attention is the slip of parchment in his phone pocket. That wasn’t there before.
Prepare yourself.
It’s Clockwork’s signature handwriting and vague warning. Still, it reminds him of another warning, one he doesn’t have the energy to block out.
Stay away from Gotham City. An order given to a young boy with black hair and blue eyes, and a heart filled with grief. His final order, the last expectation he’s been able live up to. Until now.
I’m sorry, Mother, he thinks, listening to his friends bicker while he lets his eyes drift shut. This time Gotham has come to me.