Chapter Text
House with skin and hair for walls.
There’s a tick, tick, tick in Jason’s chest, like a clock. It sounds and resounds through the caverns of his lungs and pulls him ever closer to the room. That room. The one the King is trapped in. While the others talk and grouse and go back and forth about Phantom and the orb, Jason feels his attention drawn away over and over again. He knows he needs to pay attention—half the shit the Justice League talks about is stupid and superfluous, but the other half is actually fucking useful and he knows he needs to pay attention.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Something’s coming.
Something’s happening.
“What?” Dick leans closer to Jason, eyebrows furrowed behind his mask. “You see something?”
Jason hadn’t realized he had said that out loud. Must not have been very loud—no one else is paying attention.
Jason tries to shake his head at Dick, annoyance flickering behind his eyes but—
Something’s coming. Something’s happening.
He can hear the girl with the black hair—Sam—speaking. Her voice is always tinged with anger, a drowning rage Jason knows all too well. It’s touched now by sorrow, too, and Jason half hears her say they’re damned. The other half is listening to—
Tick. Tick. Tick.
He shakes his head. There’s nothing there. There’s no clock, there’s no beating heart bleeding out on the floor in front of him, no matter how strong the smell of blood may be. Dick is watching Jason now, hands clenched at his sides. Jason tries to shake his head again but—
There’s something coming.
Something is going to happen.
Something is happening right now.
The cold grips his chest, ice fingers cracking the skin, and Jason is running before he realizes he has moved. He hears a shout behind him but he pays it no mind, runs and runs to the room with the orb. From the corner of his eye he can see his brot— Damian, he can see Damian running along one side of Jason and, oddly enough, Captain Marvel speeding past his other side. He can’t seem to focus on them, though, or on the shouts and the yells or the voices climbing up through his communicator.
Something is coming.
Something is happening now.
The chanting breaches the walls of the Orb Room, muffled but ringing with some kind of supernatural clarity. Every bone in Jason’s body understands the call to arms, knows that something is coming and he must protect the king.
Inside the Orb Room is complete chaos. Where the ghosts were barely visible to Jason on his last round they are now showing up clearer and clearer. They’re a maelstrom around the orb, screeching at a decibel that makes Jason’s bones ache. He searches the room frantically for the threat, stills himself enough to try to listen but all he can hear is the rushing wind of the ghosts and their godawful screeching. Damian stills beside him, hands clasped over his own years. He, too, scans the room before meeting Jason’s eyes. Jason finds himself rooted to the spot—he’s never seen Damian look that wild and scared before, like he isn’t really in the room at all. Beneath his pale face there seems to be a glow and Jason doesn’t know what it is but he recognizes it like he recognizes his own face. He reaches out a hand and grasps Damian’s shoulder. Jason couldn’t say why, but touching this latest replacement Robin whom he could never quite manage to call brother makes him feel a little more tangible, a little less likely to get blown away by the ghosts and their mayhem.
Before he can speak, or even try to take a deeper breath, the door behind them is being thrown open as other members of the Justice League flood the room. They’re looking for a threat, readying themselves for a fight. Jason manages to drag his eyes away from Damian’s long enough to see Batman watching them warily. Beside him Superman is looking up, above the Orb, and Jason follows his eyes to find Captain Marvel floating above the mayhem, scanning the room. He looks dazed, just like Damian, probably just like Jason, too.
Superman’s hands shake at his side.
The Teen Titan, the one who always floats—named after a bird, too. Raven?—she enters the room with the same wild look, floating above the ground and eyeing the Orb like she cannot stand to look away. Jason realizes then that some of the people in the room seem to instinctively know something is wrong, seem pulled into the mayhem of the ghosts, but all the others? They are visibly confused.
Jason tries again to speak but there is the slightest flash from his periphery, the barest hint of light reflecting, and he’s moving before his brain can catch up, gun in his hand and snarl on his lips. He shoots with deadly accuracy, just like always, and the tiny, shiny thing falls from its spot on the wall.
The ghosts’ activity increases quickly until Jason has to lift a hand to protect himself from the strong winds. Damian is faltering under the hail of ghostly activity and Jason can see the rest of the Justice League struggling to stay on their feet. It’s becoming unlivable, just like last time when the tornado rose above the building and almost decimated the surrounding area.
Jason finds himself pulled between two desires—one to grab Damian and run; the other to stay and rage along with the ghosts, let the feelings building inside him flood out until they fill the mouths of everyone around and silence them, gag them, kill—
“ Haltu.”
A new voice enters the fray, commanding and strong. Jason doesn’t recognize the language, but he knows what it means. He feels his body listen to the command, the tension bleed from his muscles and the screaming in his mind begin to quiet. It takes him a moment to realize the quiet is not just in his mind—the room has gone quieter. The ghosts are slowing, the winds whistling to a calming breeze. The walls once again seem sturdy and tangible and Jason finds himself able to think for the first time since the ticking began.
The ticking which has stopped.
Jason turns slowly, feels a crick in his neck from how tensely he was standing, and sees her. The red-head, Jasmine. She’s made her way into the room, ducking between Justice League members until she had a clear view of the ghosts and the orb in the centre of the room. She is flanked by the other two, Sam and Tucker. The three stand tall and solemn, but they do not stand still. Jazz’s hands are shaking where they are clutched at her side, and Sam and Tucker are following the movements of the ghosts with their eyes. Jason watches as they, at the same time, see the Orb. They still even further, movements halted as if trapped in time. Jazz’s face grows pale and her eyes deepen, haunted. Whatever she is feeling, though, she swallows down and, steeling herself, turns back to the ghosts.
Within seconds of Jason entering the room, firing his gun and nearly getting bowled over by angry ghosts, the room is once again calm and very nearly quiet.
Everyone stands still. No one tries to speak. The ghosts slowly stop their movements and turn, one by one, to face Jazz. And, one by one, they begin to bow.
The ghosts are…bowing. To the red-headed college student, for…some reason. Oliver, bow still raised and ready, watches as the now-tangible ghosts, which he is seeing clearly for the first time, bow to the Fenton girl. Now, Oliver had been in that mess of an attempt at a debrief and he knows that Fenton and the other two worked with Phantom, but he’s not entirely sure how that translates to bowing .
Oliver eyes the other ones who were acting strange, an odd assortment of members of the Justice League and the Teen Titans, and sees that the manic look in their eyes seems to be dissipating. He had been genuinely concerned he was about to deal with another group of possessed superheroes and was not looking forward to it. Thankfully they seem to be calming down. Even Captain Marvel is lowering himself from his spot near the ceiling, shoulders slowly unfurling and hands unclenching. He’s watching the ghosts and Fenton in equal measure, eyes flitting between the two.
Fenton, meanwhile, stands tall. She hasn’t spoken again since the first word in that language. Oliver knows he’s heard it before but can’t seem to place it. It was clearly a command, and one the ghosts responded well to.
The silence seems to go on for hours though Oliver knows it realistically lasts maybe three or four seconds. Just as he is starting to feel like he can lower his bow, and as Batman clearly gears himself to say something, one of the ghosts floats down to their level.
As the ghost nears it becomes more tangible and Oliver gets his first real look at one of the beings that’s been casually floating around him and his team for the last week and—
Holy shit.
Yeah, this ghost doesn’t look anything like the things from Poltergeist or fucking Casper. There’s no wispy tail in view here, no big eyes under a white sheet. This guy is covered head to toe in shimmering black armor with a cloak floating behind him that seems to be made up entirely of…purple…fire? Oliver blinks away the spots in his eyes, tries to focus on the ghost or any aspect of him but finds his eyes constantly overwhelmed by what they’re seeing. He makes out sharp edges tinged in a glowing teal light, glistening black metal that’s darker than anything he’s ever seen, and a face shrouded entirely in darkness. Glowing green eyes peek from the dark void under the helmet and looking at them feels like being pierced in the head by an arrow. The same purple flame from the ghost’s cloak rises slowly to its head and casts dancing shadows across the room.
Oliver senses more than sees the others tense around him, gearing up for whatever might happen. This is the first time the ghosts in the room have made any kind of acknowledgement of the corporeal beings. Oliver is wondering why it had to be the giant knight ghost that came down to speak to them instead of, for example, the one currently bobbing up and down in an old, mouldy box, but this feels about on par for them.
Oliver watches the ghost get closer and closer to the group, floating down to their level until it eventually sets its feet on the ground. It towers above them and they have to crane their necks to see its face. Oliver tenses even more as it gets closer to the girl, Jazz. She seems like someone who can take care of herself and these ghosts clearly know her, maybe even respect her, but she’s still a young, human woman. She reminds Oliver of his own sister and he grips his bow tighter in his gloved hands, bow steady even as his heart rate rises.
The ghost gets closer still.
And falls to its knees.
An unholy sound fills the room. It’s a screeching interspersed with the sound of heavy snowfall and static from a broken television. The sound rises and drops and seems to sink its way into Oliver’s very skin until he is shaking so badly he can’t hold his bow any longer. It drops to the ground, inaudible over the distorted voice now booming through the room. Oliver can’t make out what it is saying and he drags his hands over his ears. It doesn’t help—the sound is all around him, it’s inside him. He can’t open his eyes against the onslaught, can’t check on the others. He feels like a little kid watching a storm approach, scared for his life.
“Oh my god Fright, stop it.” Another voice joins the fray. This one is quieter and yet angrier. It sounds like a…teenage girl?
The sound stops as suddenly as it began and Oliver scrambles for his bow. Within a second he is back in his archer’s stance, arrow notched and feet steady. His head swims with the resounding echo of the screech and static but he pushes through it, eyes flitting across his team. Everyone appears more or less unharmed, though everyone was clearly affected. Those with super hearing are taking longer to rise and Oliver winces in sympathy. He’s glad Roy’s not here and is instead safely back home watching over their city. The kid has enough nightmares as it is.
Oliver pulls his eyes away from where Superman is slowly pushing himself off of the ground, flanked and protected by Batman and Wonder Woman, and looks back at the still kneeling ghost. Another ghost has joined the group, but this one is wildly different. This ghost looks like a young woman, maybe even a teenager, with glowing teal hair pulled into a wild ponytail. She’s dressed in black and has a vaguely glowing electric guitar strapped to her shoulders. She’s glaring over at the knight, who is about eye level with her while kneeling, hands on her hips and lips pulled into a tight line.
“You know the humans can’t handle that shit.” She spits out. Her eyes meet Oliver’s for a split second as she glances around the room. They’re dark—so, so dark. For a moment the room goes quiet but for the lightest hint of music somewhere in the background. Oliver’s gaze narrows, light fading from the sides of his eyes until all he can see is the dark of this girl. She’s so…young. She can’t be older than Roy. She’s wearing makeup, smudged around the edges, and her hands tremble at her side. Oliver didn’t know ghosts could tremble. He finds himself wanting to reach out, ask for her name, make sure she has somewhere to go tonight but—she’s dead.
He blinks and the room returns, colour and light flooding in. The ghost has looked away and Oliver isn’t sure she felt any of that. His fingers shake slightly against his bow even as he tries to steady them.
It’s mere seconds between the screeching sound and the arrival of the girl but Oliver feels exhausted. It’s been weeks of this orb and these ghosts and the goddamn nightmares and he’s so tired. The room feels suffocating, the ghosts floating just above them and moving with an energy that feels so alive. Oliver can’t get himself to look any closer at them, to put faces and details to them, can’t get his mind to stop wondering if Roy and Felicity and the others are okay—
“Ember.”
Jazz’s voice breaks through the growing despair. Oliver shakes his head physically at the sound and can almost see the cloak of sorrow start to fall from his shoulders. He shakes his head again and, for the first time since entering the room, finds he can actually see. Gone are the black spots in his vision and the shakiness in his fingers. He grips the bow tighter, realizes that something has been affecting him since he entered the room and whatever it was, it wasn’t friendly.
It is as if Jazz’s voice broke a spell. The fullness of the room comes back to Raven, sounds and sights no longer blurred together. Raven had felt it the moment she entered the room—an otherworldly effect like rainfall sizzling and burning the skin of everyone it touched. She saw the shoulders of her teammates droop under an added weight, watched as hands shook and faces grew pallid. The gunshot was enough of a shock to pull her back from the dark place her mind had started to wander, but it faded too quickly and once again Raven was pulled into a darkness she understood, even if she did not know it by name.
The space around her father had felt like this too. Old. Not always angry, but always annoyed. Always watching, like hands gripping Raven’s arm and leaving bruises behind. Raven understood, around her father, what it took to survive. Whatever is in this room, whatever the orb is made of, it fills Raven with the same understanding. If she is not perfect, if she is not fast and strong and careful and aware, it will swallow her. Already it is trying to, already her feet seem to sink into the ground below her. Raven knows she is floating, but it doesn’t matter. The falling will take her no matter how far she flies.
Raven knows this magic, this magic that tastes like despair and doesn’t have to hurt you—this magic will twist you and pull you and whisper into your ear with its hands around your throat that there is only one way out. This magic will make you hurt yourself.
Raven digs her nails into her hands, tries to speak her chant. Her tongue is stuck behind her teeth. A screeching fills the room and hands cover Raven’s ears. It takes her a moment to realise they are her own hands, raised instinctively. She feels disconnected from the rest of her body, but Raven knows this sound, too—she’d heard it in her Father’s dimension, knew the achiness that would follow the sound. She knew it was a language and knew, too, that she could understand it if she could only get herself together. Come on, Raven, she tried to speak into her own mind. Her voice was drowned out, though. Her voice was always drowned out. Raven had never had the strength or fortitude to speak with conviction, to yell and make herself heard. Raven had been created to be destroyed, to be crushed under foot, and it was evident in everything that Raven ever did, in the very way she never allowed herself to even touch the ground lest the stones fall away underfoot. Raven was always meant to disappear—
“Ember.”
Oh, right. Raven forces her eyes open, almost expects to see red skies and bloody skin. She’s surprised, for a moment, by the gentle light of the Orb room, by the low glow of the ghosts, by the set shoulders of Jazz Fenton. She’s definitely surprised by the two ghosts in front of Jazz. Most of all, though, she is surprised to find that whatever magic had been permeating the room has retreated ever so slightly. Raven’s own magic can still feel it, reaching out tentatively to touch the boundaries of its influence, but it is no longer overwhelming. Raven can breathe again, can remember that, these days, she does walk on solid ground. That, these days, she does not fear her Father.
Most of the time.
The ghost, Ember, turns a sharp grin on Jazz and gives a sarcastic half-bow. Raven narrows her eyes and moves closer to the centre of the room. She recognizes the hardness of this girl’s eyes, the clenched fist and straight back—the sarcasm is all bravado. Raven has done it herself, countless times. There is something heavier settled on this ghost’s proverbial back, heavy enough to leave an indent in her posture and a crookedness to her shoulders.
Jazz must see it, too. She reaches out a single hand and settles it on Ember’s shoulder. Ember’s expression shifts from the stony smile to something surprised and a little shattered, and then she’s being pulled into Jazz’s arms. Raven blinks at the double image—Ember isn’t fully corporeal and parts of her meld into the warm blues and greens of Jazz’s outfit. Ember’s hand fists the material of Jazz’s jacket for a split second before she’s going entirely incorporeal and moves back to the other ghost’s side. The other ghost is still knelt on the ground but has gone silent. Raven can’t see Jazz’s face, but her hands shake.
Sam steps forward before either can speak and is much less gentle with her touches—she shoves the other ghost and gets up close.
“What the hell, Ember? Why didn’t you tell us where he was!” She exclaims, and Ember’s face morphs back into a snarl, hands reaching back for her guitar.
“Samantha!” Jazz tries to cut in.
“What the hell, Sam! You think I didn’t want to? You think—” Ember begins, moving the guitar to her front and resting her fingers on the strings. Her voice twists and becomes staticky and Raven winces, bracing for a repeat of the other ghost’s voice. Thankfully Ember’s static voice is much less jarring, though no easier to understand. It seems like the three friends of Phantom understand at least a little, if the growing tension in Sam’s shoulders is anything to go by.
“What do you mean you couldn’t leave? What—” Sam starts again. Raven catches Batman and Superman moving closer to the small group. She clenches her teeth—how will this play out? She doesn’t know, but something in her, her magic, maybe, makes her think she’ll have a hard time fighting the ghosts. Not physically—she knows she could fight them. She just finds that she doesn’t want to.
“Woah, Orandus?” Tucker joins the small group. “You already did that, during the ceremony—”
“It was a different conjugation, Tucker. Not Orandus, Ovandus. ” Jazz cuts in.
At this last, unknown, word, all the ghosts in the room turn as one to the orb, including Ember and the kneeling ghost. Raven feels a clicking against her spine, an urge to turn herself. She fights it, furrows her brow against the mental energy it takes to ignore that slight tug . She’s seen the orb—she has no desire to see it again.
Raven notices that she is not the only one struggling. Red Hood, from his place near the far wall, has turned to physically face the orb. The youngest Robin has, too, and Raven’s eyes are drawn to Tucker as he jolts and backs away from the Orb, arms raised as if to protect his eyes from the sight. He is shaking, mouthing words Raven cannot hear. Her attention is pulled away–without her noticing, her eyes have found the Orb.
It is utterly unremarkable in make and colour. It does not glow, it does not vibrate. It has no magical energy that attunes to Raven’s specific brand of magic. It holds no secret depths, nothing within it seems to call to Raven and yet. And yet. She cannot look away.
It is as empty, as trapped in time and space, as the barn had been.
“ Don’t say it out loud! ” Ember speaks through gritted teeth and Raven is again pulled back into her own body to find she has stepped even closer to the orb. She can now see Sam’s face, pulled into a scowl. Raven catches the long, hard stare Sam gives the Orb, and sees her begin to lift a hand as if to touch–
her hand is grabbed by an equally unfettered Jazz, who is wide-eyed, glancing between the ghosts and the Orb but never settling her gaze for long anywhere. She nods grimly at Ember’s exclamation and lets go of Sam to reach out and physically tug the other ghost, the big one in the armor, back to face her. Sam is left with one arm reaching out until she shakes her head and pulls her arms in to hug her torso, stepping back to Jazz’s side.
“You said you couldn’t leave. Explain.” She says.
Ember side eyes the bigger ghost, but it speaks this time. It doesn’t seem to have a face or a mouth, but a voice comes from somewhere inside its helmet. It doesn’t clang or screech like before. It sounds…almost normal?
“We were called to protect the king. We cannot leave until the king is returned, Lady Fenton.” The ghost says. His voice is deep and echoes through the chamber. It feels cold, angry. Tired.
“Wait, wait—I remember this.” Tucker says, seemingly recovered from his own shakiness and now turning to Sam and Jazz. “I read about this with D—” He cuts himself off, visibly, and looks around the room before swallowing. “With Danny. When we went through the old library. It’s one of the rituals connected to,” and Raven finds it almost cute how he lowers his voice, as if that would stop anyone in the room, much less the supers, from hearing his next words, “the ring.”
This must mean something to the others because Jazz and Sam both nod grimly and turn back to the ghosts.
“Did we interrupt? What just happened?” Jazz asks. Raven is intrigued and impressed by the command in her voice. Jazz might not have spent long as a member of the ghost court but it’s clear she picked up a few things. Even as she shakes slightly she stands tall, speaks clearly in a voice that echoes almost as much as the knight ghost. The ghosts listen, even the ones floating above. Raven notices that she does not look at the Orb again.
It’s Ember that answers this, pointing a finger towards the wall the Red Hood is standing at. “There was an intruder. We were going to take care of it before the gun guy came in waving his fists around.” She sneers. Red Hood sneers back from beneath his mask, but lifts a hand to show a small, metal device.
“I shot it.” He says. “Don’t recognize it, though.”
Tucker has already started making his way across the room, slipping a few “excuse me”’s out as he wriggles between superheroes. Red Hood stands stiffly, hand extended, and allows the younger man to approach. Raven sees the moment Tucker recognizes it, the clenching of his jaw and the widening of his eyes. He turns immediately to the others and states grimly,
“I do. It’s the GIW.”
“Goddammit.” Sam swears. Ember sneers again, hands clenching her guitar so tightly it seems to flicker in and out of existence. Jazz just nods like she had expected it, and finally turns to address the other heroes.
“I figured this was going to happen—we need to talk about the Guys in White and—” She’s cut off by a loud roar and the clinking of armor. Raven raises her hands and floats up in surprise. The knight ghost has unsheathed his glowing sword and raised it above his head. He’s speaking rapidly in a language Raven doesn’t understand.
Jazz tries to calm him, lifting her hands and quickly saying, “They’re not here Fright, would you stop—”
But the large ghost must not hear because he just raises the sword higher. “If they dare enter these chambers to descend upon my King” he declares loudly, voice becoming edged with a sharpness, a guttural twinge that seems to shake Raven’s internal organs with every consonant, “I will raze these lands and burn them to the bone. I will take the souls to the Forgotten Realm and chain them inside the blazes of—”
“Oh my God, Fright, would you—” Ember tries, fingers lightly strumming her guitar. The sound from the guitar seems to create colours that vibrate out. Raven can feel them as they touch her skin—they burn, ever so slightly, and Raven wonders what would happen if Ember played a little louder. She doesn’t want to find out.
“We have stood here in silence long enough! These humans know not what they are doing! It is time for the Wailing to end and the fight to begin!” The knight continues, and his words seem to resonate with the ghosts above. They resume their spiral around the Orb, the wind blowing once again.
Jazz looks a little overwhelmed, eyes wide and hands lifted as she tries to calm the knight down. She keeps glancing between him and the Orb but seems unwilling to look at it for longer than a second, each time physically shaking her head as if to shake herself out of a reverie. Sam has stepped closer to Ember but it doesn’t look like they’re fighting this time—they seem to be trying to communicate via expressions.
Raven lets her hands light up with her magic, prepares to protect the humans in the room. She knows the other supers are moving as well, can see the organized chaos from the corners of her eyes. It seems they, like her, are unsure how to get involved in a situation involving ghosts. They can’t let anything happen to Jazz and her friends, but there’s clearly something deeper happening here that Raven and likely most of the Justice League have no experience with. For a split second Raven sees John Constantine reach into his trench coat and pull something out of his pocket, but then her attention is pulled back by—
“ HALTU. ”
Raven turns her head so quickly she thinks she gets whiplash. It’s Tucker who has spoken this time. His little backpack is lying at his feet, an actual megaphone in his hands. His eyes are furrowed in a furious glare and one hand reaches out to point at the knight.
“As a member of the King’s Court, I command you to stop!” he screams into the megaphone. His words are amplified strangely by the device—instead of his words coming out clearer and louder, they come out distorted. A strange, green energy seeps from the megaphone and dissipates in the air. Whatever he has done, though, seems to work. The knight has stopped his tirade, sword still raised comically above his head. Ember has stopped thrumming her guitar and Jazz and Sam both stand still.
The ghosts above them slow to a stop, the wind again calming down.
Tucker looks out from behind the megaphone, an eyebrow raised in expectation. “Are you done, Fright?” He asks.
The knight raises his shoulders like he is going to start yelling again, but then drops them just as fast. He lowers his sword until it hits the ground, a loud thunk in the suddenly silent room. The purple flames fade until only the glimmering metal remains. Ember’s hands lift from her guitar strings now that the sword is lowered, and Raven doesn’t miss the slightly impressed quirk of an eyebrow that the ghost flicks toward Tucker, even as the sardonic slant to her mouth stays in place.
Raven lets herself lower back onto the ground and sees the rest of the Justice League go back into prepared stances but with fists and weapons lowered.
The silence, like the peace, is tenuous. Raven feels it like a taut string. It could snap any moment.
“Well.” Ember breaks the silence as she throws her guitar back over her shoulder. A few other ghosts float down beside her as she says, “That was dramatic.” She pops some ghostly gum into her mouth and raises an eyebrow at Jazz.
The other ghosts, two of them on what looks like a sentient motorcycle, turn to look at Jazz as well. There is silence for another moment before the crowd parts and—
Oh.
Raven finds her hands shaking at her side again.
“Oh my god.” Someone says from the crowd, one of the Batman crew, it sounded like. Raven understands the reaction because, well. The ghost standing in front of them looks just like—
“Daniel Fenton?” It’s Superman who says the name aloud and the air, which had been warming as the Knight ghost backed away and the other ghosts began to calm, turns icy. Raven can actually see snowflakes forming before her eyes, frost crusting upon the ground. The ghosts, including the one that looks like Daniel Fenton, turn their cutting gazes upon Superman. Raven isn’t sure how he survives.
“No, Superman.” Jazz finally speaks. Raven’s eyes dart back to her and then are forced to stay. Jazz, suddenly, looks so tired. Her shoulders have dropped, her eyes half-lidded and staring at the ground. She swallows heavily. “This is Dani.” She says. The words seem to hurt as they escape her mouth. “She’s a ghost, and another member of the court.” Jazz turns back to the young ghost. The two regard each other for a moment before the ghost, Dani, reaches out and tugs Jazz into a hug.
She seems more corporeal than Ember had been, and looks so much more human, as well. She’s wearing clothes that look more of this realm than the other ghosts—a jacket, jeans, and a red beanie, like any high schooler might wear. She closes her eyes as she collapses against Jazz and Raven can see tears falling down her face. Only a second passes before Sam has thrown herself into the embrace and clings tightly to the ghost. Tucker is making his way across the room as well, megaphone forgotten by his backpack.
“Dani!” he exclaims as he gets closer. The three separate from their hug in time for Tucker to launch at Dani, spinning her around in his arms. She giggles lightly and then separates to aim a soft punch at his shoulder.
“It’s good to see you guys!” She exclaims. Her voice is rough and is a little hard to listen to. “Sorry I didn’t call—been caught in that weird trance thingy we’re not allowed to talk about. That’s been hella weird.” She says, eyes wide. “I’m glad you’re here now, though. You can help us get him out!”
She seems so positive and sure, no doubt lining her face. She believes, fully, that the three humans can get the King out of the Orb.
“My lady—” one of the ghosts on the motorcycle says gently as she gets off.
“No.” Dani says tightly. “I don’t care what you guys think. We’re gonna figure this out.” She turns back to Jazz. “Right?”
Raven can’t see Jazz’s face. She doesn’t need to, can see it mirrored on Ember and the other ghosts around. For some reason, Dani believes they can get the King out and the other ghosts don’t agree. Raven swallows against the sudden grief she feels rising up her spine, tries to settle it somewhere in her gut where she can deal with it later. It’s so strong, though, this understanding that what has been done cannot be undone. Raven finds her eyes tearing and wipes angrily at them. The ground around her is tinged in black by her magic. She needs to get her emotions under control before her powers make everyone suffer—
“Dani.” Jazz starts.
“Of course, Dani.” Sam cuts in, grabbing the ghost by the arm. “We’re gonna figure this out.” Sam sounds grim but sure, and this seems to calm the other ghost down. Suddenly Raven finds her eyes are drying and the grief and anger are easier to swallow down.
It’s the ghosts. A voice whispers in her ear. She turns slightly to see Martian Manhunter looking around the room. They are exacerbating our emotions. Be ready, and hold steady. He whispers into Raven’s mind. Raven sees the subtle nods of the other Justice League members and tries to hold back a shiver at the idea of the ghost’s emotions being so strong that they are infecting everyone else.
Jazz swallows again and then straightens her back. “Yes, exactly. Thank you for holding down the fort, Dani. You too, Ember, Johnny, Kitty. Are the others here, too?”
Ember forces her eyes away from Dani and Sam and looks back at Jazz. “No. Might still be in the Infinity Realms. Only a few of us were able to get out before—“ She stops herself, eyes darting around the room. Distrust swims behind her eyes and her hair seems to blaze ever brighter. She meets Jazz’s eyes again and the two hold a silent conversation. Jazz must win because Ember turns away with another scoff and motions at the other ghosts. The small group rises back to the ceiling and joins the masses above them. Slowly the ghosts have begun to return to their less corporeal forms. Already Raven is struggling to see them anymore.
Dani stays behind for a moment, speaking quietly to the trio. The knight stands behind her, arms crossed and sword blazing lightly. He looks like he is standing guard, unwilling to leave until Dani does.
“We’ll come back, Dani. We’re going to talk to the Justice League here and come up with a plan. They aren’t like the Guys.” Jazz is saying gently. “Can you keep watch here? And let us know if anything else comes through?”
Dani nods seriously and reaches out a hand until it floats near the Orb. “Nothing’s gonna get him.” She promises. The knight behind her nods once, glowing eyes reverently watching the Orb. With one last shared glance, Dani floats back to join the others. The knight bows to Jazz, Sam, and Tucker again, and then follows the other ghost.
Then everything is back to the way it was when Raven first saw the orb. It, sitting silently in the centre of the room, surrounded by intangible energies and magics that are heavy with grief and anger. The feelings encase Raven again but they’re not as strong as before and she finds herself able to reign in her own powers. She starts to turn away from the Orb, unwilling to get caught in its orbit again, but stops as her eyes are drawn to the three humans left alone.
Jazz, Sam, and Tucker stand mere feet away from the orb, lined up and watching it. Until now they had seemed to ignore its presence in the room, focused instead on the ghosts and the Justice League. With no other distraction, however, the slight glow of the Orb has drawn their eyes. It’s strange–Raven doesn’t remember it glowing before, but it definitely is now. A faint, green light emanates from the orb and seems to caress the three humans, drawing them into its orbit. Time stills.
They still. They barely seem to breathe.
The glow increases, casting shadows along their cheekbones and necks. The dark circles under their eyes seem to grow and deepen. Jazz’s mouth is downturned and taut like she is holding in a scream. Sam’s face is blank. Tucker cries silently, a hand around his mouth.
Raven catches movement from the door and sees Batman standing, carefully regarding the trio. By his side is Red Hood and Nightwing, both watching with equally solemn expressions. They seem unwilling to get in between the humans and the orb–for now. Raven feels better, knowing they are keeping an eye on things. The others must as well for the rest of the Justice League continues to filter out of the room, quiet and on edge, teeth clenched and hands fisted at their sides. Raven moves to follow them but finds herself unable to stop from looking back.
Since they arrived merely an hour ago the three humans seemed almost larger than life. They were clearly human, clearly without any particular powers or training, but they held up well against a room of trained superheroes and vigilantes. They stood tall, spoke fiercely and intelligently, and listened to one another like a team. Raven had been incredibly impressed behind her own emotionless façade. Raven could tell others were, too, though they likely would not say anything either.
Now, though. Now they stand in front of an Orb and for the first time Raven is able to recognize that the Orb is not merely a magical object. For the first time she can reconcile that there is a child trapped within its confines. A child and a king, both. For the first time, it is real—this Orb, this rather unremarkable orb, is a cage and within it? Within it are two beings who were so utterly loved. Miles away is a mother, chained to a grave and unable to wander for fear of losing her one connection to her child. And here in this room? Three gather in silent vigil, grief almost overwhelming as they get the first glimpse of a long lost friend.
Raven wonders what they see.
When she lets herself look, for just a moment before exiting the room, she sees a boy holding a bloody, tear stained girl in his arms. For a moment she is sick with the same love and grief that has called all these ghosts to surround the orb in their own vigil.
She hastily leaves the building and its mourners behind. There’s a small alley by the back entrance to the command centre. She leverages herself against the wall with a hand and vomits.
Her mouth tastes like blood.