Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bruce didn't understand Phantom. Not for a lack of trying, of course, but thanks to Phantom's elusive nature. There wasn't much known publicly about the spirit, and what Bruce did know thanks to insider knowledge didn't help much.

While Phantom was publicly known and labeled as a ghost, Bruce knew that this wasn't the exact truth. He was definitely a spirit of some kind, but there were so many types that to call him simply a ghost was far too broad. Boston Brand had similarly confirmed that Phantom was no simple remnant of the dead, but even he hadn't found the right word to describe the entity.

Most were fine to leave it at that, but Bruce had never been one to leave sleeping dogs lie.

So perhaps that was why Bruce had agreed to bring Phantom along on this mission with him. While Bruce's presence had always been a requirement from the start, he'd been given the option to choose between a number of heroes for a reconnaissance mission. Obviously, he had chosen Phantom.

There were multiple reasons for this, of course, beyond just Bruce's curiosity. He wasn't so foolish as to pick him for something so frivolous as that. Truth be told, Phantom was a good option for this type of mission. With powers that allowed him to slip in and slip out without intrusion, the spirit could just as easily be a thief as he was a vigilante. And at one point he had been, even if it was under duress.

Bruce hoped that no one else would get the bright idea to use ghosts to rob banks for them.

To add to that point, as a newer member of the Justice League, it was important for Phantom to work with more veteran heroes. Phantom did some tight work, Bruce could give him that, but teamwork was essential for this organization to function properly. If Phantom couldn't do that, then it could lead to far worse losses during mass emergencies. It was better to test Phantom's judgment and quick adaptability now, under semi-controlled circumstances, rather than the heat of battle.

Phantom hadn't seemed to mind, almost cheerful to get to join him on a little adventure. The spirit was far more upbeat than Batman usually preferred on recon missions, but it was nothing he hadn't worked with before. His children could get antsy even after years of training and experience, and were prone to making snappy remarks if they felt annoyed or bored. Bruce could adapt if Phantom turned out the same way.

They arrived at the facility under the cover of darkness. Bruce didn't bother to park the Batplane, preferring to let Oracle take remote control access over the jet and keep it in the skies. Less likely of a chance that someone could stumble upon it that way. It also allowed Oracle to keep an eye on the situation from above, seeing as there appeared to be a serious lack of cameras for her to hack into here.

Suspicious. Bruce would have to investigate that once he was inside.

Phantom followed him around, not unlike a lost puppy. Or perhaps a duck who'd imprinted on a bat was the better metaphor.

It wasn't lost to Bruce that Phantom had some kind of hero worship for him. Ordinarily Bruce would be annoyed by this fact, but Phantom never seemed to do more than listen to him with undivided attention. Which Bruce admittedly appreciated, and couldn't exactly call the spirit out on.

More than once, Bruce had wondered if Phantom had known Batman in his life. Perhaps Batman had saved him during an attack and even in death, that respect and awe had continued on? The theory settled like lead in Bruce's stomach, knowing that in the end nothing had prevented Phantom from dying after all. Death was inevitable, of course, but a life taken too soon was always a tragedy.

Bruce had estimated that Phantom had died sometime in the past ten or twenty years, based on the media references the spirit would make. He had been tempted to look into obituaries and mortuary databases in search of Phantom's identity, but he knew it would be a fruitless endeavor. Thanks to Phantom's hazmat suit and gas mask, not a single recognizable feature could be found.

At best Bruce could gauge the man's height and general body weight, but both those things could be adjusted with hardly a thought. Bruce had seen Phantom use his shapeshifting as a party trick, making his torso longer to reach a higher cabinet in the Watchtower's break room. Phantom regularly broke the laws of physics and biology, laughed in the face of gravity without a care. It might be normal for Phantom, but it certainly made it difficult to track down the spirit.

Logically, he shouldn't try at all. It was invasive and a serious disregard for privacy, but Bruce's inherent need to know everything could hardly be considered reasonable. But it would be useless to try with what little he had to go on as it stood. So to save himself the stress and possible hours of sleepless work nights, Bruce had to put aside his paranoia for now. How revolutionary; his children would surely laugh at the mere idea.

"Make a sweep of the room. Check if there are any hidden rooms or boobytraps," Bruce immediately set Phantom to work, voice gruff and tone curt as it always was. Phantom nodded dutifully, even offering a jaunty salute before scouring the space.

They had arrived in what looked like the personal study to Doctor Joel Marshall, the suspect and main point of investigation. When Bruce had heard of this facility, all under the care and penny of the loving doctor, Bruce knew there was something amiss. The man had been a leading scientist for CADMUS labs before he had been laid off, reasons currently unknown. Bruce had a few leading theories, and if all went according to plan, this recon mission would confirm at least one.

With Phantom’s assistance it was child’s play to enter the facility. While Bruce made a point to all metas that they shouldn’t rely solely on their powers, he had brought Phantom here for a reason. Intangibility brought the pair directly to Dr. Marshall’s office. The whole facility rested against a hill, save for this very office, and Bruce had reason to believe there was a subterranean basement underneath it.

While Bruce hacked into the computer, Phantom searched for a possible hidden entrance. It wasn’t long before the other man found it too, poking Bruce in the shoulder as he nodded to the recliner in the corner. He left the computer to copy over the data as he walked over to the seat in question, turning to Phantom sharply, his question hanging in the air. The spirit drifted down to the ground, running his gloved, clawed fingers over an invisible line in the floorboards. Clever.

He jutted out his chin and nodded his head towards the computer once more. His intentions were unsaid, but made clear all the same: Wait for the computer to finish, then we can go.

Phantom never seemed to have a problem understanding Bruce’s nonverbal communication. Although he had no confirmation yet, he had reason to believe it was because many ghosts had forms on nonverbal, instinctual communication. He had seen Deadman and Phantom do nothing more than hover in the eye, staring at each other, the former blinking in slow increments. Later on they’d learn the pair had shared an entire conversation and not one person had known about it.

It wasn’t quite telepathy, but it was a close thing.

Hopefully one day Bruce would be able to investigate that some more.

Unfortunately, he had no time to preview the information he’d copied, but he could leave that to when they were in safer pastures. With a turn of his cape, he motioned for Phantom to open the secret entrance. The clever part about this one was how someone had to be physically sitting down in the recliner as they pulled the lever, the entire chair lifting up and leaning back to reveal a set of metal stairs.

Standing close to the entrance as he was, Bruce could feel the sudden cloud of cold air that washed over him. The basement must be heavily air conditioned. Bruce had yet to decide if that was a promising sign to what they would find.

The staircase lit up one step at a time, an ominous warning to how far beneath the earth they had to go. Bruce walked down first, despite Phantom’s twitching. Surely the spirit wanted to check for boobytraps or sensors, but Bruce could never be sure if those things would sense Phantom’s biology anyways. In either case, Bruce would be caught up in the trap as well. The order of descent wouldn’t matter in the end.

The next floor level was underwhelming to say the least. Ominous lowlights, sparse furniture. It was more of a lookout room than an actual lab, though perhaps that was to be expected. Bruce approached the glass window on the opposite wall, flicking on the light switch.

It was only years of carefully built-up self-control that Bruce didn’t immediately suck in a harsh breath at what lay on the other side.

Rows and rows of cloning tubes. Few were vacant.

“Get that door open,” Bruce ordered Phantom, not even looking over his shoulder. His voice was clipped, curt. He hardly had the patience to be nice right now.

But Phantom didn’t protest. With a ghostly, faded hand, he swiped it through the keypad beside the door. No more than a second later the door clicked open, sliding into the wall. This time Phantom didn’t give him the chance to go inside first, phasing right through the wall to get there faster.

Bruce was hot on his heels, stomping through the halls like a man on a mission. There was a kiosk in the far back of the room, and he made a beeline towards it. Yet even he- in his focus- couldn’t refrain from glances at the rows of failed clones that surrounded him.

Most were humanoid, but very few had passed the fetus stage. There were few that could have been a babe in the second or third trimester of growth. Not a single one had survived, judging from the glaring red light that lined the top of their tube. More than few had been frozen over, the horror of their creation frozen for eternity.

Phantom had beaten him to the end of the hall. Curiously enough, however, he didn’t hover over the kiosk as Bruce had half-expected him to. Instead, he stood beside another tube, this one lying parallel to the ground. When Bruce saw the spirit press a few buttons, and the familiar hiss of a tube open, he could feel a growing panic on the tip of his tongue. Just as his mouth opened to scold the spirit for his recklessness, a high-pitched cry of a baby filled the air.

Bruce’s teeth audibly clicked shut.

Shifting on one foot to another, Bruce could see a baby, likely no more than a few weeks old, swaddled in blankets and wailing from the cold air. Phantom hovered over the baby, cocking his head to the side.

Bruce wondered if the spirit had ever seen a baby before.

He moved over to the kiosk, a moment of relief washing over him when he saw that there was no password necessary here. While Bruce had no doubt he would have cracked the code with time, he also wanted to waste none if he could help it. Bruce would need to figure out how to adjust the temperature of the room to accommodate the baby. But first he needed to know who this baby was supposed to be.

Even as he worked, he kept an eye on the spirit. From this angle he had a pretty good view of Phantom’s face, for what little good that it did.

But that also meant he could see Phantom reaching out with a hand, claws receding into something more resembling human fingers. With shocking gentleness, the ghost wrapped one of the baby’s hands between two fingers. The baby gripped onto him for dear life too, kicking out swaddled feet, eyes squinting up at whoever dare disturb their slumber.

When the baby made a little whimpering sound, Phantom leaned over to pick them up. Bruce observed this time, already preparing to correct the spirit’s form, should he hold the baby incorrectly. Many people might believe that Bruce couldn’t care for such young children, a result of all the older children he’d taken in. But Bruce had handled plenty of babes on the field. He’d even helped deliver a remarkable amount of babies, but no one ever seemed to acknowledge that either.

Except that seemed entirely unnecessary, because Phantom perfectly fit the baby in his arms, head supporting carefully, legs folded delicately. Even when the baby squirmed, Phantom never faltered, adjusting with the baby. Soon enough the baby settled into Phantom’s arms, blinking him up at him with confused, innocent eyes. Phantom made soothing, circular motions on the babe’s exposed shoulder.

Emotion hung like a cloud over the scene, thick and palpable, that Bruce had to look back to his work.

He wondered, for the first time, if Phantom had a family he left behind when he died.

When Bruce finally found what he was looking for, he was stumped. For the lack of a better word.

“His donor is Evan Marshall,” Bruce told Phantom in a low voice, careful not to rouse the drowsy babe further. “Evan is Dr. Marshall’s late son, who died at nineteen years old. He was on the way home from a football game when a drunk driver T-boned his car. He’d thrown himself over his freshman teammate to protect him. He died at the hospital. Three weeks later, Dr. Marshall was laid off from CADMUS labs.”

Bruce had already known most of that information, but laying it all out in front of him left a bitter taste in Bruce’s mouth.

While the science of cloning was still morally and ethically questionable, Bruce knew what this was. This was a grieving father trying to bring back a son he’d lost. Bruce… could not blame him for that much.

Phantom hummed now, the first time he’d made noise so far this mission. The baby twisted around now, eyes opening further. Evan, Bruce supposed he should call the babe for now, seemed to take offense at Phantom’s face. That face filled with pudgy baby fat now scrunched up in fear, little crystalline tears beading at the edge of his lashes. Another wail filled the room, long and heartbreaking.

Bruce itched to take the baby out of Phantom’s arms, coddle and comfort Evan somehow.

He did no such thing. Phantom moved first, readjusting his grip on the baby so that he could carry him one-handed. That seemed unnecessarily risky, and the fatherly, overbearing part of Bruce’s brain vehemently disagreed with the idea. Except none of that mattered when Phantom reached up to his gas mask.

Inhaling sharply, quietly, Bruce watched as Phantom unclasped the mask and tugged it over his face. He pulled the hood of the hazmat suit back with it, letting the gas mask fade into nothing after losing its purpose.

At this angle, Bruce had a perfect, unhindered view.

A teenager’s face greeted him.

Bruce felt like he’d just been stabbed straight through the heart.

With snow white hair and bright green eyes, there was no mistaking Phantom as anything other than undead. But the softness to his cheeks, rounded still with leftover baby fat he had yet to grow out of- that he would never grow out of- couldn’t be confused for anything else. Phantom even looked at the baby like a child, earnest but unsure, just trying to figure out how to console him properly.

Evan did seem to calm down now that Phantom’s face was plain to see, looking similarly confused at the stranger. Bruce wondered if the baby could even logically reason that this was still the same person, just without the mask. He didn’t have the brain power right now to think about child brain development, and that was feat unto itself.

Usually Bruce worked best while under pressure. Right now, that pressure threatened to swallow him whole.

Evan made a cooing noise, hands wiggling free of the blankets once more. With childlike wonder, the baby reached out to Phantom’s face. The ghost happily obliged, leaning his face down so that the baby could trace tiny fingers on a cheek, and splay a palm over a cheekbone.

A baby holding a baby, Bruce thought numbly.

In any other circumstance, Bruce would have found the scene adorable. But not today.

Today there was only a crushing guilt that threatened to cave in his ribcage and collapse his lungs.

Phantom was a child, likely no older than his own son, Duke, and Bruce had never known. He would have never known had Phantom come here and shown his face of his own volition.

All this time Bruce had thought Phantom could be a man in his thirties, dying some ten or so years ago, already content in his death.

Now Bruce couldn’t be sure of any of his previous assessments. He had obviously missed so many other clues, what more could he be misinterpreting-

“Batman?” Phantom asked quietly, Evan in his arms slowly falling back asleep. Even his voice sounded like a teenager’s, with all the signs that it might crack and deepen with time.

Time that he would never have now, because he was dead.

And Bruce had never known.

“I have everything I need,” Bruce said with a voice that was not his own, but Batman’s.

(Bruce had always seen himself as more Batman than Bruce Wayne. Seen himself in the anger and torment of the Bat that haunts the skies than the man that couldn’t even save his own family. Because Batman let him believe he could do something right for once, and Bruce Wayne just proved that he never could.)

Bruce let himself sink into the familiar comfort of Batman’s skin, and tried to remind himself that it was his own.

“Let’s go.”

The original plan had been to head for the Watchtower, but plans could be adjusted. With the question of who should be Evan’s caretaker, Bruce chose to direct the plane to the Hall of Justice instead.

While he could understand Dr. Marshall’s pain and grief, there was no question that the man was unfit to be a parent now. Once upon a time he might have been, might have even been a great one. But after his son’s death, he had fallen apart. His termination from CADMUS labs could easily be thanks to his desire to use the equipment for his own means. But his divorce from his wife could be blamed on no one else but himself.

Domestic abuse charges. He’d thrown a lamp at her. His wife hadn’t wanted to press charges, just divorce and separate. Even she had seen the grief, if Bruce had to guess.

Bruce wanted to throw something too now. Preferably at someone who actually deserved it.

He kept a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel the entire trip, grateful for the gauntlets that hid them. Meanwhile, Phantom sat in the passenger’s seat beside him. Evan stayed in his arms, slipping into and out of consciousness. Phantom’s bare face greeted him every time, the ghost murmuring soft words of encouragement and sweet nothings.

He sounded so young. Bruce hadn’t realized the gas mask could change so much.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the spirit now, hunched over the baby, knees drawn to his chest so that he could cradle Evan. It was like the ghost was circling the babe, trying to protect him from the world.

Bruce wished he could have done the same for him.

“Have you held many babies? You seemed like a natural,” Bruce intoned eventually, when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

Phantom twisted his lips, face scrunching in thought. He was so expressive like this. Had he always been this way? Emotions hidden behind a mask, an entire story told in nothing but the twitch of his eyebrows, glance of his eyes.

His heart rattled against his ribcage, threatening to burst. There was a storm within him, threatening to wash him out to sea.

“Not many?” Phantom admitted after another moment of thought. “Not many people give me babies to hold, like they do with Diana or Superman, you know? But uh… My best friend has a baby sister. After she was born, I got to hold her first.” A wistful smile graced Phantom’s face. “He could have, but he didn’t want to. Because she was a girl and girls were gross.”

The remark was so childish it took Bruce off guard. He wanted to weep for the child that Phantom had been once, however long ago.

“How old were you…?” Bruce started, but couldn’t bring himself to finish. Not for the first time, he found himself a loss for words, but there was no one to fill in the gaps for him.

Phantom tried anyways. “...When she was born?”

“When you died,” Bruce corrected.

It was a risky question to ask. Phantom had- in no certain terms- listed off a series of questions a person should never ask a ghost. While asking about the time of death wasn’t technically on the list, it was dangerously close to the number one question on that list: Never ask a ghost how they died. A ghost could discuss it with another, but when a mortal asked, it was just considered invasive and disrespectful.

Bruce had been called those things more than once in his life.

“It was not long after my fourteen birthday, actually,” Phantom answered, a puzzled look on his face. Like he was trying to do the math. Did he not even know when he’d died?

Fourteen. That was about Jason’s age. Fourteen.

Bruce wanted to stab a man. It was no wonder that Damian was his son.

“How long ago,” it was a demand, not a question. He wouldn’t be surprised if Phantom put up a fuss about it. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had asked and Phantom rebuffed them.

But Bruce’s desperation must ring through clear as day, because Phantom… paused. It’s not hesitance, but a thoughtful silence that’s filled with Bruce’s heartbeat in his ears, Evan’s quiet breaths in the hull.

Phantom’s chest lifted and fell too, in tandem with the baby in his arms, but Bruce knew it was all for show.

“Two years ago,” Phantom told him, finally. It was too late and too soon, and if all their positions weren’t at risk, Bruce would have had a miniature tantrum right then and there.

Two years ago, fuck. Phantom would have been sixteen if he’d lived.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce murmured. It’s the loudest voice he can muster when all his restraint was going into not screaming bloody murder.

“It’s not your fault,” Phantom laughed. Laughed, as if his violent death wasn’t the topic at hand. “I was being stupid, you know?”

No, I don’t know, Bruce wanted to scream back at him. He couldn’t bring himself to. You were fourteen, what fourteen year old isn’t stupid? You didn’t deserve to die for that.

Bruce could only imagine what kind of look painted his face now, because Phantom visibly shrunk away from him, an embarrassed grin replacing the last.

Bruce missed it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Phantom insisted, giving him a slightly bewildered look. Like he hadn’t expected Bruce to be upset about his death, like his life had hardly meant anything at all and-

Evan squirmed again, rousing once more, and Phantom’s attention was on him in an instant. Familiar coos and chatter filled the Batplane again, filling Bruce’s ears with white noise.

He wondered if Barbara was listening in on this conversation.

He wondered if she could hear his rage even thousands of miles away.

After some deliberation, the Justice League decided that Evan’s clone should be cared for by his biological mother, Dr. Marshalls’ ex-wife. Ms. Ruby was a petite woman with premature gray hairs highlighting her temples, and yet she accepted them into her home with grace. Phantom had only relinquished Evan when the call came of a ghost attack back in Amity Park. But he was back now with the baby in hand, handing over Evan’s clone with care and gentle hands.

When they explained the situation to her she was, understandably, shocked.

She must have stared at the baby for ten minutes, easily, while they talked about what resources were available to her. They would be having people check in with her, not heroes but other care professionals. If she ever believed that she couldn’t bring herself to take care of the clone, then she only needed to reach out and ask. They provided her with a special helpline for her to use in case that time ever came.

Bruce hoped it never would. If only because that baby deserved to be with a family who loved him. But if Ms. Ruby didn’t think she could be that family… then better to have him find one that would.

Phantom sat beside her and chatted to her quietly, telling her everything he knew about the baby in the short time he’d cared for him. Ms. Ruby listened to the ghost with rapt attention, looking dazed throughout it all. All the while she held the babe close to her chest, like if she ever let go, she’d lose him forever.

When Bruce and the Flash, the two senior members chosen to go on this trip, stepped away for a second, Ms. Ruby asked Phantom, “What’s your name?”

“Huh? I’m Phantom,” the spirit replied, cocking his head to the side. The gas mask had gone back on before they had even hit the Hall of Justice. Bruce didn’t know if he was happy the ghost was protecting his identity, or upset that no one else could see the truth that had been laid bare to him.

He would have to tell the others about it eventually. Soon.

Today was not that day.

“No, I meant your real name,” Ms. Ruby chuckled quietly, lifting the baby up so that she could burp him properly. The League had kept him well fed while they waited on a decision. Hopefully Ms. Ruby would be adequately prepared to take in a baby after so long without one. “I know you’re a ghost, but surely you had a name before, didn’t you?”

A moment of silence followed, and Bruce strained his senses to hear whatever might come next.

“Danny,” Phantom answered after a moment’s hesitation. “My name’s Danny.”

Ms. Ruby hummed, a smile in her voice. “I like that. How do you think Danny Ruby sounds?”

There was a lump in Bruce’s throat, and he could hear that same lump in Phantom’s voice as he said, “That sounds…”

Perfect.