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mokulule · 1 year

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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 1

So figured I could show what else I am working on aside from Salt in the Bones with @clockwayswrites. I still blame Clock for this though, they are way too fun to brainstorm with, and I have too many WIPs already. Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

Danny was sick and tired of this city, this entire dimension in fact. And this vigilante family, or whatever they were, were more dogged in their pursuit of him than the GIW or his parents had ever been - all this for a few gizmos.

Danny rolled his eyes and ducked a kick from the most violent midget since Youngblood.

Seriously he was just trying to build a portal home, and it wasn’t like he was hurting anyone. He’d mostly stolen from villains anyway! And Wayne industries was like a multibillion dollar company, they shouldn’t miss a few scraps or prototypes. It would hardly put a dent in their budget.

Midget was back on his feet and had now drawn a freaking sword. Yeah, this was it, Danny needed to leave before bigger and battier arrived. He faked left but then spun right around the probably actual literal kid with the real sword, jumped to the railing and kicked off towards the next rooftop. Ignoring gravity’s pull for a just a couple of seconds was the only reason he landed safely on the other roof.

He felt a moment of worry that the kid would try following him and glanced back, but the child was fuming in safety on the other side, having lost that grappling gun thing he used earlier in the chase, it seemed Danny was safe for now. The kids mouth was moving, probably talking to more of the heroes.

He wasn’t gonna be safe for long, but Danny allowed himself a moment to breathe in relief. Suddenly his breath stuck coldly in his throat and he froze. Impossible! The shades of this city barely tickled his throat, he hadn’t met anything that would even halfway classify as a ghost to his senses. Urgency was like a cold hand around his throat, a desperate longing hummed in his core as he slowly spun trying to get a sense of where - he only managed to see a blur of red before a heavy weight knocked into him slamming him to the ground. The cold mist in his throat was pushed out in a pained oof, and his head bounced first on one thing then another, but that didn’t matter because his core was singing; close, not alone, hug!

Danny’s head spun, his whole body felt pained and smushed. A man, no a freaking tank, was laying on top of him. Body armor dug into his ribs, probably something there was bent or broken and he felt certain that ominous red helmet had left a mark where it hit his forehead. Also his hair felt a bit wet beneath him. Yet that didn’t matter because he was so overwhelmed, warm with hands and feet tingling from the humming joy in his chest. Hug! His core sang again.

Somewhere in the fog in his head he recognized this was no hug, but he hurt, his head was spinning, and he was not alone and he was happy and wasn’t that more important than a bit of pain? Oo o oO

Jason was unsure what was going on.

He’d managed to tackle the elusive thief Dick had so “creatively” nicknamed the Ghost for his ability to go invisible and the inability for them to land a decent hit on him. In fact if he hadn’t seen footage from previous run-ins with the man, Jason would have thought they wildly exaggerated his skills.

After all the man had frozen up strangely when Jason pulled himself onto the rooftop as he listened only with half an ear to the demon brat angrily grumbling in the comms, that he would have had him had he not been a coward who ran away all the time. Their thief was slowly turning around as if looking for something, the green glass of his goggles reflected in the moonlight and for a moment gave the illusion they were glowing.

Jason had not wasted a moment, got to his feet, crossed the distance in a mere three large steps before he crashed into the man - so, he’d halfway expected the man to move and therefore hadn’t prepared to soften another person’s landing. His helmet hit the shorter man’s forehead and his head rebounded and hit the roof with a sound that made Jason internally wince. The next moment there was a snapping sound and a gasp as the man’s ribcage was caught between the roof and Jason - he really wore no armor, just that thin hoodie. No matter what B said about the danger of the stolen items, Jason was really starting to doubt they had a budding super villain on hand.

He immediately made a move to get up, but stopped, a strange feeling of something overtaking him. It took a moment for him to discern because of the dichotomy, but it was… happiness? What the fuck, it wasn’t his emotions, that made no sense. The pits had only ever sent him rage and in rare moments gruesome satisfaction. This was joy, he felt almost like he was floating caught in a wave at the beach, weightless, happy, warm in the sun. He shook his head pushing the foreign emotions away like he would the pit and focused on his dazed perp.

There was something wet glistening in his unruly black hair.

“Fuck,” Jason muttered, thankfully too low for the helmet to project, but loud enough that he got a breathless but insistent “report” back from Bruce where he was clearly hurrying toward their destination.

“I knocked the Ghost down, he’s bleeding from a head wound,” he muttered at his comms as he pulled the goggles up to get a look his eyes to check for signs of concussion, but immediately froze. The goggles, he’d thought it was a trick of the light earlier, but no, his eyes were glowing - bright and green and just a shade lighter than the Lazarus pits. A shudder ran cold down his back. Somehow the foreign emotions were coming from him, Jason was sure of it, but it explained absolutely nothing! Unrestrained joy? Was this some kind of shock response?

More footsteps landed on the roof and Jason didn’t need to look to know it was Bruce with the Brat along for the ride. He finally remembered he’d been trying to get off the other man at some point.

Oo o oO

No, no, no, Danny’s core protested when the other ghost moved away, and he clutched onto what he could grab, which he dazedly recognized as a very nicely muscled arm. The other arm, because human shaped ghosts have two arms (good job Danny), supported Danny by holding onto one of his arms and that was good. Getting upright gave him the worst moment of vertigo, and his breath whooshed out of him. His legs were like jello and didn’t support him, but that didn’t matter, because his new friend had a good firm grip, could probably even hold him up entirely without Danny clutching his arm, good friend, mine. He butted his head into his chest because that was what he could reach and just leaned there. His core hummed so happily he felt like he’d almost shake apart.

Friend.

Mine

Good friend

…

Why no response?…

Hello? Danny was confused, why wasn’t he getting a response. Also why did his head and chest hurt so bad?

“Tt, what is the matter with him?”

The question, delivered in a haughty voice was like a bucket of ice water on his senses. He gasped and pushed away from where he’d been nuzzling some guy’s chest! Alarmed, he stumbled, but dodged the hands reaching for him, to support him, to catch him, he wasn’t sure. There was the big bat and the midget and the tank in the red helmet; the guy who felt like a ghost and he just wanted nothing more than to go back to him, and- Danny shuddered taking another step back, his face was hot and flaming red right now. This was, this was- he couldn’t-

Hiding his powers be damned; he sunk through the roof.

So embarrassing! He closed his eyes fighting tears as he sank down down down, all the way into the ground where they for sure couldn’t follow him. All the while his insides screamed, because he didn’t want to be lonely anymore. Fuck, he just wanted to go home.

He was so sick and tired of this city.

So... yeah hope you enjoyed this, now I can reveal why I blame Clock, they said and I quote "Danny, like a cat with catnip suddenly" and now Danny is a cat, what can you do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Jason's gonna have to lure this feral ghost in slowly with food and hugs.

edited with link to the next part:next Masterpost where you can subscribe: link

#dead on main #dp x dc #Jason is catnip to Danny #Missed connections #cause that's a shorter tag for this story than the title #long title is long but it makes sense #because danny is in a another dimension and missing his friends and family back home #angst #cw depression

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mokus-invenstory · 4 months

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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached (Catnip) Master/subscription post

Please don't interact with this post other than subscribing to it, it will be updated as I add more parts. Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Fandom: DP x DC Summary:

Danny is just trying to build a portal home, becoming a thief was just an unfortunate side effect of that goal. Now if only this vigilante family would just leave him alone. Especially Red Hood - the semi retired crime lord whose ghost-like presence keeps drawing Danny to him.

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#dp x dc #dead on main #Jason is catnip to Danny #masterpost

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spookyfishoperalamp · 1 year

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Ghosts are pack creatures that's why they always attacked, because danny wasn't going to them their little ghosty brains went 'Baby, there's a BABY all by its self must play and make sure they are happy and socialised' this can be an au of 'ghost fight to say hello and bond au'

You can also throw in a dc crossover, there was a post where Danny got stuck in Gotham and started to steal a lot of stuff to make a portal back to the infinite realms but he stole some tech from Wayne interprise and got on the bats radar.

The potential of Danny being stessed and depressed (like how pack animals start to become more and more sad over time when they are alone and in some cases like the dolphins they would actively kill themselves) and wanting to go back home so he can see his sister and socialise protect Amity Park from the others that want to cause trouble

So you have the bats chasing after him cause they think he's a new villain and want to find out what he's doing with all the tech, Jason shows up to help capture Danny cause he always goes towards Crime Alley to escape the other bats.

You get danny acting on instinct when he senses jason and stops cause either ghosty part of his brain is telling him a friend is near and maybe more, so he stops gets pined by jason maybe a concussion so you can have him do things he normally wouldn't act on if his instincts didn't take over

#danny fenton #danny phantom #jason todd #red hood #dc x dp #dp x dc #ghosts are just pack animals #they need to socilisewith other ghosts if they donr they can really depressed #jason can even be catnip to danny #hell it can be the other way round and danny is catnip to jason #this can be any ship im thinking platonic jaso #jason x danny platonic relationship with danny being 16 maybe 17

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randomideafairy · 2 years

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Imagine if the lazarus pits were like catnip to ghosts or if it was a ghost hunger au

Danny seeing Jason for the first time and being like !!!

Jason raging with pit madness when suddenly a lil ghosty boy pops outa nowhere and hugs him and is intangible for the most part until he calms down

Or Danny coming over and just nomming on him calms him down from eating the extra ectoplasm and is like “thanks for the snack” before flying away

#danny phantom #jason todd #dp x dc #ghost hunger #fic prompt #crossover #randomideafairy prompt

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impyssadobsessions · 2 years

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I like the headcannon that ghosts purr, and I think Danny would likely be embarrassed about it at first even if he isn't later, but how do you think the batfam would react when they first find that out? Like it could be a wfa chapter, Danny is hugging one of the batfam, or maybe it's a group hug, and he starts purring. How would that interaction go when they realize that? I can picture Dick just cooing at Danny for no less than 10 minutes after that realization, and some of the others maybe making fun of/teasing him about it, which would only embarrass him further. Would someone point out that Danny may be uncomfortable with people making a big deal of the fact that he purrs because it's normal for ghosts to purr just like cats and generally for the same reasons? Or would they not even think of that possibility until Danny starts to show clear discomfort or gets upset? Did Jazz already know?

(I'm asking you about the thing that's been on my mind for days because there is literally nobody else I can think of to discuss this wfa chapter concept with.)

Oooo yes! I think so to! I can see the batfam at first confused, trying to find Alfred the Cat... like is that the cat?- then they feel it coming from Danny. "...Are.. you purring?" They ask all with a smile on their face. They probably find it adorable in a weird way. Immediately Danny stops purring, face red. "...no." >>' Really obvious that he was as he pulls away from them all embarrassed. Yess Dick just probably pulling Danny back into hug =w= cooing~ Jason definitely teasing. Cass making a cute cat gesture with her fingers being cat ears. Stephanie teasing too. Probably asking if catnip will work on Danny. Damian silent.. because now he is also associating Danny with a cat.. and wanting to hear the purr again. Duke mentioning how Danny must be really happy then. Tim probably noticing how uncomfortable Danny is with them all pointing it out. Jazz already knowing, just giving a weak smile. saying "I told you it was cute Danny~" Danny grumbling, looking away embarrassed. Thats when Tim ask if Danny's ashamed of it. Danny just doesn't respond. The batfam sharing looks like oh.. this is a sore spot. Dick kindly asking if Danny is ok with telling them why. Danny debates about it and probably does because he doesnt want them to feel bad about it.. Saying how he doesn't know.. it just embarrassing.. because its weird ...also mentioning how it makes him feel.. less human because its a ghost and an animal thing. (probably doesn't help it makes him feel lesser because of his upbringing on ghosts) They soak it in for a moment and then pull Danny back into middle of hug. All trying to cheer him up saying how they don't see it like that. But make note not to mention it. But anytime he purrs they just eat it up XD After knowing he can purr. Because it means he's really relaxed or happy. Anyway how I see it~ I can also see it happening near holidays.. so he's already bummed out-but then spending time with the bats make him so happy in contrast he couldn't help but purr. <3 ooo ooo They could finish the night sharing embarrassing stories too what weird thing they're self-conscious of.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc #batman wfa #batman #batfam #batfamily #ghost purr

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newyorktheater · 4 years

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Judi Dench as Old Deuteronomy in “Cats,” co-written and directed by Tom Hooper.

(from left) Victoria (Francesca Hayward) and Munkustrap (Robbie Fairchild) in “Cats,” co-written and directed by Tom Hooper.

(from left) Rumpleteazer (Naoimh Morgan), Victoria (Francesca Hayward) and Mungojerrie (Danny Collins) in “Cats,” co-written and directed by Tom Hooper.

Jason Derulo as Rum Tum Tugger in “Cats,” co-written and directed by Tom Hooper.

(from left) Mongojerrie (Danny Collins), Bombalurina (Taylor Swift) and Rumpleteazer (Naoimh Morgan) in “Cats,” co-written and directed by Tom Hooper.

Taylor Swift as Bombalurina in “Cats,” co-written and directed by Tom Hooper.

Jennifer Hudson as Grizabella in “Cats,” co-written and directed by Tom Hooper.

Francesca Hayward as Victoria in “Cats,” co-written and directed by Tom Hooper.

(from left) Macavity (Idris Elba) and Victoria (Francesca Hayward, back to camera) in “Cats,” co-written and directed by Tom Hooper.

Idris Elba as Macavity in “Cats,” co-written and directed by Tom Hooper.

Ian McKellen as Gus the Theatre Cat in “Cats,” co-written and directed by Tom Hooper.

Francesca Hayward as Victoria in “Cats,” co-written and directed by Tom Hooper.

“Cats” isn’t for everyone – much of it is a cheesy, B-grade affair seemingly crafted solely to take over midnight-movie slots from “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,’ Those with an open mind, though, as well as little kids and the T-Swift posse, might find it somewhat pawesome.” Brian Truitt writes in USA Today, in the most positive review I could find. He’s enchanted by Taylor Swift, but turned off by the “nightmare fuel…when human faces are put on tiny mice and Rockette-esque cockroaches.”

More typical is Manohla Dargis in the New York Times:

“It is tough to pinpoint when the kitschapalooza called “Cats” reaches its zenith or its nadir, which are one and the same. The choices are legion: Judi Dench gliding in as Old Deuteronomy, a Yoda-esque fluff ball with a huge ruff who brings to mind the Cowardly Lion en route to a drag ball as Queen Elizabeth I; the tap dancing Skimbleshanks (Steven McRae), dressed, unlike most of the furries — in red pants and suspenders, no less — leading a Pied Piper parade; or Taylor Swift, as Bombalurina, executing a joyless burlesque shimmy after descending on the scene astride a crescent moon that ejaculates iridescent catnip…. there’s nothing new about the movies’ energetic embrace of bad taste…”

And then there’s Michael Phillips in the Chicago Tribune: “It presents your best and presumably final opportunity to witness Sir Ian McKellen, Jennifer Hudson, Idris Elba and Taylor Swift in whiskers and digital fur. Is it the worst film of 2019, or simply the most recent misfire of 2019? Reader, I swear on a stack of pancakes: “Cats” cannot be beat for sheer folly and misjudgment and audience-reaction-to-“Springtime for Hitler”-in-“The Producers” stupefaction…..Audiences unfamiliar with the material may be stunned to learn how little there is to “Cats,” not just in terms of narrative but in terms of everything besides narrative.”

“The King’s Speech” director Tom Hooper’s outlandishly tacky interpretation seems destined to become one of those once-in-a-blue-moon embarrassments that mars the résumés of great actors” — Peter Debruge, Variety

“Cat-tastrophic” — David Rooney, Hollywood Reporter

“…basically two hours of stray cats introducing themselves..” — Jake Cole, Slant

The plot:

It’s the annual night of the Jellicle Ball for a tribe of Jellicle cats, and one of them – “the Jellicle choice” – will be picked by wise Old Deuteronomy (Judi Dench) to be reborn into a new life.

Georgina Pazcoguin as Victoria

Leona Lewis as Grizabella

My review of the 2016 Broadway revival:

The first Broadway revival of Cats, which is neither wholly reimagined nor an exact replica of the original, is unlikely to turn off Cats-lovers, nor win over Cats-loathers. It works best as a showcase for the energetic young cast and what it does best – which is dance. As Mistoffelees, 20-year-old stand-out Ricky Ubeda, season winner of the TV competition So You Think You Can Dance, delivers an athletic solo turn late in Act II clearly tailor-made for his talents. While director Trevor Nunn and set and costume designer John Napier more or less recreate their work from the original production, new lighting designer Natasha Katz adds her own touches, as does Andy Blankenbuehler, the Tony-winning choreographer of Hamilton. Although the program carefully credits his work as based on the original choreography by Gillian Lynne, anybody who’s seen Hamilton will recognize Blankenbuehler’s signature moves, including some hip rhythmic bending from the ensemble, but the dancing is most marked by its variety, from jazz to rock to ballet. If the lyrics are largely lost in the swirl, Andrew Lloyd Webber’s score holds up. The performances, though, are uneven. Pop star Leona Lewis, as Grizabella, has the voice for Memory, but captures none of the character’s complexity – the quality dignity mixed with pathos that Elaine Page and Betty Buckley brought to the role.

Cats Movie: Pics and Reviews “Cats” isn’t for everyone – much of it is a cheesy, B-grade affair seemingly crafted solely to take over midnight-movie slots from “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,' Those with an open mind, though, as well as little kids and the T-Swift posse, might find it somewhat pawesome." …

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mokulule · 2 months

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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached - part 11

First | Masterlist

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Fandom: DP x DC Summary:

Part 11:

Danny took a running leap and landed lightly on the next shoddily tiled rooftop. He’d lost the midget in the Southside factory district and now he was in some sketchy neighborhood with smaller buildings. It was on ground level, but it seemed almost like it was sunken into a hole as the rest of the city had grown up around it and swallowed it - one of the main highways even went plain over it.

Danny stopped for a moment catching his breath. The roll of heavy duty cable slung over his shoulder was… well heavy. He looked out over the mishmash of old neon lights and newer LED signs for bars, nightclubs and little kiosks. In the alley next to Danny’s building money was exchanged for services Danny was not sticking around to watch. Blushing, he skipped to the next roof, taking care to land silently.

He should just disappear, he was far enough away from his own hidey hole and he was tired. He was always so freaking tired.

But…

Well, first off he wasn’t phasing through a night club to go underground.

And secondly…

Red Helmet hadn’t showed up.

That was a good thing, Danny told himself frowning, as he walked along the spine of the newest roof, dodging around chimneys. The past weeks had been torture.

Every time the Red Helmet had shown up it had been so hard not to go to him. He’d wanted so bad to give in, to just for moment heed the call of his core, the promise of companionship, comfort. Refusing that instinct was agony. And Ancients, Danny remembered how he’d looked in civilian dress, in that well worn henley, broad chested and with those big arms, he probably gave great hugs - if only he wasn’t one of the vigilantes trying to capture him… And if he wasn’t absolutely terrifying.

Danny shuddered, remembering how angry he’d been last time, yelling for him to stop. Yeah… Red Helmet was… He was an anglerfish, a lure, a treacherous light in the dark, that he had to resist, and last time he’d shown his teeth.

Red Helmet not showing up was a good thing.

Danny stopped and looked up to the cloudy night sky, jaw tight. It was a good thing. Why did he still feel so bereft?

He pulled the goggles down around his neck and rubbed his wet eyes angrily. Fuck it all, he just wanted to go home already!

His only warning was an electrical bzzt and he threw himself to the side instinctively. His eyes widened in fear as he only barely dodged two sticks sparking with arcing lines of electricity. Every hair on his body stood on end. The entire world narrowed in on those two weapons. He jumped backwards, uncaring where it took him he just needed to get away.

Something hit his back and stopped him. His hands touched brick: wall. One of the sparking weapons was swung in lazy swirls as the dark shape attached to it bent down to pick up the roll of cable that had caught on a small chimney. Danny touched his shoulder, finding it bare of its earlier cargo. His hand tightened into a fist angrily and he cursed himself for not paying better attention.

The shape got up and while half Danny’s attention was on the electrified weapon, he could now see it was Blue Bird. Danny had encountered him before, though only a couple of times. He’d been the bantering, good natured sort next to the angry midget, and he hadn’t known those sticks he used for weapons could do that.

Realization ran cold down Danny’s back; Blue Bird hadn’t thought he needed the electricity before, but he did now.

Blue Bird moved and Danny ripped himself free of his petrification. Casting around he realized the wall was not a wall, but a pillar and most importantly neither was a thing that could stop him. It was only at the last second he went intangible and stepped backwards. The metal sticks clanged against the bricks where he’d stood.

The sound of Blue Bird cursing, was a dull far away sound, as Danny started shaking. He kept a tight desperate hold on his intangibility but still felt himself losing focus. He quickly had to go somewhere.

He dropped down until he found one of the many flood pipes that handled overflow if the sewers couldn’t handle the pressure. Something that seemingly didn’t happen too often judging by the dry debris left here. You could say what you wanted about this city, but the web of underground channels and tunnels was impressive, and the city was if nothing else prepared.

He set down carefully and then let go of his intangibility. He was still shaking. His heart was pounding too fast. He wrapped arms around himself and took careful deep breaths even as his body told him he wasn’t getting enough air. But he was, he knew that was the panic speaking.

He fucking hated electricity.

Hated it. Hated it.

You would think he’d be used to it by now. When he died, all the times Vlad shocked him, Vortex, that time Valerie tortured him in a basement, the- He forcefully shut down the thought.

He should be fucking used to it by now!

But he was not. Especially not when it came out of nowhere like this. He’d frozen. They could have caught him. Danny could not be caught. Could not. Could not. Could not.

Shakily he breathed in slowly through his nose and let it out.

They were going to use electricity again. There was no way they wouldn’t take advantage of a weakness like that.

He’d lost the cable.

Red Helmet hadn’t shown.

And why did he keep coming back to that! Of all things that should be the least of his worries. It was a good thing. It was.

It just didn’t feel like it.

Oo o oO

Tim didn’t blame Bruce for letting him take point on this.

After Jason had pointed a gun at him, he was rightfully shaken. Oh, he pretended not to be, but anyone who knew him could tell. There was a furrow edged on his brow even when he played Brucie whenever someone wasn’t directly interacting with him. He was worried and afraid.

And Tim got it. He had been there for everything. He understood how terrified Bruce was of losing Jason again, just as things had been slowly looking up. Bruce was drawing back, which was for the better. The alternative, that Bruce might come to a point where he thought something needed to be done about Jason, was too terrible to imagine. He would do it too, set aside his emotions, and do something, if he thought it was for the best. None of them needed the fallout of a Bruce who’d convinced himself Jason was too dangerous.

He was dangerous. But, thinking of the broken mirror, bleeding feet and tired eyes, Tim thought he was more dangerous to himself.

It had been a painful realization to make. Tim had gone to Jason, with the mission in mind, only to find that maybe Jason had needed someone to check up on him for him. But even worse, Tim couldn’t be that person, because they didn’t have that kind of relationship.

It wasn’t fair.

In an ideal world Tim got to be Jason’s annoying little brother. In an ideal world Tim wouldn’t be afraid of Jason.

What Tim could do was solve this issue. He took a deep breath and put all his emotions aside, they could wait. He was a plans guy and they needed a plan.

Tim surveyed the mess of papers he’d made of the table, as he’d pulled everything off the evidence board. It was time to start from the beginning.

He sorted through and found the “meta?” sign, crossed out the question mark, and hung it in the center of the board.

In the beginning they’d thought primarily that the Ghost used cloaking tech, but the phasing had made that very unlikely, and Duke had all but confirmed the meta theory when he told them he sorta glowed to his senses. He sorted through the papers and trashed those old theories.

He put the known powers back up, then paused when he found the little scrap with a silly cartoon ghost Dick had drawn and put up in the corner of the original board. It had eventually gotten covered with something else and Tim hadn’t seen it when he took things down.

Now he considered it with a sigh, and pinned it next to the powers. Ghost was as good a codename as any and Tim suspected it was only Barbara who still refused to use it because Dick was obnoxious about it. And, Tim moved on to the picture of the phone to pin it back up, there was the fact that the recovered messages said nothing but “ghost”. So there was some connection. He marked that connection with a piece of string to the cartoon ghost.

The short contact list went up with the phone picture.

At some point when this was all over Tim needed to take a closer look at that phone. He had no idea how that brick managed to get any signal, much less how all the contacts were out of service when called from that phone, despite some of them actually being in service. Yet, it could somehow call other existing numbers fine, both local, out of state and international.

It made no logical sense!

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and let it go.

Danny Fenton? went up above meta, they were reasonably sure that was his name. Next Tim took the list of known thefts and dates and hung it up on the left side of the board. Then added Star Lab break in a bit higher up. There was about three weeks in between the Star Lab break in and their first recorded sighting. It could mean anything. He could have stolen numerous things in the mean time without being discovered, or only just gotten to Gotham.

Tim had scoured crime reports of Metropolis and other nearby cities for thefts that fitted Ghost’s MO, but had found none, so for better or worse he seemed to be sticking to Gotham for now.

He put up buyer? And building? Underneath. Tim still had the terrible hunch he was building a portal that would end up destabilizing reality, but since he had nothing but his gut feeling to build that on he couldn’t put it on the board - not the board in the cave anyways.

He trashed a few dead end theories, found a scrap of paper that simply said “electromagnetic interference”. He held it in his hand for a moment, something niggling in his brain, but it was only half formed, he turned around and pinned it under powers and let it go.

Next he pinned up the “weaknesses”. Finally, thanks to Dick’s temper, they had something. He’d not been pleased to come home from his mission to the state of things being even worse so he’d gotten serious and treated the Ghost as an actual threat.

Tim wrote electricity on a new scrap of paper and then put it under weaknesses. He tapped his chin with the capped marker. The Ghost’s behavior was odd. With the abilities he had, why even play chase with them?

He didn’t use the phasing to escape them early on. It was only when Jason entered the picture that began. Was it because the ability had a limit? Did it cost him to use it? Also what prompted the odd reaction to Jason that first night? And what about it made the Ghost so desperate he’d disappeared on them as soon as Jason was in sight?

Tim grabbed a new scrap of paper and pulled off the cap on the marker. He had to resist the urge to write “Jason” on the scrap, he’d keep that thought to himself, and instead wrote “limit?” And hung it under weaknesses with electricity.

There were more papers on the table. An analysis of the electromagnetic signal he gave off, that Tim had used to reduce noice in their visuals and audio. Pictures of the protein bars and the backpack. A map with every place the thief had disappeared on them marked: aka basically spread all over Gotham. A blood sample readout that was too degenerated for a useable DNA sample. These things didn’t go in the trash, but they weren’t important for capturing the Ghost, instead they went into a folder and put to the side.

Table now clear, Tim noticed his favorite mug full of steaming coffee and a plate of cookies set near the edge. He smiled and rubbed a hand through his hair self consciously. He hadn’t even noticed Alfred had been by, but he was a lifesaver. He would have to thank him later.

He took the mug and a cookie and sat himself on the table, surveying the evidence board. He sipped the mug savoring the good coffee. It went perfect with the chocolate chip cookie.

His eyes rested on “electromagnetic signals” again. It had been one of Dick’s early “proofs” that their thief was a ghost - if you subscribed to Ghostbusters lore at least. Tim rolled his eyes. The real reason the ghost couldn’t be a real ghost was that he was visible at all. Only magic users could see ghosts without a spell to make them visible (Something Tim was pretty sure Dick knew). He didn’t actually know whether the electromagnetic disturbance was a real ghost thing, the JLD didn’t need such tools after all when they could see them just fine. And besides if it was it probably wasn’t to the degree the Ghost gave it off.

Would an EMP do anything? Probably not, since they were convinced the Ghost wasn’t using technology at this point, but a small localized pulse couldn’t hurt to try.

He took another sip of his coffee, contemplating, he needed something better. They could run the Ghost around all they wanted, but unless they stopped that phasing, he would get away every time.

Jason couldn’t continue staying out of it like this. They’d chased the Ghost once without him and he was worse than a tiger in a cage, and twice as vicious. Tim scoffed, if only they could put the Ghost in a cage-

Tim’s thoughts crashed to a halt.

No, they couldn’t- it’d never work- but if they-

He jumped off the table, took three steps, then turned back to put down his mug and cookie. Then hurried over to the where they had the maps. With nimble fingers he sorted through the rolls only barely skimming the tags before discarding and moving to the next. They had to have- Got it! A utility map of the industrial area in Southside Gotham. He grabbed it and hurried back to the table. Unrolling it he placed the mug and the plate to hold down the corners even as he was already scanning the map looking for-

There!

It may be a while until the Ghost hit the area again. And they would need all hands on deck for this and preparations had to be made. But…

Tim smiled. They had a plan.

So we've gotten to this point :D Hope you enjoyed it! Comments will keep me warm on my night shift tonight <3

You can subscribe to the story by subscribing to the masterlist

#dp x dc #dead on main #Jason is catnip to Danny #missed connections #The trap is set #watch out Danny

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mokulule · 6 months

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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached - Part 9

First|Masterlist

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst, depression, canon typical violence.

Jason was not angry he was frustrated. There was a difference. A distinct difference that Jason knew very well.

Ghost kept running. He would steal a thing. Evade some goons, cause he often stole from the rogues. Then evade some bats, lead them in a new direction, sometimes changing overall direction mid chase, there really was no rhyme or reason to it.

And then, when Jason showed up, he’d invariably be standing on another rooftop and disappear. All the while Jason could feel his longing and sorrow, a call for help he wouldn't let Jason answer, and it was frustrating and confusing, but mostly frustrating.

Because Jason was not angry.

He may have snapped at Dick, when he made a joke about his princess being in another castle, but he hadn’t actually laid hands on anyone. He made sure nobody made the mistake of touching him.

He ducked his head, never stuck around and ignored the looks he got. Worry, pity, wariness, Jason flip-flopped how he interpreted the gazes. A loose canon, that’s what they thought he was. But Jason was not. His chest burned, but Jason was not angry. Because he knew the difference, between himself and the pits. He knew. But they didn’t. They didn’t understand and Jason could not explain - not without him sounding unstable. There was no way he could explain things and keep cool. They wouldn’t understand that he kept away for their sake. At best he’d be benched.

Benched, a bitter voice mocked, locked up and thrown in Arkham more like. Criminal, murderer, crazy.

He shook his head. Pushed the thoughts away. He couldn’t allow himself to be benched. He needed to catch Ghost - to make him listen and explain just for a moment so he could understand what was going on with him and the pits.

As long as Jason didn’t cross the line, they wouldn’t try anything. He had to believe that.

Oo o oO

Bruce was at a loss.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Jason hadn’t pointed a gun at any of them, Bruce would have thought they’d gone a year or two back in time. He was tense and curt and kept himself at a distance. Always out of reach.

It wasn’t like he joined their patrols regularly normally, but he could usually be counted on if something big was going down. Now Bruce wasn’t so sure he’d want to ask him if something happened. It seemed like he was nearing breaking point and Bruce feared what way he’d fall.

The thief, Ghost, was at the center of this. Something was going on there, but it was like he was missing crucial information. Jason was downright frantic to catch him.

Danny Fenton. The name was still a dead end. The DNA sample useless. His contact at Star Lab had gotten back to him and informed him they’d had a break in weeks ago, before the thefts started in Gotham - nothing had been stolen, the invisible perpetrator had been found out because of the electromagnetic disturbance his stealth tech gave off, or rather that was what their reports said. The recorded disturbance matched the readings they got off of the Ghost.

It was quite possible there were many more unrecorded thefts before the Ghost came to Gotham. He’d already informed Tim and watched him pale from the realization that they actually had no idea how far the Ghost was with what he was building. If building something was indeed what he was doing with the eclectic mix of parts he’d stolen. Tim had a theory, that much was obvious, but he was not at a point where he felt he had enough evidence to share it.

When Bruce had told him of the Star Lab incident, he’d glanced towards where they’d stored the spectral calibrator, before his shoulders had forcefully relaxed.

Bruce was no slouch when it came to technology, but mostly when it came to operating it. He could infiltrate systems and extract information fine, but it he was honest, the kids were better, and since he rarely worked alone these days, he didn’t get as much practice - he wondered momentarily if this is what it was like growing old.

It was something he’d never expected when he set out on his mission as a young man, growing old that is.

Besides while Bruce had designed a fair few gadgets in his time, and assembled the Bat computer himself back in the early days when it didn’t have near the capabilities it did today, he was not an inventor. Lucius was the one who’d made his more fanciful ideas workable in the early days.

And now he had all these talented kids.

It didn’t matter most of them were adults, they’d always be kids to him. Here he went again getting distracted.

He rubbed his forehead. Point was, Bruce couldn’t see what the parts could be used for but Tim could. And it was something that worried him, which in turn worried Bruce and like always these days his thoughts circled back to his worry for Jason.

He’d given him time, like Dick had said - three weeks so far in fact. And instead of things calming down they’d become worse. The Ghost’s continued escape was winding Jason up, there were no two ways about it. They needed to capture him.

Bruce had to be honest with himself, if it wasn’t for Jason, the Ghost would be very low priority for them. He wasn’t hurting anyone, just a thief. Before the day Jason had tackled the Ghost on the rooftop, he had been low priority. Amusing in fact, with the way he riled up Damian with his continued escapes, it had been low stakes - safe in a way many of their missions weren’t.

But now, Tim was working frantically on ways to capture the Ghost, they’d tried nets of various materials (some even Martians had trouble phasing through) with no success. Barbara was still trying to unearth more information from the phone, also with no success.

Steph and Cass had been steadily and stealthily working on changing the cameras throughout the city connected to Barbara’s network to ones with better filters and built in detectors for electromagnetic disturbances over a certain threshold - a very bothersome process since most of the cameras technically weren’t theirs and had to be indistinguishable from the originals and send visuals to the real owners of the same (low) quality they’re used to in case somebody decided to take a closer look.

Damian was giving him long looks, when he thought he wasn’t noticing. He was hiding something and he’d been sneaking off on his own. Bruce was trying to convince himself to leave it alone. He’d nearly lost Damian in the past because he was too controlling.

Trust, it was something he was trying to practice but it irked at him not to know. What if he got in trouble? He had to forcibly remind himself, it was most likely that Damian was just sneaking off to some wild animal he was hiding and nursing back to health.

Duke had just gotten back from a three month exchange program abroad, he would have to be caught up to speed. Maybe his abilities would give them some additional insight.

Hopefully.

Oo o oO

Jason was not angry, he was livid. Ghost was on another rooftop. About to do his disappearing act, again again again.

“Come back here!” He yelled.

Fear not his own hit him in a sickly yellow haze. He gasped and struggled not to throw up. Ghost was gone again. Of course he was. His one chance and-

“Jason…” the words were quiet, barely audible, Bruce. Jason grit his teeth. Bruce was a fucking hypocrite saying his name in costume like that.

A step forward was heard, a purposefully made sound to announce his approach, and Jason spun.

“Don’t touch me!” His guns were pointed at Bruce. He stood frozen, the hand he’d no doubt been reaching toward Jason was pulled back. It served him right.

Jason didn’t trust him. He should shoot him, teach him not to get too close. He knew Batman’s armor, he knew the weak spots. It would be easy. A rubber bullet wouldn’t kill, but it would hurt.

Jason wanted him to hurt; like he hurt.

He wanted-

He couldn’t remember loading his guns tonight. The realization struck him like a splash of ice water. Rubber bullets or live ammunition?

He didn’t know!

He followed the aim of his still raised guns, pointed at his dad’s chest, the armor could only do so much at such a close distance.

Real bullets or rubber?

Jason took a step backwards in horrified realization. It didn’t matter. Not at this close range. Both would be lethal. He knew that. He knew guns. Why had that even been a question? Why was he still pointing his guns at Bruce?

A wounded sound escaped his throat and he turned and ran.

He’d crossed the line.

Poor Jay, huh? Can Danny keep escaping the bats? Will Jason be okay? Tim POV next time, we're in serious need of a plan here, come on Timmers.

I no longer tag people, please subscribe to the masterpost here to get notified when the story updates.

#Jason is catnip to Danny #dead on main #dp x dc #missed connections #we will eventually get to a Danny pov #the family drama is just taking up space

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mokulule · 1 year

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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 2

Part 1

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

Jason stared. He stared at the spot where the Ghost had literally sunk through the roof - and would Dick just be unbearable when he heard that, how the name he’d given their thief was even more fitting, but this was just the sort of stray thought a person had because their head was filled with other things that they couldn’t as easily understand.

Absently he registered the demon brat scolding him haughtily for letting the villain get away and how he would never have allowed such a thing had he been the one to capture him, tt.

Jason didn’t pay it any mind, knew Damian was just as confounded by the Ghost getting away like a literal ghost, as he was. The Batclan had been hunting this guy for weeks and for all that time, he’d only shown invisibility as a power, something that was easily countered by the thermal filters in their masks.

Absently he touched his chest, where just a moment ago, the guy had snuggled up to him, and… and purred?! It was the only word he had for it. How else could he explain that humming sound at the edge of his hearing. Guy had been so overwhelmingly happy, and for a moment Jason had been shrouded in those feelings again. There’d been something like a questioning tilt to the humming, but Jason didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know why the guy had been so loopy. Had followed him up desperately like a man drowning, headbutted himself into his chest and snuggled up, so happy.

And then the spell had broken, as suddenly as it had appeared.

The guy, deeply embarrassed, had sunk into the rooftop, but that was not what Jason had noticed. It was not what had his mind chasing its own tail. No, it was the way that call, those foreign feelings, cried out in sorrow and such soul crushing loneliness as he disappeared. Jason felt hollowed out from the whiplash.

Bruce stood up from where he was crouched by the spot Jason had initially tackled the ghost, instantly commanding attention in the way only Batman could.

“Hood, debrief back at the cave.”

It was testament to how out of it Jason was that he just nodded with a quiet yeah. A large black gloved hand set down on his shoulder squeezing for a moment. Jay looked up and met the white-out lenses of the cowl. He shrugged off the worry and stepped back defensively, “I’m fine.”

Bruce watched him for a moment before nodding and moving across the roof, Robin at his heels. He jumped down but Robin paused and looked back and now Jay was even worrying the brat. He sighed and waved him on, he really had to get his head back on straight.

Anger come on, he could always count on that, he was always some level of angry, the pits made sure of it, he had it under control but that didn’t make it gone. He waited for that familiar angry bubble in his chest… nothing. Bruce! Bruce patronizing him, replacing him… nothing! Just sadness, longing to belong again - his shoulder burned where Bruce had touched him to make sure he was okay - he shook his head, this wasn’t working. Leaving the Joker alive! That was better but, there was only the most sluggish bubble at that like a sleeping dragon huffing at him as it turned over to continue sleeping.

Jason walked backwards until he hit the ledge. He had his helmet off and in his hands before he knew it. He needed to breathe. Heavily, he sank to the ledge, his gloves creaked as he clutched the helmet.

The pits were quiet, for the first time since he came back to life he was alone in his head. Fear clutched his heart, because what was he supposed to do with that?

Answers, he needed answers. One step at a time, he berated himself, taking slow breaths. To get answers he needed to find the Ghost. To find the Ghost he needed intel, intel the others had. The Ghost hadn’t operated anywhere in Crime Alley and hadn’t been Jason’s problem, until tonight when the chase had gotten near enough to his territory that he’d bothered to come back-up the brat instead of just mocking the rest of the clan’s inability to catch a simple thief. There wasn’t anything simple about Ghost, he thought, remembering those piercing glowing green eyes. He had to have something to do with the Lazarus pits it was the only thing that made sense. And he realized, he’d deliberately been hiding the extent of his powers. They’d been trying to catch him for weeks and he’d never phase shifted before.

His thoughts were going in circles again. It was no use staying here. Time to go to the cave and see what the others had - he stood up and braced himself for the whisper: the ever present distrusting voice berating him for being a fool for following Bruce’s orders, for letting himself be drawn back into the fold. He had all his arguments ready to convince himself that he was going for his own sake.

Silence. There was no whisper.

He shuddered, deeply unsettled and pulled his helmet back on. The faster he figured this out the better.

Oo o oO

Danny entered his temporary haunt, a long abandoned subway rail yard, dragging his feet after him, and sank down in front of the still mostly bare frame of the portal in the central open space. He rested his head on the cool metal. It hurt to breathe, particularly slumped like this, but he didn’t have the energy to move.

Slowly he rubbed a hand across his face, gingerly touching the bump on his forehead. He couldn’t believe he was so starved for company that he had somehow interpreted getting bowled over as a hug, and yet the ghost of the touch still lingered. His core ached in outrage over loosing that closeness. Well, his core was stupid anyway - he was stupid.

He’d dropped the spectral calibrator too, this entire evening was a waste. It had only left him hollow and hurting, and no closer to getting home.

Slowly his eyes, tracked over to his worn blue backpack all of six feet away from him, where his dwindling supply of dry granola bars was. He wouldn’t have much choice but to go out again soon. At least nicking food usually didn’t get him the attention of the local “heroes”. He’d had enough of those for a while.

He should eat something now. But it was too far too reach and he didn’t feel like moving.

The ambient ectoplasm of this city really wasn’t enough to keep him running at full strength and he knew, in theory that he should make up for it by eating more.

It was the pro of being a halfa that he could transform food into energy for both his forms, the con was that he was terrible at being a halfa and he just wasn’t hungry. Just tired, always tired.

He longed for home, for Jazz and Sam and Tucker - heck he would take Valerie hunting him down in another dimension to shoot at him over this. He felt himself fraying at the edges and now apparently because he had no one, he’d latched on to the first random person who felt like a ghost, like some kind of weirdo. The man probably wasn’t even a ghost, he hadn’t responded at all like one. He doesn’t know how he could have been so fooled.

He let his head rest on his knees, closing his eyes. The ghost of a warm body surrounding him taunted him. He gasped down a sob, then gasped again because that hurt like a kick to his ribs. He pressed his eyes shut around pained tears. His ribs were definitely broken. At least the pain brought him back to the present. He breathed shallowly, considered just stopping, but he had lungs in his body and there was something about how it was best to use them so he didn’t get pneumonia. They’d been through that debacle once before. Besides usually breathing was nice.

Before all this falling into a portal to a crappy dimension he would have healed by now. Another point in the should-eat-more column.

A small squeaky noise drew his attention back to his bag. Just as he blinked to clear his blurry eyes a rat exited his bag with a granola bar and sprinted across the floor into the shadows.

Danny sighed - and now he had rats.

Yeah, so these snippets aren't going to be overly long, because it's going to be faster updating this way, but once I'm more into the story I will probably compile them more before starting to post to Ao3.

Edited with link to next part: next Masterpost where you can subscribe: link

#dead on main #dp x dc #Missed connections #angst #cw depression #Danny is not doing so good #Jason is very confused #Jason is catnip to Danny

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mokulule · 3 months

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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached (Catnip) - part 10

First|Masterlist

It was near noon. Tim was in civilian dress outside of Jason’s door. He took at deep breath. Worrying did not help. It did not help to think about the fact that Jason had pointed a gun at Bruce last night. That he had looked very close to pulling the trigger.

It wasn’t that Tim hadn’t noticed something was up with Jason. Of course he’d noticed, a blind man would have noticed. But this was Jason, something was regularly up with Jason. And like when wasn’t his relationship with Bruce strained? Basically never?

But things had been getting better. Jason had stopped crime-lording, left that to his lieutenants, who as long as they followed the rules, operated relatively unmolested in Crime Alley. It worked. He kept apart, but he was on the same comms as them. He helped out if there was trouble. He cared, they all knew he did. Even if things were still hard.

It was a bit back and forth but generally the relationship between the bats and Red Hood had been getting better - like the overall trend, Tim had a graph. There was a prognosis that Jason may join them for Sunday dinners in a couple of years. So it was not so weird that Jason had been drawing back, Tim had assumed that was just some of the regular fluctuation that happened now and again.

But this?

Jason pointing a gun at Bruce?

That was more than just a fluctuation! That was something else, and it all lead back to Jason meeting the Ghost about 5 weeks ago. Jason had been odd that night, there had been something uncertain, hesitant, about him. Tim had brushed it off at the time, there could be any manner of reason for Jason to act a bit off, guilt being the obvious one. Jason for all his gruffness did not like accidental violence, his violence had a purpose and was doled out to those he deemed deserving.

At one point that had been Tim.

That thought sat heavy in his chest as he took another deep breath.

Was he the best person to do this? No, probably not. But someone needed to do it. Dick was on a Justice League mission halfway around the world. Cass would probably have been safest, least likely to piss Jason off, but Tim couldn’t outsource this. Tim needed to talk to Jason, to assess him himself.

Finally, heart steeled, he knocked on the door.

There was movement inside, footsteps coming to the door. There was a rumble in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the text:

You should not be here.

Tim scowled at the door. “I am not leaving. I need to talk to you.”

There was a moment of silence that dragged. Tim would wait out here all day if he had to, he was stubborn like that and Jason knew it, which is why eventually the sound of the locks turning reached him. Tim carefully kept the victory out of his face.

Jason didn’t meet his gaze as he let him in and locked the door behind him. He didn’t bother to reset the traps. Instead he padded barefoot over to the kitchen counter.

“Coffee?” He asked, voice scratchy.

Tim didn’t respond immediately eyes too busy following the small trail of blood Jason left behind where he stepped.

“Tim?” His eyes snapped up, meeting Jason’s tired eyes.

“You know me,” Tim finally responded weakly. Jason looked… sick, was probably the best word. He was pale, the bags under his eyes so dark they looked bruised. His hair was unwashed and there was something about the weariness in his posture that made him look small in his loose t-shirt and sweatpants.

Something about the image deeply alarmed Tim and he retreated with a, “I’ll just use the bathroom real quick.”

He noticed the crunch under his shoes even before he saw the broken mirror over the sink; that explained why Jason’s feet were bleeding. Fuck. He sank down onto the closed lid of the toilet and put his head in his hands. This was so much worse than he’d thought. Tim could handle anger, not whatever that was.

“Fuck,” he repeated his earlier thought, quietly and emphatically. Then stood, flushed and washed his hands, to keep up appearances - for something to do. Stalling didn’t help.

He walked back out to find Jason sitting at the small kitchen table with two cups of coffee, one of them placed in front of the empty seat across from him.

Tim sat down and picked up the mug with both hands. He sniffed the rich aroma before taking a sip, Jason had great coffee.

“What do you want, Tim?”

Tim looked up and opened his mouth to reply, something, a deflection, but Jason didn’t let him.

“You’re obviously not here for my sake, so cut to the chase.”

Tim’s mouth clapped shut and his lips thinned. Outrage burst in his chest at the implication that he didn’t care. But Jason was right. He wasn’t here to check on Jason for his sake, he was here to assess him. To make sure what happened last night would not happen again. He was there for them, for the mission, not for Jason.

Jason was right and it stung.

Well far be it for Tim to further try to delude them both.

“I need you to stay away from the Ghost.”

“Like Hell!” Jason snarled jumping to his feet, and there was the Jason Tim had expected, and he held the instinctive fear in an iron grip, not letting it reach his face. There was only a tiny tremble as he brought the cup back up to his lips.

Jason paced. Then turned on Tim, eyes with just a hint of the green they didn’t talk about.

“You cannot bench me,” he spat.

“I’m not. I’m asking you, Jason.” Tim carefully set down the cup.

Jason frowned and this was the one chance Tim had to convince him, he had to make it count.

“He disappears as soon as you get within 20 yards of him. I will figure out a way to capture him, but I cannot do that when he keeps disappearing. I need you to hang back.”

Jason was wavering, his hands clenching and unclenching.

“Please.” Finally Jason sighed and the weariness was back, he sat back down heavily. Leaning his head on his hand he spoke quietly, “he needs help, Tim.”

Tim didn’t know what made Jason so certain of that, but Jason didn’t know what Tim suspected either, what the ghost could be building.

“But first he needs to be stopped.”

There was a long moment of silence...

“I’ll hang back.”

“Thanks.”

Taadaa! The misery continues... Things will be coming to a head soon, I don't know if you can feel it? I just have to write a small Danny POV, and then Tim coming up with the plan and then we'll get into it, it's exciting.

If you wanna subscribe to the story you can do so here

#dp x dc #dead on main #Jason is catnip to Danny #missed connections

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mokulule · 7 months

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The Number You have Called Cannot Be Reached - part 8

Part 1 | Masterlist

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence So I promised this like months ago, and then got overwhelmed by having to manage the taglist resulting in me not updating this fic despite actually having written the next part. So that said this is the last time I'm tagging people, please subscribe to the masterlist - I'm gonna link it both here at the top and at the bottom. Anyways enjoy the next part:

Jason could handle this. He had handled this for years. The Pits were a known enemy. It shouldn’t effect him to this degree. But he could handle this. He could go about his day without putting heads in duffel bags, that had got to count as a win. The fact that he was avoiding his family, was just a precaution. Jason had everything under control.

Not like when he’d fled the Cave after assaulting Bruce in his stupid sweater.

That had not been his proudest moment. But the thing that really got to him was how he didn’t remember doing it. He didn’t even remember going to the Cave. When he tried to think it was all a green haze. The last moment of real clarity was opening Ghost’s bag and seeing nothing but dry protein bars. Knowing in his gut this was all he ate and that he stood with his food, and no way to give it back to him.

When he had fled the Cave, he’d gone home shaking like a leaf, and sunk to the floor trying to get his head back on straight. He didn’t know how long he sat there with his back against the door, just trying to breathe and search his memory. Eventually, though he didn’t know after how long, he found his phone and looked up the news. It had been a great relief to find that Red Hood had not been sighted, so he likely hadn’t been out on a murder spree he couldn’t remember.

But now it was days later. There had been no more green hazes. Things were under control.

Maybe he hit a bit harder, and a bit longer, when he went out. But it was the normal amount? Wasn’t it? Definitely not much more than normal, if it was more. That he was sure of… like 80% sure of. Jason rubbed the front of his helmet in lieu of his brow - It didn’t really help. What had Bruce even said that set him off? He barely remembered, something that felt demeaning, but the words escaped him no matter how many times he turned them over in his head. Normally he wouldn’t question himself that like, of course Bruce would have said something demeaning, he always did. He didn’t trust Jason, never would again. There would always be suspicion and doubt. But now…

Jason’s hand clenched into fists. Now having been without the Pits’ influence, having seen Bruce trying to reach out to him, as awkward and resigned as it had been, he wasn’t so sure.

He wasn’t sure he could trust himself.

Maybe this was all Bruce’s plan? Another of his famous gambits - this one to fold Jason back under his control, with the pretense of love and family. Because surely he had been right all along and Jason needed to be watched, couldn’t be trusted on his own.

Jason ripped the helmet off his head, only barely stopped himself from throwing it. He gasped and breathed in deep, like a man drowning. He was the one in control, he reminded himself firmly. Not the pits. Not Bruce.

There was sound in his comms and he hastily pulled the helmet back on. Ghost had been sighted. He had to go. If he could just talk with Ghost, figure out what this was.

Ghost ran away. Immediately, as if he could sense Jason.

It was okay, Jason could handle this.

Oo o oO

Barbara tapped the space bar absently without actually pressing it. Keeping half an eye on her leftmost monitor which showed the program she used for the surveillance in Gotham, no persons of interest were pinging tonight so far, no alarms had tripped for about an hour. She had time to ponder the conundrum that was their reoccurring thief.

If the thief was building something the other night was proof the loss of the spectral calibrator, hadn’t put a stop to the progress. The thief never ran in the same direction so they still didn’t even have that to go by to narrow down where he stayed, when he wasn’t giving them the run around.

The odd reaction to Jason hadn’t made a reappearance. In fact the moment Jason joined them the thief disappeared immediately: density shifting into the ground. Jason was not happy about it to say the least.After the backpack full of barely edible off-brand protein bars had been delivered to the cave by Jason, Barbara would agree with Jason that whatever situation the thief was in, it was worrying if this was all that he ate. She still held by her assessment that the photographic evidence was of too low quality early in their run-ins because of the strange electromagnetic interference he gave off to actually judge if he’d lost weight - but he did look very gaunt now.

She leaned back in her chair. A cup of coffee was warm between her hands, she breathed in the familiar scent as she considered the known facts.

Name assumed to be Danny Fenton, potentially legally Daniel Fenton, though they’d been unable to find a match to his physical appearance and rough age in their databases. He hadn’t actually spoken to any of them, it was a very real possibility he was a foreigner, but they’d checked and he wasn’t wanted by any foreign intelligence services.

The phone was baffling.

It was a brick, and it looked like something from the early 00s, from around the time when handheld phones really started to be something everyone had.

Tim had asked for Barbara’s help after he hadn’t been able to recover the erased text messages for some days. Tim had filled her in on his discovery that while all the numbers coded into the phone led to a “the number you have called cannot be reached” message when called from the phone - some of the numbers were actually active when looked up; the Jazz one led to a pizza place and the Dad number led to an elderly woman with Chinese heritage who had no relation to anyone named Danny or Fenton. The rest of the numbers weren’t currently in use.

It was odd however that despite those two numbers being in use, they still got the cannot be reached message. Tim had suggested the program which made the phone able to piggyback on the mobile network without a sim was faulty, but it had been easy enough for Barbara to disprove by calling a local number which connected with no problem. Tim was brilliant but sometimes he got too caught up in his complicated theories that he forgot the simple things.

Her recovery program for the text messages had just finished running (this was her third attempt). She took a sip of coffee, leaned forward and promptly nearly spat it out when she saw the result. It went down the wrong pipe when she tried to recover and she coughed and sputtered. Carefully she put her cup on her desk before she spilled it.

Finally her airways were clear and she rubbed the bridge of her nose. Somehow this was Dick’s fault.

She had recovered the messages. They were there - time stamps and all. The last message received was over a decade ago in 2009 and wasn’t that ominous? But that was a side note to be pondered later, because the contents of the messages, oh this was malicious.

Somehow, before deletion every single message had been changed to “Ghost”.

Not just a single ghost, no, entire messages teasing at their original length, but just changed into ghost ghost ghost ghost ghost. A whole litany of ghosts.

And it was definitely Dick’s fault.

So that was it, hopefully I will be able to get back in the swing of things now. Commentary and tags are a great motivator and I read them all. As stated this is last time I tag people, so in the future you can subscribe to the masterlist or on Ao3 where the edited and hopefully better version eventually goes up.

Tag list of doom part 1:

#Jason is catnip to Danny #Missed Connections #dead on main #these next three parts are going to be following a theme #as Jason gets steadily more unhinged #sorry dear #it's necessary #dp x dc

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mokulule · 1 year

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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 3

Part 1|Part 2

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

I'm not entirely happy with this, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. Some things will probably be changed for the Ao3 version, this is very much first draft and I want to do a proper rewrite before then.

Jason parked his bike next to the Batmobile. There was a strange air in the Batcave or maybe it was just him being different. He couldn’t tell for sure. He stepped off the bike so he had his back towards Bruce, who sat by the Batcomputer with his cowl off. Jason could still feel his gaze when he looked up. He didn’t know what to feel. Where was he supposed to start?

“Little Wing!” Dick announced happily, suddenly slinging an arm across his shoulder from behind. It was only all his training that stopped him from jumping three feet into the air from the fright and he managed to just tense - but that was normal. Dick would consider that normal. Pull yourself together, Jason, he scolded himself. Normal, act normal, for one long moment he was grasping for what was normal. It definitely wasn’t the urge to lean into his big brother.

“Jay?” Dick asked quietly, worried, thankfully too quiet for anyone to hear. Panic grasped him and he elbowed Dick to get him off. Dick bent over with an oomph. At least elbowing Dick was a normal response, even if it was for the wrong reason.

Ignoring the strange urge to check on Dick, he squared his shoulders, firmly didn’t look back and walked forward towards the Batcomputer, where now that he had arrived the rest of this night’s patrol team gathered. Damian already out of his suit with damp hair and a towel slung around his neck glanced surreptitiously at Jason out the corner of his eyes even as he pretended to look towards Bruce - brat was still worried. Tim was curled up in an office chair doing who knew what with his laptop in a way that did not seem conducive to the healing of the broken ribs he’d been benched for. Bruce himself, paused what he was doing and spun around in his chair. Even sitting he managed to draw everyone’s attention, Tim even closed his laptop.

Jason purposefully crossed his arms and widened his stance. That’s what they expected of him, probably? How did he usually stand? He usually always felt one wrong comment away from a fight when he was here, he should stand like he expected it, right? Defensive.

This was exhausting.

At last Dick walked up to them completing their loose circle. He was rubbing his side and Jason felt a stab of worry and guilt. Had he aggravated an existing wound? Shit. Fuck. What was wrong with him? Why was he so worried?

“Oracle,” Bruce spoke, “please start.”

“Thanks to Hood, we now have a better headshot of the thief,” Oracle announced from the computer speakers“The Ghost,” Dick interjected in a sing song voice, “after what happened tonight you can’t disagree.”“Nightwing,” Barbara replied flatly, she didn’t even need to say she thought it was a stupid name. “The thief,” she reiterated in a way that left no room for any other arguments and Dick wisely held his silence. At least Dick knew Barbara well enough when to stop. Finally she pulled two photos up on the large screen. The one on the right was an older/early photo with the green glassed goggles obstructing much of the upper half of the face, a grin was a sharp line of white on the lower half of the face in the blurry photo, the quality was terrible and caught in movement.

The newer photo on the left showed a young man, maybe even late teens, eyes were wide, bright green, not quite glowing and his face beet red in embarrassment, mouth slightly open - this was taken just after he’d pushed away from Jason. His goggles sat at the edge of his messy black hair, just high enough to see the way he was beginning to swell on his forehead where Jason had clocked him.

Jason looked from one picture to the other, something was off to him. The grin was an obvious difference, but these where snapped in very different moments, and he shouldn’t let different emotions cloud his judgment.

“He’s lost weight.” The realization hit him with the certainty of a sledgehammer.

There’s dubious mumbling around him, about the blurriness of the first picture. But Jason is unmoved, there’s a hollowness to the guy’s cheeks that wasn’t there before.

“We can’t really judge that sort of thing with the quality of the first image,” Barbara cut through the murmurs. Jason knows he right, but he doesn’t feel like arguing.

He doesn’t feel like arguing, it’s another realization that leaves him wrong footed and he’s not listening for a minute. Checking back into the conversation he only caught the tail end of the conversation that was apparently about the Meta’s skills.“-we can now add phase shifting powers-““Like a Ghost.”

Tim groaned and Barbara outright growled - Jason reevaluated his earlier thought that Dick knew Barbara’s limits. Damian had already accepted the logic and Bruce had long since become immune to this sort of Dick antic.

“Back on topic,” was all he said. “Tim.”

Tim opened his laptop back up.

“Yes, so the items the thief-” There was a small beat as everyone waited for Dick to interrupt, Tim was side-eyeing him but continued; “-is stealing are still painting a very alarming picture, and there is a multitude of very dangerous uses, not to mention what kind of world ending horror they could be built into. Luckily he didn’t get the prototype spectral calibrator tonight, and we’ll be keeping it here for the time being and set the project on an indefinite hold at Wayne Enterprise.”Tim looked up at Bruce. “We’ll be needing to monitor Star Labs as they have a similar project, but so far the Ghost has not operated outside of Gotham to our knowledge.”

Bruce nodded, “I’ll arrange something.”

It was a signal for Tim to continue, “we’re still no closer to a way to capture him and the phase shifting is a whole other added concern. We’ll need to figure out if there’s something he can’t phase through, some denser materials perhaps. I just finished looking through tonight’s footage and from what I’m seeing at least the new filter program is holding up; both the audio and visuals have very few glitches now. But we still don’t know how he’s sending out the electromagnetic interference.”

“Ghoooost,” Dick said quietly under his breath.Tim’s left eye twitched dangerously. Jason couldn’t help smiling, it was very good he was wearing the helmet. Bruce once more ignored Dick looking to Damian.The kid straightened imperceptibly at the attention, it really was adorable, but his voice was as haughty as ever. “Blood sample is already being analyzed of course, tt.” Blood sample? Oh, that’s what Bruce had been doing on the roof, when Jason was distracted. A sick feeling rose in his stomach thinking of the blood, was Ghost even alive? He could be bleeding inside the head for all they knew.

“Hood,” Bruce asked quietly, “do you know why the Ghost reacted to you like that?”Jason stiffened. Fear grabbing cold onto his heart. There was no way he could tell them he thought it had to do with the pits. They’d think Jason was being influenced by the Ghost and bench him. He couldn’t let that happen, he needed answers. He didn’t need to fight his family.

“No damn clue,” he scoffed, hoping he sounded nonchalant and none of his panic shone through, “some weird trauma response? He’d just hit his head real good.”

Bruce looked at him dubiously, but he was clearly unwilling to risk pushing. Their truce was a tentative one after all, one they’d come to after many false starts and stops. Jason had never before been so glad for their tattered relationship.

“So to conclude,” Dick drew everyone’s attention off Jason, “the Ghost is still a mystery, we don’t know if he’s just a thief or a supervillain biding his time.”

“He’s not a supervillain.” Jason could have cursed himself, he’d just gotten their attention off him. Now he was forced to elaborate. “He’s not wearing any sort of body armor, just that hoodie.”

And he’d definitely broken some of his ribs landing on him, Jason thought with a pang of guilt.

“Not all villains wear body armor though,” Tim pointed out carefully, and now Tim was worried too, Jason had no clue what had given him away.

“The ones who engage in close combat with us usually do though,” Dick returned, and Jason could have hugged him for bailing him out again (if that had been normal, which it was NOT).

“He could just not be a very good villain?”

“Or he’s just banking on the fact that he’s very good at dodging,” Barbara interjected with annoyance before the discussion got out of hand, “or did you all just forget you’ve been chasing this guy for weeks without landing a substantial hit on him?” She could always be counted on to be the voice of reason.

Dick scratched the back of his head sheepishly. Tim looked down at his computer. Damian scoffed, trying to look unaffected but that was definitely almost a pout.

Bruce’s eyes twinkled in amusement as he stood up and was that almost a smile? How was this happening? It felt… His fingers dug into his arms. It felt like all the things Jason had convinced himself had never really been there. And there was Bruce’s hand landing on Damian’s shoulder; a silent comfort-encouragement, because Bruce was terrible with words but his touches always spoke volumes. And as the small smile bloomed on Damian’s face and he quickly looked away to hide it, Jason remembered exactly how that felt. Shit.

“Oracle, that’s all for tonight, we’re not getting anywhere without more information.”

“You got it, B, Oracle out.”

Jason spun and stalked towards his bike, before he did something, he didn’t know what exactly.

“Jay?”

Bruce’s voice stopped him in place. He glanced over his shoulder to see them all watching him. Don’t give anything away, he scolded himself.

“What is it, old man?” Jason asked trying to interject as much annoyance into his voice as he could, but it was so hard dredging up any of that when they looked at him worried like that, and his chest ached and he just sounded tired.

“It’s late,” Bruce said with a small unconscious wave of his hand as if anyone could tell the time of day from within the cave, “you could stay the night?”

After a beat he added, “Alfred would love to see you.”

Jason’s jaw clenched. Alfred would, but that’s not what Bruce was really saying, he was saying he would love to have him stay, but didn’t think Jason would be receptive to that and so he brought out the Alfred card. It was plain as day and how had Jason never seen that? Seen the longing on his dad’s face? His chest ached, he knew why. He was always so busy reading everything Bruce did as him trying to control him, every interaction tinted in green. His chest ached. Every inch of his body wanted to stay, to take a step back, see where this could lead, but he couldn’t.

He had to act normal. Normal Jason would never. Normal Jason could be back tomorrow for all he knew. He couldn’t do that to any of them, to himself.

With great difficulty he tore his gaze away from his family and walked the last steps over to his bike.

“Tell Alfred I’ll be coming over for tea on Tuesday,” he said loudly over the noise of his bike, not looking, because he didn’t want to see any of their reactions, then he tore out of there.

This was better for everyone.

Poor Jay really is having the time of it, maybe next part he'll get to actually enjoy not being angry.

next Masterpost for subscription link

#dead on main #poor Jason has no idea how to act #when he's not perpetually angry #also he just really wants a hug from his dad #but that would be WEIRD #bruce is a good dad #Missed connections #Jason is catnip to Danny #thought sadly no Danny this snippet #probably next time though

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mokulule · 1 year

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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 4

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

A sunbeam from the crack in the curtains hit his eyes and he turned over burying his face in his pillow. Belatedly Jason registered that it was at least afternoon because the windows faced west, but it didn’t really matter. He was much too warm, and comfortable to get up. He drifted - things were good. He dreamt of a low rumble in the distance, barely on the edge of his hearing, easing the tightness, turning him liquid.

It was another half hour before he awoke properly, registering his bedroom around him dimly lit by the single sunbeam. He yawned and stretched before getting up. He felt loose and relaxed and as he opened the dark curtains he was greeted by one of Gotham’s rare days of sunshine. A smile tugged on his lips and for a moment he stood there in the sun, letting the warmth soak into his skin. He wasn’t in any hurry.

Down in the street someone held the door open for another whose arms were full of groceries, smiles were exchanged and the person moved on. The sounds of kids playing on the nearby playground reached his ears when he opened the window to air out the room. Somewhere someone practiced the trombone and they weren’t half bad.

Peace settled in his bones, these were his people. Even Crime Alley shone from its good side.

Stretching again, he walked into the kitchen and started rooting around his fridge in search of ingredients for breakfast.

There was a thought nagging at the back of his mind as he cracked three eggs in a bowl, added a small dollop of sour creme and some salt. He paused, musing, something he’d forgotten… He hummed thoughtfully, trying to grasp at the thought, but it just didn’t seem that important and with a shrug he took out a pan turning it on medium heat. On the way to the fridge, he popped two pieces of toast in the toaster. Unlike whatever was nagging he knew he had forgotten the butter - a small piece went into the pan and he left the rest out so he could butter the toast. He rinsed a handful of small tomatoes he set them aside on a plate.

Something happened yesterday, he finally decided, as he walked back over to the open window and cut off a few stalks from the chives plant by the window sill. He paused there for a moment listening; a saxophone had joined the trombone and they were now playing sweet jazz with each other from across the road through open windows. A small crowd had gathered below to listen. Amused, Jason wondered if more musicians would be lured out.

Sizzling from the pan, drew him back to the kitchen.

He set aside the chives, quickly whisked the egg mixture together and poured it in the pan. Grabbing a spatula from the drawer he absently flipped it in his hand as he watched the eggs. Judging the pan had adjusted to the cold eggs he turned the heat on low and scraped across the pan in long smooth moves, freeing the already cooked eggs and allowing the still liquid mixture to sink to the pan.  The toast popped up from the toaster, and it was a matter of moments before he had them buttered and were stirring the eggs again. They had solidified now but were still glistening slightly when he transferred them on top of the bread. He quickly chopped the chives and sprinkled them on top.

Looking at his handiwork he nodded in satisfaction. Time to eat.

  A glass of orange juice in one hand and plate and utensils in another he moved to the table. He cut off the first bite of egg on toast and close his eyes in pleasure: Crunchy toast, smooth eggs wiith a hint of salt and just a bit of sharpness from the chives.

It felt like ages since he’d just allowed himself to enjoy the moment like this. It wasn’t like he didn’t cook normally it was one of the things, along with reading, he still enjoyed despite everything. He was always just so busy, always so angry.

Like a click in a lock he suddenly realized what he was forgetting. The pits, the Ghost, the cave and Bruce asking him to stay. The thought was an ache in his chest and he set the fork down rubbing his forehead. He wanted… he wasn’t sure what he wanted. For the longest time he’d convinced himself he was agreeing to working with the bats because it was easier, they’d get less in his way like that. He’d told himself he barely tolerated them. Now, with the pits calmed or whatever they were, he found himself inexplicably fond:

DIck’s persistence even when Jason pushed him away, he always had so much hope, despite Jason giving him absolutely no reason to. Tim who he’d had so much misplaced anger towards, who was so smart, and yet so stupid. Damian, the absolute brat, who behind the arrogant facade cared so much about his family and friends, but was so afraid of rejection.

Bruce was… Bruce was complicated. The pits hadn’t invented his resentment, he had been so hurt to find out the Joker had gone free, that he’d been replaced, that he’d meant so little to Bruce - to his Dad. But without the pits to stoke the resentment, he was just left with this tired old ache. Lashing out had never helped him and he was just exhausted by the constant fighting. He wanted his dad. Not Batman, Bruce, the Dad who would drink his tea in the library while he was reading just to be in the same room with him. The embarrassing proud Dad who would brag about Jason’s grades in the same breath he would brag about Jason nearly stealing the tires of his car the first time they met.

He still had the hurt and the anger, but the longing far outweighed that. He rubbed at his moist eyes. The realization hurt, because he really didn’t know how long this effect lasted or if this realization would stick once the Pits were back - it was just too much to hope this was permanent.

Jason never had that kind of luck.

He needed to talk to the Ghost, but he never appeared so soon again after a theft. For a moment his thoughts dwelled on the device they’d recovered yesterday, some kind of calibrator, if he took it, maybe he could lure him out… but the thought was dismissed almost immediately, even if he took it, he’d have no way of informing the guy he had it.

They really knew next to nothing about the guy.

Jason sighed, and looked down at his now cold breakfast. He started eating again, starvation was something he would never forget and he was not about to waste food. Dwelling on his family, the pits and the ghost, wasn’t getting him anywhere.

It was distressingly easy to push the thoughts aside instead of obsessing with no angry whisper in his ear. Was this how normal people dealt with emotions? Without everything having to be a fight? As easy as deciding he’d dwell on it later when he could actually do something about it?

Helpless laughter bubbled up in his chest. This was so dangerous; it was way too easy to get used to.

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I feel I need to apologize for the lack of Danny again, but Jason kinda took over and had some more angst to deal with. I promise, next time we’ll get back to Danny’s misery!

#dp x dc #dead on main #MIssed Connections #Jason is catnip to Danny #so sorry we will get back to that part #Jason just needs to get over his existential crisis #realizing he just really misses his family #Yeah you're getting this on a scene by scene basis more or less #when I start posting on Ao3 the parts will be smushed into somewhat larger chapters #right now I'm just trying to focus on keeping up writing regularly

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mokulule · 1 year

Text

The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 7

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

I had wanted to do some tag appreciation for the previous part before uploading this but well stuff happened and I need to leave for work soon, so priorities and all that, and I bet ya'll rather want the update than my chatter XD But know that I really appreciate the comments and tags you guys leave me <3

Damian sat in a corner of the library, knees drawn up to his chest. The crumbled up piece of paper burned in his left hand. It shouldn’t. He’d had a hunch and he’d followed it. He’d been right! This was pertinent information. He should have informed Father immediately and yet… He breathed slowly out his nose. He turned his hand around palm up so he could glare at the offending ball of paper resting there.

He was right, but then why was he so uncertain? Why was he hesitating? He was Damian Wayne! Son of the Batman! He should not dawdle, that is not how he was trained!

No matter how much his so called siblings would tease him for his height, there were advantages. Like how when Todd had pulled the dazed Ghost to his feet, the short man had never really looked up which meant that Damian who was shorter had seen the way his eyes glowed green, unlike his father. Because a short while later, when he pushed away from Todd his eyes had been blue. Father would assume the ghost’s eyes were blue, because he hadn’t seen the green. Father would have no idea to look into what Damian had, because he’d missed a vital clue. A clue Damian had been withholding. Damian let his head fall down onto the arm holding the paper and sighed. He was withholding far worse than a clue now:

There were traces of Lazarus Water in the blood sample. Damian felt the childish urge to scream, but he would not give in, he hadn’t fallen that far. It always came back to this, always; like a curse on Damian’s family, one thing after another and it always ended up back there - by the sickly green glow of the pits.

Father wasn’t always exactly rational when it came to the Lazarus Pits or the League of Assassins or Todd.

And maybe Damian had gotten a little bit used to Father looking at him like his son. Maybe he just wasn’t all that excited for Father to look at him like Ra’s Al Ghul’s grandson again…

Alfred, the cat, slinked around the door left open a crack, instantly drawing Damian’s eyes. The tuxedo cat padded silently over to him and stopped. He looked expectantly at Damian with the same unimpressed gaze of his namesake. Damian cracked a fragile smile, and uncurled into a crosslegged position.Satisfied Alfred jumped into his lap. He started batting at the paper ball and Damian quickly stuffed it into a pocket and acquiesced to the demand for pets. It was barely a moment before Damian’s effort was rewarded and the purring started. Slowly, Damian relaxed back against the wall and his shoulders gradually came down from their tensed position. Animals were so much easier to understand than people.

The Ghost had purred…

The sound had been just at the edge of his hearing, but it definitely had sounded like purring. Father hadn’t heard it. Damian had asked him if he’d heard the cat, but he’d dismissed him as if he thought Damian had heard a real cat. There was no way he would have done that if he’d actually heard. The sound… it had been something else; there had been this inherent happiness to it.

Damian would admit he’d been startled. He’d never heard a human purr before. Not even Catwoman, his father’s illicit paramour, actually purred, not really. She did something with her voice at times, probably the closest a human could come to a purr, but not like the almost continuous sound of a real cat. Humans just weren’t built for it.

Which pondered the question, what exactly was the Ghost? He had reacted very oddly to Todd (Damian would admit in the privacy of his mind that he’d been alarmed to see the man nuzzle into Todd’s chest as if he was actually an overgrown cat in disguise). There was Lazarus in his blood, so maybe the reaction to Todd wasn’t so strange. He hadn’t reacted in any way special to Damian, but that wasn’t so odd either. Damian knew Todd was different. There was a reason Grandfather feared him. The Pits hadn’t revived him, they may have brought his mind back online and brought some lasting effects, but Todd had crawled out of his grave months before that; Todd was something else.

Maybe Todd and the Ghost were something similar?

Todd had definitely heard the purring. He had been completely unlike himself, there had been a complete lack of the usual hostility from him afterwards. Todd must have also seen the eyes, he had to have made the Lazarus connection. He hadn’t reported anything about it either. But again this was Todd, he wouldn’t share information with Father unless he thought someone’s life depended on it.

Whatever DNA had been in the blood sample was useless for analysis, it had been too damaged, so that didn’t bring them any closer to figuring out what he was.

Then there were the powers, Todd didn’t have those. Invisibility and intangibility… No, the Ghost couldn’t actually be a ghost, could he?

Alfred nudged the hand that had stopped the petting and Damian dutifully started back up again.

Richard often acted like he didn’t have two brain cells to rub together, something that fooled even Damian in the beginning, but he was surprisingly astute if he let you see if. Damian had presumed the Ghost codename had been merely a ploy to annoy Drake and Gordon, but Richard was not beneath hiding a theory as a joke. If he was correct, he would have all the power, if it wasn’t it was after all just a joke - it was a good strategy.

As if summoned, Richard stuck his head into the library and glanced around. He seemed just about leave when he caught sight of Damian’s nook.“There you are Dames-“ he strolled inside, “I wanted to say bye before heading home, so I’m glad I found you.” He crouched down next to him and smiled widely eyes crinkling with it. It was so effortless for him.

Damian frowned.

“Hey, you okay?”

Damian glanced up briefly. It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, but maybe Richard could answer something else.

“Do you think the Ghost could actually be a ghost?”

And there was that sharpness behind the kindness, that moment of calculation of what might have brought this on, whether Damian knew something, before it was hidden behind a smile again.

“Dami-“ he started and lovingly ruffled Damian’s hair. Damian quickly batted his hands away, before he got the misconception that he liked it; because he didn’t! Blue eyes crinkled further and then he continued, “we’ve seen stranger, haven’t we?”

And that brought Damian to a stop, hands still raised protectively over his head. Alfred looked between the two of them and gave an affronted mrauwp.

“So sorry Alfred, old boy, didn’t mean to disturb you.”

While Richard appeased Alfred, Damian slowly lowered his arms. Richard was right of course, but there was something else too, the assurance in the flippancy. Whatever the Ghost was, it didn’t really matter, they would deal with it, like they did everything; everything had some sort of weakness. And the Ghost hadn’t actually been hostile.

The core of the issue was the Lazarus Water. Lazarus Water didn’t enter people’s blood on their own and Grandfather kept a sharp watch on all the pools. There was a very big risk the Ghost was affiliated with the League. Coerced? Created? Murdered?

Damian narrowed his eyes, it was useless to ponder without more information, but the League at least was something Damian could look into discreetly. If there was increased activity in Gotham he would find it. He didn’t have to tell anyone yet.

“You work out what was bothering you?”“Tt.” He quickly looked away from Richard’s knowing eyes. Unfortunately that left him open for another hair ruffle. Richard laughed and jumped away and back to a standing position in one smooth motion, before Damian could retaliate somehow. Damian glared and only got a soft smile and wave in return.

“See you in some days, baby bat.”

Damian pressed his lips together and waved dismissively. “Go, before I decide revenge is worth removing Alfred.”

Richard’s laughter followed him out the door and down the hall. Damian finally allowed the small smile to form. Whatever happened, whatever Father may think of him keeping secrets, he could at least count on his big brother to stay the same. Oo o oO

Tim had been reviewing the new proposals from R&D when Bruce had stopped by.

The spectral calibrator team had obviously been disappointed to learn they would be reassigned and that the larger project to tune into electromagnetic signals from other dimensions had been put on indefinite hold without the calibrator, but they were a professional bunch and they had quickly come up with some fresh ideas.

Tim really didn’t want to consider what use the thief would have had with the calibrator, but it was kinda his job. It was meant to help hone into the (for lack of better term) frequency of a given dimension and remove the noise from the various other planes of reality - he just really hoped they weren’t dealing with a science portal to Hell scenario. Magical portals were at least usually temporary in nature but most importantly they were the JLD’s problem, not Tim’s.

Maybe the thief just really wanted to listen to some alternate universe rock?

Yeah, fat chance.

Tim had not found signs of the stolen items being resold, which pointed towards the thief having specific buyers or he was building something himself. At least the spectral calibrator was safe in the Cave.

A small beep notified Tim that the decryption program had a match on the passcode for the phone Bruce had dropped off, and he rolled over to have a look. The phone was not a brand Tim recognized, it was from the pre-smartphone era and didn’t even have a camera. It had been easier for Tim to just take it apart and hook it to power to get it up and running - it was then he noticed that someone had modded the receiver and transmitter, it also didn’t have a sim card.

Despite the lack of sim-card, when Tim looked at the now open phone it claimed to have a full signal from the most prominent telecompany in the larger bay area. Tim raised an eyebrow - curious. The text messages were empty, and a root around in the settings found that read messages were automatically deleted after 24 hours - the thief were really keen on keeping his secrets.

In the “phone book” which was a rather quaint old school term for the contact list, Tim finally found something that alluded to a normal life. Something that could maybe give them some information: Dad, Jazz, Mom, Sam, Tuck, Val - pretty sparse contact list. All the numbers had the same area code, which put them somewhere in the Midwest, if Tim was remembering correctly.

Tim considered for a moment then pressed the up button until he reached “Mom” again and pressed enter. Butt calls had been a real problem with this phone type if people forgot to lock them, it wouldn’t be so strange if Tim didn’t say anything. With any luck they’d get confirmation on the name Danny.

There was a single dial tone then a feminine voice announced:

“The number you have called cannot be reached.”

Woohooo yay, I think we're done with "the detectives detective-ing" for now which was the extend of my notes before writing the last two parts (parts 6 and 7 are going to be a single chapter once they go on Ao3). Hope you enjoyed, I got a serious case of Damian feels while rewriting chapter 1 for Ao3 (here's a link if you missed it), so that's the explanation for why Damian decided we needed his pov Next

Masterpost for subscription

#dp x dc #dead on main #Yeah sorry no Jason here this time either #Damian decided he wanted a turn #and well poor Jason isn't doing anything interesting right now #he's just panicking over the gaps in his memory #and not daring to leave his apartment before he has the pits more under control #he's afraid he might kill someone if he's Red Hood right now #maybe I do need to write a small bit of his pov #oh well #detectives doing detective-ing #Jason is catnip to Danny #Missed Connections

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mokulule · 1 year

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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 6

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Part 5

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

Bruce sighed, absently feeling the air on his hands folded in front of his face. He stared unseeingly ahead. His frowned deeply, at a loss of what to do. Worry picked at his self control.

Something was up with Jason. Ever since the other night, something had happened between the thief and Jason. It had left him unsettled and off balance, that much was obvious. They’d all been able to see it.

Now, today, Jason had lost control. He’d been agitated of course, but Bruce hadn’t expected the outburst. Jason was usually good at managing his anger these days, at least in the family. He didn’t get physical with them anymore in anger. Except today Jason had suddenly pulled him up by the shirt, and Bruce had honestly expected him to punch him. Jason had shaken it off, but then he’d fled.

The urge to move, to do something, itched at him. He wanted to get answers, but confronting Jason was out of the question. Their truce was fragile, and it seemed every time he spoke to Jason he said the wrong thing. He didn’t know what to do except control the urge to go after his son. He couldn’t fight his demons for him. He could only try not to make it worse.

And so he sat there, staring, unseeing.

Dick’s footsteps, came down the stairs, easily recognizable: light and almost dancing to a rhythm only he could hear, skipping a step every now and then.

“Hey B, thought you were going golfing with the mayor, keeping up the old appearances and all that” he greeted brightly, as ever immune to Bruce’s mood. Or maybe Alfred sent him down to deal with him, that was also an option.

“Oh I love these,” Dick reached forward over Bruce’s shoulder to grab a protein bar from the backpack. He opened it and started to eat it without hesitation.

“Dick,” Bruce sighed, “this is evidence.”

Dick snorted and leaned on the console so he could look at Bruce. “You’re serious.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

Dick snorted again, of course Bruce was serious, then he pulled the backpack over and started rooting through it. Much to Bruce’s exasperation he opened another protein bar.

“Dick, they could be drugged.”

“As if you’d have let me take the first one if that was the case,” Dick mumbled around the mouthful of granola. Bruce mentally conceded the point.

“Anyways,” Dick swallowed and continued, reading the name tag on the inside of the backpack, “Danny Fenton, who’s that?”

Bruce sighed.

“The thief.”

“The Ghost!?” Dick looked up in excitement, “so we have a name now?”

“Presumably, it may not originally have been his backpack.”

“True, doesn’t help much either does it? Danny is very common and Fenton may not be Johnson, but it’s not exactly unique.”

“I haven’t looked it up yet.”

Dick narrowed his eyes.

“This has anything to do with why you’re brooding?”

Silence stretched between them, but Dick could be surprisingly patient when he wanted to. There was no point in dragging things out, it wasn’t a secret, Dick could easily find out through the surveillance if he wanted, Bruce would rather he didn’t.

“Jason was the one who delivered the backpack.”

“Ah.” There was the worried frown Bruce would have liked to avoid. He leaned down a bit to better face Bruce.

“You had a fight?” The question was posed carefully, softly, not betraying any inkling what he thought of that, in a way to gently pry the answer from Bruce, but Bruce knew his eldest son well enough to know he was already mentally running damage control options. That was Dick, always trying to keep their family together tooth and nail. There was a soft pang of appreciation in his chest he couldn’t articulate, instead he focused on the problem at hand.

“He’s convinced the thief needs help, I don’t actually disagree.”

Dick sat back in realization, his eyes flickered to the backpack and its sorry spoils.

“But he could still be working for someone,” Dick recited with a sigh, it was an old lesson. One he knew Jason wouldn’t have appreciated, not if he felt Bruce was dismissing his concerns. “B.”

“I know.”

Do you? Dick’s eyebrows asked, but he had the grace not to actually say it. He clapped Bruce on the shoulder instead, squeezing slightly.

“He’ll warm back up.”

“You think so?” He asked unable to look up at Dick.

“Hey,” Dick said brightly in a way that naturally drew attention to him, “we’ve come back from worse.” And there was that bright smile and that pang of appreciation was back, along with another warm feeling in his chest: hope.

“Well, I gotta get going, I’ve got work tomorrow. Just gotta grab a few more of these.”

And the feeling was gone.

“Dick.”

“We shouldn’t waste perfectly good food, B, also they’re W-Mark exclusives, they don’t have them in Blüdhaven.” He grinned, pockets stuffed with contraband. Invariably reminding Bruce of a younger version with pockets full of candy he’d been denied. Brat already knew he had won. Bruce waved him off with a sigh.

Dick practically skipped towards the stairs. Then he paused.

“Oh and B, if I was you, I’d check the phone at the bottom of the bag. It’s not a brand I recognize.”

With that he was off.

Bruce stared after him. Pride warred with annoyance. He’d been so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed Dick checking out the bag more thoroughly than the cursory look he himself had done when Jason had handed it to him.

He grabbed the bag and rooted around a bit, and just as Dick had said, there was a phone.

He pulled it out, and turned it over in his hands. It was made from dark blue plastic. The logo on the back, a stylized V in front of a globe, wasn’t one he recognized. It looked old and scuffed, had actual buttons and a jarringly small screen when you were used to modern smartphones.

It was also out of power.

With how old it looked, it was unlikely cordless charging was an option. He looked at the bottom edge where there was an actual mini headphone jack, along with what he assumed was the charging port - it wasn’t a type he recognized.

He frowned and got up. He wouldn’t be too late for his meeting with the mayor if he left now, not something he couldn’t brush off as eccentric forgetfulness at least.

He could drop the phone off at Tim’s on the way. Tim would get the phone working one way or another.

Oo o oO

Danny stayed underneath the pavement long after the not-ghost had left. The feeling of almost giving in was a crawling like ants underneath his skin. The threat of almost capture was like a noose around his neck - if they captured him, if they managed to contain him, he would never get home.

Eventually the bone deep tiredness of using his powers too much hit him, and he dragged himself back to his haunt, invisibly and intangibly, because he’d had much too much excitement today. He was raw and empty inside when he dropped onto his blanket pile and rolled up. He would get food some other day. Never mind that he was completely out. It wouldn’t end his existence, just weaken him. Ghosts at the core ran on willpower, and Danny wanted to go home.

A small squeak and rustle, had him opening his eyes a crack and turning his head to look to the far side of the room. There the rat was going his trash, the packaging probably still smelled like food.

He huffed and closed his eyes again. If he got truly desperate he could always eat the rat - It wouldn’t be the worst thing he’d eaten.

Masterpost for subscription

Sorry, it's not the longest part this time, but we got to appreciate a few other characters, yay! Hope you enjoyed, cause Danny sure isn't enjoying himself.

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mokulule · 1 year

Text

The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 5

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4

So I've been having a week and I decided I needed a pick-me-up in the form of unleashing some angst on you all, so sorry to those who wanted me not to skip ahead a bit, you'll get the full story on AO3.

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

For a bit of context since I'm skipping a small part, this is the second day after the first chapter, Jason is still feeling good and having another good pit-less day.

Danny breathed a sigh of relief as he exited the W-Mart unmolested. His backpack was heavy with its load of stolen protein bars and trail mix. He’d so far not had to return to the same store twice, but this one was in the roughest neighborhood he’d visited so far and he’d felt sure even if nobody saw him steal anything that he’d be stopped. There had definitely been some suspicious looks directed towards him from the staff.

Now he just had to find a nice hidden nook to disappear from so he didn’t alert anyone. Couldn’t have people start talking about someone disappearing into thin air. Pulling his hood up he started walking along the sidewalk in a random direction eyes lowered so he hopefully wouldn’t piss anyone off by making eye contact. This did not seem like a part of the city he wanted to make eye contact with anyone in. With his rotten luck any thugs would find his face just as offensive as Dash always seemed to do.

His breath caught cold in his throat and he froze mid step. His head snapped up instantly locking on the other ghost, no the not-ghost, the man, the one with red helmet, except he wasn’t wearing a helmet now. He stood there, still like Danny in the sea of moving people, black hair except for a white streak at the front, strong jawline, his eyes were blue - wide in recognition. Shit! He had to leave!

Friend, his core sang insistently. He completed the step forward. That red T-shirt under the open leather jacket looked so soft. No stiff body armor today, just soft cotton, he could just curl up there-

Danny gasped, eyes blown wide. He shook his head, he needed, he needed to get away. Now. Now body! He wasn’t moving. He wanted, he wanted so badly to move forward, his core promised him friend and safety and connection. He just had to go to the other ghost. He was so tired of being alone, he couldn’t last like this. But he was wrong. His core was wrong. That wasn’t a ghost. That was a man, a man of flesh and bone and warmth and touch and- STOP!

His fingers gripped into his hair painfully. Good, grounding. Breathe in, two, three, out… slow and steady, he could do that.

A hand entered his field of vision.

“Hey…” the voice was soft, softer than the voice that had come out of the helmet, but Danny knew, knew in his core, this was the man, the ghost, not-ghost- the hand came closer.

He bolted.

“Hey!”

Danny didn’t look back, he just ran. He weaved between protesting people. His broken ribs hurt with every deep breath, with every jolt of his shoes hitting the pavement; a reminder that this was not a friend, just another one of the vigilantes.

Something grabbed his backpack and he came to a dead stop, hanging from the worn straps for one heart stopping second as he was pulled backwards off balance.

“Will you stop for a moment!” The voice growled.

Danny met the other’s angry eyes and for just a fraction of a second, he could have sworn they were green not blue, then his instincts kicked in and he turned intangible, sinking through his backpack straps and into the ground.

Danny shivered, holding on to himself, staying just under the pavement. Boots pounded restlessly above him as the other man paced. He could not hear the curses he was spilling, but the tone of voice came through even muffled.

This was for the best. He dared not contemplate what would happen to him should he actually get captured.

Even so he couldn’t help the mournful call of his core. A call that wouldn’t be answered.

Because that man was not a ghost.

Oo o oO

Jason paced angrily, cursing up a storm. He’d had him right there. And still he’d slipped away. Frustration crawled under his skin like bugs. He snarled and looked at the worn purple backpack in his arms. It was old, and bore the evidence of multiple more or less successful repair jobs. Parts of the fabric were singe, and there were dark stains in places that could have been from any number sources, Jason suspected blood was one of them.

The thought set off another round of pacing and cursing. It didn’t help any that he felt sure the Ghost was still close. As if he could just reach out and grab him and stop that bone chilling sadness he felt. He had been so close.

A growl of frustration rose in his chest. He stopped and took a deep breath. Anger wasn’t helping him. He had to think. There could be some identifying information in the backpack. Juggling it up into his arms he unzipped it so he could look inside.

He froze.

He had noticed it was full, but this was not what he expected to find.

Jason slammed the backpack down on the console in front of Bruce - he wasn’t sure how he got to the cave, it didn’t matter. Bruce, dressed like he’d just been sneaking some work in before having to go golfing or something similarly inane, looked from the veritable mountain of protein bars spilling out of the worn bag to Jason looming above him. He leaned back in the chair and raised an eyebrow in question, unfazed always so unfazed.

“He’s not a villain, Bruce, he needs help,” he growled, his helmet darkened his voice, but also masked the way it shook. The Ghost haunted him; hollow eyed, shaking and panicked, with clothes that hung loose on his thin frame and this, now this. Jason paced. If this was all he ate…

Bruce leaned over examining the backpack, he was frowning. Jason hated when he frowned like that: disapproval. Always disapproving, never good enough. His fists clenched.

“This belongs to the thief?”

Of course it belonged to the thief! Was he being willfully stupid? Some Worlds Greatest Detective.

“He needs help,” Jason insisted.

Bruce carefully turned the chair to face him, calculating, judging. Jason forced himself to stand still.

“It’s very possible,” Batman finally spoke, “but we can’t dismiss the idea that he’s working for someone.”

Dismissal. It felt like a slap. Why was he always like that? Why couldn’t he trust him for once? No Batman always knew best, always had to be right. Always so goddamn rightful.

“Jay-“ the voice was soft, worried.

Jason blinked, and suddenly noticed the green reflected on the inside of his helmet. In another blink it was gone, and he saw his hands gripped in Bruce’s soft creme sweater where he’d pulled him to his feet, to do what? He didn’t know. He’d just… He’d just been so angry.

“Jaylad, are you okay?” Bruce’s hands were raised in surrender, not touching, not defending.

Jason looked from Bruce’s worried face, to his hands still holding on. He gasped and let go, took a step back. No- the pits, he hadn’t even noticed they’d creeped back in. He’d lost time. He didn’t know how he’d gotten here. Had he done more than pull at Bruce? He desperately searched Bruce’s concerned face for more signs of violence.

He’s not actually worried, he’s manipulating you, the voices whispered at him. He slammed them down, but it was hard. He felt drained. He couldn’t be there, he couldn’t trust himself. He stumbled backwards, avoiding Bruce’s hands. Turning he saw his bike; at least that was one question answered, he thought hysterically.

Bruce didn’t stop him when he fled. Why would he? Disappointment, always a disappointment.

Masterlist for subscription

#dead on main #dp x dc #Jason is catnip to Danny #missed connections #Danny and Jason both have a habit of running away from their problems #Let Jason hug you Danny #You will feel better #he will feel better #everyone will be happy #angst #sorry not sorry

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