I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.
Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.
And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.
Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.
They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.
When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.
Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.
When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.
"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.
"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.
Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.
Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.
Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.
When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.
Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.
because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far
when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)
danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.
and god help him, he's going to help people.
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“no one has brown eyes in amity park”
The DMV just outside of Amity Park was a small, red-bricked building with poor air conditioning and a waiting room full of broken chairs. Eva stood by the wall, stiff, waiting with her uncle for the results of her driver's permit test. After almost twenty minutes, the woman at the counter called her name and she followed her uncle with bated breath.
Oh God, what if she didn't pass? Then she would have to wait and take it again and she wouldn't be able to get her license when she turned sixteen and she'd be the last of the A-Listers to drive and—!
"You passed," the woman said. "You were one point from failing."
Her uncle clapped her on the back. "See, I told you it would be fine."
The woman at the counter began entering in more information into the computer, having her sign a few papers here and there. She paused on the question about organ donation—sending a pang through her heart. It hadn’t been more than three months since her mom passed. Died on the list for a new liver.
Her uncle’s eyes softened in understanding. “Eva, you don’t have to—”
“Yes,” she hissed. “Yes. I’ll do it.”
The rest of the questions were standard.
"Height?"
"Five-four."
"Weight?"
"One-hundred fifty."
"Eye color?"
"Brown."
The woman stopped typing and looked up from the screen. She met Eva’s gaze with her own light teal eyes.
"Pardon?"
"I have brown eyes?"
"What, so you wear colored contacts?"
"Uh, no. My natural eyes are brown. The most common eye color?"
The woman blinked a few times before turning back to the keyboard. She squinted at the screen, a little put off.
"How strange," she murmured. "Brown eyes."
Later, she left the DMV with a temporary paper driver's permit in her wallet. Her hair was frizzier than she'd like because of the heat and her pupils were constricted from the camera flash, almost lost to her caramel-colored irises.
—
Her uncle needed his eyes dilated. She couldn’t remember what for, but she was more than eager to get more experience behind the wheel.
She found a chair near the corner of the waiting room and settled down with her phone.
One of the optometrists walked through the waiting room and stopped in front of her. His brow furrowed in confusion.
Had something gone wrong with the dilation? How did someone mess that up?
“Um,” he said, “I couldn’t help but notice your eyes.”
She raised a brow. “Aren’t you an eye doctor?”
“Yes. Well, I mean—” he stopped “—I noticed your eye color. It’s peculiar. Is it real?”
“You’re asking if my brown eyes are real?” she said slowly. It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten a comment like that in Amity Park and it was starting to weird her out. No one in her old town had spared a second thought about her eyes. “Yeah. They’re real.”
He paled. “I’m sorry if that was a rude question. I just, I’ve been working here for almost two decades now. I don’t see many people with brown eyes.”
“How’s that? It’s the most common eye color.”
His lips formed a straight line. “Maybe outside. Amity Park is different, though. I had a patient eight—maybe nine—years ago. He moved here from Vermont. His eyes were brown too, the first time he came in for an appointment. I saw him a year after that, and his eyes had faded to hazel green.”
“And this was an adult?”
He nodded. “The strangest part was that he didn’t remember. Insisted his eyes had always been hazel green. Spooked out all of us.”
“I just moved here a few months ago,” she admitted, a little shaken. “That won’t happen to me, will it?”
The optometrist shrugged. “Stranger things have happened in Amity Park.”
His phone went off and he fumbled for it, swearing.
“I’m sorry, I have to take this.”
He ran out of the waiting room, giving Eva far more than she would like to think about.
—
On the morning of her sixteenth birthday, Eva’s uncle let her drive them both to the DMV. They got breakfast on the way there, sharing fast food breakfast sandwiches in the parking lot.
When it came to the actual driving test, she passed with flying colors. She adjusted her mirrors and her seat, buckled up, drove a circle around the DMV, checked her blind spot before she merged lanes, and showed the instructor she could parallel park.
When she went inside to officialize her license—her actual, full-fledged driver’s license!—the woman at the counter confirmed all her information. She’d gained an inch in the past half-year and she insisted she was still the same weight, even though she was a good five pounds heavier. Although, what confused her was her eye color.
She frowned at the “BRN” stamped on her permit.
“My eyes are green, though.”
The woman at the counter hummed. “Must be an error. I’ll change it.”
“Hm. Yeah,” Eva eyed her photo from her learner’s permit on the counter, bright green eyes and all, “don’t know how I didn’t notice it before.”
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