Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was why Marinette didn't like big, grand business events. There were three days reserved for their company's annual anniversary conference, but it was all just empty festivities—a chance for the higher-ups to feast on the luxury inside a five-star hotel in Metropolis, and an illusory period for the employees under them like they were given gold star stickers in exchange for giving their lives to the corporation. With the same three days, she could've drafted the new spring clothing line. 

She scanned the pristine lobby, littered with workers in business casual. They look that relieved to be out of Gotham, I see. She couldn’t blame them. It was all expenses paid.  

Before she could bring out her tablet to make a quick sketch (Metropolis was refreshing, at least. The travel triggered the bare minimum for inspiration), she spied a woman fidgeting around with a dark clipboard in hand. Marinette was quick to approach who she recognized was Beatrice from HR.  

“Is there a problem?” She asked carefully, ignoring how the woman's eyes widened upon seeing her.  

“Miss M! Hello,” Beatrice gave a polite but still tense smile. “It's no big deal, really. Mr. Samson is complaining about not getting an entire suite for himself, but we don't have enough rooms—all of them are already pre-assigned and reserved, and we have just the right number for everyone . . .”  

Marinette resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Typical Samson, typical execs.  

“I'll share my room,” she cut Beatrice off before the woman dissolved into a blubbering anxious puddle.  

“Miss Mari!” Beatrice's eyes grew larger behind her cat-eye glasses. “I can't possibly let you—”  

“I'll room with her.” A new voice piped up. Marinette smelled the coffee before she caught the gray fleece in her periphery.  

Beatrice's voice turned a pitch higher, seeing the newcomer. “Mr. Fenton! You-erm-are you sure . . .?”  

“You don't mind, do you, Mari?” Danny asked. At the same time, Marinette finally turned around and craned her neck to meet her colleague's gaze. Dr. Daniel Fenton stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of corporate uniforms: his unkempt hair, dark circles, and gray hoodie screamed college student who just strolled late into his morning class. If Marinette didn't know that he didn't care one bit about fashion choices, she would've made a remark about how the shade of his sneakers didn't match the dark wash of his jeans or how there were multiple loose threads on the embroidered patch on his hoodie.  

“Nope. You would've been my first choice.” With a smile, she leisurely took Danny's coffee cup and took a swig for herself. Finally. I'm resuscitated.  

Danny mirrored her smile, which seemed to mortify Beatrice even more. “That wouldn't be a problem, right Beatrice?”  

“Nope! Not at all! Excuse me–I need to inform the hotel staff about the change . . .” The woman pressed her clipboard to her chest tightly and scurried off.  

Danny took the opportunity to steal back his coffee. Marinette pouted.  

“You look dapper this morning.” She looked at him from head to toe again.  

Danny snorted. “I know you're silently judging me again Mars, don't feed me your bullshit.”  

“I just said you look dapper.”  

If someone asked Marinette how she'd describe her relationship with Danny Fenton, she'd just say that they bonded over their shared annoyance over the other department heads’ uptight asses. But she hardly knew anything about the guy—well, no one in the entire company actually knew anything about him. He was a laidback, chill, giving zero fucks kind of person, but it was a solid fact that he was excellent in his work. 

The fashion and space engineering departments seldom had opportunities to work together, but Marinette knew from the gossip that spread like wildfire: Danny was not someone to be trifled with. Not now, not ever. There had been an incident where a team under his department sent the new interns on petty errands. Rumors said the offices’ temperatures turned sub-zero the moment Danny found out, and the team leader quit ten minutes later.  

While all of the employees found a new department head to fear, Marinette found one of her kin.  

The two headed to the front desk to wait for their key cards, witnessing–just in time–their boss of bosses wheel into the lobby in roller skates with his exasperated secretary trailing behind.  

Danny whistled lowly. “Roller skates? A statement.”  

“That turns you on?”  

“Shut up.” 

“He'll crash into the snack bar. I can feel it.” Marinette smirked. 

Not long after, another one of their bosses entered, walking in long strides and talking into his phone. Danny nudged her. “There's your lapdog.”  

“Not my lapdog. More like a very annoying stray cat who decided that his hobby is to bother me for no reason at all.” Marinette sighed.  

Beatrice came up to them with key cards a short while afterwards, still apologizing in spam mode for the inconvenience and granting them unlimited access to the ‘Spa and Wellness Center’ of the hotel as compensation. The two went on to look for their room to settle in.  

It was a spacious room, fancy but cozy. Marinette knew Danny well enough at least to know that he wouldn't be a difficult roommate. Plus, they were both workaholics; she guessed they would be working for the two nights of stay, while exchanging a few words here and there.  

She flopped down on her bed. Look over the budget with finance. Browse sample fabrics. Edit that weird monstrosity of a design my brain came up with at 2:43 a.m. last Tuesday. There's so much to do.  

“Hey I heard there's a welcome buffet on the second floor. Apparently, their lobster cakes are to die for. Want anything?” Danny kicked off his shoes to slap on a pair of fuzzy slippers. Marinette's fashion police subconscious jerked once again.  

Marinette waved her hand without opening her eyes. “I just ate, no thanks. Steal some dessert for me though?”  

“Gotcha.”  

With a click of the lock, she was left alone.  

But not exactly alone.  

There was a tap on their window. At the twenty-ninth floor.  

She didn't want to move. She didn't want to see. Because she could already sense who it was and she wasn't in the mood to entertain a guest in the middle of a getaway.  

The tapping grew louder and more persistent.  

With a groan, Marinette lifted herself out of bed and opened the window to let Chat Noir slip into the room. She glared at her best friend, noticing that his suit was converted into the high-flying, space-traversing version. “You wasted a power-up on this?!”  

Chat lifted the visor of his helmet, revealing a toothy smile. “It's not a waste. It's clever ‘cause someone won't let me borrow the horse Miraculous. Also Plagg says the cheese in Metropolis is immaculate.”  

“Plagg says all cheeses are immaculate.” Marinette sat back down, crossing her arms. 

“He's already offended, I can tell.” 

“What are you even here for? This couldn't have been an email? A call?”  

She immediately knew that he was already a mix of sleep-deprived and high on sugar, because he started snooping around, looking curiously at the lighting panels and sleek bed frames. “Spare me your office lingo, you corpo slave.”  

“You're one too,” she deadpanned.  

He scoffed. “I'm my own boss. I'm the corpo boss.”  

Chat was getting close to Danny's side of the room when she grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “No. Bad kitty . Don't touch anything there or you and I will be dead .”  

“Um, literally been there done that?”  

“Chat. Get to the point. Why are you here?”  

He raised his arms in surrender and reverted back to his usual suit. Fingers flew up immediately to his hair to brush the strands into his signature messy look. “Remember that thing we were looking into? It happened again.”  

Marinette frowned. “The black market of Grimoire copies?”  

“The cultists,” Chat corrected. “Or those guys who are part of the Order–according to them—but have this weird cult aesthetic going on. I told them to stop with their rituals, as per your authority but they said they answer to–” He made random gestures with his hands. “-the Ghost King, bearer of the flaming crown.”  

“Who?” Marinette reached into her bag. 

“I looked into it. This was a long long time ago, but apparently there was a branch of the Order that believed the powers of the Miraculous to come from the Ghost King. They're basically like an offshoot fandom. Who's the ‘Ghost King’?” He shrugged. “No idea. No info anywhere, nada, non. I asked Plagg and he didn't know. He's heard of the title tossed around here and there, but not an actual description or person. He says the other kwamis wouldn't know either, but we can try with Fluff. Best bet.”  

Marinette could already feel it. An incoming headache. “So there's a deity that part of the Order is dedicated to, and they're trying to ‘replicate’ the powers of the Miraculi with rituals appealing to this ‘Ghost King’?”  

“Huh, this could've been an email. You're right.”  

She buried her head in her hands. “I thought I dissolved the Order already. Mon dieu. I'm done with them!” She angrily fetched her tablet to squeeze in a quick reminder. “I'll convene the kwamis and ask Fluff. If we can't find anything, I'll check the Burrow.”  

“Yep. Also recommend checking out that cult. The vibes are sooo off but I can't explain why,” Chat suggested. “Maybe it's better if you take a look yourself.”  

“Got that, but I'll need you to focus on the black market instead.”  

“That's boring!” He whined.  

“It's related.” Marinette clicked her tongue. “Among those fake Grimoire copies is a real one—another volume. It might have answers about the Ghost King.”  

“ Fiiine. ”  

She reviewed her week's schedule. Let's do lunch with a cult on Saturday then.  

Marinette looked up for a second, just to check if the welcoming program was starting yet. Everyone was now gathered in the ceremonial hall, seated precisely around white cloth-covered round tables with flower centerpieces. Staff were busily running around for last minute checks. Marinette herself was seated with the members of her department, some taking the time to chat amongst themselves in the meantime.  

She smelled coffee again. But this wasn't Danny-coffee.  

She stopped doodling on her small sketchpad. The title ‘Ghost King’ seemed to have occupied her mind, and now she was aimlessly designing outfits that matched death and the paranormal.  

The coffee smell hadn't disappeared. The towering presence beside her hadn't disappeared.  

Not my lapdog, but the annoying stray. She already had two cats in her life, Adrien and Plagg, and they were enough for her.  

“I brought you coffee.” The tempting cup was shoved under her nose. “Fenton said you stole his.”  

“I do that all the time.” She wrinkled her nose and begrudgingly took the drink. “Does this—”  

“Two sugars and cream. Triple shot,” he interrupted.  

“You even know that? So obsessed with me.” She finally looked up to meet the broody eyes of one Damian Wayne. “Don't you have anything else to do? Like a speech to prepare for?”  

“It's a bribe,” he grumbled. “We need the modifications for the formal wear as soon as poss–”  

“They're the executives’ nitpicks . I don't trust ‘fashion advice’ from middle-aged men who violate the sandwich method.” She levelled him with an equally firm gaze. “It's also their fault they gave their comments two weeks after the deadline was set. We've already ordered the materials and fabrics.”  

“You did not wait for the approval–”  

“I didn't break any rules. Wait for Audrey Bourgeois to write a commentary on those designs, and the execs will be praising our department in a second.” Her lips quirked up. She was fairly certain she saw Damian's eye twitch.  

“The reports on—”  

“We're following up details from marketing. Be patient, Wayne.”  

Damian let out a deep sigh. “The new collection?”  

“Are you rushing me?”  

“I—”  

“I don't have any ideas yet.” She made sure to slowly, slowly sip on her coffee, hoping that he would give up and leave. “Come back when I've thought of something.”  

“Dupain-Cheng.”  

“ Wayne. ”  

“When will you stop being difficult?”  

Marinette gestured towards the front where a certain man had just knocked over the tables meant for the investors. “Our CEO trusted me to be difficult when needed. What about your job? Are you being paid just to nag me?” 

Damian just stared at her for a long time, irritation clear in his features. Marinette just smiled at him with faux innocence. Finally, he did a hundred-eighty and stormed off.  

She took another sip of her ambrosia. Whoops. He's definitely getting back at me for that one.  

About four tables away, she caught Danny watching, and he had the gall to mouth, ‘lapdog’ to her. She flipped him off in response.  

Chapter Text

He should’ve taken the hole in his silk pajamas as a warning sign. Danny’s gut was telling him there was something— something in the air— but he didn’t know if it was good or bad. Or maybe it was because the hotel’s coffee had more of an acidic kick than he liked. He pushed the feeling aside though, as it wasn’t as prominent or persistent; it wasn’t a feeling of danger. No cold breath of air to warn him about ghosts. It was just a little feeling.  

So when he finished washing up, changing into his pajamas, and slipping into his warm fluffy slippers, he sat on his bed thinking deeply. On the other side of the room, Marinette was already knocked out by sleep after staying up late finishing sketches. He smiled a little, seeing her fingers still twitching around her stylus like she was still designing in her dreams.  

Marinette Dupain-Cheng. The woman, the myth, the legend. The one name that would bring anyone working in their company to their knees. She was a force of her own, the goddess of the fashion department who once made Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox cower with her fashion critique. The first time he saw her, Danny immediately knew she was different from the other department heads; it was the usual executives’ meeting, and they had shared a look as if saying ‘do you hear this load of bullcrap?’. The rest was history after that.  

Danny stretched his arms. 4:15 a.m. Royal duties call. After checking his roommate one last time, he quietly summoned a portal and walked into his office inside his usually uninhabited castle in the Zone. His shoulders sagged, seeing that his table was exactly as he left it: papers stacked haphazardly, all sorts of pens scattered with half-empty coffee mugs arranged nearby like it was some sort of ritual.  

Okay, insomnia. You win this time, he complained inwardly.  

Though he had already organized the political structures of the Realms (those damned eyeballs had to do something, thank you very much), a king’s duties were never ending. There reports to go over, affairs within and outside the Zone, and ghosts and subjects to govern. He picked up where he left off before, reading an update about another one of the Lazarus Pits being purged.  

“Eyeball,” he called out without looking up from the papers.  

“Yes, your Highness?”  

“Coffee.”  

The Observant went quiet for a moment. “We were told by Frostbite not to allow you to have caffeine, Your Highness.”  

Danny groaned. “ Ugh. Frosty!”  

He knew very well that the yeti would pull the Jazz card if he was caught disobeying doctor’s orders. He dismissed the Observant and leaned back once more, biting his tongue and kicking his feet up the desk. The odd-tasting brew in the hotel would do for now.  

He shoved the current file away into storage and was about to pick up the next one in the pile, when some words caught his eye. Group . . . cult . . . summoning. What. He carefully pulled out the piece of paper from the middle of the stack and skimmed the contents.  

His lips drew into a straight line as he felt the light buzz of the metal band on his finger.  

“ Fright Knight.”  

No more than a second later, the spirit appeared. Danny could feel his fingertips getting cold while they drummed atop the table.  

“My lord?” Fright Knight said in a quieter voice than usual.  

“I thought we were done with summoning.” Danny’s words were sharp, laced with not only annoyance but a cold tone of disapproval. He handed the file to his subject.  

He had made sure all records of summoning and how to summon the Ghost King was eliminated from the mortal realm to keep pesky cultists from forcibly teleporting him to do their ‘bidding’. He even restricted the sources of Blood Blossoms, making sure every single one was kept under tight regulation.  

“This—this is different, my lord. It is a matter of the Order it seems. The Miraculi.”  

“What the hell is that?”  

The ghost shifted. “A set of magical items that grant wielders the powers of gods.”  

“These magical items can summon me?”  

“. . . The protectors of the items, the Guardians, can summon you.” Fright Knight bowed his head. “I apologize. I lack knowledge about the Miraculi, and our archives have limited records on them as well.”  

Danny carded a hand through his hair. Another way to summon the King I didn’t know about?  

Ancients. Damn the hole in his pajamas. It was another mess to clean up.  

“Stay here,” he ordered his knight. “Clockwork, I need you.”  

His former mentor took his time emerging, taking the appearance of an old man this time. Danny raised his hands, summoning out the scarce records about the Miraculi from the sky-high shelves behind him. His eyes scanned over the papers. Magical jewels. Small god-like beings inside. Transformations and weapons. Wait, why do they look like furries? There’s an animal theme going on?  

“Miraculous. Miraculi.” He spared a glance at the ghost of time. “What, when, where, who, how?”  

“They are jewelry that grants powers as you just learned,” Clockwork spoke, “They are protected and wielded by the Order of Guardians but have been passed around into different hands, within and between realms. Most are dormant and unused, however one of the Miracle Boxes has become active in recent years.”  

“So these accessories were made to overpower the Ghost King?” Danny asked.  

Clockwork was back to his echo-ey cryptic mode. “Not made especially to subdue the King per se, but these Miraculi hold an immeasurable amount of power like you do. Because these jewels conform to balance above all, it just so happens that they can tip the scales to be on an equal level as you.”  

“Okay . . . basically I’m so OP that these jewels gravitate towards restoring balance by being as OP as me.” It was Fright Knight who nodded in confirmation. “By that logic, I have some power over the Miraculi too, right?”  

“Yes, but in involving yourself in the matters of the Miraculous, you must seek out the Celestial Guardian, who has authority above all the boxes and the Order.”  

“Where do I find this Guardian?”  

Clockwork didn’t speak. Danny took that as a cue that the ghost couldn’t say anything more. He turned to his other subject. “Frighty?”  

“The jewels were last observed to be active in France. The Guardian must be there.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, the Guardian is notorious for being elusive.”  

Danny thought back to any memory, but nothing came up. As far as he knew, there wasn't any big news about magical artifacts in France and he hadn’t heard anything from and about ghosts there either.  

His leg bounced as his mind raced with plans. “We have a network of ghosts. We’ll find this Guardian and talk to them—thanks CW, you can leave now—Frighty, can you find me a ghost from France who’s willing to talk? Get Technus to help out too, see if he can find information we missed. I’ll shoot a message to Tucker.”  

Fright Knight disappeared with a billow of smoke, bowing deeply. Danny threw his head back and closed his eyes. Thoughts about the Miraculous, Guardian, the schedule of his department and the stupid conference twisted and turned in his mind. Faintly, he could hear a voice telling him to take a long rest and it sounded suspiciously like his sister.  

I’ll rest when I’m dead dead.  

After going through a few more reports and shooing off Observants, he returned back to his hotel room to see that the sky was slowly shifting to welcome the sunrise. Marinette was still asleep, so he decided to venture out of the room so he didn’t disturb her, recalling that there was a lounge in the lower floors, armed with snacks and coffee.  

Danny recognized a few company employees in the lounge shackled to their laptops, perhaps trying to beat morning deadlines. He headed straight towards the coffee machine where he saw a familiar figure browsing the pastries and cookies.  

“All-nighter?” He slid next to Tim, who jerked in surprise.  

The tired CEO stared at him for a few seconds before cracking a smile. “The usual. Cute pajamas.”  

Danny laughed. “Cute eyebags.”  

“Thanks, they’re designer.”  

They picked out their snacks and filled up their mugs with coffee (Danny secretly replaced Tim’s with decaf. For Tam’s sanity) and chose a comfy spot to sit and eat. Danny noted how his boss moved sluggishly, as if his consciousness wasn’t quite synced up with his body.  

Tim raised an eyebrow at him as he rubbed his shoulder. “You’re staring. I’m fine, I’ll crash in, like, two hours and you won’t see me until the afternoon.”  

“And I thought my sleeping habits were bad.”  

“Yours are bad. I heard you spent seventy-five straight hours in your office for that one rocket issue.”  

Danny bit back a smile. “Stalker. You were the one who collapsed while talking to an investor.”  

There was a reddish tint in the other man’s pale cheeks. “How do you even know that?”  

Widening grin. “Y’know. Walls have ears.” Ghosts, too.  

“The way you’re watching me closely.” Tim gasped, hand over his mouth. “Do you have a crush on me?”  

“And if I do?”  

The CEO choked on his doughnut. Danny folded over in laughter, seeing how Tim’s eyes widened and his words alone struck the latter fully awake.  

Tim coughed out the last of the crumbs, scowling at Danny while wiping the edge of his lips. “Fuck you. This is workplace harassment.”  

“What are you gonna do? Fire the best space engineer Wayne Enterprises has ever had?” Danny took a sip of his coffee. “And look at you talking about workplace harassment like you weren’t checking out my butt last week.”  

Tim turned into a deeper, redder shade. “I wasn’t!”  

“Was too. I feel your eyes on me, mister.”  

“You—you felt wrong. ” Tim fanned his warming cheeks, leaning away from Danny. “You are so rude to your boss.”  

You should see Marinette with Damian. Danny smirked. “And you love it.”  

“Danny!”  

“ Tim !” He mocked in a teasing tone.  

Tim groaned. “I hate it when you flirt back. You’re ridiculous and I’m not caffeinated enough for this.” When he took a sip of his drink his face instantly morphed into disgust. “ Eugh, ew, this is decaf! Why is this decaf? Take this poison away from me.”  

“You need sleep, not coffee,” Danny remarked as he gently moved Tim’s cup to his side before the sleep-deprived gremlin could throw it against the wall.  

“Hypocrite. You do too.”  

“Mhmm. Want to sleep together?”  

“ Oh my god! ” The CEO squawked and abruptly stood up “I’m leaving. Can’t do this right now, it’s too early and you’re too hot in those paja—I’m shutting up now!”  

Danny felt his core thrum in amusement as Tim ran out of the lounge, purposely ignoring the other occupants of the room who were trying to discreetly stare at them but were obviously failing. He should be getting the rest he deserves, he said to himself.  

The Unholy Trinity  

T: Bro, this is crazy. I looked into what you sent, right? Paris had supervillains and superheroes since a decade ago and the rest of the world didn’t know.  

S: I think I’ve seen this film before and I didn’t like the ending.  

D: Powers from the Miraculous? 

T: Yup. One of them can take advantage of negative emotions to turn people into superpowered villains.  

T: There’s no trace of it anywhere cuz another Miraculous can revert everything back to normal.  

T: wait, here  

T: [sent 6 video attachments]  

S: no way that’s real  

D: wtf  

T: some of those villains…they were brutal. looked like a dimension the Soul Shredder would take you to.  

S: are they still around?  

T: all the Miraculi are in the Guardian’s custody now…I think  

S: so in good hands?  

T: honestly? Idk. i can’t track any of the former heroes or the Guardian 

S: lol. sounds like someone i know  

D: do we have any leads at all?  

T: still looking into it. I think FK has more info from the French ghosts 

T: have you asked Cons?  

D: no way. He’s annoying.  

S: what about J?  

D: doesn’t know about it. He offered to help tho  

D: have you hacked into JL records?  

S: surely, SURELY, they know about the giant baby and a train flying up to space 

T: scrubbed it clean. Technus helped btw and nope they know nothing about it  

S: oh.  

D: oh.  

Chapter Text

Just because the Zone was technically the ‘Land of the Dead’, it didn't mean that it couldn't boast picturesque sceneries. Clockwork's new abode was a testament to that, breaking through all the green and gray of the ectoplasm, there were orchids hanging in the enclosed garden, all in shades of purple and pitch black. Motes of bright light flitted around, but if one were to look closely, they were actually blob ghosts that were radiating with more luminosity than usual. Two velvet wingback chairs stood across each other with a round table between them. Perched atop that table was a miniature grandfather clock that ticked out of rhythm. 

A bright beam of light materialized in the garden as a portal slowly opened up. A short-haired woman clad in white and blue stepped out, twirling her umbrella and one hand and holding a golden pocket watch in the other.  

“I hope I'm not late for teatime in wonderland, Clocky?” Alix called out into emptiness.  

That was Clockwork's cue—the spirit of time turned visible, appearing in the form of a man in his early thirties. Beside him, a tray with tea and all sorts of snacks floated to be laid down on the table.  

“You came at just the right time,” Clockwork motioned for her to sit. “When did you come from?”  

The woman snickered. “Dropped by the sixties and found a spot to party. It was cool.”  

The ghost nodded. “I prefer the time before human civilization but yes, the sixties cannot be missed.”  

“Aw shit, I forgot I have to treat Louie to a carcass.” Alix munched on a cupcake, gulping down on the warm tea right after. “I think he misses you by the way—he got sick and I had to research herbal remedies ‘cause there's no dinosaur vets in the B.C., you know.”   

“I can refer you to a yeti in the Far Frozen, if you'd like.”  

She waved her hand. “Another time. We've got plenty after all.”  

Clockwork touched the decoration on their table to fix its ticking. “About your master and mine . . .”  

Alix yanked out her watch, rabbit ears perking up when she took a look. “That's today? Merde, it's sooner than I expected.”  

“Time does pass differently if you travel the streams.”  

“Tell me about it.” The Miraculous holder indulged in another dessert. “Heck, I don't even remember when's the last time I ate. What's the issue? It is as we promised, non ?”  

“Minimum interference,” Clockwork confirmed, “However, I propose we keep a close eye on them in this timeline.”  

“I'll set up more screens in the Burrow.” Alix rubbed her chin. “Are you sure they're going to be okay?”  

“We must trust that they will handle the events to come in their future.”  

Damian entered his father’s assigned suite in the hotel, dragging a half-conscious Tim behind him. The morning half of the conference had just concluded, but he still had plenty of work to do. He dropped his brother onto one of the couches, not caring if the CEO plopped into an awkward angle, saliva still tracing the side of his mouth.  

Bruce’s room was the largest, most lavish in the building, but it was rarely in use since he resorted to travel back and forth between Gotham and Metropolis because of vigilante duties. The place was more like a penthouse than an actual hotel room, complete with two bedrooms and a bath, a mini-bar, an upper loft, and a spacious lounge.  

“Father, tell Drake to stop overdosing on caffeine if he does not want to suffer a crash and fall into a coma for the next forty-eight hours,” Damian said out loud, unbuttoning his tight cuffs and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.  

“You and I both know he won’t listen to me,” Bruce replied, emerging from the master bedroom. “But please wake him up now. Our guests will be arriving soon.”  

“Drake, wake up. ” Damian hissed and lightly kicked his brother.  

He got a hum and continued snoring in response.  

The youngest sighed. “Wake up, Fenton is here.”  

That seemed to be the magic phrase—Tim bolted upwards, looking around in disorientation and muttering something along the lines of ‘cute pajamas’. When he realized that he had been tricked, he lousily threw a pillow at Damian, who merely caught it.  

“Did you forget?” Damian tsked. “They are arriving soon.”  

Bruce had taken the initiative to bring out a tray of drinks and refreshments from the mini-bar, and he also straightened the pillows in the lounge area just to keep up appearances. Damian thought that it was useless; Marinette and Danny were the last people to even care about such details.  

The email had been sent just that morning, since Bruce rushed to relay a message to his secretary. Damian was CC’ed in it as well, and his father couldn’t have phrased it any more vaguely: just an email asking Marinette and Danny to come up to Bruce Wayne’s suite for an important meeting. Bruce hadn’t told them the details, but Damian had a feeling what it was about.  

After forcing Tim to present himself at least half-decently, the doorbell rang and Bruce himself answered it. The department heads of space engineering and fashion were ushered to the leather seats, skepticism and confusion both hinted in their faces.  

Damian took particular notice of Marinette. He knew for a fact that she was running on just four hours of sleep since she was still able to reply to an email at the crack of dawn. But she certainly didn’t look like it. No, Marinette Dupain-Cheng wouldn’t be caught dead in public looking less than excellently put-together in a half-assed outfit.  

Bruce cleared his throat, clasping his hands together. “Thank you, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Dr. Fenton. I know you took time out of your busy schedules—”  

It was Tim who interrupted him. “Skip the formalities, B. They hate that. Just get straight to the point and don’t waste time. They’re workaholics. Work-junkies. They want to be out of here as soon as possible.”  

Marinette didn’t show it, but Damian could practically hear her agreeing earnestly. 

He paused for a moment to look at Danny before adding, “And Danny hates being called Dr. Fenton. Just call him Danny.”  

Bruce cleared his throat again, throwing out a tight smile. “Right. I apologize. I called you both here because I have an important offer for you. As you may know, the company and my family work in collaboration with the Justice League for funding and similar matters. The heroes contacted me and your work seemed to have caught their attention—they asked if you would be willing to help them in designing suits and renovating the Watchtower.”  

Damian didn’t know how or why, but something in the atmosphere shifted. The air turned cold and stifling, and both Danny and Marinette’s body languages changed ever so slightly. If Damian hadn’t been trained to carefully read people, he would’ve missed it: the way Danny’s eyes turned green and glowing for a millisecond, and the way Marinette’s smile dropped just a little.  

He glanced at his father, certain that he noticed it too.  

The truthful part was that the heroes were really hoping for the two of them to extend their talents to the League. The omitted part was that it was Bruce who was first captured by curiosity and hit with the idea, after seeing how Marinette seamlessly incorporated Kevlar into a Gotham-inspired clothing line in case of a Rogue attack at the runway and how Danny added an impenetrable shield function into one of their satellites for extraterrestrial protection.  

They were brilliant. Enough to be needed by the Justice League.  

But why was there hostility in the sudden silence?  

“Mr. Wayne,” Marinette spoke slowly. Guardedly. “Why did the Justice League ask for us?”  

“It’s a bit embarrassing—they do have experts for the Watchtower and their suit designs, but I believe your skills will be invaluable—” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll have to decline.” 

Bruce stilled, maybe a bit stunned by her firm tone.  

Damian continued in his stead. “You will be compensated generously and they asked for you by name —”  

Her piercing blue eyes targeted him. “My answer is still ‘no’ .”  

He felt his father place a hand on his back as a warning. Bruce spoke again, more softly this time. “Is there any problem with this offer?”  

“It’s a personal matter,” Marinette replied brusquely. She didn’t raise her voice or change her unreadable expression, but Damian felt the finality in her few words.  

“I’ll also pass . ”  

It was Danny this time, lacking his usual leisurely drawl. Damian knew Danny as a bright, easygoing person, one with a personality that reminded him of Jon. But the one in front of him now was a different person—he was stony and detached, a side Damian had never seen in the couple years the scientist worked for them.  

“If there is a way we can compromise—”  

“ I refuse the offer ,” Danny cut Bruce off. Damian couldn’t understand, but the sound of the man’s voice reverberated in his bones. “I’m flattered and thanks, but no thanks.”  

Damian bit his tongue. He could feel Tim vibrating with unsaid questions beside him.  

“Alright, I will not press further and I respect your decision.” The fake smile was plastered on Bruce’s face once again. “I’ll relay your response to the League but if you ever change your minds, we’ll be one email away.”  

The two left the room as quickly as they went in. As soon as the door closed, Tim made a beeline towards it— 

“Drake, you better not be doing what I think you are doing,” Damian warned.  

Tim turned back to him. Damian knew that damned expression; his brother had found interesting prey to stalk, prod, investigate, interrogate and study from inside out once again.  

“They have their reasons.” Damian stood up, preparing to hold him back by the collar. “If anything is suspicious it would have been shown in the background checks.”  

Tim scoffed. “Aren’t you curious at all?”  

“I am.” I have never witnessed Dupain-Cheng act in that way before. “But there are boundaries. The more we cross the line, the more secretive they will get.”  

“I’ll be discreet.”  

“ Drake. You cannot last a second before you turn into a complete fool in front of Fenton.”  

Tim’s pinkish cheeks proved his point.  

“F—fine! I’ll talk to Marinette and you take care of Danny!” Tim bolted out of the suite before Damian could hold him back.  

Damian sighed. To him, it seemed that Marinette was averse to the idea of working with the JL specifically and he couldn’t think of a reason. But with the way she spoke, there were too many layers to it, buried under a thick mask and well-hidden secrets. That reason must be complicated.  

He strode out of the room. Unfortunately, the detective in him won out.  

“Earth to Mars,” Danny’s voice rang out through the speaker.  

Damian buried his head in his hands, cursing how Tim just went on to talk to Marinette himself. He had a feeling that Danny won’t be budging anytime soon, so he went ahead and did something worse.  

He bugged their room.  

And when he had told Tim, Tim just howled with laughter at his face.  

But why, what exactly was the issue with the Justice League? Damian listened in and recorded. It wasn’t only one, but it was both of them. Had the heroes committed a sin they were unaware of? Was there a detail they missed all this time? Space was Danny’s permanent hyperfixation–that offer was his ticket to working on the infamous Watchtower. Why turn that down? And Damian has seen Marinette make clothes that were heat-resistant, cold-resistant, toxin-resistant, generally Rogue-resistant. What was so different about doing the same for superheroes? 

Tim settled on a seat nearby. “I’ll bite and go Harley on you. It’s not just Bat-paranoia. You’re worried that the only person you ever showed any romantic interest for is actually not the person you think she is, right?”  

“Shut up,” Damian muttered, not wanting to entertain his brother’s outlandish theories.  

Danny’s voice cut through again. His normal voice. “ Hey, Earth to Mars. You okay? You spaced out for a sec there.” He chuckled. “ Spaced out. Hehe.”  

Marinette spoke. “Huh? Oh . . . yes. Mars to Earth. Mars is fine, so don’t worry.”  

Silence enveloped the two; Damian could only paint a picture in his head of what was going on, what they looked like. He had wanted to set up a camera as well, but it was risky.  

The quietness lasted for a solid four minutes.  

“ Hey Danny, you don’t have to tell me anything but . . . I just realized you were pretty tense back there. I’m sure you have your reasons like I have mine and if it will make you feel better, I’m here to listen. If you don’t want to share, I won’t pry. I’ll even pretend like nothing happened.”  

“Pfft. You just sounded exactly like my sister.”  

“Jazz, right? The psychologist?”  

“Yup, she has a crazy read on people sometimes—creepy, if you ask me.” Danny let out a long sigh. “As much as I want to share my reasons, it’s complicated. Yeah, let’s just call it that. It’s complicated. What I can say is that I don’t like the Justice League and I hate the idea of working with them.”  

Damian looked at Tim, who had his eyebrows knit together in concentration. This will probably be his main concern for the next ten business days.  

It took another long while for Marinette to respond.  

“ Me too. ” Her voice was nearly inaudible. “I don’t like them either. Also, there is a heavy responsibility working with the Justice League. They’re not just offering a promotion; they’re offering a target on our backs. And I very much want to keep my status as a full civilian with no hero-bullshit.”  

Damian snorted. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t offer protection .  

Danny let out a small laugh. “ You’re right. The Watchtower sounds tempting, but I’m busy enough as it is. ”  

The connection abruptly cut off. Damian inhaled sharply. Did they find out?  

Tim already had his laptop out, fingers flying around the keys. “Real smooth of you, brat. Good luck explaining that to them.”  

“Tt. There was just a problem with the connection. They didn’t find out.” Damian was already drafting reports in his head, wondering if Oracle could help them in the investigation. “What are you doing?”  

“Double-checking the background check.”  

Damian had already accepted that it was a futile move. They had already looked closely into Danny and Marinette’s history and there wasn’t anything notable that would explain what happened earlier. 

“They’re clean,” he told the older man.  

“That’s the problem.” There was an eager glint on Tim’s exhausted eyes. “If they’re too clean . . .”  

“They must be working hard to hide something.”  

“Exactly.” Tim stretched his arms. “And I’m not sleeping until I find out what it is.”  

Chapter Text

Marinette expected Damian to be the one to hound her for an explanation, not Tim. Unfortunately for her, it was Tim Drake who was unbelievably persistent about knowing her reasons, going as far as to visit her office in WE as if he didn’t have a never-ending queue of meetings that day. 

“Is it the JL? What is it about the JL that’s so awful?” Not wasting time, her boss made himself comfortable on the swinging egg chair. “Are you one of those people who believe they’re a giant conspiracy?”  

“You’re persistent.” Marinette didn’t spare him a single glance. She was focused on coloring a dress she had to submit the following day.  

“Thanks! I’ve had plenty of practice. So I’ve noticed you dodged the question, which means you do have a problem with the JL. Is it all of them? Is it one hero in particular?”  

She released a sigh. It was many things, stacked on top of each other. Though she knew the nosy Waynes would push harder the more she resisted. Tim Drake was the worst of the bunch—if he found a target, he latched on.  

“It’s a personal grudge.” A bitter smile made its way to her face as she picked out a more vibrant, toxic-looking pastel green to put accents on her design. “I’m not obliged to tell you my reasons.”  

“You just spoke Damian-speech. He’s rubbing off on you.”  

She lifted her stylus from the screen, frowning. “Is that what it looks like?”  

Again, the youngest Wayne was just a pain in her ass, an unwanted stray cat who became so much of a constant in her life that she gave up being annoyed. And learned how to shoo him off when she wasn’t in the mood.  

“No wait, let’s get back to the main point. Don’t you see how confusing it is? How you left with no explanation?” 

“Yes, I know. But if I were in your shoes, I’d be a little more tactful than this, Mr. Drake. ”  

Tim shrugged. “I expected you to prefer everything directly to the point. Straightforward, like Damian. Since you like him so much.”  

“Then I’ll be straightforward with you.” She clasped her fingers together and rested her chin on top. “If you keep pestering me about this, if you even say a word about it around me, I will quit . No week’s notice. No packing. I’ll be walking out of this building and you’ll never see me again.”  

“Hm. Well we do have a lot of aspiring designers who’d fight for a spot in WE . . .”  

She stood up. “Alright. Goodb–” 

“Wait, no!” Tim cried out, springing to his feet. “Please don’t leave. You’re the life and blood of this department!”  

Marinette sat back down. “Thought so.”  

“At least I tried.” Tim said grimly, trudging over to her desk and setting down a humongous cup of frappe. It had an atrocious mountain of whipped cream on top, along with sprinkles and marshmallows.  

She squinted at it. “A bribe?” Must’ve gotten advice from Damian.  

“What? No, I know you won’t give in because of a single drink.”  

“Death by sugar?”  

“It’s a peace offering.”  

Marinette picked up the cup and studied it. “Laced with poison.”  

“What the fuck, who do you even think I am?”  

She shrugged one shoulder, bringing the straw to her lips. Disgustingly sweet, but this will get me through the afternoon. “Did you try this on Danny too?”  

“Danny?” A shaky laugh was forced out of Tim’s throat. “Nope, I didn’t even try with Danny. It’ll kill all my chances with him.”  

“Coward. You’re just worried he’d flirt his way out of interrogation.”  

Speaking of Danny . . .  

It was bothering her. She had only realized how cold Danny had spoken in response to the offer when they had exited the suite. That was when little pieces began to fall into place. Danny was strange, not in the quirky sense no, he was strange even by Gotham standards. There were times he’d pop out from nowhere, and wherever his presence was, a chilly breeze of air followed. Marinette would catch his eyes turn into an iridescent mix of blue and green, and fangs would seemingly peek out of an annoyed curl of the lip. 

Marinette hadn't noticed these things before, not because she didn't care to but because she actively avoided knowing more about him. Danny was the type to curate how much of himself he shared to the world, and she respected that—so if anything about him was out of the ordinary, she looked the other way and dispelled it from her thoughts.  

This time though? It was different. Danny expressed disdain for the Justice League, maybe even to the same degree as hers. She wondered—considered briefly —if he had an experience any similar to hers, and what exactly he was because she was sure as hell he wasn't anything near mortal.  

Her long train of thought accompanied by idle sketching was broken off by the ring of her phone.  

She stared at her screen. Fuck cultists. 

Marinette stepped out from the portal and into Adrien’s apartment in Paris. The model was waiting by the kitchenette to hand her a plate of two croissant sandwiches. “Eat . I can't even imagine what they're feeding you in Gotham.”  

She rolled her eyes, more preoccupied on the dusty tome on the counter. “You got the Grimoire 2?”  

“Damn right,” Adrien grinned, lifting the book to proudly brandish it. “It’s got the info on ghosts and a bit on the Ghost King.”  

“Thanks, minou.” She had gotten the basics from Fluff but it wasn't enough information. The kwami told her about ghosts, and how they dwelled in a separate realm under the rule of the King. There were portals that opened up to connect the mortal world and the ghost world, which let some ghosts roam among the living.  

And they were all made sentient by this special substance called ectoplasm.  

“I recommend reserving an entire night to read through,” Adrien said whilst chewing on his sandwich. “The lore dump’s crazy. Do you remember the Lazarus Pits? Like the one that was made from a Wish?”  

“By that old lunatic, yes.” She began flipping through the roughened pages.  

“Yeah, those Pits are made of ectoplasm—the corrupted kind. Since ecto doesn't work well with the living, obviously , it destabilizes them at the cost of revival.”  

Marinette chewed on her lip. The Miraculous and this other paranormal realm were more intertwined than she thought. “The Pits are ghosts.” 

“I guess so.”  

“This book doesn't have the Ghost King’s address, does it?”  

“It has the Ghost King’s number , if you want to call him through an insanely complicated ritual.” Adrien directed her to a page that had more diagrams and shapes than she cared to comprehend. “Plus this book is so ancient that Plagg thinks it’s outdated.”  

“Outdated?” Marinette echoed.  

“Like how our Grimoire 1 has the info on the Miraculi but if someone were to read it today, they won't exactly know that the Miraculi was recently active in Paris or the current Guardian’s whereabouts.”  

That means we have to rely on more modern means to look for this Ghost King , Marinette decided. If ghosts were as determined to hide as them, things would be difficult. An idea took shape at the back of her head but she pushed it aside for later.  

“Do you think Chloe can help?” She wondered out loud. “Research anything on ghosts and ectoplasm?”  

“I was actually thinking John Constantine,” Adrien suggested, drawing out a sour look from Marinette.  

“He’s our last resort. No, he’s not an option.” Marinette slipped on her glasses to call on a portal again. “I’m off to thwart some cultists if you need me.”  

The most convenient change that came with Guardianship was that Marinette didn't need to transform to use a Miraculous—she just had to put on the accessory and she was good to go. So when she arrived in the abandoned temple armed with her boots and best cult-overthrowing outfit, she had to brush the dust away from her shoulders.  

The vibes were just so off.  

The air was prickling her skin, crawling like a subtle wisp. When it came too close, she could almost hear an unintelligible whisper. She figured that the attunement might’ve come from her being the Guardian.  

“Is this ectoplasm?” She whispered, remembering that this was the same feeling she got from the miasma in Gotham.  

“Smells like death,” Plagg peeked out from her pocket.  

Marinette's lip curled. She was familiar with the feeling of death surrounding her: the chill that runs down your spine, the goosebumps from head to toe, limbs stuck in place. She knew it from Paris, from civilians collapsed on the streets or captured by the akuma before she restored the city with her magic. But this was different. Something unknown. 

She reached the center of the temple, easily spotting the circle of figures hovering around a black— Wait, is that a cauldron? And blood on the ground? What the hell . . . The figures were wearing onyx robes that grazed the floor, with hoods put up to cast a shadow on their faces.  

Marinette didn't try to be sneaky. She strolled right in, and the so-called Guardians broke apart in their formation in a panic. Murmurs spread around the group.  

“Are you telling me this is supposed to summon the Ghost King?” She stared at the poorly-drawn symbols around that cauldron.  

“S—stay away!” One of the cultists cried out, as if warding her off. “We only answer the Great One! Soon, we will have a new generation of Miraculi!”  

She sighed. Dear kwamis, remind me again why am I not being paid as a Guardian? “Look, the King can't make new Miraculi—they didn't even come from the Ghost King in the first place. They're just an entity that balances out the power of the Miraculi and isn't directly related.”  

A hush fell over the group, save for some muttering.  

“Summoning rituals probably won’t work now too. The Ghost King might just be a phone call away now,” Marinette chastised, “That shape doesn't even remotely look like a circle and seriously —cotton robes? You look like you're trying to pull off a B grade horror movie, it's not even funny.”  

A small cackle rang out from her side. “It's funny to me.”  

The cultists seemed startled from Plagg's appearance; they stumbled backwards, disturbing their setup in the middle and yelling out in other languages.  

“ It's the kwami of Destruction!”  

“ Stay back! She'll cataclysm us! ”  

“ Oh Great One, save us! ”  

Marinette glanced at Plagg, who was having fun showing off himself and baring teeth in mischief. “I have another schedule at four. What do you think? I can't really kill them, can I?”  

The kwami flew in a circle around her. “ Technically —”  

“If I do, Alix will come running out to this timeline, you know that Plagg,” she interrupted him.  

“You'll just have to make sure they can't continue doing this,” Plagg shrugged.  

Marinette adjusted the glasses on the bridge of her nose. The cultists weren't moving, perhaps rooted in place by anxiety. With a quick snap of her fingers, multiple portals opened up underneath their feet to immediately transport them to places that were unfathomably far away from each other. Wherever those portals led to, she didn't care anymore.  

“Okay! Let's go now.” She spun on her heel, ready to cast another portal home.  

“Hey Guardian, you sure you're not taking a closer look at that?” The kwami motioned to the ensemble set up in the middle of the room. 

Marinette bit back a groan. As Guardian, she'd learned not to ask too many questions, not to prod further at things she shouldn't be concerned with, not to flaunt curiosity at the colossal unknown. But Plagg was making a point—she was involved in this ghost business whether she liked it or not.  

She just hoped the Ghost King accepted an offering of cookies if it ever came to it.  

“Okay, let’s see here . . .” She made her way back to the cauldron and pulled the lid open. A stronger, more electrifying air wafted out, and inside was a green substance that seemed to be a cross between liquid and gas. 

It’s like pure, concentrated ectoplasm. Marinette shuddered. Something was wrong. “Plagg, how are the vibes looking?”  

The kwami hovered by her shoulder. “The vibes are not immaculate.” 

“I don't get it. I can feel an aura of death, but it’s a bit different?” Frowning, she looked around the place. The “blood” on the floor didn't look like real blood—the shade of red was more vibrant.  

She slowly tipped the cauldron to peek inside when she realized there was more inside. At the bottom, there were luminescent spheres, like baubles piled on top of each other. 

“Oh shit,” she muttered. “Ghost cores?” 

She had read about it in the other Grimoire volume—the very essence of ghosts that made their existence possible. How in the hell did they even get this? The cores cast a chill that made her shiver more. This wasn't just the aura of ectoplasm that she felt in Gotham on a daily basis. These were cores, remnants of ghosts that couldn't be defined as alive or dead. Having a bunch of them here being used for an idiotic ritual felt sacrilegious.  

“They made more of a mess than I thought,” Marinette said through gritted teeth.  

“Made an effort on the ghost harvest, huh,” Plagg commented.  

“Am I even supposed to be able to sense ectoplasm in the first place?”  

“I think it goes with your Guardian subscription.” Plagg flew closer to the cauldron, dipping his paws which just phased through the ectoplasm. “You’re more sensitive to the paranormal, or to natives of other realms. It’s part of balance-keeping after all.”  

Marinette sighed for the millionth time. Can I cancel that subscription? 

“Hey, what are those things?”  

She looked up, following Plagg with her gaze. The kwami floated up to a stack of things hidden under a linen cloth. She wasn't able to notice it before since it was too dark. There was pull at the pit of her stomach, a common sign of danger or misfortune. But she swallowed down that feeling and approached the wall.  

Plagg was the one who lifted the cloth. Underneath were dusty machines, gadgets of all sorts that Marinette couldn't recognize. But what caught her eye, what made her stomach completely sink, was the faded logo on the steel.  

Fenton Works.

Chapter Text

“Hey, the bakery owner was so nice — she gave us free croissants!” Tucker set down the tray filled with warm pastries and three hot drinks (Danny was forced to take tea, much to his disappointment). 

“Umm . . . Why, though? Because we’re tourists?” Sam asked, staring cautiously at their food.  

“I think there's an occasion?”  

“You think? With all these people . . .” Sam trailed off, looking around from their outdoor seating.  

Well, it was hard to explain. At first glance, Paris seemed mundane, no sign of the cursed butterflies or reviving ladybugs as they had seen in their research. But with a closer look, it was obvious that something was wrong, something odd hung in the air: the locals had almost blank gazes if not wary; they walked at a fast pace, repelled by tourists; and their voices were hushed and monotonous.  

It was just like in Amity—it was painfully obvious who were real Parisians and who were not.  

“Damn, these croissants are good!” Tucker explained, biting deep into the buttery pastry.  

“As they should,” Danny grinned proudly. It was Marinette’s family’s bakery after all, and Marinette made the best croissants she often shared in the office.  

Marinette.  

That was another thought that was floating around in his head. Marinette was from Paris. That meant she experienced their villain and the so-called ‘akumas’. The pieces were clicking in Danny's head. If this was another place that cried for help only to be ignored by the JL, no wonder Marinette expressed her loathing for the heroes.  

“So it is just me, or there's practically no ectoplasm in this place?” Sam asked while slapping Danny's reaching hand from her espresso.   

“No, you're right,” Danny nodded. “There's practically none.”  

“And . . . is that normal?” Tucker raised a brow.  

“Absolutely not.” Danny studied their surroundings again. The lack of ecto was almost unnerving. “Usually, there's some ambient ecto in any place. Well, Gotham's an outlier as you know—that place is full of ectoplasm and ghosts, always has been. Just here in Paris, there's almost zero.”  

In fact, I think the most ecto now would be the one coming off from the three of us. Danny stirred his drink and continued, “Back then when the Miraculi were active, anyone who died would be brought back to life, right?”  

The other two nodded. “Only if they died from the akuma, yeah,” Tucker added.  

“Yup, only if they died from the akuma, directly or indirectly. But that doesn't mean people can't die, like, the normal way without an akuma involved. In that case, they're permanently dead and have a chance to become a ghost. That happens when you have some sort of attachment or unfinished business.”  

Sam drummed her fingers on the table. “And it ties into your ghost Obsession.”  

“Uh huh.” Danny leaned back, thinking. “I'm wondering — this is just my guess — maybe these people are so used to dying and coming back to life so often that they don't have an Obsession to become a ghost for. That, or if they do become a ghost, they didn't want to stick around in the same city where they suffered.”  

Silence took over the table. There was something so heavy, so depressing about the thought that all of these Parisians had given up on life at some point, even in the afterlife. How could they even live in the first place when it seemed like they weren't allowed to feel negative emotions?  

Danny swallowed the sharp thorn down his throat. Did Marinette have to go through this too? Is that why she moved to Gotham — to escape those memories? Was she ever akumatized?  

Sam was first to speak again. “Why wasn't this declared an international emergency and why didn't the JL help?”  

Danny shrugged. Tucker offered his thoughts: “Maybe the same with us? They thought it was all a joke?”  

There was a twitch in Danny's jaw. To hell with the Justice League. These were people's emotions and lives—they couldn't even rest in peace. It isn't a joke.  

“I'm waiting for Fright Knight to report back to me,” said Danny. “Parisian ghosts are a bit different. Obviously, we can't ask how they died, but they're also pretty closed off about their past life or obsession.”  

“That checks out,” Sam sighed. “By the way, Danny eat your croissants. You need something more in your system than coffee.”  

“Answers. I need answers,” he responded.  

“I'll have them if you don't want—”  

“ No. Mine.” Danny swiped the remaining croissants away and shoved them in his mouth. “Mars doesn't bake them as often anymore and I'm deprived.”  

“Obsessed.” Tucker rolled his eyes.  

“He's more obsessed with that boss of his.” Sam shook her head.  

“I don't know what you're talking about. He's just fun to mess with.” Danny talked with a mouthful of croissants.  

“Okay, wait, so we're here in Paris. How do we track the Guardian? Our best chance is through the heroes, I think, but . . .” Tucker took out his phone and sent a few files to their group chat. They were a summary of locations where Ladybug and Chat Noir were often sighted, but the two heroes ceased being active since Hawkmoth was defeated.  

“I don't know,” Danny admitted. “I have no idea why, but the ghost network doesn't know a thing. They're that hard to find.”  

“Weren't there rumors that Ladybug’s the current Guardian?” Sam suggested as she sipped her tea.  

“The problem is we don't know who Ladybug is either.” Danny had seen the footage: the magic surrounding the Miraculi was strong — strong enough to tightly mask the identities of the holders. As Ghost King, he couldn't pull off an equivalent magic trick to see through the glamour and recognize the heroes as their civilian selves. Probably part of the keeping balance thing that CW mentioned.  

“But what do we know about Ladybug?” Sam frowned.  

“Umm, just a guess on her age, she must've been fourteen or fifteen when she first became active.” Tucker did the quick math. “So she'd be in her early twenties today?”  

A passing thought occurred in Danny's head. Marinette's in her early twenties too.  

He quickly dismissed the thought. 

No.  

Nope. 

Nah.  

The Guardian was nigh impossible to find even with his resources as the King. Why would an omnipotent, godlike power-wielding entity be masquerading as an office worker at the heart of Gotham City, which was under the careful watch of the Bats?  

Danny could see a mental image of Clockwork just staring at him as if saying ‘really?’ 

Okay, fine. But the odds of having two all-powerful beings masquerading as office workers in Gotham City were just miniscule.  

“Hey, what if you ask your work-bestie? Isn't she from Paris?” Tucker proposed.  

“And open up her trauma? Are you serious?” Danny turned down the idea immediately. “I doubt she knows anything. We'll search harder—can you look into the previous Miraculous holders whose identities were made known to the public? We'll trace the Guardian from there and I'll ask Frighty for updates.”  

A woman paused in her tracks as she pulled her sunglasses to her forehead. She didn't know whether her eyesight was fooling her or if she was just putting a name to the wrong face.  

She took a closer step and confirmed what she thought she saw. Wasting no time, her long manicured fingers reached for her phone to snap a photo.  

butterfly ptsd support group  

C: [sent a photo]  

C: Um, what is the head of the space engineering department of WE doing in Paris?  

M: huh  

“Morning, Tim.”  

Tim jumped in his seat, withholding a loud shriek. “God,” he hissed, scowling at Danny behind him. “How do you always do that?”  

He was a trained vigilante, a master of combat, stealth, detective work, and computers. And yet Danny was always appearing and disappearing out of thin air, sneaking up on him like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

Danny just laughed. ( The nerve! Tim thought) “It's been a few days huh, I thought you would’ve caved.”  

Okay Tim, let's try to very slowly switch tabs in a totally not suspicious way . . . 

“Caved in what?”  

“Like pester me? Like ‘Danny, why didn't you take the offer? I’m dying to know!’” Danny shrugged. “I heard you gave Mari a bribe. Where’s mine, darling?”  

I’m going to pretend like I didn't hear that endearment. “If I asked, would you tell?” Tim gazed up at him.  

Oh those blue eyes were dangerous.  

“Nah, probably not. That’s why you're stalking me, huh?”  

Tim, in a sleep-deprived panic, closed his laptop shut. “I’m not!”  

“If you really want to get to know me, just take me out on a date?” Danny smiled—his usual relaxed smile that carried that hint of enjoyment at the teasing.  

Tim was peeved at how easily his heart rate sped up whenever Danny smiled. Ugh, focus, you whore!  

“Sometimes I don't know if you’re serious whenever you offer something like that,” Tim retorted.  

“I’m serious. It’s not against company policy to date, isn't it?” Danny shuffled towards his side. “I think you're cute, I think you think I’m cute. We can go to a coffee shop and chill and have a good excuse to drink coffee.”  

Coffee and Danny. Mmm.  

“So I can ask you about why you rejected that offer on our date?” Tim tilted his head.  

“We’re not at that base yet. That’s after the doctor trauma and my insomnia problem.”  

Tim wondered if the reason he found Danny so alluring was because he was shrouded in mystery. No one really knew anything about Danny because he was good at making people think there was nothing to know. But to Tim, he saw an inviting puzzle to solve. 

And a damned pretty face to kiss.  

“I’ve got time. We’ll trade secrets,” he offered.  

“I think I prefer something other than secrets.” Danny’s voice turned a pitch lower. A shudder passed through Tim.  

“Like what?” He licked his lips.  

“Again, take me on a date and I’ll let you know.” Tim couldn't move when Danny leaned close, lips so close to his ear. “And word of advice, don't go snooping around where you shouldn't be.”  

The echo of the words reverberated in his head.  

What does that even mean? Tim bit his tongue. Why’s he so secretive? And so hot at the same time?  

Danny was gone as fast as he emerged. In a daze, Tim opened up his laptop again, clicking back to the page he had been browsing earlier: information about Amity Park, where Danny had been born and raised. A small town in Illinois that claimed to be haunted, teeming with ghosts.  

But just like Danny, the town was covered in secrets, questions left unanswered and  paranormal episodes left unexplained.  

“Hello? Tim? Are you there, wait—” A voice coming through his headphones snapped him back to reality.  

“Um . . .” He cleared his throat.  

“Was that—was that Fenton? You’re flirting with the target?” Dick exclaimed.  

“Not flirting,” Tim corrected. “It was gathering intel.”  

“By flirting.”  

“It’s effective!”  

“Then take him up on that date.”  

Tim clenched his jaw. He actually really really really didn't want to pry into Danny’s business like that—again, he wanted him badly and didn't want to risk Danny bearing a grudge. But the problem was Bruce who had specifically instructed him and Damian to look more into Marinette and Danny.  

Forbidden love, is this what it is? Tim slumped on his seat. He was mostly convinced that the universe was against his love life.  

“As I was saying,” said Dick, “Oracle and I found nothing. His records are normal, friends and colleagues all good. He’s not registered as a Meta even if we think he is . . . You’re better off talking to him directly and trying to get something out of it.”  

It was a dilemma for Tim. He could work the vigilante side under the cover of trying to romance Danny, but his guilt would be eating away at his subconscious and he knew that Danny was tough to crack, almost impenetrable even in moments when he seemed vulnerable.  

“I think,” he paused for a second. “We need to do this differently. Do you know where Constantine is?”  

Chapter Text

“Constantine? You should ask Bruce. They’re working with the JL Dark to get in contact with the Ghost King.”  

“The who?”  

“Ghost King. Ruler of the Infinite Realms. Big and scary and like an Eldritch horror I guess? Anyway. They're trying to summon him ‘cause there have been incidents of strange cults trying to perform rituals.”  

“ What ?” 

“Yep—hold on, I’ll pass you the files. Normally, old men in robes don't raise red flags but they might be murdering people for the rituals and uh, that’s a major red flag. Since the King is obviously involved, well, it’s better to talk to him directly.”  

Tim immediately dove into the files. The glaring problem was that they were scarce, and that was saying something if Bruce was the one overseeing the operation. A few words caught his eye: Amity Park: possible haunt. His eyes narrowed. Is Danny involved in this in some way?  

“Why are some of the files corrupted?” Some of the documents showed incomprehensible lines that couldn’t be decrypted. Some couldn’t be opened at all. And the couple videos available were glitched out in the majority of the parts.  

“That happens. Constantine says tech doesn’t work well with ghosts so it looks like that. Do you want in on the investigation?” Dick offered.  

“Me? No, I’m busy.”  

“Busy stalking Danny Fenton—”  

“It’s important!” Tim exclaimed. “And I think it might be related, but don’t tell B that, I’m still gathering information. What are you doing?”  

“Zatanna and Diana asked for help investigating something else—magic jewels and the one keeping them right now,” Dick replied. “We found links to the cults and the Ghost King too. Wanna help us instead?”  

That seemed like another situation Tim refused to get involved in, lest he got too absorbed and fell into a rabbit hole of research. For now, he wanted to focus on the JL’s reputation and what the hell was up with Marinette and Danny.  

“Why don’t you ask Jason?” Tim rubbed his eye. Why do humans need sleep in the first place? “Where is he anyway?”  

“No idea, probably in Gotham, probably not. He comes and goes, you know how he is.” He could practically see Dick’s teasing grin. “Why? Are you missing your favorite brother?”  

Tim rolled his eyes. “Favorite my ass.”  

“If you miss him, just talk to Alfred and he’ll be at the next family dinner,” said Dick, “Oh, and he should be bringing his girlfriend next time.”  

“He has a girlfriend?” Who would be crazy enough to try and break down the Jason Todd’s walls and actually have a long-term relationship with him?  

“Yep, he really likes. I haven’t met her, but he talks about her a lot—in the rare times we actually talk, I mean.” His eldest brother chuckled. “Better keep up, Red.” 

Tim ignored the last comment. “So, background check?”  

“He’ll kill you.”  

He can try. “As if Bruce hasn’t already. Or you.”  

“Nah, I haven’t tried. Jason’s the most secretive he’s ever been with this, so let’s just wait for him to open up. Y’know, like normal people. ”  

But the Bats have discarded the definition of ‘normal’ a long time ago. Tim filed away the reminder to try and do a bit of research on the side. “I’ll get Cass to steal his phone at the next family dinner.” 

“Next family dinner when you’re bringing Danny?”  

Tim pressed a button to end the call.  

Danny stretched on top of his couch, waiting for the call to be connected—it was on its fifth ring and he was wondering why that person wasn’t answering yet. Can I summon him? In theory, right? He briefly considered while playing with the edge of his sweater. Can I summon the not-dead?  

Once, out of curiosity, he had asked the other ghosts what it felt to be summoned by him. Ember had clarified that it wasn’t exactly an automatic move that whisked the ghost to where Danny was. It was more like a compelling pull, a persuasive call of their King that was stronger if more urgent.  

As if Danny’s thoughts were heard, the call was finally picked up. “I swear to—Danny, if you try to summon me!” 

“Oh, was it working?” The corner of his lips twitched. “Why weren’t you answering?” 

“Busy,” Jason grunted. “I was in the middle of the fight.”  

Danny pulled the dramatics, gasping in an exaggerated manner. “Did you not want to spare time for your king? I could’ve helped—you’re bleeding a bit, I can sense it.”  

“Stop, seriously,” Jason groaned. There were sounds of a scuffle on the other line. Danny resisted the urge to just go to whichever hidden alley he was and ice the assailants with a wave of his hands. To mess with Jason, of course.  

“Do you want me to revoke my blessing?” Danny jokingly threatened.  

“Fuck—wait, no. Gimme a sec.”  

The blare of the guns and sounds of fists was like hold music for Danny. Then silence. The call crackled to life again. “What is it?”  

“You’re pretty difficult as my left-hand man.” Danny stood up and rubbed his shoulders. His apartment warped and melted slowly into a new view. In a blink he was in one of the dark alleys of Park Row, met with unconscious bodies on the floor.  

Suddenly, he caught a flash of red and an echoing bang, immediately followed by a soft clink of the bullet that phased through him. And when he looked up, a stiff Red Hood was pointing a handgun at him.  

“Ow.” Danny frowned. “Now I’m really revoking my blessing.”  

The irritated vigilante shoved his weapon back into its holster. “What the hell . . . I told you not to—”  

“Summon you?” Danny beamed. “I didn’t. You didn’t say anything about me coming to you.”  

“Whatever. What do you want, your highness?”  

“I just have a few questions, my left-hand man.” Danny floated next to Red Hood, who now had his helmet off. They headed deeper into the alley, where the air of ectoplasm thickened.  

“I thought that was a decorative title.”  

“Did Ellie tell you that? Her title’s decorative because she says so. But that’s just for Ellie.” Danny watched as the other man entered one of his many hideouts, discarding his jacket and mask to treat a small wound on his arm. He wrinkled his nose as he looked around the dingy room. Jazz would give this one a good scolding.  

“Great. I never asked to be your left-hand man.”  

Danny had met creatures and ghosts of all kinds, but he’d say that his first encounter with Jason was the most unorthodox of all. Jason was, unfortunately, a victim of the Pits, going around as an angry little ball of corrupted ectoplasm who initially had no knowledge of ghosts or the Zone. A few appointments with Frostbite later, Jason was now stabilized. He stuck around—whether it was out of obligation or gratitude, Danny didn’t know.  

Danny switched to a more serious tone. “I was wondering if you knew about the Miraculi and the Celestial Guardian.”  

Jason’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”  

“Yeah, I figured. Nobody knows much about it,” Danny sighed. If he were to take a guess he’d say that it was him, Tucker and Sam who actually had the most information. Yet it was still lacking.  

“I can look into it. Is it serious?” asked Jason.  

“Serious, yeah, but not very urgent. You’ll get it when I show you. There’s just these wannabe cultists—they’re becoming a problem.” The King’s face steeled. “I’m getting reports of ghosts being captured, reduced into cores. I can stop them, sure, but there’s a lot of them in different places. I’m wondering if I can get in touch with the Guardian to nip it in the bud for good.”  

“Sounds familiar.” Jason’s expression was also grim. “Isn’t the JL also investigating that?”  

“I think so.” Eugh. That reminded me of the stupid offer again. Ancients. “Speaking of the JL, I think your family’s poking their noses into my business.”  

“The Ghost King or Danny Fenton’s business?”  

“Both.” There was a flash of green in Danny’s eyes. Any secrets he worked to bury really did get dug up after some time.  

“They should know better,” Jason scoffed and kicked off his boots. “Look, I can’t help you cover up or they’ll get into my business and we all don’t want that. And—hold on, how did you even know they’re researching you?”  

“. . . Lady Gotham.”  

“You went to the Cave again, didn’t you?”  

“You guys have a dinosaur and a giant coin. I was bored,” Danny defended. “Sue me.”  

“If they catch you–” 

“You’re my safety net.”  

“Again. I didn’t sign up for this.”  

Danny took the liberty to explore the room. There were discarded weapons on the floor, the fridge wasn’t even working, and there were cobwebs in every corner he saw. Not a surprise, since this was just one of Hood’s many unattended hideouts. But that didn’t stop him from reserving it as a potential blackmail material to snitch to Jazz.  

“My priority is just any info you can find about the Miraculi,” said Danny, nudging aside discarded books to sit on the couch. “I’ll deal with the JL if it gets bad.”  

“You think I can do better finding more than what you already have?”  

“I think you have some of the means I can’t directly access.” Danny shrugged. “I’m just covering all my bases.”  

“No, I’m sure you’re just doing this to bother me.” Jason massaged his temples, leaning back on his seat. The waves of his ectoplasmic aura twisted into the feeling of stress.  

Danny gasped again. “ Me, bother you? But you’re my future in-law! I’m just asking a small favor from my brother!”  

The other man immediately averted his gaze, aura fizzling into embarrassment, nervousness, hesitance. He sputtered, “I’m–I’m still planning the proposal—” 

Jason stopped. He stared at Danny carefully, features reflecting a bit of disgust.  

“You’re not talking about me and Jazz, are you?”  

Danny blinked innocently.  

“Were you talking about Tim?! ”  

The fangs that accompanied Danny’s lopsided smile were almost predacious. “Your brother’s hot.”  

“Eurgh. No. Gross. I don’t want to hear any of that!” Jason shuddered. 

The place was quiet and empty when Danny arrived. He felt the presence of his knight beside him, but he wasn’t visible—merely acting like a silent guard to the king. The abandoned temple was tucked away deep in the Himalayan range; the fact that it remained standing for so long in such a remote area just proved the involvement of magic.  

The first thing he noticed were the vibrations coming off from ghost cores in one corner of the main room. There were ten, all resting on top of a satin scarf and leaning against a crumbling pillar.  

Danny tensed for a moment. Fright Knight stirred beside him.  

“Don’t worry, we can still revive them,” he murmured to placate his subject. Slowly, he knelt beside the cores and supplied them with more ectoplasm before sending them off to a portal. 

“This scarf . . . it’s new?” He gingerly picked up the piece of cloth. No dust. No wears and tears. Someone deliberately left the cores here. Recently?  

“Where’s the cult?” Danny scanned the surroundings once more. He couldn’t feel any energy, dead or otherwise, near them. No, he was almost sure that there wasn’t a soul in the entire building.  

I̷f̷ ̴t̵h̷e̶ ̵O̷r̶d̶e̴r̸ ̷i̸s̶ ̷d̴e̷d̶i̵c̶a̴t̴e̸d̵ ̸t̴o̶ ̶p̵r̶o̸t̷e̴c̶t̴i̵n̷g̸ ̴t̴h̶e̸ ̷M̵i̴r̴a̸c̷u̵l̶i̴,̴ ̷w̵h̴y̶ ̴p̷a̵r̶t̸i̶c̶i̵p̴a̴t̴e̴ ̶i̷n̴ ̴s̴u̴c̶h̴ ̴r̴i̸t̵u̵a̴l̶s̶?̵ Fright Knight relayed to his mind in Ghostspeak.  

“That’s what I’m wondering. And why is the Celestial Guardian allowing this to happen? Shouldn’t they be leading the Order?” Danny added.  

“My King. Look over there.” His knight finally phased out of invisibility, revealing the armored ghost riding atop Nightmare. They floated towards another corner, where some sort of black dust had gathered in a circle. It spanned along the length of the wall, also leaving stains on the pale-colored tiles.  

“What is that?” Danny breathed out. He went to the temple seeking answers, and yet he was getting more questions.  

A swish of green. 

Then the chill signifying the presence of a ghost.  

“I̸t̶ ̵i̴s̵ ̸t̶h̵e̵ ̸r̸e̸m̴a̵i̵n̴s̸ ̶o̵f̷ ̶a̶ ̸C̵a̴t̴a̸c̶y̷l̵s̵m̴,̶ ̵y̸o̷u̴r̶ ̵h̷i̷g̷h̶n̴e̶s̶s̸.̴” 

Danny turned to the new visitor. It was a bearded man clad in loose clothes with an intricate symbol on the chest. The emotion in his eyes told him that he didn’t belong with the cultists, someone who had passed a long time ago perhaps as part of the former Order members who resided in the temple.  

Danny let his ectoplasm radiate out a little, as a sign of openness. “What is your name?”  

“Tashi, my king.” The old man started to fall to his knees, lowering into a deep bow with palms and head against the ground. “I apologize for what my successors—”  

“Their crimes are theirs alone. Do not bow your head for them,” Danny stated firmly. “Explain what happened here. Where is the Order?”  

“I have been traveling between temples; I can only speculate that the Celestial Guardian has interfered with their rituals,” Tashi said grimly, clasping his hands behind his back. “When I returned to this temple, it was just as you saw, my king.”  

“You said these were remnants of Catacylsm? A Miraculous power, correct?”  

The ghost nodded. “It is the power of the ring of the Black Cat: destruction. Anything into nothing.”  

“Has the Guardian destroyed something here?” It was Fright Knight who asked this time.  

“Yes, my lord. They were . . . machines, devices of some kind that were able to capture ghosts and extract ectoplasm . . .”  

Danny bit his tongue, trying to reel in his resentment so that it didn’t leak into his aura and cause distress to the other ghosts. He brought up a hand and concentrated some ectoplasm to form small constructs: a cylindrical figure, a hybrid of a gun and a wrist accessory, a container in the shape of an iron maiden.  

“Did some of those devices look anything like these?” He held up the temporary constructs. Tashi studied them for a while before confirming.  

“I̵ ̸t̴h̷o̸u̴g̷h̴t̴ ̶w̶e̶ ̴g̸o̴t̵ ̵r̴i̵d̴ ̷o̴f̸ ̵a̷l̴l̸ ̴o̷f̷ ̵t̸h̵e̴m̸ ̸a̷l̸r̶e̷a̵d̵y,” Danny hissed, running a hand through his hair. “Frighty, find their sources. I want everything taken and locked back in the castle—no exceptions.”  

“Yes, my king.” Fright Knight instantly vanished to carry out the order.  

The Ghost King turned his gaze towards the Catacylsm ‘dust’. “If the Guardian destroyed these weapons and took care of the cultists,” he said, “Should I take it as a sign that they’re an ally?”  

Tashi glided over to the remnants. “Yes, I believe the Guardian can be trusted. She is highly capable and though she does not have knowledge about the Realms yet, she will not be an enemy of it.” 

Danny stilled. ‘She’?  

“Who is this Guardian?”  

The ghost took a moment to respond. “I apologize, your highness. Although we have sworn loyalty to the King of the afterlife, our souls remain devoted to the secrecy of the Order and the Miraculi. I cannot divulge the identity of the Guardian.”  

Can’t argue with an Obsession, thought Danny. It seemed like different members of the Order didn’t have similar beliefs, and the older generations were plainly dedicated to the Miraculi. But that doesn’t help me find the Guardian. It was tricky dealing with overpowered, otherworldly beings, especially if they weren’t on the same wavelength.  

This should be a good sign. She knows what the Order is doing and stopped it . . . she even left the cores alone. That’s good, right?  

Danny strolled the expanse of the room. There was a nagging feeling in his gut, a tug towards something he couldn’t understand; beneath all the ectoplasm in the room was a strong magic signature. A familiar one, in fact. 

Chapter Text

“Wow, it’s been a while since I saw that.”  

Marinette slowly turned around upon hearing the voice. She was sure she looked like a crazed woman at the moment, dark circles uncovered, hair tousled, and a creased tee on top of an equally-mussed pair of jeans. Fortunately, the one who interrupted her rambling train of thought had already seen her highs and lows and lowest— so he was someone she didn’t mind looking less than presentable in front of.  

Blinking once, she looked back at the tall corkboard. Crimson yarn was woven in tangled lines, connecting color-coded pins with both pictures and paper clippings. There were sticky notes that seemed arranged neatly since they were all lined up, but upon closer inspection, it was clear that the scribbles on them barely made sense.  

The thing with studying Amity Park, ghosts and the Ghost King was the incompatibility with any technology. She had to depend on paper trails, old dusty books, and fragmented accounts from Fluff, who usually mixed up details between universes and timelines. 

It wasn’t Marinette’s best work. 

And she didn’t even know why she was so engrossed.  

“If you start going into hyper-mode and—kwamis forbid—stress baking again, I’m going to call emergency services,” Adrien threatened, holding her gently by the elbow to pull her away from the corkboard.  

“I’m fine. It looks bad, but it’s not that bad.” She waved him off, yawning. “What are emergency services?”  

As if on cue, the front door unlocked and two figures barged in. Adrien beamed. “That’s emergency services.”  

Luka gave a low whistle, setting down a box of pastries on the kitchen counter. “A conspiracy board? It’s been a while.”  

“Right?” Adrien snickered. “That’s what I said.” 

“Dupain-Cheng, you look like a monstrosity,” Chloe tutted, immediately springing into action to throw Marinette a new top and comb down stubborn hairs.  

“Ghosts, huh,” Luka muttered, eyes inspecting the evidence on the board.  

“Do you know anything about this?” asked Marinette.  

He shrugged lightly. “Hey, I’ve dealt with time, but I’m no Bunnyx. Plus, the snake is with you .”  

The Guardian made a sound of frustration.  

“You never answered why your coworker was in Paris of all places,” Chloe pointed out.  

“Not just her coworker,” Adrien supplied. “Danny's her work-bestie.”  

Marinette waved a dismissive hand. “Hell if I know, maybe it was for work. Or a very short vacation. I think he desperately needs one.”  

“Are you sure?” Chloe sipped on the drink that Luka was passing around. “Not secretly investigating you? Paris?”  

Marinette had shared the gist of recent happenings in the company: the offer, Danny's strange behavior that mirrored hers, Tim's relentless interrogation. Chloe had been ready to steal a certain ring and pair of glasses to give the Justice League a piece of her mind. Luka had questions, cautious about her bosses peeking into her private affairs. Adrien had just taken a page out of Plagg's book and was silently enjoying the drama and chaos.  

“He wouldn't . . .” She trailed off, uncertain if she herself also believed the fact.  

Who am I kidding? Danny was a scientist at heart, a slave to curiosity. There was no way he didn't wonder about her circumstances or did a little background check of his own. She sometimes forgot that she and Danny were alike — he would be observing her closely like she was observing him. He was smart, way beyond just theorems and numbers, and he could find a good chunk of information about her if he wanted to.  

It's that stupid Fenton Works label's fault.  

Her attention wandered over to a pink sheet of paper at the bottom of the board, where the name ‘Fenton Works’ was hastily written with notes underneath. She had been investigating ghosts and the Ghost King, and somehow Danny had been inserted into the equation.  

“That's not important right now.” She shook her head. “What's important is that the Order is actively going against my will and wants to work with the Ghost King instead at the cost of ghost or ‘ectoplasmic’ offerings.”  

She shared what she had found in the temple, and minimal information she had about the Ghost Zone and ectoplasmic beings.  

“Let's see what you have so far,” Adrien hummed thoughtfully, “Those weapons you saw in the temple were created by Jack and Madeline Fenton, who were scientists based in Amity Park, Illinois studying . . . ghosts?”  

“Ectobiology,” said Marinette. “Normal weapons can't affect ghosts — ectoplasmic energy needs to be countered by ectoplasmic energy. That's exactly what their inventions do. According to their research, ghosts are ‘non-sentient’ and evil by essence.”  

She squinted at a grainy photo of the Drs. Fenton, wearing bright-colored jumpsuits, and dark boots and gloves. “They passed away a few years back from an accident in the laboratory.” Marinette swallowed. “A laboratory that happens to be located inside their house.” 

“Their house where your work-bestie was living. Who's also their son,” Adrien continued drily.  

“Did the whole house burn down? Where did all their inventions go?” Luka asked with a tilt of his head.  

“No idea.” The lengths I had to go through to get all of this information . . . “The first signs of the Fenton family — Danny and Jazz — after the accident is when they moved to Gotham. Danny earned his doctoral degree there and then applied for WE.”  

“What does this mean then? Is Daniel Fenton an enemy of ghosts?” Chloe said. “With that kind of evidence, it basically says he supplied the weapons.”  

Marinette had had sleepless nights thinking about it; she basically became an expert on ceiling-staring and zoning out. Her whole being was telling her that Danny was not evil. Mysterious and playful, sure, but he wasn't a bad person. Her instincts had never failed her and she usually had a good read on people.  That one tech department intern who turned out to be a Rogue henchman. That shady guy in the night alley who was just rushing to get home to his family.  

Her instincts were telling her that Danny was trustworthy. Even to the extent of feeling comfortable around him.  

Even if I'm ninety-percent sure he has an ectoplasmic aura, she told herself.  

If she thought about it, some things didn't make sense. She knew Danny, not by much, but she knew he wouldn't be anything like these mad ‘ecto-biologists’. He hated being called ‘doctor’. He had an ectoplasmic energy around himself. He was extremely secretive about Amity Park and his origins.  

And his hate for the JL. How does that fit in?  

“I don't think that's the case. Danny's not like that,” she told her friends. “I think I'm still missing something, and I don't know what it is.”  

“There's the forbidden technique.” Adrien gestured towards the complicated board. “Saves you the trouble.”  

“Forbidden technique?” Luka echoed.  

“Pocketwatch.” Marinette and Adrien said at the same time. Understanding dawned on the faces of the other two.  

“It's not a . . . forbidden technique,” Marinette clarified as she stole Adrien's coffee cup. “It's just risky. And very tedious.”  

Adrien wrestled his coffee back. “How is it tedious? I thought that's the easiest way.”  

“No, I have to check all the timeline panels in the Burrow, one by one to see which one I actually need,” Marinette huffed. “You think Alix runs an easy job? She's going to flick you in the head.”  

Seemingly out of precaution, Adrien put his hands over his head and looked around cautiously.  

“Anyway, I'm due for a visit to more temples — the Order's really getting on my nerves. Maybe when I do, I'll get more clues–”  

A ringtone cut through her words, coming from her own phone. She was just an inch away from picking it up and throwing it against the wall when she saw the caller ID, but her best friend stopped her just in time.  

“Who's that?” Chloe took a glance at the screen.  

Marinette didn't know what was more annoying: the incessant ringing or Adrien's shit-eating grin.  

“Her work-crush!” The blonde boy smugly raised the phone out of her reach.  

“You have a work-crush?” Chloe looked insulted, perhaps because it was the first time she had heard of this.  

“Not a work-crush,” Marinette corrected, successfully hitting Adrien on the shin and getting her phone back to turn off the ringing. “Just someone annoying who won't get off my back.”  

“Who is this crush?” 

Adrien laughed. “Mari scored a big one. Her boss. ” 

“ Tim Drake?! ”  

“No, the grumpy one.”  

A shriller scream sounded out from Chloe. “ Damian Wayne?!”  

Marinette winced. Nope, I'm too tired for this.  

“You . . .” Chloe trailed off, jaw ajar, shock still apparent on her expression. She looked over at both Adrien and Luka. “He's not your type though?”  

“C — Chloe! ” Marinette reddened. “Screw you, we just have a professional relationship. Friends at best.”  

They just stared at her. Silently, but their faces told everything.  

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” She scowled.  

“That reaction?” Chloe scoffed. “I've seen that somewhere before.” 

Adrien just kept laughing. Luka even had the audacity to nod along. 

And her phone rang again .   

I’m being a jittery mess. Is it obvious that I’m a jittery mess?  

Marinette turned her eyes away from her screen, rolling her chair away from her table. Of course she was a jittery mess, and of course she was subconsciously showing it just a little bit. In the meeting room earlier, Damian had even asked her if she was okay and had added extra cream in her coffee.  

Extra cream.  

Because somehow, that man had known she added extra cream when she was on edge.  

But more than the nervousness, Marinette was frustrated that she felt that way. Nothing was supposed to change. She wasn’t supposed to see Danny in a different light—Danny was her friend. And yet her brain was building a hunch and her conscience was triggering alarm bells, and so she couldn’t even work properly in her otherwise peaceful office.  

She’d caught a glimpse earlier. Or a feeling?  

Marinette was no ghost, but she knew that Danny’s ectoplasmic aura was leagues more powerful than any other citizen of the Ghost Zone.  

Okay, so my work-bestie may or may not be a ghost. Or ectoplasmic being. How awkward.  

But why on earth would he be working a nine-to-five he were . . . dead?  

She had wondered this out loud to Fluff before, who had explained that not all those who had ectoplasmic energy were exactly purely ghosts. The dwellers of the Zone were of different kinds, some even straddling the lines between life and death. Marinette just didn’t understand what that meant exactly.  

Stop being a jittery mess, she chided.  

But her brain gave her a thought instead. An idea, perhaps dangerous in itself.  

“Earth to Mars!” Her door flung open. She felt it before she saw him. Ah, speak of the devil.  

She couldn't ‘see’ his aura per se; Guardianship hadn't granted her visual abilities after all. But she could feel it, the wispy tendrils following his every movement. They were cold, but not in the way that was an intrusive chill. It felt more like a cool breeze. There was no immense pressure either, just light pokes that somehow interacted with her own energy.  

It was strange that it was just now she was properly feeling Danny’s aura. Maybe it was because she never bothered paying attention, or because it was masked within the thick ambient ectoplasm enshrouding Gotham.  

Or maybe he was purposely revealing his aura? She thought suspiciously.  

“Let’s go out for lunch. My treat.” Danny casually strode in, hands tucked inside pockets. “I saw a new place just two blocks from here.”  

“Fold down your collar, Danny, or I’ll come at you with a steamer.” She set her stylus down. “What happened to your date with Tim?”  

Danny fixed his collar, but it was still all folded up weirdly. He plopped down on the couch, feet up on the armrests. “He’s not around today so I can't pester him for it.”  

“And the next person you thought to pester is me?”  

“Who else? Mr. Grumpy Cat-lapdog?” He snickered. “He’ll file a restraining order on me.”  

“As if that’ll stop you,” she joked. 

Some tension left her shoulders. Danny was still . . . Danny. She didn't need her thoughts putting a strain in their relationship.  

She stretched out her arms and slipped on her heels. “I’m down for that lunch, can't focus today. What's on the menu?”  

Contrary to her expectations, the menu was French. Danny had taken her to a fine dining spot, a busy place where other Gothamites in businesswear were chatting about investments and marketing strategies. Marinette wondered if Danny was specifically thinking of her when he chose the restaurant.  

“Any recommendations?” Asked Danny, who was sitting across from her.  

She peeked from behind the menu. They were seated near a window, and with the sunlight seeping through, the green flecks in Danny’s eyes seemed brighter. She had seen his childhood pictures from her investigation: a boy with a spark of vigor, brilliant and witty. He still had those qualities, but now more controlled. Reserved.  

Today, that guarded attitude seemed more evident.  

“Are you okay?” she found herself asking.  

His eyes widened slightly. “Oh? Do I look stressed?”  

“Just a bit. You look tired.”  

“It's the new space station project being a pain in the ass,” he said dismissively. “Nothing new, but it's been taking hours off my sleep schedule.  I'll have the beef bourguignon. Do you want to share a salad?”  

Marinette knew it wasn't just the new project. “Sure. I'll have the bisque and confit de canard.”  

They sent off a waiter with the orders, and not long after, their food arrived.  

“So did you just take us here because it's French?” she asked.  

“Cravings.” Danny leaned back, shrugging. “I was just in Paris last week and I missed the food.”  

Marinette had to pretend she didn't know. She idly sipped on her soup.  “Paris? Why didn't you tell me?”  

“It was a quick trip, I barely had time for sightseeing. We're partnering up with a research institute there and I decided I'd take a look myself.” He smiled. “Though I did stop by a famous bakery.”  

“And how did their croissants taste?”  

“Like the betrayal of a friend who rarely bakes for me now,” he replied teasingly.  

“Ugh, there's a fashion show coming up next month. I'll give you everything that comes out of my stress-baking if you want—”  

She didn't get to finish. A commotion suddenly swept across the restaurant, with screams and gasps echoing, utensils clattering, and chairs scraping against the floor. A cold gust barged in accompanied by the Rogue who had suddenly burst through the double doors.  

Marinette's face scrunched up. Really, Freeze? Right in front of our salad? 

Chapter Text

Danny underestimated how fast word traveled through the ghost grapevine. One day he was updating (ranting to actually) Lady Gotham, and before he knew it, Pandora had been asking for some R and R with him, with Dorathea tagging along. They occupied one of his castle’s expansive halls, temporarily decorated to look like a spa. The two ghosts were fully pampered by the enthusiastic blobs: manicures on nails, feet in hot baths and hair combed through.  

Danny himself was covered in a face peel while indulging in ecto-infused bonbons, a creation of one of the yetis. “Hey Pandora? Have I had any encounters with a Miraculous?”  

“I don’t see a reason why you would have, ghostling,” Pandora replied with a hum. “Besides, you would know if you had any encounters with a Miraculous.”  

“What do you mean?”  

She pulled one of her arms away to make a waving gesture. “They emit a different . . . energy. Magical, distinct from ectoplasm. These are jewels that have a concentrated power, kept in a box.” She made a little giddy sound at the mention of a box. “However unlike mine, the Miraculous Box does not contain evils. It contains weapons, which are far more dangerous in the wrong hands.”  

Danny nodded in keen interest.  

“And the Order of Guardians protect these boxes in eternal servitude. I respect them for it.”  

The Ghost King chewed on another bonbon. “Last time I checked, they were sacrificing ghost cores to summon me.”  

Pandora scoffed, the tips of her orchid-colored locks flaring slightly. “Then they are not true to the vows of the Order.”  

“What else do you know about the Miraculi?” Besides having an excuse to unwind, Danny had given his time for the ghost’s wisdom. Pandora should have something to offer regarding magical items kept in boxes.  

“I was entrusted with one for safekeeping once,” she smugly declared, “Queen Hippolyta of the Amazons wielded the ladybug Miraculous for a brief period. Once the box was thought to be at the risk of falling into the enemies’ hands, I hid it away until it was passed to the Order—one of the first generations of them.”  

Ladybug. If Danny remembered correctly, that was one of the active Miraculi that fought against the butterfly in Paris. “I guess the ladybug has a long history then?”  

“A long history indeed, even if unknown by most people.” It was Dorathea who chimed in this time. “In my time, I have heard of a heroine wielding a flail and claiming to possess the power of luck, striking down rulers of kingdoms.”  

“Indeed, it is the ladybug that has been passed on the most frequently, along with the black cat that holds its balance,” Pandora agreed. “And it is entrusted to one who is competent in maintaining that balance.”  

Danny’s candidate popped into his head again. Maintaining balance, huh. But the image in his mind isn’t a righteous figure, standing still on a figurative pedestal or sitting on a golden throne. Nope. The Ladybug in Paris must’ve been someone who withstood their villain’s emotional manipulation, someone who bore the pains of the city, someone who had the heavy responsibility of purifying and restoring the damages each time.  

If that heroine was anything like him, she probably wouldn’t have accepted the mantle if she knew what it entailed.  

If she was like Phantom, she would’ve been a hero forced and tortured by fate, mocked by the odds despite her supposed luck.  

And if that same hero became Guardian, well, she’d be stressed as fuck.  

Danny blew out a breath. “Why didn’t I think to ask you both before?”  

“You never think of us, Danny,” Dorathea sulked.  

“Hey, I do! I’m just busy, I told you.”  

“Yet you prance around with that chunk of armor?”  

“He’s my knight, Dora,” he sighed. “No, y’know—what? Fine, I’ll take you next time. We’ll let those cultists get spooked by a dragon.”  

Danny was being a jittery mess.  

His core was literally vibrating, though he did his best hiding it outwardly. Was it the coffee? Was it the Tim Drake-deficiency? He didn’t know.  

Or was it the fact that he was feeling exactly what Pandora had said: energy points concentrated, a different kind of pulsing aura coming from his work-bestie’s office.  

It was his crazy physicist brain. His brain that devised outlandish hypotheses and challenged age-old theories. Surely. Surely.  

Surely.  

But Danny believed in cold hard evidence, despite half of his existence aligning with the intangible paranormal. And the evidence was pointing to a conclusion he didn’t want to support while his subconscious picked apart every encounter he had with Marinette.  

Tucker’s recent findings didn’t help either. Apparently, Marinette was one of the rare few who never got akumatized once in the years that Hawkmoth was active, alongside one of her closest friends, Adrien Agreste. (There was also a fact that she set up a charity under her fashion industry pseudonym, which convinced Danny that she was more of a saint than he would ever be).  

And interestingly, Miraculi, under the possession of the holders, are often disguised as mundane accessories. That was part of their protection, which meant that it was difficult to detect them unless one was attuned to their magical energy. 

So . . . Marinette wore accessories. Lots of them. Different combinations on different days. Usually, a pair of earrings and a golden necklace around her neck. Sometimes spectacles atop the bridge of her nose, or a bracelet around her wrist, or two bracelets on either wrist, or a watch, or a crystal-adorned barrette on her hair, or a thin band around her pinky finger.  

When Danny slipped inside her office, he looked a bit more closely. Carefully. She was wearing glasses and a metallic wristband decorated with scales—he could feel a deep, concealed power just coming off from both. When he stared at the glasses, he felt the same lurch in the stomach whenever he teleported. When he shifted his gaze to the bracelet, there was a jolt of electricity down his spine that reminded him of the times he had used a Time Medallion.  

Big oof.  

He didn’t know what prompted him to invite her for lunch. She was his friend, first and foremost—he didn’t want to make a situation just to talk to her and take the time to observe properly.  

Okay, maybe that was my intention but if my guesses are correct, she might be onto me too!  

He let his aura fan out a bit, but not as intimidation. Instead, he allowed it to be sensed— felt —but waning just enough as a sign of calmness. Something that said ‘I don’t want to fight or antagonize or flaunt my power and authority. Everything’s chill.’  

But if Marinette felt anything, she didn’t show any sign of it.  

Fast forward to their lunch outside, which seemed peaceful at first, but was suddenly disrupted by knockoff Elsa.  

Danny noticed two things at first. One, his beef bourguignon was now chilled by the cold air that was blown from the Rogue’s weapons. Two, Marinette was barely batting an eyelash. She had looked up at Freeze for a second as if he was a small crease in her pants and just continued eating her soup.  

All the while, the other patrons were shrieking and ducking under tables as the restaurant fell into chaos.  

A restaurant. Seriously? Is he that bored? Danny thought idly.  

He didn’t feel the need to put up an act, since Marinette was being nonchalant about it. Propping an elbow up on the table and resting his cheek on a fist, he picked up his cocktail glass. “Just another Tuesday, am I right?”  

“A restaurant this time, of all places. Does he have something against French cuisine?” She huffed in annoyance. “At least my soup’s not that hot anymore, I’ll give him that.”  

Are you the Celestial Guardian of the Miraculous? He was desperately itching to ask.  

“Where was I? Oh, stress-baking. Yeah, just check in on me when the design deadlines hit and you’ll have a year's supply of sourdough, muffins, and pain au chocolat. ”  

A blast rang out, and Freeze was now shooting out ice to freeze people in place. Hands were stuck on tables, feet on the legs of chairs, and some had sealed mouths shut. All the while, the Rogue was delivering his monologue and making demands to the kitchen staff to line up hostages.  

Danny himself had his feet frozen in blocks of ice, shards extending up to his calves. Of course, he barely felt a thing—he kept his castle in more negative temperatures than this one.  

When he looked at Marinette, he saw that she hadn’t been hit. At all. In fact, there were no smaller bits of ice crystals settling on top of her head, no pale blue replacing the hue of her lips, no trace of ice anywhere on her. Danny blinked. The power of Lady Luck, huh?  

But the more important thing was that she didn’t bother to hide it.  

Can you make ecto-infused eclairs too? Ecto-clairs? He was also dying to ask.  

It seemed like she took notice of his frozen feet. “Hey, you okay?”  

“Yeah, I’m all good. This salad tastes amazing, by the way. Even if it’s cold.” Danny bent a little and effortlessly broke off a piece of ice to put into his cocktail.  

Marinette just stared. 

In amusement? Is that what the spark in her eye means? As far as he could read beings without an ecto-core, he could tell that she wasn’t uneasy or averse, at least.  

He saw a flicker of movement in his periphery: Freeze must’ve noticed their unbothered selves and was now heading towards their table. But before Danny could make a move, vigilantes suddenly burst through the windows to knock him down and his henchmen. Red. Black. Green. Wait, I thought those two only came out at night?  

“I think Robin’s staring at you, Mars,” he observed.  

Marinette narrowed her eyes as the two capes made quick work of the Rogue. Police sirens blared outside the building. “Aren’t they supposed to just patrol at night? Don’t they have day jobs or something?”  

Danny snorted.  

They continued eating, blasé to everything else that was happening around them. For Danny, he had gotten used to not interfering a long time ago. Although his Obsession was protection, that aligned more with his haunt, Amity Park, and he knew that Gotham was Bird and Bat territory. Even the Lady had told him to just relax and let her knights do their job. Danny had no qualms about that since he had kingly duties to worry about.  

He gazed at Marinette again. You don’t care either, do you?  

“You—you both!”  

Danny looked up. Red Robin was at their table.  

“Can we help you?” Marinette raised an eyebrow.  

“You . . . are you kidding me?” The vigilante motioned towards the other tables that had been vacated already, and the civilians that were redirected to the police and the medics. “You were just caught up in a Rogue attack , you need to get checked for—”  

Red Robin cut himself off, head tilting to look at the unaffected Marinette and unfrozen Danny (he had already phased his feet through the ice).  

“You still need to get checked for injuries,” Red Robin told them firmly.  

“Hey man, we want to finish our food first. I’m paying good money for this.” Danny pointed his fork at him. “And we’re okay, right Mars?”  

Marinette nodded. “As you can see, birdie, we’re fine. You can leave us alone or you’ll spoil our lunchtime.”  

The vigilante clearly couldn’t find his words at first, but was struggling to compose himself. “Even if you think you’re fine, you need to follow protocol. We don’t know what Mr. Freeze’s new inventions could’ve done to you.”  

“We’re still eating, egghead. And we have to get back to work in like–” Marinette checked her phone for a second. “ — thirty minutes.”  

Danny shoveled more of the salad into his mouth, frowning at the short time they had left. “Just because you vigilantes have pretty asses, it doesn’t mean you get to boss civilians around like this.”  

“ Pretty what— ?!”  

Danny was sure Red Robin was as red as his namesake underneath the cowl.  

“Okay, that’s—I’m pretty sure that’s harassment?” Red Robin his throat. “Can you just—just step outside please ‘cause I can’t be bothered to write in my report that there were two stubborn civilians who refused to get medical attention—”  

“Then just don’t write that in your report,” Danny and Marinette chorused.  

Danny gulped down the rest of his drink, ignoring Red Robin’s further blabbering. I wonder if Wulf got to make that mix that works on ghosts like alcohol should.  

“I’ve lost my appetite.” He craned his neck to call out to the kitchen staff. “Waiter, check please.”  

“But—”  

“Hush up, Red or I’ll make you pay instead.” 

Chapter Text

V is obsessed with family but he’s too tsundere to admit it 

[E added J. Todd to the group conversation] 

E: CONGRATULATIONS!! 

E: you're now part of the family 

V: I extend my congratulations as well, Jasmine and Jason

J.T.: what is this? 

D: why didn't you tell me you proposed already???

J.T.: because i just did two minutes ago? 

D: and Ellie knew first?

E: we helped

D: ‘we’? 

J.F.: ellie and vlad helped with the proposal, that's how they knew first

J.F: thank you both, by the way 

D: what am i, the neighbor’s dog??? 

D: …

D: dude. Ember and dora are gossiping about it now. 

Danny leaned back, watching the group chat talk about engagement party preparations. His core could feel the buzz of excitement, anticipation, and curiosity of the ghosts across the Zone as word spread about the partner of their Queen Regent. 

His gaze turned to his date, who had just set down the tray of coffees they ordered (with a cake to share) on top of their table. 

“Looks like I was beat to it,” he sighed jokingly, “We’re now future in-laws I guess.” 

Tim paused before he could take a sip. “Wait, what?” 

“Jason just proposed to my sister.”

“Jason . . . as in my brother Jason?!” Several expressions passed through Tim’s face at once. “He’s with your sister?” 

Danny watched in enjoyment as his boss took out his phone in second, fingers flying on the screen perhaps to tell the rest of the Waynes. “He never tells us anything, that asshole . . . B’s going to have a heart attack, well Alfie probably knew already, and Dickie’s gonna sulk for an entire month ‘cause he has never brought her over for dinner and—” 

Tim looked back up at him. “You knew Jason and you didn't tell me?” 

“Hey, it never came up.” Danny took his own drink and secretly sprinkled a bit of ectoplasm on top of the whipped cream. “Don't worry though, I’m still romancing you. I think I’m due for a shovel talk from Jay.” 

Incessant pings trilled from Tim’s phone. “Let’s unpack that—”

Danny pouted, “But this is our date.” 

“It—it is.” Tim flushed. “But you just dropped a bomb and our family group chat will be blowing up for the next eighteen hours. How the hell did you or your sister meet Jason?” 

“The abridged version? She’s his therapist.” But actually I found him first and did an ecto-detoxing before he completely de-stabilized. The Pits suck ass. 

“Jason agreed to therapy?!”

“You should meet Jazz. You’d be begging for therapy.” Danny smirked. 

“I don't get how . . . Jay wouldn't . . .” His face twisted, as if he still couldn't wrap his head around the news. 

Probably thinking about the Pit Madness, Danny mused. 

“Call it the Fenton charm?” He chuckled. “Isn't mine working on you?” 

“I . . .” Tim stared at him. “I don't know. I can't tell if you're being serious about it.”

Danny's smile broke away, and he straightened his spine. “You don't think I'm serious? About you?” He felt Tim jolt a little when he touched his hand across the table, just barely ghosting over the skin. “Timothy Drake. I wanted this date to happen because I want to get to know you. I've been flirting with you for almost as long as I've been working in the company because I'm interested in you. I'd never mean it to be a joke, and I'm sorry if it felt that way to you.” 

Tim met his eyes head-on, as if searching for a hidden meaning beneath his words. “But I'm — you don't know me. Not entirely.” 

“That's why you'll have to give me a chance to get to know you,” said Danny, “That's why we'll try. If you don't want to — if you don't see me the same way — that's okay. I'll get off your back.” 

Tim drew in a long breath. He shifted his gaze away but his hand remained underneath Danny's. “But why . . . why me? I'm literally just a coffee-addicted gremlin?” 

A smile flickered back. “Exactly my kind of gremlin.” 

Danny boldly reached over and took Tim's drink to take a sip despite the latter's half-hearted protest. “Besides, you don't know anything about me either.” 

“You barely share.” 

“Then I'll share, darling. I'm surprised you haven't asked again why I turned down that offer, but you have no problem clinging on to Mars for an answer.” Danny let his fang peek out a little as he swept a thumb by the corner of his lip to wipe off the coffee. Tim was just a bit slack-jawed when he returned his drink to him. 

“I thought you'd hate me if I do,” Tim admitted bitterly. 

“Oh, I like you too much to hate you. D'you want to know?”

“If I can?” 

“It's simple. I hate the Justice League.” 

There it was again. The twist in Tim's expression. “Why?” 

Danny let his mug tip in circles, watching as the liquid swirled inside. “Let's just say I'm keeping this grudge not for my sake, but for the sake of others. I'm not actively antagonizing the JL—I honestly, positively, just want nothing to do with them.” 

“That makes my curiosity worse.” 

“That's why I like you.” Danny laughed. Somewhere nearby he could feel the weight of Lady Gotham's energy, whose core was just radiating joy witnessing him interact with one of her knights. 

I'm so going to get ambushed by her after this. 

“So the JL . . .” Tim tapped his fingers on the wooden surface of the table. “Are they related to your hometown? Amity Park, right?” 

“Mhmm.”

“And it's apparently haunted?” 

“Haunted,” Danny repeated, letting the word settle on his tongue. “Eerie. Creepy. I think ‘strange’ is a better word. It’s not ‘haunted’ in the tourist trap, plastic amulets in souvenir shops, cheap Halloween clothes kind of way. It's haunted in the way that you hear an electric guitar coming from nowhere every 5:30 in the morning. It’s haunted in the way that you can't say the words I-W-I-S-H and nobody tells you why. And when you eat, the food still feels just a little bit alive still.” 

He could tell Tim was trying to comprehend all of that. 

“I have so many questions,” Tim huffed out. “You’re saying your hometown has ghosts.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“And these ghosts are . . . Good?” 

“They dwell amongst us. Everywhere. They can be good or bad, just like people. There’s loads here in Gotham—it’s just that it’s up to them whether they make their presence known.” 

“If anything,” Danny continued, recalling a bitter memory, “Ghosts are victims . . . Were victims a few years ago before I . . .” 

He didn’t continue.

“You’re not going to elaborate on that are you?” 

“You don't need to know the details,” Danny waved his hand, “The point is, you never know where ghosts can be.” 

The rabbit wasn’t Marinette’s favorite Miraculous—stepping into the Burrow triggered a bit of nausea, and staring into thousands of portals was disorienting. But she carefully stepped into the pocket dimension, looking around in the empty space. 

Forbidden technique it is. 

The Burrow held gateways of different times and places: past, present, future, and parallels upon parallels. If one were looking for information from it, it was best to have a hyperspecific time and location in mind. Fortunately for Marinette, she had a faint idea. And as if fate were watching over her, the portal she was looking for blinked directly in front of her view. 

She approached it with languid steps. There was a house, or what resembled a house in the portal: a structure built with red brick, carrying a large overelaborate contraption on top. A blinking ‘Fenton Works’ signage sat right in front like an obnoxious advertisement. Transitioning into the kitchen, lime green walls and pale yellow cupboards surrounded a round table where two figures were busy preparing food. Through the portal, she felt the place teeming with ectoplasm, much like the one over Gotham. 

The Guardian sat and watched. 

The dark-haired boy, who couldn’t be more than twelve, had the brightest eyes and baggy clothes that engulfed his figure. His sister, who seemed to be in her early teens as well, held a spatula in one hand and the handle of the frying pan in the other. 

“Mom!” The boy ran up to the woman who entered the room. Teal jumpsuit, glinting utility belt. 

“Good morning, Danny.” The woman picked up a pair of goggles, stretching its band to test it. She called out loudly, “Jack, have you seen the wrist rays? I’ve got the blaster right here!” 

“D’you remember the science project I turned in last week?” Danny bounced on his heels. “I got an A plus and—” 

“Here ya go, Maddie.” A man strolled in, carrying all sorts of devices and machines. “We’re testing out the new Fenton Bazooka today, kids. Might be out for a while.” 

“Oh. What about breakfast, Dad? Jazz cooked—” Danny offered, but stopped and frowned upon seeing his sister trying to scoop up what looked like scrambled eggs that were bubbling and taking the shape of a face. 

“We’ll grab a bit outside, don’t worry.” Their father pulled on his boots, hopping around on a foot. He nearly stumbled over, if not for their mother grabbing him by the arm. 

Jazz heaved out a sigh as she dropped the burnt eggs into the trash. “I wanted to ask about next week. Danny’s birthday is coming up—” 

She didn’t have the chance to finish. The two scientists had already left; there was only the faint screeching of their ghost assault vehicle outside. 

“It’s okay, Jazz, you know how they are.” Danny bit into a piece of toast after inspecting it. “Maybe we can stay in for next week?” 

Marinette tore her gaze away. It was too intrusive to watch through the lens of time like this. Though she didn’t want to form opinions against Jack and Madeline Fenton, there was a bitter taste in her mouth. 

She was just about to stand up when Bunnyx leapt out from one of the portals next to her. Her hair all frizzed up and her open umbrella was strapped to her back, bent at weird angles. Marinette knew not to ask about it. 

“Hey CG,” Bunnyx gave a salute. “I see you found the timeline.” 

“I don’t think it’ll give me the answers I want,” Marinette bit her lip. 

“Oh no. You should watch it.” The rabbit holder’s face turned serious. “All of it, from that point until the present.” 

Are you sure? Marinette wanted to ask. But the words of the time holder hold a weight she couldn’t ignore. As Guardian, she didn’t even want to deal with timelines and the Burrow—her head hurt thinking about time paradoxes and possible universe-ending alternate realities. This Bunnyx was from a separate timeline (Marinette had the Miraculous in her own possession after all), and she would certainly know things the Guardian wouldn’t. 

Watch all of it . . . Marinette turned back to the portal. “Okay. I’ll do that.” 

She didn’t want to say she feared the outcome. 

“Your Majesty.” 

Danny looked up from the folder he was reading through. Fright Knight had just entered his castle office, along with two unfamiliar ghosts in tow. 

One was a girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen if he could guess, with hardened eyes and hair gathered in twin braids. Her stance was stiff, perfectly quiet. The other was a bespectacled man with rumpled clothes covered by a jacket and a frayed scarf. Danny's core stirred with unease. The cores from the two can be barely felt, as if they didn't want to be perceived. 

“I have brought Parisians who wish to have an audience with you,” Fright Knight relayed. “They came to me themselves.” 

The two gave shallow bows. 

Danny's jaw clenched. He could assume they died at the time when Hawkmoth was active. 

“May I ask for your names?” He asked somberly. 

“Manon Chamack, your highness,” the girl muttered.

“Jalil Kubdel, my king,” said the man. 

“I don't need much. Tell me what you wish to tell me and I won't insist for more.” Danny didn't expect any of the Parisian ghosts to come forward after all. “I just want to understand what happened in Paris and know more about the Guardian.” 

“We will tell you . . . everything you must know. The Realms are different from the mortal world,” Manon said. “Here our souls are more at peace, and here we can share our thoughts more comfortably.” 

Jalil gave her a tap in the back—for encouragement. Manon laced her fingers together. “If you can follow us, your Majesty . . .” 

Danny could tell by the shift in Fright Knight's ectoplasm that the ghost wasn't happy about the girl bluntly giving a demand. But the King gave a look towards his knight. The ghost vanished instantly, leaving wordlessly to give them space. Danny stood up, tucking papers back into envelopes and putting pens back into place. 

He rolled the sleeves of his hoodie back. “The Guardian—”

“Is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Manon led the way out of the office.

“I figured that part out,” Danny followed closely. 

“She was also Ladybug, heroine of Paris, leader of the other Miraculous holders” the young girl added, “Stubborn, ferocious, strong, smart and—” She halted at the same time her words did. Danny couldn't see her expression since she had her back turned. “And she's made too many sacrifices to count.” 

That sounds like her, Danny thought. 

The two ghosts shared a look of understanding before Jalil went away, disappearing off the path coming from the castle. 

“Walk with me, my king,” Manon told him. “We'll start with the day the first akuma struck Paris . . .” 

Chapter Text

“Here. White mocha.” A steaming cup was brought to her table with a latte art of a Gotham gargoyle on top. Marinette stared at the coffee and then up at Damian, who delivered it. She nodded silently and picked up the drink for a sip. 

“You’ve been . . . out of it these past few days,” said Damian. 

Ah, if my work stray points it out, it must be bad. She figured she must be showing her restlessness, since she also noticed he was tiptoeing carefully around her. She’d find it funny and entertaining if not for her other concerns at the moment. 

That’s what you get when you unlock the terrifying, mind-boggling backstory of your work-bestie, she lamented. In hindsight, she shouldn’t have been surprised—she had dealt with nightmarish akumas before and had barreled straight into trauma-land. The timeline of the past in the Burrow capturing Danny’s life shouldn’t have awakened her nerves. 

But still, the circumstances with Amity and the ghosts were worse than she thought. Alongside feeling a new sense of kinship with the half-ghost, she was also worried about the Order becoming the new GIW. 

“What’s wrong?” Damian took a step closer to the table. 

“Thanks for noticing. Have you considered that you may be the reason I’m ‘out of it’?” She stared ahead at her screen, typing swiftly over the keys. 

“Did I do something?” He asked in a quieter, meek voice. 

“Pfft,” she laughed, stopping and looking up at him properly (all stiff and tense, how cute). “I’m kidding. It’s not you, it’s something else. But I am a bit upset that you didn’t invite me as your plus one to the engagement party.” 

“I—” Damian stopped, as if short-circuiting. “Fenton said you were already invited.”

“So under the circumstance that I didn't get invited, you'd ask me to be your plus one?” 

“. . . No —Yes —No.” He averted his gaze. “The point is, there is no need to ask for a plus one because they want the gathering to be intimate — close friends and family only — so I see no need for a plus one and you have already been invited yourself.” 

Marinette mulled over his words. She wasn't privy to the family matters of the Waynes, so it had been a surprise to know that one of the Wayne siblings and Danny's sister were together. And it was an even bigger surprise when Danny personally invited her to the engagement party. Sure, they were close, but not that close. Not to the Waynes’ side or Fentons’ side. She was probably going to be an outsider. 

Why the heck did Danny invite me? 

“I don't get why I was invited though,” she said, stirring her coffee absentmindedly, “You said close friends and family?” 

“Fenton considers you a close friend. I have also heard they want you as a designer for the wedding,” Damian replied. 

That made her energy perk up. A wedding dress and matching suit would be the perfect side project — she'd be honored to design for them. 

“How long have they been dating exactly?” 

“That is the problem with Todd—we have not met his girlfriend yet and we only heard about this engagement through Drake, who was told by Fenton.” He sighed in exasperation. “The manor has now devolved into a mess and there is an ongoing hunt for Todd who left no further explanation other than ‘there will be an engagement party’.” 

She laughed again. “Sounds fun. Danny will be part of the family now, huh?” She gave a coy smile. “When's my turn, Dami?”

It was his best flustered expression yet. “It's not— you're . . .I'm . . .” 

“The plus one thing. It was hypothetical, Wayne, simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ if you would've asked me. You've had no problem being by plus one at galas,” she pointed out. 

“That is because I have to keep you from offending our investors right in front of their faces.” 

“As if they don't deserve it.” She rolled her eyes. “You shit-talk them to their faces too.” 

“Father and Drake can be subtle about it. I keep my words short,” he deadpanned, “You on the other hand are worse and completely unfiltered. I am surprised you still have your job.” 

“Please. That's the reason you keep me around.” She grinned. “Anyways, see you at the party, handsome.” 

You are the Celestial fucking Guardian. You've faced the giants of the industry in countless fashion shows. You've represented WE in multiple events. You're this generation's fashion icon. 

You will not have social anxiety over a small engagement party. 

The dress code was casual — how casual, Marinette didn't know, so she went ahead and threw on a modest dress and found two handmade scarves from her stash to give as gifts. The venue was a bar that the couple reserved for the night, somewhere between Crime Alley and the Bowery. 

Danny was first to welcome her, eyes lighting up as he called her name and beckoned her over. Looking around, she could see there were a good handful of people around—some familiar, some not. Her coworker guided her to a lounge area to introduce his sister and her fiance. 

Wow. Marinette had to keep her jaw from falling. There was something about Jazz Fenton that was inherently intimidating, the way she towered just a few inches above Jason’s hulking figure, the way she stood elegantly with her model proportions, the way her sharp facial features complemented the steely shade of her eyes. Is it because I’m kind of allergic to therapists? 

The woman took both of her hands. “It’s nice to finally meet you! Danny talks a lot about you, you know.” 

“Only good things, I hope.” Marinette returned her smile. “Here, I brought gifts. Congratulations to both of you.” 

“Aw, thank you Marinette.” Jazz excitedly peeked into the bag. 

“I also heard you’re looking for a designer for the wedding?” 

“They told me I had to help plan it, and I knew I had to get you.” Danny reappeared, handing over a pink-colored cocktail to her. “Can’t have you nagging about my outfit on the big day.” 

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Jazz added. 

“No, I’d love to do it, of course. I’ll also do the bridesmaid dresses and groomsmen suits if you want.” Some designs were already taking shape in her head. 

“I’m sure the old man won’t mind splurging on those.” Jason looked over to where the rest of his family was sitting. “Give him the highest commission fee you got.” 

“I certainly plan on doing that. The things he wears to galas are awful sometimes, and he doesn’t listen to me!” 

As she made small talk with the couple and Danny introduced her to his friends, she observed the other guests silently. Though both the Wayne and Fenton sides interacted politely with each other, there was still a clear divide between the two, because of their energies. She could feel the ectoplasm coming off from the other guests and there were stronger auras that she could feel from certain people: Danny himself, their godfather who was lightheartedly ranting about their other sister being MIA, the two bartenders who were also friends with Danny, and the braided blonde chatting with Sam and Tucker. 

Ghosts. We’re in a party with ghosts, Marinette concluded. She swore she could some of them sizing her up discreetly, as if appraising an important artifact. She let her own aura dwindle away from being detected.

It was . . . weird seeing all of them in person. These were people she had just seen through the Burrow’s portal not too long ago, and yet they were here, now celebrating an engagement. 

To rest her feet trapped in heels, she found herself wandering towards the Waynes. A few of them were sitting on a couch surrounding a table with refreshments. 

“Well well, if it isn’t Gotham’s fashion icon.” 

“Well, if it isn’t the guy who gave me a migraine the last time he visited the office,” she retorted back to Dick, making a mental note of the others. Broody Damian, an antsy Bruce, Tim who couldn't keep his eyes off Danny, Stephanie Brown. 

“That was one time, one time, Mari.” 

She sipped on her cocktail. “That’s Ms. Dupain-Cheng to you, we’re not on a first name basis.” 

“So cold,” the eldest Wayne kid pouted. 

Damian pushed a slice of cake towards her. She just stared at it skeptically. “I just submitted the designs before I left.” 

He scowled. “I am not here to watch over you. It is outside work hours.” 

“Really. And you’re giving this out of . . .” 

“Goodwill. Politeness. What is the big deal over a cake?” 

“You? I don’t think ‘Damian’ and ‘polite’ belong in the same sentence.” 

“Fine, don’t eat the cake —” 

“I’m kidding.” Marinette clicked her tongue, pulling the plate back towards herself. “Get me some sandwiches from the table over there, hm? And a fruit platter, please.” 

Damian stood up, marching over to the buffet laid out in one corner. Just as she was about to take a forkful of the chocolate cake, she noticed Stephanie and Dick’s glittering eyes staring at her. 

“What?” she asked. 

“The rumors are true. He listens well to her,” Stephanie nodded, as if satisfied with what she just witnessed. 

“Is there a reason why he shouldn’t?” Marinette waved her fork around, gaze turning towards her boss, who was still squirming. He wasn’t just being antsy — poor, poor Bruce looked genuinely constipated. Every second or so, he was glancing over to where Jason and Jazz were, surrounded by other Fenton guests.

“What’s up with Mr. — ” She paused, remembering Damian’s comment about it being off work hours. “What’s up with Bruce?” 

The man himself gave a forced smile. “Nothing.” 

“Keep our personal life and work separate, B. You promised Jason that,” Dick reminded him. 

“Oh? Is there something bad about Jason marrying into the family of one of your employees?” Marinette quizzed. The others fell quiet for just a moment. 

Bruce cleared his throat. “It’s not that.” 

“Then do you not approve of Jazz? I’ve only met her today and I think she’s awesome.” 

“No, that’s not the case at all. I think she’s a good match for Jason,” Bruce said quietly. “I’m just thinking that marriage is a big commitment . . .” 

“How would you know that? You’ve never been married.” Marinette raised an eyebrow. Meanwhile, Dick, Tim and Stephanie stifled their cackling. 

The shifting, embarrassed, shrinking Bruce flushed a bright red, “I’m just—just worried as a parent.” 

Just then, Damian returned with the food requests. Marinette picked out a piece of strawberry. “Damian, I think your father’s got attachment issues.” 

“We would not know for certain since he refuses to go to therapy,” Damian said, “The first thing Jasmine said to him when Todd introduced them is that he should book a session with her.” 

Stephanie laughed, “And I said Harley would love this woman.” 

The conversation was just mostly between Dick, Stephanie and Marinette. Bruce resigned himself to drinking his wine, while Damian and Tim went away to join Jason’s friends, who were also making small talk with Vlad and the bartenders. 

“So Danny,” Dick began, “Tim seems to like him a lot.” 

“They are the definition of 30k slow-burn mutual pining.” Marinette followed his gaze towards where Tim was stuck by Danny’s side. “I’m not sure about recent developments, but they seem happy.” 

“Hm. But don’t you think their family’s a little . . .” His expression pinched in concentration. “Odd?” 

“The vibes can be odd, yes. Amity Parkers can be different. But nothing too strange for Gotham, no? I say they fit right in.” She swirled her drink. “If you’re feeling any animosity, I don’t think Jason would like that.” 

“No, it was just an observation.” 

“An observation worthy of the stuck-ups I’ve dealt with at galas.” 

“Fine, let’s change the subject. You and Damian?” 

“Are friends?” 

“But he definitely acts a certain way around you,” Stephanie said, leaning forward with intrigue.

“Do you want to be more than friends?” asked Dick. 

Marinette painted a picture in her head. Me and Damian in between all my work in the company and as Guardian. Now what would that look like? She didn’t know everything about him yet, but she was open to getting to know more at least. “I think he has apprehensions.” 

“He just needs a little nudge.”

“I don't think he’ll make the first move.” Stephanie smirked. 

“Give him some credit.” Dick frowned. 

“Want to bet on it?” The blonde hollered to the short-haired girl to the side. “Yo Cass, Dick wants to make a bet!”

Her bedroom was bathed in green. 

Plastered on the wall was a floor-to-ceiling portal: swirling, translucent, forest green, wisps of ectoplasm. Marinette blinked at it. A deep energy reverberated from inside the portal before it rumbled and a figure began to emerge from it. 

First were hooves. Then a lime green mane. Fangs and a twisted horn. Then the whole winged horse with a ghost in armor riding on top of it. She marveled at the purple flames (or was it smoke?) coming out of the helmet and cascading behind like a cape. 

“I greet the Celestial Guardian of the Miraculous.” His voice was echo-y, as if bouncing off from the hollow metal. 

Marinette swung her legs to the edge of the bed, sitting up. “Greetings from who?” 

The ghost gave a shallow bow, just a brief tilt of the helmet. “I am Fright Knight, aide to his highness, the Ghost King, ruler of the Infinite Realms. He wishes to extend an invitation to meet you three days from today.” 

Marinette noted how it was one of her scheduled free days off work. 

“Meet where?” she asked. 

“His majesty grants you the liberty for a place of your choosing.” Fright Knight responded. “He also offers his castle if that is what the Guardian prefers.” 

She thought carefully, fingers brushing through the thick fabric of her blanket. “Not that I’m uncomfortable or anything, but I think it will be better if we meet on a neutral ground, somewhere private.” 

“Perhaps Paris, France?” 

“No, not that.” She reached out to her drawer to grab one of the earrings and produce a simple card with the Guardian insignia on it and a ladybug. A token of proof. “I accept the invitation. And I have a place in mind — I think he’s going to like it.”

Chapter Text

Since starting his reign as king, Danny had seen lots of ghosts. Some have slow, gruesome deaths. Some who died from old age. Some who were born out of concepts and ideals. Others took shape with the ectoplasm from random chance. The denizens of the Zone came in various forms. 

But the ones from Paris — specifically from Hawkmoth's time — were different. 

Manon had shown him after their talk. Seventy-three, no — seventy fucking four ghosts out of all who permanently died at time. Only seventy-four souls who clung on to the afterlife. 

The rest were already resting. 

The Parisians all had either wary or blank eyes. Danny couldn't make out what their cores were feeling, as if they had long since silenced their emotions. 

“We have our own Obsessions,” Manon had muttered next to him. “But the one thing keeping us here is that we have to make sure nothing interferes with Paris again. Not after what happened. We have to watch over those who're still suffering in their memories.” 

Danny swallowed the lump in his throat. He had seen ghosts experimented on, captured by the GIW. He had seen the townspeople in Amity hurt by ghosts. And he had already dealt with those matters — those were faded scars at this point. 

But this was . . . different. It made his blood run colder, his ring heavy around his finger, his teeth clench together. How much had Parisian voices been suppressed all this time? 

He felt a faint throbbing on his stitches as his stomach dropped. What about the Guardian? What about Marinette? 

He felt churning in his core, a very subtle change. It was his Obsession, extending towards his friend, feeling the need to guard her as well. 

Danny let a cool wave of his aura wash over the Parisian ghosts. As long as you are in the Realms, you cannot be hurt anymore. 

She was first to arrive. 

Marinette had made herself a dress to move in easily—something ceremonial that she could wear as guardian. She had a hood that could also turn into a veil, long flowing sleeves, and skirts that covered her feet. The Miraculi were fashioned into white and gold sets that completed the outfit.

She stepped on the dusty surface of the rock, keeping up an invisible Shell-ter shield around herself to let her breathe in space. Turning around, she saw vastness. And in that vastness was the blue of the earth that she could now see from afar, surrounded by countless chunks of metal. She pursed her lips and cast a quick illusion to make herself invisible from prying cameras. 

Feels weird. It was her first time officially presenting herself and meeting someone as ‘Guardian’. Her gaze scanned the planet in front of her. It was a world that was technically in her hands, a place that was constantly teetering on the edge of imbalance if she wasn’t around to watch over. 

But it turned out that that responsibility wasn’t hers alone. 

A voice behind her rang out. 

“Earth to Mars.” 

She turned around, now sensing the ectoplasm radiating in full. The king had now a looser grasp of his energy, allowing it to reach out, colder than their subzero surroundings. He wore a full king’s regalia, including a proper coat, a crown blazing green with the smell of death, and a mantle that looked transparent at first but was actually one that blended in with space: dark as void but glittered with stars and woven from the fabric of reality. Instead of dark hair, his locks were now an ashy white and his eyes a shimmering green. 

There was tension. 

It was them perceiving each other’s power. 

It was them meeting each other’s alter ego for the first time. 

Marinette clasped her hands behind her back. She could still hear the rasp of his screams that she heard back in the Burrow. His expression wasn’t the same as the boy who dreamt of floating with the stars anymore, but was now a product of melancholy and the supernatural. 

She squinted at his getup. 

“Don’t fucking tell me you’re wearing a hoodie under all of that.” 

Danny broke into a smile and then a loud laugh. He let his feet fall to the ground and approached her for a hug whilst switching to his usual style: a NASA hoodie and some sweatpants. 

“Mars to Earth,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Ghost King.” 

He slowly pulled away. “Nice to meet you, Guardian. I like our meeting spot.” 

“So . . .” Marinette twisted her fingers. “I had to um . . . sort of watch your whole life using a time traveling Miraculous. I didn’t mean to do it all the way, but there’s thing with the time holder and—” 

“Nah, it’s cool I get it. I had some Parisian ghosts basically tell me your life story.” Danny nodded. 

She stilled. Parisian ghosts? Those who died when . . . They haven’t moved on, have they? Do they have their memories? He must’ve felt her worry. “They’re fine. I’ll let you meet them someday. I think they’ll be happy to talk to you.” 

She released a breath. “And the cultists — the Order. I’m so sorry about them.” She scowled. “I swear, I’ve been trying to keep them in check, but they’re persistent.” 

“That’s the issue.” Danny rubbed his head. “There are ghost weapons that were out of our surveillance; they shouldn’t have ended up with those. What’s up with them anyway?

“I’ve already reduced the Order to a trusted few to take care of the other boxes. They’re very close to an actual cult and I don’t want them solely perpetuating dedication to the Miraculi, which I can guard on my own. But some of them . . .” 

“Didn’t like that idea?” 

“Stubborn asses. Now they thought they could summon the Ghost King to help them make something that could equate my power.” 

“That’s tough. This is definitely a problem for both of us.” He nodded. “I’ll get my ghosts to help, don’t worry.” 

They took their seats near a crater, after Danny made ectoplasmic construct-chairs so they could be more comfortable. At that second, a huge metallic structure passed near the moon. Marinette could see the ring adorned with lights encircling the rocket-like column. 

“I guess the whole ghost thing's the reason why you don't like them,” she thought out loud. 

“As much as I want to work in space, I'm not comfortable working with them.” Danny gazed up at the Watchtower in scrutiny. “Can I ask? Why not erm — ask for help?”

“It was difficult to prove that there were any attacks in Paris at all if your superpower involves restoring everything after the attacks,” she explained bitterly. “At first, too, our mayor was determined to keep things on the down low so we don't cause widespread panic or take a hit on the tourism industry.” 

“We tried to reach out . . . a few times, but I don't think it properly reached the heroes,” she continued, brushing through her skirt. “When the akumas got worse, I decided we should hide it from the rest of the world for good. I can't risk the akumatization of these heroes, or them screwing things over if they try to force their involvement.” 

If she were her younger, teenage self who was still learning the ropes of being a hero and a Guardian, she would've jumped at the chance of mentorship from the JL in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, as the battles went on and Paris became more emotionally-suppressed, there came a point when the battles became hers alone to fight. 

Danny was quiet for a whole minute. 

Then he asked, “How is it now? How's Paris doing? Don't the people think it's unfair that all of that just passed without the world knowing?” 

“I guess . . . everyone's trying to heal in their own way. We just don't want it brought up again or it will reopen our scars.” Marinette's fingertips danced lightly on top of the band around her pinky. “It will be worse if the incidents come to light, especially if the world won't understand the whole story.” 

The king nodded in understanding. She tore her gaze away from earth to look at him. “What about on your side? The GIW?” 

“Well, it was hard to do anything at first after the fire.” Danny winced a little. “The problem was that ghosts were deemed non-sentient and hostile by the law. Even if the Meta Acts exist, no one knows much about ectoplasmic beings in the first place — if it's brought up to the JL, they'll sound the alarm first before considering ghost rights.” 

“But the GIW aren't active now, are they?” 

“They aren't, ‘cause I dealt with them myself. I destroyed their facilities and equipment and files, and freed the ghosts. The Guys in White were already a pretty secretive organization, so I figured no one would bat an eye if they all disappeared. Pretty sure I left no trace until those cultists showed up.”

Marinette inwardly shuddered, thinking about the possibilities, about what the GIW could've done to hurt the ghosts. She realized that Danny — this fashion menace gremlin coworker of hers — was more similar to herself than she imagined. 

They were both victimized by their circumstance, blessed with misfortune in their teens and it all just went downhill from them. A self-sacrificing tendency, gallons of caffeine, guarded when it comes to their own domains. 

She rolled her shoulders. Unexpectedly, there was a weight that slid off them. It was the first time she talked about Paris and Guardianship to someone uninvolved. 

And she couldn't wait to spill all this tea to Adrien. 

“Speaking of the JL, haven't you heard they're trying to look for us?” A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. 

“That's cute, I bet it's because of the cultists.” Danny yawned. “Wow, we can't just catch a break, can we? I don't care about them doing their research, but if they put their shit where it shouldn't be, I'm stepping in.” 

“Oooh, that reminds me.” His mantle popped out into view again so he could dig into its pockets. The cloak had pockets. He pulled out a small card, one that had a poorly-drawn rocket in colored markers, along with words in a language Marinette couldn't decipher. 

“My calling card. Technically, I can't be summoned anymore, but this is the exception — only my family and close friends have it.” He handed it to her. “Just put a drop of your blood on that card and I'll be right there.” 

She pocketed the card. “I don't have a ghostly summoning calling card but I guess you have my number?” 

He chuckled, “It's no problem. The summoning's for emergencies only.” 

“Oh? I can summon you now if I get a new idea for our space suit project at three in the morning.”

“Nooo,” he groaned. “I'm having flashbacks to the time when I had to convince Ellie that no, finding ghost bugs in her food does not count as an emergency and she won’t de-stabilize if she eats those. If you bother me at an ungodly hour, I’ll take away your calling card.” 

“Like you’re actually sleeping at those hours.” Marinette stuck her tongue out. 

“I am sometimes!” 

“And in the other times, I can call you—” 

“You’re one to talk. You should be sleeping and I won’t hesitate to tell your lapdog.” 

She snorted. “Why would he care about my sleeping schedule?” 

“He’ll deprive you of coffee. And make you not work.” 

“I’d like to see him try, he’s —” 

Everything stopped. 

Danny had vanished suddenly. 

Marinette stood up, looking around for traces of the king. 

Something was wrong. 

Something was very very wrong.

Chapter Text

They were standing in a bare part of the Watchtower, surrounding an elaborate design of runes in the middle. Rose-like flowers colored in a deep maroon with pitch black stems formed a barrier around those runes — blood blossoms, as Constantine called them— and a small vial filled with an unknown liquid sat at the center of it all.

It was their ticket straight to doom or salvation.

Robin glanced at Red Robin. While it wasn't obvious that he was actually zoning out, he knew his brother well enough to know that he was deep in thought. Not in the good way, but in the 'we have to shake this deep trance off Drake later or else he'll be standing like this for next three hours' kind of way.

"How do we know this 'Ghost King' will not bypass this circle?" Damian found himself asking. He wasn't versed with any of the JLD specialties, so he failed to see how a ring of flowers could keep a ghost away.

"We don't know anything about the king except that he's very powerful and scary," Zatanna replied, striding along the circumference of the circle to stand beside the their occultist trenchcoat man.

"And this ritual can summon him," said trenchcoat man added.

"Danny —" Heads turned towards Red Robin, who had spoken after a long while. "My Amity Parker, um, friend said ghosts are like people. They can be good or bad and are very much sentient. Maybe the king's not as detached of a being as we think?"

The reports on the king barely came up with anything. They didn't know what he looked like, how he acted, his exact abilities. If it were up to Robin, he'd push back the attempt to summon until they got information. And their WE space department head seemed like a reliable lead.

But the cultists, screw them to hell, were expanding and operating much quicker than they could be subdued. Strangely, the organization itself was found to be more connected to Miraculi and the Celestial Guardian instead of the Ghost King.

Are those two entities connected? Are they collaborators in some way? He pondered.

"That is why it is important that we talk to the Ghost King." Batman crossed his arms. "We can discuss the matter about the cultists or else we will be dealing with them unprepared or stepping over boundaries we do not even know about. We barely have any information on 'ectoplasm', 'Phantom', and the 'Ghost Zone'."

Wonder Woman frowned. "Will the king be open to that discussion?"

"We can only hope." Constantine offered a grim smile. "If we wanna make contact, that is. This'll deter him."

"Does it hurt ghosts?" Red Robin questioned.

Constantine laughed. "It'll keep him in the circle, but it shouldn't begin to hurt a fraction of his power."

Robin stepped forward, closer to the circle, but he felt the light touch from his father pulling him away.

Red Robin fiddled with his weapon. "If anything goes wrong, we can stop the ritual, right?"

Zatanna nodded. "Yes, but again, containment problem. Stopping the ritual will likely not send the king back, and we're not sure if we'll be able to handle him. If he gets hostile, that is."

"Diplomacy route. Got it."

Wonder Woman didn't seem to like that idea. "You're saying we have to rely on negotiations with this being — assuming he does not automatically wipe us out the moment he's summoned?"

"Should have asked Fenton if the Ghost King was nice." Robin clicked his tongue, gaze pinning his brother again.

"Shut up, Robin."

"Will he understand us?" Batman kept a hold on the edge of Robin's cape to keep him from leaping at the other vigilante.

"He's King of the Realms. King of everything, basically. He should." Constantine crouched near the spot where the flowers were thicker. "So? Batsy?"

"We don't even know if the ritual works in the first place," Zatanna grumbled.

"It's our only option. Read it in a special book, it should do something, no?"

The heroes readied their stances as Constantine raised his arms for the chant. Robin kept a hand on the hilt of one of his blades.

Then, Batman gave the signal.

"Do it."

Robin expected a spectacle. He expected the ground shaking under their feet, reality warping under the power of a god, perhaps flames engulfing the Watchtower. But the signal to the King's arrival was somewhat the opposite — there was a shift in the air but nothing else. It was like something was tugging on his sixth sense but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what.

Then the King appeared, materializing out of faint tendrils of green smoke. The figure was humanoid at least, but Robin noted the white hair floating as if in zero gravity, the cape seemingly made out of nothingness, and the lack of irises. Only green-tinged whites.

The figure keeled over in the middle of the circle as it groaned in pain. Robin could've sworn he heard 'for fuck's sake' tumble out of the ghost's lips.

Constantine stopped his chanting.

But it got worse.

Groans turned into choked sobs, the being fully curled its body, with his forehead and knees glued to the floor. The king was clutching his middle as his voice became a layered mixture of rapid breaths and pained wheezing. The heroes backed away in caution.

Robin was rooted on the spot. The others were shouting multiple things at once but he couldn't make anything out. A bright halo of light suddenly flared out, and in place of a ghost a more human, more mortal figure, but still in torment.

Daniel Fenton.

Daniel from space engineering.

The head of one of their departments.

The man trembled on the floor and scars began to grow, extending down his arms, up his neck, crossing his brow: Lichtenberg scars in the same shade of the blood blossoms.

"You said it won't hurt him!" Batman yelled out.

"It shouldn't!" Constantine growled back, smudging out the runes and pushing aside the flowers.

Yet the cries continued, the red patterns travelled across Danny's skin, throbbing as if they traced his blood vessels. He was heaving deep but infrequent breaths, eyes blown wide flitting back and forth between green and blue.

Robin saw movement in his peripheral vision. Red Robin was shouting. "It's the flowers! Take them away —

Wait. Something was wrong.

The Watchtower lurched, and the floor tilted. Another presence, another entity, emerged, this time from what looked like a portal. Robin felt the air knocked out of his lungs, and there was a sudden numbed pain in his muscles. But he still managed to see the woman who had arrived, immediately grabbing onto Danny.

Her eyes were daggers thrown deep into their chests.

"Don't. Move."

She didn't raise her voice. She didn't scream.

But those two words, full of conviction, rattled the metal walls and enslaved the lights into a flickering chaos. Robin found himself paralyzed, throat choked up and limbs twitching desperately. It was like the scene completely froze as she pulled the summoned king by his cloak and conjured another portal for their exit.

They were gone in the next blink.

All of them fell to their knees, freed from hold of the magical power. Robin released a shaky breath as a cold bead of sweat ran down his neck.

He was in trouble.

And in more ways than one.

Chapter Text

Marinette's hands were shaking.

With her clouded mind, her first thought was that she needed to take Danny to the Ghost Zone, somewhere safe, somewhere with ectoplasm. But with the extent of her Guardian powers, she knew that was out of reach so in the split-second window, she decided to take them to her home in Paris.

She immediately deposited Danny on the chaise, drew the curtains shut, and made sure the hatch door was locked. It was late at night in the city anyway; her parents should be fast asleep. Coming back to her friend, she saw that he was still writhing in pain, quickly transforming between solid and intangible as he struggled to breathe.

"Fucking . . . putain de merde, don't die on me, Danny —" She muttered as she rummaged through his pockets for his phone. "Don't die on me or I will kill you dead."

The bastard has the nerve to laugh. "Like I'm not already?"

She slapped his arm, but then gripped his hand tightly to get his fingerprint on the screen.

Ectoplasm. That should help stabilize him, right? Her thoughts ran a mile a minute. This was a ghost, the King even, and the problem wasn't akuma or Miraculous-related. She had no idea how she could heal him with her own powers or if it was possible at all. Damn it, you watched his whole life from his childhood and you couldn't even help him now?

Her fingers stumbled as she looked for Jazz's number on his phone. She didn't even wait to be spoken to, words spilling almost incomprehensibly: "Forty-eight rue Caulaincourt, Montmartre Paris. The attic, please, not the bakery or you can drop on the rooftop balcony —"

It sounded like Jason was the one who answered. "Who —"

"It's Marinette. Danny, he . . ." She shut her eyes tight, gripping the phone until her knuckles were white. "The Justice League summoned him. Somehow."

"I—I'm literally — augh . . . fi—fine," Danny wheezed out.

"Fuck you, shut up. no you're not." Marinette glared at him, then turned her attention back to the call. "I don't know how to heal him. Please. If you can't portal, I can come get you? They used these . . . these plants . . ."

"Blood blo—blossoms," Danny sputtered, fists clenching around the hem of his hoodie.

"Blood blossoms," she repeated.

Jason's tone was quietly livid. "Shit. We'll be there in ten. I'll get Jazz, tell him not to go anywhere."

The call clicked off.

Marinette bit her tongue. She couldn't wait—she shouldn't wait. Danny was clearly still hurting from the blood blossoms, and the branching lightning-like scars etched into his skin hadn't disappeared.

"Danny, what can I do? You need ectoplasm, don't you? How do I find a portal to the Zone? Can I make a portal?" Questions rapidly fired as she rearranged some pillows in a futile attempt to make him more comfortable.

"I . . . I don't know, Mars. Paris doesn't have ambient ecto. No—" he coughed and then groaned. "No ghosts."

Her stomach dropped. Should she not have teleported them to Paris after all? She didn't want to go anywhere near Gotham yet, in case the Bats would be searching.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"No, it's better we're here in Paris." Danny winced. "You . . . you have ectoplasm from—from Gotham. Just stay close."

She obliged, but still felt helpless. Her legs felt weak and she had to ball her hands up into fists to keep them from shaking. She hadn't even thought properly, going into the Watchtower like that. Marinette only knew her instincts were yelling at her to get him out of there.

"Are you sure this helps?"

"It—it's fine," Danny gasped out, trying to hold her hand but his own just phased through. "It's kind of my—my fault too?"

"Why would it be your fault?"

"Not . . . not s'posed to have access to blood blo—blossoms . . . I was trying to build up my to—tolerance but I . . . slacked off. Frosty's gonna be li—like 'I told you so'."

"No, Danny, this is on them. You wouldn't need tolerance if those things wouldn't be used against you," she told him firmly.

His state wasn't as bad as she saw in the Watchtower, but the symptoms hadn't disappeared either. The scars were still slowly progressing and spreading and one of his eyes appeared bloodshot.

"Tikki. Plagg." The two kwamis appeared instantly, awakening from the respective Miraculi.

"Is there anything I can do for Danny?" she weakly asked.

"Your kwamis?" Danny slurred. "They look tiny."

"And you look like a mess." Plagg flew over near him and took a sniff. "Ooh, those are blood blossoms alright. Amazing delicacy."

"I'm not sure, Marinette, I'm sorry." Tikki settled on top of her shoulder. "We don't know how Miraculous powers will react with ectoplasm."

"I've an idea," Danny lifted his head a little to meet her eyes.

"Coming from you right now? I don't like the idea already."

The king rolled his eyes. "You have — ow, why the heck does everything still hurt—you have the power of Destruction, right?"

Marinette stiffened, already knowing what kind of plan took form in his head. "We're not doing that. You heard Tikki; we don't know if Miraculi and ectoplasm are a good mix."

"Yeah, duh, we won't know until we try."

"Danny."

"It'll be fine." He coughed again. "You can control it, just—just enough so the traces disappear. Focus on the scars."

"What does he mean? What should you do?" A confused Plagg asked.

"I think he means she can Cataclysm the toxin out," Tikki responded.

"I can't do that. I'm not doing that." And accidentally hurt him more? He's already in so much pain. A lump was lodged in her throat, remembering the bigger scar that was on his midsection.

"I think it's worth a try, Guardian," the ladybug kwami urged, "You are each other's balance. You might be able to destroy what destroys him."

Marinette looked at her friend again.

"It's true. I've heard of the balance thing before." He cracked a small smile. "Negative and negative equals a positive, right?"

"Fine, okay," she gritted out. "I'm stopping if it hurts. And you have to stay still."

"As still as a corpse? Yeah, got it."

"Do not test me, Danny, or I'll back out of our space suit project."

She brought her glasses down to the bridge of her nose again and summoned a portal to her apartment in Gotham just to let a bit of ectoplasm waft into the room. Then, she tightened the Ouroboros bracelet around her wrist and twisted it to activate Second Chance. Five minutes. You have five minutes.

She moved closer to Danny, letting the dark fizzing power of Cataclysm dance along her fingertips. Slowly, she let small bursts of the destructive energy target the crimson scars. It was precision work, like following a labyrinthine pattern with a needle and a thread, but after what seemed like an eternity, the scars faded and the color was back on Danny's face.

He sat up, gulping in big breaths of air.

"Is it gone?" she laid a hand on his back.

"Yes." He touched his chest, looking down on himself to check. "I think I'm good. You saved me, Mars."

Marinette sagged on the floor while rubbing the sweat on her forehead. Note to self: never doing that again.

After the Pit-cleansing and whatnot, it took Jason a while to understand the idea of ghost cores and Obsessions. Danny had clarified that a dunk in Lazarus water wasn't enough to establish a core, but it did tie him to the Zone, strong enough that he would be feeling ghostly instincts and compulsion. A heightened sensitivity to ectoplasm and adjacent beings.

That was why Jason slipped out at night only when he felt that Lady Gotham's mood was right. That was why he could be summoned by the King if the King willed it. That was why he resonated with the emotions of the Fentons and all other liminals, replacing the hollow rage that once consumed him.

That was why when he heard about Danny and the blood blossoms, a new kind of fury was stoked inside him, one where he also felt disgust at the Justice League for their offense to his king.

Jazz was first to leap out of the portal, heading straight towards where her brother was to check on him. Jason followed with a floating Ellie, stepping into a bedroom decked out in lots of pink. Danny was lying on a polka-dotted couch while Marinette had seemingly shuffled aside to give them some space.

Relief flooded Jason's veins.

"Are you okay? What did they do to you? The blood blossoms?" A half-frantic Jazz fussed over Danny, gently pulling at his arms and legs.

" 'M all good now," Danny mumbled.

"You are not."

"He is, though." Ellie circled him once, legs dissolved into a ghostly tail and arms crossed. "Next time, can you get me when there's an actual ecto-medical-emergency? I have an apprenticeship to get back to."

"How can he be okay?" asked Jazz. "He was exposed to the flowers."

Jason wondered the same thing. He had a taste of blood blossoms once, just an experiment, a test (and totally not a stupid dare from Skulker), and while it didn't affect him as badly as it would a normal ghost, it still felt like hot lava was burning him from the inside out.

"I dunno what you want me to say." Ellie shrugged. "Bit of exhaustion, but he's regenerating well. Lots of ecto and a good night's sleep — no coffee, by the way, dude you reek of it — and you'll be fine."

"It's because I destroyed it. The poison in his system."

Heads turned towards Marinette, who just spoke up.

Jason gave her a quizzical look. He hadn't asked during the phone call, but he did wonder at the back of his mind. How did Marinette know that Danny was summoned? And how did they end up all the way in France?

Danny and Marinette shared a look, as if agreeing on something. The Parisian nodded once.

"So . . ." Danny's voice was still raspy. "Remember when I said I was looking into the Celestial Guardian?"

Marinette shyly raised her hand. "Celestial Guardian here. I used the Miraculous of Destruction to heal him. Luckily, it didn't damage anything else."

Celestial Guardian, what a small world. Jason did get a certain magical vibe from her before. He had barely skimmed Fright Knight and the other ghosts' investigation on the Guardian and the Miraculi, but he made a mental note to take a closer look later.

"You have my thanks, Marinette." Jazz smiled warmly.

"I see no probable side effects. Ciao, I'll head back to the FF." Ellie flew back to the portal as fast as she arrived, before it completely closed behind her.

Jazz released a relieved breath but took Danny's hand and squeezed it. "We're still taking you to Frostbite, okay? A full scan, just to make sure."

"Danny," Jason turned to the halfa. "I thought we got rid of every Ghost King summoning material. Especially the blood blossoms."

Danny carded a hand through his hair. "Might've missed a place. Black market and all that. I'll check again with Frighty. It was — "

"Constantine?"

"Constantine." Marinette confirmed. "I caught a glimpse of the ritual setup, it looks like he got it from one of the fake copies of the Grimoire — the ancient texts on the Miraculi."

Jason willed himself to calm down. This was what he dreaded: the Justice League discovering the Zone and the Realms, making it their business when the ghosts (and their King especially) just want to be left alone.

"I should've interfered." He said lowly. "I should've kept a closer watch, told them not to get into that shit."

"That's not your responsibility, Jay," Danny responded. "I told you that many times."

"Still. They should've known better."

"Did you have to transform back when they summoned you? What about your identity?" Jazz asked in concern.

"Had to, or else the blood blossoms would've completely corrupted my ghost half." Danny shrugged. "To be honest, I don't care about my civvy ID. They would've found out somehow regardless. I'm just worried they'll start looking for other ghosts to question."

Jazz's gaze turned to the Guardian. "What about you, Marinette? Did they see you too?"

"I didn't have time to worry about that — I just grabbed Danny and left." She sighed. "But I have the same sentiments. If they start snooping around Paris . . ."

"Actually, what you did back there should be enough to send a message," said Danny. Jason made another mental note to check the tapes from the Watchtower.

"I'll make sure . . . I'll make sure they won't get involved again," Jason vowed.

Danny just raised an eyebrow. "Chill, lefty. We're not completely blameless —"

"You are. The Justice League aren't idiots. They should suffer the consequences—"

"— But after the whole GIW thing, there wasn't enough information to make them understand just how dangerous —"

"They knew it was dangerous, Danny. I'm sure they knew, and they still went on with it." Jason clenched his jaw. "Even if you think it's not completely their fault, this is something you shouldn't let slide as the King."

The air in Gotham took the shape of a silent resentment, following the ghosts' unease and Lady Gotham's disappointment. News of the summoning of the King had spread far and wide into every corner of the Realms, and now the restlessness and vexation of the ghosts were palpable in the atmosphere. So much so that both criminals and vigilantes could feel that something was off, though they wouldn't know the cause of the turmoil.

Jason knew, and he was taking advantage of it.

Red Hood leapt up to a rooftop to catch up to his target. Probably one of Penguin or Black Mask's underlings — he wasn't sure anymore. But he didn't pull his punches, directing a bit more of his strength as he felt the stir from the ghosts nearby.

"Hood!" He heard a hiss from behind him. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing? What were you doing?" Red Hood growled.

"What are you talking about?" Nightwing drew his weapons to take down another group of goons coming at them.

"The Ghost King." Oracle's voice buzzed to life in their comms.

"That thing with Danny?" Nightwing tilted his head.

"Names," Red Robin warned.

"This is why you don't stick your ass where you don't belong." He finally knocked his target unconscious and moved towards another. "You're lucky the ghosts didn't touch a hair on your heads, no, lucky is an understatement — you fucked with their King. You have all of the Realms against you now."

Understatement indeed. Jason had only been a threshold of the castle before he caught the overwhelming auras of the council when he visited the Zone. Pandora had been furious. Fright Knight had been ready to charge back into the Watchtower. Plasmius was just scarily silent. Even the Observants had caused a ruckus. Ghosts, ectoplasmic beings, liminals, revenants, and spirits had all been an a second away from declaring the mortal world as an enemy if Danny had not stepped in.

"We didn't know anything," Red Robin weakly protested.

"Right. You didn't know anything and you still summoned him. Look where that got you."

"Hood," the low voice of Batman sounded into the line. "Did you know all of this?"

"No shit Sherlock, the Queen Regent is my fiancée. I'm the King's left-hand man."

"O-kay, I know we promised not to get in your business, but don't you think you should've told us that?" Nightwing asked.

Fists clenched tight over his guns, Red Hood grappled away to escape his older brother. No, you don't owe them an explanation, he told himself, you don't have to tell them anything.

But they hurt Danny.

Danny, the kid he met and somehow calmed the surging waves of the Pits. Danny, who had fought as Phantom all alone for so many years when he was just a teenager. Danny, who had to bear a heavy crown even if he wouldn't admit that it was a burden on him.

"No, I didn't tell you." He scowled, sailing between alleys and buildings, just to placate himself. "I didn't tell you because I owe them my life. The Lazarus Pits? All corrupted ectoplasm. I would've lost myself if Phantom hadn't found me and gave me my detox."

He aimed a shot at one of the fleeing henchmen below, just the right angle so it didn't cause serious injury. "I don't know how much you know but I'm warning you now: leave them alone. I mean it. Or else I'm leaving this family."

I have another one of my own, anyway. He jumped down into a small alley after finally getting Nightwing off his back and disconnecting from the comms.

He took off his helmet, leaning against the wall for a bit to feel the ectoplasm around him. Some of the ghosts seemed to have calmed down but everything was still tense. Red Hood took steady steps to follow a path back to his apartment. He suddenly missed Jazz.

He was certain that he was all alone. Suddenly, there was breath, a presence in close proximity and before he knew it, he had taken out his gun and fired a shot—

Only to be met with a disintegrated bullet and familiar blue eyes.

Marinette scoffed and stared back at him as her green shield dissipated. "Okay, rude."

"Jesus, fuck — you came outta nowhere!" Red Hood immediately aimed his guns away. "I'm sorry, I thought you were Danny."

"Do you always shoot Danny like that?" she asked.

"He catches me off guard, which nobody else does by the way, but y'know the bullets do nothing; he just goes intangible," he explained. "What are you even doing out here so late?"

Not that he didn't think she could keep herself safe. He had seen the distorted footage from the Watchtower and the records of Tucker and Fright Knight's research. Marinette herself became a hero at a younger age than Danny — ghosts and Anti-Ecto acts aside, the League really fucked up with Paris, too.

She raised the bags she was carrying. "Had a few errands to run."

"Can't you just . . .?"

"Teleport? I can do that, but I always like to take a midnight stroll. Muggers pop out sometimes though so I just resorted to invisibility and this shield."

"I can help you get home—"

A new voice slithered right by his ear. "So 'left-hand man', huh?"

A gunshot rang out again.

And Red Hood jumped in surprise again.

He backed away from a cheeky, floating Danny. "Where the fuck did you even come from?! And what are you doing out here, you're on bedrest!"

"And work tomorrow," Marinette added.

"I needed a quick run." Danny shifted back to human form. "I need to take in all the ambient ecto I need, duh."

"No." Red Hood clicked his tongue. "What's the real reason?"

"Umm, gossiping with Lady G?"

"Danny —"

"Are we skipping the part where you defended me like a good big brother—-"

"I can't believe you eavesdropped on all of that. Get back to bed now."

"Nuh uh, I'll be fine." With a wide grin, he turned to Marinette. "Since it looks like you'll be staying up tonight, why don't you come with me to meet the ghost of Gotham City?" 

Chapter Text

Damian stared down at the bubbling coffee pot. He didn't remember the last time he was on edge like this.

But did he have any reason to?

Tim's whining had been unceasing after learning about Danny's identity. But that aside, Damian was more worried about Marinette. Marinette, who turned out to be the Celestial Guardian.

Of course it is her. Someone like Marinette, a bizarre woman who consistently pulled off the most Herculean tasks couldn't possibly be a civilian-level of normal.

Celestial. Guardian.

He still remembered her venomous gaze, freezing even the most powerful members of the JL in their place. Her eyes showed not only anger, but a mixture of pain and hollowness. It wasn't like the Marinette he knew.

And even after what happened in the Watchtower, both Marinette and Danny still came to work. Unbothered. Unfazed. As if nothing had happened previously. But why would they act any differently? Thought Damian, if they didn't know our identities . . .?

If they do not know, there is no reason to be on edge.

Regardless, he put extra sugar and poured frothed milk into Marinette's coffee. When he arrived at her office, she was nowhere to be found. He had to balance the steaming mug and files he was carrying into one of the meeting rooms, where the fashion department was all gathered.

But as soon as he entered the meeting room, he felt a biting chill, one that chewed on his fingers and seeped into his bones and made his mouth go dry. There, he saw: Danny hunched over next to Marinette staring menacingly — threateningly — at Damian, not even trying to hide his burning toxic green eyes. Meanwhile, the fashion department head was just busy poring over their files.

Damian turned a hundred-eighty and slipped away from the door.

So Fenton must know, his grip tightened on the mug.

No, there must be no way Danny will let him anywhere near Marinette. Not in the same breathing space.

Understandably so. Damian shook off the cold and marched back to the break room to remake the now ice cold coffee.

"Danny. It's cold. Ladybugs don't do well in the cold. Just chill . . . wait not chill but — ugh, whatever, you know what I mean."

"Whoops, sorry." Danny retracted his aura.

To: Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Subject: Draft Designs and Budget Proposal

I am letting you know that the executives have approved your designs and the proposed budget for the upcoming fashion show.

Damian hit send on the email as he leaned back on his seat. He was now confined in his office after multiple unsuccessful attempts in approaching Marinette, all thanks to Danny who was diligently hovering around her.

Maybe he was better off keeping distance.

He barely had time to look up when he heard his door open and a voice ring out.

"What is wrong with you?"

Damian practically froze, staring up at Marinette herself, who was leaning against the doorway. He had to tell himself to act normal.

"What do you mean?" he questioned back.

"You didn't bring me my coffee this morning."

"Your assistant can bring you coffee."

"Damian. My assistant hasn't made or bought a single cup of coffee for me for three months already," she pointed out, cocking her head to the side. "And you sent me an email. An email within office hours. We both know the second those designs and budget proposals get approved you would've gone straight to me to talk about what to do next."

"I am busy."

Marinette scoffed. "Busy my ass. Something is off. Are you avoiding me?"

"No, I am not," he denied, pretending to type up something on his computer. "I told you, I am busy."

Marinette looked back outside a room, stopping a rushing Tim who was passing by. "Mr. Drake, is Damian busy?"

"He literally has nothing to do," came the CEO's absentminded reply as he walked past her.

Damian swore to himself he'd be giving a good kick to Tim at patrol later that night.

"Literally nothing to do," Marinette repeated while she folded her arms, pinning him in place with an intense gaze.

It is because Fenton will not let me anywhere near you. But Damian couldn't even start to explain why Danny would suddenly bear ill will towards him and become protective over her.

"Are you sick or something?"

"No."

"Sleep-deprived? Hungry? Burnt out?" As she spoke each word, she stalked towards his table to put the back of her hand against his forehead. Face warm, Damian dodged her touch.

"Is this about the party last week? Did your siblings say anything?"

His lips pursed. "Should they have said something?"

Her expression changed. Just subtly, that he almost missed it. "Nope."

Then I must ask Grayson later. He vaguely remembered seeing her interact with some of his siblings during the party but he was too far to catch their conversation. What did they talk about?

"You're going to ask them, aren't you?"

Sometimes he hated that she could practically read his mind.

"I'm not going to pry anymore, but you're really acting off today." She stepped away. "I'm working until late tonight by the way, in case you wanted to know."

Damian didn't know if it was supposed to come off as an invitation. Or a threat. Nonetheless, as Marinette left the room, he sent a quick message to Alfred that he was skipping patrol that night.

As early evening faded into a darker, deeper night, Damian kept himself sat in his office as he waited for Marinette. He seldom stayed late at the company like this — he had his duties as Robin after all. But he always asked whether Marinette was doing overtime and kept a live feed of the cameras to watch over her every now and then.

This time was different. He felt the strong urge to stay, to look out for her just this one night even if she didn't really ask him. All the lights were already dimmed and the rooms were deserted. Does she not feel lonely working late here? He soon found himself making another batch of coffee: two cups, one with extra cream, sugar, and a dash of cinnamon.

'At this rate, you can be a barista downstairs instead', he could hear Tim's obnoxious jab in his head.

Damian carefully brought the drinks to Marinette's office. The only glaring light inside the pitch black room came from her laptop screen as she typed busily, eyes focused behind her glasses. She visibly perked up upon seeing him with the coffee.

"That's more like it." Marinette said softly as she received her coffee from him. "That's more like you."

He nodded once, stiffly, and made his way back—

"Why don't you stay here, Damian?"

He looked back at her, seeing how she was already pulling out a stool next to her chair. "Why?"

"Help me finish these up so I won't need to email these to you and wait for your suggestions."

The rational part of his brain agreed that yes, it was more efficient that way. Yet his subconscious was wondering if there was something behind her words, a trap of some sort. Damian took slow steps back towards her table and sat on the stool that was noticeably too close to her.

"So . . ." Marinette started, "Alicia suggested we make a request to the Natural History Museum and use their main hall as our venue."

She went on, emphasizing the initial plans for the show and the logistics. Damian answered whenever she asked what he thought, and commented as he would in a normal business meeting. But the current atmosphere was far from normal; between the hum of her computer, the engulfing darkness with city lights twinkling in her floor-to-ceiling windows, and them being in close proximity, it was the kind of setting he had never been in with her.

He only hoped that Oracle couldn't see or hear anything.

"I was actually wondering — just to do some kind of trial — we can partner up with my friend's agency and . . ." she just trailed off, staring at him with fingers frozen on top of her keyboard.

He couldn't tell what her gaze was supposed to convey, but he just stared back.

One beat.

Two beats.

Three.

"What?" Damian's voice was hoarser than he expected.

"You never stay late when I stay late," she said.

"I thought I should drive you home since it is very late." He internally grimaced at how poor his excuse sounded.

"This isn't the first time I've done this though. I can go home by myself just fine."

"But it is safer and quicker if I take you home."

Her eyes narrowed, face moving closer, so close that it felt like she was meticulously scrutinizing him. It was a cold night but Damian's neck was warmed up and he raised his figurative white flag when his gaze broke away.

"Wh—what now?"

"You're still acting weird."

"What is strange about offering a ride home?"

"Why tonight of all nights?" she shot back.

Why, he wanted to ask instead, are you moving so close to me? He could move away, stand up and make up another halfhearted excuse, but he couldn't. He was paralyzed but not in the same way back in the Watchtower. He was just frozen by her mere gaze as her eyes brightened like they were actually glowing and — was that her breath fanning against his skin — why was she so close?

He managed to scoff. "If you do not like the idea, then feel free to go home by yourself."

"And then what? You'll follow me home in that little costume of yours, huh birdie?"

She knows.

Damian had to school his reaction as best as he could.

You are a trained assassin from childhood. Son of the Bat, carrier of the legacy of the Robins. A Wayne. A member of the Justice League, who had gone beyond universes, faced life-threatening situations, captured criminals and Rogues on a daily basis —

He audibly gulped.

He folded.

Folded so pathetically.

"How did you —"

There it was. Her unwavering gaze remained. "I am the Celestial Guardian, I hold the power of gods in my hands. What makes you think your identity is an exception?"

Right.

Why did he assume she wouldn't know?

Finally, he breathed again when she leaned away, going back to typing a report on her computer as if she just hadn't dropped a bomb on him.

"I was going to teleport home if you weren't here." Marinette's tone was casual, nose scrunched up. "No, I would've teleported whenever I stayed here late but you just had to stalk me every time through the cameras if not physically. Don't you have a proper patrol route to cover?"

Those . . . were not Damian's proudest moments. Gotham was a dangerous place — what was he to do? "I was making sure you were safe."

She snorted. "Then you should know by now that I'm more than capable of protecting myself out there."

Marinette got busy writing again, eyes sharp with focus. Damian didn't know how to fill the sudden silence, but he did want to ask: Are you not mad? Upset? He had been there, during the summoning ritual, standing still as Danny had suffered through the excruciating pain from the blood blossoms. He had been there when she appeared as the Guardian, immobilizing all the heroes present.

Guilt tore deep into his gut.

"I'm — I'm sorry." His voice wasn't much louder than a whisper.

"For what?"

"For . . ." He didn't even know what he was apologizing for. For the summoning incident? For prying into her identity? For suspecting her? All of the above, perhaps.

She heaved out a sigh. "I don't particularly care. Yeah, the Justice League messed up. More than once, but I can't be surprised at this point. Then again, you didn't know anything. You had these cultists out there killing innocents and you needed answers.

"But I think Jason already told you clearly. Leave us alone — me and Danny, and anyone close to us. Don't investigate, don't do your research, don't be curious. We're working on the cultist problem ourselves, so you don't have to worry about that."

He fell quiet.

She lifted a hand to massage her shoulder. "Why? Did the JL want something from us? Even after that?"

"A proper discussion," he muttered. "An opportunity to talk and clear things up."

Marinette let out a dry laugh. "Yeah okay, no thanks. If we wanted to, we would've done that a long time ago."

Not like they can be forced to grant an audience, he bitterly mused.

She still wasn't looking at him. "How much do you know?"

The videos and the information flashed in his mind. He had seen her fight as Ladybug, just a young girl when she first started out. Paris' villain had been ruthless, and the whole city had been taken hostage emotionally. And Tim and Barbara had said that everything they dug up wasn't even the tip of the iceberg.

Damian remembered how he read over those files, word for word. "We know there were akuma attacks, and the civilians, when feeling a negative emotion, were enslaved and turned into villains by Hawkmoth. The Miraculi granted you powers to fight and restore the city, but the cost was the repression of emotions. Over the years, the akumas became stronger, which prompted the decision to keep the incidents in Paris a secret."

"You . . ." Her fingers tapped on the edge of the table. "Don't know everything. That's not everything."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's a long story." Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth.

Damian hesitated for a second before asking, "What about your identity?"

"What about it?"

"It was revealed."

Marinette shrugged. "Again, if I cared, I would've done something already. If I wanted to strictly keep it a secret, you wouldn't even know the Guardian exists in the first place. And what can you do with the knowledge of my identity anyway? Expose me? I can easily undo that."

"We do not have plans to divulge anything about your identity," he said in a rush.

"Are you afraid I'll quit or something? Don't worry, I'm still going to work here. The pay's good, I like the people I work with, and you obviously need an expert for the fashion department," she explained, "You said it yourself — separate work and personal matters."

A smile twitched on her blank expression. "And I can't have bad blood with my bosses, can I?"

"This is different."

". . . Why?" Her demeanor switched to a cold one. "Because I wasn't who you thought I was? Because you see me differently now that you know I'm the Guardian—"

"No."

Damian swallowed, wishing he could reach out to put his hand on hers.

He released a deep breath.

"Because I am afraid I will never become someone you deserve."

She stopped typing.

And she still wasn't looking.

Marinette stood up, almost robotically and snatched up her blazer from the back of her chair. With a wave of her hand, a white, blinding portal shimmered into view in front of them. She gripped his wrist and pulled him into the portal before he could protest.

They were suddenly inside her Gotham apartment. As the portal disappeared behind him, Damian knew he had nowhere to escape to.

She grabbed the front of his dress shirt to bring his face to her level. "You don't have to think that way. Nothing has changed. If you think like that, it means you do see me differently."

He opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off. "And what do you mean 'someone I deserve'? Isn't that something I should decide for myself?"

She says it so easily.

But it still felt wrong for Damian. For him to try to pursue her, knowing that he was technically a traitor himself. One of those who neglected Paris. That fact would be forever seared between them and there would be nothing in the world that was an equivalent price to make up for the damage.

Marinette arched an eyebrow. "You're thinking too much."

"I am." He gently removed her grasp on him. "I think . . . I have to sort out my thoughts. But . . ."

"But?"

"I promise that nothing will change."

Her face softened, posture relaxing. That damned smile was stretching across her lips once again. "Then can we go on a date?"

"What?"

"Danny and Tim went on one, so why can't we?" She paused. "Or am I reading all of this wrong?"

He uttered his answer before his mind could fully process it. "Yes. Alright, we can do that."

He could see the signature glint in her eye, one that spoke of mischief and guile. She crossed the space between them again, fingertips barely touching his hammering chest, and pressed a kiss onto his jaw.

"A date it is, birdie," she whispered in his ear. 

Chapter Text

It was 9:16 am in the meeting room where select members from several departments congregated to continue their back-and-forths on the space suit project. When the doors swung open and Marinette Dupain-Cheng entered, everyone could see that the woman was practically skipping in her step.

Danny stood up to pull out a chair for her. "You're chipper this morning."

She turned to him with the brightest smile. "I finally got laid last night!"

Danny choked on air. Somewhere behind him, Damian did a near spit-take of his coffee.

Marinette threw her head back, laughing like a maniac. "I'm kidding. But I did score a date last night."

In his periphery, Danny eyed a red-eared Damian excusing himself to change out of his coffee-splattered tie and pants. They were lucky that the other occupants of the room were busy in their own worlds — people in WE didn't play around when it came to spreading gossip.

"Judging by Mr. Lapdog's reaction, it's a date with him, right?"

"Yeah, well it's about time we get to know each other outside the office." Marinette gracefully took a seat, smoothing down her blouse.

That made Danny's thoughts wander off towards Tim. Tim, who he hadn't interacted with since before the summoning at the Watchtower. Though he could still feel the ache of the blood blossoms and the scars burning his skin, he still wondered if he could get another date out of his cute boss . . .

I'm fucked.

I am completely hopelessly fucked.

Tim screamed into his pillow for the seventh time that day.

Then, he put down the pillow and snatched up one of his comfort yogurt cups to scoop and eat from again. Fortunately for him, Tam didn't seem to be blinking an eye at his obvious breakdown, probably shrugging it off as one of those Fridays. But Tim was one company email away from completely abandoning his desk work and resorting to curling up into a fetal position on his office chair.

It hadn't been long since 'the Incident' and he could still hear the Ghost King's — no, Danny's — pained cries in his head. The dork of a space junkie who had admitted to being attracted to his coffee-loving gremlin self was ruler of the Infinite Realms.

And they had hurt him.

Hurt him.

To the point that pushed Jason into an outburst. Which then worsened Tim's spiraling thoughts that he had to sit out of patrol for a couple nights. It wasn't just the fact that they had just tortured Danny, but it was the information they were able unearth after: how Amity Park had been riddled with ghosts, the long lost records from an agency called the 'Ghost Investigation Ward', proofs of the existence of ghosts and their actual sentience.

But just like what happened in Paris, they didn't have the full picture yet.

Tim wasn't sure if he actually wanted to see that.

As he was half-absorbed in work while dwelling in his breakdown, he hadn't noticed that the night had taken over and he was all alone in his office. Sighing, he switched to a tab where had last left off in his research about Danny and his origins, before the summoning happened.

I sure do have a type, he thought sullenly. Gorgeous, overpowered entities who have Issues™.

Now, he had to say his farewells to all his chances being with Danny.

It had been a little game at first—something playful between the two of them amidst banter and flirting. But he didn't expect things to devolve into this, a mess that even the Justice League couldn't clean up. Move the fuck on, Tim told himself, Red Robin was there. He must hate Red Robin now.

His hand moved the cursor to exit out of the tab when a head suddenly popped out from the surface of his desk.

More specifically, Danny Fenton's head.

"Hey Tim? Do you still have some yogurt cups left from your stash — wait, stop screaming — do you have any yogurt cups 'cause mine just ran out."

Tim shrieked, "How do you know my identity?!"

Danny screamed back, "I thought you knew that I knew!"

"Why the fuck would you know?!"

"I'm King of the Realms! Why would I not know?!"

Tim had rolled back on his chair, wide-eyed as he clutched his chest. As a vigilante, it was almost embarrassing how much of a scare that caused him. He just stared at Danny's partly intangible form, eyes colored in a mixture of azure and emerald. Three things struck him at once.

One, Danny probably knew the whole time already, and he still knowingly flirted with him.

Two, the King had just asked him for yogurt cups, as if he wasn't just in unbearable pain because of the JL less than a week ago.

And three, his ghost form was doing nothing in helping Tim move on.

Danny cocked his head to the side. "So . . . the yogurt cups?"

"In the pantry . . ." A dumbfounded Tim responded, pointing towards the adjacent room.

Danny completely phased through the table and flew towards the door. Not long after, he returned with one of the yogurt cups and two sandwiches that he tossed to Tim. "You haven't had dinner, right? Take these," he said as Tim stared down blankly at the sandwiches.

Still nonchalantly, Danny had taken a seat on top of Tim's desk, legs crossed while he avidly feasted on his yogurt cup. And still, Tim couldn't help but just watch.

One full minute later, he found his voice and asked: "What are you still doing here?"

Danny hummed. "Honestly? Boredom. Thought I should keep you company since you're staying late, too." He scooped up another spoonful. "Can't rest properly anyway—I'm having trouble sleeping."

Is it because of what happened? Does it keep you up? Tim flinched and looked away.

"And you, RR? Why are you not on patrol on this fine night?"

Because it feels disgusting just to suit up, he wanted to say. Tim took in a shaky breath, remembering again, how awful it was to watch Danny suffer in that ritual. Why are you here, why bother talking to me?

"I don't know," he said after swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Darling."

"Huh?"

"I told you to eat."

Red and warm all over, Tim opened up the plastic and took a bite out of one of the sandwiches, finally satiating the growling in his stomach that he hadn't noticed before. "Wh—why are you even here? The summoning . . ."

Tim dared to look up at Danny. And Danny only had a humorless smile on. "Yeah, it hurt like a bitch."

Another flinch.

"But," Danny sighed, tapping the small spoon against his lips in contemplation. "What can I do? Take revenge on the JL? The Zone already wanted me to declare war on the mortal realm and I can't . . . we can't have that."

"Then—erm, why not give us—or the JL—a chance to set things right? Talk and discuss?"

"There is nothing to 'discuss'." Tim barely suppressed a shiver at how serious Danny sounded. "Unfortunately, the best thing you can do is to stay put. I've dealt with all nuisances to ghosts and ectoplasmic-adjacents already — except those stupid cultists— so my best advice is to not let the JL become one."

Nope, let's not argue with that one. Danny didn't just sound firm in his words. He sounded tired. As if the world had already beaten him up once and he didn't care to put up with bullshit anymore. Tim understood that.

"But why are you still talking to me? Even after what I did? Even if you knew?"

A little breathy laugh. "Have I romanced someone I shouldn't before? Yes. Did anything stop me? Nope." Danny looked at him with glittering eyes, a stray lock of hair falling between his brows. "I don't think anything good will come out of me holding a grudge against you anyway."

Danny shrugged. "And you're not one of those people who believe ghosts are non-sentient, are you?"

"Of course not!" Tim immediately squeaked out.

"Then you're fine. Can't say the same about the rest of your family though."

"But I don't . . ." Tim's throat dried up. "I hurt you, Danny."

"That wasn't all you. I saw you, I kept my eyes on you. I've never seen you panic in that way before," Danny recounted.

Tim could almost feel the same emotions again: the fear that gripped him, his stomach plummeting, the trembling in his feet and hoarseness in his voice as he yelled that the blood blossoms should be taken away. Destroyed. And the relief that washed over every fiber in his body when Marinette had saved the King.

"And I got better?" Danny added.

Tim gave him a glare, silently telling him to take the matter more seriously.

Danny threw his hands up. "I promise, I did! Never better, see? Mars saved my half-life back there."

Well, Danny did look more healthy and well-rested the past few days. Both him and Marinette. They seemed more energetic, more lively while working. But Tim did a once-over, and he saw the faint markings on the man's skin peeking out from his sleeves and bottom of his shirt.

Danny must've followed his gaze. "Ah these? These ones are old. From my death. The BB's just made them spread or something."

From his death? Lichtenberg scars? Old . . . how old, exactly?

"Electrocuted?" Tim said, slowly, almost under his breath.

"You can say that."

There was a prickling sensation at the back of Tim's eyes. "Danny . . . I'm so sorry." I fucked up. I'm too selfish. "You don't have to take this lightly. You can be angry at me, you can cry, you can shout . . . you can quit here if you want so you don't have to see me again and I'll make sure —"

Tim didn't notice the ghost hovering close towards him, taking hold of his hands.

"That's not what I want," said Danny.

"What?"

"I want to stay by your side."

"You're . . . you're really sure?"

"I knew what I was getting into." Danny licked his lips. "And you've got the best office yogurt stash after all."

"Danny . . ."

God, I don't deserve him. Tim mentally slapped himself for having a history of being attracted to people that were exceedingly out of his league. A fearless Gotham vigilante and former Robin. An actual Kryptonian. And now, the godlike Ghost King himself.

He felt Danny squeeze his hands. "I know you're not gonna hurt me knowingly."

"I won't." Tim vowed to make it up to him. A thousand times. A million times. Grant him anything that he needed, no matter what.

Because Danny needed someone to look after him too.

"Yes, I know." Danny looked at him straight in the eyes, a small smile taking shape across his gorgeous lips. "And I won't let you get hurt either."

Okay.

Supporting and taking care of Danny was the plan.

Making sure Danny was a hundred percent okay was the plan.

A deeper heart-to-heart maybe.

The plan was not to follow Danny back to his apartment and stay the night.

Tim's eyes were wide open as he stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. Beside him, Danny was sleeping soundly — he was so beautiful that it was agonizing — with an arm thrown across Tim's waist (they only cuddled, he swears!) Tim was catastrophizing in his head because it felt like he overstepped a boundary even if Danny had told him otherwise.

But we haven't gone for a second date yet, for crying out loud!

He cursed his yogurt cups and the sweet, secret and lingering kisses Danny had given him.

After spending a minute or so admiring the sleeping Ghost King, Tim pried himself off Danny's hold and awkwardly shuffled out of bed and out into the kitchen. The apartment was nondescript, too neat and tidy to belong to Danny, save for a few photos of his family and friends perched on tables and hung on the walls. It made sense, since Danny had said he spent more time in his Keep—a literal castle in the Ghost Zone—which apparently had more amenities than the Wayne Manor and Batcave combined (Tim didn't ask anymore how Danny knew this).

Eyes still a bit blurry from slumber, Tim reached for a glass of water. If he were just a bit versed in the daunting art of cooking, he would've made some food for himself and Danny already. But since he didn't to cause any untimely accidents and receive Alfred's signature look of disapproval—

Wait.

There were voices.

Voices outside the door. Two, if Tim could count correctly.

He didn't have time to slip away and instinctively hide. The doorknob turned, and he was a pitiful deer in headlights clutching a glass of water and clad in Danny's old blue pajamas.

Too late, the door swung open to reveal his nightmares.

Jason, who was carrying a bag of groceries, just howled with laughter, cutting through the ambience of the morning.

But no, Jason wasn't the problem. It was easy to get back at Jason; a quick patrol prank would do, or if Tim could track down one of his hideouts. No, Jason wasn't a big deal.

The woman who was with him on the other hand . . .

Jazz Fenton. Danny's sister, the Queen Regent herself. Intimidating with a capital 'I', making Tim want to crawl into a hole and die. She must hate me oh God, she must absolutely hate me after what the JL did to Danny and she will kill me, literally kill me—

Even now, as Jazz was staring at him with an arched eyebrow, he wanted to shrivel up and retreat back into the bedroom.

"Well, Timbit," Jason wheezed out, moving towards the counter to set down the groceries. "Aren't you moving too fast?"

"No—nothing happened last night!" Tim squawked indignantly.

"Where's Danny?" asked Jazz, face still imperceptible.

Just in time, Tim heard a door creak open and then felt arms winding around his waist, chin on top of his shoulder.

Tim suddenly felt self-conscious, feeling trapped under the scrutiny of their older siblings. It wasn't helping that Danny was being nonchalantly affectionate.

"Morning." Danny sleepily greeted, voice still raspy. "Jazz, why're you still coming over?"

"We're making sure you're eating properly since you're not fully recovered yet." Jazz threw a pointed look at her brother. It wasn't definitely aimed at Tim, but he still winced.

"I'm fine now." Danny squeezed Tim tighter. Perhaps in reassurance. "Got ecto-supplements from Frosty, remember?"

"It's either us or Frighty coming in to check in on you everyday, kiddo," Jason chimed in. "And you already know Pandora and Dora will haunt you if they find out you're not taking recovery seriously."

Danny stuck his tongue out. "You suck."

Jazz glided over to the dining table to set the plates. "Are you taking the doses, Danny?"

Doses. What doses? Tim wondered.

Danny just waved his hand and nodded.

As the other three moved around to prepare for breakfast, Tim could only stand awkwardly near the table. He noticed how Jason memorized the small kitchen, going back and forth between the counter and the fridge and chopping, mixing, frying ingredients like it was a practiced routine. Jazz even volunteered to help cook, but Jason lightheartedly kept her away from the stove while Danny made a smartass quip about her being a culinary disaster. And Jazz just grumbled that she was only a bad cook if the food wasn't trying to fight with her.

It was so . . . domestic.

And Tim was a stranger; he didn't belong there.

He toyed with the edge of his borrowed pajamas as he caught Danny's eye and mouthed, "I should go."

To which Danny responded by striding over to him and placing a kiss on the crown of his head. "Hey, stay for breakfast. You're a guest — c'mere, take a seat."

Tim swore he could hear a snicker. A smug Jason turned back towards them, raising his spatula with a gleam in his eye. "Yeah Timmy, stay for breakfast."

Tim glared at him.

Chapter Text

The awkwardness was agonizing.

The worst part was that it seemed like it was just Tim who was squirming on his seat and the rest were just unbothered, eating their breakfast normally. Tim was hunched next to Danny, sitting across from Jason and diagonal to Jazz. With the way his stomach was churning in discomfort, he could only take small bites out of his food.

Though Jason made annoyingly good food.

But aside from the invisible tension, there was something else: a heavy feeling in the air that Tim could only sense when with Danny or the three of them.

Ectoplasm. Possibly? Are normal humans capable of sensing it?

The gentle nudge of Danny's leg against his snapped him out of his reverie. Tim mustered a faint smile before he forcibly swallowed down his food.

Then it happened.

A head popped out from the center of the table.

"Ooh, are those chocolate chip pancakes?"

Tim rattled off a scream, jerking away while his utensils clattered on the table. Much to his embarrassment, the rest barely reacted save for Jason's snicker.

Deja-fucking-vu. Tim sheepishly slid back into place. It was like the previous night in the office again.

"Ellie, what did I tell you about crashing breakfast?" Jazz sighed and pulled another seat next to her. "Come on, grab a plate and eat with us."

The head was of a young girl's: semi-transparent, black hair pulled up in a ponytail and face bearing a great resemblance to Danny's. Her green eyes were directed at Tim, but the latter was trying not to mind it.

Danny bumped his shoulder against his. "This is Ellie, my younger sister. I guess you haven't met her at the party 'cause she was busy with her apprenticeship at our ghost doctor." He added in a whisper. "She's also my clone. It's complicated."

Ellie, whose head was still protruding from the table, gave Tim a once-over, gaze just a tad more menacing than the eldest Fenton sibling's. "A Bat."

"My Bat," Danny pointed a fork at her. "Behave, Ellie. He's my boss."

Fuck. Alarm bells rang in Tim's head. Was he allowed to be so giddy with Danny calling him 'his Bat'?

The girl rolled her eyes as she floated through and finally settled on a seat after fetching a plate. "You're allowed to date your boss?"

"Els, here, extra maple syrup and whipped cream." Jason served her a plate. "Yeah, Danny, that's your boss."

"Ugh, shut up. It's not against company policy," said Danny. "And he's the boss. Who's gonna stop him?"

"Did Frostbite let you take a break to visit?" Jazz cut in, pouring Ellie a glass of milk.

Danny took another bite out of his pancake. "Frosty always reminds her to take a break. She's just too stubborn and a workaholic."

Ellie let out an exaggerated gasp. "I am hard at work studying medicine—"

"It's not even a real degree—"

"I'll make Ecto-Yeti-Medicine a real degree and—" Ellie narrowed her eyes at Danny. "Did you get Fright Knight to keep tabs on me again?"

"You were MIA all the time!"

The talk progressed into more banter, the lighthearted sibling nagging that was reminiscent of the occasional Sunday lunches at Wayne Manor. Yet again, Tim still felt like a stranger. An intruder even. He actually found himself noticing how Jason acted differently — less tense on the shoulders, not at all his old aggressive self. The effect of the Lazarus detox. Then again, Jason was barely around the manor, more often joining them at patrols instead. It had just become more obvious now.

Marinette resisted the urge to just flop down on the bed facefirst and head straight into dreamland as soon as she arrived in her apartment. But thinking about the icky layer of makeup that had clung to her skin the whole day or her disheveled hair in need of a wash prompted her to snatch up a towel for a warm bath instead.

She was putting away her heels when she saw the piece of paper by her front door.

Not exactly a piece of paper, but an envelope, bearing the distinct mark of the Justice League. Marinette scoffed.

"Are you not going to read it, Guardian?" Wayzz hovered nearby as she was about to chuck the letter into the waste bin.

"They're not worth my time." She grumbled. "They're not deserving of anything from me."

Kaalki also popped up. "I peeked at the contents, Guardian. It's nothing but empty compliments and an invitation for a formal discussion. Ha! The audacity of those heroes."

"Their efforts are not appreciated," Barkk also chimed in. Marinette hummed in agreement, making a note to herself to ask Danny if he had gotten the same thing.

She understood the wariness, the attempt at diplomacy to 'make amends'. The Celestial Guardian and the Ghost King were unknown forces after all, both of them able to devastate the world with just a wave of their hands. Though she wasn't necessarily opposed to the idea of having a peaceful talk (in the presence of only certain heroes), she didn't want to be forced to establish consistent contact especially when she had her civilian life to worry about on her own.

When she finally tossed the letter into the bin, she decided that she would just forget about it and focus on her real work instead.

Robin entered one of the Watchtower meeting rooms to see Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, Constantine, and Zatanna all gathered around the table. Surrounding them (and shown on the wide screen) were bits of evidence on the Paris incidents and ghost attacks in Amity. The heroes all looked drowned in despair, quiet and drained of vigor. Robin understood the tension — they had ignored the pleas of Amity Park and Paris, leaving literal children to save those cities for years.

But he wasn't here to wallow in that regret with them.

"What is this I heard about you sending invitations?" he asked, making the others look up at him.

His father cleared his throat. "We want to formally apologize."

The question was unsaid, but Robin knew that Batman was expecting some kind of response from Marinette through him.

Superman nodded. "And ask how we can help. The world deserves to know that the League failed not one, but two cities. It's not fair to the victims if they still continue to suffer in silence."

Robin clenched his jaw. "Do not make it about the Justice League's reputation."

The Kryptonian stared back at him puzzledly. "But it's really not about reputation. We can finally have the Anti-Ecto Acts repealed and draft a new protective law for ghosts. We can establish more help centers in Paris for the civilians' therapy."

Good intentions, thought Robin, but they do not understand it fully. "No." He said more loudly. "You are merely stuck on trying to save face when you're missing the big picture.

"There are still people out there that discriminate against metahumans even with the Meta acts. Who is to say they will also start to hate on ghosts and deem them non-sentient? What if they start building anti-ecto weapons again and make a new GIW? What if this causes a war with the Infinite Realms?"

He took in their pale faces and continued, "What about Paris? If the world comes to know about what happened, how will you deal with the police and media storming the city and interrogating locals, forcing them to relive their trauma? What if criminals, with the knowledge of the existence of magic jewels that can grant them power, start to look for them and hunt down the Guardian? What then?"

He breathed deeply. "See, the Guardian and the Ghost King kept all of this a secret for a reason. You will be adding to their burden if this ever goes out to the world instead of 'helping them'."

"Has the Guardian told you what she wants?" Batman quietly asked.

"She said they just want to be left alone. That is the least you can do—no, what you should do is leave them alone and make sure nothing about this ever goes out. If it does, you will be dealing with problems bigger than you can handle."

Wonder Woman shifted. "But we cannot just do nothing."

"We can. You should all know we cannot save everyone. The Parisians and ghosts and Amity Parkers are recovering at their own pace and those two have their own responsibilities to deal with." Robin bit his tongue. "We have to be grateful they did not make us their enemies — I believe it is clear that it will be impossible to go against them."

"And the cultists?" Zatanna spoke up.

"They will handle it themselves."

Patrol had been relatively less hectic that night, which led to Robin sneaking through between buildings to approach a familiar balcony. He was just going to check, for a second. A minute. It was already a habit at that point, but it certainly wasn't one of his proudest moments.

As he grappled towards the building he saw that she was already at her balcony with a small watering can in one hand to tend to her potted flowers (strange how the vibrant flowers could thrive in the Gotham air, but he guessed her Guardian abilities were involved).

"Hello little birdie. What brings you here?" The corner of Marinette's lip twitched upwards.

Robin disconnected his comms from the rest. "Nothing. I was only checking—"

"Mmh, checking what?"

"It . . . nothing. You should go and rest. What are you doing—"

His eyes widened in alarm as she suddenly swung her legs over the railing, suddenly free falling from at least fifteen stories high in her apartment building. The vigilante lunged into action, catching her in his arms in mere seconds.

"Why," he blew out a breath, "Did you do that?"

She was just full on laughing at his face even as he helped her back on the balcony. "I was just messing with you." Blue eyes glittered with amusement. "What, you think I'd hit the ground?"

"Even if you have your abilities, that was dangerous!"

"How overprotective."

Robin became hyper-aware that he was still holding her, arms wound around her waist (just the layer of her nightgown and his gloves between skin) and her hands on his arms. When he tried to pull away, she wouldn't budge. Her face is too close again—

"Hey birdie," she whispered.

"What?"

"You remember you owe me a date, right?"

"You want to do that now?"

"Sure. Isn't patrol finished?"

"It is not finished."

She gave him a pointed look. The same one she gave whenever he made an unwarranted comment about her work.

"Okay, it is finished. But I am still out as Robin. We cannot—"

"I'll cast an invisibility illusion around us!" She reached towards her neck and showed off a pendant dangling off a finger. "I'll put it up right now."

Robin stared. He had the assumption that dates constituted cafes, fancy dinners, or movies. Perhaps a stroll in the park or sightseeing near the harbor. At least, that was what Dick had advised him on.

But this was Marinette. She was anything but orthodox.

"I . . . fine. Where are we going?"

He could only watch as she disappeared back to her apartment and reappeared moments later clad in a fluffy jacket and holding a picnic basket. Sliding on a pair of seemingly inconspicuous glasses, she opened up one of her portals again.

Marinette held her hand out. "Let's go?"

And he took it. Robin expected her to take them to some other part of Gotham, somewhere like a hidden nook where they could chat and have their 'date' in private. What he didn't expect was to be suddenly perching on one of the topmost levels of the Eiffel Tower itself, overlooking the first peek of sunrise.

His communicator buzzed to life to deliver a message from Oracle asking about how his location suddenly pinged in Paris. He sent back a quick reply to tell her that he teleported with Marinette, and that earned him a barrage of teasing comments from his siblings. With a huff, he pocketed his communicator after silencing the buzzes.

Robin's eyes wandered over to the view at the bottom. From this height, Paris looked downright normal — no signs of previous terrorist attacks or trauma stirring in its people.

Marinette motioned for him to sit beside her. "Back when I was a hero, Chat Noir and I — and other Miraculous holders, sometimes — hung out here. Usually it's the Eiffel, or when we were tired of it, we'd go to the top of the Arc de Triomphe or Notre-Dame."

She dug around her picnic basket and handed him a slice of mille-feuille. "Here. It's vegan."

"Stress-baked again?"

"How do you know I stress-bake?"

"I have heard you mention it a few times."

She stared at him. "I remember I've only mentioned it in the office exactly three times. And I wasn't directly talking to you."

"Yes, and?"

Marinette snorted. "You're more obsessed with me than I thought."

"I merely . . . tend to remember things well."

"When they specifically concern me?"

"You and other things, of course." He mumbled the last part.

"Huh." She chuckled. "And I heard you gave the Justice League a good scolding recently."

His emotions had overspilled a bit too much in that time. Fortunately, that led to the heroes trying to reflect a little more, go over their situations and hopefully leave Marinette and Danny alone. Since divulging truths to each other, Marinette had been telling him more about Paris little by little, and the more he listened, the more he was convinced that it was something the JL shouldn't attempt to touch.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Ghost network. Danny's king status is weirdly convenient, and I don't even have an informant system for myself."

Yeah, he was certainly not telling his father that ghosts may be lurking in the Watchtower.

"I have a question."

Marinette gave a nod for him to continue.

"If you retired as a hero and you wanted to focus on Guardian duties on the side, why go to Gotham if it is likely you will be found out by us?"

She let out a little chuckle that took some of his breath away. "First of all." She smiled. "I would not be found out by your brood if that's what I wanted."

"Fair point."

"And secondly, hmm, it's fate I guess? I got to meet you and Danny because I chose to move to Gotham." Marinette shrugged. "I'll admit, WE wasn't in my initial plans, but it had good pay and benefits. Who am I to decline that?"

She traced the edge of the steel beam they were on with light fingertips. "I just wanted to get away from Paris after all that. Even ifI forced myself to have a normal life here, the memories are still there — the people I failed, the victims I couldn't save. I wanted a sense of normalcy but I'm not exactly normal in the first place, you get me?"

Robin nodded, looking back down at the city. Years ago, she must have been springing around, fighting akumas and reviving people on a regular basis. He understood that she wouldn't be able to escape the burden if she stayed.

"So the only place where I get to be a little weird and no one would bat an eye was Gotham. That's how I ended up there."

He placed a hand on the back of her head tentatively, just lightly smoothing down the hairs that were swept by the wind. She leaned into his touch before capturing his hand to squeeze it on hers.

"Thank you for ending up in Gotham then," he murmured. 

Chapter Text

"So Dames? How was your Paris date?"

This was why Damian dreaded going back to the manor especially with Dick visiting. He knew he was going to be cornered by the eldest, waggled eyebrows, eyes with a gleam and all. He paused mid-step, half-hoping that the look on his face could shoo his siblings away.

Sure, he understood why Dick was asking. He was always asking about his day-to-day anyway, especially when he had time off from Bludhaven. But what Damian didn't understand was why Stephanie, Duke and Cass were giving him not-so-discreet glances and sharing looks with each other.

"It was fine," Damian replied slowly. "Why?"

Dick's smile was too wide, a tad creepy. "And who asked who out?"

Damian couldn't even fight it: the warmth that started crawling up to his face as he remembered that one night in the office when Marinette's voice was just millimeters away from the tips of his ear, whispering a promise. "She did."

"Yes!" Stephanie pumped her fists.

"Fuck, why?!" Dick cried out.

"Did you make a bet again?" Damian huffed out. It wasn't the first time this happened—he was certain there was an ongoing pool for Tim and Danny as well.

"You were supposed to ask her out first!" Dick whined, shaking him by the shoulders.

"Tt. Let go of me, Richard. Do you not have better things to do?" Damian pulled away from his hold, continuing up the stairs and ignoring the others' demands for money and the propositions for another bet.

Never mind that she asked me first, he said to himself, I was the one who suggested a second date anyway.

And he wanted to be the one to make it official too.

The cultists were causing trouble again.

The Order (or the poor excuse of its remnants) was housed in different bases around the world, usually in the most remote areas. This made it annoying to track down the cultists for Marinette, especially since she was working alone.

She stepped out of the portal, glasses in the form of aviators which she lowered down the bridge of her nose to glare at the ugly robed men. "Really now? When will you stop?"

The Guardian made a quick sweep of the place. It was a small pagoda, with more people than objects. No living sacrifices in sight. No dead or ghostly sacrifices in sight. No traces of weapons or Blood Blossoms to hurt ghosts. Fortunately.

"We will not stop for the sake of our King!" They practically snarled at her. "He will help us retrieve the Miraculi from your guardianship."

Disgusting. They almost sound like Hawkmoth.

"Just a heads up, the Ghost King doesn't condone any of this," she told them, motioning towards their makeshift ritual circle. "He told me personally, and if you keep this up he'll be happy to punish you himself."

Danny certainly had ideas for 'punishment', and she knew that well. Neither the Observants nor his closest ghost associates were happy learning about the cultists — they could become an imbalance to the Realms if left unchecked. He floated a few plans: letting his Knight give them a glimpse of what the soul shredder had to offer, overshadowing, letting loose the ghosts who wished to haunt them. It almost made Marinette's approach of using portals too merciful.

The one who hissed at her stared for a few moments, gaunt and pale-faced. "King Phantom is unjust and inefficient. We do not recognize him as the Ghost King."

Then who—

Another one spoke. "It is true! We will be the ones to free Pariah Dark! He must be reinstated as King!"

Marinette bit on the side of her tongue as she felt her blood flare up. These people don't know what they're saying. Danny had recounted it to her before — the cruel tyrannical rule of the previous king who did absolutely nothing for the dead, living and neither. She doubted that they could actually wake the ghost from eternal naptime, but their attempts could cause trouble.

No, you don't know. If you do succeed, you'll be the first one to perish.

"I don't think you should be interfering with the matters of the Zone. Especially if you don't know the weight of your actions." Feet planted firmly on the ground, she channeled her authority into her voice, the same way Danny would layer some Ghostspeak over his words sometimes.

Marinette fished out the fox Miraculous from her pocket, wearing to weave an illusion of green. Danny had told her before—the Zone in a warring wasteland under Pariah's rule, never getting the proper rest in the afterlife, and the mortal realms also suffered from those consequences. She showed them the dissonance of the Realms in the past and what could become of the universe should Pariah be revived.

Unfortunately, the cultists seemed to be more enraged.

"How dare you! How dare you use the power of the fox for your own gain—"

"I am not!" She could feel the beginnings of a headache. There's no use trying to reason out with people who just refuse to listen. "Look, I'm not trying to flaunt my powers as the Guardian—"

"That is a title you do not deserve." Sharp hostile eyes were aimed at her. "Especially someone who could not retrieve the butterfly and the peacock for years and let a wielder run free to terrorize people."

It wasn't supposed to hit her as hard as it did.

Memories flashed in her head, seizing and gripping her chest tight. The tears of a little girl, the dust of Sandboy, icy white all over, the destroyed moon, the blood and burn in her palms as she dug her fingernails into it just to suppress her emotions, the tears of a little girl, the wave of dizziness that came over her whenever she was nearly akumatized, the energy trickling away from her body whenever she used to wear multiple Miraculi, the angry protests of Parisians over her irresponsibility for letting Hawkmoth's reign drag on for years, the tension in her shoulders as an akuma alert sounded, the tears of a little girl, the foul taste in her mouth as she saw another akuma victim spiral into insanity, corpses left by the worst of the akumas, the knee-jerk repulsion against seeing butterflies, the loud silence of her secret, the tears of a little girl, the hitch of her breath when she was first made Guardian, the weightlessness of her body as Ladybug, the feeling of dying and being revived by the Miraculous cure again and again, the tears of a little girl, the wetness in her eyes made of unshed tears, the desperation each time she tried to piece together a Lucky Charm, the lump in her throat upon seeing her friends conceal their emotions, the helplessness she felt whenever she gazed down on the city from the Eiffel, the tears of a little girl—

Her fingers were trembling.

She tried to talk but there was no sound coming out.

She tried to look around but her vision was blurry.

She couldn't move from her spot.

Yet her breathing was slow, but deep.

And she didn't know how long had passed, like she had been isolated away from time itself.

There was a flash of green, a familiar voice calling out but she couldn't hear anything other than her thumping heart. And the shorter breaths.

Oh. The breaths are shorter now?

She could tell that something was happening but she couldn't perceive it. There was a sound of things falling to the ground but she was still frozen except for the tremor in her hands.

Danny had arrived too late.

Marinette had told him before: the persistent tugging feeling in the gut she had felt when he had been in trouble with the summoning. The same feeling overtook him, but manifested as the calls of temple ghosts and remnants of the Order. He had just stepped out of the portal when he caught the cultists talking shit about the Guardian.

And Marinette in a catatonic state.

With a flick of his hand, the cultists' tongues were severed.

His rage was greater than what he had felt towards the Justice League. These vile inhumans were offenders of his people, ignorant about the fires they were playing with. Worst of all, they had pushed Marinette into a panic attack.

Death was too light of a punishment.

He summoned icicles to trap their feet and let them writhe in pain from their bloodied mouths as he rushed over to his friend. Marinette's eyes were glazed over, but her hands were shaking terribly. Her breaths had become quick and shallow.

Danny looked around, his pulse also picking up pace. Didn't she let out any kwamis?

"Marinette? Mars?" His eyebrows knitted together as he gently tapped her shoulder. "Earth to Mars, can you hear me?"

She still wasn't moving. Not responding.

It was one of the times Danny hated that he wasn't more like Jazz. His sister would know how to calm her down, ground her gently and talk her through it. And by Jazz's random psychoanalyses of him, he was too averse to confront and talk about his own trauma head-on to actually be qualified to speak properly about icky things called "feelings".

Marinette wasn't budging. Worry grew in his chest.

Danny carefully manipulated some ectoplasm to make a construct, covering the cultists out of view and filtering out any other noises. He let his aura spill out and mingle with hers, energy wrapping around her to fan out some coolness inside the humid room. "Hey Mars, come on, listen to me. I'm here, okay? It's Danny. It's going to be okay, you're safe here. Can you take deep breaths for me?"

He saw that her eyes were slowly refocusing and her breaths evened out just a little but, but she still had a blank stare. Still unmoving.

Fuck Hawkmoth and everything he had done to Paris. Marinette was in a state that she couldn't even cry. Like staying still, devoid of any expression, was her instinctive response.

He clenched his jaw, mind going through options in his head. Do I call Jazz? Jason? Mars mentioned her friends before, but I wouldn't know how to reach them. What about Damian? Should I move her somewhere else?

He moved his hand to the middle of her back. "You're doing good. Just keep breathing. One . . . two . . . three . . . okay. Just lean on me here. Can you speak or move . . .?"

Fortunately, she seemed to be hearing him more clearly now. But she opened her mouth, only to let out a dry and weak sob. Both his chest and core clenched.

We should go somewhere else. Not wanting to force her to move, he warped the space around them instead, letting his portal pass through them instead of walking through one. The surroundings melted into the interior of his Keep — inside his bedroom — and he guided Marinette to sit down as he knelt in front of her. He kept counting, softening his voice and gauging her reactions like he had learned from his sister. It was happening slowly, but her breathing soon evened out and the tension left her shoulders.

Marinette half-slumped against his shoulder, quiet but not anymore frozen. Danny was steadily patting her back, waiting as she recovered at her own pace.

"I'm sorry," she whispered wearily after a few minutes.

"Don't say that," said Danny. "It's not your fault."

"Everything's my fault. They were right."

"You were fighting on your own." Fighting by yourself like I did. The hand that wasn't holding onto her clenched tightly. "You were doing everything you could do. It's not your fault."

Danny had heard the same words from other ghosts before — the guilt crashing down on those that did have Obsessions to form their cores, the ones remaining in the Realms when everyone close to them had moved on. He kept his aura close to Marinette's.

"I can't —" Her voice broke. "It took me years . . ."

"And no one will blame you if it took you more." There wasn't a single ghost who would dare. "Remember when I said I spoke to ghosts from Paris?"

She nodded weakly.

"They're ghosts not because they desperately want to come back to life. They became ghosts to make sure nothing like that ever happened again. They know who you are and they've all told me that they regret putting a heavy responsibility on your shoulders." He could remember sharing the feeling from their cores, unsettled with regret and melancholy for the Guardian. "They came to know your story, how you sacrificed everything just to be Ladybug since you were young."

Danny squeezed her shoulder. "No one has ever blamed you."

Marinette looked at him, eyes watery. "They . . . they said that?"

"Manon . . . Jalil . . . there were others there who knew you as a civilian. They said that whenever they saw you, you always looked tired. Sometimes too wary and easily startled. Well, everyone did become a bit unstable when the akuma attacks were happening, but somehow it affected you more. They didn't understand until they died."

He saw a shift in her expression, her fingers twisting together as if she was thinking deeply. Marinette took in a deep breath and rubbed her eyes.

"I've been thinking . . ."

"Yeah?"

"They—the cultists—they said they were trying to summon Pariah Dark and not you."

Danny's core flared up with ice. Like hell he was letting that tyrant wake up.

"And I thought," she continued. "Yes, we can make the cultists disappear, make sure no one tries to interfere with the Zone or you or harm ghosts and innocents. We can do that."

He nodded. "We can."

"But . . . What's stopping it from happening in the future? We can't look out for things like that all the time—we have our own lives, Danny." She bit her lip. "No matter how hard we try to hide the existence of ghosts or the Miraculi, there will always be people out there who will know . . . and try to exploit it for their gain."

"What are you suggesting?"

She met his gaze. "We will tell the Justice League . . . not too much, but just enough about us so they can help keep an eye out. Subdue anyone who will try to pull off anything like what the cultists are trying."

He must have been silent for too long, because she spoke again. "We still don't trust the JL, of course, but I think it will also keep them from doing anything reckless again." She quickly added: "It's your choice if you want to, I'm not going to force you."

"What exactly do you plan on doing?"

"We can show them what we've gone through, the same way we learned about each other." She smiled a little. "Let them suffer in their guilt even more."

Danny understood her sentiments — and she was right. They had to clear up the JL's ignorance, have them realize why they should be steering away from their business, have them see what had become of ghosts and the Parisians.

"Okay. Let's do that." He agreed. "But about the cultists — I have an idea."

Chapter Text

Jason rarely got mornings like this.

It was a weekend, and he wasn't in a rush to do anything for the day. Same for Jazz. So when he woke up in bed snuggled with his fiance, he pulled her closer and nuzzled into the curve of her neck to breathe in the scent of her hair. And when she made a sleepy hum, he grinned

If he were to tell his younger self about his life now, the past Jason wouldn't dare to believe it. His life had already been crazy (taking on the mantle of Robin, dying by the hands of the Joker, coming back to life liminal should even breach past the limits of just 'crazy') yet somehow he had met people who had crazier lives than him. It could be fate, truly, since he didn't know how he could've spent his days just wallowing in the grip of the Pit Madness.

"Morning," he pressed a kiss to the side of Jazz's head. She smiled back and returned his greeting but didn't open her eyes just yet.

Ancients, she's perfect.

"How does omelette, sausages and toast sound for breakfast?" He asked, giving another kiss to the corner of her lips.

"Mmm . . . sounds good," she yawned.

"Is Danny coming over?"

Jazz rubbed her eyes open, granting a note of exasperation in her tone. "Nope. He said something about demolishing a cult base yesterday. Like permanently."

Jason had heard about it not too long ago, both from Jazz and the whispered gossip of Lady Gotham — Marinette had an encounter with the cultists that sent her into a panic attack and Danny had been the one to intercept. Knowing Danny, Jason knew it wasn't something he'd let slide easily. The pesky cultists had just incurred the wrath of the King of the Realms.

"Jay?"

"Yeah?"

His fiance traced over the band around his finger. The pair he proposed to her with was a set he bought with his own money, wanting to spoil her with something not too lavish unlike what Bruce would've insisted on.

"Danny and I will be part of your family soon, right?" He saw a flicker of hesitance in her eyes. "Will they really accept . . .?"

He let out a huff of laughter. "He's the Ghost King. They already know that. They wouldn't dare do anything that goes against him."

"Yes but if they're scared of him, there's . . ."

"Apprehension?"

"Mhmm. Because he's different. We're different."

"My family has close ties with all sorts of metas, magic-wielders, aliens, and whatnot. How will ghosts be any different?" He reassured. "And if you forgot, I'm also like you. No, with the ambient ecto in Gotham, I'm sure we're all liminal to some degree. I'm not the only one who died and came back y'know."

Plus, if she was worried about Danny in particular, one of his brothers was already smitten with the halfa. Jason swore he had never seen Tim so akin to a tomato whenever he was around Danny.

But it made sense that Jazz had her worries — the Fenton siblings didn't have the best experience with their own biological parents. And coming into a new family, they probably expected that they had to earn some sort of approval. Of course, Jason doubted that his family would feel any animosity, and even if they did, he wouldn't leave Jazz or Danny alone.

"Oh . . ." Jazz murmured. "I'm sorry, I was just thinking a lot."

"I know. They've already hurt Danny once. But they're not doing it again." Lips connected with the skin of her forehead. "Not if I'm here."

The last time Marinette stepped foot in the Order's main temple, it was to declare that it was dissolved. Now that choice maybe wasn't proving to be a good one, considering that some of the members didn't want that to happen. She could feel the presence of the cultists inside, maybe sixty or so in the congregation. Which means this must be their most important ritual, if they're all gathered right here.

She fished out a pair of glasses from her coat pocket and handed them to Danny.

"What's this?" The Ghost King stared.

She returned his gaze with a dubious look. "You really think we're blowing up this place without being fashionable?"

He rolled his eyes playfully but still slid the pair on, which matched her own — the horse Miraculous in camouflage mode. The glasses fortunately tied Danny's usual hoodie-and-pants getup together.

"Ghosts inside?" Marinette asked.

"Nope, none at all," answered Danny. "It's a good thing -— that means they don't have access to the weapons anymore."

This prompted a cackle out of Plagg, who floated into view. The kwami was sporting his own mini-sunglasses that she had quickly crafted herself.

"So we get to have fun," said Plagg gleefully.

"Yes!" "No."

Marinette looked at her friend. "You're such an enabler."

"Thanks." Danny beamed. "I'm not letting anything slide after what they did to you."

Oh, he really is scary when he's mad. A small smile twitched on her face. "Okay then. Let's have our fun."

The ritual setup was more elaborate than what Marinette had ever seen before. Strange letters were traced over the ground with chalk, and petals of whatever plant were scattered inside and outside the circle but Danny confirmed it wasn't Blood Blossoms. A book that suspiciously looked like a Grimoire knockoff was propped on the center.

They had strolled into the place naturally, ignoring the protests and outcries of the cultists. Marinette kept a Shell-ter shield around them whilst Plagg made faces at the robed people through the barrier. Meanwhile, Danny waved his hand to restrain the particularly aggressive ones.

"This summoning ritual shouldn't actually work, right?" Marinette eyed the fake Grimoire. Copycat or not, a book like that shouldn't be accessible to anyone in the first place.

Danny took a moment to study the place. "For Pariah Dark? It's accurate, but it shouldn't work. It's going to take a lot more than that to summon him." He shrugged. "Even if they do, he's still in the Sarcophagus."

"Right. They're still idiots." She bent down and touched a part of the floor, letting destructive energy seep from the ring and travel in a line across to just let Cataclysm hit the ritual circle only. In a matter of seconds, only dust was on the floor.

Before the cultists could attempt anything rash, Danny had them trapped in constructs. One quick portal creation afterwards, they were all sent to prisons guarded by the New Order.

Danny's suggestion had been simple: after they permanently keep the cultists from causing any more trouble, they re-establish a new Order of Guardians to keep an eye out for similar criminals. People who might know about ghosts or the Miraculi and wanted to take advantage of them. And he would have the ghosts of the Old Order work side by side with the New Order.

Marinette had readily agreed to that plan; she had reached out to the former members, the Guardian heads she could trust to rebuild the Order. That way, they had help on both the Miraculous and ghostly side of things.

She let the shield dissolve. "Wait, do you have a fire starter of some sort?" Doesn't Danny have ice powers?

"Um, I brought matches and gasoline."

"That works." Of course he did. "Did you put 'seasoned arsonist' in your resume?" She smirked and armed herself with Cataclysm again to destroy the place. The cultists had all their other materials gathered in that one area -— they couldn't leave those for anyone else to find.

"You're not going to use fire too?" Danny asked. "Don't you have that one Miraculous that makes lightning?"

"Danny, you're scared of lightning," she deadpanned.

"Pff. You underestimate how well I can hold in my traumatic response."

"I'm so going to tell Jazz you said that!"

Chapter Text

He stared out the glass and into the swirling light of the stars, seemingly endless in the deep void. "Imagine if things were different. We could've—"

The words were caught in his throat. If the Justice League had helped them when they were younger. If he had some guidance in his vigilante days. He could've witnessed this view much earlier.

Marinette's voice next to him was cold and monotonous. "Well, we don't know if it would've been better that way." She huffed. "At least we get to fuck with them now."

He nodded.

"Are you sure about this? You'll be okay?" Her blue eyes peered at him with concern.

"It's more of a faded scar now anyways." He rubbed his midsection. The cut didn't burn anymore — it didn't set off goosebumps in his skin or tighten his chest. "I'll be fine."

"Are you really really sure?"

"Positive. And if I somehow spiral into a panic attack, just get Red Robin and—"

"Danny!"

He chuckled, patting her head. "And you? You'll be okay?"

Her expression steeled. "Yes. We're not doing this just for our sake anyway."

It was a good thing that the Justice League wasn't as stubborn as Damian expected them to be.

They didn't pry anymore, though he knew they still had burning curiosities mixed with the guilt in their subconscious. Nevertheless, neither ghosts nor Miraculi were brought up again in their current meeting where most of the members were present, including him and his brothers. The agenda was just post-mission reports and something about an intergalactic mission.

Well, everything seemed normal until green took over.

It was like a hazy fog suddenly taking over the Watchtower, projecting illusions in its wake. Robin, like the other heroes, stiffened into alert and reached for their weapons. Robin took particular notice that this type of green was familiar.

Like the Lazarus Pits.

Like ectoplasm?

"What's going on?" Flash asked, up on his feet.

Still, no one dared to make a move, not only because they were being careful but also because an overwhelming presence was upon them. Robin felt paralysis in his bones again, mostly in his lips and tongue. It was the same sensation back during the time Marinette came and rescued Danny from the summoning.

Is this because of them? He asked inwardly. A glance shared with Red Robin told him that they were thinking of the same thing.

Their surroundings melted into a completely different scene eventually. The white walls became olive-stained metal, the floor shifted into a faded teal color, and all sorts of puzzling contraptions surrounded them. But when he reached out to touch a machine that shimmered into view by his side, his arm only phased through.

It's just an illusion, Robin guessed. What is this place supposed to be?

His question was answered not too long after. Tube-like enclosures appeared one by one on the illusion walls, each holding floating humanoid figures. They seemed to be thrashing and pounding against the glass of the entrapment, yet no sound penetrated through. Outside, clad in hazmat suits, stood two people: a man and a woman.

Robin's breath hitched when he recognized them. Danny's parents. He'd seen it in a file before.

"Mom? Dad? What's all this?" Footsteps came down from the stairs, revealing a teenager who couldn't have been older than sixteen. It was Danny himself, only younger.

Jack Fenton pulled off his goggles, smiling from ear to ear. "Danno boy! You're just in time! We're about to take a closer look at these ghosts we captured."

It didn't take an assassin's training to read Danny's fidgety body language.

His eyes were flitting back and forth between his parents and the trapped ghosts. Multiple voices started to hiss and cry out at once.

"Ỷ̶̘o̶̘̾ư̷̥r̵̞̃ ̵̪̿H̸̠͛ḯ̶̢g̵̥̒h̴̰͝ṅ̶̨e̵̙͐s̵͇͋s̵̭̐!̸͔̿"

"S̸̬͠ä̸̬́v̸͍̓ė̶̤ ̴̰̀u̷̲͋s̷̫̓!̶̫͝ ̶̪͝S̶̲͋a̸͎̽v̵̹͝e̴̗̊ ̷̛͍u̵̪̿s̷̭̃ ̶͚̑p̶͚̀l̴̖͠e̷̩̾a̴͎̋s̴̜̉ê̸̞!̶͉̈́"

"Ȳ̶̠o̵͈͗u̸͕̍r̸̳͐ ̷̝͝M̶͎̿à̷̢j̴̳͠ė̴̞š̸͎t̴͚͛ỹ̵͚,̸͙̋ ̷͍̍w̷̠͋e̸̹͐ ̴̩̇b̸̝̈e̵͚͘g̴̮̽ ̷͉̈́y̴͝ͅo̵͉̐ú̴̞!̸͈̍"

Robin didn't understand the words, but he could hear the anguish and desperation in their tone. His fists clenched.

"Quiet, you ecto-scum!" Maddie Fenton glared, bumping her weapon against the enclosures. "Dear, the Fenton-muffler please. We can't have them calling for help."

Danny looked pale. Slightly trembling. But his parents didn't take notice. "A—are you sure about keeping them here, mom? Aren't they hurt?"

"Don't be silly sweetheart!" The woman said. "Ghosts can't feel pain! They are monsters that deceive you and make you think they're in pain."

"That's right and look son, we finally get to study them up close." Jack motioned to the center of the room, which held something like a table, some more machines hooked up to wires, and a rolling cart with an array of surgical tools. "See! We finally set these tools up so they work on ghosts. What a breakthrough in micro-ectology and ecto-anatomy!"

Danny appeared even sicker.

"Now stand back here, Danny. We'll extract the first ghost and you can watch us—"

The boy moved in front of the tubes, arms out to block his parents. "A—actually . . . I don't think this is a good idea. What about Phantom? What if he gets mad about this?"

Maddie scoffed. "Let him come! Then we will finally capture him and study him closely."

Robin wished he didn't see the split-second flinch on Danny's face. He couldn't even recognize the boy. This wasn't Danny, the department head at space engineering who they found out to be the High King of the Realms. No, this was just a teenager who was afraid of his parents.

"Wait, but are you sure you want to do this right now?" Danny forced out a smile. "Why not go outside and collect more—um—ghosts?"

"These are plenty for now, Danno. Just move aside, son."

Danny's eyes shifted to green.

His parents saw it.

It all happened too fast. Despite Danny's protests, his parents aimed a weapon at him and trapped him in a glowing green net, screaming at how he possessed their son's body and they were going to make sure Phantom paid the price. It seemed that the Fentons' tools worked against ghosts — Danny was strapped onto the table, yelling out his lungs and breathing hard, pleading endlessly, saying that it was still him, he was still human and their son. His wrists and ankles were bound on the table as if he were just some sort of science experiment, and his body switched helplessly back and forth from visibility and invisibility.

But at some point it became clear that the two scientists were deaf to his words. Robin could tell the exact moment Danny gave up trying to reason with them. His mouth shut and his limbs went a bit slack as his frustrated eyes looked around for any way out, an escape for himself and the ghosts.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much time.

"Look at how much the detector's acting up, Maddie!" Jack held up a beeping device. "With this strong of an ecto-signature, it must be Phantom!"

Maddie was already pulling on gloves and picking up the surgical tools that didn't even look the slightest bit sterile. "He will be the perfect subject. Hon, will you do the honors?"

Robin had seen plenty of violence and blood in his lifetime, but witnessing this scene was just cruel. The Fentons cut through Danny's skin, pushing past muscle and veins and bone in rough jagged lines. His organs were out and exposed and when he regenerated, they had to slice through again. The whole time, Danny didn't thrash or struggle, but he did sobbed silently, tears tinged with a hint of green. He was still awake.

Danny was awake the whole time.

A sharp gasp escaped his throat when they pointed another device towards him again, jabbing into his chest. The two said something about discovering a 'core'. That seemed to send Danny into a panic and he tried to move and yell once more.

"Jazz! JAZZ! Sam! Tucker!" His voice was hoarse. "Please! H̸̥̀ę̸͑l̵̲̀p̸̨̌,̸͉̈́ ̶̨̊p̵̗̉l̵͖͑e̴̬͠ã̶̢s̵̗̉e̷͓͛!̸̮̚"

They slapped a mouthpiece onto him.

A minute after, the door was thrown open, almost flying off its hinges. Jazz Fenton ran in, screaming, with an older man behind her — their godfather, Vlad Masters. The elder Fenton sibling tried to push away their parents from Danny, fighting off their attempted restraints and near-hysterical in defending her brother. Vlad was also trying to get in between them, clearly worried about Danny.

But Robin still had his eyes on Danny.

Danny, who was deathly pale, at the precipice of unconsciousness. But his eyes were wide and his body thrashed against the binds when he saw that their parents were close to hurting his sister. Albeit subtly, frost began to gather on the ground and around the machines in the lab. A thin layer of ice was also around the mouthpiece.

It cracked.

And broke.

Danny somehow released a wail that broke through whatever was suppressing his ghost powers. Everyone else in the room collapsed, holding their hands against the sides of their head at the earsplitting scream. The binds broke, the enclosures shattered, the metal creaked and bent, and each and every glass bottle inside the laboratory was diminished into pieces.

Robin could hear his pulse as a sharp pain cut through his eardrums. Danny's yell was still loud and pitched in the illusion they were watching, but it didn't affect them as badly as it probably did in real life. He could even see blood dripping out of their ears.

Many things happened at once. Vlad and Jazz recovered first and hurriedly carried Danny outside. The chemicals that had spilled caught a spark from a wire that broke and had caused a small fire that was quickly spreading. Though the Fentons tried to give chase, they boldly stayed in that basement to save as much of their papers and inventions as they could.

The scene shifted in a blink. They were now outside, and Fenton Works was engulfed in flames. Vlad and Jazz watched as the latter carefully supported her unconscious brother's body.

The man put a hand on the girl's shoulder. "You parents . . ."

But there was no emotion behind her eyes. "They stopped being our parents a long time ago."

There were ghosts that littered by, floating around them as some sort of protection. A number of them were the same ones previously trapped in the laboratory.

The illusion changed again.

The walls morphed to depict a long hallway — blinding white this time, with endless tiles tracing back to metallic biometric-authenticated double doors. Like a hospital or some kind of facility. As the illusion spun, Danny emerged into view, looking a bit older and wearing a white coat and a pair of glasses. A disguise.

A bearded man walked alongside him.

"And here you will see where our experiments are. Ectoplasm is really tricky once you see it for yourself. We just tested for telekinesis yesterday, now we have to move on to hydrokinesis, geokinesis or pyrokinesis. You never know what they can do these days," the man rambled to him.

"I see." Danny replied in monotone, but it still tinged with a little bit of enthusiasm to project faux curiosity. "Dr. Sheppard, won't the ghosts be hurt by the experimentation?"

Sheppard huffed out as if it was the most absurd thing. "Of course not! Ghosts cannot feel pain. They are remnants of human emotions, monsters acting out on our own. And they are made of ectoplasm. Ectoplasm cannot be sentient."

Now that was absurd to Robin. Since learning about ghosts, he had taken notice of how the shadows wrapped around him and his family in Gotham, and that was the doing of their city, Lady Gotham herself. She was real. Not human, but very human-like. He himself had seen Phantom writhe in pain during a summoning.

But for these people that pain was a joke. The GIW, he guessed.

"But I hear screams, they beg to be freed," said Danny, keeping his voice steady. "Are you saying they're tricking us?"

"I'm saying they are nothing but an ugly reflection of humanity." The elder insisted. "That's why they're better useful as a power source. Think of the lives we can save if we harness ectoplasmic energy. Even the government favors us."

Danny was about to speak when another scientist approached them: a bespectacled woman with frizzy layered hair. "Dr. Sheppard! The tests are finished. The ecto-extraction worked — we can now deplete their ectoplasm without them replacing it. Soon enough we'll get to the core."

"That's good! How far have you gone?"

"Our guesses were right. The core is approximately at the chest, where a heart would be. We already see traces of it."

The temperature of the place dropped a few degrees.

The King silently trailed behind them as they chattered. Just watching. Judging.

And then the laboratory was revealed.

Wails echoed in the walls, from ghosts in ectoplasm cells, and from those bound in the same restraints Danny had previously been in. The room was split off by smaller partitions, with each area having its own strange machines and scientists prodding and experimenting on the ghosts. There were what looked like ghost limbs and all sorts of appendages in glass cases. There were ghost families trapped together and apart. Ghost children.

Robin was sick to his stomach. Even animal trafficking rings had comparatively better conditions.

A thin sheet of ice was beginning to spread on the floor, but no one had noticed.

"D̴̻̎o̶̮̅c̶̙̊t̸̻͊ö̸̮r̸̘͂."

The Ghostspeak from Danny didn't sound quite like anything Robin had heard before. It was rough. Disembodied. Like someone had layered a thousand voices at once.

Danny began to shift---irises gone and replaced by only green sclera, locks turning white and fangs elongating on a mouth that was stretching too widely to be human. Phantom floated inches off the ground, bearing both ring and flaming crown in front of the two mortified scientists.

The room was overtaken with chaos. The humans yelled. The ghosts molded into Ghostspeak, seeking the aid of their King. The ruler of the Realms gave an ultimatum: they had once chance to drop everything and leave while he was still withholding his power.

But the GIW was as stubborn as the Doctors Fenton. As Phantom let his ectoplasm radiate, overriding all the machines and freeing his people, pure white flames shot up from the ground.

But they weren't fire.

What looked like flames were actually cold, chilling enough to freeze the scientists in place as thorns burst out from the snowflakes and lodged into their bodies like icicle-trees. Everything was being consumed by the numbing winter, the price of attacking the denizens of the Zone.

Robin watched as the surroundings converged into ice and bendy illusions, again distorting the place with ectoplasm. The bodies were gone and Danny remained, this time not an illusion himself anymore.

He was looking right at them.

Nobody was moving.

Nobody had moved for so long.

Robin held his breath.

Danny, now looking 'normal', brushed off the ice from his shoulder. "I was fourteen when I died by the way." A wry smile graced his lips. "In hindsight, I was definitely too young to become a ghost."

He slipped his hands into his pockets. Too nonchalantly, like he was merely on the subject of the weather. "I went to my parents' lab and accidentally turned on the Ghost Zone portal on top of myself."

Robin could hear a sharp intake of breath from his brother.

"I died but I was still alive. Didn't really ask to be a vigilante but I had to. Or no one else would." He paused, looking at them one by one. "Now we're just making sure you understand what you've done. Or not done."

The room changed again, already too far to resemble the meeting hall in the Watchtower. There were no glass panes looking out into the stars, no screen in front of them.

Danny was gone.

This time they were outside, bright light seeping everywhere. It felt more real — Robin could feel the sun on his skin and smell the dust scattered around as they were welcomed with the sight of 400-foot monsters wreaking havoc in a city.

He swallowed thickly.

Marinette was next.