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Contrary to popular expectations, when Danny Fenton finally (fully) died, he did not wake up in the Ghost Zone.
Instead, he woke up a newborn infant, swaddled in the arms of a woman who looked nothing like his mother but called him son with such affection and wonder that it warmed his little heart. He snuggled closer to his new mother, content to sleep the days away.
Later on, when he grew out of the cloudiness of his infant mind and learned of exactly what kind of world he was reborn into, he might regret being so idle. But for now, Danny would rest. The mantle of hero was a heavy thing, and he could use a long, long break from it.
I. What’s in a name
When he was born into this strange new world, his grandfather bestowed upon him the name Ibn al’ Xuffasch. A moniker given in honor of his mysterious father. A shadow, a presence, a looming expectation placed upon him.
His mother—not mom , for that’s a title reserved for someone else—gave him a much better name.
Danyal al Ghul.
He still preferred going by Danny, even if no one at the League of Assassins ever called him that.
Well…not yet at least.
He pressed a hand against the walls of the artificial gestational tube, nose squished against the glass as Danny watched his new little brother float in the murky green waters. Mother said his brother’s name was Damian.
Damian was conceived five months ago, though looking at him now, you wouldn’t think that. He looked around eight to nine months, his growth and development artificially sped up with the use of highly unethical science. Danny should protest, and he probably would have in his previous life, but goddammit he was lonely, ok? Being the only kid in the League was awful. Almost as awful as the constant hero worship he had to endure after the disasteroid incident.
Besides, it isn’t as if this is the weirdest shit he’d seen.
“Danny,” he whispered to his brother. “My name is Danny . Remember that, ok squirt?”
Little Damian gave a little kick.
Danny will take that as a yes.
II. First Words
According to the League physician, Damian was progressing along normally. His accelerated gestational period didn’t seem to have any negative side effects that they knew of, and overall he was a very healthy, happy baby.
Danny was absolutely enamored with baby Damian, even at the ripe old age of seven (give or take a few centuries). He was just so small . Tiny. Fragile. An innocent little thing, his brother was. Not fit for life in the League.
If he could, he would take Damian away from the confines of Nanda Parbat and the two of them would strike out on their own. Or maybe they would find this father of theirs and shack up with him. It was too bad his powers were locked away somewhere. He could still access them on some level, but they were muted; a weak replacement compared to what Danny could do in his heyday.
Oh, well. Maybe it was for the best. A seven-year-old and a baby running halfway around the world to find their dad? It was a stupid plan now, really.
Damian giggled as Danny handed him a mini ice-figurine of Cujo. He clasped it with his pudgy hands, waving it around with his tiny little arms.
Danny almost let out an aww.
Nope. Screw that. He was aww-ing
It was just the two of them in Damian’s nursery, sat on a soft play mat in the middle of the room. Usually, Danny would still be doing his lessons around this time. Katas and strengthening exercises, botany, languages, advanced math, and sciences— the works. The benefit of reincarnating into a world similar enough to his Earth is that you usually know all of this shit already. Sure, having to relearn his center of gravity with every new growth spurt was annoying, but having access to some of his enhanced speed, strength, and centuries of combat experience helped him get over that hurdle. He could wipe the floor with some of these fuckers.
Ra’s al Ghul could cluck his tongue at Danny’s “lack of ambition” all he liked, but even he couldn’t deny that Danny was competent. It’s why Danny could get away with cutting his lessons early. That and Talia’s occasional indulgence, of course.
Damian babbled as he played. Danny made him some more ice figurines; play was an important part of children's development, and Danny needed an excuse to keep his memory fresh. He made a cow first, just because. Next, he made Princess Dora’s dragon form. Then Fright Knight’s Horse. Then he made Lilith, a black cat he and Tucker gave Sam for her forty-fifth birthday. And just for shits and giggles, he made this one weird creature he saw in the ghost zone that had one too many legs and looked like a five-year-old’s drawing of a horse…if said five year old never saw a horse.
Damian shrieked with glee, grabbings as much of the figurines as his hands would allow.
Danny didn’t really know if the flailing his brother did actually had a purpose to it or if Damian just really liked smacking Cujo and the weird horse ghost together. He was content, for the most part, to watch. He laid on his side, head propped up by one arm, his free hand grabbing a figurine and engaging Damian in whatever storyline he conjured up.
Lilith the cat charged against the horse-ghost with a roar. Damian laughed, sacrificing the horse-ghost to his cruel fate and summoning Dora to fight at Cujo’s side.
They played and laughed and giggled. Lilith the cat fought bravely but was felled by the mighty cow. He blew raspberries into Damian’s stomach as revenge, much to his brother’s annoyance. Sullen little Damian hit him on the head, and Danny acted out his tragic death with such drama that would make Mr. Lancer proud.
He was too good, apparently. His fake death fooled Damian so well that he started blubbering.
“Dah— Dah!”
Holy shit was he trying to say his first words?
Danny bolted up. “Come on, Dami, you can do it! Say ‘Danny.’ Dan-ee.”
Damian floundered over the sounds, testing the shapes. “Dah— Daaah—”
“Yes. Yes?”
“ Daya !”
Damian’s face shone with pride. Danny didn’t have the heart to correct him.
He admitted defeat with a sigh. “Yeah. That’s right, bud. Daya.”
One day. One day he’ll get someone to say his name right.
III. Rivalry
Danny was fourteen and Damian was now seven. And every day he wondered how his little brother went from a cute, giggling baby to a brat out of hell. He was snooty and arrogant. The second Damian beat someone in a spar they were no longer ‘worthy’ of his consideration. Skills were flaunted with no thought of humility. Servants treated as just another part of the background.
And most of all he was so god damn stubborn .
Danny stopped running and turned around, hands on his hips. “Damian stop running and take a break.”
Damian stumbled to a halt, panting viciously. He wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. “No, I— hah!— can still keep going.” Though his green eyes burned with resolve, Danny could see the way Damian’s knees shook and how he kept inching towards the cluster of trees to their right.
Danny, seeing as how mother put him in charge of Damian’s physical fitness for the day, decided to be the responsible adult. “No. You can’t . Now sit your but down in the shade before I make you.”
“You don’t have to tell me what to do, Danyal . I can take care of myself.”
Danny sighed. There was a time, once, that Damian would gleefully call him ‘Danny.’ But one day it just— stopped. Ever since then, it was ‘brother’ or ‘Danyal’; the names said with aloof politeness or hissed behind a snarl. Damian’s stubbornness streak manifested around this time too. As well as his tendency to push himself too hard in his training.
Danny blamed Ra’s. Bastard.
He threw his water at Damian who caught it with one hand. “I don’t have to do anything, but since one of us here is clearly begging to pass out from heat exhaustion—”
“I’m fine!”
“You are not .”
Danny stared down at Damian.
Damian glowered at Danny.
The silence of the jungle stretched between them.
Damian looked away first. He uncapped the water bottle and guzzled half of it down. Damian leaned back against the trunk of the nearest tree and slid down to a crouch, water bottle dangling between his fingers.
Danny carded a hand through his hair, fingers resting at the back of his neck. He sighed. A flock of birds flew overhead.
“Grandfather said that you could run the circuit of Infinity Island three times without breaking a sweat.”
God damn it Ra’s.
Danny scratched his cheek. “I mean, I took my time with it, so of course I wouldn’t sweat too much.”
Damian glared at him. “He said you could do it in an hour and a half.”
An hour and ten minutes to be exact. But Danny wasn’t going to say that.
He plopped himself right next to Damian, stretching his legs. “You don’t have to do things the way I did them, you know that?”
“ ‘Tt.’ Easy for you to say.”
“And what does that mean?”
“You don’t see it.” Damian thumped the water bottle onto the dirt. “Of course you don’t. Why would you? It’s probably beneath your notice.”
“ Damian. ” Danny placed a hand on his shoulder but Damian tore himself away, dragging himself to his feet.
“You don’t see it . Have you heard what they call you? A genius. A prodigy. They look at you and see the heir of the Demon’s Head. The pride of the al Ghul bloodline.” His jaw clenched, hand reaching up to fist his shirt. “They look at you and see someone worthy. Then they look at me and wonder why I'm so lacking .”
There are many upsides to being reincarnated with your memories and skills intact, even more so when you’ve lived for hundreds of years.
Here’s the downside to all that: you start forgetting. Once, before he was permanently known as Phantom , and before the reality of his longevity kicked in, Danny Fenton was a younger sibling. And while the youngest child usually got the reputation of being able to get away with anything , it wasn’t exactly true for young children born into the family of the exceptional. His old parents were certified geniuses, pioneers of the scientific world. They tore a hole into a parallel dimension for god sake. Jazz, though not as interested in engineering, was of the same caliber. She got the highest score on the C.A.T test, was already being scouted by Ivy Leagues when she was a sophomore in high school, and eventually made a name for herself in the psychiatric community as one of its leading researchers.
Sure, Danny moonlighted as a hero. Sure, after the disasteroid there was a statue of him in every capital in the world. But before all that happened, there was a time when Danny was desperate to catch up to the high bar his sister set. And there were many more times when he failed to measure up.
Danny didn’t realize that he was putting Damian through the exact same thing.
“Damian…” He needed to say something. Anything . “Is that why you won’t call me ‘Danny’ anymore?”
Not that .
Damian clenched his fist, turning away from him. “I don’t need your pity, Danyal . I’m going on ahead.”
His little brother ran further into the dense jungle.
Danny watched him go.
IV. Separation
Damian was ten and he was seventeen when Nanda Parbat came under attack. An attempted coup by their grandfather’s old pupil Slade Wilson.
Their casualties were many, amongst them being Ra’s al Ghul himself, dying but a few feet away from the Lazarus Pit and body too damaged for it to be of use. Damian cried over their grandfather’s body. Danny pulled him close, burying his silent tears in Damian’s hair. He had no love for Ra’s, but the man was his grandfather, his family , and Danny will mourn him all the same.
Their mother pulled them both in for a hug and held them tight.
There was no time to mourn.
Plans are made, arrangements are settled, Damian was not happy with any of this.
“I want to come with you.”
Mother answered with a curt “ no.”
Damian bristled, hands curling into fists. “But Danyal gets to go! Why do I have to stay in Gotham?”
“Your brother is older,” their mother said, voice spilling honey, saccharine and sweet. “And you are still young. You will be under your father’s protection in Gotham, and he will ensure your safety.”
Her words left no room for further questions.
Damian, still unsatisfied, sulked. He tucked his knees beneath his chin and curled atop one of the many couches bolted to the floor of their ship. “It’s not fair,” he said.
Danny sat down beside him. “Life’s not fair.”
“I’m his grandson, too. I should be given the chance to avenge him as well!”
“Danny poked Damian’s forehead. Damian scrunched his nose in annoyance. “I think it’s because you’re his grandson that mother felt the need to bench you.”
“What?”
“Well…think of it this way: If something goes wrong and mother and I don’t come back from this—” They both simultaneously knocked on the wooden frame of the couch. “—then the League of Assassin falls to you. Someone needs to carry on the legacy.”
“But why leave only me? Why not leave the both of us to ensure both heirs are safe?”
Danny strong-armed him closer, mussing his hair despite Damian’s shouts of protest. “Aww, are you worried about me?”
Damian tried to shove him off. “As if . Now let go of me!”
“Only if you call me Danny.”
“Never!”
Danny laughed. “Come on, just this once? Might as well hear it before I die.”
He felt his brother stiffen beside him. “You won’t die.”
Grinning, Danny said, “of course I won’t.”
Damian held his gaze, green eyes intent and bored into his own. “You won’t die.” He spoke the words like a conviction, a reassurance.
A reassurance for who? Danny couldn’t say.
He shifted his hold into a proper hug. “I’ll come back, Damian. I promise I will.”
V. Sacrifice
Damian pointed his gun at Deathstroke.
Deathstroke held a gun to their mother’s head.
Danny stood behind a nearby pillar, watching.
All his powers were useless when he truly needed them, either too weak in their manifestation or locked away who knows where. All he could do was stand in the shadows and wait for an opportunity to strike.
Damian lowered his gun.
Deathstroke shifted his aim to the space between Damian’s eyes.
Danny could see his mother tense. He dashed forward with inhuman speed
No.
He would not let this happen .
Everything moved at once.
Deathstroke fired the bullet. His mother escaped her captor’s grip and threw herself in the bullet’s path. Danny pushed his mother away, taking her place, and catching the bullet in his chest.
“ No !”
The wind was knocked out of Danny’s lungs. Punctured. Probably. Fuck . He collapsed, head slamming against the rocky floor.
He wheezed, groaning as Damian ran to his side and cradled his head. “You idiot!” Damian cried. “Why did you do that? Why?”
Danny coughed. Could feel the blood gathering in his lungs, choking him. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? “You’re my brother.”
His tongue tasted like blood. He was dying. Danny was honest to god dying again .
That pain was somehow more bearable compared to hearing Damian’s choked sob.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry , he wanted to say. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been a better brother .
His strength failed him, in the end.
Danny closed his eyes.
(Damian goes off to defeat Deathstroke but does not kill him. Talia took the broken corpse of her son and placed it in the Lazarus pit.)
(The body sank into the murky green waters.)
(It does not rise again.)
+1. Brother
Damian does not like Dick Grayson.
Though as Damian understood it, it was very difficult to dislike Grayson— at least for long. His dislike for the man wasn’t for any particular reason, really. Incessant and exuberant displays of affection aside, Grayson was very easy to be around. He was accepting, he was kind, he was funny. Accepting his attempts at friendship would also be a great strategy to better integrate himself into the Wayne family.
Damian slapped away Grayson’s attempt to ruffle his hair.
Grayson backed off, arms held up non-threateningly. “Chill, Dami. Stop being so antagonistic all of the time, we’re brothers for goodness sake.”
Damian snapped his teeth, features twisted into a scowl. “We’re not brothers .”
“Uh, yeah, I’m pretty sure we are. Got the paperwork and everything.”
“We are not brothers!” Damian snapped up, surprised at his sudden shout. He dug crescent-shaped indents into the soft flesh of his palm. “Just— leave me alone, Grayson. I already had a brother. I don’t need another one.”
Damian stalked off, shutting himself in his room.
“You should be nicer to them, you know,” His brother’s specter said. He stood in front of the large, floor-to-ceiling windows at the end of the room, sunlight filtered across his hair, tiny dust motes floating.
I know .
This ghost— This strange inversion of his brother’s image had been haunting Damian for the past few months. At first, it appeared as a shade. A shadow that lingered at the corner of Damian’s eyes but disappeared as soon as he turned to it. Grief , Damian figured it was. A manifestation of his own guilt. He ignored the phantasm of his brother most of the time, and most of the time his brother would simply leave on his own.
One day his brother’s ghost vanished. Damian had breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that his hallucinations stopped. Then, three weeks later, it came back. Stronger. Bolder . It moved around the room like a curious wraith, green eyes watching. He would smile, would laugh , and he would talk.
Damian could almost pretend that his brother was alive.
Almost.
Willing away this phantom had no effect, so Damian settled to just glaring at him. “Go away.”
“After I came all this way to see you?” His brother clenched his chest in mock-hurt.
Damian palmed the batarang he kept hidden in his sleeve, the cold, sharp metal grounding him. He was tired of this. So, so tired. “You’re not even real .” He threw the batarang at the ghost, expecting it to phase right through and embed itself in the wall.
The ghost caught it .
Astonished, Damian could do nothing but stare at his brother. His brother .
“Danny?” His throat tightened. His eyes had begun to mist over but he blinked the tears away as quickly as they came, afraid that if he tore his gaze away now , the illusion would break. “Is that you? Is that really you?”
Danny stepped forward. The floorboards beneath him creaked.
Damian barreled across the room and enveloped his brother in a hum, nearly toppling the both of them over. “ Danny .” He buried his head in his brother’s midsection. Solid. Corporeal. Real . “You’re back. You’re back !”
He saw a flash of light behind his eyelids. Felt warm arms wrap around him. Damian looked up to see Danny— his Danny. Not the strange inversion. Not the ghostly incarnation. H im . His brother. His family. Real. Here. Alive .
“I promised I’d come back, didn’t I?”
“What took you so long?” His voice was muffled against his shirt.
“Coming back from the dead isn’t exactly easy, squirt. It took a long time. I had to call in a lot of favors, kick a bunch of people’s asses, you know the drill.”
“You did all that because of a promise?”
“Of course.” Danny smiled, pulling him closer. “You’re my brother.”