Chapter Text
Prologue
Clockwork waved his hand, merging the damaged timelines into one. And as Danny wished, the memory of his identity and the heroism he performed was removed from the minds of everyone on Earth, except for those of Amity Park and those in the Ghost Zone. Time adjusted, events meshing together across the timeline to make a cohesive, if vastly different whole.
Black Hand, the world's most famous hero after Danny Phantom, was known for helping to save the world that day the year before when the Anti-Ecto Meteor was hurtling toward Earth and he used his powers to bring back the world’s greatest Heroes for one final battle. He was respectful in asking for their assistance, only bringing back those who chose to help, and returned them to peace after the Earth was saf-{Clip/Paste}- Black Hand, one of the universe's most wanted criminals, floated near the Source Wall. He drifted closer, the emptiness of space around him alive with the whispers of countless souls he had bound to his will.
The Source Wall loomed before him, a tapestry of frozen gods and forgotten titans, their forms locked in eternal struggle, etched into the barrier like warning signs for lesser minds. Yet to Black Hand, they were an invitation. His skeletal fingers reached outward, the black light crackling against the radiant surface. “Life, death… all the same lie,” he muttered, eyes reflecting endless galaxies. “But you… You hide the truth, don’t you?” As he pressed his palm to the wall, he realized in horror how even Gods could become trapped there, becoming petrified and merging into the wall.
Batman stood among the crowd of costumed heroes, seeing their friends off one last time, the silence after salvation heavier than any storm. He had watched the impossible: a world rendered ghostlike, untouchable, the meteor’s rage passing harmlessly through as if the Earth were air. And then, amidst the fading chorus of spectral heroes brought back by Black Hand to save them, he saw him. Jason, the wide-eyed Robin he had buried twenty years prior. His cape was shredded in phantom tatters, his domino mask still cracked, his face pale and luminous, and yet his eyes burned with that same reckless fire. For a heartbeat, Bruce couldn’t move. All the walls he had built—the discipline, the silence, the unshakable mask—fractured at once. “Jason,” he breathed, his voice breaking in a way it hadn’t in decades.
The boy ghost smiled faintly, the grin crooked as it always had been, the one Bruce remembered from rooftops and late-night training sessions. “Missed me, B?” His voice carried the soft echo of the afterlife, thin and fading even as he stood before him. Batman dropped to one knee, reaching out, his gauntleted hand passing uselessly through Jason’s flickering form. “Jaybird.” His voice cracked in grief. Fourteen years of guilt, of rage, of what-ifs, pressed into his chest, and for the first time in so long, Bruce let the tears fall freely, uncaring who might see. Jason leaned forward as if to touch his father’s shoulder, though they both knew he could not. “It’s okay,” Jason whispered, the boy’s smile softening into something older than his years. “You saved them all. You saved me, too.” And then, like ash in the wind, he dissolved into the night, leaving Batman clutching nothing but memory and grief, whispering into the dark, “I never stopped loving you, son.-{Clip/Paste}- A fist shattered the barrier around reality. A second answered it, pounding against a coffin.
3 Years Post Glitch
Danny was used to secrets.
After all, being half-ghost meant living a life of hidden battles, late nights hunting creatures from another dimension, and lying to his parents and friends about why he always looked exhausted. But this secret—this was different. This one unraveled him.
It started when Jazz found an old adoption record in a box tucked away in the attic.
“Danny,” she’d said carefully, holding a faded manila envelope. “I think you should see this.”
Inside were adoption papers and Danny’s birth certificate, except the name on it wasn’t one he recognized. What was clear was that the name was changed during the adoption. Near the bottom of the stack was a folded letter. The letter wasn’t long. It was written by hand, signed with initials he didn’t recognize.
We love him. But we can’t keep him. Tell him someday, if you can, that he was loved. — S.B. & T.D.
Danny stared at the paper for hours, his mind a whirlpool. His parents—Maddie and Jack—had always said he was theirs. And in every way that mattered, he was. But the letter said otherwise.
The next day, Danny was out of it at school, not that anyone but Sam and Tucker noticed. At least that’s how Danny felt. It wasn’t until Mr. Lancer called him back after class ended that Danny came around, if only to face his teacher’s chastisement.
Mr. Lancer watched the boy for a moment. He had once thought the boy was just a slacker, but he had been watching him for the last few school years and thought he had a better measure of the boy. Especially after the meteor incident revealed Danny’s secret identity to the whole town.
“Mr. Fenton. As I’m sure you know, I also serve as the school guidance counselor.” Danny gave Mr. Lancer an odd questioning look, as if he just couldn’t see it. “Actually, that’s news to me.”
Mr. Lancer gave him a deadpan look that drew a mumbled, “Sorry”, from Danny. “That said, I have been watching you for a while now. I’ll rephrase. I’ve noticed not just how your grades have changed over the last few years, but how you have. For a time, I was greatly concerned about how physical Mr. Baxter’s bullying had become.”
Danny looked up from his skulking, “Not that anyone tried to do anything about that.” Mr. Lancer glared in disapproval. “You know I’m right.”
Mr. Lancer sighed, “Mr. Fenton, you’re young, so I understand you have no personal experience with professionalism, but it’s inappropriate to discuss the disciplinary measures against other students even with the victim. I will assure you that the situation had progressed to the point that Mr. Baxter’s sports eligibility was in question before your relationship seemed to have taken a turn. In light of more recent… revelations, it actually might be more appropriate to discuss which incidents were due to student violence and which were due to your… extracurricular activities.”
Danny stared at Mr. Lancer in awe. He had thought no one was in his corner because Dash was the school sports star. He had never imagined that he almost got removed from all his teams because of his ghost fighting. “W-well, to be honest, Dash was never an overly physical bully. A couple of times in a locker or a swirly was about as far as he’d take it. He’s really not imaginative, so he’s kinda cliché. It didn’t bother me as much, but I‘m definitely the only one he targeted. He just didn’t like me in particular. We’ve put it behind us, though. He’s actually a fan of Phantom… And I’m rambling, sorry.”
Mr. Lancer snorted, “Be that as it may, I am concerned for your well-being and have been for some time. It’s obvious something has happened recently that has affected you. I’m available if you’re willing to share.”
Danny was silent to this. He didn’t know how he felt about this. He hadn’t talked to anybody about it yet, not even to Sam and Tucker. Not even to Jazz, who found it, partially because she might try to “treat” him when he really just needed his big sister. “I-I just found out I’m adopted.”
Mr. Lancer was clearly surprised by this, “And I take it from your reaction it was not your parents who explained this?” Danny nodded, “Jazz and I found the papers in the attic while cleaning. I don’t know how I feel about it yet.”
Mr. Lancer nodded, “I should think not. If you want, we can set up an appointment with a psychologist who knows about your… condition to help you work through it. I’m sure you have other things to work through at this point.”
“Thanks Mr. Lancer, I’ll think about it. Can I get a note for my next class?” It was left unsaid between them that his teacher had long ago came to the conclusion that Ghosts don’t just create themselves and Danny really needed to talk to someone about that. “Of course, Mr. Fenton. Try not to be any later than I’ve made you.”