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While the Justice League accepted applications for affiliate positions in the Watchtower and administration, the League members themselves were usually headhunted. Heroes of a certain caliber tended to draw attention to themselves, after all, and it was best to get everyone on the same page before they started to step on each other’s toes.
It was routine by now to send a Bat to scout out the hero’s territory before approaching them. When it was a particularly promising candidate, like now, Batman himself went out to investigate. This also had the benefit of making it easy to catch their attention.
Danny Phantom protected a small town in the Midwest, which wouldn’t normally merit League attention. However, the constant barrage of League-level events and a particularly powerful gallery of alien rogues had put him on their radar anyway. Batman spent a week and a half just watching him, cataloging his frequent opponents, and taking notes on his power levels and the beginning of a personality profile. He suspected that Phantom had more power at his disposal than he regularly displayed; he treated his rogues with kid gloves, more exasperated than angry. Though perhaps death had robbed him of the rage and urgency that fueled most heroes.
While there were a few things that Batman wanted to clarify with Phantom, the most pressing were the two supervillains that seemed to have free rein of the place. Phantom didn’t even act against them when they were shooting at him, and Batman had seen the wounds those weapons left. There was history there, more than Batman could gather from a distance.
“I told ya he was worth the trip, Bats,” Constantine said, flicking the ash off his cigarette without taking his eyes off Phantom pile-driving a meat-monster construct into the road. Batman had (reluctantly) called him in as he was wrapping up, ready to approach the young hero. “Ghosts don’t get much more powerful than this, and he’s a clear guardian spirit to boot.”
“You’re unusually invested in this.” Constantine didn’t make a habit of scouting new members.
Pause. “Justice League Dark’s been getting complaints about him,” Constantine admitted. “Not ‘cause he’s doing anything - just ‘cause he’s a ghost and he’s powerful and people don’t like it. Figure they’ll shut up about it if he’s a League member himself.”
The Red Huntress showed up, yelled something, and took a few potshots at the meat monster. Working with Phantom, they drove it into a side street and knocked it down, before Phantom sucked it up into his containment device. The Red Huntress instantly turned on him, and he wisely disappeared.
“Hn.” As Batman, he was no stranger to bad press and public complaints; Superman received some of the same simply for being an alien. Still, somehow it didn’t sit right after a week of watching Phantom treat even his rogues kindly, only to be run off by ghost hunters shouting threats and insults.
He’d tentatively classed the Red Huntress as a vigilante rather than a villain despite her frequent attacks on Phantom. She never attacked bystanders, was careful about collateral, and detained ghosts with more professionalism than glee. An endorsement by the League would likely be enough for her to tolerate Phantom. The Ghost Investigation Ward was a more complicated matter, but the dark looks both Constantine and Zatanna took on at the mere mention of them meant they’d need to be handled.
Batman’s patience with ‘ghost hunters’ had run out quickly during this mission.
“We’ve reached the limit of what surveillance can tell us,” Batman said, instead of any of that. “Time to make contact.”
They waited for Phantom at the edge of a park, Batman perching on a bench in full gear. It was the usual method for getting the attention of heroes whose identities were unknown, or who otherwise could not be reached out to. Sure enough, Phantom showed up after twenty minutes to investigate - more than twice what it took for him to show up at a ghost attack, Batman noted.
“Constantine,” Phantom said, with pleasant surprise in his voice rather than annoyance or suspicion. Unusual, for someone familiar with Constantine. His voice echoed faintly, as if calling into an empty basement stairwell. “And… Batman. Hi? Is something the matter?”
Batman noted the wary look in his eyes, the careful distance he held himself at even as he settled in a vaguely cross-legged position in the air in front of them. It was easy to attribute to the ghost hunters that frequented his fights apparently just to attack Phantom specifically, but there might be more to it.
“Hn.” Well... “There are no emergencies in the area. I’m performing a background check on behalf of the League. It’s common practice when recruiting new members.”
Phantom’s eyes widened slightly, then dimmed. He shifted to grasp his ankles, surveying them with the same cautious uncertainty. His hair fluttered, mist-like, and his soft glow made him stand out from his surroundings as if photoshopped. “New members? You mean… the Red Huntress?”
Batman kept his expression neutral. “The Red Huntress is not a candidate at this time. You are.” He allowed that to settle for a moment, the wariness on Phantom’s face shifting slowly to realization and then delight, before he continued. “I had questions for you. There are two supervillains that you allow to run unchecked through the area. Why?”
Phantom scrunched up his nose. “Supervillains? Like… human ones?”
Also noted. It was possible Phantom’s principles did not allow him to attack humans. Something to be managed. Batman knew very well what humans were capable of. “Jack and Madeline Fenton. I’m sure you’re familiar.”
Phantom’s eyes went wide, round as saucers. “Them? They’re not supervillains!”
What.
“They are actively hunting their city’s biggest hero,” Constantine pointed out, dry as bone.
Phantom shrugged, looking oddly defensive. “Everyone does that.”
“They drive around in a weaponized RV. They have a flying battle station on top of their house. They wave their weapons around at everything that moves and a lot of things that don’t, tell everyone they meet about how much they want to torture people, especially you, and treat everyone and everything around them with what polite folk call ‘reckless disregard.’ Or, as I call it, they don’t care who they hurt to get what they want.”
Phantom crossed his arms, glancing away from both of them. “They’re just weird. Like. Eccentric.”
Constantine gave him an incredulous look.
“…Perhaps we should speak about this elsewhere,” Batman proposed. Something about Phantom’s reaction was setting off alarm bells in his mind. History indeed.
Phantom shifted uneasily. “Yeah… yeah. I know a place.”
Phantom takes them to a more secluded area - a clearing in the woods, with one picnic table. He takes a spot above one of the benches and floats there, looking pensive and unhappy, while Batman and Constantine sit on the other side.
“So, explain again how the Drs Fenton aren’t supervillains,” Constantine said, leaning against the table.
Phantom took a deep breath. “Their hearts are in the right place,” he said, trying for conviction and missing by a mile. There was desperation in his eyes, the sort of feeling Batman sometimes got around Two-Face or, god forbid, Red Hood. “They want to protect people from ghosts, and- they’re just also really interested in the science of it.” Breath, like he was struggling for it, like he needed it. “Their physical ectoscience is incredible! Their analysis of ghost powers and ectoplasm and how ghosts form, that’s all really well done. It’s just their ectopsychology that’s awful. But they’re STEM people. That’s kind of their thing, right? To not understand people?”
He gave them a pleading look, and Batman considered his reply carefully.
“…There’s no denying that they’re brilliant,” he said after a moment. “Many supervillains have doctorates in their chosen fields. Does that make them not villains?”
Phantom deflated. “I… I guess not. But they aren’t! Most of their weapons don’t hurt humans, and they’re really careful with the ones that do. They’ve never hurt a bystander with a weapon, honest! They just get kind of ecto-contaminated.”
“Ecto-contaminated.”
Phantom winced. “It’s not as bad as it sounds! They don’t get sick or anything, they just get kind of… weird, for a few weeks. Glowy, sometimes, or maybe obsessive. Stuff like that. It only gets really bad if it happens a lot, like with me and my sister.”
Batman stared at him. Phantom’s desperate rationalizations were becoming increasingly concerning. “You and your sister.”
A flurry of emotions flashed across Phantom’s face, starting with alarm and ending in a sort of defeated resignation. “…Yeah. The Fentons are, um… they’re my parents. Or they were. When I was alive.” He cleared his throat. “Their lab safety is kind of bad, so me and my sister grew up around a lot of ectoplasm.”
Alright. Well. That did explain… pretty much everything about this conversation. “Did the ecto-contamination kill you?”
“Bats,” Constantine hissed.
“No!” Phantom denied, looking faintly panicked. He shifted his position in midair and hugged his knees. “It was a lab accident! It was an accident!”
Both of them stared at him. Phantom shrank down, probably realizing that that didn’t help their case.
Bruce switched tactics. “It was their attitude about ghosts that concerned me the most. Reckless disregard to this degree is criminal, but not villainous. But they are very open about their plans for any ghosts that they capture.”
“They just don’t know any better,” Phantom mumbled, expression shifting from frantic to morose. “They genuinely believe that ghosts can’t feel pain, or fear. Like a mushroom, I guess.” He glanced at them. “I wouldn’t let them do anything. They’ve captured ghosts before, I always make sure to let them go before anything happens to them.”
“You mean you rescue them. From the Drs Fenton.” Bruce kept his tone even, but Phantom winced anyway. “And who would rescue you?”
“My sister,” Phantom said defiantly. “And my friends. We have a plan, for if they ever actually catch me.”
“Jesus, kid,” Constantine groaned, covering his face with one hand. Phantom flinched this time.
“But they won’t! They’ve only ever caught me once, and it was because I was trying to cheer Dad up. I wouldn’t let them catch me for real.”
God, he was just a kid. Bruce had started with a brusque disdain for the Drs Fenton, the same baseline dislike he regarded most villains with, but it was quickly souring into something like hatred. “Do they know that it’s you?”
“No! Of course not. They wouldn’t be shooting at me if they knew it was… me.” Phantom’s pleading expression was becoming painful to look at, eyes Lazarus green but comically far removed from anything like pit rage. “They’re good parents, they love their kids.”
“If it were that easy to get ‘em to stop shooting you, you would’ve told them by now,” Constantine pointed out grimly. Phantom looked down sharply, trying and failing to hide the heartbroken sheen over his eyes. “Kid… Phantom. Danny.” Phantom met his eyes. Constantine exhaled. “I get it. You’re in denial. But you see that you can’t go on like this forever, right? Sooner or later, they’re going to do something that can’t be undone.” He paused, and then added, “It might not be to you.”
First confusion, then understanding and horror bloomed across Phantom’s face. That moved on to anxiety, then uncertainty, then grief. Finally, he settled on defeat and resignation. “What do you need from me?”
Bruce considered him for a moment. He’d accomplished his original objective, which was just to find out why Phantom was so lenient with the Drs Fenton. But he needed to understand more about the situation. Like how Phantom could still love them so wholeheartedly. “May I see their base of operations?”
Fentonworks was easy to find, marked as it was by the neon sign and the giant metal death trap on top. Phantom pulled a key from a zipped pocket and unlocked the door, poked his head inside warily, and then relaxed and gestured for them to join him.
“Security system’s still off,” he mumbled, drifting inside. He stayed a few inches off the ground, but something in his demeanor changed as they entered, becoming tense in a different way. A reaction to danger rather than grief. “The lab’s downstairs, but I don’t really know what you’re looking for…” He trailed off.
Bruce examined the home Phantom had led them to. It was, for the most part, fairly normal, with the kitchen, dining area, and living room all visible from the doorway. But it didn’t take much examination to find the obvious red flags: a few scorch marks on the walls, chemical stains on the couch, a half-assembled gun on the dining table and an actual beaker of bright green Lazarus water on the counter.
“Your fridge is squeaking,” Constantine pointed out. Phantom sighed.
“Sounds like ecto-weenies,” he said wearily. “One of them probably left an ectoplasm sample in the meat drawer again. I’ll take care of it later. It’s not really safe for you to eat anything out of our fridge anyway.”
“The gun?” Batman asked. Phantom cast it a disinterested glance.
“I don’t recognize it, so it’s probably something new. They’ll explain it over dinner when they’re done.” Pause. “It’s probably an electric weapon. They figured out last month that I’m weak to it, so…”
So they started making more weapons to exploit their son’s weakness. Unintentional or not, Phantom’s situation was starting to make Batman feel physically sick. Constantine’s expression said that, for once, he was on the same page.
“Let’s see the lab,” Batman said. Without resistance, Phantom glided to a door nearby and opened it to a stairwell.
‘Their lab safety is kind of bad’ turned out to be, unsurprisingly, an understatement. The tables were cluttered with parts, wires, batteries, and full beakers. Folders of notes were left open and stained green. There were puddles of spilled chemical on the floor and tables, broken glass, several open drawers, and a few cans of soda lying around. There was also…
“That’s a prison cell,” Batman pointed out evenly.
“It’s for ghosts,” Phantom muttered, staring at the ground.
“And the autopsy table? With restraints?”
“Are you really going to make me answer that?”
No. But he needed Phantom to understand just how many red flags he’d forgiven, how far he’d let his parents go in order to pretend that everything was okay.
“What’s through there?” Constantine asked, nodding at a massive, locked steel door.
Phantom pulled his knees up again, curling up in midair to brood. “…Weapons vault.”
“Kid.”
“Most of them don’t hurt humans.” He sounded more sullen than desperate now.
“How many do?” Batman asked.
Phantom hesitated, then sighed. “I’ve… never counted,” he admitted. “I could point them out to you though.”
“Later,” Bruce decided. Later, they’d have to do a full inventory of everything wrong with this place. For now, he just wanted to understand the basics of what he was dealing with. “And that?”
“The portal.”
“The… portal?” Bruce’s confusion slipped out, but the alarm and anger on Constantine’s face made up for it. Phantom shrank again, turning away from them.
“The portal to the Ghost Zone,” Phantom said. “My parents finished it a few years ago. It’s… why the ghosts started attacking.”
“…That’s all we needed,” Bruce said, after a long moment. It was true, though it didn’t feel like a victory.
Not just the potential, but an actual act of supervillainy. Ripping a hole in reality certainly counted.
They returned upstairs, settling on a couch in a burst of out-of-place normalcy. Phantom disappeared briefly into the kitchen and returned with a few glasses of water, a habit his parents must have drilled into him for it to be so automatic. He sat on one of the couches with a sigh, picked up a glass, and held onto it, staring down.
“What’s going to happen to them?” Phantom asked at last.
“The best I can offer is Arkham Asylum,” Bruce said, keeping his voice as gentle as he could. “Therapy might get them to rethink their views on ghosts and what constitutes ethical research. Otherwise, it’s Belle Reve or Blackgate.” The prison system did love to centralize their worst prisoners.
Phantom swallowed thickly, and somehow scrunched down even more, balling tightly where he hovered across from them. It made him look tiny. “What’s…” He cleared his throat and spoke soft enough that Bruce had to strain to hear it. “I’m… half-human. I still… they still have custody of me. What would happen to me?”
“Do you have any other family?” Bruce asked. He had other questions, like ‘how does that even work,’ but they could wait.
“An aunt,” Phantom said quietly. “But she wouldn’t take me. I have a godfather that would, but I don’t trust him.”
“Then we can get you emancipated. The Justice League sometimes provides a stipend to heroes that need the extra income. You would certainly qualify.” Though at this point, Bruce couldn’t in good conscience make him a full member. He was too young and too emotional, too desperate for approval and willing to turn the other cheek. Maybe in a few years, after Phantom had time to mature. “Or… I could take you.”
Phantom blinked, startled, and looked up at him. Bruce held his gaze. While it wasn’t public, per se, it also wasn’t a secret that the Robins had all been children of his.
Before Phantom could answer, a squeal of tires had them all tensing and looked up. Light flashed, and Bruce looked back at the source just in time to see rings of light pass over Phantom, leaving him black-haired and blue-eyed, with no glow or antigravity about him. He landed on the couch with a soft thud.
“GHOST!”
The front door slammed open, and a bazooka pushed through, then the rest of the man holding it. Jack Fenton. He pointed it at them, and Batman tensed, but it was dropped in seconds as Jack Fenton beamed. “Danny! You’re home!”
“Hi, Dad,” Phantom said, with a weak smile. His eyes darted nervously between Bruce and his father. Bruce considered his options for a moment.
If any of Phantom’s claims about the Drs Fenton were true, it was probably the fact that they did not intentionally harm humans. He could afford to give Phantom - Danny - a few more hours of peace, if that was what he wanted.
“Jack, dear, we have guests,” Madeline butted in, slipping easily past her husband to survey them thoughtfully. There was no mania in her eyes, not like Bruce was used to seeing in his villains, but he didn’t need to see it here. Not when it had been plenty present before. “Are you… Batman?”
Bruce nodded. “And my colleague, John Constantine,” he rumbled. “We came to ask about your work with ghosts.”
Danny winced, but Madeline outright beamed. “Wonderful! Jack and I are always happy to talk about our work. Jack, dear-” Jack plopped himself down on the other couch, and Maddie smiled and sat next to Danny, putting her eye to eye with the two League members. “Amity Park is such a brilliant place to conduct our research, we see such a variety-”
Bruce listened to Jack and Maddie take turns discussing their research. It fluctuated from mildly interesting (the information about powersets, and manifestations, and ectoplasm types) to unhinged (all ghosts are evil, Phantom is manipulating the town) to random violence (detailed speculation about what Phantom’s digestive system might look like and how she planned to find out.)
But most of Bruce’s attention was on Danny. Clearly used to tuning out these sorts of rants, Danny sat beside Maddie looking at her for a minute, and then leaned in. Maddie’s voice faltered in surprise, but she flashed Danny a smile and wrapped an arm around him, letting him lean against her side. She continued speaking (something about the correlation between power levels and ‘internal mimicry’) but threaded her fingers through Danny’s hair in an obvious maternal gesture, tender and gentle. Danny closed his eyes, soaking up the affection with the same sort of desperation he’d defended her with.
The sight sent a pang of guilt through Bruce’s chest, quickly covered by a surge of rage. He wondered how Danny could love his parents when they said such vile things about him, when he was almost certain that Danny had at least one untreated burn from his mother’s gun, right now. But love was rarely rational.
Finally, Bruce couldn’t stand it. He rose from his seat.
“I need to contact the League,” he said, rougher than usual. “We’ll be back in the morning.”
He met Danny’s eyes, and Danny held his gaze for a moment before nodding reluctantly. Message received.
Bruce left without looking back, Constantine close behind.