The Lazarus Experiment

by FrostKitten

Summary:

There might be a Lazarus Pit in Amity Park. Bruce and Clark investigate.

Notes:

New fic while I'm building up more chapters of The Beginning Step.

Fic is complete, the next oneshot in the series is partially completed.

Originally drafted this in January, started to edit it, and then forgot about it until yesterday xD

Chapter 1

“They’re not really sapient creatures, of course,” Dr. Madeline Fenton says brightly, gesturing to the slide behind her. This one has a picture of a very human-looking, floating blue person dressed as a freight worker. He’s holding a box and rummaging through the contents, a happy smile on his face, and Bruce can’t help but think she’s wrong. “They cause nothing but trouble and have hurt several people already—”

“—they’re nothing but evil pests that need to be exterminated!” Dr. Jack Fenton says almost cheerfully. Bruce risks a glance over at the press section. Kal-El is there as Clark Kent, and he looks a little pale.

“Yes, exactly, dear,” his wife says, patting his arm. She clicks to the next slide. This one shows the “ectoplasmic entity” floating several boxes and apparently attacking a flying white-haired youth with them. “These two ectoplasmic entities battle throughout our city on a near-weekly basis at this point, and are responsible for a large amount of the property damage our town sees!”

“Phantom incites the other ghosts to violence,” the husband says earnestly. They flip to another slide, this one showing a trio of different “ghosts.”

The first is a buff man with fiery, electric green hair and partial armor. The middle picture is of a punk rock girl with teal hair pulled into a ponytail. The last is a Dracula ripoff with pale blue skin.

“These are just some of the other entities that plague our town,” Dr. Madeline says grimly. “There’s a ghost attack every day—”

“—sometimes multiple!”

“And that is why our research is so important!” The woman clicks to the next slide. This one shows a futuristic gun with glowing green details and what looks like a glowing green tank instead of a regular magazine. “Fenton Works develops weaponry and protective devices to defend the regular population from these evil entities! By funding Fenton Works, you’re helping save lives!”

Bruce’s eyes are still stuck on the green. Deep and bright and electric.

Lazarus water green.

This is why he’s here. This is why he’s suffering through anti-“ghost” propaganda and clearly biased research and a poorly-done investment pitch in the middle of nowhere, Illinois.

Because Tim had found a YouTube video, of all things, showing a “ghost fight,” and there the Fentons had been, blasting at what were clearly meta-humans with some kind of toxic (Lazarus) green gel. A gel that splashed harmlessly on the ground, but burned the “ghost” it struck like acid.

The likelihood of there being a Lazarus Pit in Amity Park, Illinois is slim, Bruce knows. He’s done everything he can to keep track of any new ones forming; he hasn’t see so much as a hint of one here, and he knows the signs better than anyone but R’as al Ghul himself. But they need to be sure. They can’t risk it.

So far, Bruce’s working theory is this:

There may be a Lazarus Pit in Amity Park. If that’s true, then the “ghosts” the Drs. Fenton are claiming to be such a threat may be metas experiencing Pit Madness.

Pit Madness wears off. It may take a few days, but it does. No one deserves to die for something out of their control. And Bruce is starting to wonder if the Drs. Fenton are more successful in their “hunts” than they seem to think. If they’ve successfully managed to severely injure or, Gotham forbid, kill these “ghosts” and they’re being put back into the Pit to be revived.

And experiencing Pit Madness when they come out. Cue repeating cycle.

If that’s the case, Bruce needs to put a stop to it.

“But you won’t just be funding weapons development!” Dr. Jack Fenton clicks to the next slide, which shows a green dog in a clear box. There’s no visible ventilation. Bruce can’t tell if the sides are plastic, glass, or something else, but the edges glow green. “You’ll also be funding ecto-biological studies to better determine how to exterminate these threats!”

Bruce tunes out most of the rest of the presentation. Until a picture of a child pops up on the screen.

He has to be Tim’s age. Fourteen or fifteen. Bruce vaguely recalls seeing him on one of the previous slides. He looks the most baseline human of any of the “entities” that have been shown so far—sun-tanned skin, white hair, and Lazarus green eyes. No claws, no fangs, no pointed ears. Unlike most of the other “ghosts,” who seem to wear mostly normal clothing with maybe a little armor, this kid wears a black jumpsuit with white gloves, boots, and a logo on the chest.

A hero costume. Bruce closes his eyes and takes a breath.

“This is our main target,” Dr. Madeline tells them. “This particular ghost causes chaos and destruction on a daily basis. It calls itself Phantom.”

“Excuse me,” Kal-El calls. Bruce glances over at him. He’s standing and still looks far too pale. His face is unusually grim, his lips pressed together like he’s fighting to keep his professional façade in place. Bruce makes a mental note to check on his friend later, especially since he’s doing Bruce a favor by being here—he’s taking time away from other, real stories to support Bruce’s mission, and Bruce knows Perry can’t have been happy with the proposed article. “You did say at the start that these…entities, are non-sapient, correct?”

“That’s correct!” Dr. Jack says cheerfully.

“But they speak, they interact, they choose actions, and at least one has named himself.”

“It,” Dr. Madeline stresses, “is merely an echo of a now-dead human. It doesn’t choose these things, it merely plays out a script.”

“Yet, according to your presentation, these are not pre-scripted fights.” Kal-El makes a show of looking down at his notes. “It seems, based off your testimony and the photos provided, they happen in different places and play out differently. The things they say have been different as well.”

“Scripts can be quite extensive,” Dr. Madeline says, smiling tightly. “The important thing is, it is a script. They aren’t sapient or even sentient, but they do threaten our community, so—”

“Unfortunately, dear Madeline, I believe that’s all we have time for,” an oily voice chimes in. The slideshow disappears from the screen, and Vlad Masters steps forward, drawing the crowd’s attention to himself.

Vlad Masters is a conundrum. A slimy businessman that Bruce suspects is involved in minor villainy, but all the evidence is circumstantial, nothing that can be proven. Ostensibly a scientist, but funding a pseudo-scientific endeavor.

And Bruce has checked. For all there are a myriad of “ghost hunters” throughout the United States that focus on being as scientific as possible, the Fentons are the only ones to encounter this type of “ghost” and their published work on the subject isn’t even peer-reviewed.

“Now that the illustrious Drs. Fenton have given us such an informational presentation,” Masters says pleasantly, “I ask that all of you carefully consider the possibility of funding.” The man’s voice drops threateningly. “The ghosts that appear in Amity Park have slowly made their way throughout our town, and are now starting to venture beyond our borders, so it could affect all of your very soon.” And then he smiles at them, suddenly upbeat once more. “And of course, we have compiled all of this information, plus additional reading, into packets for you to peruse at your leisure!”

Chatter fills the space as the packets are passed out. Bruce makes a show at flipping through his and doesn’t even have to fake his disinterest—it’s all the same biased propaganda he read before getting here, including a “study” that “proves” the Fentons’ subjects are “non-sapient,” even though the data clearly indicates otherwise.

(Included is a fully detailed experiment on the effectiveness of one of their weapon prototypes, with a full transcript of one of the “entities” begging for release and to stop. It ends with a note that the “entity” escaped with the help of Phantom, so they couldn’t complete the experiment.)

Not long after, the event is officially dismissed, though everyone lingers afterward to mingle. Like they won’t all see each other tonight at the gala. Bruce uses it, though, moving with the crowd so he can sidle up to Kal-El’s side. The reporter is on the edges of a group discussing the presentation in low tones, and he can tell already that the likelihood of them funding this operation is slim.

Thankfully.

“Alright?” Bruce murmurs.

“Not really,” Kal-El says lowly, “but I’ll manage.”

“We can leave, if you’d rather—”

“It’s fine.” The other man takes a steadying breath. “We might not have another opportunity like this later.”

Which is true. Bruce watches him carefully. “…I’ll see you at the gala?”

“Yeah.”

Bruce lets himself drift away, burying his concern under the public persona he developed for events like this. Brucie Wayne can’t linger and talk to a reporter that he has only met in an official capacity less than a handful of times.

He glances back. Kal-El is already moving on to another group, face determined, and the crowd as a whole is starting to break up. He should linger and smile for as long as possible—it’s what his public persona would do—but then he catches sight of Masters and the Fentons, gesticulating wildly while they try to talk a couple potential investors around. His stomach turns.

He slips away. He can use the extra time to fortify himself against the upcoming shit show.

[***]

The gala is held at Vlad Masters’ home, and it’s definitely…interesting, if nothing else.

There’s a clear divide in the room, the locals and the out-of-towners, and almost no one seems willing to breach it. Bruce certainly isn’t; instead he observes, careful to use his peripheral vision so people don’t become uncomfortable with his staring as he pretends to sip a glass of champagne.

The Drs. Fenton are trying, though, talking to anyone who will listen to them, and Kal-El is talking to the locals to get a non-Fenton view of the “ghost” problem. But they’re the only ones. Even Masters and the Fentons’ two kids are sticking with the Amity Park side of the room, watching the outsiders with suspicion.

Well, no. The two Fenton kids are definitely suspicious, but Masters is…considering. The wariness is real, but…exaggerated, as he looks over the visitors’ side. He’s using it as a cover for a search, Bruce realizes suddenly. But who could he be looking for?

Well, Masters is known throughout the business world as somehow always getting his way on deals. He’s probably looking for his next target.

Then the other man’s gaze lands on him, a smirk crawling across his face. Bruce very carefully doesn’t let his expression change—he knows most business men outside Gotham think he’s an easy mark.

He almost loses his composure, though, when he sees Masters grab the younger Fenton kid, a boy around Tim’s age, by the arm and drag him in Bruce’s direction. He can see the outsider crowd shift, shocked at how bold the man is being, at how obviously uncomfortable the kid is, but none of the locals do more than glance in their direction.

This has happened before. Frequently enough for them to be desensitized to it.

Bruce catches movement in his peripherals—Kal-El. The Kryptonian steps forward, face hard, only to pause as Jack Fenton steps in front of him.

“You wanted to know more about our research, right?”

“Uh, Dr. Fenton, your son—”

“Nahhhh, don’t worry, Dan-o’s fine! Vladdie’s his godfather, probably just gonna introduce him to some people. But our research—”

Well. No wonder the locals are all this complacent. Bruce turns and smiles at Masters, and catches Kal-El’s eye as he does. He can handle this. The Kryptonian purses his lips briefly and gives him the tiniest of nods before turning to Dr. Fenton, a polite smile fixed on his face.

“Yeah, about your research…”

Good. Brucie can cause an incident and have it brushed off as him being an airhead, but if Kal-El starts anything, his reputation as Clark Kent, investigative reporter, wouldn’t recover nearly as easily.

“Ah, Brucie!” Masters voice is gratingly cheerful. “It’s good to see you could make it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Bruce says, mirroring the annoying level of false cheer. Up close, the kid looks even more uncomfortable than he would have thought possible. He has black hair and blue eyes, like his father—Jason would probably crack a joke about him being “prime adoption bait.” “And this is…?”

“Ah, this is my godson, Danny! Say hi, Little Badger,” Masters orders, squeezing the kid’s shoulder.

The boy’s eye twitches. “Hi.”

Bruce forces out a laugh. “It’s good to meet you, Danny. Now, I’m sure you have much more interesting things to do…”

“Yeah, definitely.” The teen squirms out of Masters’ hold and takes off.

Masters sighs. “I’m so sorry about him, he’s a little…unpolished.” The white-haired man turns and watches Danny go, gaze following him almost possessively all the way to a goth girl in the corner. The hair on the back of Bruce’s neck stands on end. “I had been hoping I could introduce him to one of yours, get him a proper friend.”

Bruce coughs. “Well, unfortunately none of mine are present. The younger two are in school, and the older two have their own lives.”

“Too bad. Another time, perhaps?”

“Hopefully,” he lies. He smiles. “So, I gotta say, I’m a little surprised to find you funding something like this.” He nods at the Fentons—Jack is still trying to talk Kal-El around while his wife glares at him, clearly unhappy with the holes he’s poking in their arguments. “Ghosts? Sure they’re not just metas?”

“Oh, I assure you, they aren’t metas,” Masters says quickly. “I realize Jack comes on a little strong—” Bruce bites back a snort. “—but dearest Maddie and I are much more…scientifically minded. I’ve known them both since college. Unfortunately, I cannot devote my full attention to such pursuits anymore, not and keep DalvCo running, but hopefully with more diversity in funding…” He trails off with a shrug.

“Right, of course,” Bruce says agreeably. “So you’re familiar with their research?”

“Intimately,” Masters says firmly, “though my own field was more…biological in nature.”

“Sounds more interesting than the weaponry,” Bruce hedges.

“Ah, yes. You aren’t fond of guns, are you?” Masters gives him a sympathetic look. “Neither am I, to be entirely honest.” Then his face lights up in the most fake manner Bruce has seen in a while.

He’s about to find out what Masters wants with him.

“Well, since you’re interested, why don’t I show you my little project?”

“A project?” Not exactly what he expected.

“Oh, nothing big. Just a little thing I work on in my free time,” Masters says breezily. Around them, the crowd is definitely thinning—the locals are already leaving, even though it’s barely been long enough to be polite. The visiting potential investors are watching, and judging by the looks on their faces, considering following suit.

Bruce probably would too, if this weren’t such a good opportunity to see if the Justice League’s suspicions about Masters is true. He hesitates over the offer. He really needs to see if there’s a Lazarus Pit here in the town, but…

…well, now that he thinks about it, if Masters is the one doing “biological” research on “ghosts” in his free time, he might know where it is. The Justice League—and Bruce, honestly, long before them—already suspect him of villainy.

He shrugs carelessly. “Yeah, sounds fun! Not sure how much I’ll understand of it, though.”

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure I can explain it to you.” Masters waves a hand dismissively. He looks around and sighs disappointedly. “Well, looks like the party’s over…”

(How bad is his behavior, that everyone’s leaving so early?)

“That’s too bad,” Bruce says sympathetically.

“Well, I suppose we could go down now?” Masters offers. “Not much point hanging around here if the party’s already dead.”

“Down? Don’t tell me you keep your project in the basement?” Bruce raises an eyebrow at him.

“Well, it was easier to convert the basement than completely renovate part of the house,” Masters says with a laugh.

Bruce barely manages not to cringe. A voice that sounds suspiciously like a thirteen-year-old Dick whines about how much of a stereotype a supervillain having a basement lab is.

It’s probably not actually a lab.

“I suppose so,” Bruce agrees. “Lead the way, Vladdie!”

Masters’ eye twitches, and Bruce smiles innocently back at him. “Of course, of course. Follow me, please.”

The mayor all but stalks out of the room. Bruce grins and follows, catching Kal-El’s eye as he steps out. The reporter nods slightly and returns to his conversation, this time with the Fentons’ daughter.

He’ll keep an ear on their conversation in case Bruce needs backup. Not that he will; he’s fairly certain that whatever villainy Masters is up to, it can’t be that much of a threat. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to show a random business man an actual project.

[***]

Masters’ mansion is good-sized, and the rapidly-ending gala is in a recently renovated ballroom. The man leads Bruce away, through several hallways and even backtracking in a way that probably would have had anyone else thoroughly lost, until they come out in what looks like a sitting room. The decorations and furniture all look like an interior design display—perfect and clearly untouched.

Except for one thing. Bruce narrows his eyes slightly at the bookshelf Masters approaches. One of the books looks just slightly more worn than the others it stands next to; the top of the spine is just starting to wear, as if it’s pulled down often.

It might not seem like much, but everything else in the room is completely untouched, like it’s never been used. He doesn’t even think the couch has been sat on. So why would one well-loved book be here? He glances down. The carpet in front of the shelf is slightly displaced, creating a slightly darker tone the arcs across the floor.

Like a door.

So. Bruce takes it back. He is stupid enough to do it. Or has no intention of letting Bruce survive. Which would also be stupid. People would definitely notice if he didn’t come back from his business trip when everyone knows he’s here in Amity Park on Masters’ invitation. Not that it would come to that, but it’s not like Masters knows his actual abilities.

The white-haired man reaches up and tugs the worn book forward. There’s a soft click, and then the shelf swings forward to reveal a staircase. Well, one more tick for “not planning to let Bruce live.”

“Should I be concerned about why your lab is behind a secret door?” Bruce asks dryly. Masters only laughs in response.

“Come now, I can afford to be a bit dramatic! It’s fun, keeps people on their toes.” He winks and gestures dramatically to the stairs. “After you!”

Bruce rolls his eyes good-naturedly, ignoring the prickling unease along his spine. “I feel like I’m walking into a kidnapping.”

“I assure you, it definitely isn’t that.” Though Masters’ tone indicates it’s something. “Some of the machinery is just…a little delicate. Being underground helps insulate it properly.” The door shuts automatically behind them as they continue down, and the stairs are wide enough for Masters to step around him and take the lead.

It isn’t just a basement, Bruce quickly realizes. They go down three long flights of dimly-lit stairs—far enough down to muffle even Kal-El’s ability to hear. What kind of experiments is Masters doing?

The lab itself is brightly lit and contains a myriad of different state-of-the-art equipment. A giant metal construct lurks against the left wall, and to Bruce it looks very like someone tried to rip off Stargate SG1, just without the symbols.

(He prays Masters isn’t actually trying to create a wormhole. That is the last thing the Justice League needs to deal with.)

There’s another door on the far side, another room, but it’s closed and Bruce can’t see into it. But it honestly barely registers to him, because of what’s in the middle of the floor.

A tank of thick, electric green liquid. It shifts slightly, but it’s clear enough to see there’s nothing in it. He can feel the blood leave his face.

A personal Lazarus Pit.

“What is that?” he asks. His voice sounds distant to his own ears.

(Masters had admitted to doing the more “biological” ghost research.

Masters has a Lazarus Pit in his basement.

Is Masters experimenting on metas?)

“Ectoplasm,” Masters says casually. “Interesting stuff, really. It holds an astounding amount of energy—charge it enough, and it can do quite a bit of damage. And ghosts are completely made of it—they don’t even have organs. It’s how we know they’re not actually sapient.” He taps his temple. “Nothing to think with.”

Bruce purses his lips. He knows that isn’t strictly true—just because they don’t understand how something functions (like an alien species), doesn’t mean it’s just an echo or an imprint.

But that does suggest these entities might not be human. However…if they aren’t, what are they? Natives of this planet, or denizens of another?

What effect would Lazarus Water have on non-human entities?

“And what does this have to do with your biological research?” He tries to get a closer look at the tank without being too obvious. It’s large and deep enough to completely submerge a man in. There are wires running up the frame, and some kind of device rests at the bottom. Maybe to get readings of something…

“Well, mostly it’s to observe its reactions to stimuli,” Masters says casually, rummaging through the files on the table. “I’ve run a few tests, seeing how it reacts to animal DNA under a microscope. It’s interesting to see, really.” He pulls out a blown up picture of a group of cells slowly being invaded by thin threads of toxic green. “These came from a cat, I believe.”

“That’s…pretty, I guess?” It almost doesn’t look real. The green is arrowed straight at the cell nuclei. One’s already clearly infected, the thin line of green ending in a small blob.

It almost looks like a virus invading a host cell. Sort of.

“I tried to get a sample from an ectoplasmic entity,” Masters says, “but all I got was more ectoplasm.” He holds up another picture.

Bruce squints at it. It looks…different, from the green in the first one. In the first one it looked like a liquid—thin, no discernible shape, though no liquid would infect a cell nucleus like that. This, though…it’s green and thin, but clearly structured. If anything, it almost looks like it has a cell wall, like a plant’s, but that isn’t quite right either.

“…interesting,” Bruce says finally.

Human theory is dead, he decides. Even if they have nonstandard biology, their cells should still look an animal’s cells.

“And where does this ectoplasm come from?” Bruce asks, trying to sound clueless. “Is this…naturally occurring, or…?”

“Naturally occurring?” Vlad laughs. “I suppose so, in a sense…but not in this dimension. It comes from the Ghost Zone.”

Another dimension. It isn’t the first time he’s dealt with one, but it’s disturbing that denizens have been slipping through without the Justice League knowing for the last year.

And if these entities come from that other dimension, is it possible for cells there to be made of ectoplasm? Is that why they look so different?

He could believe Lazarus water is ectoplasm. It wouldn’t be the first time Earth has connected to another planet or timeline. But could it be such an integral part of a completely separate species?

(And now, after seeing that first picture, he wonders…what would Jason’s cells look like?)

“This is interesting to see,” Bruce starts.

“But why am I showing you?” Masters finishes. Bruce shrugs and nods. “Well, I thought you might be able to help me with something, actually.”

“I’m not sure how I can help with something like this.” He reaches casually for his pocket, for the small personal alarm he keeps there. He has a feeling he’ll need backup sooner than later, and hopefully it’ll be loud enough for Kal-El to hear this far underground.

But before he can, a bright ring forms around Masters’ waist and flares. Shit! Bruce grimaces and backs up a step, blinking to clear his vision.

A hand grabs the front of his shirt. He’s yanked upward until his feet are off the ground, and when he finally can see again, he sees a blue-skinned vampire—the same one from the presentation. Vlad grins, showing off large, sharp fangs, and floats slowly over to the tank.

He is not letting himself get dunked in Lazarus Water! Bruce slams his fist into the vampire’s face, but it passes right through.

“You can help me confirm a theory,” Masters purrs.

He’s shoved into the tank with a splash. He barely has time to take a breath before his head is shoved against the glass bottom. He struggles until he’s released; before he can push himself up to the surface, though, something hisses.

His palm slams uselessly into a glass lid.

Chapter 2

Notes:

There's a reference in here to When the Side Quest Gets Real by whitebeltwriter. Love that fic <3

Clark can’t remember a time when he’s been so exhausted. Not physically, but emotionally and mentally.

He’s spent the last hour with one ear on Bruce and Masters’ frankly disturbing conversation as they wander through the house, while simultaneously listening to Jack Fenton go on and on and on about the “ghost threat” and Phantom in particular and how they want to rip Phantom apart to see what makes him tick—

(A kid. Clearly a kid, and just trying to keep everyone safe, if what he’s heard from other locals is accurate. If Clark ever hears the phrase “molecule by molecule” again, it will be far too soon.)

He decides to blame that for the reason he doesn’t immediately clock when the room starts emptying.

By the time he finally decides Jack Fenton doesn’t have a single rational thought in his brain when it comes to “ghosts” or actual science, he and the Fentons are the only ones left.

He frowns. He can still hear Bruce, but…it’s getting more muffled. That shouldn’t be possible if he’s in the house, and the man knows better than to leave it without at least letting Clark know. He made that particular mission protocol. Did they go underground?

“Hey, you alright?” Clark looks down. It’s the Fenton boy. What was his name? He thinks someone called him Danny. The kid tilts his head, concerned.

“Uh, yeah. I’m looking for my friend, we were supposed to leave together.” Clark takes a look around the room, mostly for show. “You seen him? About my height, I think he was talking to Mr. Masters.”

“And you let him?” Danny grimaces. “They might’ve gone to Vlad’s office, I can show you where it’s at.”

“Yeah, didn’t Dr. Fenton say he was your godfather?” He follows the kid out of the room.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” Clark raises an eyebrow, and the kid huffs. “The guy’s obsessed with my mom, super creepy about it, and thinks if he can win me over he can convince my mom to leave my dad for him. Anyway, I’m Danny.”

“Nice to meet you, Danny. I’m Clark Kent.”

“The investigative reporter?” Danny asks curiously. “Wow, I didn’t think my parents’ research warranted that.”

“I didn’t realize I was famous,” Clark laughs. “But no, I came here with my friend. He got invited by Masters and got curious.”

“Yeah, I forget sometimes how weird it sounds to other people.” They stop in front of a door, and Danny kicks it hard enough for the resulting bang to reverberate down the hall. “Hey, Frootloop, open up!”

No one answers.

They both stare at the door, Clark trying to focus on any sounds that might come from it. It’s eerily silent. Danny frowns.

“That normally gets a response,” he mutters, before opening the door. Empty.

“Is there anywhere else they would have gone?” He’s starting to feel uneasy. He can still hear them talking, but he can’t hear the words.

“Maybe…do you know what they were talking about?”

“Uh, I think something about Vlad’s research? Does he do research?”

Danny makes a face. “Yeah, you could say that. He has two degrees, one in biology and one in ecto-science. I know he has a lab somewhere here, but I don’t know where the entrance is.” Clark must make some kind of face, because then Danny says, “He has it hidden like some kind of spy novel, the dramatic bitch.”

“Of course he does,” Clark mutters. “Any ideas where to start looking?”

Then three things happen at once.

Bruce’s heartbeat picks up. Just slightly. The only tell Clark has if he panics. Wherever he is, Clark can barely hear it.

The lights flicker once, twice, and then shut off. He catches the fizzle and pop of a blown fuse.

Bruce screams.

Danny’s eyes widen like he hears it too. Then he grabs Clark’s wrist. “Alright, screw looking, we’re taking the fast way down.”

“Wha-oh, Rao-!” They sink into the floor, and then they’re flying through foundation, dirt, and metal, until they come to a stop in a room with lights flickering wildly.

There’s a tank of green liquid in the center, brightly lit from the electricity coursing through it. A form inside arches and twists, and oh Rao, that’s Bruce—

“We have to get him out of there!” Danny darts forward, shaking him out of his shock. Before the teen can get more than a couple steps, though, a blast slams into him, sending him rolling.

“Don’t interfere,” hisses a…floating vampire?

(What is his life right now?)

A light flashes, and then a black and white blur leaps past him.

“Screw you, Plasmius,” Phantom snarls, and slams bodily into the other.

Well. Clark has concerns, but those are for later. He runs to the tank, fist drawn back.

“Get him out of there!”

Bruce isn’t moving.

He slams his fist into the glass lid. It shatters immediately, but the pieces sink slowly into the green liquid, like it’s more a gel. He ignores it, plunges his hand in and grabs Bruce’s shirt to pull him up…a completely different shirt, but now is not the time to wonder why.

With the two possible metas duking it out, he thinks at first the blasts and snarling are just. Distracting him. From hearing Bruce’s heartbeat. And there’s a weird humming noise coming from somewhere.

Then he pulls Bruce from the tank and realizes no. He isn’t distracted. His chest isn’t moving, his heart isn’t beating, and the green liquid drips away to reveal his hair is as shockingly white as the streak in Jason’s.

“Bruce!” Clark lays him on the floor, well away from the tank. He needs to do CPR, but he’s terrified he’ll press too hard.

Before he can start, though, Bruce groans, eyes fluttering.

Chest still not moving, lungs still not drawing in air, heart still not beating.

But his eyes open and he sits up, and the humming grows louder.

His eyes are green. Not. Not like Jason’s, exactly, when he’s raging. A similar glow, but a brighter shade. Clearer, almost.

He doesn’t think Bruce will appreciate the difference.

“Clark?” Bruce croaks. His voice is a wreck. “What—?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Phantom shrieks before Clark can answer. The two “ghosts” rocket by overhead.

“I think your meta theory might be right,” Clark tells him. He feels almost numb. It’s strange. By almost every standard Clark knows, Bruce is registering as—as—

“…and I was just thinking it was wrong,” Bruce mutters back. He twists to watch the other two. One of the vampire’s—Plasmius?—blasts hits the door, causing it to slide open. There are more tanks filled with green liquid and still forms, but Clark doesn’t have it in him to look more closely right now.

Then Bruce catches his reflection in the tank.

Clark knows his friend is too controlled to do anything as dramatic as a gasp, but he makes a sound that mimics an inhalation. Mimics, because there still isn’t any air moving through his lungs. His chest doesn’t even expand.

Bruce reaches up, threading his fingers through his hair. His eyes brighten and the strange humming increases—wait.

Clark grabs him and presses his ear to Bruce’s chest in an attempt to ignore the sounds of the battle above them. Bruce doesn’t seem to even notice, still staring at his own reflection. The humming is in Bruce’s chest.

Almost exactly where his heart should be.

[***]

White hair. Green eyes. Bruce stares at his reflection, trying and failing to ignore the mounting horror. He looks like he had more than just a quick dip in a Lazarus Pit.

What happened?

He remembers talking to Masters in the lab…here. He remembers a flash of light and the entity known as Plasmius appearing. He hadn’t seen Masters then. He remembers being shoved in the tank. He remembers…he remembers…why can’t he—

A stray blast hits the tank’s power source. It pops and sparks with electricity, and Bruce flinches automatically.

(He remembers muscles seizing so hard he was sure they would tear away from his skeleton, and somehow screaming despite his lungs filling with ectoplasm.)

And there’s a background humming that’s getting louder and more high-pitched. It doesn’t help, it just makes the desire to panic worse.

“Bruce, calm down.” He tears his eyes away from his reflection. Kal-El sits up. “We’ll figure this out, I promise.” Oh Gotham, Kal-El’s using that tone he uses on panicking civilians. “Just take a-well. Just calm down, alright?”

Bruce squints at him, momentarily thrown off. It. Sounded like Kal-El was about to tell him to take a breath. Why did he stop?

Another blast lands far too close to them for comfort. Phantom snarls and tackles Plasmius through a wall. “We need to move. Can you stand?” Kal-El asks urgently.

Fuck, right. Now isn’t the time for a breakdown. He nods and tries to shove the panic down. It’s a lot harder than it should be, and he isn’t quite successful, but it’s enough, he tells himself. It has to be enough.

But trying to get his legs under him fails entirely. They spasm and seize up.

“Okay.” Kal-El tracks Phantom and Plasmius for a few moments, and Bruce can see him debating entering the fight.

“I tried to land a hit earlier,” Bruce croaks. He coughs to clear his throat. It feels weird—his torso acts like he coughed, but he can’t feel the muscles contract. “I phased right through him.”

“So I can’t grab him, can’t punch him, and they’re moving too much for heat vision to be safe in close quarters,” Kal-El concludes. Bruce nods and takes a breath.

(Again, it feels…weird. His chest moves. But it doesn’t feel right.)

“The stairs are that way,” he says, nodding his head at them. “They keep popping up over there.” He has no doubt it’s an attempt from Plasmius to keep them from leaving. “But he’s staying away from the other room.”

“Should we see what he’s up to, then?” Kal-El says with a grin. He grabs Bruce and hauls him up, and Bruce lets out a startled hiss. “Did you just—”

“Dammit, K-Clark, you know I don’t like you doing that—”

“Not the point!” The Kryptonian zips them over to the other room, hiding them right inside the doorway for a little more cover. “Bruce, you hissed at me!”

Bruce opens his mouth to tell him he absolutely did not, but. He runs the last few moments back and closes his mouth.

“What the hell?” he mutters. Did. Did Jason do that when he first came out of the Pit? He’ll have to ask. That’ll be a fun conversation. Not.

Oh Gotham, he’ll have to explain. The humming picks up again, and he really wishes it would stop—

“Bruce, calm down,” Kal-El says firmly. Something in the other room breaks. “Now isn’t the time.”

“Right,” he says faintly. It really isn’t, but his emotions are just…all over the place, completely out of his control in a way he almost never allows, and he’s having far too difficult a time getting them back in hand.

But his body’s odd spasming is nearly nonexistent now, so he can at least distract himself. “Help me up, I want to look around.”

“Maybe you should rest a little longer—”

Phantom barrels through the door and crashes into a tube. He must have been going too fast to phase. The tube cracks on impact and shatters under the pressure of the ectoplasm inside, coating the kid with it.

But the worst part is the body that slides out.

It looks like Phantom. The same features, the same face and hair and even wearing the same costume.

Then it splats onto the ground and dissolves.

Bruce barely keeps himself from gagging. Wrong, wrong, wrong, it shouldn’t—he doesn’t know how, but he knows it shouldn’t have done that!

(Unnatural. Wrong. He looks at the resulting goop, thicker than the ectoplasm the body had been floating in but rapidly thinning out. There. There should be something there, and there isn’t, and that’s wrongwrongwrong—)

Phantom pushes himself up with a groan just as something blurs past them. The kid growls and swipes his hand through the air, the tips of his fingers sharp and glowing.

Plasmius doesn’t even have time to stop before he barrels through what looks like a rift hanging in the air. Another slash, and it zips closed behind him.

“Finally,” Phantom mutters. “Been trying to get him through one of these, I don’t have a thermos on me.”

Bruce squints as he tries to parse that nonsensical sentence. “What does a thermos have to do with anything?”

Phantom turns toward him. “The Fenton Thermos is—oh. Uh.” He winces. “Sorry. Um. I think there’s a more important conversation to have first.” He looks around and makes a face. “Somewhere not here, preferably.”

Bruce takes a quick glance around, and yeah, he can see why Phantom would want to leave. He hadn’t gotten a chance to really look around before, and he’s kind of glad he didn’t.

The room is full of tubes. Approximately three-quarters of them are full of ectoplasm, and each contains a curled-up, floating version of Phantom.

He says “version,” because even though he knows they’re meant to be clones, they aren’t…right.

They feel wrong. It’s like hearing nails screeching down a chalkboard and feeling the sensation of it in his teeth.

For some of them, it’s obvious. Hell, one of them is half-melting in its tube. For others, though, it’s like the most extreme Uncanny Valley feeling he’s ever experienced. Seemingly perfect, but something just slightly off in a way that’s hair-raising.

The other quarter is filled with an amber liquid, and the form inside is the Fenton boy. Dan or something? Dr. Fenton called him “Dann-o.” They’re harder to sense, but they also feel wrong.

But seeing Dan and Phantom side-by-side…they look almost perfectly alike. Their hair is different, but their other features…

This is clearly the same boy.

“Uh, you okay?”

No, he isn’t. Bruce turns to the teen, then looks around pointedly. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Phantom says cheerfully. There’s a low-pitched whirring that makes Bruce think otherwise…for some reason. “This…isn’t the first time.”

And oh, how Bruce hates that declaration.

“Look, it’s. It’s not great, but honestly, it’s not going to cause any problems.” Phantom gives the tubes a sad look. “They won’t even survive.”

“I’ll call the Justice League,” Kal-El sighs.

“No,” Phantom says sharply. They look at him sharply.

“And why not?” Bruce snaps. He gestures at the tubes, determinedly ignoring the barely-perceptible shaking of his arm. “He cloned you. This legally counts as super-villainy, even before you take into account what he just did to me.”

“And if you call them, you’ll get the both of us killed,” Phantom growls. He plants himself in front of Bruce and stares him down like he can change Bruce’s mind by sheer force of will.

But Bruce isn’t about to let himself be bullied by a kid. He glares back and growls.

When Phantom growls back, Kal-El grabs them both by the backs of their shirts. “Alright, that’s enough. Bruce, get it together. Phantom, I think you should explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Bruce snaps. “The Justice League isn’t going to kill either of us—”

“But the US government will,” Phantom interrupts. “It’s a law. Ectoplasmic entities are to be turned over to the Ghost Investigation Ward for further investigation, experimentation, and eventual extermination, as per the Anti-Ecto Control Acts passed last year.”

“What,” Bruce and Kal-El say flatly.

[***]

“Welcome to Amity Park Park,” Danny says cheerfully, gesturing at their surroundings. “No you may not make fun of the name, that’s local privilege only.”

Clark’s lips twitch. Bruce (fucking WAYNE, holy SHIT, Tucker’s gonna lose his mind when he finds out!) only looks dead inside as a response, which. Mood.

The area they’re in is heavily wooded, and the spot Danny led them to is far enough away from the walking trails that no one would see them. Or hear them, if they stay quiet.

Not that anyone would come this far out. The park had a haunted reputation long before actual ghosts started appearing, and that wasn’t just to attract tourists.

“…okay, moving on!” Danny settles on a fallen log. “There’s a lot of information to cover, a lot of context, so uh. This might take a while. If anyone’s waiting for you, you might wanna check in with them now.” Danny looks over at Clark. “Specifically, you should, cuz your friend’s gonna fry your phone when he touches it.”

“…I’ll text your family first,” Clark sighs. “They’re probably freaking out about your phone going offline.”

Bruce grimaces. “They’re probably loading up now.” He leans over Clark’s shoulder as the man taps at the screen, and his core’s humming takes on a distressed tone. “Wait, why would you word it like that?!”

“Word what like what?” Danny drifts over, trying shamelessly to peer at the screen. Clark dodges with all the skill of a man with siblings. Or possibly small children. Both?

“Really, Clark? ‘Functioning’? You think that’ll calm them down? You couldn’t just tell them ‘he’s alive’? You make me sound half-dead—”

“Well,” Danny and Clark say at the same time.

“What do you mean, ‘well,’” Bruce says, his core edging into panic. Which is kind of interesting, because his voice doesn’t actually reflect it and the only facial cue Danny has is his eyes glowing a bit more.

Clark glances at him. “Picked up on that?”

“Personal experience,” Danny replies, gesturing at himself.

“Wait—”

“But this leads into our explanation!” Danny says cheerfully. Then he mimics taking a breath—fight him, it’s still calming—and tries to decide where the hell to start.

If this was him, right after his accident, what would he want to know first?

“Okay, first off, the Anti-Ecto Control Acts.” Danny scrubs a hand through his hair. “That’s the biggest thing. They came into effect this year, but the Ghost Investigation Ward has been running around since the it was first passed last year. Don’t mess with them or you’ll end up in one of their labs. I know the lab location here in Amity Park, but I don’t know about any others yet, so if they keep you somewhere else I wouldn’t be able to come get you.”

“And you think the Justice League would just let them?” Clark asks neutrally. “Did something happen with the League, or…?”

“It’s. Complicated.” Danny sighs. “So basically, when the first big thing happened, we called the Justice League. They didn’t believe us, but they referred us to Justice League Dark anyway.” Clark and Bruce nod cautiously. “Except Justice League Dark also refused to come out. They said it just wasn’t possible for that many ghosts to come through without them noticing. I tried to tell them about the portal, but—”

“Wait,” Bruce interrupts, “portal?”

“Yeah, I’ll get to that in a sec. Anyway, the guy from the JLD said it wasn’t possible to build a portal into the Infinite Realms, which is where the ghosts come from, with technology, and even a mage would have a hard time opening a rift that big with magic. So.” Danny shrugs helplessly. “We kinda got stuck that time. It worked out, but it sucked.

“And then the next major attack happened, and this time we got video proof, but when we tried to call back, the call wouldn’t connect. Tucker said the GIW has some kind of program that keeps us from connecting to certain phone numbers or websites, like Justice League Dark’s contacts. Stuff still gets through occasionally to the wider web, but it’s usually ‘debunked’ and people ignore it.”

“Wait, how many ‘major’ attacks have happened?” Clark asks incredulously, and wow, Danny can hear the air quotes.

“Uh…” Danny looks down at his hands, silently counting.

“…never mind, that’s too many,” the reporter sighs. Danny smiles sheepishly.

“Okay, so the Ghost Investigation Ward is isolating the town,” Bruce concludes. “And they’re catching and experimenting on ghosts.”

“Yep, and this matters to you,” Danny says firmly, pointing a finger at him. “Because however you ended up in a vat of ectoplasm—”

“Masters shoved me in—”

“—yeah, that tracks. Anyway, you’re a Halfa, like me. Half dead, half a ghost, and,” Danny stands and forces his heart to beat, triggering his transformation back, “half alive. Half human.” He forces a grin. “So when you’re like that, we can’t really say you’re alive.”

Neither of them laugh. Bruce looks like he’s having an existential crisis.

“How,” Bruce finally says. “How can you be half alive and half dead?”

Danny shrugs helplessly. “Look, all I know is that ectoplasm heals the dead. I’m kinda assuming you’re in the same boat as me and Vlad—the electricity killed you, and the ectoplasm healed you. Except it just. Kept going around and around, back and forth, until the ectoplasm bonded to our DNA. As you can imagine, it doesn’t happen very often. Mine and Vlad’s accidents were both due to portals. Looks like he decided to try something slightly different.”

“Portals? Plural?” Clark asks sharply.

“Uhhh, yeah. Well.” Danny sighs. “My parents are ghost hunters, and they’ve been studying ghosts for a long time, right? Well, they found something in college about a place where ghosts live when they aren’t on the living plane, and they wanted to study it.

“Their whole research project in college was about this other world, and they tried to build a portal to reach it. But it malfunctioned. That’s how Vlad turned. Which, by the way? Don’t tell anyone about him being a Halfa, he’ll out you so he can get away from the GIW. He’s already threatened me with that.”

“Charming,” Bruce mutters. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Somewhere in the Infinite Realms.” Danny shrugs. “I wasn’t aiming anywhere in particular, so it’ll probably take him a while to get back.

“Anyway, that was one. That portal never functioned properly.

“But then there was my parents’ second portal. That one…” Danny swallows hard. He’s never had to actually explain this before, not to a stranger. His friends were actually there for it, and they all avoid the topic of how whenever possible. “That one ended up working. Like, it didn’t at first. Because they uh. They placed the on button on the inside, and. Well. Long story short, I accidentally hit it.”

“Why were you even in it to begin with—”

“And similar to Vlad’s accident, I got shocked with enough electricity to kill me, and healed with the ectoplasm that forms the portal itself,” Danny finishes, ignoring the question. “And then Vlad built his own portal at some point, don’t know when exactly.”

“Okay, but what were you doing in the—”

Danny holds up a hand to halt Clark’s question. “No.”

“No?” Bruce raises an eyebrow at him, and he feels distinctly scolded. Which, not fair! How does Bruce Wayne manage to guilt-trip him better than his own father?

“It’s rude to ask about deaths,” Danny explains patiently. “And if someone shares with you, you don’t go demanding more details. That’ll get you in a fight faster than almost anything else.”

“That’s.” The other Halfa deflates slightly. “Alright, fine.”

Clark gives Bruce a look, like he can’t believe the other man gave up that easily. Danny isn’t fooled, though. Bruce Wayne has a reputation as an airhead and a slut, but he also runs a multi-billion dollar corporation and organizes various actually helpful and successful charities. He wouldn’t be able to do that without some kind of brain between his ears.

That man’s probably going to go looking for more information as soon as he’s able. Luckily for Danny, that’s probably going to take a couple months, at least.

“Similar to the death thing, don’t ask about Obsessions,” Danny tells him firmly. “But figuring that one out is usually obvious enough, once you’ve spent enough time with a ghost.”

“And what’s an Obsession?” At this point, Bruce is just sounding more and more resigned to his fate.

“It’s like.” Danny pauses and purses his lips. “Uh, think about something really important in your life. Like, really important. It can be anything. Your job that you really like and want to do perfectly, a hobby you take time for every day, something you always take time to watch or listen to or look at because it’s just. Too beautiful not to.

“Now amp that emotion up to eleven, and imagine thinking about it all the time. Everything you do, every thought you have, revolves around it.” Danny looks up at the canopy of leaves above them. Honestly? That description pales in comparison to the actual experience of it, but he has no other words for it. Oh well; Bruce will get to know how it feels soon enough. “Most ghosts have one, maybe two. The more powerful ones might have three or four, occasionally, but that’s a lot of ways to split your attention, so it isn’t the norm, even for them.

“For a full ghost, it’s the driving force behind their existence. Something to keep them going. It’s not like they have to eat or breathe or go to a job.

“For us? For Halfas? It’s. More complicated.” Danny thinks about how often he just sits on the roof of the house and stares at the stars for an hour or three. The patrols he runs invisibly through the town, even though he knows no other ghosts will be there because there’s an event in the Infinite Realms they’re attending, an event he wants to attend as well but can’t because what if. Jazz insists it’s too often, evidenced by his dropping grades. Danny thinks it’s barely enough to get by with his sanity intact. “We are driven on by our Obsessions, but…we have human lives to live.” He grimaces and looks back down. “Sorry to say, you’ll probably lose some sleep over this one.”

“Just what I need,” Bruce sighs, and Clark’s lips twitch.

“I’ll warn your kids,” Clark promises, pulling out his phone again. “But before I do that…Danny, are you okay? Staying here, I mean?”

Bless him, he sounds genuinely concerned.

“I’m fine,” Danny says, waving a hand dismissively.

“Danny. Masters is cloning you. And your parents want to rip your alter ego apart at a molecular level.”

“I told you, Vlad’s Obsessed with my mom, right?” Clark grimaces and nods, and Bruce looks vaguely ill. “Well, it’s an Obsession, for him. Having her, having the perfect family. But I’ve never been willing to play along. So he’s been trying to clone me so he can have that perfect family, a perfect son that will do whatever he wants.” He makes a face. “It’s creepy and weird, but he isn’t sending them out to kill me or anything.” Anymore. And Ellie only did it because she thought she would die if she didn’t.

But they don’t look convinced by that, so it’s time to go.

“Alright, I need to get back before I’m missed, but before I do that, let’s talk about transformations. You can’t be seen walking around like that, especially in this town.”

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Half-a-Ghost, Half-a-Bat