Phantom Files

FILE 16: Ding-Dong, the Witch is-

AN: This was a dare of a New Years resolution. I am so disconnected from this story but I was asked to do a few chapters. If I conclude it by then, nice. If it's just chapters of tangents, then I still completed my goal.

This isn't for you, my reader. This is a challenge to myself and a vain way to prove my friend wrong. Enjoy the fruit of my apathetic writing.

Danny was never the luckiest man, he'd have to admit. He experienced many challenges and many losses. From always missing the bus to falling for the same trick multiple times, it was a wonder how he managed how he survived life.

He couldn't help but think of a time with Jazz from childhood. Perfect Jazz had gotten the last slice of cake of his own birthday, and he was absolutely livid. So little Danny, as petty revenge, planted three beetles on the cake when her back was turned. It did the job, because as soon as Jazz saw them she screamed.

Predictably, it backfired. Jazz, in her panic, threw the cake directly where Danny stood. Too busy laughing, the treat smacked right into his face. One of the beetles landed in his open mouth, which was horrifying to say the least. He quickly spit it out, and then proceeded to spend the rest of the evening washing down the taste with every sugary drink he could find. There was no greater example of his bad luck. He was never known to be lucky.

But Danny considered it pretty damn lucky to be sitting on an office chair in Batman's lair.

Damian proudly announced it as 'The Batcave', which doubled the coolness factor.

When Danny removed the blindfold around his eyes—because they wouldn't let him I remove it until they were there—he started to spew questions. "Oh my god, is this your lair? There are plenty of psychological implications for a lair, you know? Is this a place you find comfort in? Do you feel like you need it? What are-"

"Be an idiot later, Fenton. We're still here on business," Damian sneered at him, but his face turned smug as if to say 'that's right, be amazed of where I spend 50% of my day.'

Danny sat by a medical table, across from a massive computer filled with holograms and glass screens. The console beneath it was outfitted with buttons and keys and all sorts of contraptions straight from a sci-fi movie.

Batman faced Danny, looking vaguely intimidating. Hell, it was intimidating. But Danny really couldn't help that his excitement overtook every other emotion.

"What did you give Freeze?" Batman demanded an answer.

Danny swished a dismissive hand, hoping to hide the up and coming nervousness he had. "Just a... magic crystal. Suppose to produce a sort of forever-ice."

"Why." It was sharper, far from a polite request.

He'd started to shift in his seat. "He was authorized for execution. I was just trying to rescue him."

Now that Danny thought about it, if Damian was Robin then that'd mean Batman was...

Damian tsk'ed loudly, a scowl settling back onto him. "You were sympathizing with a criminal."

The scowl immediately mirrored. "He just needs someone to talk to! And about to die!"

The Robin shook his head. "There surely could've been a possibility of him experiencing prosecution while you continue your communication."

"I tried! Damian,"—and the boy flinched at the mention of his name, but he hid it well; the dark kept him safe—"c'mon. I'm not the type to go head first," Danny argued.

Though, he was glad that the topic was shifted to Damian. He was far more comfortable talking to the younger boy and it took the pressure off the interrogation.