Chapter Text
There are a lot of places Danny could go for help. Tucker’s, until Danny’s parents think to call the house. Sam’s, for at least 24 hours until her parent’s notice. Vlad's for a full week if he resigns himself to some blackmail. Jazz, if she wasn’t on a summer trip halfway around the world.
There are also a lot of places Danny shouldn’t go. Metropolis with Superman and Supergirl, believing the law will always be just. Washington DC with its tiny population and resident Wonder Woman. Gotham City with Batman, a low tolerance for metahumans, and a high crime rate.
Danny picked Gotham City–specifically Crime Alley.
The multiple vigilantes in the city shouldn’t pose a problem; they are normal humans. No superpowers to contend with when he’s trying to hide. As long as Danny lays low and doesn’t rob a bank, no one should notice him. Most importantly, the Ghost Investigation Ward has no base in the city, unlike Metropolis or DC.
As a half-ghost and teen hero, Danny’s not too worried about staying safe in Crime Alley. By the Ancients, he defeated Pariah Dark and went toe-to-toe with Mayor Vlad. He’s ready for anything the street can throw at him.
It’s this attitude that landed him in his current situation, sitting in a free clinic with a bleeding bullet wound to the arm.
Maybe he underestimated Gotham City.
“Dan?”
The voice of a nurse jerks Danny out of his thoughts and he hops off the plastic chair, fabric wadded to his arm.
“Right this way, room 2. Dr. Thompkins will be with you in just a moment.”
The nurse leaves and Danny looks around the small patient room. It’s dingy, not with dirt, but with age. The computer is bolted to the desk, which is bolted to the wall. There are no magazines to look at while he waits–not that he wants to.
Still, it’s free, and Danny is out of options.
The door opens and an older lady in a white coat comes in. Her hair is white as well, trimmed to chin length. Half-moon glasses perch on her nose. “Hello Dan, I’m Dr. Leslie Thompkins. How can I help you?”
He holds up the bloody cloth with a grimace. “I got shot.”
Dr. Thompkins’ lips pinch and she pulls on gloves before scooting her rolling stool toward him. One of the wheels squeaks. “If I ask why you were on the wrong side of a gun, will you tell me?”
Danny can’t help but huff a slight laugh at that. “Look, it wasn’t on purpose. I was walking down the street, minding my own business.”
Her flat look says she doesn’t believe him.
“Honest! There was an altercation across the street, someone pulled a gun, and the shot missed. Didn’t miss me, though.” He’s lucky it didn’t hit him in the chest. Very lucky he’s not bleeding out the rest of his half-life on the street.
The doctor hums and cuts away the arm of his shirt to get a better look. “The bullet’s still in there. That’s blocking a lot of the bleeding right now.”
And the reason Danny didn’t phase it out. He doesn’t have access to any of the first aid materials he had in Amity Park.
“I can pull the bullet out and you shouldn’t need stitches. It didn’t go that deep, so you shouldn’t have to worry about muscle complications. You’re going to need to keep it clean and bandaged, though. I’d like you to come in every two weeks so I can check up on the healing. I’m also going to give you some antibiotics to take to prevent infection.”
Dr. Thompkins opens drawers and pulls out tools, while Danny lets himself drift. He’s had enough injuries and stitches from ghost fighting to learn to disassociate slightly when getting patched up. Jazz was decidedly not impressed with this skill when he mentioned it.
Still, it’s a heck of a lot better than focusing on the bullet being removed from his arm. It makes a small, metallic ting as it drops in a dish. Then there’s gauze pressed against the welling blood on his arm. Antiseptic stings the edges of the wound as it’s brushed over.
“You marked your age as 18,” Dr. Thompkins says. It’s a bland enough statement to set Danny’s senses on high alert.
“Yeah? What about it?” It’s not too far off; he’s nearly 17.
She tugs the gauze she’s wrapping around his arm a little tighter than necessary. “I have eyeballs, kid. Despite my doddering age, they work. I’m not going to pry into your situation–heaven knows you street kids never share. But I’m telling you this once and I want you to listen.”
She holds up a finger, shaking it slightly in his face. “You need help, you come to me. Whether it’s stealing, bad parents, drugs–I won’t ask questions. I’ll give you what help I can.”
Danny’s mouth asks a question before his mind catches up. “What’s the catch?”
One eyebrow goes up. “No violence. I’ve seen too much of it during my life.” Dr. Thompkins gives a final tug on a knot and pushes back, done. “There you go. You can pick up the antibiotics from the nurse. I want to see you back here in a week, understand?”
Rather than promise something he might not be able to do, Danny asks another question. “Why do you do this?” He gestures to encompass the free clinic. “Here, of all places?”
There’s something sad in the doctor’s eyes. It’s a look Danny’s far too familiar with. Of people who’ve seen things they shouldn’t and had to live with those truths. “People deserve help. If I don’t hold out hope for them, how will they change?”
With a whispered thanks, Danny slips out the door. He collects his meds from the nurse and nearly runs out the clinic door before the doctor pins him into another visit. As soon as he’s out of sight, he goes invisible.
Crime Alley might have taken him by surprise, but so did Dr. Thompkins’ kindness.
Considering it took less than 6 hours to end up with a bullet wound, Danny approaches the task of finding a place to stay with a lot more caution. He’ll need to find a job soon, but for now, he has some cash to pay for a room.
Crime Alley doesn’t lend itself to nice places to stay. There are hints of its old glory; a theater with smashed signs and windows. Buildings that once lined the streets in a grand row sag against their neighbors. The street is full of garbage and debris. Broken glass comes from windows as often as smashed bottles.
Ignoring the throbbing burn of his arm, Danny stays invisible as he picks his way down the street. It’s late afternoon and he really rather not be on the street at night. Not just for his own safety, but that’s when the Bats come out.
The streets change little in disrepair as he walks along them. There are fewer homeless people than Danny expected to see. Everyone on the street seems to have a purpose and most openly carry weapons.
He’s reaching the edge of the neighborhood before it transitions to the dead zone between neighborhoods when he catches sight of the For Rent sign in a window.
A quick glance shows no one around, so he drops his invisibility and presses the buzzer. The sound is audible from the street; an ancient wheeze that threatens to shake the building down around him.
There are shouts inside, then silence. The door opens a crack.
“Whaddya want.” One sharp eye squints past the safety chains.
Danny waves toward the barred window. “Room to rent?”
The eye gives him a swift up and down. “I’m not doing handouts.”
“I can pay.” Danny doesn’t specify how, or whether he has that money on him currently. He’s not a total idiot, whatever Sam might jokingly say.
Another sweep of the eye. “Rent is $400 a month. If you’re late, I’ll kick you out. If you bring trouble here, I’ll kick you out. If you touch my girls—“
“You’ll kick me out?” Danny finishes.
“No. I’ll gut you myself. Do we have a deal?”
It’ll take nearly all his cash, but at least he’ll have a place to stay for a month. Who knows what will change in that time? He nods.
The door shuts and chains rattle as they are removed. Then it’s pulled open again. “Come in. You can call me Mama.”
“I’m Danny. Just—Danny.”
Mama is in her 40s and has dark skin and darker hair, pinned tight to her head. She’s plump in a way that should make her soft but doesn’t. Mama is nothing but hard steel and sharp, painted nails.
Danny sidles in and glances into the house. The wallpaper is faded brocade, peeling from the wall in places. The ratty rug inside the door does little to lessen the creaking of the wood floors.
“Rule 1,” Mama says, “Don’t press the doorbell again. Come on, I’ll show you around.”
The narrow hall intersects another. “My room is to the left. The only reason you have for going there is to hand me rent or to tell me this place is burning down, understand?”
Charming. Danny nods, anyway.
“To the right is the kitchen and the stairs up to the rooms.”
The kitchen is narrow, but cherry yellow paint fights against the smoke stains.
“Anything you cook with needs to be cleaned after. If you break something, you replace it.”
Unlike the rest of the house, the stairs are in better condition. The creaks are eaten by the thick carpet runner.
“The rooms are down this hall. The bathroom and shower are at the end of the hall. There’s a smaller one with just a toilet at the other end, near your room.”
Mama leads the way to the room at the end, opening the door and gesturing. “Got any bags?”
“I’ll bring them later.” He hid his belongings near where he entered Gotham City for safety. He can bring them back as a ghost when he’s sure it won’t be stolen.
“I’ll let you get settled in. Rent is due upfront; bring it by tonight. There will be no free stays. And behave around my girls.” A hard glare. “Room and house key; always lock the front door.”
With that, she hands Danny his keys and shuts the door.
The room is small, but it has two windows looking out each corner. There’s a bed and a wardrobe on the right. To the left is a small desk attached to the wall and a chair. By the door is a mirror, cracked in one corner.
Danny slides into the chair and takes a slow breath. He’s found a place to stay. He can do everything else; just survive one step at a time.
First, though, he needs to get his belongings and money.
Rather than risk a mysterious empty room, Daniel leaves through the front door. Invisible, he flies across the city to collect his bags. The two-minute walk around the block to visibly approach the house has all his senses on high alert.
Still, he makes it back to his room without being robbed or shot. His extra money and a few key supplies are phased into the hollow of the wall. The rest he takes down to Mama. In exchange, she gives him a set of clean sheets.
It’s on the way back that he finally meets one of the girls outside one of the doors.
“Hi, sugar, you the new kid?” The lady leans down to look at him from truly impressive heels. Fishnets adorn her legs and a leotard is covered by a rough black jacket. She’s chewing a wad of gum.
“I’m Danny. I’m staying at the end of the hall.”
“I’m Brandy.” She blows a bubble, grinning when it pops and he flinches slightly. “Run along now, kid.”
Danny scoots. When he glances back she’s still watching him. Ducking into the room, he locks it and focuses on making his bed. Granola bars might not be much of a dinner, but Danny is exhausted.
As soon as the bed is made and he’s eaten, he slips under the cover. He’s survived his first day in Gotham City.