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Chapter Text

In a shadowy safehouse lit only by flickering candles and Constantine’s bad ideas, the Justice League Dark was holding it’s monthly meeting.

“Right,” John said, leaning back in his chair with a cigarette hanging from his lips. “We’ve got ourselves a potential future problem, mates. Something nasty stirring. There’s been a development in the Infinite Realms and now there’s a new bloody Ghost King.”

Zatanna folded her arms. “And what exactly is a Ghost King? Sounds like one of your pub stories.”

Deadman floated upside down above the table, arms crossed. “I’ve heard whispers. Spooky underworld type, rules over some kind of death dimension. The last guy, Pariah Dark, was apparently bad enough to make demons nervous. Can’t image the being that would be able to defeat him.”

Swamp Thing rumbled from his corner, moss shifting like restless muscles. “If he has dominion over the dead… he is a force of imbalance.”

Constantine slammed a hand on the table for emphasis. “Exactly! You lot remember Pariah Dark? Nearly tore reality a new one. Now picture a the person who can rally the other ghosts in order to defeat him. What’s to stop him from looking at the mortal realm and wanting to expand his kingdom. That’s a bloody time bomb.”

“Or,” Zatanna said slowly, “it was someone who didn’t agree with the tyrannical ways.”

Constantine waved her off. “No, no, trust me, Zee. Power like that, it corrupts. Even if there were pure intentions then, give them a few years and we’ll all be singing ghostly national anthems before breakfast.”

Deadman chuckled. “Do ghosts even have national anthems?”

“Not the point.” Constantine dragged a half-burnt scroll from his coat pocket and smacked it onto the table. “Here’s the plan. We bind him. Nothin’ fancy, nothin’ cruel. Just tie him to his home realm.
Can’t leave it, can’t come knocking on our doors with a ghost army. He gets his kingdom, we get peace of mind. Easy.”

Zatanna eyed the scroll like it might sprout fangs. “You’re sure about this?”

“Dead certain.”

Deadman groaned. “Really, mate? The pun?”

“Look,” Constantine said, lighting another cigarette off the first. “Either we act now, or we’re cleanin’ up the mess later. And I don’t fancy another end-of-the-world Tuesday.”

Swamp Thing rumbled low, but didn’t object. Zatanna pinched the bridge of her nose. Deadman muttered about terrible puns. In the end, though, they agreed. Better safe than sorry.

The ritual was set.

In Amity Park, Danny blasted a rogue Lunch Lady out of the quad and shoved her back into a thermos. He barely had time to stash the thing in his backpack before jogging back to class, hair still faintly green at the tips.

Life as Ghost King wasn’t glamorous. The Infinite Realms demanded endless “royal decrees” and “meetings of cosmic importance.” His ghost council was convinced he needed to adjudicate everything from territory disputes to the acceptable length of ghostly moans. And the Observants… well, they were the worst.

But here on Earth? Danny could at least pretend to be normal. Stress-ridden, exhausted, but normal.

Which was exactly when the ritual hit.

It felt like a switch flipping. One second, Danny was fumbling with his textbook. The next, his core shuddered, every ghostly sense sparking like static. Something latched onto him, binding tight.

He gasped, half-phasing through his chair. “What the…?”

The air hummed with ancient magic. Not ghost magic, but human magic. Different rules, different flavor, Danny had just started learning it from Clockwork. Danny’s eyes glowed bright green as he instinctively tried to open a portal to the Infinite Realms.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, harder. Still nothing.

His stomach dropped.

“Oh no. Oh no no no…”

He ducked out of class, sprinted to the nearest alley, and transformed fully into Phantom. He tried again.

Portal…nothing.

Summoning Frostbite…nothing.

Even his connection to the Realms felt… muffled, like someone had stuffed it in a box.

Panic rose. He yanked out his phone, thumbed through his contacts, and hit speed-dial.

“Jazz?” His voice cracked. “Something’s wrong. I..I think I’m locked out of the Realms.”

There was a pause, then Jazz’s calm, no-nonsense tone. “Meet me at home. Now.”

That night, the Fenton living room looked like someone had dropped a courthouse into a mad scientist’s workshop. Jazz had turned the coffee table into a paper warzone. Sam was cross-legged on the couch, flipping through books that smelled like ectoplasm and mildew. Tucker sat in the recliner, typing furiously, screens glowing around him.

Danny paced in front of them, still in ghost form, sparks snapping off his fingers every few seconds like he was about to short-circuit. His eyes kept flashing green, then fading.

“I can’t get in,” Danny said for what felt like the hundredth time. His voice cracked halfway through. “I can’t even hear the council yelling at me. Do you know how wrong that feels? What if…what if I lose my form next? What if I…”

“Stop,” Jazz cut in, steady but firm. “We’ve been running the scans. The Zone is still intact. Nothing’s collapsing, no instability readings. It’s not broken, Danny. You’re just… locked out.”

“Yeah, man,” Tucker said, not looking up from his screen. “Like someone changed the Wi-Fi password and forgot to tell you.”

“That’s not funny!” Danny snapped, energy sparking louder this time. “What if this is permanent? What if…”

“Hold up.” Sam leaned forward, her voice sharp enough to cut through his spiral. “You said no council. No Observants. No paperwork. Nothing pulling you back?”

Danny slowed mid-pace. “…Yeah.”

The silence was heavy for a beat. Tucker’s typing slowed. Jazz looked up from her notes.

Danny blinked. “Wait. No council. No Observants. No paperwork.”

Something shifted in his expression. His shoulders, tight for days, dropped. His eyes widened. And then, for the first time in months, a grin stretched across his face.

“…Holy crap. I’m free.”

Sam gave him a flat look, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “So instead of panicking that you’ve been magically locked out of your kingdom, you’re celebrating?”

Danny threw both hands into the air. “Do you know how many forms I had to sign last week about spectral property disputes over a haunted dumpster? A dumpster, Sam! This…this might be the best thing
that’s ever happened to me.”

Jazz tapped her pen against her notes, unconvinced. “Danny, if you’re locked out, then someone did this to you. That’s not freedom, that’s a threat. We need to figure out who and why.”

“Later,” Danny said, already flopping onto the couch with a blissful sigh, sparks calming around his hands. “Right now, I’m just gonna enjoy not being nagged by a bunch of floating eyeballs. Seriously, do
you think this is what freedom tastes like?”

Tucker finally looked up, deadpan. “Probably like gummy bears.”

Danny pointed at him. “Exactly.”

Sam rolled her eyes. But yeah, she was smiling too.

Back in the safehouse, Constantine leaned back in his chair, smoke curling lazily from his cigarette.

“There,” he said, satisfied. “All wrapped up. Ghost King’s tied neatly to his little death dimension. No muss, no fuss.”

Zatanna wasn’t so sure. “You’re positive you bound him to the right realm?”

“Course I am,” Constantine said. “Home realm, innit? Where else would a Ghost King belong?”

Swamp Thing rumbled. “Something feels… unsettled.”

Constantine shrugged, knocking back a swig from his flask. “Give it time. The new King wont be able to move about easily and thus is out of the picture, we’re all safer for it.”

Far away, Danny Fenton lay on his couch, midterms looming, ghost powers humming oddly, and for the first time in years…actually relaxed.

Somewhere in the Infinite Realms, the Observants were screaming.

And Constantine had absolutely no idea what he’d just done.

Chapter Text

For the first time since he’d put on the crown of the Ghost King, Danny Phantom slept through the night.

No sudden portal opening at 3 A.M. No Observants booming in his brain about the “sacred duty of the crown.” No frantic calls from Frostbite because someone had let a blob ghost borrow the royal scepter “just for a minute.”

Just eight glorious hours of uninterrupted unconsciousness.

Danny stretched, yawned, and realized something strange: he didn’t feel like a walking zombie. He actually had energy. Enough energy to eat breakfast, finish his math homework, and still arrive at class on time.

If Sam and Tucker hadn’t seen it themselves, they wouldn’t have believed it.

Meanwhile, in the Infinite Realms, the Observants were in meltdown mode.

“He cannot be reached!” one wailed, spinning in frantic circles.

“Our king is Missing!” another howled.

“This is unacceptable!” all three shrieked in unison.

Across the chamber, Frostbite rubbed his massive head with one claw. “He is not missing. He’s at home as the tracker on him indicates. Something is blocking him.”

“Semantics!” the Observants screeched. “The Ghost King is derelict in his duties! The balance of the Realms teeters on the brink!”

Pandora slammed her sword into the floor, cracks of ecto-energy racing outward. “Enough whining. If the king cannot return, we must discover why.”

The chamber went quiet. All ghostly eyes swiveled toward a single glowing portal that shimmered faintly, linking Earth to the Infinite Realms.

Someone on the mortal side was responsible.

John Constantine lit his third cigarette of the morning and about to regret everything.

“Oi,” he muttered to himself, tugging at his trench coat. “Why do I suddenly feel like every ghost in existence has me on their Christmas naughty list?”

He didn’t have long to wonder. Because a second later, his wards exploded.

BOOM!

He staggered back as the air ripped open and Frostbite, towering, armored, terrifying, stepped into his flat. Pandora followed, sword gleaming. Behind them hovered three very angry Observants, glaring in stereo.

“Constantine,” Frostbite rumbled, his voice like avalanches. “What. Did. You. DO!?”

Constantine did what any self-respecting conman mage would do: he tried to bluff.

“Uh, morning? Fancy seeing you lot here. Kettle’s on if you’d like tea.”

The Observants shrieked, “YOU BOUND THE KING TO THE MORTAL PLANE!”

Constantine blinked. “…I did what now?”

Frostbite loomed. “You trapped the king. He cannot return. The Realms are in disarray. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Course I do,” Constantine lied smoothly. “Kept you lot from rampaging all over Earth, didn’t I?”

Pandora’s eyes flared red. “You fool. The Ghost King is a bridge between realms. Without him, the balance fractures.”

The Observants all yelled at once: “RELEASE HIM IMMEDIATELY!”

Constantine’s only response was to take a long drag from his cigarette and mutter, “Bugger me.”

Back in Amity Park, Danny sat in his dorm room, grinning ear to ear as Tucker adjusted the calibration on his gaming setup.

“You sure you shouldn’t, like… care more about being locked out of the Infinite Realms?” Tucker asked, plugging in a controller.

Danny flopped backward onto his bed. “Probably, but honestly I want it to be not my problem for a bit. They can’t drag me back, I can’t hear them nagging me. It’s perfect. They want it fixed they can figure out the fix. I’ll go back when someone else steps up to save the day.”

Sam leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “What if something serious happens? Like… world-ending serious?”

Danny spread his arms wide, smile unshakable. “There’s ways of breaking the contract it’s really not that strong, I can feel the frayed edges at it. I bet if I pulled at it, then it’d collapse, but that might also kill whoever cast it.” Danny just shrugs, “So until the world-ending event happens it’s just going to be… So sorry, portal won’t open! Can’t hear you! Oh noooo.”

He looked way too pleased with himself.

Sam pinched the bridge of her nose. Tucker just laughed.

Unfortunately for Constantine, the ghosts weren’t laughing.

The Observants followed him everywhere, shrieking about the collapsing order of the Infinite Realms. Frostbite growled about cosmic responsibility. Pandora sharpened her sword in increasingly threatening ways.

And John Constantine—master trickster, professional liar, self-proclaimed savior of humanity—was cracking.

Zatanna found him holed up in a safehouse, chain-smoking with three Observants orbiting his head like judgmental balloons.

“What did you do, John?” she demanded.

“I fixed the bloody problem!” he snapped, running both hands through his hair. “Kid’s locked to his home realm. No ghost armies, no ecto-apocalypse, job’s a good’un!”

“Except,” Frostbite growled, “you bound him to the wrong realm. His true home is Earth.”

Zatanna’s eyes widened. “Wait. So you didn’t tie him to the Infinite Realms. You tied him here.”

“…Right,” Constantine admitted slowly. “Which means…?”

“Which means,” Pandora said, voice sharp as steel, “the Ghost King now ignores his duties, and the Infinite Realms descend into chaos.”

Constantine winced. “…That sounds bad.”

Danny, meanwhile, was thriving.

He’d aced two quizzes. He’d actually eaten lunch with Sam and Tucker without having to excuse himself to chase a poltergeist. He’d even had time to take a nap. A nap!

Sure, Ember had shown up wanting a rematch, but Danny just scheduled her for Thursday evening after his lab. “Sorry, got class,” he’d told her. She’d blinked, muttered something about “responsible mortals,” and agreed to come back later.

Even Skulker had accepted a rain check.

Danny had never felt so… normal. So in control. He was almost starting to enjoy this “college experience” people kept talking about.

Every time he thought about the Observants screeching at him from the other side of a locked portal, he couldn’t help but grin.

Constantine wasn’t grinning.

Because now the Justice League Dark was after his head too.

“John,” Zatanna said, arms folded, “you can’t just bind a dimension’s ruler and call it a day.”

“Look, how was I supposed to know his ‘home realm’ meant Earth?” Constantine argued. “He’s the Ghost King! You’d think it’d be the ghost dimension, not… not bloody Earth! Why would a GHOST have their home on the mortal side instead of the GHOST side!”

“Ghost were once alive” Deadman corrected helpfully.

“Not the point, Boston!”

Swamp Thing rumbled from the corner. “Your arrogance has endangered the balance of realms.”

Constantine threw up his hands. “Oh, come on! Everyone’s actin’ like I summoned bloody Cthulhu.They’re haven’t been any major events since it happened besides all the bloody ghosts now haunting ME?”

Zatana sighs, “We don’t even know, where on Earth they are.”

Danny in his dorm, watching a movie with Tucker, happily munching gummy bears.

Ember floats through and joins them after their fight earlier in the day. Saying the Council was asking about how to get a hold of you using a “tele-sponder”

Just then his Phone buzzed. Unknown caller ID: “OBSERVANT COUNCIL.”

Danny smirked, hit “decline,” and sang, “Sor-ry, can’t hear youuu~”

Ember graciously accepted a high five from him and stole a gummy bear from Tucker.

The ghosts redoubled their attacks on Constantine. They showed up in his flat, in his dreams, in his mirror when he tried to shave. The Observants’ shrieks echoed even in his toaster.

Zatanna finally snapped. “John, fix it. Now”

Constantine groaned, stubbing out his cigarette. “Bloody hell. And where do you think I should start looking for a Ghost King, that is not causing a ruckus.”

Shaking her head, “We’ll have to contact the rest of the league and report what’s going on.”

Chapter Text

John Constantine hated meetings.

He especially hated meetings with the proper Justice League.

Justice League Dark was one thing, Zatanna rolling her eyes, Swamp Thing brooding in a corner, Deadman making bad jokes while incorporeal. Those were his people. They knew the game, knew you never won against the supernatural, only survived it.

But the Big League? Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian bloody Manhunter, Batman… They believed they could at least neutralize any target.

Which was why Constantine now found himself seated at a gleaming metal table in the Watchtower, chain-smoking under the combined weight of four very unimpressed stares.

Superman broke the silence first. “So. Let me get this straight. You bound the so-called ‘Ghost King’ to his home dimension.”

“Right,” Constantine said, flicking ash into a conjured tray. “Clever bit of work, if I do say so myself.”

Wonder Woman leaned forward, bracelets catching the light. “And now the Infinite Realms are destabilizing because you did not properly understand what his home realm was.”

Constantine coughed. “Eh… small miscalculation.”

“John,” Zatanna hissed from across the table. “You didn’t just miscalculate. You effectively abducted a sovereign ruler from his seat of power.”

Martian Manhunter tilted his head. “If what the spirits say is true, the Ghost King maintains balance between dimensions. Removing him could have catastrophic consequences.”

Constantine tried for a winning smile, “Or it could mean a quieter Earth, free of ghost armies.”

The room was so silent you could hear Batman breathe. Which, given his whole “living shadow” routine, was saying something.

Then Batman spoke. His voice was quiet. Dangerous. “Name. Who is the Ghost King?”

Constantine shifted uncomfortably. “Eh… That’s the thing, Bats. Don’t really know.”

The air went colder.

“You bound a being you couldn’t even identify?” Batman demanded.

Constantine bristled. “Look, he’s a ghost, innit? Doesn’t matter if he’s Joe Specter from down the lane or Lord Death Incarnate, point is, he’s locked down. Harmless.”

Batman’s glare could have stripped paint. “If you don’t know who he is, I’ll find out.”

The Watchtower’s computers hummed softly, a constant undertone to the tense silence of the room. The League members had gathered at Batman’s request, waiting while he sat at the console, cape pulled around his chair like a shroud. His fingers moved in rapid bursts over the keyboard, one query leading into another with ruthless precision.

“Cross-reference: Amity Park, Illinois,” Batman ordered. The database flickered and recompiled. “Highest recorded ghost activity in the world. Consistent spikes in ectoplasmic energy. Town-wide ghost shield active most nights.”

Superman frowned. “Amity Park… I’ve heard rumors about that place. Cover-ups. Unconfirmed reports of ‘ecto-weapons’ testing.”

“Rumors are an understatement,” Batman said flatly. The screen populated with news articles, blurry photos, and redacted government files. “Local ghost appearances measured in the hundreds. Yet civilian casualties are low, suggesting localized defenses.
Multiple government agencies attempting to weaponize ectoplasmic phenomena, most notably the Guys in White. Officially ‘a specialized paranormal containment unit.’ Unofficially: black-ops funded, operating outside federal oversight.”

He tapped a key. Images scrolled past—grainy shots of white vans with the GiW insignia, ghost-proof cells, captured entities screaming in containment. Batman’s jaw tightened.

“They treat sentient beings as weapons,” he said. “No trials. No protections.”

Wonder Woman’s lips pressed into a hard line. “That is slavery.”

Zatanna leaned back, grimacing. “Leave it to the U.S. to militarize the afterlife.”

But Batman wasn’t finished. He pulled up another screen. “Cross-reference: Ghost King activity. First emergence, five years ago. Associated with the defeat of Pariah Dark. Location: Amity Park.”

The monitor lit up with shaky phone footage. A white-haired teen in black and white battled against towering ghosts above rooftops. Headlines splashed across the feed: PHANTOM MENACE? LOCAL HERO OR LOCAL HAZARD? SKULKER CAPTURED AGAIN.

Superman’s brows rose. “That’s him. The Ghost King.”

“Not yet,” Batman said. He zoomed in, stabilizing the footage. The glowing boy blurred for a moment, then refocused: hair stark white, eyes blazing green, suit torn from battle. He pulled up another image alongside it: a school photo of a teenager caught mid-
yawn, black-haired, half-asleep, his tie askew.

“Split-screen analysis,” Batman instructed. “Compare bone structure, iris spacing, jawline.”

The computer ran the overlay. Two faces, one glowing, supernatural, the other achingly normal, lined up with a near-perfect match.

“Daniel Fenton,” Batman said. “Age at coronation: seventeen. Current age: nineteen. First-year college student.”

The room went quiet.

“…He’s a kid?” Superman asked, disbelief lacing his tone.

“A kid,” Wonder Woman echoed, voice carefully measured.

Martian Manhunter tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Barely past adolescence.”

Zatanna whispered, “And he defeated Pariah Dark?”

But Batman wasn’t done. He kept digging. “Parents: Jack and Madeline Fenton. Self-styled ghost hunters. Inventors of multiple ectoplasmic weapons. Evidence suggests they were instrumental in creating the town’s ghost shield. However…” He paused. “…there
are indications their research methods overlap with those of the Guys in White.”

A file opened: schematics for ecto-blasters, ghost cages, and something labeled Fenton Portal. Next to them: an image of Jack Fenton, oversized jumpsuit and bazooka slung over his shoulder, grinning like a cartoon character.

“His own parents?” Wonder Woman said, shocked.

“Unwitting,” Batman replied. “Their public persona suggests they believe all ghosts to be dangerous. They do not appear to know Phantom’s identity. If they did, Daniel would not still be alive.”

“That’s bloody grim,” Constantine muttered, suddenly wishing for a cigarette.

Batman pulled up another file, this one tagged Jasmine Fenton.

“Currently enrolled in law school,” he read. “Internships with several immigration law firms and the ACLU. Active voice in local and national advocacy for ectoplasmic rights and sentient recognition.”
Wonder Woman leaned forward. “So she does know.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed at the screen. “If she doesn’t know specifics, she knows enough. Every move she’s making points toward a career designed to defend her brother.”

“Oracle, status check,” Batman said into his comm.

Barbara’s voice came through, crisp and professional. “Already running deeper digs. Financial records for the Guys in White are a mess, lots of shell accounts and black budgets. But Tim’s cross-referencing their capture reports with Amity Park incidents. Looks like they’ve been trying to get Phantom specifically for years.”

Tim’s voice followed, sharp with focus. “Found at least six abduction attempts. Phantom escaped every time. They’ve classified him as ‘Hostile Alpha-Level Entity.’ Capture priority: one.”

Zatanna swore under her breath.

Batman continued, voice even but heavy. “The Ghost King of the Infinite Realms. A nineteen-year-old college student, living in a town occupied by government spooks, raised by parents who would weaponize his kind if they knew the truth. And now, thanks to Constantine’s contract, locked out of his own realm.”

All eyes turned to John.

Constantine shifted uncomfortably, tugging at his coat. “…Alright, so maybe I accidentally locked a teenager outta his afterlife throne. Who hasn’t?”

Zatanna facepalmed so hard it echoed.

Superman folded his arms, stern now. “Batman, how long until we can start dismantling these agencies? If this boy’s been targeted for five years…”

“Tim and Oracle will continue tracing the GiW network,” Batman cut in. “We’ll need to coordinate with global authorities. Evidence first. Then action.”

Martian Manhunter spoke, his tone low but resonant. “The Infinite Realms will not wait. The council, the Observants…”

“...are probably already losing their minds,” Constantine finished, dragging a hand down his face. “And when they come looking, they’ll come here.”

Batman didn’t argue. He just pulled up a new file. On the header: Fenton, Daniel aka Phantom.

The Bat knowing how teenager vigilantes were was going to take a greater joy from watching John Constantine attempt to fix his own mistake.

Chapter Text

By unspoken agreement, Constantine was volun-told as the one to… talk to Danny. Or apologize. Or beg. The specifics weren’t clear, but everyone else had managed to look very busy when the subject came up.

“Fine, fine,” Constantine muttered as he stomped through Amity Park, trench coat flapping in the wind like a sulky bat. “Find the kid, undo the deal, everyone stops screaming at me. Easy. Walk in, say ‘sorry I ruined your afterlife,’ job’s a good’un. Bloody babysitting.”

The dorm building wasn’t hard to find. Batman had handed over the address with unnerving speed and an expression that said don’t ask how I know. Constantine didn’t. Some stones weren’t worth flipping.

He trudged up the stairs, muttering curses in three languages under his breath, and knocked on the door. Rehearsing, half-heartedly: Right, kid, funny story, might’ve shackled your soul away from your kingdom, no hard feelings, let’s fix it, yeah?

The door swung open.

There he was: Daniel Fenton.

Messy black hair sticking up in every direction, dark circles under his eyes, a ratty T-shirt with some video game logo Constantine didn’t recognize, and a half-empty bag of gummy bears in one hand.

For a second, Constantine almost forgot the glowing crown and roaring power from the vision he’d seen. This kid looked… ordinary. Human. Sleep-deprived. The sort of lad you’d see cramming for finals at 3 a.m., not ruling the Infinite bloody Realms.

“You Danny?” Constantine asked.

Danny blinked at him, gummy bear halfway to his mouth. “Who wants to know?”

“John Constantine.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Might’ve… accidentally locked you outta the Infinite Realms with a binding contract.”

Danny stared. Slowly. Chewed his gummy bear. Swallowed.

Then, grinned. Wide and bright, like Christmas had come early. “You’re the guy who did that?”

“…Yeah?” Constantine said warily.

Danny dropped the gummy bears, grabbed Constantine’s hand, and shook it with the enthusiasm of a game show winner. “Best. Thing. Anyone’s ever done for me. Seriously, man, you have no idea how much sleep I’ve gotten this week.”

Constantine just gawked. “Kid, your entire kingdom’s in shambles…”

Danny cut him off, sing-songing, “Sooorry, portal won’t open, can’t hear youuu,” before winking and trying to close the door.

“Wait, hang on…” Constantine shoved his boot in the frame. “This is serious! The crazy clockman and the one that looks like a yeti and them freaky eyeball observant blokes…they’re crawling up me arse demanding I undo it!”

Danny tilted his head, perfectly calm. “Sounds like a you problem.”

“It is me problem!” Constantine snapped. “But it’s also yours. You’re supposed to be managing…”

“Midterms,” Danny interrupted. “I’m supposed to be managing midterms. And rent. And whether the cafeteria chili is safe to eat. The other thing?” He spread his hands in mock innocence. “Not my problem right now.”

Constantine pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve banished more demons than you’ve had hot dinners, and none of them were this bloody cheeky.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Danny said sweetly. Then, with exaggerated politeness, he shut the door in Constantine’s face.

Hard

Constantine stood there in the hallway, stunned, a cigarette dangling forgotten from his lips.

“…Bloody hell,” he muttered finally. “I’ve created a monster. A smug, sleep-deprived monster.”

From inside the dorm, muffled through the door, Danny’s voice drifted out:

“Don’t forget to bring gummy bears next time!”

Constantine dragged a hand down his face. “I’m gonna need stronger whisky.”

Constantine didn’t leave right away.

Oh, he thought about it, storming off, pretending he’d tried, blaming it on the kid’s stubbornness, but the memory of Zatanna’s glare and Batman’s silence haunted him. If he came back empty-handed, they’d bury him alive in magical paperwork.

So he lingered.

Round One: The Bribe

He knocked again. The door cracked open just enough for Danny to poke his head out, chewing another gummy bear.

“What now?” Danny asked.

Constantine pulled a shiny red bag from his trench coat. “Haribo. Family size. Imported, none of that cheap knockoff shite. All yours if you let me break the bloody contract.”

Danny’s eyes lit up for half a second, then narrowed. “You think I’m that easy?”

Constantine shook the bag. “Soft. Chewy. Little sugar bears that melt in your mouth.”

Danny sniffed. “Pathetic. I already have a stash.” He slammed the door again.

Round Two: Logic

Five minutes later, Constantine was back, arms crossed. “Alright, kid, let’s talk sense. You’re stuck here. Your kingdom’s tearing itself apart without you. Ghost mentors breathing down my neck. Observants screaming about ‘balance’ and ‘doom.’ You’ve gotta let me undo it.”

Danny leaned lazily against the doorway, sipping a soda now. “And yet, everything’s still standing. Huh. Wild.”

“You don’t understand,” Constantine insisted. “The realms need you…”

“I need sleep,” Danny cut in, eyes half-lidded. “I choose me.”

Door slam.

Round Three: The Sob Story

Another ten minutes later, Constantine was perched on the dorm hallway radiator, cigarette smoke curling above him. He caught Danny as the kid came out with a bag of trash.

“Look, mate,” Constantine tried, voice rough with faux sincerity. “I’m desperate. They’re threatening to chuck me into the Infinite Pit of Wailing Souls or whatever. You don’t wanna see that happen to a poor bloke like me, do you?”

Danny tossed his trash in the bin and shrugged. “Sounds like a you problem.”

“…That’s me line!” Constantine protested.

“Yeah, well, it’s a good one,” Danny said cheerfully, heading back inside.

Round Four: The Upgraded Bribe

Constantine returned later with an entire grocery bag. He dumped it onto the hallway floor in front of Danny’s door: candy, soda, a suspiciously glowing amulet he’d nicked from storage.

“Alright, full spread!” Constantine announced, knocking. “Sugary crap, caffeine, magic trinket I absolutely shouldn’t be giving to a college kid. All yours if you just say the word.”

The door opened. Danny looked down at the pile, then back up at Constantine. “You’re trying way too hard.”

“Because I need this fixed!” Constantine snapped.

Danny crouched, plucked a chocolate bar out of the bag, unwrapped it, and took a bite. “Mmm. Thanks for the snacks. Door’s still closed, though.”

He shut it again, one hand full of chocolate, the other flipping Constantine off through the gap before it clicked shut.

Round Five: The Breaking Point - Time to Lawyer Up

An hour later, Constantine slumped against the wall opposite Danny’s door, surrounded by empty coffee cups. His trench coat smelled like despair.

Finally, he muttered, “Alright, kid. Cards on the table. What’ll it take? Name your price.”

The door creaked open. Danny leaned on the frame, thoughtful. “What would it take, huh?”

Constantine nodded wearily. “Yeah. Money, power, candy, you name it.”

Danny’s grin was pure mischief. “I’d have to talk to my lawyer.”

“…Your what?”

“My lawyer.” Danny ducked back inside, voice muffled as he yelled, “JAZZ!”

A distant voice called back, “What did he do now?”

Constantine paled. “Oh bollocks.”

Chapter Text

…and then,” Constantine finished, rubbing his temples, “the little sod nicked my chocolate, flipped me off, and told me to ‘talk to his lawyer.’”

The silence in the room was heavy. Superman crossed his arms. Wonder Woman pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. Zatanna groaned. Even Martian Manhunter’s stoic expression flickered.

“So to recap,” Wonder Woman said at last, her tone sharp, “you locked a child monarch out of his dimension, destabilized the Infinite
Realms, and now he refuses to let you fix it because you’ve convinced him it’s the best vacation of his life.”

Constantine shrugged helplessly. “Oi, don’t look at me like that! Kid’s sleepin’, eatin’, not bein’ screamed at by floatin’ eyeballs twenty-four seven! He practically thanked me for doin’ it.”

“He shook your hand,” Zatanna deadpanned.

“And stole my snacks,” Constantine muttered. “Ungrateful little…”

Batman’s voice cut through, low and precise. “Regardless. The Infinite Realms are without their king. That destabilization will bleed into our world if left unchecked.”

Superman frowned. “But he’s still just a teenager. A stressed, overworked one, from the sound of it.”

“Barely older than your Robins,” Wonder Woman added, her tone edged.

Constantine waved vaguely. “Which is exactly why draggin’ him in here won’t go over smooth. Nothin’ teens love more than bein’ hauled into interdimensional politics by spandex-wearin’ strangers.”

Zatanna leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Didn’t he tell you to talk to his lawyer?”

“Don’t remind me,” Constantine groaned. “She’s in bloody law school. Next thing you know she’ll have me served with a restrainin’ order.”

Batman didn’t answer. His eyes were on the console, screens flashing as he dug deeper: student records, grainy phone videos, government reports.

A soft crackle filled his comm.

Tim: “Cross-checked Fenton’s attendance. Drops whenever Phantom shows up. Kid’s double-timing his life.”

Oracle: “And Jasmine Fenton, she’s in law school, ACLU internships, vocal advocate for ecto-being rights. She’s building a career to defend him. And B we got to look at the ecto-being laws… they are…well not good is a vast understatement.”

Tim: “The Guys in White are worse. They’re running black sites. Dissection labs. Civilians detained for ‘ecto-contamination.’ Some of those civilians were minors.”

Oracle: “And the parents, Jack and Madeline Fenton. Brilliant inventors, dangerous tech, and no clear line between ghost-hunting and endangerment. They’ve tested weapons in public.”

Batman’s jaw tightened, though outwardly he betrayed nothing. The League was still arguing in circles. All in agreement that something needs to be done, but how to handle a teenager with a heavy crown is a difficult situation.

Batman’s eyes lingered on a paused frame of Daniel Fenton: hunched over a desk, dark circles under his eyes, surrounded by textbooks and junk food. A boy carrying two worlds on his shoulders.

“He said to speak to his lawyer,” Batman said finally, breaking the debate.

The room stilled.

“You can’t be serious,” Zatanna said.

“I am,” Batman replied. His hands moved across the console, pulling up Jazz Fenton’s schedule. “She’s competent. Informed. And most importantly, he trusts her. We honor that.”

Superman blinked. “You want the Justice League to negotiate with a law student?”

“I want us to respect his terms,” Batman corrected. “Respect earns trust. And trust is the only way we solve this. He is the King.”

A formal message appeared on the main screen, drafted under the Justice League insignia:

To: Jasmine Fenton

On behalf of the Justice League, we respectfully request a meeting to discuss matters concerning King Phantom. As the Infinite Realms are closed to him, we recognize your role as his chosen representative and will negotiate in good faith.
Below are several proposed times that align with both your class schedules. Please confirm whichever is most convenient.

Signed,
Superman, Wonder Woman, & Batman

The time slots were painfully considerate: Thursday evenings after Jazz’s seminar, early Sunday afternoons before Danny’s labs, even a window during Amity Park’s ghost-free curfew hours. It also made it painfully obvious how much information the Justice League has on Danny and his family. Giving them the heads up that they should assume the league already knows all their information.

Batman reviewed it once, then sent it.

The others exchanged looks. Wonder Woman’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. Superman nodded faintly. Constantine slumped, muttering about “bloody lawyers.”

Batman said nothing more. He only watched the screen, waiting for the reply, his conclusion silent but firm: if they wanted to get the king back on the throne, they would need to make sure the teenagers wishes were respected.