Chapter Text
There is a boy at the Wayne Gala.
He had black hair with white streaks and blue eyes and was incredibly quiet, almost as quiet as Cass herself, not saying more than a couple of words as he stayed close to his father, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched, like he was trying to make himself smaller.
Or maybe he was trying to hide the longing in his eyes as he surveyed the ballroom and Gotham’s elite gathered in it, shining bright amid the dullness sheening them.
That’s another thing Cass had noticed about the boy. He was very sickly—skin pallid, eyes dim and shadows bruised underneath, a tremor he was trying to conceal with clenched hands, the way the suit sagged off his frame like it didn’t quite fit, the cough he smothered every time it clawed out of his throat.
It was one of the many things Cass had noticed about the boy, ever since she saw black hair and blue eyes and thought he was another brother. Then she looked closer when she saw white streaks in dark hair that reminded her of her second eldest brother, and hadn’t stopped looking since she noticed those signs of illness, at seeing the longing in his eyes.
Longing that tugged at Cass, that reminded her of the longing she felt before she had found freedom and a new family.
Now, Cass kept one eye on the boy as he remained close with his father, a man Cass knew well and never particularly liked, his grin oozing false charm and veiled threats, of something much sinister lurking beneath his curated mask, and yet she never got a good read on him, something about his body language evading even her.
Vlad Masters.
He was standing in the centre of the room, slick grin in place, laughter ringing out as he commanded the attention of some socialites like he was a king, holding a champagne glass in one hand and the other firmly clasping the boy’s shoulder. The tightly pressed lips on the boy’s face, the stiff way he was standing, was another thing Cass marked about the boy, that presented two options—he wasn’t happy about the attention…
Or he wasn’t comfortable being near his father.
A couple walked across Cass’ line of sight, blocking the boy and Vlad from her. She tried to peer around them until a voice loudly exclaimed, “Oh, Miss. Cain-Wayne! I am so glad to catch you, I’ve been dying to talk to you all night!”
A socialite bustled in front of Cass, taking up her fields of vision, champagne sloshing in her glass. She was grinning broadly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, which were bloodshot from drinking all night. She swayed slightly as a clammy, ring-adorned hand clamped itself onto Cass’ shoulder, squeezing tightly as she pushed her face close to Cass’ as she said, “I have this proposition, you see, that could be very beneficial for Wayne Enterprises, you see…”
Cass heard enough. Giving her a blank-faced look, she twisted out of the woman’s grip and left her gaping behind her, scanning the room for the boy, but he’d disappeared. And when she caught sight of Vlad, he too was searching for his son, a dark look on his face that had a warning tingle prickle at Cass’ senses.
She looked around the ballroom, finding Bruce and Tim, her brother valiantly keeping up with the person chattering in his ear even though Cass knew he’d only gotten three hours of sleep the night before while her dad was vapidly smiling as he engaged in conversation with another socialite, his own mask firmly in place. Cass kept a mark of where they had been as she kept looking for the boy, just in case she needed their help to hide him from Vlad Masters, fielding off people as politely as she could or just ignoring them.
Until—there.
A shock of white-streaked, messy black hair, slipping into the shadows of hanging curtains at the edge of the room, with only a ripple of movement showing he had been there.
Cass clocked it as she looked at Tim, still engaged in conversation. Her brother noticed she was looking at him, eyes snapping to her and instantly more alert as he saw the look on her face.
Raising her hands, Cass signed, Found someone. Potential new brother.
If Tim hadn’t been alert before, he was now as he excused himself from the socialite he was talking to and made his way to Cass, asking her in a quiet voice, “Where?”
Cass pointed to the curtains as she made her way to them, Tim beside her.
As they walked through the crowd, Tim questioned quietly, “The usual suspect?”
Cass nodded. “Black hair, blue eyes. Quiet. Seemed uncomfortable being near his father.”
Tim huffed. “Definitely adoption bait. Who’s his father?”
“Vlad Masters,” Cass answered.
Tim’s mouth twisted into a grimace, his displeasure easily read on his body even without her abilities. “I know him, and I’ve met him before. Really lives up to being a rich, sleazy asshole. He’s always trying to convince me or Bruce to let him buy out a share of WE, but he’s never succeeded and he’s not going to. We suspect he’s corrupt, but trying to hack into his files is a nightmare. He’s the kid’s dad?”
“Yes,” Cass murmured as they were almost at the curtains.
Tim’s expression twisted, sympathy glazing it. “Poor kid.”
“Something else,” Cass said, keeping her voice to a whisper. “The boy’s hair. It has white streaks.”
Tim nearly stumbled, whipping to face her, eyes rounded with shock. “White streaks? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Am sure,” Cass confirmed.
Tim was quiet, but he didn’t need to say anything. They both knew exactly what white-streaked hair meant, what it signified for the boy.
Especially when there was so much white in his hair.
Ducking behind the curtain, Cass looked around to find the boy, Tim doing the same beside her. Behind the curtains, the sound of the gala was muffled and the light shifted between dimness and darkness, shadows long and dark against the bare walls and moving across the floor in the golden spots of light peeking underneath the edges of the curtain.
It didn’t take long for them to find the boy.
The boy was standing in front of the curtain, pulling it back slightly as he watched the gala. Light sliced across his face, a look of longing and wonder across his expression. In the half-darkness, the boy seemed frailer, like he was about to break apart and disappear into the shadows at the slightest breath.
So engrossed was he in the people-watching that the boy didn’t notice Cass and Tim until he turned his head and saw them in the shadows, visibly jumping.
“Uh, hi there! I, uh, wasn’t expecting company,” the boy said, expression bashful. His eyes rounded and he asked, “Wait, are we allowed to be back here? Oh man, wish I knew that before I left…”
“Technically, you’re not supposed to be back here. Unofficially? It’s fine,” Tim answered, shrugging as he and Cass exchanged a glance—they and their siblings had spent many galas behind curtains and other places to hide out from the crowds.
“Oh. That’s good to hear,” the boy replied, sighing in relief. Cass frowned at hearing it rattle in his chest as the boy’s brows crept together as he questioned, “Who are you, anyway? And how did you find me?”
“My name’s Tim and this is my sister, Cass,” Tim introduced, Cass waving at the boy as she continued, “Saw you go behind the curtain.”
“Uh, okay,” the boy said. He gave them a quizzical look. “You guys are siblings?”
“Adopted,” Tim clarified.
“That makes more sense,” the boy muttered, before doubling over as loud coughs wracked through his body. Concern shot through Cass as she moved toward the boy but he straightened as he gave a weak smile. “I’m fine.”
He looked back through the gap between curtains, that longing look on his face. Cass tilted her head, studying the boy’s body language as she questioned, “Why back here?”
“It was getting kinda overwhelming and my dad… he wasn’t really helping,” the boy answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it. This is my first time at one of these things and I’ve been… pretty sick, and he’s worried about me. But I just wanted some time to breathe, y’know? Thought coming back here would be a good idea.”
Cass nodded. “Understand. First gala is hard.”
“Yeah. I actually prefer being back here than being out there. It’s… easier to watch, I guess,” the boy admitted, the longing open and raw across his face.
“Because you’re sick?” Tim asked. The boy tensed, but nodded as Tim said sympathetically, “Yeah, that would be rough. You told your dad?”
“No. I… I wanted to be here, though,” the boy murmured quietly, eyes straying to the gala beyond.
Cass and Tim exchanged a look before Tim offered, “Mind some company?”
The boy looked back at them, eyes wide with alarm. “Uh, sure. But you don’t have to—you probably want to be out there than stay with some sick kid. And your parents—”
“Between us, the sick kid sounds like better company than who’s out there,” Tim interrupted with a half-smile. “Besides, B is used to us disappearing at galas.”
If you have not fallen asleep into dinner first, Cass signed with a wicked smile. Tim glared at her.
“That was one time, Cass!” Tim defended.
Cass gave him a skeptical look before looking at the boy as she said, “Want to stay.”
The boy looked hesitant and nervous, like he didn’t want them to stay or hadn’t expected them to choose to stay with him, before his shoulders slumped and he scooted aside. Cass and Tim moved into the space provided for them, the boy lifting the curtain to widen the gap and allow them to see the gala. Cass spotted Bruce first, who’d noticed they disappeared but wasn’t surprised, and then Vlad, still looking for the boy.
“Hey, what’s your name?” Tim questioned.
“Oh,” the boy said, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry. I should have introduced myself earlier. My name is—“
“Daniel!”
The boy jolted as Vlad Masters stormed toward the curtain, a furious look on his face as he scolded, “What are you doing hiding back there? Do you have any idea how many business opportunities I lost searching for you, or how worried I was? You know you cannot be left alone, not when you’re u—“
Vlad cut himself off at noticing Tim and Cass, who were both giving Vlad suspicious glares as Daniel shrunk into himself.
“My apologies, Mr. Drake-Wayne, Miss. Cain-Wayne,” Vlad apologised, voice smooth and false as he took Daniel’s arm and dragged him from behind the curtain, pulling him to his side. “This is my son’s first gala and his health is quite fragile. I told him many times he has to stay by my side should it take a turn for the worse. You can understand I was quite concerned when I noticed he was gone, especially when he has such a terrible time judging the limits for his health and how to properly handle it.”
Cass’s frown deepened. Concern was not an emotion she’d read on his body when he’d been looking for Daniel. Worry, definitely, but also anger at losing Daniel.
Like he’d lost a pet or toy, rather than his son.
“Really? It looks to me like Daniel knows his limits and can handle it pretty well,” Tim remarked, voice carefully controlled, hiding the suspicion and that he didn’t buy what Vlad Masters was spinning.
“He has good and bad days. This is one of Daniel’s good days. I thought he could handle attending an event like this myself, but I can see this has been too taxing on him. We will be making our leave now. Give my apologies to Bruce,” Vlad explained.
“Dad, I feel fine, I—“ Daniel protested, until he hunched over and a series of coughs rattled through his body, loud and wet, hand over his mouth. When he pulled it away, Cass spotted blood on his hand along with something green and glowing that Vlad hurriedly wiped away with a handkerchief he then tucked away.
“As I said, this has taken a toll on my son’s health and we shall be leaving. Perhaps we might meet again soon to talk business, Timothy, but I’m afraid I must attend to my son first,” Vlad said. “Goodbye, Timothy. Cassandra.”
Then he was walking away, Daniel right by his side as they left the gala, Tim and Cass remaining by the curtain. After the father and son had left, they turned to each other as Tim asked her, “Was that weird to you, or was it just me?”
“No. Odd to me too,” Cass replied.
“Okay. Glad to hear I’m not being paranoid,” Tim muttered, and amended, “More than usual.”
Cass let out a giggle as Tim gave a self-deprecating smile before he frowned. “Something’s up between them.”
“Strange,” Cass agreed. “Could be hurting Daniel.”
“Maybe. Or worse,” Tim murmured, eyeing Cass as she thought the same thing, the white streaks playing in her mind again.
“Could be behind sickness too,” Cass theorised. “Saw something, too. Green among the blood. Looked like Lazarus Waters.”
Tim grew quiet, before he said, “We’re keeping an eye on Vlad and Daniel Masters.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Cass agreed as she and Tim rejoined the gala, the decision made without further debate, a case between the two of them that they would investigate further.
Something wasn’t right. The white streaks, Daniel’s sickness, the green in his blood, Vlad Masters’ demeanour towards his son… there was something more going on here. Something that required further looking into, to see what exactly was going on, if Daniel was being killed and resurrected continuously by Vlad, and that was another reason for investigation if Vlad Masters had access to a Lazarus Pit, that the rest of their family might be pulled into the case once they knew about it.
And that, depending on how bad it really was and what she and Tim might find, if Daniel Masters needed help to escape his father before it was too late for him.
***
“Daniel, I am disappointed in your behaviour tonight.”
Daniel didn’t say anything, wincing at the prick of the needle in his arm before the cold buzz of ectoplasm filled his bloodstream. Instantly, the pain eased and he felt like he could breathe again as his dad pulled the plunge needle out of his arm and disposed of it, giving him a disapproving look that conveyed all the disappointment he had in him.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I just wanted to get some space,” Daniel mumbled, casting his gaze down as he tugged his sleeve over his arm, rubbing the spot where the needle had been in, a bright pinprick of pain. A pain that Daniel didn’t mind. It was easier to deal with than the pain he dealt with everyday.
His dad pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “Daniel, this is why I considered you were not ready for events like this. I specifically told you to stay by my side at all times during the gala due to your low health. You know what would happen to you if you get too unstable, and with the time I spent looking for you, worried I would find nothing but ectoplasm and all the business opportunities I lost…”
“I know,” Daniel snapped. At the glare he got from his dad, Daniel hunched into himself and repeated in a quiet voice, “I know, Dad. I’m sorry.”
Silence stretched between them, tense and thick, before his dad said softly, “I’m looking out for you, Daniel. I do not want you to destabilise—not when I finally have you, my perfect son, at long last. It would break my heart and core to lose you.”
Daniel didn’t say anything, only kept his head ducked, strands of white and black hair covering his field of vision.
The seconds dragged by as his dad let out another sigh and announced, “I will up your ectoplasm injections twice a day for a full month and we will be commencing the tests again. And that you will not be accompanying me to more public events or leave the penthouse.”
Daniel’s head jerked up, eyes wide. “What? Dad, you promised if I didn’t melt I could leave home and you’d stop with the tests! I’m fine, I—“
Coughs interrupted Daniel, tearing through his body. He hunched over, the coughs phlegmy, a death rattle in his chest. His bones creaked with the force of the coughs, the ache he learned to cope with, that only ectoplasm injections relieved, rising up to the surface as the ectoplasm in his veins burned underneath his skin like fiery needles, warring with the perpetual chill that never left him, his core clenching. The coughing subsided, but the pain lingered, pain Daniel had known his whole life, shivering.
His dad gave him a pitying look. Daniel would never admit it, but he hated that look even though that meant his dad cared about him—he wanted him to be healthy, to be stable. That was what all the injections and even the tests were for.
Still, Daniel wished his father didn’t look at him like he was about to fade away or melt into ectoplasm like the others had sometimes.
“Daniel, your ghost half is clearly still unstable and affecting your human body. It pains me to punish you like this, but it is the only way that will keep you safe until you finally stabilise. That will keep you alive, my greatest creation,” his dad informed him, voice softening at the term of endearment. He paused, then added, “If you show signs of improvement by the end of the month, I may let you accompany me to another event again.”
Daniel’s head lifted, mood perking as he grinned. “Really? Thanks, Dad!”
“Of course. Anything for my son,” his dad said, smiling at him as he patted his head. Daniel’s core warmed at the affectionate gesture.
“Now,” his dad continued as he took his hand, leading Daniel to the open pod against the wall, the chamber dark and empty, “time to sleep, Daniel. You must rest to regain your strength.”
Daniel tensed, looking at the open pod, the hollow cavity and the lifted glass opening, the tubes attached to the pod that fed ectoplasm into the pod. The pod that Daniel had come from, that he slept in every night since his creation.
The pod he didn’t think he’d go back in after tonight.
“Do I really have to sleep in that again? I thought I would sleep in a real bed this time, like…” Daniel questioned, voice trailing off but the words still lingered in the air.
Like a real person.
“Of course, Daniel, but given the poor quality of your health, it is better for you if you remain in the pod and absorb the ectoplasm for the night,” his dad told him as he let Daniel go to adjust the dials and check the ectoplasm filters. He looked over to Daniel and assured, “Once you are stable, my son, I promise you will sleep in a real bed and never use the pod again.”
Daniel bit his lip, fangs tearing through the thin skin. He didn’t know if he could believe that, that he was still annoyed and disappointed he had to be in the pod again, but his dad was right—it would help him and make him feel better.
This was all to make him better.
“Okay,” Daniel muttered, reminding himself it was for another month, that at the end he would be stable and never go into the pod again, as he transformed into his ghost form—it was easier to absorb the ectoplasm when he was a ghost instead of a human.
Even though the pain was worse as a ghost.
Daniel resisted the urge to double over, his body a symphony of pain. His core was tight in his chest, a knotted, swollen ball. His limbs felt light and heavy and wobbly at once, like with one tug he would come apart. Using his powers just made it worse.
Green dripped into Daniel’s vision. He rubbed it away, and saw more green blooming against his white glove. He was coming apart, melting right in front of his eyes.
Another reason he didn’t transform—he almost always started melting.
“Daniel,” his dad said, a stern reminder, a quiver of fear in his voice.
Daniel clenched his hand and floated into the pod, grimacing as he clutched his chest, the mild use of his flight power having pain shudder through him. When he was inside, back meeting the cool metal, the lid started lowering down. Once it was down, ectoplasm would fill up the pod and Daniel would go into stasis and be unable to speak, unable to move or hear or do anything but rest and absorb. Normally, he accepted it with no complaint.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he said, “Dad?”
The lid paused. “Yes, Daniel?”
“What… what were they like? The ones before me?” Daniel questioned even as he internally cursed himself. He was always curious about the other clones, the brothers that had come before him, the ones who had melted, curious about the original they were cloned from, curious about…
About her.
He’d never asked, though, as it was a touchy subject and the times he hinted at it, his dad waved him off and he never tried again. But tonight…
Tonight, Daniel had gone outside. Tonight, he met so many people, including the nice, quiet girl and her brother who stayed with him behind the curtain—Cass and Tim. Tonight, Daniel had gotten a glimpse of what a proper life was like with no pain or fear of dissolving into ectoplasm at the slightest chance, of what an actual chance to be the son his dad wanted was like.
What it was like to be alive.
And that had Daniel wondering, even for a moment, if the others had gotten that before they had died, as fleeting as it might have been.
His dad was quiet and that gave Daniel courage as he continued, “The other clones… were they like me? Were… are we like him? The original Daniel? And what was she like? My sister? What… what was Danielle like?”
His dad was so quiet, Daniel feared he’d overstepped, before he answered, “The other clones were not like you, Daniel. They were obedient, but mindless, and too unstable, and were nothing like your original. You are like him, though, in some ways. Out of all of the clones, you look the most like him. And Danielle…”
He turned, letting Daniel see the glint of red in his eyes, the hint of fangs in his snarl as he continued, “She was wilful, disobedient and uncontrollable, nothing like you or even her original—the boy was always headstrong, but she was more so, a rebellious child that ran away from me when the first clones started melting. I tried to help her, but she refused, and that cost that girl her life. She… was a failure. But not you. You are the perfect version, the perfect son I’ve always wanted. And that is all that matters. No more questions about the others, about your original and Danielle. Understood?”
“Understood,” Daniel mumbled.
“Goodnight, Daniel,” his dad said after a moment, the lid closing with a quiet snick. Almost immediately, ectoplasm rushed in, the pod filling up in moments with the green, viscous liquid. Daniel let it cover him from head to toe, drowning him in green as it took away the pain and left nothing but calm and drowsiness in him as it froze him in place, his core now a gentle pulse in his chest.
As Daniel’s eyes slid close, he looked up at the ceiling, dark and featureless, thinking of the high, grand ceiling, the city he glimpsed as they drove to the gala.
He wished he could see the city one last time before he fell into green-hazed darkness.