Soulmate
Part 2
The problem isn’t that Danny is losing the fight.
The problem is that he’s winning.
Comms are flooded with overlapping reports.
“Sector three cleared— wait, who cleared sector three??”
“I just watched Killer Croc get punted through a building.”
“Why is the Lazarus pit energy stabilizing???”
Batman lands on a rooftop overlooking the battlefield just in time to witness the situation escalate dramatically.
Danny — still in his soulmate’s body — skids to a stop atop Cujo’s back, eyes glowing green, sword humming with ectoplasmic energy he absolutely should not be able to produce.
“Okay!” Danny announces over comms. “Update! I think the glowing angry water stuff makes my powers stronger!”
Nightwing nearly drops his escrima sticks.
Red Robin starts typing faster.
Someone audibly chokes on comms.
Because the Lazarus Pit reacting positively to someone is deeply, cosmically wrong.
Meanwhile—
Across the city, Danny’s soulmate is having the worst hour of their life.
Danny’s body looks normal enough. Civilian clothes. No armor. No weapons.
Except for the floating.
They are not trying to float.
They are very much hovering three feet off the ground while objects around the room slowly drift upward like gravity has decided to quit.
“Okay,” Oracle says carefully through comms, “don’t panic.”
“I am not panicking,” Danny’s soulmate says, while absolutely panicking.
A wall phases halfway through their arm.
They freeze.
“…I went through the wall.”
“Yes,” Oracle says gently. “You did.”
“…I went through the wall.”
Across comms, several heroes pretend they are not listening very intensely.
Back on the battlefield, Danny discovers another feature.
“OH COOL I CAN FLY TOO—”
Superman looks up just in time to see Danny rocket past him like a green comet, laughing the entire way.
“Is he always like this?” Superman asks.
Sam answers immediately, completely deadpan. “This is actually a calm day.”
Tucker adds, “You should see him during science fairs.”
Danny’s soulmate finally arrives on-site with backup, expecting catastrophic damage.
Instead they find enemies retreating.
Parademons actively avoiding one specific glowing figure.
And Danny—
—standing triumphantly atop Cujo as the ghost dog growls at fleeing invaders, sword resting on his shoulder like he was born for battlefield theatrics.
Danny spots them instantly.
“OHHH hey soulmate!” he says brightly, waving.
The entire Batfamily freezes.
Because that was said out loud.
On comms.
To everyone.
Danny tilts his head, studying them with open curiosity.
“Huh,” he says. “You look really good in my body. Little sleep-deprived, though. Do you always scowl like that or is that a me thing?”
His soulmate stops functioning.
Completely.
System crash. Emotional overload. No recovery.
Behind them, Nightwing slowly turns away to hide laughter.
Robin absolutely does not react. At all. Completely still. Statue-level denial.
Cass, if it’s her, just watches Danny move — reading intent instead of words — and realizes with startling clarity:
He isn’t reckless.
He’s protecting everyone at once.
Every movement calculated. Every hit placed to redirect danger away from civilians.
He fights like someone who has survived worse.
Danny grins, eyes glowing brighter as another wave approaches.
“Okay!” he says cheerfully. “Round two!”
Cujo barks.
The invasion immediately regrets its life choices.
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