Going Ghost! (Young Justice)

[Third Person Pov]

"You're right. I don't like dancing," Sam admitted, her gaze drifting across the crowded ballroom. All around them, couples moved together with easy familiarity—hands linked, bodies swaying in time to the classical music that filled the high-ceilinged space. Crystal chandeliers cast soft golden light over the polished floor, and the air carried the faint scent of perfume mixed with the warm notes of the orchestra.

She turned back to Danny, an elegant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "But I suppose I wouldn't mind it too much… if you're going to be my dance partner."

Without waiting for further hesitation, she slid her gloved hand into his outstretched one. The silk of her glove whispered against his palm.

Danny blinked, caught slightly off guard even though he had been the one to ask. "Uh—then I'll be sure not to disappoint." The words came out a little too formal, a little too careful, as if he had suddenly forgotten how to speak normally.

He guided her onto the dance floor, weaving between the other pairs until he found a small pocket of space that felt like it belonged only to them. They stood face to face. Danny rested one hand lightly at her waist, respectful and steady, while his other hand kept hold of hers. Sam's free hand settled on his shoulder, fingers curling just slightly against the fabric of his jacket.

"My only dance partner so far has been Alfred," Danny confessed as they began to move, their steps still searching for a shared rhythm. "So I'm sorry if my skills turn out to be… inadequate."

Sam raised an eyebrow, both amused and puzzled. "Why are you talking like that?"

He gave a lopsided, self-conscious smile. "Because I'm a nervous wreck inside, and I'm honestly forgetting how to speak properly. Words get hard when your mind is in a million places at once."

A soft chuckle escaped her. The honesty was unexpectedly endearing. "Just relax, will you? You're too stiff—"

"Ow—" Danny glanced down with a quiet wince as her foot landed squarely on his.

"Sorry," she said quickly, looking genuinely apologetic. "It's been a long time since I actually practiced. I'm starting to remember exactly why I hated this."

"We can stop if you want," he offered at once, already easing his hold in case she wanted to step away. "I'm not going to force you into something you dislike."

Sam shook her head. "No. It's alright. We're already out here. Just… sorry in advance if I keep stepping on you." She glanced down at their feet, concentrating.

Danny's voice softened with quiet humor. "You can stand on my shoe if it'll make it easier for you."

She lifted her head and fixed him with a soft pout. "I'm not a child."

"I never said you were," he replied, grinning. "I was just offering."

Despite the clumsy beginning, something shifted as the music continued. Their steps grew surer. They found the rhythm of the song and, more importantly, the rhythm of each other. Movement became less about counting and more about feeling—the gentle pressure of a hand, the subtle lean of a shoulder, the way one body answered the other without needing words.

The longer they danced, the more the rest of the ballroom seemed to fade. Conversations, the rustle of skirts, the soft scrape of other shoes—all of it blurred into background noise. It felt as though the other couples were quietly disappearing one by one, until only the two of them remained beneath an invisible spotlight.

From across the room, Valerie watched them with narrowed eyes. She scoffed under her breath and looked away, the thought sharp and dismissive: 'Not a couple, my butt.'

Sam and Danny, lost in their own small world, never noticed. The smiles on their faces had grown warmer, more natural with every turn.

"You know," Sam said after a while, a light laugh in her voice, "this isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be."

Danny spun her once, slow and controlled, then drew her back in until they were closer than before. "Maybe the problem wasn't that you didn't like dancing," he said quietly. "Maybe you just never had the right partner."

Sam went completely still for a heartbeat, staring up at him. Then her expression shifted into a glare that didn't quite hide the color rising in her cheeks. "I seriously hate when you do that."

Danny's grin turned shamelessly charming, the kind that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing. "Do what?" he asked, all innocent.

"You know what I mean. When you suddenly start acting like some smooth Casanova. It irks me." She wrinkled her nose for emphasis. "I can practically smell Bruce Wayne's influence all over it."

Danny's eyes lit with amusement. "Does it smell like expensive cologne and aftershave?"

The unexpected joke broke through her irritation. Sam laughed—genuine and bright—and for a moment the music, the lights, and the entire crowded ballroom seemed to exist only as a soft backdrop to the two of them.

Danny spun her once more, slower this time, and Sam followed the motion with far less resistance than before. The hem of her skirt flared around her legs as she turned, and when he drew her back in, she was already smiling despite herself.

"Also," he said, voice low and teasing, "are you trying to say you think of me as a Casanova? Should I be flattered?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "See? You're doing it again." She jabbed a finger lightly against his chest. "And don't you dare start getting a big head. I never said that. I only said you were *behaving* like one."

Danny's soft laugh was pure mischief. "Heh. Sorry. You're just too fun to tease. Your reaction is worth it every single time."

She rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. "I should poke one of your eyes out and see how much that reaction is worth."

The threat only made his grin widen. He looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

The final notes of the song swelled and then faded into polite applause from the other dancers. Sam exhaled in quiet relief, unsure how much more of Danny's particular brand of teasing she could have endured without melting into a flustered mess.

As the last couples began to drift off the floor, Danny released her waist but kept hold of her gloved hand. With a quiet, deliberate grace, he lifted it, bowed his head slightly, and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her knuckles. His blue eyes never left hers.

"Thank you for the wonderful dance," he said, the sincerity in his voice disarming. "Let's do this again sometime."

Sam froze.

The world seemed to narrow to the warmth of his lips against her glove, the steady weight of his gaze, and the easy, earnest smile that followed. Something fragile and urgent rose in her chest.

'I have to tell him.'

The thought hit with startling clarity.

Danny had already begun to guide them toward the edge of the floor when her free hand shot out and caught his sleeve.

"Danny—wait."

He paused, turning back with a soft, questioning hum. "Hm?"

Sam's throat felt tight. The words she had been carrying for too long pressed against her ribs, demanding to be spoken. "I… I need to tell you something. Something I think you should know."

The lightness in Danny's expression dimmed. He studied her face more carefully now, catching the uncertainty that flickered behind her eyes and the way her shoulders had tensed. An uncomfortable feeling settled low in his stomach.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

Sam glanced around at the lingering guests, the servants moving between them, the open space of the ballroom. She shook her head. "Not here. Somewhere more private—"

The sentence died on her tongue.

Over Danny's shoulder, the tall glass panels that looked out over Gotham caught her attention. The city lights glittered in the distance, but something else had appeared against the dark skyline—a sharp, unnatural shimmer of green.

Her eyes widened.

On the far edge of a distant rooftop, a hulking armored figure stood silhouetted against the night. Skulker. The ghost hunter's massive form was unmistakable, a high-tech missile launcher already braced against his shoulder. The scope glowed as it locked onto its target.

Inside the targeting display, information flickered to life. A full-body scan swept over Danny from head to toe. Diagrams unfolded—human DNA interwoven with something colder, ethereal. Half-human. Half-ghost.

Skulker's grin stretched wide and feral across his metal head.

"Let the hunt… begin."

His finger squeezed the trigger.

The rocket launched with a vicious roar, slicing through the Gotham sky on a direct path toward the ballroom windows—and toward Danny.

Sam's entire body locked in place for a fraction of a second. Then pure instinct took over.

"Danny!"

She lunged, seizing the front of his jacket and yanking him sideways with surprising strength. In the same motion she twisted, placing her own body between him and the incoming projectile.

The glass panels exploded inward in a glittering storm of shards. Sam's hands flew up, ancient words tumbling from her lips in a rapid, desperate chant. A translucent barrier of shimmering energy bloomed around them just as the rocket struck.

The impact was deafening.

Fire and force slammed against the magical shield. The barrier shuddered violently under the blast, absorbing the worst of the explosion but still sending a brutal shockwave of heat and smoke rolling through the ballroom. Chandeliers swayed. Tables overturned. Screams erupted as guests scrambled in every direction, the elegant evening dissolving into pure chaos.

"Ahhhhh!!"

Women shrieked. Men shouted. Footsteps pounded across the marble as the crowd fled toward any exit they could find. Through the swirling smoke and the lingering green afterglow of the blast, Sam's barrier held—cracked but unbroken—while she and Danny remained standing in its fragile shelter.

"SAM!!"

Pam's voice tore through the chaos, raw with terror, but the scream was swallowed almost instantly by the pandemonium erupting across the ballroom. Guests collided with one another in their panic. Tables overturned. Shattered glass crunched under frantic feet. The elegant music that had filled the air only moments earlier was gone, replaced by a rising tide of shouts and sobs.

Danny stared at the shimmering barrier still surrounding them, eyes wide. Fine cracks spiderwebbed across its surface as Sam's arms trembled with the effort of holding it against the lingering force of the explosion.

"What—?" he started, voice tight with disbelief.

"I'll explain later," Sam cut in, already scanning their surroundings. She released the barrier with a sharp gesture. The protective light flickered out. Her hands moved again, fingers tracing quick, precise patterns through the air as she whispered another chant under her breath.

Almost immediately the smoke that surrounded them grew denser, heavier, spreading outward in thick, unnatural clouds that swallowed the ballroom whole. Visibility dropped to almost nothing. Shouts became muffled. Footsteps stumbled.

She seized Danny's wrist and pulled hard.

"You can use magic?" he asked, the words tumbling out in stunned confusion as he stumbled after her.

"Danny, now is not the time to be asking questions," she hissed, dragging him down beneath one of the long, cloth-draped tables that had somehow remained upright.

They crouched in the relative darkness. Danny's eyes darted around the confined space, taking in the way Sam had deliberately hidden them, the tension in her shoulders, the apologetic guilt written plain across her face.

Then it clicked.

His breath caught.

"You… you remember," he said, the realization hitting him like a second explosion. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time.

Sam met his gaze and gave a single, tight nod. "Yes. But right now that isn't important—"

Outside of the cold night, Skulker hovered in the air observing the swirling smoke with a satisfied, predatory grin. The rocket had done its job. A thick pillar of smoke poured upward from the shattered windows of Wayne Manor, rising into the Gotham night. With a manic laugh he shot forward, cutting through the air toward the chaos he had created.

Beneath the table, Danny's voice rose, sharp and wounded. "Well it's important to me. How long have you known?!" His body tilted back slightly as the questions poured out in a rush. "If you've remembered all this time, why didn't you say anything until now? Does Tucker remember too? How do you even remember?!"

A thin wisp of cold blue vapor escaped his lips.

Above them, Skulker's voice boomed through the smoke, amplified and theatrical.

"Show yourself, Halfa! You can't escape from the greatest hunter the Ghost Zone has to offer!"

Somewhere in the chaos, Valerie's panicked cry cut through the noise.

"Uncle Lucius!" Tears streaked her face as she dropped to her knees beside the older man, where chunks of fallen rubble pinned part of his leg.

Under the table, Sam gripped Danny's arm tightly. "Danny, please. Now isn't the time for this. I'll answer every single one of your questions later—I swear—but right now people are in danger."

He stared at her for a long, strained second. Then he exhaled sharply through his nose and pulled his arm free, the motion not cruel but unmistakably frustrated.

"Fine," he muttered, the word clipped and cold. His eyes burned with a mixture of hurt and irritation as he locked gazes with her. "But don't think for a second that this is over. You and I are going to have a long, serious talk when this is finished."

Sam's shoulders slumped. She lowered her head, teeth catching her lower lip hard enough to sting. "I know…" she whispered.

Danny closed his eyes and drew in a steadying breath. He had never imagined he would have to do this again in front of her—not like this, not after everything. When his eyes opened again, the familiar blue had been replaced by a blazing neon green.

"I'm going ghost," he said quietly.

A glowing white ring formed around his waist and swept upward and downward in a single fluid motion. His formal suit and tie dissolved into the black-and-white jumpsuit. The zipper slid down to reveal the stylized DP logo across his chest. The chain at his belt loop settled with a soft metallic clatter.

Sam watched the transformation with a soft, complicated smile—affection, worry, and lingering guilt all tangled together.

Danny gave her one last look, something unspoken passing between them, before he phased straight down through the floor and vanished.

That fact that his transformation didn't surprise her was the final nail in the coffin for him.

High above the smoke, Skulker activated his targeting visor, the lenses glowing as he scanned the ballroom for the unique energy signature of the half-ghost.

He never saw the attack coming.

Danny phased up through the floor directly beneath him, grabbing him from under his arm behind him. With a powerful surge of flight, he launched them both upward, smashing clean through the remaining ceiling panels and out into the open night air above Wayne Manor.

Cold wind rushed past them as Gotham's skyline stretched out in every direction.

Danny tightened his grip, voice dry and edged with forced bravado even as anger still simmered beneath the surface.

"Sorry," he said, "but this party is invite-only. I'm going to have to escort you off the premises."

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