DP X Marvel #17
One week. One fucking week. That’s how long it took before the universe’s reality collapsed in on itself like a toddler knocking over a block tower made of cosmic rules, and Danny Fenton—sorry, High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, Keeper of Balance, Ghost King of All Dimensions, Supreme Bureaucratic Overlord of Death and Souls, or whatever other bullshit title Clockwork slapped on him—was done. He was so done. With everything. With life. With afterlife. With bureaucracy. With math. Goddamn, he hated math.
He phased through the ceiling of what was left of the Avengers compound without so much as a knock because, frankly, he didn’t care anymore. People were dead. Everyone was dead. Half a fucking universe. And universes are fucking infinite. Literally. He’d been counting. Or trying to. But the math broke somewhere around “nine trillion decillion” and his brain short-circuited.
Inside, the Avengers were scattered around like bad leftovers. Steve was slouched in a chair like someone told him America lost the war. Thor was cradling a bottle like it was the last warmth in the world. Natasha looked like she hadn’t blinked in hours. Banner was trying to fix a coffee machine that had already given up on life. Tony—oh, Tony—Tony looked like he’d been held together with duct tape and sarcasm, and not the good kind.
“Yo,” Danny said, arms folded, crown floating behind him, cape swishing dramatically like it had beef with gravity. “Which one of you assholes thought wiping out half an entire goddamn universe was a great idea?”
They blinked. Steve slowly got to his feet. “Uh… who—?”
“No. Shut up. Don’t talk. I’m not in the mood. I haven’t slept in a week. Time doesn’t even exist in the Infinite Realms, and I somehow managed to be late to ten meetings that haven’t happened yet. Do you know what kind of eldritch administrative nightmare I’m dealing with? Do you?”
Tony blinked. “Not really, no.”
Danny whipped around to face him, pointing a glowing finger. “I don’t care, Stark. I don’t care that your kid sidekick is dead. I don’t care that half your team is sad. I don’t care that your billionaire ass is depressed and growing a sad beard like you’re auditioning for ‘Survivor: Superhero Edition’. I have literal oceans of paperwork made out of the screams of the damned piling up in my inbox because some purple California Raisin thought committing universal homicide was a vibe.”
“Hold on,” Natasha said, standing now, brows furrowed. “Who even are you?”
“I’m the janitor,” Danny deadpanned. “Of death. And you—you are all on my shit list.”
Steve opened his mouth.
“NO. I said no talking. Do you know how many souls half a universe is? Do you? BECAUSE I DON’T. THAT NUMBER DOESN’T EXIST. That’s not even math anymore, that’s heresy. There are species no one even knows about! I had to learn seven extinct galactic dialects in five minutes just to sign their death certificates!”
“Wait—wait,” Bruce said, cautiously stepping in like someone trying to defuse a bomb made of feelings. “You’re… the King of the Afterlife?”
“Infinite Realms,” Danny corrected. “Afterlife implies one dimension. I’ve got infinite. One of them is just an endless IKEA. You think you’re in hell? Try getting lost in that one for eternity.”
Tony blinked. “That explains the floating crown.”
“Oh, you noticed?” Danny snapped, sarcasm thick. “Yeah, the crown’s real subtle. You know what else I’m wearing? These.”
He held up his fingers. On them gleamed the actual Infinity Stones. Not the ones Thanos used. No, these were the OG versions—before the universe dumbed them down for mortal brains.
“I’m wearing multiversal cosmic artifacts as fucking accessories, Stark. I clapped death back into submission on my way here. I threatened Time itself with a lawsuit. I am so tired.”
Everyone was staring now. Thor slowly lowered his bottle.
“I have one question,” Thor said, eyes narrowing. “Can you bring them back?”
Danny didn’t respond immediately. He paced, muttering under his breath about soul processing queues and spectral overflow reports and ghost union strikes.
Then he turned, threw up his hands, and shouted, “Fine! Fine! But only because if I see one more Ectoplasmic Reconciliation Form I’m going to scream my own name and rip reality in half!”
Tony raised a cautious hand. “Just to clarify… you’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”
Danny glared at him. “I am doing this because your collective idiocy has backed up the Infinite Realms so badly, I have ancient god-beasts getting angry Yelp reviews for not guiding souls fast enough.”
Bruce choked. “You get… Yelp reviews?”
“Do not ask. Do not google ‘Spiritual Bureaucracy Yelp.’ You’re not ready. It’s worse than you can even imagine.”
He clapped his hands. The power reverberated like a sonic boom made of lightning and bass drops. Light cracked through the floor, time folded, and space rewrote itself. In an instant, everything was back. People. Planets. Souls. Loved ones. Unsnapped. Safely. No one reappeared in traffic or mid-air. They were all fine.
Everyone stared.
Tony gasped. “…Peter?”
Somewhere in the compound, Peter Parker screamed, “MR. STARK I THINK I DIED?!”
Danny muttered, “Yeah, well, get in line, kid.”
Tony looked like he might cry. Steve looked like he might cry. Even Thor blinked back tears.
Danny didn’t give them a second to bask.
“Listen to me and listen hard, because I am only going to say this once. The next time you idiots let some glorified space grape get his hands on cosmic power and kill half the universe, I’m not bringing anyone back.”
Natasha stepped forward. “Wait—what—?”
“I said,” Danny growled, eyes glowing green and crown sparking violently, “the next time this happens, I am going to let the universe rot. I don’t care if it’s your kid, or your moms, or your emotional support dog. You will live with it. You will suffer. Because I’m not spending another week cleaning up your mess like the goddamn galactic janitor!”
Tony muttered, “Kinda thought you said you were the janitor.”
“I will kick your kneecaps off.”
Tony shut up.
Danny took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going home. Do not call me again unless the universe is actually ending. And even then, it better be certified by at least three gods and signed in triplicate.”
He started floating upward, preparing to phase out, when Steve blurted, “Wait, thank you. Really.”
Danny paused mid-air, sighed, and turned around. “You’re welcome. I guess. But seriously. If another genocidal space maniac so much as coughs on the timeline, I’m filing a restraining order on this entire dimension. Bye.”
And with that, he vanished in a swirl of ectoplasmic smoke, leaving the Avengers staring at each other in the awkward silence that followed a divine ass-whooping.
Thor finally muttered, “I liked him.”
Tony sat down, blinked a few times, then said, “He just wore the Infinity Stones as rings. Like mood jewelry.”
Bruce nodded solemnly. “He’s not paid enough.”
“Was he even paid at all?” Steve asked.
And somewhere in the realms between life and death, Danny Phantom screamed into his pillow made of souls: “I AM NOT GETTING PAID FOR THIS BULLSHIT!!!”
