Chapter Text
If Danny’s heart beat normally, it would be racing right now. Sitting at the ridiculously big dining table in the Wayne Manor, he picked at his food, appetite nonexistent. It wasn't that the food was bad! He'd joined the Bats for a family dinner twice before and loved it. Alfred made an especially mean roast; it was delicious and it didn't even move! He really thought Tim made up the fact that Dick broke a chandelier by swinging on it, but he honestly should’ve known better.
Anyways, this dinner was different. Bruce’s previously dead son, Jason Todd, would be finally joining them. In addition, Jason was the Red Hood: A full-on crime lord! And honestly? Danny respected him.
He didn’t know what his opinion of Red Hood would be if he never heard of him beforehand. Danny didn’t really like the idea of murder, but it did make him feel better to know that most people turned into ghosts. Ghosts loved to gossip and share their experiences, so first-hand and second-hand accounts of the Red Hood would often reach Danny’s ears.
He met ghosts of fathers and mothers weeping in relief after seeing that their remaining children had a place to eat because of the food shelters Red Hood set up in Crime Alley. Countless children told their stories to Danny, finally having the peace to explore the Infinite Realms, knowing that the Red Hood would protect their friends the best they could.
Back when Red Hood was a new face in Crime Alley, a child drug-runner was shot in the head right in front of him. Red Hood didn’t even have time to react.
The reason?
The kid’s supplier miscalculated the package by a few ounces.
No one made it out of that warehouse alive. Word spread.
Danny hugged the kid while he watched his mom mourn his death. (His shoulder was soaked with ectoplasm, but he didn’t mind at all.)
Surprisingly, Danny hadn't actually run into said crime-lord before, even after hanging out in Gotham for a while now. To put it bluntly, he didn’t like going into Crime Alley. Danny didn't want to be weird about the place, especially when Red Hood’s was working so hard on maintaining it, but sometimes he'd have a gut feeling shrieking at him to stay away; he tended to listen. Maybe Jason claimed it as his haunt? Did he even have a core? Danny mentally shook his head. He shouldn't jump to any conclusions without meeting Jason himself.
Alfred frowned at the dissected lasagna. “Master Danny, is the food not to your liking today? Shall I prepare something else for you?”
Danny waved his hand in denial. “No, no, it's fine!”
Alfred raised an eyebrow.
Danny winced. “Ah, no, really.” He looked down at his plate. “It’s nothing.”
“Would you like a cup of tea to help calm your nerves about meeting Master Jason?”
Danny looked up in surprise. He looked over at Duke with a questioning look, but he just shrugged.
“I don’t know, man,” Duke said conspiratorially. “It's Alfred,” he added, as if that was an explanation. Maybe it was. Danny thought he caught the butler’s mouth twitching, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Well…” Danny hesitated, “Maybe some tea would help.”
Alfred nodded and left to boil some water.
“Don’t worry, Danny.” Dick grinned while building a tower of crab-stuffed mushrooms on his plate in a delicate balancing act. “As long as you don't insult his taste in literature, you'll be fine.”
Across the table, Tim rolled his eyes. “He’s a dramatic scumbag that loves messing with people.” He casually pointed his fork at Danny. “I'm sure you two will get along fine.”
“Oh no.” Duke ran a hand down his face and groaned. “Imagine the death puns.”
Danny beamed. “He makes death puns too?”
“Danny, do not even think about it.” Damian glared at him.
“Hey, just be glad that it’s only Jason and Danny, with how many of us have actually died.” Dick snickered.
That made a lot of sense. Well, no, it didn’t, but it explained why the feeling of death was so strong around them. Well, he didn’t really have room to judge. He and Dani didn’t have the best track record either, with the latter almost melting to her death. He guessed superheroes never really got to live mundane lives, but Jazz would have a field day if she ever met the Bats.
Damian didn't bother to dignify Dick with a response and, somehow, disdainfully scooped up more mushroom stew.
Danny ignored the screeching kettle in the background as he scrunched up his nose. Huh? What was that smell?
Did Alfred just fertilize the plants? It'd be kind of weird to do that just before dinnertime, though. But, no, it didn’t exactly smell like fertilizer. It was sort of, like, citric? But the gross kind. Acidic, acrid, whatever; that’s the word he was looking for. Like a moldy science experiment gone horribly wrong, or a public bathroom that hadn't seen a janitor in decades. Ew.
“Does anyone smell that?”
“Smell what?”
“Danny, you better not be swapping out your puns for fart jokes or something. I know you have more integrity than that.”
Alfred emerged from the kitchen holding a teacup on a small plate. “Master Danny, do you mean the smell of freshly brewed tea? Master Bruce purchased it during his latest mission abroad. Hopefully, it will be to your liking.”
“I-” Danny looked at the others in confusion. No one was visibly reacting to any kind of disgusting odor like he was. Maybe it was just the weird tea. “Um, nevermind. Thanks Alfred,” Danny said, taking the cup from Alfred and sniffing it. Puzzled looks were directed his way, but they soon moved on.
The smell didn’t seem to be coming from the tea. He took a tentative sip, taking another one after he found it had a pleasantly mellow taste. He wished that he could enjoy it without the fumes lingering in the air.
The door opened. He could feel his ghost sense, but it never made it out of his throat. He expected that it might be weird around Jason, but what he didn't expect was the repulsive smell in the air intensifying by ten times. He gagged.
This couldn’t be happening. Danny had wanted to make sure to have such a good first impression too-! But, he couldn't even focus on that anymore as nausea rolled around in his stomach. Heavy-duty boots stepped into the foyer, making their way to the dining room.
Danny’s eyes were watering. He tried to take a sip of tea, but nothing could wash down the poison nestled in his throat. What triggered this torture, the rancid concoction that smelled like thousand-year moldy compost mixed with curdled milk, flushed with fully digested Taco Bell?
He locked eyes with Jason Todd and promptly threw up.