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The Batcave had seen its fair share of biological hazards, but usually, they were contained in reinforced glass vials labeled with skulls and crossbones. They were rarely stored in a grease-stained white paper bag labeled “DO NOT EAT – DANNY’S” sitting precariously next to the Bat-Computer's cooling vents.
Danny had been staying at the cave for three days while Bruce ran what he called “metabolic stabilization tests” and what Danny called “vibe checks.” Because Danny’s core was still humming with the high-calorie buzz of Scarecrow’s Phobia-X, he’d been treating the cave like a dorm room, which meant leaving his snacks everywhere.
“Master Danny,” Alfred began, eyeing the paper bag with the weary suspicion of a man who had lived through the Joker’s gas attacks and toddler-era Bruce Wayne. “I’ve noticed you’ve been infusing your meals. Might I suggest the kitchen upstairs for your culinary experiments?”
“Oh, it’s fine, Alfred!” Danny called out from where he was currently hanging off the wing of the Bat-Plane, polishing a turbine. “I just needed somewhere cool to keep my everything bagel. I dusted it with some of that concentrated fear-dust I scraped off the canister yesterday. It’s like a ghost-pepper seasoning, but it hits the amygdala instead of the tongue. Gives it a real zing.”
Alfred stared at the bag. To the half-ghost, it was a fortified breakfast. To anyone else, it was a one-way ticket to a catatonic state. “I shall place a warning sign, then.”
Unfortunately, the warning sign was still with Alfred when Jason Todd stomped into the cave. He was coming off a thirty-six-hour stakeout in the Bowery, his temper was frayed, and his blood sugar was somewhere in the basement.
“I am going to kill Penguin,” Jason growled, ripping off his helmet and tossing it onto a workbench. “I’m going to pluck him and fry him. I’m starving Bruce, tell me there’s something to eat that isn’t a protein bar.”
Bruce was busy analyzing the molecular decay of ectoplasm and didn’t look up. “Alfred is upstairs.”
Jason’s eyes landed on the white paper bag sitting by the monitors. He didn’t see the “DO NOT EAT” scrawled in faint, glowing green sharpie. He just saw a bagel.
“Score,” Jason muttered.
Danny turned around just in time to see Jason take a massive, aggressive bite of the everything bagel.
“Wait! Jason, no!”
It took exactly three seconds.
Jason’s pupils dilated until his eyes were solid black. The half-chewed bagel dropped from his hand, hitting the floor with a wet thud. His skin turned sickly, translucent grey, and he began to shake with the intensity of a pneumatic drill.
“No,” Jason whispered, his voice a flat, dead rasp. His hands flew to his throat, clawing at air that had suddenly turned to ash. “It’s too late. The door’s locked. It’s already ticking.”
“He’s hit the peak already,” Tim said, sliding his chair over, his expression shifting from curiosity to sharp concern. “Danny, what was the concentration on that?”
“Uh,” Danny hovered down, looking genuinely guilty. “It was pure. Like, 100% extract. I was using it as a spread.”
Jason suddenly let out a strangled yelp and threw himself backward, hitting the floor and scrambling blindly. He wasn’t looking at the cave; he was looking through it. His fingers dug into the concrete floor as if trying to find purchase in shifting dirt.
“Jason, breathe,” Bruce said, his voice dropping all pretense fo detachment as he moved toward his second-oldest son. “It’s the toxin. It’s a hallucination. You’re in the cave. You’re safe.”
Jason didn’t look up. He curled into a ball, shielding his head. “Don’t let him back in,” he choked out, his voice small and distorted. “I can’t... I can’t breathe with the smoke. It’s so cold, Bruce. Let me sleep. It’s so cold.”
Danny winced, the playful energy in the room evaporating. “Yeah, I didn’t know the response would be this... bad. For me, it’s just a flavor.”
“Fix this,” Bruce commanded, his voice vibrating with a terrifying edge of fatherly desperation.
“Right, right! I can siphon it back out,” Danny said, kneeling down by the trembling man. “It’s basically just stray energy now. I’ll just... have a second breakfast.”
Danny reached out and tapped Jason’s forehead. A faint green glow traveled from Danny’s fingertips, and a visible wisp of purple vapor began to leak out of Jason’s pores, swirling with a deep, heavy gulp.
Jason’s shaking stopped instantly. He slumped against the floor, his breathing ragged and shallow. He blinked, the teal returning to his eyes, though they remained rimmed with red. He looked at Bruce, then at his own hands, then at Danny.
“I was back there,” Jason whispered, his voice trembling with the aftershock of the vision.
“You were having a reaction to the toxin,” Tim added, his voice unusually soft as he pocketed his phone, the levity of the moment gone.
Danny rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit sickened by the taste of Jason’s specific brand of terror. It wasn’t the fun, artificial zing he liked; it was heavy and bitter. “Sorry about that, man. I thought the glowing green ink on the bag was a giveaway.”
“In this house?” Jason stood up, his legs still a bit shaky as he grabbed his jacket, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “Glowing green is a Tuesday. From now on, Fenton, if your food doesn’t look like it was prepared by a normal human in a normal kitchen, keep it in a lead-lined box.”
Bruce looked at the half-eaten bagel on the floor, his jaw set tight. “Actually,” he said, his voice grave. “From now on, Danny’s food stays in the evidence locker. Locked. With a biometric scanner.”
“Fair,” Danny sighed, his stomach letting out a low, ghostly growl that felt much less appetizing than it had ten minutes ago. “I think I’ve had enough spicy stuff for one night anyway.”