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It’s two am, and Danny’s procrastinating.
The fast food worker put too much ketchup on his BatMeal, but Danny didn’t buy it for the taste. He spends his time making his Red Robin toy battle the salt shaker, complete with mouth sound effects. No one’s watching him. Except maybe the teenage cashier, but that guy’s been staring blankly at the wall for God knows how long. Danny may as well be alone.
Of course, Danny’s never truly alone these days, but he tries not to think about that.
Toy Red Robin defeats the salt shaker, and Danny’s reaching for the pepper shaker when his hand seizes up—
White-hot pain erupts from the back of Danny’s neck. Sharp, fiery, all-consuming.
The first time this happened, Danny fell to the floor, screaming uncontrollably, but it’s happened enough times now that Danny, with great effort, manages not to react too hard. A groan escapes his lips, fingers tensing and untensing over and over. Still a reaction, but nothing that’ll make anyone call an ambulance for him.
Within a few moments, it fades completely, and Danny’s left gasping for breath, hand clutching the table. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.
Fuck, he thought it’d be longer before she noticed.
His phone vibrates with a text: Get back to work.
Danny groans. She even texts with perfect grammar. What a fruitloop. He throws out his meal and his toy, then enters the BatBurger’s restroom.
He gives his reflection the middle finger, then leaves. Waller will know it’s for her. The camera on the front of his jacket lets her see everything, after all.
Though Danny knows Waller has better things to do then watch him constantly. She might try to make him think he’s always being watched, but honestly, he’s the least dangerous member of the Suicide Squad. Last week, Deadshot killed a civilian bystander. Danny hasn’t done anything half that crazy. And besides, Danny’s rap sheet isn’t nearly as bad as the others; his worst crime is property damage.
Perhaps Waller keeps a close eye on him because his leash is looser. Unlike the others, Danny doesn’t have a bomb in the back of his skull. His ghostly half turned him intangible every time they tried to implant it. Unluckily, the government found this handy-dandy torture collar instead. Danny thinks it’s an old gadget of his parents'. Maybe. He would like to believe his government isn’t smart enough to create ectoplasmic torture devices.
The collar sticks to his neck with some chemical adhesive, and even Danny’s intangibility isn’t enough to dislodge it. It just turns intangible with him, still stuck. Perhaps Tucker could figure out how to dismantle it, but Danny hasn’t heard from his friend since he got arrested. He has no idea what the GIW told his friends and family about his whereabouts. No one’s ever commented on the collar—it looks just like an ordinary choker. Everyone probably assumes it’s part of his costume.
Danny transforms into his ghost form and flies over the streets, scanning the ground for suspicious activity. No Bats in sight. He stops a couple muggings. The Bats’ hacker, Oracle, once offered him a comm so she could inform him of crimes, but Danny claimed technology wasn’t compatible with his powers.
A while later, Danny sees a barely-visible column of smoke on the horizon. A fire across the city. He flies to the scene. Several buildings are engulfed in flames. A crowd gathers in the street, many wearing pajamas.
As Danny approaches the center building, a lean figure climbs out a second-story window, an old man draped across his back. Danny recognizes the red and gold costume of Red Robin, and their eyes meet.
“Two people on the top floor,” Red Robin shouts. “Building’s unstable.”
Danny nods. With his powers, turning intangible and flying into the fire is easy. None of it affects him. He finds the two civilians, briefly turns tangible to grab them, and flies back to the street. When he sets them down, they both jump at the change of scenery.
One civilian gasps in recognition. “Thank you, Phantom!”
Danny salutes in response, flying back into the blaze. The fire department is already here, but with Danny’s powers, he can much more easily scan the building for stragglers. He hauls down a massive fish tank. A woman takes it from him with a delighted exclamation. Soon enough, Danny finishes searching all three buildings. So he hangs back, letting the fire department do their thing and chatting with apartment-dwellers. Everyone’s anxious, and crabby at being woken up, and no one knows what started the fire. Danny entertains a group of kids with his powers, and the adults shoot him grateful looks.
At one point Danny spots Red Robin nearby, but the other hero isn’t looking at him.
Red Robin is staring at the blaze, a familiar frown etched on his face. His detective-ing face. Danny gives him a questioning look, but turns away when a civilian girl holds out her sleeve and a pen for an autograph.
A minute later, Red Robin frantically waves him over. “This isn’t over,” he hisses, “Take us to Crest Hill. 44th street.”
Danny picks him up and flies into the air without question. At first, he doesn’t understand why Red Robin sounded so frantic—there’s nothing on the horizon, no daunting cloud of smoke—but they’re halfway to 44th street when the air lights up with an explosion, dead ahead. Red Robin somehow knew about it beforehand.
Danny flies faster. “How did you…”
“Firefly,” says Red Robin, “His attacks always have some sort of pattern.”
The second fire isn’t as bad as the first, since they got there so fast. Danny busies himself with saving victims while Red Robin battles Firefly. Luckily, the building gets evacuated quickly, and no one’s injured aside from smoke inhalation. Danny does one more cursory scan through the building to check for stragglers. He flies outside, in time to see Red Robin deliver the finishing blow on Firefly.
Red Robin straddles the villain, wrenching his hands behind his back, and grunts, “Stay down.” Then he glances up towards Danny. “Phantom, can you get that flamethrower to the GCPD guys over there?”
“Sir, yes sir.” Danny complies.
A few minutes later, both of them sit on a nearby rooftop, legs dangling over the side, watching the first responders below. Red Robin’s hair is blown back from his face, his face and costume covered in patches of soot.
Danny hates how unfairly attractive he looks, even like this. Nothing looks bad on this guy.
“Thank you,” Red Robin says suddenly, “if you hadn’t been here to get the civilians out, I never would’ve caught him.”
Danny watches the flashing red and blue lights. “Just doing my job.”
He always gets mixed feelings about nights like this. He never would’ve been here if it weren’t for Waller, but he hates to feel happy about anything she caused, even indirectly.
Red Robin nudges his shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short.” He pauses, listens to something on his comm, then smiles at Danny. “Oracle says I’m done for the night. Wanna get slushies?”
Danny’s chest feels hollow, but he forces a smile and says, “Yes!”
Red Robin grins, running to the roof edge and launching his grapple, not glancing back to see if Danny’s following. Danny always is.
It’s been happening more often lately, Red Robin’s invitations to hang out.
Danny always feels terrible spying on the Bats, but it’s worse with Red Robin.
From the beginning, Red Robin has been the most—not friendly, exactly, but not as hostile and openly distrustful as the other Bats. Danny botched his first impression with them (listen, if Waller wanted someone who could subtly figure out Batman’s secret identity, she shouldn’t have chosen Danny. Subtle is not in his vocabulary). The Bats saw through him instantly, and were understandably wary of someone who wanted to know their secrets. They avoided him. But not Red Robin, who was courteous and professional every time they ended up fighting together.
And that polite indifference has slowly morphed into… whatever this is.
Red Robin lands in front of their destination. The little hole-in-the-wall convenience store is the best place in Gotham. It’s got the same yellowed sign it had in the 60s. The slushie machine looks so old it might be a genuine health hazard. The muffins taste so good Danny actually checked if they were made by a ghost doing the food equivalent of Ember’s mind control music.
The cashier is so used to vigilantes stopping by that she hardly reacts to their approach. Red Robin pays for them both (red for him, blue for Danny), and also buys several muffins (this week’s flavor is apple cinnamon).
They take their spoils to the roof and sit by the edge, talking about everything and nothing, watching the city lights. As usual, Danny steers the conversation as far from vigilantism as possible—today he’s recounting plot lines from Wendy the Werewolf Stalker, the terrible budget TV series he watched because Paulina said she liked it once, and he wanted to impress her. Danny loves this show, but man is it nonsensical.
He’s halfway through recounting an episode when Red Robin laughs, incredulous, “That’s literally not what happens.”
Danny gasps, putting a hand to his chest. “I thought you said you hadn’t seen this show!”
“I’ve seen the episode with the archery girl.”
“Luella is so gay for Wendy, Cissie King-Jones told me so herself—”
Red Robin laughs harder. “No she didn’t, you liar—”
Danny commits to the bit and makes up a story about running into Cissie King-Jones, teen actor and Olympic archer, at a highway rest-stop, but Red Robin’s laughing so hard that Danny can’t finish, bursting into giggles too.
“You’re so full of shit,” Red Robin says.
“How would you know? The only way you could be sure is if you knew her or something.” Danny gasps in realization. “Are you secretly Cissie King-Jones in disguise?” Red Robin’s laughing again, as Danny crows, “I knew it! I’ve figured out your secret!”
“Keep guessing, Michael.”
Danny freezes.
How long has he known?
Red Robin gives him a knowing look. “You didn’t think I knew, did you?”
Danny fidgets in place. Michael Benson is the fake identity Waller’s people set up so the Bats wouldn’t figure out who Danny really is. Fake apartment, fake medical records, fake high school diploma. Why look for a secret identity, when you already know it?
Red Robin grins. “Should’ve known better than to underestimate me, Mike.”
Danny automatically makes a face.
“Don’t like being called Mike?”
If Danny has to hear Red Robin call him by his stupid fake name one more time, he’s gonna punch someone.
“Never liked my name much at all, honestly.” Danny’s fake name, of course. What he wouldn’t give to hear his dad call him Danno again.
“I could call you something else.” Red Robin props his chin on his hands, scrutinizing him. “How about… babe?”
Danny’s face heats. He tries to speak but ends up sputtering, like he’s fourteen again and a pretty girl smiled in his direction. Why do pretty people always do this to him? It’s not fair.
Red Robin smirks. “Or something else? Darling, sweetheart, honey—”
Danny shoves his hands over the other boy’s mouth, “Stop, stop, oh my God, stop it,” but he’s smiling wider than he has in weeks and Red Robin, the smug bastard, absolutely sees it. Red Robin pulls Danny’s hands away, aggressively, and Danny pushes him back, and then they’re play-fighting, Red Robin making halfhearted swipes and Danny floating away every time he gets close.
Red Robin wrestles Danny to the ground and there’s a breathless moment where Danny thinks he’s gonna kiss him, maybe, then Red Robin rolls off of him and the moment is over. Danny sits up, disappointed.
“You know what’s crazy to me?” Red Robin says, “You’re a chemical engineering major. I have to say, I did not expect that from you.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know, maybe social work or education or something? You seem like the type that’s always wanting to help people.”
“Psychoanalyzing me?” Danny snickers. “You got a file on my behavior alongside that stalker background check? Don’t think I didn’t notice that I didn’t tell you my major.”
Danny’s amused, and not at all bothered (Red Robin is a bat, Danny knows what he’s getting into), but Red Robin stiffens, shoulders hunching, expression shuttering.
Red Robin folds his hands in his lap, staring into the distance. “I know you probably want to know my real name,” he says, quiet.
Danny’s good mood deflates, like he’s been doused in a bucket of ice water. This is really bad.
The second Danny knows Red Robin’s real name, Waller will have probable cause to show up at his house and arrest him. Danny imagines Red Robin, alone in some barren cell, or worse, drafted into the Suicide Squad.
“You don’t have to tell me,” says Danny.
“I want to,” Red Robin says, “I really want to do this right.”
Run. Run, get as far away from Danny as you can, it’s not safe, please, please—
Danny fiddles with his hands. “I don’t want you to,” tell me, “feel like you have to tell me anything.”
The corner of Red Robin’s mouth quirks up. “I’ve never gotten to tell someone before,” he admits. “Each time I got close to someone, circumstances happened that forced me to reveal it, or they figured it out, or Batman went behind my back and told them.”
“Batman did what?”
“Yeah, it was a whole thing. He told Spoiler—granted, I had wanted to tell Spoiler, but I had also wanted it to be me telling her, y’know?” Red Robin takes Danny’s hand, cradling it in both of his own, so tender that Danny kind of wants to cry. “For once, I just, I want it to be my choice.”
Danny doesn’t dare say anything, not trusting himself to keep a straight face.
Red Robin sighs. “Batman doesn’t want me to tell you. He doesn’t think we can trust you.”
Danny exhales with relief. “Don’t cause problems on my account.”
“Hm. I kinda want to, though.” Red Robin looks at him, unbearably fond. “I’m an adult. I should be allowed to tell people I trust about my life. The problem is, Batman thinks you could figure out his secret identity if you knew mine.”
Danny winces. That’ll be written down in a government file somewhere.
Red Robin continues, “So it’s not just my secret, you know?”
Danny nods. He does know.
“So I guess I’m saying that it’s up to you. I’ll tell you if you want to know, but we’ll both be on Batman’s shit list, just so you’re aware.”
Danny breathes out, shaky. What a terrible choice Red Robin has given him. Danny’s whole mission is to find the Bats secret identities, so how the hell is he supposed to say “don’t tell me” without tipping off the government that he’s trying to sabotage their efforts?
Danny says, “Batman’s terrifying.”
Red Robin huffs a laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He flexes his bicep for emphasis, smiling, and Danny has the thought that Red Robin’s the most precious person he’s ever met, this man who dedicates himself wholly to fighting crime yet still makes time to befriend Danny, how could Danny ever betray him—
Danny could tell him the truth.
It’s a wild thought, one that goes against everything Waller’s ingrained in him over the past nine months, where every snarky comment, every hint of disobedience, was punished. His hand flies up to his neck, subconsciously. It’s the worst pain he’s ever felt.
Waller will activate the collar if he says something about his situation, but who’s to say she’s even watching? They just spent an hour talking about TV.
“There’s something you should know,” says Danny, “I’m not really the person you think I am—”
Pain.
Blinding, blinding pain.
It goes on longer than it ever has before, and Danny starts counting one, two, three, one, two, three, in order to think about literally anything other than his nerves being on fire.
It stops, as suddenly as it started.
Danny has an up-close view of the gravel on the rooftop—when did he end up lying on his side? Red Robin’s hovering over him, hands fluttering, saying “—not responsive, Oracle, I don’t know what—Phantom, can you hear me? Phantom!”
“I’m fine.” Danny sits up, pushing Red Robin’s hands off of him. “It’s just a seizure, it’s over now.”
“You didn’t tell me you got seizures,” Red Robin says, and Danny breathes a sigh of relief that he actually believed the lie.
“It’s like a side effect of my powers, I don’t really know.”
Red Robin peppers him with more questions (how long has it been going on? How does he know it’s connected to his powers? How frequently does it happen? Et cetera), to which Danny gives vague, nonenthusiastic answers. He doesn’t want to talk about this, and eventually Red Robin picks up on it.
“Hey,” he whispers, hand laying gently on Danny’s arm, “I’m just worried about you, okay?”
“I know.” In the distance, the sky is turning a lighter shade of blue. They’ve been out here so long it’s nearly dawn.
“I can’t believe I didn’t see this in your medical file,” Red Robin huffs, “So much for the stalker background check.”
Danny cringes. “I’ve never really seen a doctor for it. I didn’t want anyone to know about my powers.”
“I could get you in to see the Bat’s doctor—we have one that knows how to keep secrets, I trust her completely.”
Danny wrinkles his nose. “It’s fine,” he says, “I don’t really like doctors.”
Pain.
Sharp, blinding. Danny stiffens.
It’s over in a few seconds—much quicker, this time, but not so quickly that Red Robin doesn’t notice.
“Was that…?” Red Robin asks.
“Yeah.” Danny sees no point in lying, even if it’ll bring back that inconvenient concern. He’s so tired of fucking lying.
“Does it get worse when you’re tired?”
“Probably, I haven’t really been paying attention.”
“You need to pay attention. Your health is important.” Red Robin rises to his feet, offering a hand up. “I’ll give you a ride home. If it’s a side effect of your powers, you really shouldn’t overuse them.”
Danny drawls, “Is this how it’s gonna be from now on? You mother-henning me?”
“Someone has to do it.”
Red Robin presses the button on his wrist computer that summons his motorcycle, and Danny peers over the ledge to watch it arrive because a self-driving motorcycle will never not be awesome. When it arrives, they climb down the fire escape. There’s only one helmet, which Red Robin tries to put on Danny, but he refuses. Danny says, “If we get in an accident, I’m the one who’s turning intangible, genius.”
The ride is nice—the air is comfortably cool, and the streets are nearly deserted at this hour—Red Robin stops half a block from his apartment. “I figure you don’t actually want a vigilante dropping you off at your doorstep,” he says. “That might be suspicious.”
“I don’t ever show up there in costume.”
“I know. It would’ve been a lot easier to find out your identity if you did.”
Danny should walk away now, but he lingers. He keeps doing that—lingering in Red Robin’s space, savoring the small moments, even though he knows objectively that he’s terrible for Red Robin. That Red Robin would hate him, if he knew who Danny is sending his secrets to.
Danny clears his throat. “Well, I guess this is goodbye.” Maybe he’s imagining it, or does Red Robin seem as reluctant to part as he is?
“I guess it is.” But Red Robin steps off his bike, makes a hesitant motion towards Danny.
Then his palm comes up, cradling Danny’s cheek. And he’s leaning closer.
Danny’s thoughts are still preoccupied with his shitty spy job—so the first thing he thinks, as Red Robin leans in, is: some government lackey is watching all this through the camera on the front of my collar, and Red Robin has no idea. Is this ethical? A shiver runs through him.
Red Robin seems to notice his hesitation, because he pauses, faces so close Danny feels his breath. Danny’s heart beats so fast he feels it in his throat.
Fuck it, Danny thinks, and closes the distance between them. What’s one more betrayal?