The first rule of living in Amity Park was simple: never trust Jack Fenton in a kitchen.
Danny had grown up with that rule.
So had Jazz.
So had the neighbors.
So had the mailman.
Frankly, the ghosts probably knew it too.
Jack Fenton was a brilliant inventor, a loving father, and a man who could build a portal to another dimension… but the moment he picked up a spatula, reality itself seemed to take offense.
So when Jack proudly announced, “Before I leave my boy alone in Gotham, I’m making him a home-cooked meal!”
Because he loved his dad.
Because this was the last night before he started classes at Gotham University.
And because refusing would break Jack’s heart.
The kitchen had looked like a war zone.
At one point the blender had screamed.
Danny was pretty sure the oven had briefly turned green.
But eventually Jack presented his masterpiece with a proud grin.
Not burnt exactly. Not raw either. Just… aggressively suspicious. The surface shimmered slightly like it might bite someone.
But Jack looked so proud.
It tasted like sadness, motor oil, and paprika. He wanted to puke the moment it touched his tongue, but he choked it down. He could literally feel it traveling down his throat and feel the splash of it hitting his stomach acid. Thank the Ancients for his iron stomach.
Still, he smiled.
“Great, Dad.”
Jack beamed like he’d just solved world hunger.
Later, after Jack had finally left Danny’s small Gotham apartment—after the bone-crushing goodbye hug and at least five reminders to call his sister—Danny stood alone in the quiet kitchen.
Inside sat the remaining meatloaf.
The alley behind the apartment building was dark, damp, and smelled like garbage.
Which made it the perfect place to dispose of whatever that was.
Danny walked toward the dumpster, ignoring the faint growling coming from the meatloaf.
He had grown up in Amity Park.
A slightly alive dinner barely ranked in the top twenty weirdest things he'd seen.
Halfway to the dumpster, something echoed behind him.
Standing in the alley entrance was a pale man in a purple suit, green hair slicked back, lips stretched into a wide, unsettling grin.
In his hand was a crowbar.
“Oh this is perfect!” the man laughed. “Fresh little college kid wandering into my alley—”
“Oh,” he said flatly. “You’re the Joker.”
The Joker twirled the crowbar.
“Congratulations! You win tonight’s—”
Danny didn’t even think about it.
The meatloaf hit the Joker directly in the face.
For half a second nothing happened.
Then the meatloaf screeched.
Eyes burst open across its surface.
And the ball of possessed meat launched itself at the Joker with the fury of a thousand haunted meat grinders.
“WHAT THE—?!” Joker screamed.
The Joker fell backward, thrashing wildly as the horrifying meat creature tore into his face.
The screams echoed through the alley.
A moment later three figures dropped from the rooftops.
Batman.
Red Robin.
Red Hood.
Because in front of them—
The Joker was being violently murdered…
Red Robin blinked slowly.
Red Hood lowered his guns.
“…I’m not interrupting that.”
Because honestly… what was the protocol here?
The Joker’s screams faded.
The meat creature finished its work.
Then, like someone had flipped a switch, it simply melted.
The whole thing collapsed into a dark, tar-like puddle that stopped moving entirely.
Silence returned to the alley.
He picked up a stick from the ground.
Under his breath, he sang, “Dumb ways to die.”
He doubled over laughing, loud and unrestrained.
“Oh my GOD—!” he wheezed. “Bats— BATS— did you see that?! The clown got taken out by meatloaf!”
Red Robin covered his mouth, trying very hard not to laugh.
Batman stared at the puddle of former meatloaf.
“…What,” Batman said carefully, “was that?”
Red Hood started laughing even harder.
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