The fight was over, Gotham was smoking, and the Batfam was in cleanup mode — bruised, exhausted, and pretending they hadn’t just faceplanted through half a parking lot.
Danny had only been there because his GPS led him to the wrong pizza place. He was about to head home when his phone buzzed.
Clockwork: say “So… the rubber duck thing actually worked this time?”
Danny frowned at the message. Weird, even for Clockwork. Still, harmless fun, right? He glanced across the street — at the group of costumed vigilantes standing in the debris — and shrugged.
“So…” he called out, voice casual, “the rubber duck thing actually worked this time?”
Red Robin froze mid-keystroke. Nightwing’s eyes went huge. Red Hood let out the most painful-sounding groan imaginable. Even Robin, who normally had the emotional range of a brick, looked mortified.
Batman, naturally, turned immediately toward them. “What did he mean by that?”
Four simultaneous, overlapping responses followed:
“Totally unrelated to anything we’ve ever done, sir!”
Batman’s eyes narrowed. “There was a ‘rubber duck thing’?”
“NO!” the entire team chorused, way too fast.
Across the street, Danny raised an awkward little wave. “Uh… good job tonight, I guess?”
They stared at him like he’d just threatened national security.
Batman turned back to the others. “Do we know him?”
“Random civilian,” Tim blurted.
“Total coincidence,” Dick added.
Jason muttered, “If he talks, we’re all doomed.”
Batman gave them a long, suspicious look before stalking off toward the Batmobile.
The second he was out of earshot, Dick hissed, “Why would you SAY that out loud in public?!”
Tim snapped, “I didn’t—he did!”
Jason growled, “If Bruce ever finds out what ‘rubber duck’ means, we’re all dead.”
Damian crossed his arms. “You deserve it for naming a stealth plan after bath toys.”
Meanwhile, Danny wandered away, checking his phone again.
Clockwork: they’re panicking.
Danny: i don’t even know what i said.
Clockwork: oh, it’s hilarious.
Danny: should i ask what it means?
Clockwork: only if you want to die confused.
Danny snorted into his soda. He had no idea what “the rubber duck thing” actually was — but given how red those vigilantes’ faces got, he was definitely going to text that phrase again.
It had been three days since the incident.
Three days since some random college kid had casually dropped the phrase in public — the phrase that must never, ever reach Batman’s ears.
Nightwing was still haunted by it. Red Hood refused to talk about it. Tim had purged half the mission reports just in case, and Damian kept muttering about “the shame of associating with idiots.”
Unfortunately, Batman had questions.
They were gathered in the Batcave, surrounded by screens and tension, when Bruce finally said it.
“Tell me,” he began slowly, “what exactly was the ‘rubber duck thing’?”
Dick laughed way too loudly. “Ha! Rubber ducks! You know, kids’ toys! Total coincidence, not a—uh—thing.”
Tim jumped in. “Exactly! We were just… testing… decoy tech! For stealth! You know, like how ducks—uh—float!”
Jason muttered, “Oh my god, you’re making it worse.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “You named a stealth op after bath toys?”
“Technically,” Dick said, sweating, “you named it. We just… ran with it!”
And then, as if summoned by irony itself, a text pinged on the Batcomputer. Untraceable number. Unknown sender. Just one line:
So… are we doing the rubber duck thing again tonight? ;)
Dick looked like he was about to start praying.
Batman’s voice dropped to glacier temperature. “Who sent that?”
“Uh,” Tim croaked, “just a random… fan? Civilian? Definitely not related to us!”
“NO!” Dick said too quickly. “I mean—uh—why waste resources, right? Harmless joke! Ducks! Totally normal!”
Bruce gave him the world’s longest, slowest, I-know-you’re-lying stare before turning back to the Batmobile.
“…We’ll discuss this later.”
The moment the elevator doors closed, the entire cave erupted.
Jason threw his helmet on the floor. “I’m gonna haunt that guy.”
Tim groaned into his hands. “He’s everywhere. His number’s untraceable. How is he doing this?”
Damian scowled. “Perhaps this is punishment for your idiocy.”
Dick sighed. “If Bruce ever finds out what it really means, we’re all grounded until the next century.”
Meanwhile, across Gotham, Danny was lying on his dorm bed, snickering at his phone.
Danny: they’re still freaking out about the duck thing, huh?
Clockwork: completely. it’s delightful.
Danny: can i send another one?
Clockwork: i was hoping you’d ask.
Danny grinned, typing another message with absolutely no idea that he’d just reignited a full-scale Bat-level panic.
Literally. One second Danny was walking out of a coffee shop, the next there was a six-foot shadow looming over him in an alley, cape and all.
“Daniel Fenton,” Batman said, voice low enough to rumble. “You’ve been sending coded messages to my team.”
Danny sipped his coffee. “Yup.”
Bruce paused. “You admit it?”
Danny just grinned. “Trade secret.”
That threw Batman for exactly half a second — no one ever called it that tone. “This isn’t a game.”
“Oh, it’s totally a game,” Danny said cheerfully. “You’re just losing.”
Batman took a slow step forward, the kind that made hardened criminals confess on the spot. “You will tell me how you know those phrases.”
Danny tilted his head, pretending to think about it. “Hmm… nah.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed behind the cowl. “You’re playing with things you don’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand plenty.” Danny’s grin widened, just on the edge of smug. “Like the fact you really don’t want the others finding out what ‘the pink mug incident’ was.”
Danny sipped his coffee again. “Oh, nothing. Just, you know… the mug. With the hearts. And the glitter paint.”
A long, tense silence followed.
Batman’s jaw clenched. “How do you know about that?”
Danny shrugged. “Like I said — trade secret.”
“…You will not repeat that to anyone.”
Danny’s grin turned absolutely devilish. “So it is true?”
The Batglare intensified. “Mr. Fenton.”
Danny leaned against the wall, utterly relaxed. “Relax, big guy. Your secret’s safe with me.” He winked. “Besides, I think it’s kinda cute.”
Batman stiffened. “We’re done here.” He turned abruptly, cape snapping as he vanished into the shadows — far faster than usual.
Up on a nearby rooftop, the Batfam had been eavesdropping the entire time.
Nightwing’s voice crackled through the comms. “…Did he just run away?”
Tim sounded horrified. “He never runs away.”
Jason snorted. “Okay, I need to know what the pink mug thing is.”
“Don’t,” Dick said flatly. “Some things are sacred.”
Damian frowned. “So Father once possessed a pink mug?”
Jason cackled. “Apparently one with glitter hearts.”
Tim groaned. “We’re all dead.”
Back on the street, Danny checked his phone.
Clockwork: excellent work. he’s off-balance.
Danny: what’s the pink mug thing?
Clockwork: oh, just a heartfelt gift from someone he refuses to acknowledge.
Danny: oh my ancients, that’s adorable.
Clockwork: isn’t it? now text him “don’t forget to use a coaster.”
Danny grinned wickedly. “On it.”
It had been months since the “Pink Mug Incident.”
Months since the Batfam had collectively decided never to speak of that weird kid again — or his terrifying ability to know things no one should.
Downtown Gotham, Saturday Afternoon.
Tim was actually having a decent day for once. Civvies on, no patrols, no rogue alerts. Just a calm lunch with Bernard and a couple of friends from WE.
They’d just sat down when Bernard looked up and smiled. “Hey, isn’t that guy from your biochem class?”
Tim followed his gaze — and almost choked on his drink.
Danny Fenton. The walking, talking secret detector.
He was standing at the counter, ordering coffee with that same unbothered grin.
No way. Tim slumped in his seat, trying to shrink behind the menu. “No. Not him. Not today.”
“Don’t make eye contact. Don’t—oh Ancients, he’s coming this way—”
“Ancients?” Bernard repeated, confused.
“Just act normal,” Tim whispered, eyes wide.
Danny approached the next table over, carrying his coffee. He smiled at Bernard. “Hey, nice to see you again! Cute keychain, by the way. Didn’t think you’d put that one back on your bag after the ‘locker thing.’”
Tim’s soul left his body.
Bernard blinked, confused. “How did you—wait, have we met?”
Danny tilted his head. “Hmm? Oh, maybe I saw you around campus.” He sipped his drink, perfectly casual. “Anyway, that was a wild day, huh?”
Bernard laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, totally—uh—” He turned to Tim. “Wait, did I tell you about the locker thing?”
Tim was pale. “No. No, you didn’t.”
Bernard frowned. “Oh. Weird.”
Danny smiled, friendly as ever. “Anyway, have a good one!”
And just like that, he was gone — out the door, walking away, whistling like the embodiment of chaos in a hoodie.
Bernard watched him go. “He seems nice.”
Tim stared blankly at his coffee. “He’s not. He’s a menace.”
Bernard laughed. “Tim, he just mentioned a keychain.”
Tim looked at him like he’d just said the Joker was “a little quirky.” “No. You don’t understand. He knows things. Personal things.”
Bernard grinned. “Like what, your secret identity?”
Tim froze. “…Why would you say that.”
“…Wait.” Bernard squinted. “Oh my god, do you have one?”
Tim slumped over the table. “I hate my life.”
That night, in the Batfam group chat:
Red Robin: he struck again.
Red Robin: he talked to Bernard.
Red Robin: HE KNEW ABOUT THE LOCKER INCIDENT.
Robin: what locker incident.
Red Robin: THAT’S NOT THE POINT.
Red Robin: YOU DON’T GET IT. HE’S EVOLVING.
Meanwhile, across the city, Danny was sitting on his dorm bed, giggling into his phone.
Danny: I said “locker thing.” You think he bought it?
Clockwork: he believes you are an omniscient being of embarrassment.
