Going Ghost! (Young Justice) Chapter 159: No Time Wasted

[Third Person Pov]

After Danny returned from his unprompted internship with Superman, he decided to spend the duration of his school suspension doing something productive—working on himself. That mostly meant training with Bruce in the Batcave while Dick was at school.

At the moment, Danny was in his human form, balanced atop a thin pole no wider than his foot. It was only one among dozens arranged in a loose circle, rising from the cave floor like a forest of steel needles. Below him was nothing but shadow. He was made to work on his balance, reflexes, all while improving his reaction speed and ability to multitask.

Either Alfred or Bruce, when he had the time, would be quizzing him on the subjects he was made to study, which would either be relating to chemistry, engineering, or crime investigations.

From the darkness all around him, danger came without warning.

A metallic whirr preceded the first projectile—a sharpened baton that screamed past his head. Danny dipped his shoulder and let it sail by, the sudden movement making the pole wobble beneath his feet. He spread his arms slightly, correcting his balance just as a second object—this one a spinning batarang—cut through the air toward his legs.

He hopped.

The pole behind him caught his weight just in time, his bare scraping against the slick surface as he landed. Another throw followed immediately, then another—knives, weighted cables, blunt training discs—all launched from hidden mechanisms with ruthless timing.

“Master Daniel,” Alfred’s voice cut through the chaos, perfectly calm as always. He stood off to the side, hands folded behind his back “Shall we move on to the next set of questions.”

Danny ducked as a blade passed inches over his head. “Kind of busy!”

“Yes, well, so is crime,” Alfred replied mildly. “Now then—upon arriving at a burglary scene with no signs of forced entry, what would be your first assumption?”

Danny twisted on one foot, barely avoiding a weighted hook that tried to take his ankle. “Inside job,” he answered, breath steady despite the strain. “Or the suspect had prior access—keys, codes, or social engineering.”

“Acceptable,” Alfred said approvingly. “And what evidence would you prioritize to confirm such a hypothesis?”

A pole to Danny’s left suddenly dropped an inch, throwing off his rhythm. He stumbled, caught himself, and immediately had to lean backward as a blunt rod shot toward his chest.

“Fingerprints on points of entry—especially places people don’t think to clean,” Danny said, hopping to the next pole as the rod shattered against the one he’d just vacated. “Dust disturbances, security logs, and inconsistencies in the occupants’ statements.”

Another projectile came—this one fast and low. Danny crouched instinctively, the wind of it tugging at his hair.

“Very good,” Alfred continued, unperturbed. “Now suppose fingerprints are inconclusive. What then?”

Danny exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to focus as his calves burned. “Behavioral analysis,” he said. “Who benefits, who had motive, and who’s acting nervous for the wrong reasons.”

A brief pause followed—just long enough for Danny to wonder if he’d answered wrong.

Then Alfred nodded. “Quite right. Do try not to fall. Cleaning you off the cave floor would be most inconvenient.”

Another volley launched.

“Thanks Alfred, you're concern for my well being truly warns my heart” Danny replied with a playful sneer and a disapproving glare.

“You are most welcome Master Daniel” Alfred bowed with sincerity.

Danny grinned despite himself and leapt forward, balance tight, mind sharp—dodging blades and studying all at once.

Under Batman’s rigorous training and supervision, Danny’s body was subjected to a level of physical conditioning that teetered dangerously between elite training and outright torture. Bruce had little interest in comfort—only results. Danny was forced to endure scalding heat one day and immersion in freezing water the next, exercises designed to teach him absolute mastery over his own body. Control over breathing. Control over heart rate. Control over pain, sweat, and instinctive panic. Every involuntary reaction was treated as a weakness that needed to be stripped away.

When endurance alone wasn’t enough, Bruce moved on to strength and precision. Danny was made to scale sheer walls with heavy weights strapped to his waist, his fingers screaming as they clung to narrow cracks in the stone. It wasn’t just about muscle—it was about grip, balance, and the refusal to let go even when every nerve begged him to.

One afternoon, Dick returned from school and descended into the Batcave, drawn by the unmistakable sound of exaggerated sobbing echoing faintly through the cavern.

“Woe is me…” a strained, pitiful voice wailed dramatically.

Dick snorted and followed the noise, amusement already curling across his face. When he rounded the corner, the sight waiting for him nearly sent him into laughter.

Danny was on the cave floor, face-down, his back stacked with thick weighted slabs—each one a solid twenty-five pounds. He was being forced to hold himself upright on his knuckles alone, body rigid and perfectly straight, like some cruel variation of a plank. His arms trembled violently under the strain.

“Dick… is that you?” Danny whimpered, his voice cracking as sweat dripped down his face. “A little help here… please…”

Dick walked closer, taking in the scene. Danny’s entire body was slick with sweat, making his skin glisten under the dim lights of the Batcave. Veins bulged visibly along his arms, neck, and temples as he struggled to hold himself steady.

“What?” Dick asked innocently, biting back laughter as he crouched down. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I’ve been staring at this stupid page for ten minutes,” Danny grunted, glaring at the open math notebook placed directly beneath his face. “Because I can’t turn it.”

Dick blinked. “…You’re kidding.”

“I wish,” Danny snapped, the weights on his back trembling as his arms shook harder. “I have to turn the page without dropping any of these. If even one slips, the timer resets. I got the hang of it at first, but now I can’t feel my arms anymore.”

Dick straightened, hands on his hips. “Sounds like training to me.”

“It is training,” Danny growled bitterly. “And it’s torture. Do you have any idea what that animal has put me through? He’s been feeding me poison—actual poison—in tiny doses and increasing it every time my body adapts.”

Dick burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, I hated that part. I spent so much time in the bathroom I ended up memorizing the tiles.”

“Seven hundred fifty thousand, six hundred eighty-nine,” Danny muttered weakly, cheeks flushing—half from exertion, half from humiliation.

Dick completely lost it, laughter echoing through the cave as his knees nearly buckled.

“Not only is my stomach cramping from the poison,” Danny continued miserably, “but from this too. I think I finally understand the suffering of women everywhere. They have my eternal sympathy.”

Dick wiped a tear from his eye and shook his head. “How much time you got left?”

“Three minutes,” Danny said between clenched teeth. “Give or take.”

Without another word, Dick crouched down and casually flipped the page of the notebook.

“You’re a blessing,” Danny croaked. “I swear I was about to cry for real.”

Dick hummed thoughtfully. “Your friends have been asking about you.”

“I know,” Danny replied. “Once I’m done here, I’m heading over to Tucker’s. Sam’s meeting us too. It’s my time off—my chance to actually relax.”

A sharp beeping suddenly echoed from one of the nearby computers. Danny let out a victorious cheer.

“Thank God! Now please—get this shit off of me!”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Dick said fondly as he lifted the ten stack of weights off Danny’s back and set them aside.

Danny collapsed flat onto the floor for a moment before slowly pushing himself upright, groaning as his shoulders protested. He rolled his neck back and brushed his sweat-soaked hair away from his face.

Dick paused, studying him. The faint outline of abs was now visible along Danny’s stomach, and his limbs—once painfully thin—had filled out with lean muscle.

“Gay,” Danny said flatly, catching the look.

Dick responded by raising his middle finger without missing a beat.

Danny chuckled as he stood fully. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, stretching sorely, “there’s a warm remedy bath with my name on it.”