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starry-bi-sky · 10 months ago

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Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well:

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents.

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill.

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.)

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one.

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself.

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.)

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.)

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe.

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal.

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking.

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter.

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind.

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous.

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own.

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t.

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward.

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”)

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell.

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his.

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it.

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now.

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own.

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother.

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten.

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands.

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely.

It is a fast dream.

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods.

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him.

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal.

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train.

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.)

—---

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again.

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person.

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.)

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird.

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is.

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off.

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom.

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.)

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

-----------------

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #danyal al ghul au #amnesiac danyal al ghul au #songs in order of the album: the hartebeest / harpy hare / and the hound / neath the grove is a heart #musician danny has my heart and soul #yes this danyal IS an alternative danny from the other au. an au where things were a little better :) but still sucks #implied good mom talia al ghul #danyal is a momma's boy send tweet #dpxdc ficlet #dpxdc prompts #dp x dc au #dp x dc fanfic #danyal is sTILL five years older than damian in this au #no beta no edits we die like danny fenton #poc danny fentons #i didnt know where to end this :(( i was gonna go on but i blanked. i thought about going into his relationships with his rogues and so on.#but that felt too much like trying to just increase the word count rather than actually writing?? if that makes sense #ugh im gonna have forgotten to include things and im gonna be kicking myself later #morally ambiguous danny whoo! we love to see it #since this was just for fun it doesnt really go into it all that much other than like. it happens. and that danny realizes he's dangerous #phantom in a hazmat suit? nah phantom looking like an assassin >:].#danyal al ghul with damian and his mom: 🥰🌸✨#danyal al ghul with everyone else: 👹🔪#am i heavily implying that clockwork had smth to do with Danyal’s amnesia and appearance by the cabin? 👀 maybe #not enough danyal al ghul aus where him being an assassin actually. has some kind of affect on him

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kurishiri · 4 months ago

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epilogue . . . happy birthday, darius! ˗ˏˋ🪽´ˎ˗

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or may contain creative liberties for characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost or claim these as your own!

— please note this entire story is told from darius’ point of view!

— cw: invasion of personal space.

I had taken her to be far too honest, and a bit of a fool too.

Someone who Crown seemed charmed by——just another human.

And also how she had by chance happened upon a place where they had passed judgment.

That was all there was to it, and yet Crown seemed quite attached to her.

She was important to them, and they held her dear in their hearts.

And seeing her surrounded by them like that, it very much resembled a ‘robin’ within a birdcage.

Lightning didn’t strike thereafter.

It was as though the raging weather up until now had all been a lie as I turned to the stars that showed themselves in the sky.

(You lucky girl, you.)

Having come to her senses, she looked as though she had barely escaped from death,

and yet, she also somewhat seemed as though she was unsatisfied by something.

Darius: Now that’s quite unfortunate, seeing the sky ended up clearing.

Just like that, I let go of her, and she went for the door in a haste to make more distance, but——

Kate: U-umm...

For some reason, she turned around and raised her voice, her trembling hands gripping her skirt.

Kate: Happy birthday!

Darius: ......... [surprised]

Kate: And good night.

I could only stare at her retreating figure from the open door for a while, dazed.

But then, I started to feel things have really started to get interesting, and laughter escaped me thereafter.

Darius: That’s the first time I’ve seen a human like her.

There wasn’t any human like her in Germany.

(But even in this country, it seems that fairytale keeper is one of a kind too.)

(That just goes to show how there are some odd humans, I suppose.)

I took out the handkerchief from my pocket, pinching it between my fingers, so the moonlight illuminated its embroidery.

Darius: Well, I already could see what she was going to choose.

I saw how she had been setting her sights at what she was going to choose from outside the shop.

And also how she had taken that handkerchief first, before all else.

Darius: It’s the first I’ve heard handkerchiefs being used as a charm, though... is it like wishing upon something, maybe?

Such as wishing not to get hurt, or to come back safe and sound.

For a long time now, humanity has entrusted their wishes on objects.

Darius: If that’s the case, though, I think this would find much more use in your hands than mine.

If someone who held no power whatsoever, such as herself, accompanied Crown on missions as fairytale keeper...

(The least you could do is make a wish on this that you can come back without getting hurt, no?)

But——

Darius: It is pretty interesting seeing a human like her worry over us Cursed ones.

In the beginning, I was wondering what type of human this fairytale keeper was, seeing Crown all around her...

(But I sure didn’t expect her to be the one to approach me first, so I didn’t even need to probe any further to know.)

She did seem perplexed, to be sure, but in the end she said that she had fun,

and while my words clearly scared her, it wasn’t as though she had run away either.

Darius: All that talk about celebrating with me forever was meant to be a joke, but now I’m starting to think a bit otherwise.

Realizing that my reflection in the window was smiling, I placed my hand on the corner of my mouth.

Darius: Which means it’s about time I start thinking about turning Crown’s little robin into Vogel’s.

D: If I do that, then I really can have her celebrate my birthday.

Holding the handkerchief, I turned on my heel.

Strangely, I didn’t feel any disgust.

Darius: Always and forever, until I draw my very last breath.

A few days after my birthday——

Suddenly, I heard reserved knocks from the door, and I raised my head, turning my attention to the one at the other side of the door.

Darius: Come in, miss fairytale keeper.

When she opened the door, surprise was on her face.

Kate: How did you know it was me?

Darius: I just took a shot in the dark.

D: But it looks like I hit the mark.

(Well, actually, I knew because you’re the only one who knocks the door the way you do.)

I had ended up remembering how she knocked, seeing as the servants and maids knocked in a completely different way.

Kate: Are those... milk puzzles?

She looked down at the milk white pieces scattered about the desk.

Darius: We chatted about doing these together sometime, didn’t we?

Paying no mind, I continued putting the pieces together.

Darius: So would you like to do it? They’re a bit harder than normal puzzles though.

D: It’s more fun to put together a pure white piece rather than some plain old scenery.

Picking up pieces that had fallen to the floor, she handed them to me.

Kate: Of course, beautiful sceneries are good, but I also think having no picture at all like a milk puzzle is a wonderful thing too.

K: There isn’t a single stain to be seen on the single colored scene, so if you put it up somewhere, it’ll catch the eye, I would think.

(There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind that she’d say she preferred puzzles with a painting on them, but...)

My hands stopped where they were when I heard her response differ from what I had thought it would be.

Kate: But, it seems like it’d be harder than I imagine to actually do.

K: So, I wonder if I’ll be able to do these?

Her eyes seemed to sparkle at the half-done puzzle,

and so I handed her a smaller puzzle that I was going to do next.

Darius: This one has fewer pieces, so I imagine even you’d be able to do it, no?

Kate: Huh...? Is it alright?

Darius: Think of it as a thank you for celebrating my birthday.

Kate: T-thank you then.

Hugging the milk puzzle in her arms, she seemed quite happy, and I tilted my head at that.

(Is it really something to be that happy about?)

Kate: Uhm, actually, there’s something I’d like to give you today...

She set the box she had been hiding behind her back down on the desk, and when she opened it——

Darius: A berry tart?

In the box was a tart with an assortment of colorful berries on top.

Kate: We didn’t have a birthday cake, so I was thinking of celebrating once again, with this...

K: See, I gathered a lot of different types of berries, and prepared something elaborate!

Seeing her holding out candles, I couldn’t help but laugh.

(As I thought, she really is earnest, honest, and a tad bit foolish.)

It was as though she had forgotten all of what happened yesterday as she looked straight this way——

Darius: Is it okay to eat it now?

Kate: Of course! And since I brought these over, too, let’s put the candles in too.

From beyond the flickering flame of the candles, I could see a full smile play on her lips as she softly sang the birthday song.

(I’ve had my birthday celebrated a great many times up until now, but strangely...)

This time seemed infinitely more pleasant than any of those birthdays.

I heard her blow out the candles and clap her hands...

Kate: Happy birthday, Darius.

(...Just what is this feeling, I wonder?)

It was the first time I ever felt this way, so unable to put a name on it, I tilted my head.

Kate: Let’s eat it together.

She held out a fork to me, causing me to come back to my senses. I reached my hands for the tart——

And taking it as I pleased, I brought it to my mouth.

Kate: Ah...

The part of the tart that didn’t reach my mouth fell on top of the milk puzzle,

staining the pure white pieces a purplish red.

I tried to wipe the fruit juice that dripped from my mouth with the back of my hand, but…

Kate: You’ll get dirty...

In a panic, she reached out to do the same, and so I brought out the handkerchief from my pocket.

Then, I placed it in her hands...

Darius: Wipe it with this.

And gripping the handkerchief, she came in closer with a deliberate movement, her hand reaching out toward me.

(See, she’s approaching me without even a moment’s hesitation.)

Seeing her without an ounce of caution, I grabbed her wrist.

Kate: Wh...

Just like that, I pulled her toward me, and her body tumbled down in response. I then grabbed a berry in my other hand, and...

Kate: mngh——

I pressed it against those small lips.

The berry now crushed, those pink lips were stained a purple-red color, and a drop of its juice traced down to her chin.

(It looks like blood.)

My eyes felt awfully drawn to that, and using my fingers, I went on to stain her cheeks with the berry juice.

Darius: Indeed, ‘dirty’ sounds right.

(The milk puzzle, me, and you...)

Darius: You’ll wipe it all, won’t you.

The color called Kate, who had fell upon the pure white that was myself, was more lovely than I had ever thought it to be,

and, even still, I wanted to keep my eyes on that very scene.

← main story fin. letter →

full masterlist 🪽🍰 ╱ ko-fi

END NOTES: i feel like there’s just a lot to unpack with the tart scene. or just through this story in general, i’m really starting to understand what his voice actor, shigematsu chiharu, meant when he said when he mentioned how he found it charming that how he is very human-like himself despite sort of resenting humanity. i feel that tart scene really shed light on his own ‘humanity.’ or how he is clearly capable of feeling the same way other humans can feel, but is unable to put a label on it because with her, it’s the first time he’s felt the way he did… or even just the way he was confused or taken aback by this and that because of kate, you know.

overall there’s just a lot of this sort of dissonance to be had with his character, and i’m definitely curious about him and am excited to sort of get to the root of all this, like sort of finding out why he is the way he is and all that.

anyway, yeah, i’m thinking a lot about his character, but it’s a bit hard to form it into words maybe, haha. i hope you enjoyed the story!

#did he catch the love bug 👀✨#ikemen villains #ikevil #イケメンヴィラン #ikevil darius #ikevil darius vogel #darius vogel #ikemen villains darius #cybird ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #ikemen series #otome game #otome #ikevil translation #ikevil translations #div: cafekitsune; chachachannah

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