#Danny gets his memories back after being severely injured a second time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lackingspace · 5 years ago

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Homecoming (Ghostface x Reader)

Rated: M

Word Count: 8K

Summary: Finding out you’re in a dimension controlled by some otherworldly entity that just wants an eternal game of cat and mouse? Easy. It’s like a walk in the park. You’re prepared for it. What you weren’t ready for was the friendly local stalker, The Ghostface. Not his personality. Not his playful threatening manner. And most definitely not the way he could get under your skin and turn you on in 0.5 seconds. What a great day to be undying.

Warnings: Depictions of injuries, mentions of blood, suggestive language and themes. Danny “Jed Olsen” Johnson is his own warning, come on. Nothing too explicit.

Author Note: Reworked and updated as of 10/15/23✧

Homecoming series, more there ✧･ﾟ:

Next Ch: Dispirited

AO3 link: Homecoming

Grogginess tickled your senses. It was that familiar sensation that came with waking up after too short of sleep or a night spent far too long drinking. If you were working either of those scenarios would be likely. But you weren’t working.

Your previous show with Cirque had come to a close, but you’d already secured a spot in a new show scheduled to start touring in just over a month. You’d taken the opportunity to visit home. Your mom and dad had been thrilled to have you back. It wasn’t often you had a significant amount of time off or were even in the country. The last time had been just over two years ago.

If you were home that meant long lazy mornings sleeping in and drinking was very unlikely. There wasn't anyone you’d really want to party with. Lisa would be the only one you’d be interested in hanging out with, but she’d been going to rehab and you weren’t about to be a point of relapse. Not with how much of a dick Kaufmann was being to her.

Your limited brain capacity wasn’t supplying a good reason for why you felt like a bus had rolled over you. With a strained groan, you try to move, but sharp stabbing pains jolted you to a stop. Make that multiple buses. The sudden rush of a massive migraine coming on all at once had you groaning. What the hell happened?

The pain made everything fuzzy. Brain slow and hazy, refusing to provide the answer that absolutely had to be floating somewhere in your memories. Taking a deep breath, a stinging ache emanated from your back.

“Ugh” Attempting to blink the pain away, your vision slowly faded into view, but only on the left. Hot panic sparked in your chest when no matter how many times you blinked there was only darkness on the right.

Hand jerking up on instinct, needing to physically feel the area, because if your sight was impaired that could be the end of your career. But the instant your hand lifted an agonizing jolt of hot white pain shocked your system. Hissing through clenched teeth, “Fuck!”

If you hadn’t been the one experiencing it, you’d have thought the whole situation funny. Rolling around in the dirt like you were on some kind of bender. But it wasn’t funny. Not with how much pain your arm was radiating.

Pulling in as deep a breath as your ribs allowed as you tried to sort through your thoughts. Fucking hell. I haven’t had pain this bad since I broke my sternum and shoulder. Usually, your pain tolerance was high– it came with the life of growing up in gymnastics and competition. Becoming an aerialist had been filled with broken bones, sprains, and tears. But sometimes certain areas get to you more than others. Your elbow had always been a decidedly painful area.

The pain sobered the fog enough for you to remember you hadn’t been at home. Didn’t have a quiet night in or a lazy morning. No, you’d had a shit night that left you severely injured.

Scrunching your brows together and keeping your breath even you mentally checked in with your body. Going through a head-to-toe sweep had all your aches and pains creep to the forefront of your awareness. Everything hurt. Everything.

You didn’t really want to move, not after that jolt, but a nagging was settling in the back of your mind. Just take some deep breaths …It always worked in movies. The mental pep talk wasn’t very convincing. But self-help, or rather mind over matter, and all that shit your coach would preach on pushing through the pain came back to you now. Did it help? No.

You could feel your good eye roll behind the lid. Laying here wouldn’t do you any more good and panic was mounting in your chest. You might remember the injuries, but you still needed to see and figure out where the fuck you were. Last you checked you weren’t outside.

With a clenched jaw, you used your core to sit up. Trying to minimize the jostling of your arm helped, but a whimper still slipped out. Your hip didn’t like the movement any more than your arm did. Glancing down, the tablecloth you’d used as a makeshift sling was still wrapping your left arm. Peeking inside, the sight that met you was just as you’d remembered.

A noticeable distortion in your ulna and elbow with cuts and bruises to spare. No wonder you were such a baby. Elbows are my fucking worst break. If there was ever a time to need Lisa, it’d be now. The bone was definitely not set right, but there wasn’t anything you’d be able to do. Not without a cast or splint. Never mind that you were already hyper-extended in your joints, without some kind of surgery, you'd be looking at constant ligament pulls and sprains.

But where you’d been…your brow scrunched again at your thoughts, but this time in pain and annoyance. That was far from your favored cocktail, but pleasure wasn’t likely if your week was anything to judge by. Where you’d been– more like dragged off to or transported– whatever The Order had done, Medical attention was nonexistent.

Another surge of dark cold rage filled you as the image of the man floated across your mind's eye. He’d really outdone himself. You would have admired it, if only you weren't the canvas. Your teeth ground together, Bastard. I hope Virginia offs you. She’d always been a crazy bitch.

Biting your tongue to silence any more dark curses for the people who’d been kind enough to put you on the chopping block. It wasn’t going to help now and you'd have time later to brood on it. Hopefully.

Luckily, your right hand was functional. Just achy from the multitude of bruising and cuts. Your lower half was in competition with your arm. All the discoloration from scrapes and bruises had your legs a sickly yellow-green tinge. Someone might mistake it for a skin condition if they somehow missed the caked blood. Your left knee was swollen with shallow cuts scattered up and down. But your right leg was out of a horror story.

Shoddy gauze did a poor job covering the deep gash running diagonally from thigh to shin which still had blood very slowly leaking. Just like your arm you’d done the best with what you’d had– and that wasn’t much. Not like you were a doctor or nurse anyway. Aside from basic first aid, there wasn’t much you could do. You didn’t have a needle and thread. There wasn’t a way to stitch it up.

You wrapped the gauze as tight as possible, but there hadn’t been enough to cover everything. A few band-aids were splattered here and there, more cosmetic than any practicality, but it made you feel better to have it covered. The gash’s placement was the worst. Even if you were a baby about your arm, you could avoid moving it as much as possible. That wasn’t a possibility with your leg. Unless a wheelchair suddenly appeared next to you, every step would be hell.

And the last interaction you’d had with a wheelchair, one tried to kill you. So even if one did magically appear, you’d pass.

As you leaned forward, a burning sensation sprung to life on your right hip. The skirt you wore was black, but you could see the slight outline of a darker discoloration where it sat against your hip. You froze while staring at that outline. Oh yeah …blood…from the… you couldn’t even finish the thought as you shuddered. That burning cauldron in the dark corner of your mind bubbled in rage in time with the fear that slithered down your spine.

If all The Order had wanted to do was beat your ass for being an apostate in their eyes, fine– you could take it. But that injury was the one that upset you the most. With a shaky sweaty hand raised you needed to check…see if it was real.

Lifting the edge of your skirt just past your hip you let out a slow shaky breath. Dread settled in your chest staring at the crudely carved numbers. You barely remembered him doing it, not with all the other injuries, the chanting members, and the strange chittering that slowly sprung to life inside your head. But he had. The proof there where your thigh and hip met— “13/21”.

You hadn’t had any bandages left for that one. Neither the stomach.

The sight of it sent a fresh chill down your spine. The chittering you’d heard then was quieter now, not dissimilar to insect sounds. But inside your head.

You put your skirt back into place and squeezed your working eye shut tightly trying to shake the image of the numbers away. Fucking cults ….ugh . All the shaking really did was add to your headache. But that helped push his image out too.

All of your bandages looked dirtied - stained with dried blood, sweat, and dirt. There probably wasn’t much use in keeping them on, but it made you feel better.

Lifting your right hand towards your face, it came into contact with the cut on your lip. The Order ring didn't seem sharp until it was digging into the soft flesh of your lip. It felt swollen and crusted. You were sure bruising was rampant with how many blows you remembered, but you kept moving up. Fingers brushed the gauze taped over your eye. Applying even slight pressure to your cheekbone made you let out a hiss of pain. Probably fractured …if not broken.

You remembered the knife slicing through your eyebrow and down your lid– he would have taken your eye if they hadn’t been interrupted. A sick twisted sense of glee filled you at the thought that everything they’d done was wasted. The dark place inside you simmered contentedly.

Looking around, nothing was familiar. Nothing that you could make out at least. Dense Heavy fog with light rain blanketed the area. It seemed like you were in a forest of some kind, but Silent Hill never had a place like this. Not even in the fog. It’d never felt as serene as this either. A small spark of hope settled in your chest.

You could hear the ambient sound of soft slow raindrops hitting the trees. It honestly sounded nice, yet somehow the soil wasn’t muddy. Small blessings I suppose. It was similar to something you would have put on during a bath; Light rain, a fire crackling, crows calling out far in the distance… All of it minus the mechanic sound in the distance.

On the plus side, your outfit was still the same. At least you could take comfort in knowing no one got a free show while you were out. Quarter-sleeved shirt, pleated skirt, and high-tops. Everything in black.

Your mother had always tried to get you to introduce more color in your wardrobe, but you'd always answered with this matches my soul …besides you wore enough bright colors for work— she’d always frown and say to not joke about that. You understand what she meant now.

The scenery change did give you an inkling of where you could be though. The fact that you had all your injuries and yet you were in some unknown location? If you let yourself believe, then your gamble paid off. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

What’s more, there was a feeling– more of a presence really– in your skull, behind the headache, under the other sounds, lay something… other .

It felt like a subtle scratching…a slide against the back of your skull drawing enough attention that you knew it wanted you to know it was there. An insidious other that was somehow quiet while being so incredibly loud. Something that shouldn’t be there, but was. If it wanted to sink its claws into you..well, you’d be playing the part of a good scratching post.

That other…it made the corners of your mouth flicker into a small smile. It had worked. That was the only explanation.

You remembered that feeling during both rituals. It was invasive and uncomfortable— the cultist had initiated something with a similar feeling, the strange buzzing in your skull attested to that. But the ritual you’d done yourself. When you’d plead your case, the slithering was altogether alien. The way it communicated and maneuvered in your mind left little question as to why The Order worshiped them as Gods.

Rolling to your somewhat good leg you wretched yourself into a hobbled standing position with considerable effort. The sharp stabbing pains were back with a vengeance, almost enough to send you back down, but not quite. It took some deep breathing and willpower to stop yourself from collapsing, but you managed.

Who knew what was lurking around these woods, especially if it was like home? You didn’t particularly want to find out. As if you needed any more incentive, the scratching in your skull was becoming less of an itch and more of a demand to move. Shaking your head, sending a thought of I ’m going towards the presence, you set off at an incredibly slow pace.

Pain pierced every step. Sharp, throbbing, and paired with faulty depth perception - you were a sad sight. Stumbling and tripping over roots, dirt, yourself even. Thank god there's no witnesses. Wincing from the searing pain in your leg, I ’d be fired so quick if I was normally this clunky. Stumbling your way towards the mechanical sound seemed like the best option. Maybe you ’d find a clue where you were or what was going on. At least there’d be a chance of someone telling you where ‘here’ was.

Progress was in the eye of the beholder or something along those lines. Catching yourself on another root had you wince, but the sound of a motor was getting louder. It sounded slow and wonky from far off, but now it seemed almost like a well-oiled engine.

After another difficult stretch, you rounded a wooden wall where the noise was emanating from. A man and woman were knelt down messing with what looked like some type of engine.

Just as you were about to speak, your ankle snagged on a stray piece of wood jarring your leg and elbow jerking into the wall. You shrieked while stumbling forward - good arm extended to try and catch yourself. Unlucky for you, there was nothing but air.

Before you even hit the ground there was a gasp and hissed squealed from the two of them. You’d swear later it was only the man who screeched. Both of them sprang away from the machine, and you, in an instant. They had jogged away as you let out another pitifully painful wail from landing on your bad knee to stop from collapsing completely.

You swore you’d heard a chuckle, but that was probably just your own imagination laughing at how pathetic you looked.

With a strained effort, you pulled yourself up and limped your way to the machine they’d been messing about with. There were cords knotted up inside and larger ones leading away from it. Looking up there were light bulbs flickering above. Is it a generator? You’d seen a few before during camping trips, this one seemed like serious hardware though. Much more expensive than what you’d seen previously.

Either way, it didn’t leave you any closer to figuring out where you were, but with each passing moment, you were more sure you’d gotten away. You sighed as you decided following after them was probably your best option as far as getting answers went…even if you were slightly annoyed by their reaction. Slowly looking for any type of tracks you all but gave up that idea with how the fog, rain, and only having one eye basically masked any trace of them. So instead you set off in the direction you thought they ran.

The trees, rocks, and gravel were giving you problems with each step. It didn’t get any easier or less painful. You’d tripped and fell one too many times already and you were about ready to call it quits. Frustration was mounting ready to spill over if you didn't catch a break. All you wanted was to lie down and just stop moving.

Honestly, what could it hurt? There was no telling where they’d gone, but another slowly blinking bulb was flickering not too far off. Unless you’d managed to get turned around enough to loop back to where you were, this might be another generator. Maybe someone would be here? Seemed like the best bet if you really wanted a chance at talking. With a bone-weary sigh, you altered your course to stagger towards the flickering light.

As you drew closer the same sound became more noticeable. It wasn’t as quick as the last had been— sounded like it was trying to work, but didn’t quite have the power.

It was slow going getting there, but once you were close enough, you had a clear view of the machine. You could see it being tinkered with by the same man as before, but a different woman this time. Both were busy at work and hadn’t noticed your approach. They have the perception of a fucking goose.

Clutching the wooden wall when it was within grasp it helped take some pressure off your leg. Leaning against it felt heavenly. You were sweaty, tired, and winded from the walk. The raindrops collected on the wall felt nice against your overheated skin. You gulped down a few deep breaths to try and calm the pounding in your head.

Your mouth breathing must have alerted the pair because they both sprung up with a shriek and jetted away before you could get a word in edgewise.

A frustrated growl tumbled out of you, “What the actual fuck!” You were past the slow simmer of rage and into boiling anger, “I mean, I know I look like living death, but you’re just going to run away? Again?!”

This time it wasn’t your imagination. There was definitely someone flat-out laughing. You looked over your shoulder as you heard clapping start but they were in your blind spot. You had to full body turn to actually see who it was and when you did the only thought you had was what the fuck?

Standing next to a tree about ten feet away stood what looked to be a…man? Giving a very nice round of applause? As if the closing scene of your show had just played out. But this wasn’t your job and he wasn’t an audience member. Strange . His shaking boisterous laughter had embarrassment flare to life in your gut. Taking in his appearance, he was dressed in black from head to toe, with a caricature mask of a screaming ghost, and strange gravity-defying scraps of cloth around him.

You chose to ignore the fashion statement. Instead, you gave him an unamused, “Didn’t realize I had an audience.” You were in pain, frustrated, and tired. Your quip only served to make the masked man laugh harder.

“That was one of the greatest things I’ve seen in a while!” He made a motion toward you before doubling over in another fit, “Your stumbling around has been the highlight of my week.” Laughter dying into small snickers, “And I’ve had a long week,” He exhaled a breath that spoke of tension, “Trust me.” You stared as he shook off the last of his outburst. Strangely, his mocking soothed your bubbling aggravation rather than adding to it.

He has a nice voice . It wasn't what you should be focused on, probably needed to be more concerned about the horror movie mask situation he had going on– but his voice made a part of your brain tingle that was far more distracting. Likely why you didn’t mind the taunt. After a moment, your thoughts turned biting how do I always find crazy … The shadowy part in your subconscious, the area that held all the darker thoughts and desires you liked to push away, whispered teasingly like attracts like.

Ignoring the thought, you had to admit, his voice was nice…Deep. Velvety Dark. Smooth like honey. Very attractive… Fuck, he ’s trouble. He’d calmed enough that you realized the quiet had become deafening and was edging into awkward territory. Scrambling to cover the creeping silence with something, you did the first thing that came to mind.

Which consisted of a two-finger salute and a miffed, “Glad you enjoyed the show.” Remaining frustration bled into your tone. Since waking up things were kind of shit. And now, somehow, the most questionable individual you’d come across was the only one who hadn't run away…yet.

The thought of the others made you want to roll your good eye. It was your luck that the only person willing to talk could give the cultists a run for their money. He certainly had the same undercurrent of danger they radiated, “Thanks for not scrambling away like them.”

That got another chuckle. Albeit less cheery and more serial killer-y, “Oh, you might wish I had."

"Very edgy," The silence was back and no longer awkward, but wholly uncomfortable. The strangest standoff you’d ever had, being that you couldn’t even be sure you held his gaze. A slow tilt of his head said you did– moment broken as he started towards you.

A sudden shiver runs down your spine. The rapidly increasing chill in the air not the culprit, although it didn’t help, but it had everything to do with the minuscule head movement. It was a small thing, but somehow more menacing than anything else he’d done.

And that was saying something because even without the questionable getup, it was easy to recognize him as a threat. Something in the way he carried himself. Like a hunter. On the prowl, stalking, waiting for an opportunity to strike…and you were being categorized as prey.

Mistake . The hissed thought was full of your own venom. However, you are vulnerable right now. In an attempt to distract yourself from your unruly mind, and from whatever his approach meant, you asked, "Care to clue me in on where here is?"

No reply, silence was only broken by the wheezing of the generator behind you and your own heartbeat. The unexpressive mask taunted as you held gaze with the black eye sockets. Sweat trickled down your neck as the silence continued to stretch. With your recent cult experience, you could tell the tide was turning. The tension was building and even a blind person could pick up on the danger.

But had it shifted to curiosity or were you about to be thrown in the proverbial ring for round two? You couldn’t take another beating. Not if you wanted to survive. You hadn’t just escaped one cult to die to another. Maybe if you caught him off guard you could navigate out of this. Worth a shot.

Taking a slight step back while raising your good hand you tried a placating approach, “Look, dude.” His next step paused, “You're at a 10 for scare factor. Very frightening.” The head tilt was back, “But I'm too tired to put up a good fight and you look like someone who enjoys a chase.” His shoulders lifted briefly in what seemed to be silent laughter before he continued towards you.

No answer or acknowledgment. Your jaw tightened, grinding molars but your cheekbone protested with a spike in pain that had you instantly release your jaw. Eye closing for a brief second and breathing heavily out of your nose. When you opened your eye again, he was within arms reach. You spoke up again, trying for a more candid approach. Voice tinged with the lingering pain, "Can we just chill?"

Having him so close, you were able to size him up better. At least a foot taller with broad shoulders, but being naturally short– thanks gymnastics for stunting growth– that was usual with most people.

In this situation though, it only added to his intimidation factor. He was doing this on purpose. Trying to intimidate you. The silence, the stalking, the close physical proximity. Begrudgingly, he was succeeding. The creeping uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach spoke volumes to it. You didn't scare easily, but the fear you’d traded a cult you knew for one you didn’t had you uneasy.

Leaning back into the wall and craning your head up to lock gazes with the eye holes of the mask. I can always kick him in the dick if nothing else.

It was kind of awkward to have a staring contest with a mask, but beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, there wasn’t much else to do but wait for what he would do. In your experience, psychos liked to talk. You’d know…This one though…didn’t seem to like the bait.

You tilted your head slightly, studying what you could– the little he was giving away. His shoulders were pulled back, stance confident, demeanor lost all traces of the previous mirth. It was replaced with a much more sinister aura… Maybe he isn’t insane.

That thought was worse than if he was. He’d be able to plan much better than The Order if he wasn’t completely deranged. Anxiety peaked in that silent staring contest. You could handle crazy…but you had a feeling he would be a problem one way or the other.

Your internal debate came to a halt when the masked man raised a hand breaching your personal space. Keeping a straight face while staying calm you held his gaze. Jutting your chin up, exposing your neck. If he was reaching for your throat you’d make it easier, not like you’d be able to fight him off, but you wouldn’t show him fear.

Pleasantly, all he did was lift a stray piece of hair. Plucked the strand up and tossed it up and down in his palm. Leaning in his tone perfectly casual as if you’d known each other for a while, “You know,” The leathery scent of his gloves assaulted your senses. Earthy accented by a familiar metallic undertone. Blood . He made a contemplative humming sound, “I don’t think anyone’s come here looking like you."

He dropped the strand and lightly dragged his gloved hand across your half exposed collarbone towards your makeshift sling. Cold sweat started up again, deodorant please hold up. Your gaze dropped to his hand before rolling back up to his mask. His hand was still, for the moment, but if he jolted your arm, you would be kicking his dick.

You meant to wait for him to continue, but couldn’t stop yourself, "What? Like a semi rolled over me?

That pulled a snicker from him, “Humorous.” You raised your visible brow– he didn’t say that like a compliment. His hand started slowly lower down your arm, “Lucky for you, I like a good laugh.”

You weren’t so sure that was a good thing. However, he was your only lifeline right now. “The others though,” He snorted another laugh, a joke you weren’t privy to. His hand lifted away from your arm to drag towards your chest.

A sharp inhale was your only response when his pointer and middle finger pressed into your breastbone, “Someone really did a number on you.” Dragging his hand down between your breast and then your stomach before pulling away, “I wonder what else you’re hiding."

If he liked your sarcasm that seemed the safest thing to stick to, "Nothing impressive, really. No giant scars or chest-bursting aliens."

He hummed again, "Always better to get a second opinion.” The mask tilted again as he regarded you, “I’ve been told I’m very observant."

Letting this man get under your clothes was the last thing you needed. Even if the idea was enticing on some level. If he saw the full damage he’d likely want to add to it. At least, if you were in his position, that’d be the urge overcoming you. The need to placate and distract culminated in nervousness. Attempting to wave him off, "That’s ok, I’m good!”

There was a pause before his intimidating posture broke into fits of laughter. The overall effect made his stance seem much more friendly. You could see how insidious this guy could be. Friendly, charming, the sharp edges that would rip and tear hidden beneath a personable demeanor. It’s so– "You haven’t even been here half an hour, but you’ve given me some of the best entertainment I’ve had for a while.”

He effectively cut off that unsettling train of thought. And there it was. A slight humiliation underlining all his comments were another reason to stay on guard. It might have worked on the average person. To play it off like he’s just teasing. But you weren’t normal. He did seem genuine about how entertained you’d had him though. You weren’t sure how to respond, so you stayed quiet.

That ended up working in your favor because he suddenly laughed harder, “And those idiots!” He stumbled back a few feet while shaking is head, “Fucking perfect.” He reached behind him and pulled out…a camera? Unexpected . Clicking a few buttons you could see the electronic screen flare to life, “I got so many great shots.” With the amount of button clicks, he seemed to be flipping through photos, “That was some top-tier stuff, Doll."

Your face turned into an expression cocktail of confusion, annoyance, and embarrassment. Unsure how to feel about essentially having paparazzi. You knew he’d been watching this last interaction, but he said it like he’d been watching for longer than that. A sudden thought came over you and your voice came out in a rushed higher pitch than normal, “Wait. How long have you been watching?!”

He was still messing around with his camera, not bothering to give you his full attention, “Since you woke up.” Embarrassment flared to life as he continued, “You were just laying there passed out.” His tone was still light, but accusatory, “Starting a trial already carved up? Enough to make a man jealous.” His mas finally turned back towards you, “Gotta say, babe. Not a good look. Someone else might think you’re easy.”

This strange pseudo-friendly flirting was getting under your skin. Muttering more to yourself than him, “Maybe I wanted you to trip over me and break your fucking neck.”

The man chortled. Not a laugh, chuckle, or snicker. This was the most authentic reaction he’d given, “Ooo, kitten has claws.” He didn’t seem fazed by the threat. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it, “Careful, you might give me the wrong idea.”

He shuffled closer again. Cutting back into your personal bubble and tilted his camera towards you, “This one’s my favorite.” Tearing your eye from his mask was difficult, but when you finally looked at the camera you were horrified. It was a shot of you mid-fall, arm out, and the two people at the first machine with horrified expressions.

An ugly snort escaped you, “Oh my god!” Without thinking you tried snatching the device away, “Delete that!” Quick as lightning the masked man slapped your hand while pulling the camera away, “Uh ah, no touching.” He looked back to the device and sounded shocked you’d actually suggest something like that, “I’d never delete this! Pure comedy gold is hard to find in this place.”

His voice lowered, “It’s going up on my wall.” The deeper dark tone had a much hotter shiver run through you. Then he was chuckling at the image again, "Those dumb asses actually thought you were the killer!” he kept scrolling through his device, “What’d they think you were going to do? Carry them with a broken arm?” He snorted as his voice turned snide, “I’d sacrifice myself to see that.”

That made you pause. Killer? You had to admit that fit everything you’d picked up on. But the sacrifice part had you more worried. A new cult was looking more likely by the minute. Fuck.

You spoke up before he could continue, “Uh? They thought I was the what ?”

The silence was back as he shook his head and put the camera away from wherever he pulled it, “Killer.” He said it was a glee that you were sure was meant to frighten you, “They thought you were the killer of this trial.”

He lifted a hand and flicked your forehead, “They really thought a, what?” he looked down at you and held a hand over your head to his chest in a mock height measurement, “3 ft 2 injured girl was going to drag them away?” Again with the mocking tone, “They’d have better luck getting out of this place.” At your silence he waved his hands around a bit, "Anyways, I’ll give you a free pass for this because you’ve been so delightful.”

Extending a hand to firmly grip your shoulder, thankfully not the broken one, he leaned in, “I’ll even throw you a bone. This isn’t home sweet home.” He squeezed— fingers digging into an unseen as he kept talking, “We’re all stuck in this fantastical little dimension, realm, or whatever you want to call it.”

He must have felt the ridge of the cut because he pressed harder, “Either way, we have this big bad entity, god, thing ,” He paused like he was thinking about it, “Whatever it is, controls everything.” Your good hand lifted to grip on his wrist in response to his abuse. His voice carried an amused tone, “Most important fact though? It likes games.”

Even with the stinging burst from the cut on your shoulder, relief flooded you. The fact that he’d said you were in another dimension didn’t phase you. You’d come from another fucked up other version of reality already. What was one more? It confirmed that you’d succeeded in beating those idiots back home.

It had a lightness settle in your chest that pulled up the corners of your lips. His voice was quiet, but you heard the whisper, “Interesting.” Your mind was split because you wanted to ask him what he thought was interesting, but if you had successfully made a deal, then…that means…

The other half of your deal won the majority of your attention. The Hidden One had demanded you bring someone along with you. The choice you’d made was a huge gamble, you hadn’t known what you needed to choose another person for, but now…You just had to hope you wouldn’t run into him.

You’d be ok with this place— anywhere was better than the shitty reality you’d been in. The thought of, Fuck you, assholes filled you with cruel satisfaction. It made up for not being able to see their faces when they realized the ritual would never be complete without you. Short of The Order finding their way to this dimension and finishing the job, they’d never be able to complete the 21 sacraments.

Your celebration was cut short as the man dragged your attention back by means of light glinting off an incredibly sharp-looking hunting knife. He was waving it about in front of your face, “Everything is done in trials.” He lay the blade tip against your collar bone, “There’s four of you little survivors trying to fix those generators. If you succeed, it powers gates that let you leave unscathed.”

The blade sat cool against your skin, but you didn’t feel any malcontent from him. More like this was just absentminded. Something while he spoke, “Meanwhile, a killer,” You could hear the smirk curl around his voice, “That’s me, cupcake.” The blade dragged up the side of your throat, “We catch you, hook you,” He pressed the blade in, but not hard enough to draw blood, “and ultimately sacrifice you to the entity.”

There was a second where you weren’t sure if he was going to press the blade in an slit your throat or not, but then the blade was pulled back and he held it to the side, “Trial ends, you all respawn—” he paused in thought, “Yeah, let’s go with the gamer lingo. You all respawn, go to a little campfire, and wait for the next trial.”

“Well,” It was your turn to tilt your head, “seemed a bit strange.” Lips pursing at him, “But, who am I to say what a God likes?” There wasn’t anything you could do about being here. You’d made a deal and were quite content about it. “Not every day I meet a murderer though.”

He did a fancy flourish before tossing the knife around that reminded you of a few jugglers at work, “Does that scare you?”

You watched him for a moment deciding it was better to be candid, “Duh, I’d be stupid if it didn’t.” Using your good arm you pointed to yourself in emphasis, “Not really in a state to handle another killer.”

He caught the weapon with a precision that you appreciated as a gymnast, “Another?” shit. You hadn’t meant to let anything about you slip, but too late for that. Sighing in annoyance, “Well, it wasn’t a nun who did this.” He snorted, but that's all you were giving him. Surprisingly, he didn’t push. He crossed his arms, “You’re lucky this trial is with me. The others would have thrown you up on a hook with no appreciation for your charming mouth.”

You chose to ignore the thrill his words ignited. The way he’d said it was the farthest thing from a compliment, but that flirtatious undertone was back. It wasn’t an altogether bad feeling and that was worrying.

Looking towards the generator, “So…that’s what those people were doing.” You scrunched your nose as you remembered the cowards who ran. Looking back at him, then to the generator, and back to him again. He seemed willing to talk. It was a long shot, but maybe…

Even if he’d openly announced being a killer and the whole sacrifice thing— He was probably your best bet right now. Awkwardly coughing before asking, “Could you….Uh, would you maybe…” The head tilt at the question in your voice zapped your confidence, “Never mind it's nothing.” Waving your hand in a form of dismissal, but he cut you off before you could continue, “Ah, ah, use your words.”

Arms still crossed over his chest as he leaned his weight to one side, “I want to know what you were going to ask. Go on.” He made a ‘come on’ motion with his hand. Is that supposed to be encouraging? Exhaling gruffly before you tried again, “Would you maybe…show me how…they fix it?”

Your heart was in your throat as the moment stretched far too long. Then boisterous laughter from him had your embarrassment flare. Knew it was stupid.

“Could I help fix a generator?” He’d said it with so much incredulity. Pursing your lips in response you’d rather like to be done with this conversation. Maybe you’d ask him to just cut to the chase and sacrifice you now.

“Aw, that pathetic look on your face.” You heard the snap of a camera, “Cute.” You hadn’t even seen him take the damn thing out. There wasn’t any use in telling him to delete that, so you just frowned instead. “You know what? Sure I’ll show you.” He closed the small gap between you, “Those dimwits won’t come near you until they figure out I’m here.” He gave your good shoulder a small push, “Come on.”

He didn’t wait for you and strode over to the machine. Making your way there much slower and grunting from the sudden pain shooting through your system. Standing in front of it, he came behind you, placed both hands on your shoulders, and pushed you down to your knees.

Your eye watered at the sharp pain shooting from your damaged leg. Fucking prick. In a tight voice you managed, “Some warning would have been nice, Dude.”

“Nice? Do you want my help or not?” There was zero amusement in the words— flat and bordered on offended. You didn’t want to ruin this so you tried to placate him, “Sorry, sorry. You’re right. Please help me mr…uh” looking up at him, unshed tear clear in the corner of your eye. In a voice that sounded too nasally and watery, “What do I call you?”

He was looking down at you, grip still on your shoulder. Grip tightening only to release and move up your throat. Thumb extending up to press against the cut on your lip, “I can think of a few things.” If you’d thought he was flirty before it was blatant now. The heat in your cheeks said you were more than open to those ideas, “But for now, Ghost Face works.”

Arousal was shooting much more pleasant sparks up and down your spine. He was surprising you at every step. That was ….fuck that was hot… you stared dumbly up at him, brain slow from the whiplash of pain and arousal. You’d really set yourself up for that one.

Right now is not the time to get hot for a serial killer. But you were already too far gone to listen to that advice. Especially if he was going to continue to poke and press at the cut while gripping your throat.

As if he heard your thoughts, his thumb grazing the cut again. Pressing on the scabbed edge then pushing into your lips a bit more, tip dipping inside. The depraved part of you wanted to taste the leather, bite into the glove, and feel the way your teeth would sink into it. Before the urge could fully form into action, he withdrew and moved it back down your throat.

The weight of his hand felt nice against your pulse but didn’t help in extinguishing the newly kindled flames. Did he give this treatment to everyone or did he just effortlessly know what you were into?

The answer seemed likely that he could just read you… a little too well. Shame washed through you because if he really wanted to squeeze, you ’d let him. You’d like if he did. Just a little more pressure and you’d definitely let out an embarrassing moan. One that would leave nothing to the imagination of how you felt.

Swallowing hard you knew he’d be able to tell how measured your breathing was. Face feeling like fire- flush most likely extending down to your chest. Gaze looking at anything but his mask, your pupils would absolutely be dilated, and there was little you could do but hope he’d mistake it for embarrassment.

After a few more bated breaths, his grip slowly released. Disappointment filled the void his touch left. He made no comment, no provocative remark, just crouched down and boxed you in. Crowding around you, pressing in, jostling you enough that your arm made its annoyance known. Hissing out your displeasure he ignored it completely, “You get the best view this way. Have to pay attention after all.” Ah, there's the coy remark.

This guy, Ghost Face, could get under your skin so easily. More than anyone ever had before. It was just your luck he was psychotic. Pot calling the kettle black .

Ignoring that seductive whisper from that deep place inside you. You’d met his type before— Vincent was a lot like this…but you’d never wanted to fuck Vincent. Pay attention he said. Sure, not a problem while you were practically sitting in his lap. Fuck me, it's always cults, killers, or monsters. Sometimes all three. I really know how to find them.

He started in on his explanation as his hands moved with surprising grace.

“You move these here, connect these. Push this out of the way. Wait for that to click, twist this here, and push that down all the way. Keep connecting these wires and rerouting anything going to the dead energy cells to the new ones you just activated.” It seemed like an afterthought because he mumbled, “Not complicated really. Sometimes I’m really not sure why survivors take so long.”

You were really trying to pay attention, you were . But you’d be lying if you’d said you absorbed everything he’d done. You were still out of sorts with his close proximity. All you could manage was, “If you’re a killer how do you know how to do this?”

He conked you on the skull with a knuckle, “Weren’t you listening earlier? I’m observant.” His fingers dragged through your hair, “I’ve been here a while, it’s not hard.”

“Ow! Are your knuckles made of fucking rocks? That hurt.” Rubbing the spot where he’d smacked you felt him lean into you more.

“I’ve been nice so far, but maybe your mouth needs to be taught a lesson.” Arousal flared again. His voice dropped even deeper and if sin could be audible you swore his voice was coated in it. Before you caught yourself the words tumbled out, “You can tea—” Cutting yourself off before you could embarrass yourself further but the damage was already done.

“Oh?” His fist found the back of your head and gripped a fist full of hair. Fuck. Another hot wave of heat rushed through you. Trying to remember why you shouldn’t let him have his way with you was becoming more and more difficult.

He ’s a killer. A literal murderer. Don’t even go there. There's no coming back from that. That seeping abyss in the back of your consciousness nagged for attention. Murmuring teasingly, You like it. You were pointedly refusing to acknowledge that thought. There were some deep psychological issues you needed checked out. But then again, who from Silent Hill didn’t?

His grip yanked your head back, “You’d like that, huh?” Before you could fathom a proper response you heard some kind of explosion not too far off. Bow pinching as you attempted to turn your head towards it, “What was that?”

He didn’t respond for a few seconds but then pulled away with a sigh. Standing up, “That’s my queue to be going.”

Your gaze followed him up. From your position on the ground, “So, does that mean you’re going to hook me or whatever now?"

He put a hand over his heart, “I wonder what else you’ll ask so prettily for.” He reached behind himself to pull the knife out, “You really shouldn’t go around asking people to hook you, might give a man the wrong idea.” His voice was beyond smug. In a darker tone, he added, “You better not ask anyone else, at least.” Resting the side of the knife under your chin, “I’ll take care of you whenever you like.”

You were at a loss for words. He’d made it sound so personal…intimate. You really couldn’t catch a break with this guy. He pulled the blade away, “No hook for you. Yet.” If he didn’t have a mask on, you’d swear he would have winked then.

“You stay right here.” He shrugged his shoulders like he was rolling out a kink, “Practice or something. I don’t care, just don’t move.” Cracking his neck before continuing, “I’m taking my time with you.” After a second he added in that mocking tone that was clearly meant to get under your skin, “Not like you’d get very far if you hobble away."

You ignored his goading to give him a nod instead. You had no intention of moving. First, you were exhausted and just wanted a break. Second, you’d let him have his way just so you didn’t have to deal with a pissed-off psycho breathing down your neck, "Yes, sir." It was meant to be more facetious, but it ended up sounding too breathy.

He reached out again. Softly brushing your hair for a second before moving down to grip your chin. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip to push on the cut once again. Wincing you moved your gaze up to his mask as he stared you down, "You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

Without elaborating he dropped his hand and stalked away. Shaking your head you dropped your gaze back to the generator.

Ugh. I ’m always attracted to someone fucked up. Dropping your forehead to the generator, the cold metal cooled your warm skin. Fuck me.

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chayacat · 3 years ago

Text

Devil’s Sweet Star (45)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut

***

That feeling... you thought it would be gone forever. But it’s still there. And it’s much heavier than before. The question is: why? Why is this feeling of insecurity, this feeling that something dangerous is going to happen to you, still there? You know everything. You know that Danny won't do anything to you, that he will always make sure that the police don't know anything. But you have a hunch that the thing that wants to hurt you... is foreign to the city. to the country itself. You've been hearing for a few days something... unusual. Like voices.

But these voices are inaudible from others. Only you seem to hear them. At least that's what you think. They are strange, impossible to distinguish whether it is men or women who talk to you. or maybe both? Just as it is impossible to know what they are telling you. These are whispers. The only words you managed to understand once were: "Sorrow" and "Suffering". But nothing more. Could it be ghosts? spirits wandering aimlessly and trying to get in touch with you? From memory, you don't remember having a gift for communicating with spirits. But you've always believed in it. And you have always respected the dead, whether they were people you knew or complete strangers. Perhaps this respect has earned you a gift from the gods, allowing you to contact the afterlife? Maybe.

“Have you seen the latest news? In the end Hoggins was not McKellan's murderer. It was Ghostface!” said one the customer.

“Yeah, I saw. But hey, is it surprising? No. Does this change anything? neither. And I want to tell you: so much the better. At least we are sure of who we should thank.” said his friend.

“Excuse me? You wanna thank that freaking psycho for killing people? He’s a twisted man! Not a hero!” Replied the first one.

“Yeah, and he killed two others monsters, who stole money from the poorest and even the richest for their personal accounts! Moreover, it seems that Hoggins was involved in a more horrific scandal in Florida. They only got what they deserved.” Responds the second one.

“I have heard of this story. What a bastard, to let sick people die when they could be saved. You have to be inhuman to do that. Fortunately, we have journalists like Jed Olsen to shed light on this kind of horror. Imagine how much longer Hoggins could have remained free if guys like Olsen didn't risk their lives and careers for it.” said another man before drink his coffee. “We need a guy like him to rule this damn country.”

If only you knew sir what we know about "Jed Olsen". If only you knew... you would quickly change your point of view. But he and the second man in the trio were right, if Danny hadn't put his life and career on the line, Hoggins would still be free with impunity. And so does McKellan. They deserved to die it's true, and Danny made sure of it. He is both a completely twisted murderer, but also a hero to the inhabitants of this city. A murderous hero... you would have a hard time knowing how he would have reacted, if he ever heard it.

He would be both flattered and annoyed perhaps. Because that's not how he wants to be remembered, he doesn't want to be remembered that way. But simply as the greatest murderer in history who has never been arrested, and whose identity will forever remain a mystery. Like Jack the Ripper in itself. You wonder inwardly if Danny was inspired by it. It’s quite possible.

“I find it hard to believe what I just heard. Ghostface who goes from murderer to hero of the little people. It looks like the end of the movie "Joker".” said suddenly a woman voice. When you turned your head, you could see Melina, smiling at you like always, coming to the table next to the counter. “Same as usual Amy!”

“Alright! Right away!” responds Amy with a smile.

“Hey... you look like you have your head in the clouds. Everything's fine? Jed made you live another wild night? Be careful, you will end up with a little baby at home very quickly if it continues.” replied Melina laughing by looking at you.

“Really funny Melina.” you start before laughing too. “Even though Jed is... wild, he knows how to be careful. We are not yet ready to have a baby. But let's say that for a few days... I have trouble sleeping well.”

“Oh. Tell me maybe I can give you two or three advices.”

You tell Melina about your bad nights. If at first, she listened attentively and without expressing emotion, once your story was finished, the young woman looked at you with big eyes, as if you had just told her your most shameful secret of your life.

“Shit, so they're after you too...” she said worried.

“What do you mean?” you ask worried.

“Jed told me the same thing the other day. He said he heard the same whispers and even had nightmares about them. Nightmares where you were there. I thought it was just a fear not to be able to take care of you but... I have to believe that my mystical side was right.”

Hold on. Danny went through the same things you did and he didn't tell you anything? It's not very friendly. But in a sense... you can't really blame him. He certainly had good reasons not to tell you about it. Surely, he didn't want to worry you, or that you would think he was crazy. Even if he is a little bit crazy in a sense. And again, the word is weak.

“You and Jed are related. And I feel like you've attracted... negative entities. Spirits, ghosts who want to hurt you. They may be trying to reach you through dreams first, but who knows how this can evolve. And who can be these spirits.” said Melina worried.

“You starting to scare me. Why us? Jed and I didn't do anything except ... live our lives and do our work.” you said scared.

“Evil spirits have no particular criteria for attacking someone. If they find a target they like, or someone provokes them, then they go after that person. In your case, I think it's related to Jed. Because I think the mcKellan and Hoggins' souls are not... Left. They are surely stuck here because of their hatred and anger. And since you're in a relationship with Jed, they're attacking you too. Or, it's a much more powerful entity than those two. But in any case, it wants to hurt you. You're going to have to be very careful.”

“There's no way to get them to leave?”

“I could use the objects my grandmother used to purify a house but... I'm not sure I'm as good as she was. It's really very meticulous as a practice.” replied Melina.

“I'll talk about it with Jed tonight. Thank you very much Melina.” you respond.

You went back to work and the rest of your day was all about anxiety. If Melina is telling the truth, then you are in danger. Maybe that's why you have this strange feeling of not being safe when, all those who could have hurt you are dead, under Danny's sharp blade. And he, too, had the same experience. There is not much you can do about evil spirits except to drive them out. And you will deeply hope that Melina will be your salvation. Otherwise... you will have to think about leaving the city. Or start praying to God.

The last customers of the day ended up leaving your café, greeting you warmly. Then it was Amy and Corey’s turn who for a few days, got very close to each other. They were so lovely together. You clean the last tables before you take care of the back shop. Danny shouldn't be long in coming, so you'll both be able to discuss these nightmares you're both experiencing. Hoping he isn't too tired or in a hurry to kill someone tonight.

While you were cleaning your kitchen tools, you suddenly hear a noise coming from the room. You put down your equipment and take a weapon in case it’s a thief. You move carefully through the room until you reach the switch to turn on the light. But nothing. not the shadow of a thief, or an object that fell to the ground. You may have dreamed... Then suddenly, whispers. The same whispers you've been hearing for days and days. But this time it looks like it's coming from the back shop you just left.

When you return to the back shop, you find that the door leading to the outside is... strange. A dark aura emanated from it and mist escaped from the lock and the bottom of the door. The whispers became clearer as you approached.

“(Y/N) …(Y/N) ...It’s time. Come with us. Join us. Feed my hunger. Give us all your suffering and sorrow. For all eternity.” said the voices.

“Who are you? And what do you want from me?” you ask.

“Who we are doesn’t matter. The most important is that you’ll feed us. With your screams, your pain, your sorrow, your blood. Now come with us. It’s time for you to meet your fate.”

Suddenly the door opened on a thick black mist. Giant spider legs came out and tried to catch you. You step back several steps but visibly, they are much longer than you hoped. As it was about to take you away, you feel something pulling you back. Under the effect of fear, you try to struggle when a familiar voice was heard.

“Hey! Hey Honey It’s me! Calm down!” said Danny by blocking yourself by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him. “It’s me...stay calm.”

“Danny...” you start as you feel tears in the corner of your eyes.

The voices were heard again, and the paws moved towards the two of you. Danny pushed you, one of the spider legs injuring his arm in the process. He took a weapon in his hands and pushed it back to the door before getting against it and locking it. The door began to move, as if we wanted to open it from the outside and then after a few minutes... a silence set in. Everything had stopped. Danny stepped back before looking at you making sure you were still there. Then he joins you, taking you in his arms.

“What the f**k was that thing?? And what did it want??” you said crying.

“I don’t know. But for now...we’re safe.” said Danny.

“You’re...you’re hurt. I have a first care kit. I will take care of your injury.”

You take the first care kit and ask Danny to come and sit next to you so you can treat him. He winced when you applied the disinfectant but remained motionless until you applied the bandages to him. You then put away the equipment and both of you leave the café to go home. Once at the apartment, you both sit on the sofa sighing, still in shock from what had just happened.

“Melina was right. We have attracted evil spirits. And they're not going to let us go now.” You said.

“Honey please... Don't tell me you believe in this bullshit...” responds Danny, passing a hand on his face.

“Danny, you saw what I saw! And you were hurt! How can you not believe in these things?? You suffered the same thing as me! Melina told me everything.”

“Okay, okay, stay calm. If they're really hitting spirits, there's not much we can do but chase them away, hoping it works.”

“Melina proposed it to me... it doesn't cost anything to try. But if it doesn't work... either we will have to leave the city, or we will have to pray to God.” you replied.

“Leaving the city would not be of much use and I have not believed in God for years. So don't count on me to pray to him. Anyway, knowing that I am a murderer I am not sure that he does much for me.” Responds Danny before getting up.

You watch Danny walk to his office and walk out a few minutes later with his bag. He's not going to go out and kill someone tonight, is he? And even less leave you alone?? This thing, whatever it is, could come back! As he was about to leave, you take his hand before sticking yourself against him.

“Don't leave me alone... Not tonight. Please...” you said sadly.

“We no longer risk anything. I don't think this thing is attacking the two of us again.” Danny responds.

“How do you know? If it happens, maybe it will only go after you and I will never see you again! Danny please... Stay with me.”

“...Fine Honey. I’ll stay. Tomorrow I'll call Melina. If her magic shits works...we’ll be safe again. Let’s eat something and go to sleep.”

Despite his words, you do not let him go. On the contrary, you will tighten more and more against him. And he gave it back to you. Whatever that thing is, it will surely come back. Danny is maybe a murderer, but he is the one you love. And if this thing has to take Danny, it will have to take you too.

And that's what it intends to do. One way or another.

***

(My second dose of vaccine is finally done! but the effects were quick to manifest, I think my body wanted to do a speed run X) Don't worry it was nothing very bad, arm pain after the injection and the next day, headache in the morning and some dizziness in the evening. But now I'm feeling better! and above all, I will finally be able to enjoy the simple pleasures of life! And go see Dune at the cinema! I hope you’ll like this chapter like the other ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all! See ya! )

#dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #Ghosface #danny johnson #jed olsen

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darks-ink · 6 years ago

Text

Make It Go Away

Not for the first time, Danny cursed himself for never telling anyone about his extra-curricular activities. And now, far more injured than he could fix himself, Danny desperately wished that he had told just one person.

(also on AO3 and FFN)

Danny’s aura flickered, and he dropped another several feet. Barely stifling a yelp, he caught himself mid-air. His flight path never faltered though, even if his flight did.

His last fight with Skulker had been bad. Danny didn’t think that he had ever felt so terrible in his life, not even when he had almost died while fighting against Pariah Dark.

He resolutely pressed down on his side, where sticky ectoplasm was continuing to flee his body at a worrying rate. And then he focused back on his flight, maintaining the last shreds of his ghostly power to carry himself home. He had to make sure to pace himself, to leave enough energy to maintain his ghost form. His injuries were far more severe than any human could survive, and while he wasn’t just any human, he was fairly certain that he wouldn’t survive either.

Not for the first time, Danny cursed himself for never telling anyone about his extra-curricular activities. At the time it made perfect sense to hide it, for his own benefit, but mostly for theirs.

And now, far more injured than he could fix himself, Danny desperately wished that he had told just one person. Just a single person that he could rely on, that he could go to for help and patching up. But, unfortunately, no such person existed.

And so Danny, half delirious from pain and from losing so much blood, went for the next best thing: his parents.

Sure, in any other context, for almost everyone, it would’ve been their first choice. Get injured, go to your parents. But for Danny, stuck as a ghost until he was sure he wouldn’t die if he shifted back, going to his ghost-hunting parents in the form of the ghost they hated the most… Well, it probably wasn’t a decision he would’ve made if he had been in his right mind.

But he wasn’t, and so he continued his shaky flight back home.

He barely made it there, and stumbled when he landed, hitting the door with an audible thump. Danny lingered on the doorstep for a long moment, waiting to see if anyone came to open the door. His glow had dampened almost entirely, a testament to how little energy he had left. He considered ringing the doorbell, but then remembered his dad’s bad habit of opening the door by shoving an ectogun into the face of the visitor and decided against it.

Instead, Danny scrounged up the last vestiges of his power, leaned against the door of his house, and forced himself intangible. The moment he had phased through the door he returned back to the tangible realm, and almost fainted.

He slumped against the door he had just passed through, hitting it with another loud thud, barely remaining upright. He figured that his parents probably would’ve heard it down in the lab, and if not… well, he didn’t think he had the power to drag himself down to them anyway.

But his suspicions were soon proven right by the thundering sounds of his dad’s heavy footfalls. Within seconds the man burst through the kitchen, storming towards the front door-

and then he faltered, the moment he saw Danny.

Moments later, his mom appeared beside his dad. When she spotted Danny (not Danny, he corrected himself mentally, Phantom) she swung her ectogun up. The gun started charging a shot with a faint whirring sound, but Danny ignored it in favor of looking at his parents.

Ectoplasm continued to pour out of his body, seeping from in-between the fingers of his right hand, which was still pressed against his side.

He must’ve looked as terrible as he felt, because the noise died out, and his mom lowered the gun. She turned her head, apparently sharing a silent conversation through glances with his dad, despite wearing goggles.

And then she looked at him again, and finally spoke up.

“Why are you here, Phantom?”

“I’m-” He paused, took a shaky breath, and slumped a little further down the door he was leaning against. He was sure he was leaving streaks of glowing green ectoplasm on the wooden surface, but couldn’t bring himself to care. His vision had gone blurry, black creeping in along the edges.

He could barely stop himself from passing out. Could barely cling onto the remainder of his power to stay conscious. He was sure that, if he passed out, he would return to human form. And even if, against all expectations, he would survive his injuries, he couldn’t have that happen in front of his parents.

“Mads...” his dad said, quietly. “I don’t think that it’s pretending. I think… that it really is injured.”

His mom scoffed, but Danny couldn’t read her facial expression. Not while his vision was faltering, and while she was still wearing goggles. “As if a ghost would come to the house of ghost hunters while injured. No, it’s clearly just hoping that we’ll lower our guard, and then it’ll attack.”

Danny groaned, collapsing against the door and onto the floor. His grip on his side weakened as his strength left him, and more ectoplasm started pouring through. He drew his knees up to protect himself to the best of his abilities, but it wasn’t much. He bowed his head, resting his forehead against his knees.

If he was going to die here, he didn’t want his last memory of his parents to be them discussing if he deserved help.

He closed his eyes, and let the darkness take over.

Jack eyed the ghost, and watched as it collapsed. Bright ectoplasm streaked down the door, previously hidden by the ghost’s body. More of the fluid continued to pour down its side, seeping from in-between its fingers.

He glanced at his wife, shortly, before creeping closer to the intruder. The ghost didn’t react, not even when Jack crouched next to it.

Phantom just sat there, curled into a loose ball, eyes closed. If Jack didn’t know any better, he would say that it was unconscious.

But ghosts weren’t supposed to pass out. It was just another thing that made Phantom special, unique compared to other ghosts.

He glanced back at his wife, who still stood in her spot in the entrance of the kitchen. She had crossed her arms, and he was sure that she had a questioning eyebrow quirked at him, even if he couldn’t see it.

Then he turned back to the ghost, and poked it in the upper arm.

Phantom didn’t react.

“Mads, I think that it… passed out.” He shuffled slightly, turning his body so he could see both the ghost and his wife at once. “Maybe we should take it down to lab? This could be a good opportunity to study it.”

Maddie hummed, uncrossing her arms. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. See if you can grab it without waking it.”

Nodding, Jack hovered his hands over the ghost, weighing options in his mind. It would probably be best to grab it carefully, to avoid startling it awake.

Mind made up, he hooked his left arm underneath the ghost’s knees, and wrapped the other around its shoulders. Phantom stirred, a soft grunt, but settled in Jack’s arms.

And so he stood up, with the ghost in his arms, curled up as if it were a child being carried by its father.

Seeing his success, Maddie nodded approvingly, and turned to walk back towards the lab. He trailed after her, passing her in the kitchen as she held open the door for him.

When Phantom was placed down on one of the tables in the lab, it groaned, fingers twitching as if waking up. But then it stilled again, lying flat on the metal surface.

Maddie had swept into the lab behind him, gathering materials for their examination. Jack was still looking over the ghost when she reappeared next to him, a small cart littered with tools behind her.

“How do you want to start, honey? Should we just go ahead and cut it open?”

Jack hummed, noncommittally. He wasn’t really listening, too occupied with his visual inspection of Phantom.

Then his wife’s words finally found their way into his mind, and he stuck out an arm to stop her.

“No, wait. Let’s take off its suit first.”

Maddie clicked her tongue, disapprovingly. “Jack, you know we can’t do that. A ghost’s clothing is part of its body, part of their skin. We can’t take it off, and even if we could, there would be nothing underneath.”

“So then what’s that?” Jack asked, as he pointed towards the injury Phantom had been covering earlier. It was a deep, ragged cut in its side, right underneath where the ribs would be on a human. More curiously, however, was the fact that the cut in Phantom’s jumpsuit revealed bare skin, similar in color and texture to the skin of its face.

Maddie frowned, moving to look at the injury more closely. Then she grabbed the edge of the torn jumpsuit, and stuck her fingers underneath it, feeling around.

“It’s… not attached to Phantom’s skin.” She glanced at Jack, the corners of her mouth twisted in uncertainty. “Take off one of its gloves. See how defined its hands are underneath.��

He nodded and moved to do as she asked. The right glove, stained heavily with ectoplasm, peeled off almost effortlessly.

And underneath, a perfectly ordinary hand laid.

If it wasn’t for the faint glow, Jack could’ve sworn it belonged to a human being, not a ghost. The skin was pale, with wrinkles on the palm and tendons running along the back. The knuckles were bruised, on the edge of bleeding. Even the fingertips were perfect, with square fingernails and, when Jack looked more closely, the ghost even appeared to have fingerprints.

He shared a short glance with Maddie, and then moved to check Phantom’s other hand. The left glove, not nearly as badly stained with ectoplasm, was removed with as little effort as the right.

The hand underneath was far less ordinary, however. Sure, the skin and the wrinkles and the details were just as human as Phantom’s right hand.

But, running from the center of its palm and branching down its hand and wrist, was what appeared to be a scar. It glowed a faint green, stark against Phantom’s pale skin. The sharp hooks and turns weren’t scars one saw often, but Jack recognized their origin nonetheless.

The shape, like lightning branching through the sky, was characteristic of electrical injuries.

“Huh,” Maddie remarked, having moved closer to Jack while he was distracted by Phantom’s unique anatomy. “Not only does it have a form underneath its jumpsuit, it even has scars.”

She reached out towards the left hand, carefully taking it in hers. Her slender fingers ran over the scar, tracing it down Phantom’s wrist. Then she stopped, frowning once more.

“Jack...” she said, as she wrapped her fingers around Phantom’s. “He’s not soft or malleable. It feels… like he had bones.”

He paused, thinking back to when he had grabbed Phantom earlier. Now that he thought about it, he could remember that the ghost had felt surprisingly sturdy.

“If only we had an x-ray machine! Imagine that Mads, a ghost with a bone structure!”

His wife nodded, biting her lower lip in thought. “Maybe… we don’t need an x-ray.”

She moved over to Phantom’s side, where she had been before. She reached out towards the injury again, but this time, instead of grabbing the jumpsuit, she went for the injury itself. She carefully shoved her fingers in sliced flesh, prodding around for a short moment.

Then suddenly Phantom winced, pulling away with a groan.

Maddie pulled her hand back towards her, holding it against her chest. Jack froze up, eyes locked on the ghost. But it didn’t attack, didn’t lash out. It simply settled back down again.

“Ghosts… aren’t supposed to be able to feel pain,” Jack stated, simply. His emotions were roiling, however. He didn’t know how he felt about anything. He didn’t look away from the ghost.

“They’re not supposed to have bones either,” Maddie answered, releasing her own hand again. “But I know felt Phantom’s ribs.”

“So then… what does that mean?” Jack was still looking at the ghost. Its glow was almost completely gone, luminescent green eyes still closed. If he imagined the glowing green ectoplasm oozing from its side to be red, the ghost looked eerily human. The faint movements of its chest-

Wait.

The faint movements of its chest? Ghosts don’t breathe, and certainly not while they’re passed out. And Jack was sure, by now, that Phantom wasn’t conscious. Because if the ghost had been aware enough to take notice of its surroundings, it surely would’ve protested against the poking and prodding they were doing.

Jack took of his glove, crouching down next to the ghost. Then he held his bare hand over its face, almost touching its skin.

“Jack… What are you doing?”

Soft puffs of cold air hit his hand. He frowned, but didn’t answer his wife. Instead, he moved his hand to the neck of the ghost. He pulled down the neck of its jumpsuit, revealing a heavily bruised neck. Then he laid his fingers where carotid artery would be on a living human, and waited.

“Jack,” his wife repeated, irritation seeping into her voice.

He was about to shush her, but then he felt what he was looking for. What he had been half-expecting, despite the fact that it shouldn’t exist. Not on a ghost.

“Phantom has a heartbeat.” His voice was soft, a near whisper. But in the quiet lab, it was loud enough.

“Let me feel,” Maddie said, as she walked over. She pulled off her own glove, settling her slender fingers in the same place as Jack had. Within moments, the frown on her face melted away in an expression of shock and astonishment.

“He’s so...” she trailed off.

“Human?” he finished for her.

She nodded, finally removing her fingers from Phantom’s neck so she could put her glove back on. “Jack, I don’t… I don’t think I can do this.”

“Me neither Mads, me neither. He’s just...” He gestured vaguely towards Phantom, who lied still on the table. If it wasn’t for the barely visible movements of his chest, the ghost would’ve looked like a dead body. Even the flow of ectoplasm had slowed down.

And Jack couldn’t help but think that Phantom looked frail. Far frailer than he had ever seen the ghost look. Like a kid in way over his head.

“He’s just a child,” Maddie agreed as she walked around him, slowly. “We should… patch him up.”

Jack hummed, agreeing. “Do you think… that that’s why he came to us? Thinking that we were the only people in Amity who know enough about ghosts to fix his injuries?”

Neither of them commented on the fact that they had both started referring to the ghost as ‘he’ instead of ‘it’. It only made sense, to Jack. The ghost was simply too human to refer to as a regular ghost.

“Can you grab the first aid kit, Jack? I can start cleaning his injuries, but we will have to stitch up this cut. And we’ll have to check if Phantom has other injuries bad enough to need treatment.”

He nodded, storming off to grab the kit they had in the lab. He handed it over to his his wife, and then turned to Phantom.

“I’ll try to get his jumpsuit off so you can reach more easily, and so we can check for other injuries.” As he said it, Jack had already leaned over Phantom, trying to see if there was an easy way to do as he said. He quickly found a zipper, the suit remarkably similar to the ones his family wore.

The suit was easily unzipped, and Jack carefully peeled it off of Phantom. Maddie had put away the kit, helping pull Phantom’s arms out of the sleeves of the jumpsuit. They left the fabric bunched up around his hips, held in place by his white belt.

The scar on Phantom’s left hand stood out against his pale skin, crawling up his arm, shoulder, and even branching over his chest. Perhaps more shockingly were the dozens of unrelated scars that were littered all over Phantom’s torso and arms. Cuts, slices, burns, some still fresh enough to ooze ectoplasm.

Maddie had taken her eyes off of the ghost already to start stitching up the injury on his side, but Jack continued his inspection. He had to make sure, after all, that none of the injuries were serious enough to need treatment.

While checking over the various injuries and scars, Jack noticed that a few scars looked rather… strange. Sure, many of Phantom’s scars showed that the injuries that had caused them had been serious, but a good number of them looked like they had been properly taken care off. A long scar, curling across his left lower arm, even showed signs of being stitched.

Frowning, Jack turned to look at his wife. “Hey, Mads. I think… I think that this isn’t the first time that Phantom has received serious medical attention.”

“How so?” Maddie asked, not taking her eyes off of her work.

“Some of these scars look like they’ve been stitched before. Not well, but… certainly stitched.”

“Huh,” she said. “I wonder why he didn’t go to them this time. Why come to ghost hunters if he already had someone capable of stitching to help him?”

“Dunno.” Jack shrugged as he started cleaning and wrapping up some of Phantom’s lesser injuries. “Maybe he couldn’t make it to them. He barely made it to our house.”

“Maybe. I guess we can try asking him when he wakes up.”

Silence returned as the two of them continued to work on Phantom. By the time Maddie finished stitching up the deep gouge on his side, Jack had bandaged all serious injuries he could see, including the two on Phantom’s calf and thigh. The smaller cuts that were scattered across most of the ghosts body, he left alone.

“We’re going to have to roll him on his side to check his back. He left behind ectoplasm on the door when he leaned against it, and on my arm as well. I don’t think that came from the injury on his side.”

Maddie nodded, and together, the two of them carefully rolled Phantom on his less injured side.

On his back was a massive burn, sprawling across his shoulders. Jack could make out branches of an older scar underneath. Probably more of the electrical scar.

He shared a glance with his wife, and then bent down to start cleaning up the injury. The deepest parts glinted in the light, wet with fresh ectoplasm, but they seemed to be healing already.

“I think just wrapping it up will be fine,” Maddie mused. “I don’t know how similar his skin is to human skin, so I can’t say if burn cream will work against the scarring.”

“Yeah. It looks like it’s healing already.” Jack shrugged at his wife. “Guess he heals faster than humans after all.”

They bandaged the burn, Jack lifting up the ghost so his wife could wrap around the entire body, and then left Phantom lying on his side.

Maddie glanced at the clock, sighing when she saw the time. “It’s getting late, and I still need to get groceries so we can eat today. Do you think you can keep an eye on him while I go take care of that?”

Jack nodded. “Definitely!” As he saw her walk off to put on a clean jumpsuit without ectoplasm stains, he called after her. “And Mads, don’t forget the fudge!”

The first thing that Danny noticed when he woke up was that he was somewhere really bright. Quickly closing his eyes again, he decided to wait a little longer before he would try slowly opening his eyes. Instead, he focused on his other senses to try and figure out where he was.

He was lying on his side, thankfully not the one that Skulker sliced open earlier. Whatever he was lying on was cold and hard. The air smelled like ectoplasm, but that wasn’t much of a clue considering the enormous amount of ectoplasm he was probably covered with. There were no obvious sounds either, no one shuffling around or guns charging up.

Deciding that wherever he was was probably safe enough, Danny tried slowly opening his eyes.

Once again, the light was blinding, and he groaned as he tried blinking away the dark spots in his vision.

“Hey kid,” a familiar voice sounded from somewhere near his feet, but he couldn’t quite place it yet. “How’re you feeling?”

Danny groaned again, rolling onto his back – and promptly wincing when the burn on his back hit the surface of whatever he was lying on.

He tried pushing himself up into a sitting position instead, his fingers curling around the edges of – was he lying on a table? – whatever. He didn’t quite have the strength to manage it, but thick gloved fingers caught his arms and helped pull him up.

Finally he opened his eyes again, this time without blinding himself, and looked himself over. Bandages were wrapped around his chest and side, and his hazmat suit hung around his hips. His gloves laid to the side, stained heavily with his own ectoplasm. He would be concerned about that if he didn’t know they would return to their original condition when he transformed again.

Hovering at the end of the table stood his dad, and he realized that that was the voice he had heard earlier. He must’ve been really out of it if he couldn’t even recognize his own dad when the guy was talking to him.

A quick glance around revealed that he was in the lab.

In his ghost hunting parents lab.

As a ghost.

He tensed up, muscles bunching up as he readied himself to shoot off before his parents could do anything.

But his dad just raised his hands, palms out, showing that he meant no harm. “It’s okay, Phantom. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

“I-” His voice cracked, embarrassingly, and Danny cleared his throat. “Really?”

His dad just nodded, sitting down in the chair that was conveniently placed next to the table Danny was sitting on. “Well, I hoped that our attempt at patching you up would’ve been enough to prove that we won’t harm you.”

Danny blinked, somewhat stupefied. Sure, he had gone to his parents hoping that they would patch him up, even as Phantom, but he hadn’t expected them to actually do so. His expression must’ve shown as much, because his dad made an uncertain face.

“Yeah, I guess patching you up once doesn’t make up for everything we’ve threatened to do, huh?”

“Depends,” Danny said, feeling his strength slowly return to him. He wasn’t sure if he could walk, and while he could probably survive shifting back to human, he would rather wait a little longer for his ghostly healing to do its job. But he felt confident that he could handle a serious conversation with his parents.

Actually, scratch that, parent. He had glanced around the lab again, and couldn’t see his mom anywhere.

“Maddie is out right now,” Jack explained, having apparently correctly interpreted his glancing around. “She still had to get groceries, and we figured you weren’t a danger.” He looked away, scratching his cheek, and sighed. “Never have been, huh?”

“A danger?” Danny shrugged, frowning a little. “I guess I could be a danger, but I don’t try to be, no.”

“I figured. We really misjudged you, haven’t we?” He leaned back in the chair he was sitting in, not looking at Danny.

Danny hummed an affirmative. “Kinda, yeah. But you meant well.”

His dad just snorted. “Good intentions don’t make up for doing the wrong thing.”

“No,” Danny agreed. “But good intentions make it easier to forgive you.”

Jack turned to look at him again, blinking, with a stunned expression on his face. “You mean...”

“Yeah. I never really blamed you. Sure, I often wished that you would just see that we were on the same side, but,” he shrugged, “you were just trying to do the right thing. The same thing as me, really.”

“So you don’t… You’re not angry, or upset?”

“Nah.” Danny waved a dismissive hand towards him. “Forgive and forget, right? You know better now.”

“Just like that?” Jack grinned at him. “Phantom, you’re a kid of my heart.”

He smiled back, shrugging. “I just believe in second chances.”

The sound of a door opening and closing echoed through the house then, followed by the voice of his mom as she yelled. “Jack, I’m home! How’s Phantom?”

She was already coming down the stairs to the lab by the time she finished talking. Jack cocked his head towards Danny, and Danny picked up on the silent cue.

“Much better,” he called out to Maddie as she walked into the lab. “Thanks to you two, apparently.”

She blinked at him, apparently surprised by the fact that he was up, before she smiled. “That’s good to hear. We… don’t know much about fixing up ghosts.”

“And you know what, Mads!” Jack bounced out of his chair, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “He isn’t even angry at us for hunting him!”

“Really?” His mom quirked an eyebrow at Danny.

“Yeah, it’s fine. You meant well. Although I am very glad that you’ve changed your minds.”

“But, while we’re still on the topic of us patching up ghosts...” Maddie ventured, moving closer to Danny. “Why did you come to us? Why not go to whoever did it last time?”

He frowned. “I came to you because there was no one else. I was kind of… hoping that your knowledge about ghosts and their anatomy would help.”

“But, based on your scars, you’ve received treatment for some of your previous injuries,” Jack prodded. “That big one on your left arm was definitely stitched.”

“Oh,” Danny said as realization struck him. He gently rubbed the scar with his right hand, remembering how bad it had been. It had been one of his first serious injuries, and the sight of ectoplasm oozing out of his body in thick globs… well, it still wasn’t an easy sight, but it had been terrifying back then.

“I, uh. I kind of… stitched that up myself?”

Suddenly slender fingers wrapped around his arm, a hand gently pulling away his right hand. His mom stood next to him, tracing the scar. “Didn’t that hurt?”

What was she trying to get at? He didn’t know, so he shrugged, uncertainly. “Kinda, yeah. But, well. I had to do something, right? And it wasn’t the first one I did.”

“So you came here because you couldn’t do it yourself?” His dad had wandered over closer as well, standing next to the table again. “What would you have done if we hadn’t helped?”

“Well, my original plan had been to go into the Ghost Zone, find someone there to patch me up.” He smiled sheepishly at the two of them. “But as you might’ve noticed, I wouldn’t have made it that far anyway.”

“The Ghost Zone?” his dad repeated, frowning. “Isn’t that place full of the ghosts you fight?”

Danny shrugged, raising his hand to rub the back of his neck. “Kinda? But my only allies are there, so. Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“You have ghostly allies, then?” His mom shot him a scrutinizing look, but he could see the sparkle of interest in her eyes. “I wouldn’t have expected it, since we only ever see you picking fights with the other ghosts.”

“That’s kind of how I made most of my allies,” Danny said, feeling an embarrassed blush creeping up. “Enemy of my enemy kind of deal, you know? Like Wulf, I befriended him when I helped free him from Walker. Or Frostbite and his people, they kind of-” he stopped, suddenly.

“’They kind of’ what, Phantom?” his mom asked, curiosity peaked.

Danny, in turn, hiked his shoulders up. His blush, his very noticeable glowing green blush, had spread across his entire face. “They, uh. They kind of… worship me?” he stammered out. “Because, y’know. I defeated Pariah Dark.”

“They worship you?” His dad chuckled. “You’re joking, right?”

“Well, no.” He crossed his arms, attempting to preserve the little dignity he still had. “They have a shrine dedicated to me, and they even call me ‘Great One’. It’s… kind of embarrassing, really. But they mean well.”

“But still you spend most of your time here, in Amity, instead of among the ghosts who appreciate you?” Maddie asked, having long since released Danny’s arm. “Why would you willingly spend time in a city where people don’t appreciate you, where they hunt you, if you have better options?”

Danny considered asking her the same. After all, most people in this city had lower opinions on the hunting skills of his parents than of him. Between him and Valerie, most people didn’t think they needed the Fentons anymore. But instead, he answered her question properly.

“Well… The first ghosts I fought were kind of… accidental? I was just hanging out and I saw them causing trouble so I decided to stop them. And then more and more ghosts started showing up, and they weren’t just hurting the people of the city, but they threatened the people I care about. And I couldn’t let that happen.”

“’People you care about?’” his dad repeated. “Like… family, friends?”

“Uh, yeah.” Danny crossed his ankles and leaned his elbow on his knee, resting his head in the open palm. “People I knew when I was still living in this city, you know?”

“But… you didn’t have anybody who could patch you up? Couldn’t any of those people help?”

Danny snorted. The irony of the statement wasn’t missed on him. “Nah, they don’t know I’m Phantom.”

“Why not tell them?” His mom frowned at him. “I might not know your parents, Phantom, but as a mother, I can assure you that she misses you, and that she would want to see you. Ghost or not.”

“I suppose,” Danny said, not knowing how to answer without revealing that his loved ones didn’t miss him because they didn’t know they were supposed to. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this topic of conversation, either. If Jazz knew about any of this she would be either thrilled or horrified, and he wasn’t sure which he preferred.

Their discussion (and Danny’s train of thought) was thankfully interrupted by the loud growling of a stomach. Jack grinned, even as Maddie turned to chastise him.

And then Danny’s stomach growled as well.

Both of his parents turned to him, and Danny felt the blush from earlier return.

“Well,” Maddie said as she clapped her hands together. “Why don’t we continue this conversation over some lunch?”

“Great idea Mads!” His dad extended a hand towards Danny, who was unfolding himself again. “Need a hand, Phantom?”

He shrugged, throwing his legs over the edge of the table. “I wanna see if I can stand first. And if not, I can always just float.”

“Oh, right.” His dad grinned, sheepish. “Forgot that you were a ghost for a minute, there.”

Danny, meanwhile, tested his legs. He could stand just fine, but the biting pain from his side told him that walking probably wasn’t a good idea yet. Instead he let gravity ebb away, rising into the air, legs melting away into a ghostly tail.

He grinned, turning to wink at his dad. “Race you there?”

“Please don’t,” his mom cut in, moments before his dad would’ve replied. “You’re still hurt, Phantom. You need to take it easy.”

He sighed, tail twitching in the air. “Yeah, alright. I guess I see your point.”

Their lunch conversation wasn’t much to note. Both Danny and Jack were too occupied with shoveling food into their mouths to talk much, and Maddie knew better than to try.

When they were done, and Danny made to fly away, he was stopped by his mom wrapping a hand around his upper arm.

She looked at him, her violet eyes filled with warmth. “And Phantom. If you need our help for anything, no matter what… You’re always welcome here.”

He gaped for a long moment before smiling. “Thanks. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

And then he left, phasing through the wall, turning invisible in the process. He hooked upwards almost instantly, phasing through the wall a little higher than where he had left, and entered his room.

Finally, he dropped down on his bed and shifted back into his human form.

Maybe… Maybe he didn’t have to tell anyone about his secret double life. Just the support of his parents as Phantom was plenty.

And if it ever wasn’t…

Well, he made a good first step today, that was sure.

#dark writes #phanfiction #danny phantom au #danny fenton #jack fenton #maddie fenton #dp fanfiction #hello i dont know how to tag this kinda stuff so people actually find it #anyway plz validate me so im motivated to work on my multi-chapter fanfic some more #danny phantom

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fairladymarian · 8 years ago

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Can’t Believe She’s Become a Shell of Herself, Cause She Used to Be a Pearl || Self

May drifted on the edge of consciousness, refusing to open her eyes because that meant she was admitting she was awake. She heard the voices around her, some soothing, some panicking. It sounded like a few people were really ill, but she couldn’t bring herself to care too much just yet. She couldn’t do anything for them that wasn’t already being done. She wasn’t any use to them. So she stayed, floating in this dream world for just a little while longer.

This wasn’t the first time she’d woken up, so she knew exactly where she was. The Hospital Wing. May had managed to survive those 10 grueling hours of play without any serious injuries. She had scored several goals, and the work as a team had allowed them to score a few others. Even though they had lost, she should have felt pleased about the game’s outcome, as playing your best game was at least as important as winning.

But then the game ended. May had landed her broom, taken one look at her injured teammates, took a step forward, and then collapsed. The next thing she was aware of, she was waking up in the hospital wing, and one of the nurses almost immediately poured some sort of potion down her throat. They had ignored her questions about her teammates, answering with a curt ‘They’re fine’ before insisting that she needed more rest. According to them, she had pushed her body beyond its limits. They were going to make her get more rest and some nutritious food back in her before she was allowed to go anywhere. Of course, she had protested saying that she had homework, meetings, life to go on dealing with They’d told her she had to wait. And then they’d made her sleep again.

But she was tired of waiting. Right now it felt like her entire life was built on the premise of waiting for the next disaster to strike, and for the good things that never came.

Her father still hadn’t come home, and the determined optimism that had sustained her through the last year and a half was beginning to fade. Wouldn’t he have returned to her by now if he could have? Wouldn’t he have heard something about what was going on and come back to help her? Where could he have gone that he would be able to avoid the incessant articles about her and the family struggles that had suddenly taken center stage?

Of course, he could be captured somewhere. Which would explain why he hadn’t come back. But who kept hold of someone as important as Richard Marian without any kind of ransom note sent behind? He was a broommaker, not some big political figure for Merlin’s sake, it wasn’t like anyone could get any information out of him, and the only ones to profit were his family. So who could possibly have him?

The only remaining possibility was that he was dead. And if that were true, she was all alone.

Merlin she missed him. It was like a weight pressing against her chest, and she’d almost forgotten what it was like to be able to breathe freely. It wasn’t just that she wanted him to come back and take his role in the company again so she wouldn’t have to work so hard and fight her uncle anymore. It was him. It was Sunday card games that she got closer and closer to winning as she learned his tricks and began to make up some of her own. It was quiet mornings touring the factory. It was the way his eyes lit up as he explained some intricate secret to putting a broom together. It was his easy laugh, and the intense way he listened when she spoke, as if those words were the most important words he had ever heard in his life. It was that overwhelming knowledge that she was loved, absolutely, unconditionally, and forever. Even when they went months without seeing each other, it didn’t change the fact that she knew he was there and he loved her. She wasn’t alone.

Instead, she felt like she was always alone these days.

Of course, there were moments where that wasn’t true. Christmas at the Parrs had been wonderful. The house had been full, and watching everyone open their presents had been a stunning delight. Of course, she had received wonderful gifts as well, but that wasn’t as important to her as being able to give something special to someone who mattered. She always spent way too much money Christmas shopping, but she was like her father that way. What good was money if you couldn’t use it to make the people important to you happy?

As soon as she’d been invited, she’d written every member of her household staff to inform them that they had the Christmas holidays off. They were welcome to stay or leave as suited them, but they wouldn’t need to work. They had each received their traditional Christmas bonuses, and each member of the staff had gotten another small gift from her. After all, the bonus was from the head of the Marian household. The second gift was from May, the girl they had raised. Both seemed perfectly justifiable, and she could only hope that it had made them happy. They deserved to have something good in the middle of all this dark.

Her uncle, of course, had been furious. He’d written her a letter as soon as he’d discovered it. And while she had burned the letter itself, the words were still imprinted in her memory.

May,

You may think you you run this household, and you have these stupid lazy assholes going along with the charade. But mark my words, as soon as I win this case, I will fire every single one of them for being the lazy disgusting freeloaders they are. And you can wave goodbye to your job at the company.

Oh don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll live just fine off your inheritance until you get knocked up by one of the bastards you’re screwing. But trying to change any of this just makes you look pathetic.

John

Letters like this reminded her exactly why she needed to keep fighting him at every turn. Most of the servants had been with her family for generations. Where would they go if they were suddenly unwelcome at home? How could she protect them? Theoretically, she could always hire them on herself. But if she needed to find her own house and pay for the staff after the expense of a court case, her inheritance would rapidly be run through without some sort of income. And what could she do besides broom making? What else was she good for?

Thievery, her brain whispered.

But if her uncle’s hatred of her was blatant and confrontable, this other skill of hers only reminded her of the other man who seemed to hate her. Yet, instead of it being a family member, it was the one she was in love with.

She never knew when he would find her. Sometimes it was only a matter of days in between visits, never longer than two weeks, but the variability meant that her nerves were constantly stretched to the breaking point as she looked out for him. Of course, it made perfect sense not to have any sort of set schedule. After all, one of the big worries was that her uncle would be able to track him down through is connection to her, and thus pin the crime of the Marian break in on Danny. It was only smart not to risk any letters and just find her whenever he needed to talk to her.

Except they never did talk, did they? Not for long. They would have a brief conversation about the status of the court case, but it wasn’t with any real interest. It was more to keep up the charade that this was information gathering for both of them. And after he got the same brief update, he would take her somewhere, and they would fuck until they were both exhausted. Sometimes he didn’t speak. Sometimes, he would call her Amy. But every time, she would be vocal and affectionate, hoping that it meant that this time he had forgiven her, this time he would cherish her. This time he would love her back, the way he had when he thought she was Amy.

Everytime, he would get dressed and leave her as soon as the sweat would begin to cool on them both. And her heart would break all over again.

Merlin she was pathetic. She kept hoping things would change, as if time would fix what they were. But she wasn’t the person he wanted her to be, and he couldn’t forgive her for the lie. Of course, physically he was the same, and they had always been good in bed together. But how on earth could she have some much love for someone who didn’t respect her? How long was she supposed to just accept that these crumbs of affection were all he would give her?

How come she couldn’t just walk away from it? Was she so lonely that even this felt better than nothing at all?

Her mother would have walked away. Her mother had. She had known that she would love Richard for the rest of her life, but without respect they wouldn’t be able to make the marriage work. So unless he turned himself into the kind of person Eleanor Gibson could respect, they had a love and nothing else. It had given her father the push he’d needed to turn himself into a better man, and he had made himself an incredible one. They had married, and May had never met another couple who loved each other as much as they had. But it had all started because Eleanor was strong enough to make the choice between what she wanted in the moment, and what would make her happy for a lifetime.

May had once thought she would be that strong. But over the past few months, it was obvious that she wasn’t.

She had even sent Danny a Christmas gift. She hadn’t wanted to get him anything too obvious or too expensive, as she knew he’d reject it. So instead, she had found a battered old silver flask with faded Welsh scrollwork. Well made enough to survive and have a sense of history, but clearly well worn so it didn’t look like he had acquired something new and flashy and too obviously expensive. Laid into it was a spell that neutralized any poisons that entered it. It meant it would always be safe for him to drink out of, no matter how dangerous the company he was keeping. She had sent a brief letter with it explaining what it did and that she hoped he’d have a Merry Christmas. It hadn’t needed to be stated that her hopes had gone along with it.

He hadn’t written back. He hadn’t sent her anything. She honestly didn’t even know if he’d kept the flask or if he’d tossed it away at the first opportunity, not wanting anything to be bought by ‘the Marian girl’. And the not knowing, the waiting, was eating at her from the inside out.

A pained shout from a bed nearby drew her forcibly back to the present, causing her to tense in the action of leaving the bed before she forced herself to relax. No. Still hospital wing. Still nothing she could do. Nothing she was capable of doing.

She was failing at every aspect of her life, something her collapse made abundantly clear.

The legal case was stalled and wouldn’t occur for another few months, which meant she could still potentially lose it to her uncle, along with her childhood home and the staff that were more family than he was at this point.

The Board had moved up to tolerating her comments, but otherwise still fought her on every change she attempted to make, no matter how much research she brought into it, so the company was coasting.

She was barely managing to keep her grades in her classes, but she had basically had to sacrifice all of the time she had used to spend helping other students.

She had lost every single duel she’d had as the dueling club captain, and while some of the people she’d worked with had succeeded, each loss further destroyed the confidence she had in her skills and her worth.

Nearly every Quidditch game had been lost, and at least a portion of that was due to the fact that she was playing worse than she had in years past because of how stressed and stretched thin she was.

Most of her friends were keeping secrets from her and isolating themselves, and she couldn’t do anything about it.

The friends she did keep she barely saw as everything else took over her life.

The man she loved despised her, and she was weak enough to be drawn back to him as soon as he crooked his finger, even when she knew how each evening would end.

And now her body was beginning to fail, because there was no time for sleep in the middle of everything else she was doing, and she hadn’t had any sort of appetite for weeks.

Looking back on her life, it seemed like the May that existed now was an entirely different person from the May who had lived for so long. The other May had been warm and loving, as quick to laugh as she was to fight in defense of someone else. She had been enthusiastic and optimistic. A little reckless, a lot responsible, a good friend, and a determined worker. She had looked to the future and made promises that she had been certain she could keep, because she was bursting at the seams with energy, excitement, vitality, and determination. She had succeeded at everything she’d put her mind to, and it hadn’t even been a question whether she would be able to accomplish it. It was just a fact.

The May lying in that hospital bed was only able to put on the semblance of that May when other people needed to see it. Inside, stress and fear and heartache had eaten away at everything until there was nothing left. She was just a shell. And she didn’t know how to fix it.

#self #fhogself #most of this is super internal and kind of long without action #but I needed to establish where she was at in her character arc

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