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datawyrms · 5 years ago

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Weathering the Storm

Dannymay2020 day 23: Lightning (AO3)

It was odd to see Danny so clearly aggravated when not in class, shoulders hunched and arms crossed as if the world has personally offended him this morning. “I mean it, when I find Johnny I’m shoving his Shadow down his throat for this.”

“It’s just bad luck Danny, it can’t be that much trouble,” Tucker didn’t seem all that concerned about his mood, and it stuck the teacher as rather odd. The Fenton boy was a chronic work dodger and consistently late, but threatening people by name was new. He had dismissed the boy’s brush with destructive tendencies as a one off thing as the behaviour had not continued, but perhaps he had been too hasty. Even if the threat was ultimately nonsensical, the vehemence had sounded quite real.

The boy scowled at his friend, “I got struck by lig-” he broke off mid sentence as his eyes caught sight of Mr. Lancer. Was he afraid that his teacher was overhearing him? He had dropped his arms and somehow slouched more, doing his best to be as small and unnoticeable as possible. Had he done something to cause such fear in his student? He could think of a few incidents that would make the boy dislike him, certainly, but not fear him.

“Hi Mr. Lancer!” Tucker showed no such hesitation, moving as if to block his blue eyed friend from his sightline. “The report isn’t due until next Monday, right?”

“That’s correct Mr. Foley. If you have it completed by Friday I’d be happy to suggest improvements you could make over the weekend,” he answered, not that the boy would do that. He’d extended the offer several times, and the little trio didn’t seem all that interested in actually using it.

“Thanks, just had to check!”

Tucker had been acting as a distraction almost, seeing as Sam and Danny had slunk away as he’d taken up most of Mr. Lancer’s attention. It was odd. Did they really think they had to go to such lengths? Danny’s words had been a little concerning, but not something to think he’d be punished over. He would simply need to keep an eye on them today, if he was unintentionally causing fear he had a duty to correct that. The boy had enough trouble learning as it was.

Mr. Fenton was incredibly jumpy. Usually he’d slump at his desk to the point one could argue the lad did not even possess a spine. Today he seemed almost hyper alert, eyes darting and fingers constantly fiddling with a pencil or paper as the heavy rain battered against the windows. Yet whatever he was on such high alert for, it wasn’t what they were discussing, his answers just as lost and confused as they were when he was half asleep. He was starting to worry it was indeed his presence getting the child so distressed until a booming crack of thunder followed by a blinding flash of lightning from the storm outside painted a very different picture.

He’d practically slammed his head into his desk, hands over his head while looking as stiff as a board. Even when the moment passed the black haired boy was slow to uncurl, only doing so fully after getting some sort of affirmative nod from Tucker or Sam.

When had he gotten such a strong fear of thunderstorms? The last time such a storm had come to Amity Park he had been perfectly fine. Or at least, had not reacted this strongly. If he was struggling to focus because of the storm, he had to do something to help.

“Mr. Fenton, a word please?” he said as Danny attempted to slide out the door at the end of class.

“Yes?” his teeth were gritted, the rest of his body language still reading as terribly stiff, almost like an over-tightened string.

He waited a moment before responding, not wanting to embarrass him by having other students overhear the question. “Is it the sound or the light that bothers you?” Danny wasn’t one to answer questions at the best of times, so being direct was an unfortunate consequence.

“The-what?” His brow furrowed, fingers clenching around the backpack more tightly. He did seem genuinely confused, but it could just be his teenaged pride not wanting to admit he had a phobia.

“I do not wish to embarrass you Mr. Fenton, but your reactions to the thunderstorm outside have been rather noticeable,” the boy squirmed a little on the spot, eyes darting at the door as if wondering if he could make a run for it, “Would studying in a room without windows help with that?”

“I’m not afraid of thunderstorms.” he looked away, hand clutching at his shoulder. The rolling rumble of thunder warning that another bolt was coming made the boy visibly flinch, turning and darting out of the room without being dismissed.

He couldn’t force him to take offered help, but couldn’t understand who Danny thought he was fooling. People who were safely indoors did not usually run from thunderclaps. If he thought his friends would be more forthcoming he would consult with them, but they had proven to be just as stubborn. Still, there was plenty of school day left. The boy might change his mind.

“Why does he have to pay attention to me today of all days?” The half ghost moaned, face buried in his palms, lunch untouched.

“I told you not to break his motorcycle.”

“I’m going to shove it in a thermos and bury it next time,” his eyes flared a brilliant green, a helpful elbow from Tucker making him cover his face again.

“Is the bad luck making the flare ups worse?” Sam frowned at the muffled green light, eyes watching the rest of the noisy cafeteria.

“Sorta?” Danny managed to look up, returning to rubbing at his shoulder. “I got hit by lightning on the way here.”

Tucker winced in sympathy. “Owch.”

“Three times.”

“I’d wonder how you survived that but this is you we’re talking about.” Sam still looked concerned, fiddling with a wristband.

“My ectoplasm just loves it apparently. I don’t think I’ve been this wide awake in months,” he returned to bouncing his leg up and down, as if unable to keep still.

“You gonna eat that?”

He shook his head. “I’m not even close to hungry, go nuts.”

Tucker helped himself to the untouched meal “You feeling okay though? That still had to hurt.”

“Other than feeling like I’ve been chugging coffee all day, yeah.”

“Which is why you keep rubbing at your shoulder. Because you feel fine.” Sam scowled as the half ghost looked at the ceiling.

“I do, really. I can just. Feel the lightning coming and it throbs a bit. It’s more annoying than anything.”

“Creepy. The scars start showing up again?” Tucker leaned closer, eyes narrowing at his friend’s neck.

Danny snorted, batting his friend away. “They’re not green at least. Yet.”

“Maybe you should just put the sweater on now then? Unless you want someone to notice you have scars on your arms that weren’t there this morning.”

“It’s so hot in that thing! It’s in my backpack, don’t worry about it.” he stopped mid shrug, wincing seconds before a flash of lighting.

“Hair.”

The now white haired boy ducked down, muttering crossly as he fumbled with his bag.

“Good thing no one pays attention to the loser squad.” Tucker managed to keep back a laugh by confirming absolutely no one had noticed his friend's sudden dye job.

“No kidding.” Danny groused, reappearing with sweater in hand, hair back to it’s natural black. “If this keeps up I’m going to start falling through things again.”

Sam bit her lip. “Maybe you should just skip?”

“And go where? Outside and get struck some more? No thanks. With my luck I’d get mode locked or something.”

“You could just stay invisible.”

The hybrid considered it, but shook his head. “If I’m stuck here I might as well get credit for it.”

“Well if you start glowing, I don’t have any idea why,” Sam warned, earning a small chuckle from the both of them.

Danny’s anxious behaviour only seemed to intensify throughout the day. He stuck close to his two friends as usual, but was never completely still, always moving or jiggling, eyes always darting around as if he had to stay alert from an unknown threat. Just watching him was exhausting. For someone who insisted he was not frightened, he was grabbing on to Sam or Tucker with surprising regularity. The two of them didn’t seem to mind, almost as if they were used to this sort of thing. Strange. By the end of the day the boy was bundled up in some oversized sweater, which only made him look even more pale and stressed out. Perhaps he could suggest private study time for days like this to Jazz, he might listen to his elder sister.

Well, he probably wouldn’t, but not doing anything was giving him that terrible twisting guilt gut that did not care if he couldn’t force help upon people who refused it. He would suggest it tomorrow if this behaviour continued. The final bell was practically a blessing, the school quieting as teacher and student alike filed out into the dreadful weather, colourful umbrellas giving a small reprieve from all the grey. Usually he had to stay longer because of a detention, but the lousy weather seemed to curb any desire to skip out on class. Small blessings. With a folder snugly underarm and umbrella in hand he headed towards the exit closest to his car and froze.

Danny was still here? He could barely make the boy stay in class when it was in session, and here he was lurking near the exit like some sort of frightened cat.

“Mr. Fenton?”

The boy lept in surprise, back slamming against the wall as if he had to escape quickly. Yet he didn’t seem to be holding anything to cause trouble with. Just himself, the beat up backpack, and the sweater he was doing his best to melt into. “Mr. Lancer?” his voice was almost a squeak.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I notice you don’t have an umbrella.” Perhaps sticking to facts and not suggesting the boy was scared could convince him to take some help this time. He practically looked to be on the verge of a panic attack.

“Oh! Yeah! Forgot it, I’m fine.” he sputtered, but the speed of his breathing slowed. He’d been that startled?

“I have a spare if you need it. Do you plan to walk home?”

The pale boy squirmed under his gaze, eyes darting behind him occasionally. “I’m fine. Jazz can give me a ride.”

The teacher looked out the window and frowned. “I don’t see her car Mr. Fenton. Did you forget to ask her to wait?”

He swallowed, apparently not expecting to be caught in his lie. “Must have. It’s okay, she’ll come back.”

Lancer crossed his arms, trying not to sigh. Why did teenagers insist on being so bullheaded? “There’s no reason to force her to come back. I’ll give you a lift.”

Danny looked as if he’d offered to chop his head off rather than provide a dry way home. “No it’s okay! Thanks though. I’m good.”

“Are you too afraid to go outside right now?” The question was blunt, but it was only the two of them, and he wasn’t going to leave a terrified boy alone in a darkened school because he said he was ‘okay’.

“I’m not afraid!” he insisted, grabbing at his shoulder yet again. A tell to his lies? “Really, I’m fine and she’s already coming.”

“Then I suppose I’ll wait with you until she arrives.”

His wince was expected. “Y-you don’t need to do that.”

“Oh but I do Mr. Fenton. I will not leave a student unattended after hours, making sure you leave safely is in my job description.” That, and keeping him from causing trouble in the school unobserved was also part of the job.

“Could you like. Not do your job then? Please?” he slumped at Lancer’s significant stare. “Didn’t think so.”

“Do you plan to wait until the storm passes? It could go on all night Mr. Fenton.” To be so afraid as to not even walk to where a car would be waiting was incredibly severe, and it wasn’t sitting quite right with him. He almost seemed more afraid of being observed than anything. Did his parents discourage showing any kind of fear? No, everyone knew the boy was afraid of ghosts, so it didn’t add up.

“No. I’m just waiting for you to mind your own business.” he muttered into his sweater, arms crossed in his own little act of defiance.

“Unfortunately for you, your well being is my business while you’re here.”

“Unless Dash is involved, then I’m invisible.”

He could have sworn the boy’s eyes changed for a moment there, amplifying the bitterness in the child’s tone. “I was under the impression he had stopped, as you haven’t brought it up since.”

That got a laugh, though his eyes remained icy. “Nope.”

Too many students and not enough eyes. He couldn’t know everything, though it would explain why he wouldn’t be more open, if he was under the impression he would be ignored. “You can tell me about it now, and I can look into it.”

“No thanks.” he rubbed at the same shoulder, brow creased in what looked to be pain.

Always rejecting help. Well, he’d at least make sure he wasn’t alone until he chose to leave.

It was a good thing he had, too. The latest flash of lighting prompted a grunt from the teenager, who appeared to have tripped over his own feet. So badly that he couldn’t even see the foot that must have twisted, he might have broken something. He managed to catch him before he hit the floor, wondering how the boy felt so cold even when bundled up in the sweater. “‘The Metamorphosis’ Mr Fenton, are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” he squirmed out of his teacher’s outstretched arms, standing easily on a foot he could have sworn must have twisted too far to be uninjured. “I just tripped, sheesh!”

Yet in his speed to be on his own to feet the sweater had shifted, granting Lancer a glimpse of his arms. Angry green scars that seemed to glow with their own light made the boy’s fear of lightning suddenly very understandable.

After all, they knew there had been an accident, but not what it had entailed.

“You were electrocuted, Mr Fenton?”

The boy gulped, hastily hiding the scars as if it was some sort of dirty secret. “I’m fine, really.”

“You don’t have to be fine. ‘Great Expectations’ Danny, it is perfectly understandable to be frightened if you had a serious accident involving electricity.”

The boy blinked at him. “What. You-you’re not weirded out?”

Was he embarrassed because the scars were green? Honestly, teenagers. “I assume whatever accident you were in involved your family’s inventions. Considering I see ghosts every other day, ghostly electricity scars seem almost quaint, Mr Fenton.” Sure, he did question how it had happened, and had some serious concerns about his family’s safety practices, but it was more important to let him know he would not judge him over this little affliction. “I suppose they only show up in weather like this?”

“Mmhm. It’s no big deal, really.”

No big deal he says, while acting like a jackrabbit all day. “It does make your hesitation to go out with lightning striking understandable. However, it would be better if we could get you home. Would bringing the car closer help?”

The boy groaned again, rubbing at his forehead. “Sure. I guess.”

“I’ll be right back then.”

Which he was, pulling the car right to the curb was easy enough. Yet Danny had up and vanished. He probably should have expected that, the boy was incredibly slippery when he wanted to be. He hadn’t spotted him leaving, yet he could spot muddy footprints being washed away by the unyielding rain. Where had he snuck off to? Further pondering was lost to the sound of someone yelling in pain, and it felt uncomfortably familiar. The voice’s owner couldn’t be far, so he gripped his umbrella tight and went to check it out.

“Four times? Whoever said lighting doesn’t strike twice is a dirty liar, and I hate them.” Phantom was muttering furiously at the ground, sparks cracking around his white aura. “Stupid Shadow.”

Well, the ghost was a teenager. At least he seemed to be more annoyed than seriously hurt, the scream had been rather unpleasant. Probably best to leave the ghost alone. He seemed nice enough, but the constant warning from the Fentons did make one a bit wary. If his help was just an act, being alone with him was probably not the safest thing in the world. Yet as the ghost took flight something about him struck him as oddly familiar. Had there been glowing green scars on the ghost’s neck? No, the ghost was always glowing, and the idea was absurd. He must have been mistaken.

#dannymay2020 #Danny Phantom #Mr. Lancer #sam manson #Tucker Foley #my stuff #this got overlong again #curse you lancer #you're just fun to write #while danny is just 'i have an ice core why do i react to thunderstorms this is dumb'#because you got shocked son #and i can headcannon anything i want dang it

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years ago

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Written In The Stars CXXXII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: Only six chapters to go!! -Danny

Words: 5,233

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘How To Be Yours’ -by Chris Renzema

Chapter Thirty: O.W.L.'s

It was chaos after Fred and George's departure.

Mel didn't even have to lift a finger to make sure the school was having a good amount of incidents, everywhere she went something was always happening, people were eager to copy the twins' doings, and the teachers had no intention to stop them.

The Inquisitorial Squad was in hell, which was what Mel had been dreaming for months. Something not so great was Erick as the main target of people that didn't know he was helping. Despite this, the D.A. knew about his friendship with Mel and they were very careful to keep him safe from any major harm.

"When Mum's next letter finally gets through Umbridge's screening process I'm going to be in deep trouble. I wouldn't be surprised if she's sent a Howler again."

"But —"

"It'll be my fault Fred and George left, you wait," said Ron. "She'll say I should've stopped them leaving, I should've grabbed the ends of their brooms and hung on or something... Yeah, it'll be all my fault..."

"Well, if she does say that it'll be very unfair, you couldn't have done anything! But I'm sure she won't, I mean, if it's really true they've got premises in Diagon Alley now, they must have been planning this for ages..." Hermione said.

"Yeah, but that's another thing, how did they get premises? It's a bit dodgy, isn't it? They'll need loads of Galleons to afford the rent on a place in Diagon Alley, she'll want to know what they've been up to, to get their hands on that sort of gold..."

"Well, yes, that occurred to me too, I've been wondering whether Mundungus has persuaded them to sell stolen goods or something awful..."

"He hasn't," said Harry.

"How do you know?" asked Ron and Hermione.

"Because —" Harry glanced at Mel. "Because they got the gold from me. I gave them my Triwizard winnings last June."

"Oh, Harry, you didn't!" Hermione gasped.

"Yes, I did. And I don't regret it either — I didn't need the gold, and they'll be great at a joke shop..."

"But this is excellent! It's all your fault, Harry — Mum can't blame me at all! Can I tell her?"

"You really are Harry's best friend, aren't you?" Mel snorted.

"Yeah, I suppose you'd better," said Harry. "'Specially if she thinks they're receiving stolen cauldrons or something..."

Once on the school grounds, she heard Harry and Hermione still arguing about it.

"It's no good nagging me, it's done! Fred and George have got the gold — spent a good bit of it too, by the sounds of it — and I can't get it back from them and I don't want to. So save your breath, Hermione."

"I wasn't going to say anything about Fred and George!"

Ron snorted.

"No, I wasn't!" She insisted. "As a matter of fact, I was going to ask Harry if he's going to go back to Snape and ask for Occlumency lessons again! You can't tell me you've stopped having funny dreams, because Ron told me last night you were muttering in your sleep again."

"You were only muttering a bit," Ron blushed. "Something about 'just a bit farther.' "

"I dreamed I was watching you lot play Quidditch," Harry lied. "I was trying to get you to stretch out a bit farther to grab the Quaffle."

"Wow, that was brutal," Mel grimaced. "If I were you, Ron, I'd sneak some farting bubbles in his pumpkin juice..."

Ron's ears turned red from embarrassment and annoyance, Hermione pinched Mel's arm and she complained, but Harry looked very pleased about his own behaviour.

"You are trying to block your mind, aren't you?" Hermione pushed.

"Of course I am," said Harry, his eyes darting away from his friend's face. "Mel's been helping me lots, haven't you, Mel?"

"Sure thing," Mel lied. "He's making progress. Honestly, I think I'm a better teacher than Snape."

Truth be told they hadn't practised at all after Fred and George left school. Mel was busy with her homework and Quidditch practice, and not once Harry had asked her to help him with Occlumency. Probably because he didn't want her to look into some private memories again.

"You know," said Ron, "if Montague doesn't recover before Slytherin play Hufflepuff, we might be in with a chance of winning the Cup."

"Yeah, I s'pose so," said Harry, eager to change the subject.

"I mean, we've won one, lost one — if Slytherin lose to Hufflepuff next Saturday —"

"Yeah, that's right," Harry's eyes followed Cho's figure as she crossed the courtyard without looking at him once.

"You know," Mel said quietly. "You shouldn't force it... When things are meant to be, they just happen."

The morning of their game against Ravenclaw Mel was a nervous wreck. She was stuffing herself with all the food she could reach.

"You'll throw up if you keep eating like that!" Hermione took the bowl of fruit from her hands.

"I need that!"

"You don't."

"I mean, I can't get any worse, can I?" Ron said anxiously. "Nothing to lose now, is there?"

"If you keep saying that I'll kill you," Mel groaned. "I'm going to pass out, I just know it..."

As she and Ron were leaving the Hall, Harry tried to catch up with them, but Mel was so entranced in her own thoughts that she didn't hear him yell until he tried another name.

"Dumbledore girl!"

Mel turned back, her eyes landed on Harry and her frown vanished.

"Oh," She blinked. "What's up?"

"It's your first game as Seeker," He shook her hand, squeezing a little. "Best of luck... Can I ask you a favour?"

"Okay?"

"Give hell to Cho," He smirked. "Only during the game, though."

She chuckled.

"I'll do my best, Glasses."

Both of them froze.

"I'm sorry," She stammered. "I wasn't thinking, I—"

"It's okay," Harry replied softly, his eyes shining at the nickname.

A little voice whispered in her ear: 'Not again.'

"I have to go," She said, turning hot on her heel and leaving a startled Harry behind.

"And here they come! The Weasleys! Johnson! Bell! Spinnet! Sloper! and Dumbledore! This is Mel's first game as a seeker — Cheers, Mel!"

"I'm so full of shit..." Mel whispered tensely.

"And they're off! And Davies takes the Quaffle immediately, Ravenclaw Captain Davies with the Quaffle, he dodges Johnson, he dodges Bell, he dodges Spinnet as well... He's going straight for goal! He's going to shoot — and — and — Shit! And he's scored."

As predicted, the tune of 'Weasley is our king' started around the stands. Mel took a deep breath coming to terms with the fact that this was beyond her control, all she could do now was focus on catching the snitch. As Bradley plummeted towards Ron, the boy threw himself to the right and he... stopped the Quaffle.

A brief moment of stunned silence surrounded them, then, just as quickly, the Gryffindor crowd erupted into cheers. Mel shared a look of genuine shock with Ginny, then she looked back at her friend, who was frozen in disbelief.

"You got this, Ron!" She shouted.

Mel could only describe what happened next as pure magic. Ron stopped every single attempt to score from the Ravenclaws one after the other. He did all this with truly impressive manoeuvres as well. Angelina was beaming with pride, Katie and Alicia were at the top of their game too; even Jack was doing a decent job.

Ginny was having a blast, throwing the bludgers around to the opposite team. Mel and Cho would circle the game above everyone, and with every passing minute Cho started to look more and more anxious. Mel tried to keep a neutral attitude towards her, but apparently, Cho had witnessed the moment when Harry chased after her to wish her good luck personally. It wasn't Mel's fault, his loyalty was towards Gryffindor, not her!

An hour after it had started what it was by far the best game of the season, Mel caught a glimpse of something golden at the end of Ravenclaw's side of the field. She flew fast towards it, but Cho was right behind her. She took a sharp turn when a chaser flew right in front of her, causing her (and Cho) to lose sight of the snitch.

The girls went back up with grumpy expressions, but then she looked down to see how the game was going and spotted the snitch two feet away from the tail of Cho's broom. Mel swore loudly and gave another abrupt turn, circling Chang's broom. The tail barely grazed her shoulder as she chased after the tiny thing. Mel stretched out her hand and in one sudden movement, she seized it.

The game was officially over, and Gryffindor had won.

Mel stared down at the object on her palm as she landed, she was tackled into a hug by the whole team, Ron was in the middle of it, being the star of the match. Only then she realized the lyrics of the song had changed.

Weasley is our King,

He didn't let the Quaffle in,

Weasley is our King...

Weasley can save anything,

He never leaves a single ring

That's why Gryffindors all sing:

Weasley is our King.

Angelina was a crying mess as well as Alicia, this being their last game probably felt like a miracle sent from heaven. Katie and Ginny were euphoric, Jack couldn't believe their luck. Every girl in the team kissed Ron on the cheek and Jack patted his shoulder roughly. Mel got her own round of hugs and kisses, and they were both suddenly lifted in the air, guided to the stands so they could receive the Quidditch cup from none other than Umbridge herself.

Sure, instant gratification was all right, but nothing was quite as pleasant as the absolute outrage in Umbridge's face when the cup reached Mel and Ron's hands, both of them lifting the cup proudly for everyone to see.

As the crowd guided them back to the castle, Ron shouted.

"HARRY! HERMIONE! WE DID IT! WE WON!"

She looked to where he was yelling and found their friends beaming at them. Mel's eyes fixed on Harry's expression, he hadn't looked that happy since last June. She was delighted to be part of the reason why he was smiling like that.

"Hagrid's keeping a what in the forest?"

Hermione hushed her, they were in their room long after the party had ended, the girl had sneaked into her bed to talk about what they'd done during the Quidditch match. Turns out that neither she nor Harry had seen it, Hagrid appeared and asked them to follow him into the forbidden forest. There he introduced them to his half brother, which happened to be:

"A young giant?" Her voice came out muffled since Hermione was covering her mouth. "He spends his afternoons being his brother's punching bag?"

"He reckons he's helping him become... er... civilized," Hermione said. "It's awful, really. Grawp looks like he'd much rather spend his time chasing down centaurs than learning how to spell 'tree'."

"And he made you promise we would look after him? No. Absolutely not."

"We don't have a choice —"

"We don't even know if he'll get fired!"

"Do you really think Umbridge will let him stay? I mean, Harry and I were the ones who promised anyway, so you're not obliged —"

"Don't be silly," Mel rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't leave you alone — And let's be honest, I'm stronger than you when it comes to magical defense, I'm probably the one who's got a bigger chance to control a small giant."

"You're probably right..." Hermione sighed. "I couldn't bring myself to tell Ron — Neither could Harry! We couldn't..."

"I guess we can't do much besides sit and worry, can we?"

"Yeah, reckon so."

"I always said there was no use in sitting and worrying," She pouted. "But usually that's the only thing I'm able to do..."

"Well, I mean, I'd already let in that one of Davies's, so I wasn't feeling that confident, but I dunno, when Bradley came toward me, just out of nowhere, I thought — you can do this!" Ron was describing his first saved for the third time. "And I had about a second to decide which way to fly, you know, because he looked like he was aiming for the right goal hoop — my right, obviously, his left — but I had a funny feeling that he was feinting, and so I took the chance and flew left — his right, I mean — and — well — you saw what happened."

The boy pushed his hair back and made it messier. They were sitting outside, trying to enjoy the fresh air of the afternoon, the sight reminded her of a scene that though she wasn't originally there to witness, now was part of her memories.

"And then, when Chambers came at me about five minutes later — what?" Ron stared at her and Harry. "Why are you two grinning?"

"I'm not," Harry glimpsed at Mel and knew they were thinking about the same thing. "I'm just glad we won, that's all."

"Yeah... we won," Ron agreed wistfully. "Did you see the look on Chang's face when Mel got the Snitch right out from under her nose?"

"I suppose she cried, did she?"

"Wow, you definitely didn't sound bitter at all," Mel snorted.

"Well, yeah — more out of temper than anything, though..." Ron was right, but Mel didn't feel particularly proud of this, it wasn't like she wanted Cho to throw a tantrum, she just wanted to win. "But you saw her chuck her broom away when she got back to the ground, didn't you?"

"Er..."

"Well, actually... no, Ron," Hermione closed her book. "As a matter of fact, the only bit of the match Harry and I saw was Davies's first goal."

"You didn't watch?" Ron visibly deflated. "You didn't see me make any of those saves?"

"Well — no. But Ron, we didn't want to leave — we had to!"

"Yeah?" The boy started to get annoyed. "How come?"

"It was Hagrid," Harry explained. "He decided to tell us why he's been covered in injuries ever since he got back from the giants. He wanted us to go into the forest with him, we had no choice, you know how he gets... Anyway..."

By the end, Ron had forgotten he was even mad.

"He brought one back and hid it in the forest?" He whispered.

"Yep," said Harry simply.

"No... no, he can't have..."

"Well, he has," Hermione stated. "Grawp's about sixteen feet tall, enjoys ripping up twenty-foot pine trees, and knows me," the girl snorted, "as Hermy."

Ron laughed nervously, Mel chortled.

"You didn't tell me about your nickname last night!"

"Because I knew you would tease me endlessly," The girl rolled her eyes.

"And Hagrid wants us to..?"

"Teach him English, yeah," Harry replied with a crooked smile.

"He's lost his mind," Ron concluded.

"Yes," Hermione responded. "Yes, I'm starting to think he has. But unfortunately, he made Harry and me promise."

"Well, you're just going to have to break your promise, that's all. I mean, come on... We've got exams and we're about that far," he made a gesture with his fingers, a millimetre of space keeping them from touching, "from being chucked out as it is. And anyway... remember Norbert? Remember Aragog? Have we ever come off better for mixing with any of Hagrid's monster mates?"

"I know, it's just that — we promised..." Hermione pouted.

"Well... Hagrid hasn't been sacked yet, has he? He's hung on this long, maybe he'll hang on till the end of term and we won't have to go near Grawp at all."

Panic rose over the fifth-years as June welcomed them into the busiest start of summer of their lives. Mel was sick of studying, so she spent her afternoons helping some classmates review their subjects. In exchange, Neville helped her with Herbology, he was a marvellous tutor.

Erick had seen her one time after the Quidditch final, the boy was preoccupied with studying for his own exams. Next year would be Erick's seventh and last, and he was determined to become the Headboy. Mel asked him if it hadn't lost its charm now that Umbridge was headmistress, but Erick merely shrugged and assured her there was no way that woman would be there next year.

"You know what?" Mel yawned. "I wouldn't mind chucking down my throat some doxy droppings to see if they can pull me out of my misery. I hate feeling like I'm not good enough, I don't know how my dad did this for seven years..."

"Cheer up," Ron tried to pat her shoulder, touching the wall instead. "You're only saying that because you have no patience. You're the smartest witch in our year right after 'Mione — You got this. Now shut up and let me worry in peace."

"Remember our vow?" She smirked, nudging his arm. "The one about us being awful together?"

Ron looked at her. "Well, if Miss Popular's done ignoring her old friends, then yeah, I remember."

"I admit I was a bit of a prat this year," Mel made a face. "But I would never change you for a stranger! You're my best friend!"

"You say that all the time," The boy rolled his eyes, but put his arm around her shoulders anyway. "Keep saying it, it's nice to hear."

Mel snorted, elbowing his side playfully.

She did splendidly on her examination, she was the first out of the four to be called in for her practical exam. Professor Marchbanks was delighted to have her.

"Dumbledore, aren't you?" She asked eagerly. "Yes, yes... Oh well dear, what are you waiting for? Do your best..."

It was the first time in a while that her routine was exactly like everyone else's. Their classmates were buzzing with anxiety and none of them looked exactly happy, some older students would try to sell them fake brain stimula but Hermione was quick to put an end to it. Mel was strangely thrilled about being part of it all. She was, at last, just another student trying to pass the year.

All in all, even if she was just another student, there was no denying that she had way more advanced knowledge in some areas. Mel outdid her D.A.D.A exam and the only time she hesitated when answering a theoretical test was during Herbology, which if anything, turned out to be humbling. She didn't want to have all her success inflating her head again, she wasn't planning on becoming the next James Potter, no matter how close she'd been to be one that year.

They had a whole weekend ahead before they had to take the rest of their O.W.L.S, Harry, Ron, and Mel sat in the common room and played chess to release some tension. Mel was watching them, but she was too sleepy to pay attention and ended up taking a nap on Ron's shoulder.

Hermione entered the common room in such an agitated way that Mel gave a start, bumping heads with Ron.

"How were the runes?" Ron mumbled as he rubbed the side of his face.

"I mistranslated 'ehwaz'! It means 'partnership,' not 'defense,' I mixed it up with 'eihwaz.'"

"Ah well," The boy yawned, "that's only one mistake, isn't it, you'll still get —"

"Oh shut up. It could be the one mistake that makes the difference between a pass and a fail. And what's more, someone's put another niffler in Umbridge's office, I don't know how they got it through that new door, but I just walked past there and Umbridge is shrieking her head off — by the sound of it, it tried to take a chunk out of her leg —"

"Good," said the three.

"It is not good! She thinks it's Hagrid doing it, remember? And we do not want Hagrid chucked out!"

"He's teaching at the moment, she can't blame him," said Harry, pointing over at the window.

"Oh, you're so naive sometimes, Harry, you really think Umbridge will wait for proof?" Hermione scoffed, leaving them there to storm off to her room.

"Such a lovely, sweet-tempered girl," Ron murmured.

Since Hermione didn't abandon her constant state of anger and anxiety, Mel's friends designated her as the study guide so she supervised everyone.

Potions passed rather easily, she was getting quite good at it, though she was far from being the best. Care of Magical Creatures was a different story, she'd always been good with animals. On Wednesday she had her Astronomy O.W.L, and that's when things got ugly, though not in the way she was expecting.

Even if her love for the night sky had been damaged thanks to Divination, she was still fond of the stars, not that they could tell her anything about her current situation, but they were a peaceful and bright constant. It was comforting, even if the world was about to end, little would change outside their planet, and eventually, things would move on.

As she looked down to rearrange her parchment, her eyes landed on several figures moving towards Hagrid's cabin, one of them with a particularly stiff way of walking. Umbridge knocked on the cabin's front door and Hagrid opened it. Hermione was right after all, the woman was ready to chop one more head before the end of the term.

Harry was watching as well. Professor Marchbanks walked behind him and he quickly returned his eyes to the map he was making, Mel stayed still, looking directly to the cabin instead of the sky.

Someone yelled. Several students turned their attention to the school grounds and Professor Tofty cleared his throat.

"Try and concentrate, now, boys and girls — twenty minutes to go."

Mel looked down and skimmed through her map, she had finished, she only needed to—

BANG!

The girl pushed her telescope aside and walked up to the railing, too worried to care about the points the Professors could take from her.

Hagrid's door had burst open and by the light flooding out of the cabin they saw him quite clearly, a massive figure roaring and brandishing his fists, surrounded by six people, all of whom, judging by the tiny threads of red light they were casting in his direction, seemed to be attempting to Stun him.

"No!"

"My dear!" said Professor Tofty. "This is an examination!"

"They're attacking him!" Mel responded.

"Be reasonable, Hagrid!"

"Reasonable be damned, yeh won' take me like this, Dawlish!"

Why was an Auror there if Hagrid was only being fired? Why bring law enforcement to something as silly as a sacking?

Mel blessed Hagrid's half-giant origins because they kept him from getting injured, the spells would bounce off of him when thrown in disorder, but the Aurors were trained people, they started to attack him at the same time. Hagrid grabbed one of the men and threw him in the air, leaving him limp on the ground.

"Look!" Parvati gasped.

"Now, really! Only sixteen minutes left, you know!" Professor Tofty insisted.

Mel turned to leave the tower, Ron grabbed a hold of her arm and stopped her.

"He needs help!"

"Look!" Ron pointed out.

"How dare you! How dare you!"

"It's McGonagall!" Hermione gasped.

"Leave him alone! Alone, I say! On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such —"

The girls around her screamed, McGonagall received a total of four stunning spells that threw her back, she didn't stand up again.

"Galloping gargoyles! Not so much as a warning! Outrageous behaviour!" Professor Tofty exclaimed.

"COWARDS! RUDDY COWARDS! HAVE SOME O' THAT — AN' THAT —"

"Oh my —"

Hagrid took two massive swipes at his closest attackers; judging by their immediate collapse, they had been knocked cold.

Harry saw him double over and thought for a moment that he had finally been overcome by a spell, but on the contrary, next moment Hagrid was standing again with what appeared to be a sack on his back — then Harry realized that Fang's limp body was draped around his shoulders.

"Get him, get him!"

"Ron, let me go!"

"If you go there you'll get expelled! What can you do against trained Aurors?"

"More than you can imagine!" She growled. "I said, let me go!"

Ron jumped back and held his hand with wide eyes. He had blisters on his palm as if he'd burnt himself on a stove. Mel froze, unable to know how on earth she'd managed to do that.

"He's gone!" Harry said out loud. "Hagrid's leaving!"

"That evil woman!" Hermione exclaimed. "Trying to sneak up on Hagrid in the dead of night!"

"She clearly wanted to avoid another scene like Trelawney's," Ernie Macmillan responded.

"That cow," Mel was pale from both, fury and shock. Ron was doing his best to stand as far from her as possible.

"Hagrid did well, didn't he?" He asked, careful to hide his hand from the others. "How come all the spells bounced off him?"

"It'll be his giant blood," Hermione frowned. "It's very hard to Stun a giant, they're like trolls, really tough... But poor Professor McGonagall... Four Stunners straight in the chest, and she's not exactly young, is she?"

"Stop," Mel felt an all too familiar coldness on the tips of her fingers. "She will get better, she's a tough woman..."

"Dreadful, dreadful," said Ernie, reminding her a bit to Lockhart. "Well, I'm off to bed.. 'Night, all."

"At least they didn't get to take Hagrid off to Azkaban," Ron continued. "I 'spect he's gone to join Dumbledore, hasn't he?"

"I suppose so... oh, this is awful, I really thought Dumbledore would be back before long, but now we've lost Hagrid too..."

"I... I have to... bathroom..." Mel looked around desperately, squeezing the fabric of her robes between her hands to dry them. "This is not — sorry —"

She ran, already gawking by the time she managed to open the door to one of the stalls. Everything inside her felt unsteady, she wanted to help Hagrid but she couldn't, and now they didn't have him, nor Dumbledore, and who knew if McGonagall was going to recover...

She'd hurt Ron without meaning to — just like Ariana Dumbledore, she'd felt a bit of herself slipping away in her frustration and anger, she understood why it had been so easy for that girl to lose control... But she wasn't crazy! This had been an accident, and she was going to fix it... But what if things escalated before she could find a way to stop?

Someone walked in and followed the noises she was making, she hadn't even tried to close the door to her toilet. Mel closed her eyes tightly, taking a shaky breath.

"I'm okay!" She said, but it was quite obvious in her voice that she was sobbing. "Please go!"

"How many times do I have to tell you —" She jumped at the sound of his exasperated tone, "not to run when you have an attack? It makes it harder to breathe!"

Mel scowled at him without getting up from the floor. It was disgusting, she was unable to calm her breathing, she couldn't reply properly. Harry crouched down next to her and she tensed, but the boy raised both hands to ease her, supporting one on the wall to not lose his balance.

"I won't touch you if you don't want me to," He said, "tell me what you need — Don't ask me to leave you, though — can't be on your own..."

Mel shook her head, swallowing harshly.

"I can't — I can't breathe —"

"Yeah, well, you ran all the way to the bathrooms," He stated. "But it's okay —"

"I wanted to help... but Ron —" Her voice broke. "I hurt him..."

"He showed me," Harry said, then quickly added. "He's not angry."

"I'm going crazy — I can't control it —"

"You're not crazy," Harry moved slightly so he could face her. "Look at me — Don't think about it, just look at me..."

She didn't want to, didn't want him as the witness of her frailty, but it was the only person around. Mel looked up and focused solely on him.

"You're not crazy," He repeated, his eyes fixed on hers. "Going to the school grounds would've gotten you expelled."

Mel shook her head in a sort of childish manner, her breathing was reaching a reasonable rhythm. She closed her eyes tightly and pressed her lips together to stop crying, but it didn't work.

"What's your cat's name?" He asked in a clear voice.

"What?"

"Your cat," He said. "What's his name?"

"Grey..?" Mel picked up on what he was doing and continued. "One... One, two, three, four letters... G— R— E— Y... and he's black... B— L— A— C— K..."

"That's right," He smiled a little. "Good job..."

The counting and spelling was a game her mother used to distract Mel whenever she was feeling anxious. Harry knew it since they were kids.

"Did you know..." She said weakly, "you're the only idiot who always sees me cry like this?"

Harry snorted, sitting down with his back against the wall.

"That can't be true."

"It is."

"What about Hermione?"

"No," She pushed herself away from the toilet and sat on the floor fully.

"Fred?" Harry looked at her with scepticism. "Erick?"

"Maybe teared up a bit, but... I only cry like this when... do you really think I'm not crazy?"

"It's me who everyone's calling mental."

"Yes, but that's a lie."

"Same with you."

"Dumbledore said —"

"Dumbledore can't know it all, can he? Or he would've warned Hagrid about Umbridge before leaving."

"...maybe," She cleaned her face with the back of her sleeve. "I didn't mean to hurt Ron."

"He doesn't blame you," Harry stood up. "He said it was a foolish thing to do... he should've known better than to try and stop you."

"Don't say it like that," Mel frowned. "Like it's not a problem — I shouldn't... I should have better control —"

"You do," He said, helping her to her feet. "But you have to make mistakes sometimes, genius and all."

"I'm not a genius," She scoffed. "I'm a twat."

"Who said you can't be both?" Harry taunted. "This is the boy's bathroom, by the way."

"Oh blimey," said Lee Jordan, covering his mouth. "It's me's been putting the nifflers in her office, Fred and George left me a couple, I've been levitating them in through her window..."

"She'd have sacked him anyway," Dean shook his head. "He was too close to Dumbledore."

"That's true," Harry fell back on his chair tiredly.

"I just hope Professor McGonagall's all right," said Lavender.

"They carried her back up to the castle, we watched through the dormitory window," Colin Creevey informed them. "She didn't look very well..."

"Madam Pomfrey will sort her out," said Alicia. "She's never failed yet."

"I doubt she would let herself die in such a way," Mel added calmly. "She won't leave this earth without making sure Umbridge gets fired... and neither will I."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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theauthorandtheartist · 5 years ago

Text

Cliches

This goes along with the Dannymay day 7 prompt: 2nd chances

I don’t know where I came up with this. I just started writing and didn’t stop. I tried to do a story without using dialogue, and I think I succeeded. I had to write this for a school assignment, so I had to explain the Danny Phantom world a bit because my teacher had no idea what it is.

Cliches are a wonderful thing. We cling to them like lifelines, hoping for a good "happily ever after" to make everything better. In fact, I'm sure you were expecting a "Once upon a time" to start off the story now weren't you.

Yeah, you were.

Well I'm sorry to disappoint you, but here, there are no cliches. No long-lived and well-loved story arcs to follow, no "good guys" or "bad guys" or save the world scenarios. Here, the princess rescues the prince and the dragon is locked in the tower. Here, the evil stepfather can't get the upper hand over his rebellious teen son. Here, the protagonists are monsters and the villains are heroes.

Probably the only cliche in the whole story is the existence of myself, the narrator, who will shamelessly add my own thoughts and commentary to the story as I please; simply because I can.

Pleased to meet you.

Now, with hasty introductions out of the way, let’s get down to business. I am here to tell you a story, though I’m sure you already knew that. It is my job as narrator, to lovingly guide you through the history, lore, and thrilling storyline that the author has painstakingly crafted for you to enjoy. You’re welcome.

Let’s just jump straight into it shall we? I’m sure you already know everything there is to know about Amnity Park, and you don’t need me to tell you about their slightly paranormal pest problem. Surely you don’t need me to inform you about the daily ghost attacks, or the ghostly superhero known as Phantom who repeatedly confronts the angry spirit and either persuades them or forces them back across the veil. Assuredly, you know all about Phantom’s tragic backstory, of how he was caught in the veil between dimensions, and was officially turned into Schrödinger’s boy -both living and dead simultaneously. Of course you already know about the struggles of being both a hero and a high school student, missing class and skipping sleep in order to keep his city (and his secret) safe. I don’t need to tell you about the ghost hunters in town, who relentlessly hunt and attack Phantom without warning, oblivious that he is their son.

No, you already knew all of that.

Still, it is quite tragic to see a family pitted against one another, even if it is due to ignorance. Danny Phantom is nowhere near being ready to confide in his parents, but progress always starts with a first step. This story is that first step.

Let’s meet our protagonist, shall we?

Daniel James Fenton -or Danny, as he prefers to be called- is a good looking kid. Tall and muscular, without the air of privilege or haughtiness that often surrounds such people. His messy black hair and sparkling blue eyes are enough to make any girl swoon, though he does not seek out such attention, preferring instead to mess around with his two best friends. While most boys his age spend their nights drinking or partying, Danny spends his stargazing (or more recently, ghost fighting). He truly is the ideal high school boyfriend -but don’t let him hear me say that, he’s a flustered dork most of the time. He does his best to avoid the limelight, even letting the other kids bully him if it means that he won’t be looked at twice.

Danny Phantom however, has no qualms with spotlights. In fact, he doesn’t mind them at all as long as they don’t get in the way or result in other people getting hurt. His ghostly form does not look dissimilar to Fenton, swapping black hair for blinding white and blue eyes for toxic green. His normal T-shirt and jeans shift into a full body, black HAZMAT suit with white gloves and the trademark DP logo on the front. It is rather easy to spot, especially when he’s flying around and glowing.

To hide his alternate identity, Danny created two different personas for his two halves, slipping seamlessly into character whenever it is needed. Phantom is brash and hot-headed, a master at distracting his enemies with witty banter and endless puns. Fenton is cowardly and shy, infamous for being too clumsy to handle glassware. Fenton is terrified of ghosts, Phantom hunts them. Phantom is willing to sacrifice his own safety and wellbeing for others, Fenton gets misty-eyed over papercuts. This way, even if someone had thought that a ghost and a human could be the same, no one would ever suspect the two to be connected.

It was crucial that the two were never suspected. If the world knew that half-ghosts existed, Danny’s identity as a human would be overshadowed by his identity as a ghost. Ghosts don’t have rights, therefore Danny wouldn’t have rights. There would be nothing to stop anyone from marching down and kidnapping him for use in loads of painful and most likely unethical experiments. After all, the popular opinion on ghosts was that they were evil, semi-sentient projections who could feel no pain. That doesn’t do much to help his case.

The people need to be convinced that Phantom was a hero, and that process starts with his parents. The Fentons are the leading ghost hunters in Amnity, and they have dedicated their life to catching and researching ghosts, even if they aren’t very good at it. They are a perfect team. Maddie is thin and slender, and her blue HAZMAT suit does nothing to hide her curves, but she is not weak in the slightest. Her proficiency in martial arts and science is renowned throughout the city, and every thug knows not to mess with the red-haired mother. Jack, however, has the dexterity of a brick wall and the mass to rival an elephant. He looms menacingly over all who approach him, but his childish nature and agreeable personality make it easy for him to interact with others -even if he is a little too passionate about his profession.

The Fentons are stubborn, but not bullheaded. They can see reason when they need to, and unfortunately, with the infamous Phantom of Amnity Park bleeding out on their doorstep, they need to reevaluate their theories.

Phantom lay slumped against the porch railing, eyelids fluttering as he struggled to remain awake. It was a rather gruesome sight, and if Maddie didn’t know that he was a ghost, then she would be furious at whoever dared do this to a child. His right arm pressed hard against his wounded side, soaking the white glove in acid-green, ectoplasmic blood. A nasty gash on his forehead leaked the same vile liquid into his snowy white hair, plastering it against his sweaty, pale skin. In all honesty, he looked like he had brought a toothpick to a knife fight.

The Fentons frowned at each other, debating their next move. They knew how this happened, news of Phantom’s latest battle against the hunter ghost known as Skulker had been broadcasted on every television for the past three hours, what they didn’t know, and couldn’t figure out, was why Phantom had come here. They were his enemies, for all intents and purposes, they were very loud about their threats to rip him apart. But here he was, bleeding out on their porch, and Maddie found herself fighting between her hunter’s curiosity and her motherly worry.

Phantom didn’t look older than her own son, Danny. She hadn’t noticed that before, but now it was painfully obvious how young he was. It also struck her that he was a ghost, which means at some point or another Phantom had been alive. She couldn’t imagine losing Danny, and this ghost didn’t look older than seventeen.

She sighed, and scooped the hero up into her arms. The hunting could wait. It was against the hunter’s code to kill anything that you hadn’t weakened yourself, anyways, best to fix him up and let him be on his way. She could chase him down again later.

Now I know you’re thinking, “but Mr. Narrator, isn’t the hunter nursing the huntee back to health and becoming friends a huge cliche?” And to that I say, yes. However, that is not what we’re doing here. They do not become friends and instantly trust each other because of this little incident. This is a first step, nothing more.

After calming her husband’s fears, and assuring him that she was fine, Maddie cleared off the dining room table and laid the ghost on top. He had lost consciousness at some point while she moved him, and his head lolled back as she set him down. She frowned at the ghost, listening to his labored breaths. Ghosts didn’t need to breathe, but Phantom had always insisted. She never knew why.

Jack walked up the stairs from the lab, carrying a spool of glowing green thread. Phantom’s wounds would need stitches, and the special thread wouldn’t fall out when he used his power of intangibility. Silently, she stitched up his side, flinching at his whimpers he made every time the needle made contact. She had to remind herself that he was a ghost, and therefore couldn’t feel pain. Any reaction he gave was just part of an elaborate ruse.

You and I both know that wasn’t true.

She nodded as Jack brought her some bandages, holding his head upright in order for her to wrap them around his ectoplasm-stained hair. A neon green stain spread out on the tabletop, seeping into the wood. This was fine, she would just have to clean it later so the ectoplasm didn’t bring any food to life.

Satisfied that there were no other major lacerations, she once again scooped up the teenaged hero and moved him slowly to the couch. His unnecessary breathing had evened out, and she could feel a faint, slow, rhythmic thump against the fingers pressed on the base of his neck. It couldn’t be a heartbeat. Ghosts don’t have heartbeats. It must’ve been her imagination.

As you can see, Maddie is not very receptive to new ideas.

Laying him on the couch, she expertly ignored the slight hiss he made as his stitches stretched. He began to softly snore. She left the room. Jack was not much help when she explained what she’d felt, merely parroting her feelings back to her with a few insults directed at the ghostly species thrown in. “Ectoplasmic scum” was a popular one, along with “spook” and “monster.” Maddie didn’t know why she didn’t agree with those insults anymore.

A soft groan echoed from the other room, and Jack jumped to his feet to grab weapons. Maddie stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Phantom was no threat now, maybe she could get some answers out of him. A strangled, frightened yelp called from the living room, along with a loud thump and a groan. Upon investigation, she found Phantom on the living room carpet, curled up into a ball and shaking. A small pool of his green blood had soaked through the bandages and was now leaving little polka-dots on the rug.

Phantom apologized for the carpet.

At first, Maddie was taken aback. Phantom was hurt. Phantom had nearly died. Again. And he was apologizing about the stains on her rug. She didn’t expect most humans to be that selfless, much less a ghost. Nevertheless, Phantom was apologizing for the carpet, as a thin line of green dribbled down from the corner of his mouth.

She sighed and drew closer, eyes softening as Phantom flinched and tried to back away. She continued to advance, slower this time, and murmured words of encouragement as she approached. The ghosts glowing eyes held suspicion, but he did not flinch away this time. His usual witty banter was gone, much to Maddie’s worry, replaced by the soft pleas of a frightened child. A child faced with death, who did not want to die.

She called Jack into the room, and asked him to grab some bedding from the storage closet. She had made up her mind. Phantom was not a threat. Jack warily nodded and left to do as she asked, and Maddie gently took Phantom up in her arms again, wiping the green liquid from his face. He stiffened at the contact, but made no move to escape.

Soon enough, Jack returned with a feather comforter and several pillows. With Phantom’s telekinetic help, they made a soft nest and placed him gently inside. Maddie fussed over him as Jack stood to the side suspiciously.

Needless to say, Phantom was very confused. Why was his parents helping him? They hate Phantom. Did they see him change back into human form? Is that why they're being so nice? No, Maddie kept calling him “Phantom,” if she knew, she would call him “Danny” or “Sweety.” His secret was safe for now.

That still begged the question of why they were helping him, and when he asked, their only reply was along the lines of “you’re not a threat,” which really did more harm than good when it came to calming his nerves.

Nevertheless, they had saved him, and so when Maddie asked for an interview, Phantom didn’t decline. Their questions were standard, if a bit rude. They were nothing he hadn’t answered before, and he only had to lie twice, when their questions got a little too personal. He refused to answer how he died. They didn’t need to know that.

His healing factor had kicked in, rapidly knitting the skin back together and repairing the damage to his muscles. The room had gotten progressively more relaxed as time went on, and Jack was no longer shooting glares at him from across the room. Instead, he was questioning him with just as much zeal as Maddie. However, Phantom could feel his time here drawing to a close. Danny Fenton needed to be back home before curfew, and he couldn’t do that if Danny Phantom was in the living room.

Hastily making an excuse to leave, he said goodbye to his parents and phased through the door before they could catch him. His head, which had been overtaken by an awful headache, protested as he flew down the street and into an alley, but he paid it no mind. Unwinding the bandages around his head, Phantom felt his transformation overtake him.

His heartbeat sped up, his temperature rose, and his breathing grew more frequent. Granted, his heartbeat and breathing still weren’t exactly fast, and his temperature wasn’t exactly warm, but he could pass as human and that’s all that mattered. Seconds later, Danny Fenton exited the alley and headed home, walking carefully as not to disturb the stitched side under his shirt.

When he arrived home, his parents were whispering in hushed voices, glancing over at the couch occasionally. They greeted him excitedly as he walked inside, before running downstairs to the lab to go over what Phantom had told them. What Danny had told them.

He sighed and scaled the steps, making a beeline for the door to his room. He should start his homework, but then again, chances are the ghosts aren’t going to let him sleep tonight, so he should take a nap while he can. Not bothering to change clothes, Danny flopped onto his mattress, asleep before he hit the covers.

In the later weeks, the Fentons would continue to search for Phantom. However, now it was for conversational purposes instead of experimental ones. He even visited on his own time once or twice for a chat. The overall acceptance of Phantom increased as well, because if the ghost hunters thought he was okay, then the rest of the people would follow. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than before, and that’s all Danny could really ask for.

Who knew it took nearly dying to repair broken relationships?

Well, I did, for one, but I don’t count. I already know how Danny’s story ends. I know how his secret is revealed, and how his parents react. I know who will hurt him, who will betray him, and who will make amends. I know lots of things, including this: Danny will not live happily ever after. He just won't. There will always be more ghosts to fight, more threats to his friends and family, and he will not live happily ever after. His life will be filled with struggle and pain, and there’s nothing I can do to stop that.

His afterlife however...well, that’s another story.

I should tell you sometime.

#danny phantom #phic #danny phantom fanfiction #phandom #phan phic #phanfiction #danny fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton #ghost #dannymay2020 #dannymay #day 7 #dannymay day 7 #second chances

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heartofsnark · 4 years ago

Text

This Is Love (Chapter Six):Burnt Offering

Notes: So, given that the last chapter was kind of short, at least by my standards. I decided to go ahead and post the next chapter this month. We're starting to near the point where what I post and where I'm at in writing are meeting up, I have chapter 7 done and am currently about halfway through writing 8, so don't be shocked if we end up with a slowdown in chapters like what's had to happen with my other fic series. It just happens, such is life.

Word Count: 9243

Chapter Warnings: Blood, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, POV Switches, Talks of the Testicle Festival,

For chapter one and the warnings about this fics overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

The cruiser door shuts with a heavy thud, followed by Rook’s boots hitting the asphalt. Staci stifles a laugh, the newest addition to the Sheriff’s Department has a pea sized bladder and a penchant for guzzling energy drinks like an idiot. He’s had to pull into the Golden Valley Gas Station for her to run off to the bathroom, again.

His joints pop and crack as he gets out of the car, taking the chance to stretch his legs. The sun hangs high and bright in the great blue sky, warming his skin as rolls his shoulders to get out the kinks. It’s nearly noon and if he has to be here, he might as well find something to eat, the door of the gas station chiming as he walks in. He looks over the hot food options, garbage mostly, but tasty garbage. Hamburgers, pizza, hot dogs-

“You getting lunch?”

Staci jumps at the sudden question, a voice over his shoulder that he wasn’t ready for catches him off guard. A soft laugh as he turns to look at Rook who’s just scared him, sometimes she’s like a bull in a china shop and other times she’s silent as the grave. He can’t keep up and ends up glaring at the smirking woman. She finds way too much enjoyment in his misery, she’s the probie, he’s supposed to be giving her shit not the other way around.

“Someone needs to put a fuckin’ bell on you, I swear.”

“I thought you could ‘hear me coming a mile away’,” she says trying to imitate his voice when he mocked her earlier.

“That was then, this is now, and right now, you’re a sneaky bitch.”

He can’t resist the chance to wipe that dumb little smirk off her face and grabs her cheek between his fingers, stretching the soft tan skin. A small sharp pain in his wrist when she smacks him away, but it’s more than worth it to see her looking a little less cocky.

“Bite me.” She says and knocks against his side as she grabs a hamburger, nearly throwing him off balance.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Ew.” Rook grimaces at his little attempt at flirting, like an asshole. Then again, with her, she may not realize he was trying to flirt.

He grabs himself one and follows after her to the drinks, he watches her line of vision immediately go to the large sized slushie cups. They’re nearly the size of the short deputy’s head.

“No,” he tells her, voice low with warning, he already has to worry about pulling over for her constantly.

“What?”

“You drink that and you’re gonna be needing twelve more bathroom trips before our shift ends.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You nearly pissed yourself, five minutes ago.”

“I’ll be fine.” Rook rolls her eyes as she fills up the giant cup with blue slush. No matter what he says, he swears she’d break her neck just to do the opposite.

They buy their lunches, if it can even be called that, and leave the gas station. The weather’s too nice to eat in the cruiser, a soft breeze and a clear sky to eat under instead. Staci instead sits on the trunk of the car, balancing his drink on his thigh as he eats. Rook follows his lead, for once since she’s been here, and sits down on the car as well. She pulls one of her legs up onto the car and under her, keeping her drink in hand.

It’s quiet as they eat, but unlike the awkward still of when they first started patrolling together, this silence is surprisingly pleasant. Staci has never liked quiet, making those first patrols painful to sit through, but their time spent in silence has grown more bearable with every shift.

Rook is weird, but not bad; he’s decided. She’s quiet and serious, especially so at the start. But, she never misses a chance to talk back or give him hell, which might be his own fault. She’s dedicated to the job and never seems to shy away from what it entails, only ever seeming bothered by the work when she was stuck pushing papers. Despite her constant scowling and resting bitch face, Rook is eager to help people.

He doesn’t know much about her, which is only natural with her short time with the department and her lackluster communicative skills. She likes her job, Hudson, animals, and giving him hell. She hates crowds, churches, and talking. That’s about all he’s got. And dress codes he guesses? Though since the Drubman incident she’s stuck with modest tanks and tees under her uniform, other than buttoning it up, it’s the same damn thing. Hell, even Hudson and him don’t button it up all the way.

When she was first hired, the week separating her hire and her actual first day, he asked Whitehorse what he was thinking when he hired someone so young. The sheriff just laughed, saying she had a good heart. He supposes her jumping to help Mary May the day of her interview was proof of that.

There are a lot of reasons why people become cops, not all of them necessarily good or right. Staci himself is exhibit A of that. He’s always been honest with himself and others that he became a cop to get laid, it was nothing short of a whim. Something women are attracted to and didn’t require too much education, so he could avoid debt. No ideas of helping people or delusions of keeping the peace; he chose his career based entirely on the prospect of getting his dick wet.

Hudson is better than him in that regard, well, in many regards but that’s beside the point. But, her choice mostly stems from her family. Almost everyone in her family has had a career in either the military or law enforcement. Her mom is a veteran and her dad a veteran turned police officer, retiring early due to injury. One of her brothers works as an officer in Billings and the other currently in basic training. It only seemed natural she’d follow one of those paths, becoming a cop because it’s what they do in her family. A fact she’s always taken pride in.

Danny, not to speak ill of the dead, was probably a hall monitor in high school. He was a stickler for details and rules, he enjoyed being the one enforcing order. But Staci isn’t confident that Danny enjoyed it because he believed in what was best for the public so much as he liked rules for the sake of rules and being the one to crack the whip. It’s strange to say after so many years of butting heads, but Staci misses that asshole. It hit Joey hardest, Danny being her partner, but it hit him too. Danny was with the station since before him or Joey were hired on, for him to just be gone one day… Hope County is a sleepy little place, it can be easy to forget how dangerous this kind of job can be when speeding and hunting violations are the biggest crimes. Danny was a grim reminder and hopefully, the last one Staci will ever get.

“That’s gonna fall,” Rook’s voice cuts through the quiet, her finger pointed at the drink balanced on Staci’s thigh.

“It’s fine,” he dismisses her out of hand, and she rolls her eyes, sunlight making the brown look nearly gold.

She’s cute, it’s something he’s had to admit, as much as he’d rather not. While he’s always been a bit of a womanizer, it still feels weird acknowledging he’s attracted to his newly acquired pain in the ass. But…Rook is real easy on the eyes. Even with her constant sourpuss of a face, she's cute. Though the rare times he’s seen her smile… It’s a good look on her. Hell, it's a good enough look that he asked her out on an impromptu date to the F.A.N.G Center the moment he saw it. Though that ended up being botched; the Junior Deputy inviting Joey along and then abandoning them partway through the day.

He’s gotten to spend hardly any time with her outside of work, between that and her never tagging along to The Spread Eagle, a part of him has to wonder if she just doesn’t want to deal with him when she doesn’t have to. God knows, it’s not Hudson, he’s pretty sure Rook would break her neck to spend more time with Joey.

Staci’s mind is drawn back to Rook’s dismissal of his mild flirting, she seemed uncomfortable with Adelaide’s more…forward tendencies too. But there’s no denying she has a huge annoying crush on Joey. Her face going redder than a lobster anytime the two are near each other. He’s asking her on dates without even meaning to and he’s not even sure what way she swings.

“So, what’s your deal?” He decides to just ask, it might be a long shot, but no harm in seeing if he has a chance. Right?

“My deal with what?” She raises an eyebrow and takes another slurp of her drink.

“Well, I know you’re into women; so are you gay?” Rook chokes on her slushie, blue dribbling down her chin as he continues, “Bi? Pan?”

“What the fuck, dude?!” She yells, scrubbing her slushie covered hand against her jeans, her blue stained tongue catching his eye as she freaks out.

“It’s just a question.”

“A real fuckin’ personal one.” Her face is a vivid red, making her blue chin and tongue stand out even brighter.

“What? You worried ‘cause, ya know, Montana?”

“No, I’m not worried because of that.”

“Good, because I promise you most people here don’t give a fuck.”

“No, it’s not, I just don’t like talking…”

“You can honestly stop that sentence right there.”

“Pff,” she lets out a soft laugh and the corner of her mouth curves up as she says in a gentler voice, “I don’t like talking.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” He gives her the out and she groans.

“Look, dude, not that it’s any of your business but I barely know what the fuck’s going on in my own head. If I can’t figure that shit out, how the hell am I supposed to explain it?”

“I know you like Hudson.”

“Yeah, I do… I can’t say I’m not attracted to men? I don’t think, I’ve thought men are attractive. I just, women catch my eye more,” she shrugs, face still red, “though I don’t know if that’s because of me or ‘cause of the….selection here.”

“What do you mean?”

She glares at him, dark eyebrows furrowed as if she’s trying to figure out if he’s serious while she slurps on her slushie. He can nearly see the gears in her head desperately trying to turn.

“Dude, seriously?” She asks raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t budge.

“Seriously, you make it sound like the men here are drooling apes.”

“Women in Hope County.”

Rook points out a woman stepping out of her car, long tanned legs and daisy duke shorts.

“Men in Hope County.”

She gestures towards a man at the gas pumps, bent over with his jeans half falling off his ass with plumber crack on display for the world.

It’s his turn to choke, pop catching in his windpipe as her sputters and gags on his laugh, leg jerking and sending his entire drink falling into his lap.

“Jesus fuck,” he manages to cough out as cola soaks his crotch.

“Told you it was gonna fall.”

“At least I don’t look like I blew a Smurf.”

“Fuck off.” She roughly shoves him as they both laugh.

“So, all us Hope County men are just too ugly for you?” He says with mock hurt in his voice as he stands from the trunk, walking around the cruiser.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“No, no, I get it, I mean, how could anyone stand to even look at me.”

“What do you want from me?” She’s glaring at him now from over the cruiser, each at their respective doors as they talk.

“Nah, it’s my cross to bear, I have to learn how to deal with being hideous.”

“I mean, we can always get you a paper bag.” Her face breaks into a smile and she starts laughing halfway through her own joke, blue tongue pressing against her canines.

“Wow, fuckin’ wow, just double down.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry,” she rolls her eyes, face still flushed from laughing, “for what it’s worth, you’re one of the more attractive guys in Hope County.”

“Thank you,” Staci can’t help but genuinely smile, between the compliment and her expression, something about the moment settles warm in his chest.

“Which is kinda like being a tall dwarf.”

“Fuck you,” his outburst makes her laugh and he can’t help but laugh right along with her, “you can’t let me have anything can you?”

“Nope.”

They’re still smiling, stomachs and cheeks aching as they climb into the cruiser. He turns the key and starts up the engine, pulling them out of the parking lot. The soft tapping of Rook’s finger against the door is the only sound as they drive through the valley. She’s always moving, he’s not sure he’s ever seen her completely still.

The cola on his jeans has barely started to dry by the time the radio starts to crackle, dispatch putting out a call.

“Units please respond, we have a domestic disturbance at the Ramsey Residence, neighbor reported yelling coming from the home and threats of violence.”

The Ramsey place is about fifteen or twenty minutes out from where Benjamin and Julie live. They’re familiar with the Sheriff’s department. He hates to sound so jaded and cynical, but they’ve done this song and dance so many times. Benjamin has been an abusive drunk since as long as Staci’s lived in Hope County. No matter how many times they cuff and drag him away; Julie refuses to press charges, bails him out, and welcomes him back with open arms. It’s an endless cycle and Hope County doesn’t have the resources to break it. With that in mind, he grabs the receiver.

“Deputy Pratt and Hale responding, over.”

He flips on the sirens, lights flashing and the speaker squealing as they rush towards the Ramsey house. Tires spitting up gravel as he drives along the backroads, following them to the old farmhouse. It was once a beautiful house, he’s sure, but it’s started to fall apart over the years. The white paint peeling and the wood of the porch starting to rot away.

There’s a tension in the air as the deputies get out of the cruiser, grass crushing underfoot as they make their way to the home. Despite being Staci’s subordinate as far as standing in the department goes, Rook is in front of him and taking the lead. Not because he wants her too; she just does that.

The porch lets out a loud creak when the junior deputy takes a step, straining under her weight. That doesn’t bode well for him, while not a particularly heavy guy, he’s over a foot taller than Rook and fit. She may have muscle mass, but he’s sure he still weighs more at the end of the day.

“You might wanna be careful,” she warns him, standing next to the door, clearly having gone through the same thought process as him.

“Yeah, this porch has seen better days.”

It strains and creaks, echoing a louder under him as he takes the steps up. Then his foot goes through the porch. He curses as he starts to fall through, broken rotted wood splintering into his jeans and boot. A hand wraps around his wrist, Rook steadying him as gets his bearings. He grips the railing as he his rips his foot back out of the wood; breaking and ripping apart boards with the force of it. The smell of mildew, rotted lumber, and muck getting kicked up from it.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He has to shift back onto the steps that were able to hold him, he could step over or around the broken gap, but the chances of it just breaking through again are high. Rook lets go of his wrist once he’s on stable footing and turns back to the door. She knocks on the door three times, before calling out.

“Hope County Sheriff’s department, we got a call, just here to make sure everything’s okay.”

There’s no response, of course they’re in no rush to open the door for police. A beat of silence and then something breaks from inside the home, like glass crashing to the ground.

“You ever deal with them before?” Rook asks as she tries to open the door, but it’s locked.

“Plenty, he always has to be taken kicking and screaming. ”

“Is he dangerous?” She’s slid a pick into the door lock, twisting and turning it. Why the hell does she know how to pick locks?

“Only to his wife, every time I’ve dealt with him, he’s no worse than a drunk toddler.”

“Hmm,” she nods in understanding, “go around back and see if there’s a back door or something, we can’t take anyone out this way. I’ll head in.”

“Since when do you give the orders, probie?”

“Pratt,” she says his name like a warning, just as the door clicks open. She’s right and he Staci knows that, but that doesn’t mean he has to like being bossed around by the probie he’s supposed to be teaching the ropes.

He waves her off and goes walking around the house, all this trouble and splinters in his shin over some damn drunk who should have been locked away years ago. There’s a set of concrete stairs up to the backdoor, not attached, but sturdier than forty-year-old rotted wood. He shakes the backdoor and finds it’s locked, because of course it is.

Staci slams his shoulder against the door as he hard as he can, putting all of his weight into it. The lock and frame give out from the force, a boom and splintering sound ringing out.

“Fuck!”

It’s Rook’s voice, no mistaking it, a groan of pain punctuating the curse. Staci’s blood runs cold and he runs into the house; feet hitting the floor in heavy thuds as he runs to where he heard the sound. Nearly tripping over himself as he enters the living room.

Adrenaline coursing through him, Staci recognizes two figures instantly as he enters. Ben Ramsey standing over a curled up figure dressed in the familiar green of their uniform, blood is on the carpet, soaking it through.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! What’d he do? What did that son of bitch do to her?

From his angle, Ben’s back to him, Pratt can’t make out anything other than her fallen body. He can’t tell if she’s breathing, if she’s moving, where the blood is coming from, if she’s even alive.

Words stick in his throat and his mind only spins curses, his hand pauses, body frozen. Only a moment in reality, but in eternity to Staci; just enough time for the old drunk to pull his leg back and slam a boot into the young deputy on the ground. A sickening crack and curse from the young woman.

And for the first in his career, Staci pulls his gun out. It may be too quick of a move and maybe in the hours after he’ll think of how he should have gone for the baton or taser, but his hand is on his gun. Pointed at another human being. There’s a shake to his hands.

“Ben Ramsey, you’re under, under arrest! Put your hands up!” His words stall for a moment and he curses himself for the way fear seeps into his voice at the worst times.

“Fuck you-“

His words are cut off by a yell, Ben’s body convulsing for a second before he hits the ground with a heavy thud. Rook taser in hand moving as it happens, quickly cuffing him, and Staci can breathe again. He’s not going back to the station alone. The side of her head is stained with blood, hair matted in it, her left eye shut and that half of her face red. Her nose and lip are busted open, blood streaking down her chin. She’s hurt, but she’s alive. His head is swimming, drops his grip on his weapon, his shoulder aching and making him realize just how tense he was. He’s not even certain his finger was on the trigger, he realizes as he holsters the thankfully unused gun. Her lips move over and over again, but the words don’t cut through the fog of his brain until another moment passes.

“Pratt, radio backup, now!” Her hands are on the man’s cuffed wrists, keeping him in place on the ground, subdued for the moment as the man’s thankfully still dazed from the shock.

He’s hesitated, his delay to grab his radio no doubt wasting precious seconds. Why does he always fucking hesitate? He’s tripping over his words as he talks, because of course he is.

“Officer Pratt, we need backup and, and emergency services to the Ramsey house, immediately. Officer injured, suspect is belligra-belligerent and dangerous.”

“Suspect’s wife is injured as well.”

There’s more than three people in the room, Julie Ramsey curled up in a ball beside the couch, sobbing desperately at the entire scene. He didn’t even notice, fuck, he fucking hell. He gives the exact address and gets confirmation that someone is coming. Staci crouches down, closer to Rook’s level where she’s kneeling next to the suspect, he’s able to get a better look at Rook’s injury. He can smell beer, both from the suspect and from her head, shards of brown glass clinging to the blood-soaked skin. He bashed a beer bottle over her head, then kicked her in the face while she was down.

He needs to get something to hold against her head, to help stop the bleeding. Staci’s starts to move to get his overshirt off, thinking it’d be better than nothing, but then sirens screech at them. Police officers for the station and EMTS coming through the house. It’s going to be okay.

No thanks to him. He did nothing. He wants to pull his hair out, scream at himself, why the hell is he this fucking pathetic?

Ben Ramsey is arrested and charged, taken to one of the officer’s police car. Meanwhile Julie and Rook are assessed before being taken to the back of ambulance. Staci follows them, moving on instinct to follow and make sure Rook is okay.

He doesn’t speak the entire way, just grateful to be allowed in the ambulance, he listens as they access her. Lacerations, contusions, possible skull fracture; the words swim around his head as they look her over in the ambulance. He watches as the EMT forces Rook’s left eye open, seeing why it’s been shut, blood vessels damaged across part of the white, red irritation in the other half that goes into the brown, blurring the edge of the iris.

Ideas of her losing vision in that eye flood through his mind, how severe is the damage, could it impact her career? Is she going to be out of here before she’s even finished probationary hire? He was supposed to be looking out for her.

He sits outside her room at the Hope County Clinic, privacy or some sort of doctor crap, he can barely even remember the rest of the ride there. His back against the wall as he sits on the floor, ringing his hands, mind racing through a million possibilities.

“What the hell happened?” Whitehorse’s voice is what ends the frenetic mess in his head, if only for a second. The presence of the sheriff easing some of his nerves, knowing the older man will be able to handle this, whatever the situation may be.

He scrambles to his feet and explains everything that happened; from the porch falling in, him pulling his weapon but not firing, and an injured Rook having to subdue the suspect. Each word of it making him feel just a bit more pathetic, a bit weaker, he really fucked this up.

Whitehorse squeezes his shoulder, a warm heavy hand to comfort him.

“It’s okay, Pratt. Everything is gonna be fine, Rook’s made of tougher stuff than this.”

He sighs, unsure of how he feels by the statement. It’s meant to comfort him, and it does some part of him. He wants Rook to be okay, fuck does he need her to be okay. But, Whitehorse’s unwavering faith in her strength, makes him feel all the more pathetic in comparison.

The hospital room door opens, a doctor walking out, looking over at Whitehorse and Staci.

“You can come in now, if you’d like.”

Staci follows behind Whitehorse as they walk into the little clinic room, off white walls and floors greeting them. Rook’s sitting on the side of the white sheeted bed; seeing her cleaned up and moving is instant relief for Staci’s frayed nerves. Her face is bruised, her eye still messed up, but she’s no longer painted red with her own blood. His hands twitch, he realizes he wants to hug her, to pull her close and feel that she’s truly okay. But he can’t find the nerve to do it, unsure of how the young woman would react.

“So, what’re you dealing with?” Whitehorse asks her and she sighs.

“Needed some stitches, some glass scratched my cornea so vision in this eye is gonna be a little blurry, but it will heal. Minor skull fracture.”

“Skull fracture?” Staci can’t help but blurt out, that’s bad, isn’t it? Skulls are kind of important, being the thing that protects your brain. Why the hell is she just shrugging it off?

“It’s not bad, they don’t do anything for it. My head is gonna hurt like hell for a bit,” she shrugs, “if spinal fluid starts coming out my ears and nose, call 911, though I think that’s the rule for everyone.”

“Alright,” Whitehorse speaks up, “there’s gonna be some paperwork to take care of with your injury and your time off.”

“I’m not taking time off.” She’s emphatic, shaking her head like the sheriff is ridiculous to even suggest something like that.

“I’m not sending you out like this, Rookie, you need to worry about healing up.”

“You want me to take time off, during my probationary hire, that’s ridiculous.”

“Don’t stress, it’s not going to affect anything, just take two weeks off-”

“One week, max.”

“Fine, one week," Whitehorse gives him with a hefty sigh, "just take it easy. And actually take it easy, not doing anything to hurt yourself in the meantime.”

“Pfff,” she huffs out a breath and rolls her eyes, hopping up from the bed.

“We’ll go back to the station and take care of the paperwork.”

Whitehorse puts a hand on Staci’s back; the other on Rook’s as he walks them out the door. Staci feels exhausted as he gets into Whitehorse’s truck with them, someone having taken the cruiser back to the station for them. His body slackening into dead weight as he leans against the door; his nerves are shot to hell and back, he just wants to collapse after everything. She’s okay and that’s what matters most; his own insecurities be damned.

They arrive at the station; since it’s regarding just her injury and leave, Staci isn’t needed for the paperwork on this one. He instead waits outside, he’s not sure why, but he doesn’t feel ready to just go home yet. It’s after shift and usually he’d be at The Spread Eagle by now, sipping cheap beer and shooting the shit with Joey.

Speak of the devil, the older deputy is coming down the hall, nearly jogging towards him. And he’s wondering if she’s felt the way he did when he heard something happened to Danny, before they told him about the former deputy’s death. That anxiety of knowing something is wrong but not knowing the details, fear building ideas of what could have happened.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Rook got hurt, she’s gonna be okay, but, uh, Whitehorse is giving her the week off.”

“Thank god,” Joey lets out a sigh of relief, tension noticeably leaving her body, “I thought, jesus, I don’t know what I thought.”

“Yeah, uh, been a rough day…”

“How you holding up?”

“I fucking choked, Joey. The asshole was trying to kick her damn brains in and I choked.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” she tells him, a faraway look in her eye, “I get it, I do, but you can’t blame anyone but the asshole who hurt her.”

“It's not just that…” He sighs; is he really going to have this conversation? It feels so damn pathetic.

“So, what is it?”

“I...don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I’m certainly not gonna complain about skipping the feely talks. But, uh, for what it’s worth, hindsight is twenty-twenty. Beating yourself up over what you should have done, what you wish you’d have done, is pointless. You do your best in the moment and it’s all you can do.”

“I guess…”

“So...how this affect your little crush on Rook?” She asks after a beat of silence, trying to turn the conversation light-hearted.

“Ugh, don’t call it that. The only crush around here is Rook’s on you.”

“Yeah, right. You got it bad and we both know it.”

“I might have asked her if she’s gay.”

“Seriously, Pratt?”

“What,” he says halfway through a laugh, “she always follow you around like a puppy dog, I had to make sure I even had a chance.”

“Well, do you?”

“Maybe…if she stops crushing on you.”

“Eh, that’s nothing, she’ll be over it before you know it.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“The only reason she’s like that with me is ‘cause she thinks I’m pretty, it’s completely superficial, like a little kid.”

“Well, do me a favor and stop being pretty?”

“No can do, you just gotta sack up and ask her out.”

“‘Cause the F.A.N.G Center went so well.”

“Okay, so ask her out and this time, be specific and talk slow.”

“She’s oblivious, not brain damaged.”

“Ehhh, debatable.”

He thinks for a moment, he likes Rook, he does. She’s cute and spending time with her is nice; being able to tease each other has made his job way less mind numbing. Relationships that go beyond the bedroom have never been his forte; it’s honestly been a while since he’s been on an actual date. But, he thinks it could be nice with her. There’s no telling if they’d actually click romantically, that’s not something you find out until you try it. It could be worth a shot.

But he thinks about today and thinks about the future for a moment, something he’s not fond of doing. Rook is still on probationary hire; who’s to say she’ll be here after the six month period. He doubts Whitehorse will get rid of her, maybe due to her age, he handles her with kid gloves and he’s always been a bit soft as far as sheriffs go anyway. But, it’s always a possibility if she crosses too big of a line or does something unforgivable.

Hell, she might decide she wants to leave, might realize Hope County is just not the place for her and head back to Louisiana.

At the moment he just likes her, nothing intense, nothing he can’t deal with losing. If he found out tomorrow she was fired and leaving, he’d be bummed sure, but he’d recover relatively quickly. But if they started dating, if it worked out and one date led to another. If they hit it off, meshed as well as he thinks they could and that ‘like’ grew into something more and then she had to leave...

“Once her probationary hire is over, I’ll do it,” he says out loud, committing himself to the action in front of Joey. Once that threshold has been crossed, once he has a little more reassurance that he can pursue Rook without fear of her leaving, he’ll go for it.

“You sure you can hold out that long?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me, Mister asked her out on the first day.”

“Shut up.”

Dahlia signs the last of the paperwork, her hand cramping, all of this fuss because someone hit her with a beer bottle. She’s still sick from the idea of having to take off a week, better than two, but she’d rather just do her job. So, her vision in one eye is a little blurry and her head hurts like crazy, big deal.

“There’s something else to address.”

“What’s that?” She raises an eyebrow at Whitehorse, let her out of paperwork hell, please.

“It’s up to you if you want us to press charges against him for assaulting you.”

“Oh.”

“If it matters, we’ve dealt with Ben a lot, he’s been beating his wife black and blue for years. But, she’s never willing to press charges and nothing’s been severe enough to bring him up on charges from the state.”

“Let’s do it, then.” She’s not sure how much it will help, without counseling and after care, who knows if the cycle can break. But, if she can get the guy put away, it will at least give her a chance to get out without fear of repercussions.

There’s some more paperwork associated with that, filling out a statement and the like. But, that’s more than worth it. She finishes it up and is massaging her hand to help alleviate the muscles that are cramping in distress.

“Also-”

“If I have to sign one more piece of paper, I’m gonna kill you.” She cuts him off and earns a chuckle in response.

“No, I just wanted to tell you, hell of a job, today.”

“All I did was get beat up.”

“You were in a high stress situation and you resolved it as best you could, you subdued him without deadly force, and showed you know how to handle yourself.”

“The standards are low, aren’t they?”

“You did good, be proud of yourself for a moment,” he tells her, squeezing her shoulder as he passes by. Her heart warms at the gesture, he thinks she did good. Despite being stuck taking a week off, he still thinks she did well.

Hands in her pockets, she’s grinning as she leaves the office, Hudson and Pratt are just outside; talking about who knows what. They’re usually off drinking right now, but he seemed freaked out about her injury, maybe he’s trying to make sure she’s okay. She’d appreciate it if that were the case.

“Hey, Rook,” Hudson greets her, bright smile, and Dahlia gives a small nod of her head. Unable to force words out of her throat.

“Everything taken care of?”

“Yeah...guess I’ll get to see you guys in a week,” she grumbles, still upset about it.

“Hey,” Hudson stops her before she can leave, “why don’t you come out to The Spread Eagle with us?”

“You know I can’t drink, right?”

“They serve water and pop,” Hudson says, shrugging.

“Um, okay…” Dahlia scratches sheepishly at the back of her neck, she gets to go out with them, her heart is warm. Between Whitehorse’s praise and being invited out with the other deputies, this is a pretty good night.

“Is that why you weren’t tagging along with us?” Pratt asks as they start to head towards the door.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to tag along…”

“Oh my god, you awkward little disaster.” Pratt ruffles her hair as he insults her and she playfully smacks his side, happy to see him joking around again.

The neon sign of The Spread Eagle flickers above Dahlia’s head as they walk to the old bar. It’s cheesy and ridiculous the logo of a scantily clad woman with she assumes eagle wings.

“So, I'm gonna live my life like it's my last damn night.”

“Cause when the clock strikes twelve, we're all gonna go to hell”

The jukebox and lowlight greet them, people spread around drinking at the bar and cozied up over the wooden tables. A little stage in the corner for those nights when they have live music. Behind the bar, Mary May works away at getting people their drinks, honey blonde hair tied up in a bun and her flannel’s sleeves pushed up to her elbows. A window behind her shows a glimmer of the kitchen, an older man with dark hair slaving over the orders.

“You’re late,” Mary May teases Hudson and Pratt as the deputies all grab seats at the bar, Dahlia between the two of them.

She’s never sat at a bar before and something about it feels decidedly mature to the young officer. That is until she can barely climb up there and unlike her two coworkers, her legs aren’t long enough for her feet to comfortable rest on the ground or even part of the stool. Her legs left to swing like a child’s.

“You can blame the probie for that one.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll try not to get my ass kicked in the future.”

“You finally gonna get your round of free drinks, hero?” Mary May asks her, a slight smile on her face and dear god, why must the women in this county be so pretty? The apples of Dahlia’s cheeks are growing warm.

“‘Fraid I can’t, still got a year before that’s legal,” she says, never mind if it’s maybe a bit closer to a year and three months.

“Well, a free meal it is then.”

“No, no, I can’t do that,” She quickly dismisses the idea, local businesses tend to need every dime they can get, she’s not letting Mary May cut herself short just because Dahlia did her job.

“Seriously, if it weren’t for you, I’d be shut down for the month, it is the least I can do.”

“Give it up, Rook, she’s not gonna budge,” Pratt tells her.

“She’s stubborn as a mule,” Hudson warns.

“You heard them, cowboy, your money’s no good here.” The cowboy nickname is a new one, but Dahlia doesn’t mind it, or the way it makes her smile.

“Fine, free meal, but I’m tipping.”

“Okay, okay, I can work with that.”

Hudson and Pratt get cheap weak beers and Dahlia gets a pop as they look over the food options. Everything makes her stomach growl; desperate for something more than convenience store food or microwave meals. There’s a sign below the window into the kitchen, saying they deliver, she wonders if the trailer park is too far away for it.

She decides to try something she’s never eaten before, a burger with huckleberry barbecue sauce, never having heard of the condiment before. Orders in, she can’t help but look around the room, taking in the decorations. Newspaper clippings beneath a neon blinking sign for Lease Lager, a little flag for Hope County Cougars, and a smaller flyer advertising something she’s seen billboards for all over; the Testicle Festival, advertised with a little screaming cartoon bull.

“The fuck is a Testicle Festival?”

“Pffff,” Pratt laughs and chokes on his beer, pulling it away and licking the beer away from his lips. Hudson cracks a big grin, pressing a hand to her mouth to hold back chuckles.

“I mean, it’s basically exactly what you sound like,” the older woman says, shrugging her shoulders.

“People get together and eat bull balls,” Pratt adds.

“Willingly?”

They both laugh as Dahlia looks at them wide eyed, that’s so fucking gross, why the fuck would someone eat that? She’s never been one to turn her nose up at any meal, but that so disgusting, her stomach churning at the very idea.

“Yeah, it’s a thing, I, don’t know what to tell you.”

“Montana is gross…”

“Oh, shut up, I’m sure they eat gross shit in Louisiana too.”

“Not really,” she shakes her head at Pratt, trying to think of the weirdest food she’s ate, well weird to them, “I mean, I’ve had alligator before.”

“You’ve ate alligator?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t think that’s weird?”

“I didn’t eat it’s balls!”

They cackle and laugh at her outburst, she’s joining along before she knows it, face flushing as she cracks up. She barely can remember the ache in her head or the blur in her vision, the more painful moments of the day forgotten as she loses herself in dumb banter and jokes. The burger is incredible, she’d lick the plate clean if she wasn’t in public. Hell, that fact is barely holding her back. She’s not sure how many colas she’s drank her way through, but at some point, her bladder is screaming at her.

“Let me guess, you gotta piss,” Pratt taunts her, reminding her of their little bickering match this evening, she’s an adult she’s allowed to piss.

“Fuck off.” She grabs a grimy fry off the ground andt she drops it down into his beer as she walks by.

She uses the bathroom and washes her hands, catching her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she does so. It’s the first time she’s got a proper look at herself since she was beat up. Stitches over the laceration under her eye, the skin bruised, the white of her eye purple with busted blood vessel with the brown of her eye blurring into it. An absolute mess and she grins.

There’s something fulfilling about getting in a fight, not starting but, making it through one. Having the marks to show it, knowing she held her own. Whether it was fights in school or when she’d fight back against her step-father, no matter how it ended up, she’d feel proud of herself. Whether because she fought back or simply because she survived. The aftermath was nothing more than a badge of honor marking what she went through. She’d take a thousand more stitches and bruises over the week off, if she’s being completely honest. Dahlia leaves the bathroom once her hands dry, shoving them in her pocket as she goes.

Oooh, oooh, ooh~

If I told you a lie, you could smile, my love.

You’d never understand.

The jukebox hums and Dahlia finds her eyes looking around the room, taking in the faces of the patrons. A shift of a door and the step of boots draws her eyes towards the door. Her breath catches in her throat, what the hell is a Seed doing here?

John Seed, the youngest of the brothers, is walking through the door. All of the siblings make her uncomfortable in some fashion, largely to do with their religiosity, but then they each have their own unique brand of unsettling. John reminds her of a sleazy car salesman, too sharp smiles that don’t reach his eyes. Even when he shook her hand at the church, something about him felt off, like he’s wearing a mask but she can’t quite tell what’s under it.

If I told you a tale, you’d cry, my love.

You’d never hold my hand.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mary May yells over the bar, when she sees him.

There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes when he looks at her, not unlike a cat finding a mouse to tear apart. He strides to the bar with purposeful steps and he smirks, but unlike those salesman smiles, it reaches his eyes.

“I just thought I’d check in,” his eyes lazily scan the room, looking at the beer bottles and glasses of whiskey in patron’s hands, “do we really need to have this conversation again?”

“It’s a bar, the hell you expect me to serve?”

“I expect,” John puts his hand on the bar with a sharp sound, “you to listen to reason and start to understand your position.”

“Is something wrong?” Dahlia’s question escapes her without another thought, everything about John’s body language putting her on edge.

When it all bleeds out, you don’t know.”

When it all bleeds out.

John’s eyes leave Mary May and land on Dahlia, those piercing blue eyes cutting through to her core. He looks her up and down, as if she’s the mouse now. But she doesn’t shrink away or avoid his gaze, unwilling to show any signs of backing down in the face of his intensity.

Wake up, little man.

Don’t you break her heart.

“Dep-yoo-tee,” John speaks in a low drawn out way, emphasizing every syllable with the slow drag of his gaze on her.

“Stay out of it, Rook,” Pratt warns her as she walks past him and Hudson at the bar. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, why the fuck would she stay out of it? Supposedly, John already tried to get members of Eden’s Gate to steal Mary May’s alcohol shipment and now he’s showing up to push her around; fuck that shit.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Oh c’mon, little man.

Don’t you fall apart.

“I was just trying to have a little talk with Mary May, though she’s never been one for civility. More importantly, what happened here?”

He reaches out towards her face and she flinches out of reflex, John’s fingers grazing her bruised cheek before she smacks his hand away. Not sharp enough to truly hurt, but enough to force him away.

When the devil’s got you, but only by the hand.

“Hazard of the job and, please, don’t touch me.”

John’s eyebrows furrow, eyes growing dark and face scrunching for a moment in anger before he forces a soft smile. It doesn’t touch the stormy look in his eyes; another little mask hiding whatever’s lurking beneath the surface.

Let go, little man.

“Ah, you poor thing, you” his voice deepens with concern, but it feels more like pity. He fidgets with his sleeves and lets out a sigh, irritation seeping through the false concern. She has to resist the urge to smile, something satisfying in seeing his true emotions bubbling up.

“It is what it is, are you done with your ‘little talk’ now?”

His nostrils flare and he bites his lip, it feels like poking a bear, but she’s having fun with it. He gives another fake smile and she wants to wipe it off his face.

“With Mary May, yes, but I was hoping to speak with you more. Though,” he looks around, “this is hardly an ideal setting. Have you given any more thought to tomorrow?”

“Like, I said before, I have to work,” she says the white lie and dismisses him with a shrug, hopeful it will appease the Gucci wearing gremlin in front of her.

“You know, it’s not often The Father goes to the trouble of inviting someone himself,” he tells her, as if it’s meant to entice her. Instead the title ‘The Father’ just makes her skin crawl, not unlike the title her step-father took on with his own church. As if she needed more reasons to avoid these people.

“What are you talking about, Rook? You got a week off for your injury, remember?” Pratt pipes up and Dahlia’s blood runs cold, why the fuck would he do that to her? Why would he do that? John’s eyes go bright and a sly smile stretches across his face.

“Wonderful, I’ll see you there, dep-yoo-ty, service begins at nine in the morning.” John gives her arm a hard squeeze before he leaves, Dahlia’s skin crawling beneath his touch. Empty air where he once was within the next moment.

Yeah, I vow to the moon, yeah, I howl at the wind.

I’m bleeding and I can’t stay clean.

She’s expected to come to the service, dear god. The air is punched out of her lungs. Even being outside of a church put her nerves on edge, she’s not sure if she could step foot in one without getting sick. She moves behind Pratt and puts her hand on his shoulders.

“Hey, Rook, what are you-uuck-” Pratt’s words cut off as she moves and wraps her hands on either side around his throat. Not hard enough to genuinely hurt him, but enough to feel it as she shakes him and pretends to wring his neck .

“Why the fuck would you do that?!”

“It was funny,” he defends himself when she lets go and throws herself onto her chair, bringing one foot up into the seat as she leans back. Her body going slack with exasperation, she’s seriously going to have to go church?

“I fucking hate you, I actually fucking hate you.”

“God, you’re dramatic. It’s church, not like I volunteered you for a root canal.”

“I’d rather have the root canal.” She tosses her head back with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. Pratt doesn’t know her issue with religion, she knows that, so she can’t truly be angry at him. But, fuck, would it have killed him to keep his mouth shut?

“Well, I think I should probably get out of here before Rook kills me,” Pratt says as he pays for his meal and drink, standing up from his seat.

“I’m gonna head home too,” Hudson stands up and ruffles Dahlia’s hair, “cheer up, Rookie.”

Dahlia doesn’t even have the energy to get worked up about Hudson’s touch, peacefully letting the casual touch come and go with a mere blush. Then the two have left and Dahlia is trying to gather the energy to get up, with the looming reality that she’s expected to go to church in the morning, she no longer wants this night to end.

“Deputy,” Mary May says after a moment, baby blues watching Dahlia sigh and rub a hand down her face.

“Hmm?” Dahlia straightens her posture enough to look at Mary May properly, realizing how somber the bartender’s expression and posture really is. The blonde chews her lip, looking away, visibly searching for her words.

“Eden’s Gate has been in this county for a long time, hell, I was in high school when they moved in on us. They started buying places out left and right, they own half the damn county, now.”

“They have that much money?” Dahlia can’t help but ask, aren’t churches relatively low profit ventures, assuming you aren’t selling snake oil or asking people to donate money for Jesus.

“Got that much money, that much power, and they know how to twist the law to suit their needs. They want the entire county and everyone in it under their thumb…”

Her knuckles whiten as she grips the edge of the bar, a far away look in her soft blue eyes. Dahlia puts her hand over Mary May’s, hoping the warmth of her touch can help ease the sting, even if she’s not sure what’s hurting the blonde. It’s enough in the moment, it seems, Mary May looking up at her and giving a soft smile, speaking again after a beat of silence.

“You’re one of the few people around here who’s not rolling over and letting them do whatever the hell they want. I don’t wanna see that change. Just do me a favor, don’t drink the Kool-Aid.”

“Look at me,” Dahlia looks directly into Mary May’s eyes, “I’d rather play jump rope with my own intestines than join a church.”

“Good.”

Mary May is satisfied with that answer, smiling as she’s called away to get someone else a drink. Dahlia’s not sure what the history is there with her and John, but clearly something has happened. Other than the Eden’s Gate members stealing alcohol and Lonny’s asshole behavior, there’s not conclusive evidence that they’ve done anything more than petty theft. John’s opinion on Mary May selling alcohol, supporting that he might ask them to do that. Otherwise, anything else is just bad feelings and hearsay. She wants to trust they’re good people, just staunch in their beliefs and a little strange, always wanting the believe the best of people. But, she’s going to be sure to keep an ear to the ground and stay wary of them, knowing she’s apparently not the only one concerned about their shit.

Dahlia shakes her head and gets out her wallet, getting out enough for the meal and then some, calling it all a tip for the sake of getting past Mary May’s generosity. She puts it down on the bar under her plate, letting the bartender know she’s taking off for the night.

The night air chills her skin as she leaves the bar before she’s caught. She pulls a cigarette out as she loiters outside the bar, leaning back against the building’s porch. Dahlia takes a deep inhale looking off into the distance.

Even in the valley, the statue of Joseph Seed is looming in the distance, the tallest thing in the entire county. There must be light around it, setting the statue aglow at night. She lets out the smoke in her lungs as she’s reminded of the real man. It wasn’t long ago she could barely believe he was a real living person. The statue makes him seem too large, too imposing, too important to be tangible. Meeting him and his family still feels like a fever dream.

Faith is like a living fairy, floating along in a white dress with flowers in her hair. An ethereal being with long dirty blonde hair and bright green eyes. Dahlia’s dream or perhaps exhaustion induced hallucinations of chasing after her still making the woman feel like a specter.

John feels like someone pretending to be human or maybe it’s just how out of place he seems in the rustic little county. Dark slicked back hair, designer shades always on top of his head, silk shirts, and tailored vests; he looks like a Ken doll someone drew tattoos on.

The brother who didn’t bother to offer his name cuts possibly the most intimidating figure of them. He seemed larger than life. At least six foot six and wider than a door, dressed in army attire with his ginger hair shaved at the sides. The man could snap her spine in half if he had a half a mind to.

Then there’s Joseph, The Father, goosebumps raise on her skin when she thinks of his title. It’s bias, projections of her trauma that bring up those gross feelings when in reality he’s done nothing to her. His statue is true to his likeness in some ways, dark hair pulled back in a small bun and the full beard that seems standard for all men in Eden’s Gate. But at the end of it all, the statue is a composed sterilized version of the intense man who stood in front of her. The concrete can’t capture the intensity of his blue eyes, the way they cut through her, the way his choice of sunglasses turn them green. His unblinking stare as he stood out in the cold of night, shirtless with ink and scars marring his skin, sweat still sticking to him and strands of hair falling into his face.

But despite the wild appearance, he spoke calmly, he spoke deliberately and with devotion. He’s intense and he’s all encompassing, everything about him is too much, from his stare to the way his touch lingered for a moment more than it should have. His presences like a raging fire that can’t be ignored.

She has no real reason to dislike him, he’s done nothing cruel, he hasn’t wronged her. But every fiber of her being screams at her to stay away, that he’s everything she doesn’t want near her. A forest fire that her body is urging her to run away, lest she be burned to ashes.

It may be paranoia and experience perverting her feelings; and it may be gut instinct trying to save her.

But regardless, it seems she’ll be burned alive come morning.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #staci pratt #john seed #mary may fairgrave #dahlia hale #this is love

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nln4 · 5 years ago

Text

Pairing: M!Ortega/NB Sidestep Word Count: 2735 Rating: T for Terrible Acting Warnings: Depiction of Anxiety, Panic Attacks

close /klōs/ adjective 1. a short distance away or apart in space or time.

close /klōz/ verb 1. move or cause to move so as to cover an opening. 2. bring or come to an end.

Ortega has become a part of your routine lately. Increasingly so.

Worryingly so.

You wake up to good morning texts and bury your smile under a pillow. You eat breakfast while thumbing through the morning paper for more news about The Rangers and even in the grainy-print of the black and white photo, it’s still the same face that lingers on your mind, just with a few more lines. He should maybe start paying rent with how much time he spends in your head.

Or haunts you, really. You have plenty of room for ghosts up there.

Since being a villain has sort-of become the way you pay your bills, your “day job” consists of sitting in your little apartment and trawling through online message boards, gathering information on potential targets.

In the end, it all comes back to him.

You wish it didn’t.

Hours pass and before you know it, the sunlight streaming through the crooked blinds has gone from pale yellows of daytime to the orange-gold tones of dusk.

Your phone buzzes and you already know it’s him.

[Dinner?] the gray-green screen reads. He’s been getting awfully bold lately.

But you figure it wouldn’t hurt and you take some small comfort in being absolutely stupid so you text him ‘[yes]’, put on the leather jacket slung over the wooden chair (a step up from the old worn hoodie you used to wear) and head the ten or so blocks to the station crosswalk that’s nearest to the Rangers’ HQ.

Neon signs bloom to life as you walk to your destination and Los Diablos just feels right, like you’ve always belonged here. When you reach the corner of the crosswalk and wait for the light to turn green, you cross, just as everyone else does and he’s already there waiting for you.

His eyes crinkle when he spots you. They do every time he sees you. His eyes search your face endlessly. They say so many things, but most of all they say “Welcome home.”

(You fear the day that they don’t.)

“Hi,” he says, still smiling. His hand automatically goes to yours, holds it close. The metal Mod embedded in his palm press into the back of your hand and it’s warm, so warm. The pressure feels familiar and yet foreign somehow, in a way that you can’t explain but you don’t pull away. You can’t pull away.

“Hey.”

“So? Dinner?” he goes on, still keeping a hold on your hand. “Where do you want to go? Hoots? Or maybe - there’s this diner, not a lot people. Kinda reminds me of where we first met. Danny also told me about this place he goes to. What do you think?”

“Anything is fine.”

He turns back to look at you and you’ve realized you’ve been lagging a half-step behind, lost in the blur of colors of the city. His eyes ask ‘what’s wrong?’ but he doesn’t speak it out loud. Does he fear the question or the answer? you wonder.

“We,” he begins, thumbing circles against your wrist. “We can just go to my place. Order some food. Maybe watch that awful movie.”

“How many times has it been? Twenty?”

“Maybe twenty-first time’s the charm.”

So you nod and let him lead the way.

You have been to Ortega’s apartment since that night of the gala, more and more - but by more, you mean that the visits have increased from zero to perhaps two. Two too many. Any more visits and you risk someone remembering you, connecting you to him. So far no one has, but your powers aren’t infallible, despite how strong they’ve gotten.

He ushers you inside and it still appears to be the same apartment. Perhaps some changes here and there but the same minimal low-tech place, bookshelf-lined walls. It’s still very him, you think.

“Make yourself at home,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads into his bedroom, presumably to change into more comfortable clothing. “Decide on what to eat.”

“Mm.” You decide that you’d rather leave the decision making to him. You’re not terribly picky with food. He, however, is.

In a few minutes, he returns in a white t-shirt and sweats, phone and a flat case in hand. He tosses the case to you, dialing on his phone with a roll of his eyes, probably knowing that you didn’t choose anything while you were waiting.

You catch the case, already knowing what movie it is. You will never be over how terribly photoshopped the cover is or that the actor they chose for Chen looks way too young, even taking into consideration the time the movie came out.

He’s talking on the phone, placing his usual go-to order of pizza while you turn on the television and fiddle with the disc player. Waiting for disc to load, you look at Marshal Charge, front and center on the case. Perfectly styled hair despite the artistic wear and tear of his Rangers uniform, the painted on bleeding scratch on his cheek - there to show he takes some damage but nothing even remotely resembling the absolute mess that looked like the actual aftermath of the nanovore incident.

And there you are. A figure in shadow, turned away from the others. Edited in like an afterthought.

Over by the counter, Ortega drums his fingers on the marble countertop, shifts his weight from one foot to the other, rolls his neck and pops his shoulder, anything to keep from staying still. When he catches you watching, he grins and mouths “fifteen minutes” to you.

You both settle onto the couch, waiting for the food to arrive and you’re aware of just how much closer he is. You remember old nights like these - finding bad movies to make fun of, curled up onto a couch big enough for three. You miss Anathema’s infectious laughter and your heart twists.

He still runs warmer than average and you can feel the heat of his arm through the fabric of your shirt. Fingers trail across the couch cushion, then onto your knee where you hand rests.

On screen, The Rangers argue on how best to approach the nanovore strike. You and he both laugh because you know what scene is coming up next. An extra announces that the nanovores have been sighted inland and winks at the camera all too conspicuously.

“You make a terrible actor,” you comment.

“Hey, maybe I was being bad on purpose,” he says. “It’s called acting.”

“Nope.”

“At least my mustache is real now,” he replies.

“I’d hate to think that ‘Rangers: The Final Stand’ was your inspiration for growing that out.”

“It might have.”

You’re now fixated on his mustache and the stubble growing along his chin. And you’ve definitely noticed that he’s been letting it grow out more after you made that comment about during your hospital visit. You’re close enough that can see the faint scar left from where his lip was stitched up all those months ago. You don’t know how he managed to convince PR to let him keep it but then again, he probably didn’t - and wouldn’t - care what they told him anyways.

It does make him look older.

You suppose that that’s what happens as time passes. People grow older.

(He should have just grown old, the vicious voice in your head thinks. Old and happy, with someone else.)

You hate that it looks good. That years have passed and he looks better, after all this time.

That after all this time, he might still feel the same way.

He traces a thumb against your jaw, presses his forehead to yours, and you hate that you still feel the same way because it just makes everything so much worse.

Save yourself, you think. Run away. Don’t get hurt.

You don’t know if you’re thinking this to him or if you should take your own advice. Probably both.

Your noses touch and you flinch, standing up so abruptly it makes you dizzy. Your head might have clocked his nose because he’s clutching it, brows furrowed, tears starting to leak from his eyes. Only the dullest pain throbs at the top of your skull.

“Ow, hey-”

He blindly reaches out with one one hand, the other still pressed to his nose. You do what you do best and sidestep away into the bathroom. In your haste, the door slams a little too loudly and you flinch at that sound too.

Fuck.

Why did you think you could do this? Why did you come here at all?

Your reflection glares back at you accusingly, red-rimmed, dark shadowed eyes and all.

Why did you come back after so long?

Just why?

Months ago, when he asked if you would tell him if anything was wrong, you readily agreed, despite it being a lie.

What could you even tell him now?

“Is everything okay?” His voice is quiet, muffled by the door.

You don’t answer. You can barely breathe. At least, that’s what it feels like. The throbbing pain from headbutting him is finally hitting you too and you massage your temples. Try your best to calm down.

Your silence must have him worried, if the sound of him shuffling his feet and the pop of his knuckles from clenching-unclenching his fists are anything to go by.

“If you don’t answer, I’m knocking down this door.” An empty threat, when it comes to you at least.

“I’m fine,” you croak out. Your voice sounds quite the opposite of ‘fine’ though.

“Did I-” and he’s fighting to find words. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“You sure?” You imagine that he’s having a hard time trying to process “if nothing’s wrong then why did you run away?” You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

“Yes?”

“Maybe - god, I don’t know.”

“Please open the door.” It isn’t a command. He’s always been good at that. At giving you choices.

“I can’t.” You’ve never been good at choosing though.

“Okay,” he says, although it’s more of an agreement than acceptance. You know him too well. He’d stand there for hours if he knew there was a chance.

He did for seven years. Maybe even ten.

The throbbing of your head doesn’t hurt nearly as much as that thought.

A distant knocking comes from the other side and you hear him curse; must be the pizza. His footsteps shuffle off and there’s a brief muffled exchange before the door shuts once more.

It takes about a minute.

(Save yourself.)

Another twenty seconds.

(Run away.)

Another inhale.

(Don’t get hurt.)

You reach for the doorknob, turn until the lock clicks and open the door - or you try to, at least. There’s some resistance when you pull and you find that he’s standing there and the shock that’s on his face probably mirrors your own because you weren’t expecting him to be standing there. So much that you hurriedly close the door until it’s only barely open, until you can only see his half of his face peering back at you. He doesn’t fight it.

“Uh. Pizza’s here.” His voice is quiet. The sort you would adopt when speaking to a spooked, cornered animal.

You can see every line on his face, half cast in the shadows of the dark hallway, half illuminated by the old light of the bathroom that does nothing for him. He looks old and tired and there’s a crease between his eyebrows that did not used to be there ten or so odd years ago. The mustache makes him look stern. Maybe he should have grown one out when he was still Marshal. Maybe you would have taken him more seriously. His hair is mussed, even more unruly than usual, from his habit of carding his fingers through his hair in frustration.

And then there are his eyes. Warm, brown, still brimming with hope, with all the things you can’t read in his thoughts.

“We can always eat here, in the bathroom,” he offers and you laugh, despite the buzzing panic in your throat that threatens to spill over. His eyes crinkle at the sound, the relief washing over his face. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I would.” Your voice is low and, despite your wishes, quavery.

“Can I come in?”

You nod wordlessly and release the doorknob, the dull ache making you realize you were clutching onto it like a lifeline, then sit yourself onto the lip of the bathtub. The door creaks as he pushes it open.

You can’t look at him, even when he sets the toilet seat cover down and sits. He’s close enough to speak quietly but still giving you a respectable distance, should you decide to get up and leave again, if just to keep his nose safe from any more collisions. Instead, you look at the red welt indented into your palm, and you start to rub the ache away.

“I think I get it,” he says. “Maybe. Not totally. But you need things to be slow. Right?”

You’re grateful that he at least gets part of it. You doubt you could fully untangle the jumbled mess of thoughts in your head. Your eyes flicker to him and in the clear light, his nose is definitely red. A little swollen. Nothing broken though, to your relief. You don’t want to hurt him anymore than you already have.

“I’m sorry for headbutting you in the face.”

He chuckles. “Not the first time you’ve done it. But apology accepted.”

“You deserved it that time though.”

“I probably did,” he says, laced with rueful laughter. “Even though I don’t remember what happened.”

“You and I were arguing on how to take out Iconique’s laser ray and you wouldn’t listen when I told you more electricity would have blown the whole thing up.”

“Oh yeah,” he recalls and suddenly annoyance crosses his face. “Well, we were trying to take it out, of course blowing it up would be an option.”

“Blowing it up would have left a crater the size of a city block in the garden district,” you counter dryly.

“You don’t know that.” He repeats the same thing, the same words he said so many years ago when you were having the exact argument. You don’t know what will happen. No one does.

You shoot him a look, the are-you-really-arguing-with-me-about-this look. He grins crookedly at you and you slowly return it.

This is good, you think. The banter is good. Whatever pressure weighing down on your chest has lifted just a bit and you can breathe again. You don’t know how long it will last but for now, it is enough.

He gets up and holds out a hand and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. The pizza’s gone cold by the time you settle once more on the couch and you force yourself to take bites and swallow, despite not tasting it at all. The movie’s been left running and it’s almost at the end now.

“Are you okay?” actor Charge asks, arms bracing the shoulders of his longtime partner. The voice sounds tinny, even through the state-of-the-art sound system speakers.

“No, not really,” you quip, echoing the actor’s lines.

“It’s fine, I’ve got you,” Ortega quotes, mimicking his actor perfectly. “You’re my best partner after all.”

You’ve forgotten how just how corny this movie was and you frown at him in disgust. If you remember anything from that day, there was a lot of screaming. He was out cold from the pain, almost going into shock. And there certainly was no touching dramatic speech about friendship.

“You are okay, right?” he asks tentatively, eyes searching your face for answers, hints.

“I won’t be if you keep asking.”

He exhales sharply in amusement. “All right. I’m just checking.”

He keeps watching you though, as though you might fall apart any second, as though if he’s fast enough, he might be able to catch up the pieces.

Because the last time, he wasn’t able to but he would gladly spend seven years, ten years, a hundred years, picking up little shards of you and putting you back together. And that you might not be totally whole again but that’s enough for him.

That it’s okay to not be okay.

At least that’s what his eyes are telling you.

“I know,” you say.

On screen the credits start to roll.

#fallen hero: rebirth #ricardo ortega #sidestep #my writing

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creativeskullcreations · 5 years ago

Text

HTaHHQ Episode 1: First Meetings(part 1)

Stacy starts her punishment spending the Summer working at her step-mothers job as an Assistant. But she soon finds that things aren't what they seem to be, and must keep her wits about her to avoid getting caught.

First part of the first episode of my AU series! This will run alongside Outside, and serve as sort of... let's say reflection to the other fic. Part 2 will be soon!

Stacy laid her head against the car window, staring sightless at the passing buildings as Mary weaved through traffic. In the backseat, Danny sat reading a book on... the thirteen year old wasn't sure, actually. But it was probably something about cars or dinosaurs. That was usually what five year olds liked, right?

"Why am I even going again?" She asked. "This is more of a "you and Danny" kind of thing. I'm not needed for this, and I hate the show anyways."

"It's not a bonding exercise. It's a punishment." Mary told her sternly. "And it's also to keep you from just sitting around all Summer. Besides, it'll keep you away from your cousin, and I thought you'd like that."

"It's still going to be boring as hell either way." She said. "All I'm going to do is run around getting coffee for people."

"You'll be an assistant to the cast, not an intern." The older woman replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Trust me, there's a difference."

"Whatever." Stacy dismissed. "Just so long as I don't have to actually be on the show. My reputation would be ruined."

Mary snorted, but otherwise didn't say anything. Stacy wished she had music to listen to, but her dad had taken her IPod after the latest... incident. He'd told her she'd get it back when school started up again, but until then she was living a music less existence.

A tugging on her sleeve caught her attention, and she looked back to see that that Danny had put his book to the side and was staring at her expectantly. 'Ah, so it was dinosaurs.'

Stacy! Are you excited to meet Riley?

" He asked, an excited look on his face as his hands moved quickly. She nodded in reply, not able to turn around enough to answer properly. She wasn't actually excited about any of this, but didn't want to break his heart by saying so. "

She wants to meet you too! She has a big yellow dog, and sometimes she lets me play with him!

I've seen the show, Danny. I know about Rosco...

' She simply nodded again and turned back around, not wanting to see his excitement anymore. '

God, I want to go home. It's too early to be up with no school...

' She continued to ignore her brother as they pulled up to the building.

Stacy was out the door before Mary, using the advantage to catch Danny as he tried to run ahead of them. She held him by the back of his shirt as she grabbed her backpack out of the car, ignoring him as he bounced in place and lamenting the loss of the AC. Mary came around the front with a smile. "Are you two ready to head in." She asked both in sign and spoken language.

"No." Stacy deadpanned, finally letting her brother go. He ran to the front as they made their way across the lot to the large brick building. Mortimer's Handeemen was spelled out in huge letters on the front, with a large sculpture of Mortimer himself looming over it. The girl suppressed a shudder as she looked at it. '

So fucking creepy. I hate this place!

Inside the building, Danny made a beeline straight to an young woman with several other young kids around her. She high-fived him, then started signing to him which relieved Stacy. She almost followed, but was stopped by Mary placing a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Stacy. We have some paperwork to take care of before you get started." Stacy grumbled, but let her step-mother guide her down a different hallway.

They passed by several doors before finally coming to one. Mortimer Handee was what the name card said, which made Stacy wrinkle her nose in slight disgust as the woman knocked on it. '

Does Mary think I'm a little kid? Why would she bring me to some fake office for a puppet to sign paperwork?

"Come in, come in!" Came a familiar voice from inside. It made Stacy jerk in surprise, but Mary simply opened the door and ushered her inside, where behind a rather large desk sat Mortimer Handee himself. Or at least, the puppet. There was no chair, so Stacy assumed the puppeteer was behind the desk.

I know this is supposed to be a punishment, but I didn't think she'd go this far with it.

' She clenched her teeth, and did her best to resist the childish urge to hide behind Mary. '

I hate thisI hatethisIhateths-

"Ah, Mrs. Stein, and your daughter, I presume. I had wondered when you'd enter this room." He greeted them, looking up from some paperwork he was "doing". He put his pen down and set the papers aside, neatly folding his hands on the desk and giving them his full attention.

"Mr. Handee." Mary gave her a subtle nudge, and Stacy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "This is Stacy. She's very... eager, to be working here this Summer."

Liar.

' Stacy refused to even look at Mary. '

Are you seriously gonna pretend I actually

want

to be here?!

"Excellent!" The puppet at least sounded pleased and reached for a folder, setting it in front of them and opening it up. "Everything is all ready for you , my dear. All I ask is that you sign this page here." He tapped the paper, and then set a pen beside it while Stacy leaned in to look at it.

"Uh, no." She told him bluntly. He blinked, somehow managing to get across a confused expression despite his very wooden features. If this was anywhere else, Stacy might've wondered how that was possible.

"And why not?" He asked, sounding curious.

"Well, first of all I'm still a minor. Even if I did sign it, it wouldn't make it legal because I'm under eighteen." She told him. "Secondly, I don't want to sign it." She crossed her arms, hoping to hide her shaking hands. It was nerve-wracking enough to talk back to a teacher, much less a ... whatever the puppet was supposed to be. But Mortimer just chuckled, closing the folder and pulling it back towards him.

"Those are fair points that you make." He told her, putting it into a drawer while she and Mary stared in disbelief. "Very well then, yours is a name that I won't take." He moved his stack of papers back where it had been and picked back up his pen. "Mrs. Stein, Stacy's needed on set. Her work will begin as soon as everyone she has met."

"Of course, sir." Mary grabbed Stacy by the shoulder and almost dragged her out of the office. A quick glance showed that she had the "I didn't think things through" smile Stacy had seen on her many times before.

Maybe this means she'll let me stay home?

' The girl wasn't that hopeful about it, but it seemed at least a little likely now. She clung to that as Mary led her down several more halls and to a room where the woman from before was waiting. The walls were lined with lockers not unlike the ones Stacy's school, though they lacked the little vents. Each of them also had a name-plate, and some were even covered in bright stickers.

"Lydia!" Mary called out as the approached. "Here's Stacy, ready and able to work." The false cheer she was exuding was almost painful to hear, though Lydia didn't seem to mind, or even notice.

"Great!" The woman said, looking far too happy for Stacy's tastes. "My name is Lydia, and I'm the head assistant around here. Welcome to the team!" She held her hand out, but Stacy just stared blankly at it. The woman wasn't phased, though, and simply let it drop without losing her smile. Mary, seeing her work was now done, turned to the girl.

"I'll see you and your brother after work. Do what Lydia says. And," She looked Stacy in the eye, lowering her voice just a little bit. "I do not want to hear about any incidents. Understand?" Stacy nodded mutely, trying to keep her expression neutral, and Mary turned on her heel and left.

Bitch.

' Stacy stared after her, watching as she left the locker room, closing the door behind her. She was yanked from her thoughts when by a loud clap behind her. She turned to see Lydia motioning her over to one of the lockers.

"Alright, so this one right here will be your locker. You can keep anything you want in here." She indicated the name-plate, and Stacy noted that it already had her name there, written in a sparkly pink pen.

Yeah, I'm changing that as soon as I can

.' Stacy promised herself as Lydia pulled open the door, revealing nothing but an id card hanging from lanyard. She picked it up and handed to the girl.

"This is your ID, and very important, so don't lose it. It'll let the others know that you're supposed to be here and working." She explained, indicating her own ID. "Blue is for assistants, green for guests, yellow for the cast, and red for the others."

Stacy looked down at the card, noting that it, and the lanyard, were indeed a bright blue color. She also noticed that it already had her picture on it and frowned.

"Uh, how does this already have my picture on it?" She asked, trying to think back to when that could've happened. 'I think that's from the yearbook.' She realized.

"Oh, your mom brought one in so it'd be ready for you." The young woman smiled. "Now, put that on and I'll give you the grand tour!"

"She's not my mom." Stacy replied automatically. Still, she put on the ID and followed Lydia through the other door and onto the Set.

It was the most hectic place she'd ever been. And that included middle school.

People were everywhere, talking and moving and cleaning. A group of young kids, Danny included, were in the middle of a game of tag while another assistant tried to corral them. In the distance she could hear someone yelling, which only got louder as something broke

"Oh good lord." Stacy muttered faintly. Lydia just took a deep breath and gave the chaos a large smile.

'Looks like it's going to be a great day today!" She said. Stacy just gave her a worried look. "Come on! I'll introduce you to Riley first. She's probably the one you'll be helping out the most." She started off, and Stacy found herself having to jog to keep up.

"So," She started, "what are assistants supposed to do? Because Mary didn't exactly give me a job description-!" She yelped an apology as she dodged around a couple of guys carrying a piece of the set, which went ignored both by them and Lydia.

"Well, mostly we're just here to assist. We do things like corral the kids, fetch props, put up the sets, that sort of thing." They paused to let a group carrying more set pieces pass. "Sometimes we also clean, but we also have a team that does that on the weekends."

"Ah..." Stacy understood a little better now. '

So I am an intern, then? Great, this is exactly how I wanted to spend my Summer...

' She had to run when Lydia suddenly took off again, making straight for a door marked

Lab Set

. They went inside, where a couple of other assistants were trying desperately to put everything together.

"No! No no no! That is not right!" And there was Riley Ruckus, puppeteer already behind the counter. "I gave you the instruction, in plain black and white! These beakers go here, the scales go there! And the chalk board should hanging in the air!" The puppet threw it's hands up, obviously exasperated. A golden retriever barked from somewhere out of sight and she sighed. "Not now, Rosco!"

"Hellooo Doc~" Lydia leaned onto the counter, adopting a tone Stacy had only heard in Mary's shows. "Sounds like the minions are treating you rough."

"Ah, Lydia. Finally someone most excellent!" The puppet clapped her hands together, turning towards them. "And it looks as though you've brought the new assistant."

"Yep!" She clapped Stacy on the shoulder and brought her in closer. "This here is Stacy, Mary's oldest kid." She leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. "And I brought her to meet the best one first."

"Not my mom..." The girl growled out, pushing the woman's arm off of her. She drew back when Riley suddenly stuck a hand in her face.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Stacy. I'm sure our time together will be just peachy!" The puppet had an open expression and eager tone that put the girl on edge, not helped by the fact that she hadn't seen the actress yet. So Stacy glanced between the offered hand and Lydia, unsure what to do. She was saved from making a choice by Rosco jumping up between them, paws on the girl's chest. Stacy near shrieked in response, jumping back and letting the animal fall to the floor.

"Rosco no! Down boy!" Riley scolded as Stacy quickly backed away. She ducked behind Lydia as the puppet ordered her pet to heel, making him go back behind the counter and out of sight.

"My apologies, he can get quite excited when seeing someone new." Riley explained once she'd gotten him to sit and stay. "I assure you he meant only to greet and not harm you."

"Yeah." Stacy gasped out, blinking rapidly. "No... no problem." '

Don't cry don't cry don't cry-

She was sure she'd never be able to figure out how, but somehow she thought that Riley actually looked a little bit worried about her. Before it could go anywhere, however, there was a crash as the two assistants dropped the chalkboard.

"Idiots!" The puppet screeched, turning away from them. Lydia took the chance to grab Stacy's left arm and tug her away from the beginnings of a yell-fest.

"I'd better go introduce her to the others. I'll see ya later Doc!" She said with a wave, which the puppet ignored, too focused on scolding the guys. Stacy winced as as Lydia let the door close behind, which didn't go unnoticed.

"Oh, don't worry about those guys!" She reassured the girl. "They're great at lighting and stuff. Less so with set building, so this happened pretty often."

"Okay, so we've still got to introduce you to Nicky, and then Daisy, and then get everything set up for the "dress rehearsal"." Lydia told her as they walked. "You'll love them, don't worry."

"Mmm..." Stacy wasn't so sure. It was one thing to see the Puppets on TV, but another, scarier thing to see them in real live. What she'd thought was just tricks to make them move so realistically seemed less likely with each puppet she saw. It made her wonder what exactly was going on, and if she even wanted to know.

Would it be worse or better if they were robots?

' She thought as they approached the

Art Studio Set

. This time the door was already open, and peeking in Stacy could see both Daisy and Nick inside and behind a table.

Daisy was "leaning" back against the table in what was almost a pose. Her arms were crossed in front of her on the table, and she had an almost relaxed expression on her face. Nick was behind an easel, checking around it every now and then as he painted her. He was also muttering, though it was too indistinct for Stacy to understand.

"Well this will make things a bit easier." Lydia said as they entered the set, making both puppets turn to look at them. She gestured to Stacy. "This is Stacy. She'll be working with us for the Summer."

"Delighted to meet you." Nick Nack said in his clipped accent, already turning back to his work. "I'm sure you'll do an adequate job."

"It's a pleasure, honey." Daisy said, not dropping out of her pose. "Danny's told all of us so much about you."

"I'm not surprised." Stacy replied, tugging her right hand sleeve a little lower. "I've told him before he needs to talk about something other than me to people." '

I have my gloves on, it's fine. Danny knows better than to talk about it anyways. It's fine. It's

fine.'

"Oh, he's told us nothing but good things, sweetie." Daisy assured the girl. She sounded genuine, but Stacy couldn't help but doubt it and looked away, still tugging on her sleeve.

"That's not the point..." The girl muttered, but she was ignored as Lydia went around the table and whistled at the painting.

"Lookin' good Nicky!" She said, slapping him on the back. He just barely avoided smearing paint all over it as he was jolted forward, quickly yanking the brush back. He turned to the woman with a glare.

"Lydia, please don't do that again." He told her with the tone of someone who had said the same thing several times before. "And the name is Nick. Not,

Nicky

The woman just laughed. "Sure thing Nicky. Good luck on the painting." She started walking away, pausing just long enough to motion Stacy to follow her. "Come on kid! It's time we start getting everything set up!" A pause. "Which means we gotta go back to the lab, since that's where the recording's gonna be at first. Let's go!"

Back at the lab set, Stacy found herself having to help the other two assistants. The younger one, a boy only a few years older than her, was named Johnny and seemed nice enough. The other was an older man named Bill, who seemed perpetually grumpy and eager to start arguments with Riley. However, helping them meant being in the line of fire when something inevitably went wrong and Riley started yelling.

"No no no! These are the wrong kind! Go back and get the right ones before we run out of time!" She yelled at Johnny, pushing the beakers into his hands. Meekly, he ran off while Stacy did her best to seem unnoticeable. Still, listening to her berate the assistants was beginning to get on the girls nerves.

Her legs aren't broken! Just put the puppet down and do it yourself if everyone else keeps doing it wrong!' But she bit her tongue, knowing that any mouthing off would be reported to Mary, and she really didn't want a worse punishment than this.

Eventually, with a few more fumbles, they managed get everything set up in time for filming. Stacy, not knowing what to do, decided to stick near Lydia in case she was needed. The two of them, along with Bill, sat near the camera crew and watched as the segment started.

It started as though Riley was finishing up another lesson, followed by a child asking a question about a different topic. Riley then started to explain an answer, sometimes in song, sometimes not. Sometimes, the kids would be doing experiments alongside the puppet, but more often than not they were just there as an audience.

Danny, of course, was sitting right at the front. This segment was his favorite, of course, so it made sense that he'd want to be as close to her as possible. And, while he was wearing his hearing aids, Stacy couldn't help but be worried about him.

Still, everything seemed to be going well. So well, in fact, that it was inevitable that something would go wrong. During one song, one of the kids, a boy just a bit bigger than Danny knocked over a beaker which rolled under Riley's counter. While the beaker was, thankfully, an empty one, that didn't stop the kid from crying about it. As a result, the director shouted cut while Lydia went to comfort the kid.

Stacy, on the other hand, just sighed and ignored the kid, instead going for the beaker. Crouching down to the side of the counter, she spotted it quickly and reached for it, only to look up when the sound of squeaking wheels caught her attention.What she saw left her frozen in a fear she hadn't felt for months.

While she had her theories for what made the puppets move so realistically, they were mundane things. Camera tricks, that fancy computer stuff, even just multiple puppets used for different things. But all of those theories relied on on thing, that they were still just puppets with an actor controlling them. But what she could see now threw all of that out the window.

These weren't just puppets. And she knew this because Riley had no actress.

#hello puppets #fanfiction #htahhq #happy times at handeemen hq #scout #riley ruckus #mortimer handee #nick nack #daisy danger #stacy stein #mary stein #danny stein #lydia harris

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yavannah · 5 years ago

Photo

The heavily grayed dirty hair had been cut somewhat short and the beard slightly visible on the cheek was just a thin stubble. But the body and essence showed that the man had spent a very long time here. In addition, Calea bothered some degree of familiarity feeling, but why, he did not know.

Bira stepped straight to the man, touched his shoulder lightly, and said something. The man looked at Bira and then turned to look at the guests. There was a look on the man's face that was partly disbelief, partly astonishing. The same feeling came over Cale, as he now saw the man's narrow face properly. He recognized the man immediately, “Westridge,” he said, feeling joy and disbelief at the same time.

The man stood up and stepped, a little limping to them, “Professor Steven Cale?” The man asked in disbelief, in a deep sonorous voice that Cale knew well.

“How is this possible?” Cale asked, stepping closer to Westridge, looking at the slender essence of this, whose clothing was partly tribal in style, partly his own. Perhaps even a little seedy, but what you expected, when the man had lived for nearly two decades here, beyond the reach of modern amenities.

Danny noticed the same and said, “you look awful”.

“Thank you, I guess,” Westridge replied a little punctually, but couldn’t be angry. Actually, he was very happy to see familiar faces after all these years.

"How?" Terri asked, having seen what had happened on that fateful day. The fall and that disgusting snake.

“A long story,” Westridge replied, “but I have to say I still see nightmares from that day,” he remarked, his eyes darkening for a moment.

“Waarren, everything, good?” Asked the woman, who stepped beside Warren.

“Yara, everything is fine,” Warren replied, repeating the same yet in the woman’s own language, looking at the woman very tenderly and warmly. The woman looked at Westridge closely, but accepted what he had said and calmed down.

“What is this then?” Danny asked, raising his eyebrows and grinning.

"Well, as I said, the long story," Westridge replied, smiling slightly confused and absently scratched back of his head.

“Woah!” Danny laughed, for he knew how to gesture what was going on, “hey, where did you hide that whining, picky, fine-edged Snob that where on our previous trip?” He asked jokingly.

“I changed, but you obviously didn’t,” Westrige stated calmly and smiled. He remembered very well a few specific cases on a river boat. Only a few moments he longed to go back there, but then looked Yaraa and thought that this was better.

“But you’re the complete opposite now that you remember what you were like on the riverboat,” Danny stated with a grin, “but apparently you’ve done well, Waarren,” he teased.

“Uh, shut up,” Westridge snorted, but there was laughter in his eyes. This small joking he had longed for all these years.

“It’s nice to see you,” Danny finally said, giving Westridge a decent bear hug.

“It’s nice to see you too,” Westridge replied with a laugh.

Cale and Terri also gave a hug to Westridge who responded. A few compliments were still exchanged until Westridge urged the guests to sit down, however, following Bira and the other men of the tribe. He knew they were skeptical of the guests and for good reason. He himself had seen a little too close what followed as men with guns rushed to harass members of the tribe. A few had been lost, but most had escaped from the previous lodging and this had been built in a hurry to have some sort of shelter. At least for now.

“I thought he died?” Asked Carl, who finally dared to speak when he had first found a clean and comfortable place to sit.

"Apparently, he didn’t", Cale replied, smiling broadly, "and that's good," he added with satisfaction.

Carl shrugged and fell silent. He just wanted to get information and maybe he could get some important information from this Westridge as this had apparently lived with the tribe for a very long time. Apparently since he had ended up in the river during that previous unfortunate trip.

Wetridge looked at his old friends and a momentary deep sadness struck him. He longed again back for civilization, but then he glanced at Yara again and knew he could not leave the woman he had fallen deeply in love with. Another reason was that they had a beautiful daughter, whom he wanted to protect from the evil, which was waiting for, if the men would attack again.

He told his guests everything that had happened to him, even the little adventure he had had with Yara. That story also seemed to pique Carl’s interest. Especially when Westridge talked about the rocky structure covered with vegetation.

“Wow, well you’ve already had to experience everything,” Danny said, raising his eyebrows as he couldn’t think he could live here and he had a hard time believing that this man, who had been very attentive at the time and had longed for golf, ginitonnic and clean with sheets, enjoyed here, without those mentioned amenities.

“Yes,” Westridge admitted, glancing at Danny, who had a smile on his face.

“I still have your golf club. I wonder if you still want it back altought it’s bend”, Danny said with a grin, as he remembered very well the blow Westridge had swung on the golf club, straight into Serone’s hard skull. It had made him marvel the power what had been in the arms of that slender man in the end.

“Just keep it, as a souvenir,” Westridge laughed, for he, too, remembered that episode vividly, even though no one had laughed at the time of the incident.

Danny laughed and promised to keep the golf club as his great treasure, which made Wesridge laugh a warm friendly laugh that sprung deep from his chest.

For a few more moments, they joked until Westridge turned the conversation to more serious topics, “I would be curious to know how you decided to come back here because you hardly come after me if you thought I died on that fateful day,” he said.

“I admit we didn’t expect to find you here. We were actually looking for Shirishamas again”, Cale began, “I, Terri and Danny, wouldn’t have wanted to leave, but we were pressured, so here we are now”, he said.

Westridge was silent and watched Cale's face, for something in his words immediately showed a red flag. Apparently they weren’t just looking for this tribe, he concluded, but said nothing out loud. He decided to let them express their case for themselves, in their own words, if necessary.

“Uh, um,” Carl began, clearing his throat, “I became interested in what you said when you encountered those poachers,” he continued.

“What about it?” Westridge asked, looking sharply at Carl. Another red flag. ‘You don't seem to be interested in poachers’, he thought.

“Well, when you mentioned the structure where you stayed with this .. krhm .. woman,” Carl explained, trying to be tactful but failed.

Westridge's gaze became relatively icy as he glared at Carl, for the man's comment had shattered badly in his ear, “This woman happens to have a name and she’s my wife, so it would be nice if you could talk about her a little more respectfully”, he said in a formal polite tone, which, admittedly, contained a certain coolness.

“Uh, of course. Sorry”, Carl said quickly, “but like I said, I’d be very interested in that building. Mainly where it is located and could you guide us there?”, he explained.

“Unfortunately I didn’t memorize the route because we had a something else to think about at the time”, Westridge replied, still in that cool polite tone, “you see we tried not to run into those poachers again, because after what happened to them, they really weren’t particularly friendly to us”, he pointed out.

“I guess you then pissed them off properly”, Danny stated with a laugh and pushed Westridge companionship into his shoulder.

“Possibly, but not on purpose”, Westridge said calmly.

“But I would like to know if you could still find that structure, uh the ruin again?” Carl asked, hoping the man would agree. He knew he had made a mistake. But now it helped but to appease and humble himself, he thought. Perhaps later, if forced, one could resort to a little harder means.

“Like I said, I’m not the best option to guide you, and I can’t promise to know how to get back there”, Westridge began, but had decided not to point anyone to the tribe for that job, even if they would probably find their way back to their ruins, even in their dreams, “I might try to guide you in nearby areas, but my sense of direction here is lousy”, he pointed out.

Indeed, his orienteering was nothing alongside the inhabitants of this tribe, but he would also not point out a single member of the tribe in his place. Especially when he had a bad feeling about that man. He owed this tribe to his life and putting any member of the tribe in danger would be a bad way to thank. Besides, this place had become his home and tribe for his family, and he would not allow anyone to harm any of them, at any cost.

Stubborn, Carl thought irritably and was already thinking of a new plan. He knew there was nothing he could do about it, under the watchful eyes of the tribe, for he would very suddenly be a model example of a pincushion.

“But,” Carl tried again, albeit very diligently.

“Another reason I don’t want to return to that area is those poachers, because they seem to visit there regularly, and I don’t want to run into them and believe me when I say you certainly don’t want to be a target for them,” Westridge replied.

“I understand,” Carl said, contenting himself with some of his losses.

‘Checkmate’, Westridge thought, even though he already guessed that this would certainly not end there yet. Not really, for he had seen a small nasty flash in the man's eyes when that expressionless mask had seemed to have fallen down a couple of times due to irritation. I wonder if he even told others what he really was and by what means he was going to reach his goal, Westridge thought.

Cale glanced at Carl suspiciously, but decided to be silent. Now was not a good time to challenge a dispute or question anyone’s actions or omissions.

The rest of the evening went smoothly and Westridge chatted happily with Cale, Danny and Terri. He heard all that had happened in the world during the time he had lived with the tribe. Some of the news was terrible, of course, but some was interesting. He learned many things about what had changed since 1997.

Danny even introduced him to his latest cell phone, which made Westridge a little curious, even though he felt that he could do without that device, as he had done so far. But on the other hand, it was interesting to see how everything that had previously taken up a huge amount of space could now fit in a small thin widget that could be safely put in to a pocket.

Cale, Terri, Alejandro, Danny and Carl stayed with the tribe for the night, though subtly set up their camp outside the hut, as they were clearly not invited to the hut. It was only Westridge’s privilege.

***

Well, here is this part of my Anaconda Fanfic. I hope you like it.

Thanks again for the source of my inspiration, and of course the awesome cc authors. And still apologies for possible typos in the text. English is not my native language and I use a google translator with translations, so the results are far from perfect.

***

Edit... I just tried to fix some minor typos/errors in the text. Sorry about those typos.

#anaconda #anaconda fanfic #fanfic #base on b horror movie #my story #the sims 4 #ts4 #warren westridge #terri flores #steven cale #danny rich

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dp-pastandpresent · 6 years ago

Text

Past and Present: Chapter 20

"Sam?"

Maddie answered the door to see Sam and her grandmother on the other side. She had not been expecting to see their intern again so soon.

"We don't really have anything for you to do today…" she said awkwardly, looking between the two ladies. "But it doesn't seem like you came to work?"

Seeing the confused look on Maddie's face, Sam quickly stepped forward.

"Sorry for coming so unexpected Mrs. Fenton, but we need your help."

"We?" Maddie asked, looking at Sarah.

"Oh, yea, sorry, this is my grandma, Sarah," Sam added, remembering that they hadn't met before.

A look of relief swept over Maddie's face as she gave a soft smile.

"Oh, of course! I should have known. She has your eyes! Come in, come in!" She gestured as the two women followed her in, not noticing the soft breeze that trailed behind.

When they had finally decided to visit the Fentons, Danny knew it wasn't the best idea to just show up on their doorstep. They had been searching for him for years, and he didn't want to shock anyone. But given that he was currently in a state of flux (could he even call it that?), he wasn't sure what else to do.

"Danny, there has got to be a way for you to revert back!" Sam exclaimed, finding it hard to believe she was even saying those words.

"I'm trying Sam, believe me, but so far I've got nothing." He sighed, frustrated with himself and his stupid black hair.

"Do any of your ghost abilities work?" Sarah asked, also finding her words unbelievable.

Danny turned to her and concentrated hard, trying to make his hands glow green with energy. Nothing.

He tried float up off the floor. Nothing.

He tried to phase through his bed. Nothing.

He tried to go invisible. BINGO! It worked; Sam and Sarah both began looking around the room for him.

"Danny!?"

He concentrated again and found himself switching back to normal.

"Well, at least one ability works…" Sam said, "And it's the one we need most."

"Yea, but it hurt my head to do it," Danny added with a bit of frustration in his voice.

"Well, I don't want you to hurt yourself, but do you think you can stay invisible long enough for us to talk to the Fentons and clear the air?"

"Or I could just wait somewhere and come in later…" Danny mumbled, not wanting to harm himself more.

"I'm pretty sure you're going to want to hear what they have to say…" Sam said, although she knew it wasn't the safest idea.

They all looked at each other, knowing that was really the only decent solution.

Danny finally nodded as the group turned to leave the room. It wasn't until after both ladies had left that Danny turned around and grabbed the forgotten amulet off the floor.

"You may be of some use to me yet," he said as he pocketed it once again.

"So what brings you here today?" Maddie asked, setting a tray of warm cookies on the table in front of them.

Maddie had retrieved Jack, and they were both sitting in chairs across from Sam and her grandmother on the couch. Sam looked hesitantly at the cookies, remembering the mess she had seen in the basement.

Noticing her hesitation, Jack chimed in, "Oh, don't worry! Maddie makes the best cookies, and not a trace of ectoplasm!" With that he grabbed five for himself.

Sarah smiled and took one herself before beginning the conversation.

"Well, I'm not sure if you saw the TV a few weeks back, but I'm sure by now you know that ghosts are starting to attack the city. It seems that Sam has been getting a bit of attention from them," Sarah said, not missing a beat.

Maddie looked at Jack, who raised an eyebrow, slowing down his chewing.

"Sam, if anything you've been doing with us is putting you in any real danger, we might have to end your time here," Maddie said simply.

'Not what I was hoping for,' Sam thought, trying to come up with a good excuse to continue the conversation.

'I was having ghost problems long before I met you guys.'

"That has nothing to do with it. I promise it has been nothing but fun helping you! It's just that all this information I've found out while working here has me wondering why they're coming back now."

'Good save!'

Jack smiled, actually knowing the answer to something this time.

"Well Sammy, we don't doubt that the opening of our portal has to do with most of it. After all, if you had a chance to explore a new world, wouldn't you?"

"Yes but…" Sam began.

But Jack kept on talking, so engrossed in the topic, he didn't realize how much information he could be giving up.

"But we're pretty sure that's not the only reason they're coming through. You see, we think someone is sending them to follow a trail, after someone or something specific. Trying to get that something to…"

Before he could finish, Maddie had stomped on his foot, giving him a glare.

"Jack…. Perhaps you should watch what you say," she mumbled with frustration.

Jack blushed as he looked at his wife. "Sorry Mads, you know how much I like to ramble about ghosts."

"Yes dear, but sometimes information needs to stay between us," she responded through gritted teeth.

"But Maddie, they need help. If we can't answer their questions, what good are we?"

'Someone is sending them? Could it be? Do they KNOW? I've dug pretty far into their computer and never even saw mention of Clockwork'

But before she could continue her thoughts, Sarah let out a small cough to remind the couple they had company, and Sam that there was important information to be heard.

Maddie turned to Sam, a small smile on her face.

"Sorry dear, but it's just that we've been studying these ghosts for so long, and have such a personal connection, you need to understand how hard it is for us to share these things. Even when the press wanted to report on our portal, it took a lot of convincing."

She put her arms across her chest to imply that she was done discussing this topic and ready to move on, but Sam wouldn't have it.

"I understand Maddie, but I think we could help each other here. I may have some… information… you could need," Sam continued, picking her words carefully, trying not to let on that she knew more than she should.

At that, Jack's eyes got bigger in anticipation of what Sam might say next.

Pushing her thoughts on Clockwork aside, she decided to start with a safe question.

"You've seen the one they call Phantom?" Sam said hesitantly, glancing at her grandmother, who gave an approving smile to continue.

Jack, who was already listening intently, perked up even more at this. "Well of course! He's all over the place, saving people!"

'Saving me…'

"We've been trying to get a closer look at him since he first appeared," Maddie added, a bit less excited than her husband, "but the best we've gotten is from the blurry TV photos. He seems to be hiding somewhere when he's not in action."

'I may know of a place.'

Sam's thoughts were starting to distract her. She knew what her mission had been, but now that the Fentons had gotten onto the subject, she wanted nothing more than keep Danny to herself.

'Selfish, selfish, selfish!'

"Sam!?"

Her grandmother's voice brought her back.

"Honey, they asked you a question…" Sarah said with a worried tone.

"Oh sorry, lost in thought… say that again?"

"What do you know about Phantom?" Jack asked.

Sam gulped, knowing it was now or never.

"Well, he saved me once…"

Despite the conversation slowly moving in the right direction, Danny couldn't stand it much longer: his head was starting to hurt. He'd known the risks when he volunteered to stay invisible and listen to the stories, but he hadn't expected that he would be in this much pain. Another few minutes and he was likely to blow his cover.

Looking around, he quickly found a doorway and wandered over. Making sure no one could see him, he made himself visible, all pain slowly leaving his head.

'Phew. That was close. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold onto this. I really hope we get some actual answers soon.'

He saw a small reflection of blue in a nearby table and knew that his eyes must have changed to match his humanly black hair. Worry rose in his stomach as he thought about the repercussions - . if he went invisible again, how long would he have before he would have to keep running to the other room?

'What's the point of me being in there if I have to keep running off!'

As if answering his question, his back pocket started to feel warm. Hesitant, he reached in and retrieved the medallion he had grabbed on his way out. It was glowing green again, and unlike last time, touching it with his hand sent a small shock through Danny's body.

A shock small enough to make him take a step back, his hands catching the metal table before he could fall.

Hoping no one had heard, he lifted himself up, medallion still in hand, but not without spotting his reflection in the shiny table. White hair, green eyes. Back to being a ghost then.

"You remember the incident at school? With all the meat?" Sam asked the Fentons.

"The first ghost to appear since Phantom, how couldn't we? We're just sad we didn't get the chance to beat Phantom to the punch and tear her apart molecule by molecule!" Jack said, his voice booming again.

Sam winced at this, she'd almost forgotten that part of the Fentons' job was to examine ghosts.

'If they so much as lay a finger on Danny I'll…'

Maddie saw Sam's wince and stepped in again.

"Sorry dear, we didn't mean to frighten you. Please, continue."

Sam sighed and slumped a bit before adding to her story.

"Well, remember the girl he saved? The one on the news? That was me…"

Jack and Maddie turned to each other, then back to the ladies across the table.

"I knew you looked familiar that day! Why didn't you tell us you'd met Phantom? We've been trying to examine him for weeks!"

"Jack, Maddie, it's not that easy to just tell someone you were saved by a ghost. Especially ghost hunters," Sam said rather defensively, looking again at her grandmother, who hadn't said a word this whole time.

With a puzzled look, Maddie began to say something in defense, but was interrupted.

"I think what my granddaughter means to say is that she barely knew you and didn't want you both jumping to the wrong conclusions, " Sarah said, a small quiver in her voice.

"Grandma's right. If I had told you from the start, my time here would have been about nothing more than you prying me for info. I really have enjoyed working with you, and I really am interested in learning from you. How could I do that if you only wanted information about Phantom?"

'Even though that's all I wanted…'

It seemed the Fentons couldn't speak; Sarah and Sam had taken the words right out of their mouths.

Sam was about to add to the conversation when she felt a cold hand on her shoulder. She tried to restrain a shriek.

"Shhhh Sam, it's just me," Danny whispered. "You need to make an excuse to go to the bathroom, right now!"

Sam had almost forgotten that Danny had been listening the whole time - he really was good at being invisible and silent.

Forgetting what she had planned to say, Sam instead got up. "I'm sorry, this is just really hard for me. I need a moment. Please, can I just use the bathroom?"

Still trying to figure out what was happening, Maddie motioned to the hallway.

After closing the door, Sam turned with gritted teeth.

"Ok Danny, what is going on?!"

Sam let out a small yip as he reappeared next to her in all of his ghostly glory.

"Danny!" she whispered loudly as not to be heard. "You're back!?"

"Well that's one way to put it." He sighed, moving further into the room. Sam followed so they could speak louder.

"But how?" she asked, examining him up and down once again, only now noticing the amulet around his neck.

Danny extended his hand and held it out, implying it was the cause of his return to his ghost form.

"That necklace? The one from the dragon?"

"I guess so yeah. Somehow it's feeding me energy, making me feel like a ghost again."

A smile slowly formed on Sam's face.

"This is great! Now we don't have to confess to the Fentons. Or worry about your powers acting up!" Sam said happily. "We can go back to the way things were!"

"Sam, stop. Listen. This… thing… it may be working now but who's to say it will continue? I can already feel my body pulling me back to humanity. I get the feeling this is a temporary fix."

Sam drooped, the hope she had briefly had gone.

"It's just, what the Fentons could do to you scares me. I've seen their lab and I know they're scientists, but the mention of tearing apart ghosts molecule by molecule has me worried."

Danny got closer to Sam, putting his gloved hands on her shoulders and looking into her eyes.

"I know. But you and me both know it's the only way. Plus, they've been searching for me their entire lives. They have photos on their computer of me, my sister, my parents. They have samples all over of what they think are clues to my disappearance. We can't let them keep guessing anymore."

He did make a good point, and as much as Sam wanted to argue, he was right. The Fentons, especially Jack, had been searching for a long time to find the ghost in front of her now. But something started to nag at Sam as he said those things.

"Wait, Danny? I never told you they had photos on their computer. Did you…?"

Despite being a ghost, Danny let a small blush form on his face.

"Of course! The night you left all that DNA in the lab! You saw those photos too?"

He nodded.

"You're not the only one researching the Fentons you know. Plus, it's pretty easy to sneak in when you're a ghost."

Sam smiled and looked at him again.

"Well what do you say? I think the sneaking is done. Ready to meet your family?"

Sarah knew Sam had other reasons for heading to the bathroom; she had felt a slight breeze as Sam walked away. But now she was alone with the Fentons, something she had never expected to happen.

She had to admit, it felt weird being face to face with the son of an old friend, yet feeling as though she didn't know him at all.

'I'm sorry I didn't come around sooner, I really should have when I moved back, Jack. I feel as though this is partially my fault…'

As if sensing Sarah's tension, Maddie found herself speaking up.

"Sarah, is it? You look familiar too. Have we met?"

Sarah didn't have an answer to that. Technically, they hadn't. But she was sure that in their research there were photos or some mention of her.

"It's… complicated…" Sarah sighed, trying to find the right words.

The couple turned to each other again, puzzled.

'Ok Sarah, just tell them. It's what you came for right?'

She let out a long breath before finally, "Jack, Maddie? I don't think I ever properly introduced myself. My name is Sarah Manson. I'm Sam's grandmother, yes, but I also used to know your mom. And your uncle."

"So YOU'RE the one in the photos. The childhood friend? Why didn't Mom ever mention you?" Jack asked, still stunned.

They were still in the living room, having spent the last few minutes allowing Sarah to fill them in on her past and the relationship she had with the family.

"Probably for the same reasons I never came around. We were trying to distance ourselves from the past, hoping it would all just go away," Sarah explained, a bit of sorrow in her voice.

Seeing the confusion on her husband's face, Maddie added, "Jack, you've got to remember how much your mom kept from you. For the longest time, you weren't even allowed in that basement." She put a hand on his shoulder as she said this.

He looked from Sarah to Maddie, still showing some disappointment. "I know Mads, but Mom loved talking about her childhood. I just can't believe she'd omit such an important part of it."

"Remember too, Jack, that it was me who ran away after her brother died. Me who let her get the way she got. As much as losing him broke her, I bet I broke her just as much for leaving," Sarah explained, sympathy in her voice.

Jack turned back to Sarah, a a scowl forming on his face.

"My mom didn't say much before she left this research to me, but the one thing she DID say was how broken she was when her brother died. And how alone she was."

His voice had a bit of anger in it this time, as if he was blaming Sarah for the pain his mother had endured.

"Jack, I'll have you know that I was just as broken as your Mom when he died, if not more so. He was my best friend and the love of my life, and walking across that graduation stage without him was the hardest thing I ever had to do. You have to understand, I needed to get away, escape, clear my head."

Sarah was annoyed now. She had known that facing the Fentons after all of this would be hard, but she had always thought they would show a bit more sympathy.

'Sam, get out of the bathroom and back me up here!'

"Oh I understand loud and clear! But for fifty years!? We've been trying to figure out all those old photos, the old stories, and the answer has lived across town!"

Maddie could tell her husband was about to lose it, and she didn't blame him. He was frustrated with the situation and just wanted answers. But she also knew that Sarah was not the proper one to provide them. While she did know his mom and uncle, she didn't know the kind of research that had been going on since she walked away.

Before Jack or Sarah could say anything else, she knew she needed to step in. Squeezing his shoulder, she said the only thing she could think of.

"Well, clearly the past has caught up to us." She paused, then added, "But why now?"

"I think I can answer that."

The whole group in the living room turned to the sound of a male voice coming from the hallway.

Danny watched as Jack and Maddie Fenton's eyes got wide before he stepped into the room, Sam following silently.

#danny phantom #sam manson #dpau #danny phantom fanfiction #phanfiction #danny phantom fanfic #fanfiction

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