#the shadow gardens//phighting au

[haunting-beasts]

-> Giggling came from somewhere.... - @darkness-sees-all

Darkheart gasped awake. He was lying on the cold concrete with a giant trail of blood in front of him. Damn that’s massacre. He got up slowly, feeling like his head just exploded. (It did).

He clung to the wall in one of the alleyways while walking out into the open crossroads. He could feel Venomshank nearby..must of taking refuge in one of the buildings after roaming the night with his little Hata’u buddies.

Darkheart jumped when he heard giggling…great..more trouble

[kinglazrus]

Twice is (Never) Enough

Phic Phight for @syrren, continuation of the deadpool AU

AO3 | FFN

Summary: Danny remembers promising his friends two deaths was enough for him. He remembers when keeping track of how many times he died felt so important. Now, hundreds of fatal wounds later, he can't remember why.

Word count: 2374

A moaning wind pushes the fading storm clouds across the sky. Danny first saw them around noon, gathering on the horizon. From the streets of Amity Park, the clouds started as heaps of grey peeking above the buildings. Although the wind was rough and cold, the city basked in sunlight. If you found a spot to stand safe from the breeze, the sun's warmth was rather pleasant. Danny likes this kind of day the best. It helps, sometimes, when his body can't decide whether it's too hot or too cold, switching rapidly between sweats and chills at such a rapid pace that it might have killed a normal person.

Maybe it killed Danny, tool. On those days, it is normal for him to suddenly fall asleep, succumbing to the dizziness in his head and the shortness of his breath. He wakes up minutes later feeling healthy as ever. Then the struggle starts over again.

On those days, when the weather is as indecisive as Danny's body, he can hop from the comforting cold of the wind to the soothing warmth of the sun as needed. However, it only lasted a few hours today. As Danny's patrol took him to the edge of the city, he stopped by the bridge leading to Elmerton and found the distant clouds looming overhead, threatening to suffocate what little sunlight remained. Standing on the bridge's rail, overlooking the expanse of the river, he could finally see what the city had hidden from him before. The distant sky was a dark, stormy blue, filled with the haze of falling rain.

Within the hour, Amity Park was drenched. Freezing rain pelted against the sidewalk, rattled windows, blinded drivers. More than once, Danny had to swing down from the rooftops and rescue a pedestrian from certain death. These kinds of heroics weren't normally part of Danny's job description, but he was there and had nothing better to do. It earned him a few bruised ribs, a broken arm, and one skull cracked against the sidewalk. He got better, though. As he always did.

But that had been hours ago before the Fight Knight decided this gloomy weather was the perfect time to lay siege to the city. His mistake. He could only do so much as a one-man army, especially against a kid who doesn't fear death.

Danny shakes the Fenton Thermos, knocking around the occupant inside.

"Stop. Invading. My. City!" He throws the thermos in the air and boots it down the street. It pings off street lamps and cars (oops), nearly all the way down to the next stoplight. Danny, bored, watches it bounce with dull eyes. Maybe that will knock some sense into the knight.

A gust of wind tears down the streets, buffeting against Danny's back and knocking him forward a few steps. Danny hisses when his feet jolt against the pavement and the pain in his chest flairs. Right, the sword.

Gripping Soul Shredder's hilt, he braces himself before yanking it out. The blade bites at the edges of his wound, one last pointless strike against him. In his hand, the hilt burns, crying out against his possession of the sword. He hefts the blade over his head and waves it.

"This is mine, now!" he calls out to the thermos. The sword, as if protesting, burns hotter, but Danny is too stubborn to let go. Even as the heat burns the fabric of his gloves, his grip stays tight.

Another howling wind hurls its way down the street. It catches the thermos and sends it spinning away into the street and out of sight.

"Shit." Danny takes off after it. His chest, not yet fully healed, burns. Blood drips down the front of his suit, at least Danny calls it blood. He can't remember the last time he actually saw red dripping from his open wounds. Everything inside him turned black long ago.

He finds the thermos easily, caught beneath the tire of a parked car. It rattles when he picks it up. The Fright Knight is obviously displeased with his circumstances. Good. Maybe next time he will think twice before invading the city. This had to be, what, the sixtieth time? He stopped keeping track when it hit the double digits decades ago.

This isn't the first time Danny has thought about keeping Fright's sword, either. The temptation has followed him ever since he stopped bothering to sheath it in pumpkin near thirty invasions ago, but the sword never stays with him long. These past few minutes have been the longest he's ever held it without it disappearing on him.

Danny clips the thermos to his belt on one side and slides the sword into the other. The blade slaps against his leg as he walks. His belt pulls from the additional weight, too, but he can put up with it. With the threat gone and the city quiet, he stops in the middle of the street, hands on his hips, and sighs.

"Now what?" he asks the cold night air.

The wind answers him with a low moan.

"You are a terrible conversationist."

If the wind is offended it doesn't say, which only proves Danny's point. A good conversation needs some back and forth, none of this moaning and wailing stuff. He tried that for a year. It doesn't work.

With no more ghosts left to fight, Danny heads home.

—

The Master Mansion used to be the nicest house in Amity Park. No one could deny its grandeur; only the old Manson estate could challenge Vlad's house in size. But years of neglect have taken their toll on the Master Mansion. The once well-manicured lawn grows wild and tangled, the grass well past Danny's knee. Weeds fill the cracks in the driveway. Hedges, once trimmed to perfect circles, having become hulking green beasts of tangled limbs.

The mansion itself fairs no better. Broken windows, missing shingles on the roof. The garage house collapses inward, closer, and closer to collapsing every year. Once, a long time ago, Danny thought about fixing the garage, since it's his fault it ended up in such a state. It didn't take him long to decide he didn't care.

"Hey Fruitloop, I'm back," Danny calls as he walks through the door. His body, too flesh for an act so ghostly, resists. Walking through the solid would is like pushing your way through a lake of ectoplasm with a broken leg and deadweight hanging off your shoulders. Danny should know.

Opening the door like a normal person would have been easier, but if Danny's predicament is going to give him slightly convenient ghost powers, then damn it, he is going to use them. He has earned it.

Vlad doesn't answer him.

"Are you alive?" Danny shouts.

Still no answer.

He deposits the thermos by the door, leaving it on the front table. There will be time to release its prisoner later. He keeps the sword at his hip, though. During the long walk from the city to the mansion, Soul Shredder's weight has quickly become a comfort at his side. The blade still burns, but in the lingering cold of the storm, the heat comforts him more than it hurts.

Danny walks to the main hall, heading up the grand staircase to the second floor. The entire North wing of the mansion is Vlad's, while Danny has laid claim to the rest. It's more than generous, considering Vlad's a nutcase who doesn't deserve so much care. He can barely walk most days, anyway. If he tried to shuffle his way from one end of the wing to another he might just collapse and die.

Vlad's room lies at the far end of the wing, with large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the backyard. It must have been quite the view when Vlad had dozens of domestic workers managing his estate from day to day. When Danny pushes open the door to Vlad's room, the first thing he sees is the curtains draws open, letting in dull moonlight. Outside, the clouds are finally blowing past Amity Park.

The bed is empty, covers rumpled and hanging off the mattress. Scanning the room, Danny can't find any sign of Vlad.

Danny peeks into the dark bathroom. "Did you crawl off like a cat to die alone?" Empty. He moves on to other rooms, the study, the library—which is basically the study but with a few more books—the Packers room. All of them empty.

"Remember when Maddie did that?" Danny continues his one-sided conversation. "I found her in the garage under that dumb Lexus you loved so much?"

He heads away from the North wing. Maybe Vlad didcrawl away to die. It is a miracle he could have made it so far. Danny's tempted to give up, but he spurs on anyway. He doesn't care for Vlad, despite living with the man. It is more for convenience than anything. And, perhaps, because they are more alike than Danny wants to admit.

His search carries him to the back of the house, through the kitchen, toward the entertainment room where Vlad used to hold parties. Sliding glass doors along the outer wall lead to the backyard. One of them is open. When Danny steps outside, he finds Vlad instantly. A shadow slumped over in a garden chair, looking out over what used to be the pool. Now it's just a hole in the ground surrounded by pretty tiles.

"Damn. I thought you'd be under the car," Danny says.

"Do I want... to know... what you mean?" Vlad has to pause every few words and take a breath. His comes out low and raspy, so rough that hearing it makes Danny's own throat itch. Danny can't hear a trace of the silky voice Vlad used to have.

"I don't know, do you?" Danny asks.

"Still... after all this time... so juvenile."

"What's the point of being an adult if you can't be a kid sometimes?" Danny says with his young voice in his young body, neither of which has changed in over fifty years. He leans against Vlad's chair, elbow resting on the back. His arm barely brushes Vlad's shoulder, but it's enough to make the man groan.

Vlad, like the house, has grown withered and neglected. Nothing but sagging scar tissue and brittle bones. It must have taken him hours to get down here, perhaps the whole day. It would surprise Danny if Vlad had still been making his way outside when he got home.

The hole where Vlad's right eye used to be serves as a bitter reminder of what, or who put him in this state. Perhaps comparing him to the garage house is a better analogy.

"What is it... like?" Vlad asks. It is hard for Danny to pick emotion out of Vlad's voice, but the tremble sounds stronger now. Not the tremor of a weak throat, although Vlad certainly has that, but a waver of fear. A small admittance of weakness that he rarely ever allows, much less shows to others.

But Danny isn't other. Everyone else is, always has been. He doesn't need to ask what Vlad means. "I don't know."

Vlad tilts his head. "How?"

Danny shrugs. "I used to know, I think, but..." Things change. Dying changes you. And dying over, and over, and over again changes you so much that sometimes it is hard to tell what you were like before. So many sensations. So many memories.

Jazz told him, once, that patients with dementia have an easier time recalling old memories, those earlier in their life, then later ones. It doesn't matter if the later memories formed before dementia set in, they're just too new. When someone remembers something for decades, it passes through their head again and again, etched deeper into their mind the more often they remember it. It makes it easier, later, when their minds start slipping, for them to recall those moments they burned into their brains over the years.

For Danny, one such memory comes from the early days of his abilities. At that point, he had only died twice, and he made a promise with Sam and Tucker. Twice is enough. It sounds ridiculous now.

Twice is enough? He died at least four times today, maybe five. He still hasn't decided if he blacked out from his fever that morning or if it boiled him from the inside out. His hand drops from Vlad's chair to Soul Shredder, fingers curling loosely around the hilt. It feels heavier than ever.

Twice is enough. Twice is a fool's dream, the passing wish of a child who knew too little about the world and about himself.

Closing his eyes, Danny reaches inside himself and finds a burning light. Thousands of them, little pieces chipped away from a part of him so far beyond his comprehension he didn't know it existed until Skulker, so rudely, opened his eyes to it. Together, they shine as one solid mass, but he knows the truth. Inside, Danny is broken.

He used to have a notebook. It was Jazz's idea. Confront your trauma through words. Write down what kills you then burn the pages. She got the idea from some therapy textbook. To this day, Danny isn't sure what burning the pages was supposed to do. Whatever great expectations Jazz put upon the ritual, they didn't work. Mostly because Danny never followed through.

He can still picture those first few pages, written with more care than he put into his English homework. Electrocution, suffocation, burning, bludgeoning. Every time he died, he made an entry in the book, put down the details. It seemed so important at the time. Include every detail, how he felt, what it felt like, how fast he healed, who was there to see him die. Pages upon pages of his most traumatic experiences bound together in a neat little coil ringer notebook.

Danny remembers the promise. He remembers writing those words. He remembers believing it meant something. There had to be a reason for it, an explanation beyond the science that would reveal to him some great truth about why this happened. He's not foolish enough to believe that anymore.

Twice was never enough.

[haunting-beasts]

Who goes there?

Someone is here, & they shouldn't be here.

🎵 Stalking, roaming!

Where we don't belong!

Oh what will happen,

Little fawn?

We have you in our grasp

Twirling between our claws

As we roam in spaces

Where we don't belong 🎵

-@unbridled-chaos [WITCHES BREW]

The deity on the ground twitches and lifts his head. Singing…he likes singing…sing sing sing. He crawled towards it, his feathered tail dragging behind him. The hole that was in his neck now healed…he let out beastly chirps and little caws hoping to attract the person singing…

[haunting-beasts]

[AH! THIS SEEMS LIKE THE PERFECT PLACE TO HOST A PARTY!!]

A voice, a...strange voice. Where was it coming from?

-@spare-change-corp [CHANGE]

It seems a couple days have passed in the Shadow Gardens. Darkheart was sitting on top of a roof and eating a muffin he found in a cabinet in a random house. He stalled before flapping his fined ears open. The fuck?

He looks around and takes another bite, not exactly bothered but on high alert. It seems Darkheart made new arrows. There was even a makeshift sword.

[haunting-beasts]

You still won't take responsibility, Darkheart. I don't think you deserve your little candle. -> Plucks the candle for you I'm so glad your sword's gone. You didn't deserve it in the first place. You didn't even deserve that child of yours either. And you know Sword? The child YOU took away from your brother? He's so much happier now. He's living SUCH a better life now that YOU'RE out of it. Sea Cookie could've had a better life too. I think Sea Cookie would've been SO much better without you. Now he won't have to suffer... - @simply-windy

Darkheart growls and leaves the shack. He immediately jumps in the water, causing him to shiver from the cold. The Hata’u watches and pouts, unable to go after him.

[haunting-beasts]

Yeaaah... That other Darkheart also seems to LOVE belittling yours! Which in all fairness he deserves it.... - @simply-windy

“Good. He needs to know his place. He doesn’t quite understand that..”

[haunting-beasts]

I heard at one point another Darkheart was roaming around in here... But I think they're gone? I'm not sure tho. - @simply-windy

“Ah…good thing he didn’t get his gear…would’ve been a nightmare…”

[haunting-beasts]

The Mata’u…They bury themselves into your mind! Promise you paradise if you give into them…a cruel fate for the Deity of the Undead

[haunting-beasts]

Yeah he.... He REALLY doesn't. And it's kind of sad honestly. I wish he'd realize that this is all his fault. And I just.... This might be just me but I don't think your Venomshank deserves this treatment :( - @simply-windy

“I don’t know what Venomshank did. Nor what happened. I’ve been stuck here for 50 years now. At least…time travels faster here…it’s only been 20 years for the other two”

“Whatever Venomshank did I don’t care. Darkheart is my only target.”

[haunting-beasts]

He can't be super hard to find!!! He's uh.... Quite noticeable if you ask me. - @simply-windy

“Big brother gets to him first every time…it’s annoying but he’s suffered from Darkheart too from my knowledge..”

“Hata’u are eating up a lot lately…lots of visitors to the SR..”

[haunting-beasts]

Yeah! Hi hi! I uh- I asked if you've found Darkheart yet.... - @simply-windy

“….”

The moth was silent for a bit. His wings twitch causing some flakes of ice to fall. It seems like his wings were coated in ice. Probably to protect them….

“No. That bitch-“

Woah there buddy-

[haunting-beasts]

I..... So you haven't? I'm a little confused. - @simply-windy

“Hmm? Oh! I’m sorry I- didn’t realize you were there…”

[haunting-beasts]

Icedagger.... Have you found Darkheart yet? - @simply-windy

Up in the highest room in Crossroads tower sits a small but familiar face looking out the window. Ice coats the place, making it cold beyond belief….

Little butterflies or..moths? They look like they are also made of ice flutter around the old Flipside recording studio…

“may thy days beest few and may you’re beest true…f'r the first sentence wast a forswear and the second tis not…”

[darkness-sees-all]

"Hello you failure! Didja miss us?" -> Fuck. Where were they? It seemed like this Darkheart's voice echoed from all over the place. "Look at you.... So pathetic... So scared and alone.... How we wish we could pity you, hehehe... Fucking coward."

-> Giggling came from somewhere.... - @darkness-sees-all

Darkheart gasped awake. He was lying on the cold concrete with a giant trail of blood in front of him. Damn that’s massacre. He got up slowly, feeling like his head just exploded. (It did).

He clung to the wall in one of the alleyways while walking out into the open crossroads. He could feel Venomshank nearby..must of taking refuge in one of the buildings after roaming the night with his little Hata’u buddies.

Darkheart jumped when he heard giggling…great..more trouble

[darkness-sees-all]

-> Darkheart watched as their older sister departed without them. Darkheart wasn't going to leave, they couldn't bring themselves to leave just yet. This wasn't their Venomshank, they knew this well.

-> But it was still Venomshank. It was still their brother regardless of the universe. If Windforce didn't care then that's on her, not them. They just needed to stay inside so nothing could happen

-> They pulled away from the sleeping beast deity, closing the door they had opened and using the broken support beam to block.

-> Giggling came from somewhere.... - @darkness-sees-all

Darkheart gasped awake. He was lying on the cold concrete with a giant trail of blood in front of him. Damn that’s massacre. He got up slowly, feeling like his head just exploded. (It did).

He clung to the wall in one of the alleyways while walking out into the open crossroads. He could feel Venomshank nearby..must of taking refuge in one of the buildings after roaming the night with his little Hata’u buddies.

Darkheart jumped when he heard giggling…great..more trouble

[haunting-beasts]

More yowls as night approaches could be heard. Those Hata’u as Venomshank calls them are hunting…the time to leave was now or they would be creature food…unless they stayed inside…

-> Giggling came from somewhere.... - @darkness-sees-all

Darkheart gasped awake. He was lying on the cold concrete with a giant trail of blood in front of him. Damn that’s massacre. He got up slowly, feeling like his head just exploded. (It did).

He clung to the wall in one of the alleyways while walking out into the open crossroads. He could feel Venomshank nearby..must of taking refuge in one of the buildings after roaming the night with his little Hata’u buddies.

Darkheart jumped when he heard giggling…great..more trouble