AN: This could be triggering, since I wrote it after hearing multiple people talk about being kicked out of their home by their parents for being who they are.

The night is dark and cold, the sharp artificial lights of a town adding no warmth. Tall glass office buildings tower menacingly over anyone who dares step outside. The air itself is still and stiff with anticipation, a haunting chill rising from every metal surface. Clouds tinted yellow and orange swarm high above, blocking out the sky and carrying a threat of rain.

A door is slammed open screaming and cries of pain, fear and anger fill the night, before it all goes silent. A small figure, shoulders hunched and quivering, devastated face hidden behind a curtain of black hair, stands in front of a cold dark blue doorway. From inside, only silence comes, though the boy, still a child at heart with the mind of a battle-worn warrior, knows that things are being taken apart and put back together, to what purpose he doesn't know, doesn't want to know.

He takes a step back, still reeling from what happened, then another and another, until his foot touches only air at the edge of the sidewalk and he is sent crashing down on the road. His hands scramble to find purchase on the cold concrete, blood trickles from scrapes and cuts that grains and sharp pebbles mar into his skin. A puddle to his right is stained and colored dark crimson as the dirty water invades his stinging wounds.

Light suddenly appears, bright, blinding and circular, coming closer at a rapid pace, illuminating the boy's white shirt and blue jeans, and his bright, bright blue eyes that are wide with fear because the light looks just like the white light of a laboratory, where people cut into his flesh and burn his skin. He panics, tries to back away, cuts and infects his wounded hands, but he can't escape the light as it nears and a loud horn splits the air and the car attempts to sewer to avoid the child in the middle of the street.

It can't, the puddle on the ground catches its wheels and sends it sliding right at the boy, who can't move, he is paralyzed and the vehicle slams into him full force. Yet, there's no resistance. The metal side of the car passes harmlessly through him as his form becomes transparent and blue and he squeezes his eyes shut. The driver yells in surprise and bolts out of her seat the moment the car stops moving, but the child is no longer in the street.

Freak

Black hair slaps into his face as he turns the corner and runs out of the person's sight. A perfectly normal person, a natural healthy human, who should have nothing to do with him, because he's a freak and a danger, and he can't be near people. He runs into a dark alleyway, littered with trash and filth and rats scurrying around in search of food. He collapses against the furthest wall, silent sobs wracking his body as he curls in on himself. Words, harsher than the winter air and the sting of wounds, repeat themselves in his mind, for they are the only ones he is to remember, for they speak the truth of his being.

Ghost scum

His eyes shut tightly as he sees a face, blurry at first but clearing. It is joined by another and both are hateful, disappointed. The woman, his mother – not anymore, he thinks as his breath hitches – shoved him at his shoulder and sent him falling out of the doorway. His father – can he call him that? he wonders as his heart lurches – stood there, impassively, not making a sound and the boy can't decide if he hated him as well or not.

Get out of my house!

Tears stream down his face, leaving cold, chilling tracks on his puffy red cheeks and the freezing air bites into his exposed skin. He doesn't have a jacket, he couldn't take one. The cold doesn't bother him normally, but now, with a hole carved into his heart that was oozing everything light and good, leaving behind a barren soul, his core is pulsing with a chill he can't handle. His core – it's unnatural – is acting out, he realizes; its responding to his emotional state and unknowingly freezing his human form all over again.

You are not my child.

He doesn't notice as his fingers and toes become numb, as his hands and feet and hair are slowly enveloped in condensed mist, becoming damp and starting to freeze to his clothes. His limbs are cold and hard to move, yet he only cries and cries because, why should he care, when everyone lied to him. They said it would be alright, that his parents would accept whatever he told them. That they were simply confused, that they wouldn't hurt him if they knew.

Well now they know.

His hands already stiffened when his chest starts to feel heavy and his heartbeat is rushing in his ears. When did he start to shiver? He opens his eyes and notices that his teeth are chattering and he can't feel his hands. He doesn't panic, instead he only sighs in acceptance. Somehow, he knows. He knows that the air and coming rain is too much for his scarred body and mind to handle. He looks up, bright blue eyes hope to catch sight of the night sky, the one true comfort he had in his life. But it is hidden. The orange gray canopy of storm clouds hide the stars from him and he wails at the loss. His cry, a howling shriek of the most agonizing pain, reaches every ear, but people don't react. They turn worried looks to their windows but don't get up to help. Some don't even care.

His head falls back down to his chest. Breathing is becoming hard, his rib-cage heaves with every exhale and he closes his eyes in resignation. Two more breath, one rasping cough, and his body goes silent and motionless. And the people in the town? They only continue their life and don't know – or care – of the tragedy that took place.

The dark blue door opens again, gently this time, and a woman walks out, red hair a mess and violet eyes glassy with tears. She holds a hand to her mouth, remembering what she said, what she shouted in her son's face in a moment of confusion and hurt and fear, because she was too oblivious to notice what was right in front of her. She looks both ways down the street, then shouts a name, a beautiful name of her beautiful baby boy, who was the best, kindest person out there and who was afraid to be himself with his own parents.

Glistening tears stream down her face as she is faced with the truth and she buries her head in the mass of orange fabric that comes to stand behind her, for once solemn and quiet. She is too late, she acted without thought and hurt someone so precious to her and she can never return the words she said and the things she did. Who is she to judge the bright white innocent soul that she tainted?

His name even screamed – and still screams – at her the wrongs of her words, but she was deaf to what she didn't want to hear.

Daniel, he who's judge is God himself.

I'm sorry for writing this, it's just so sad. Is it wrong if I made myself cry? Cuz I did, and my friend too. Also, I know Danny probably wouldn't freeze (how cruel can I become?), but I was just really depressed and needed to add it (kinda edited it to make it like he freezes himself from the inside, like in Urban Jungle). The inspiration for this was a LGBT youth exchange where I learned of people (awsome, nice, friendly people) who were rendered homeless because of being gay or trans or whatever. It just made me sad and made me think of this scenerio in DP.