A/N- This is a gift fic for IceDragon19 for her birthday (It's like... super late...) and for her just being an amazing friend and beta. Go check her stuff out, she has an amazing drabble series that is completely amazing. So much better than mine. Read this, then go check her page out. Seriously. She's amazing.
Anyway, IceDragon, I hope you like this. And for the rest of you, I really hope you enjoy the story. Thanks for reading!
If you recognize it, chances are... I don't own it.
Sometimes you'll find him in the skies in the dead of night, not looking for an enemy, but just flying because he needs to.
Cool night air, the kind that makes your skin chill but isn't enough to make you really cold,—even though he doesn't get cold—whips against his face. The city lights flicker below him, a blurred landscape of blinking lights and little movements and darkness. He spreads his arms wide, allowing the moving air to rush past his covered skin and it makes him feel alive. At this height, where falling was dangerous and it made his heart pump even harder, he can point out any place in the city.
His city.
It's one of those nights were his thoughts are what drove him up here to soar in the cloudy skies until his mind was as clear as the sky above the cloud-line. Some people think that their resident hero only flew when there was to be a fight, or when the city needed saving, but they would be wrong.
On these nights, he flies because that's what he needs to do. He takes his refuge in the clouds and the darkness and allows himself to be something that he won't when around the others. He allows himself to show weakness; to not concentrate on being Phantom or Fenton and just be Danny.
Who, at this point, (if he was being honest) was confused and upset and just didn't get it.
Him? Hero? What kind of joke was this? What kind of sick, sick sense of humor did the fates have, that they would make him a hero? What were they thinking?
If you asked him in front of the crowds, he would tell you that he loved his job, he wouldn't give it up for the world, and that it was something that just came naturally.
He would only be partially lying.
If you asked him tonight, he would tell you something different. He would tell you that, yes, he did love what he did, but only to an extent. He would explain that, no, he wouldn't give his job up for the world, but he wouldn't tell you why. He would talk about how he didn't used to be good at what he does, how he had to learn as he went.
But still, he wouldn't tell you the whole truth about what he thinks. He's too much of a hero for that; too unwilling to show weakness.
If you managed to get the whole truth from him, it would be a different story.
The whole truth would be the things that he doesn't tell anyone, those little secrets that linger in the corners of his mind and drive him into the skies on nights like these.
The whole truth would be that he did love his job, but he only loved what he did for the people. He hated the toil on his own body, the things that he had to give up to do this, the strain of his mind, and the pain in his nerves. But despite all of that, he loved what he was doing, if only for the people. He wouldn't give his job up for the world, but not because he loved it so much. He didn't trust any other team other than his own to protect his city and the people in it. He couldn't bear placing something that precious to him in the hands of someone else. No, he couldn't give up his job, not for the world itself. The last question would be the hardest for him, because it was the one that made him the weakest. He hadn't always been good at fighting, at being a hero. He would rant about how he didn't just learn as he went on, he made mistakes. Huge mistakes that led to horrible outcomes. He would talk about how innocents had gotten hurt, how he hadn't been about to save everyone, and how it was his own fault. How he blundered through his whole first year of this, hurting others and himself almost as much as he was helping.
If he told anyone the truth, it wouldn't be about his glorious victories over powerful ghosts. If someone asked him for the truth about what he did and how he saw it, he wouldn't brag about what he had done, he would lament on the mistakes he made. He would tell you about his doubts and fears and how he just didn't understand why he got a job this important.
On nights like these, flying helps him think, even if it doesn't help him understand.
He sees a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, something over in the richer part of town. He squints his eyes and sees a scooter and a dark head of hair under a silver helmet.
Sam.
His fingers fiddle with the Fenton Phones in his ear, turning them on and to the channel that they use.
"I thought we'd already patrolled tonight, Sam?" he said into the speaker.
He didn't hear it, but she did. His voice was distant, preoccupied. She knew what it meant, hated it with a passion because he was wrong about the truth, but there was nothing she could do about it.
"We did. The news is reporting a break in at the gaming store on Main. There's no commotion, just alarms. It's probably Technus."
She can't see it, but there's something that flashes through his eyes at her words. Guilt.
He'd been looking, and he hadn't even noticed it.
Those same questions flash through his mind, and they hurt. Why him? Why did they choose me?
He swallowed. "I'll be right there."
Her static-y huff would've made him laugh any other day. "Wait on me. I'd like to actually be at this fight, Danny."
It would have made him laugh, normally, but it didn't.
Danny shut off the ear piece before he heard her sigh.
He hung in the air for a second; locating the store she was talking about. There didn't seem to be anything amiss, but he knew as well as anyone that most storage rooms didn't have windows to show movement.
He felt his legs twist into a tail, and he sped off.
His thoughts would have to wait for another night.
That thought right there, the self-sacrifice that he was willing to make for his city, his people, proved the he was the right person.
Because he cared, he sacrificed, he loved, and he was willing to do it over and over and over.
Because fate knew that he was the only person in the world able to give and give and not think of himself.
Because they knew that he was one of the only person in the world that was worthy of being a hero, the only worthy to be Danny Phantom.
I felt sentimental. And sad. And this is what you get. How did I do? Is it good? Bad? Ugly? Feedback is very appreciated.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!