Free Spirit
8 years after a tragedy that forced him out to deal with life on his own terms, 24-year-old Danny thinks he's ready to liberate himself from his chains of guilt and self-doubt. But a long-forgotten enemy has been liberated as well—and Danny won't be a free spirit for long... DxS
A/N: Wow, whaddaya know? Not only is this my first DP fic, it's my first non-humor fic as well. How skilled am I? You can tell me in your reviews (I fully expect many variants of not very). I've never written angst before, so any tips would have me eternally in your debt.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE! (Butch turns up) Whoops, did I say mine? I mean yours! All yours...I'll just hide somewhere now...
Chapter 1: Ghost Town
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
Till then, I walk alone --Green Day, Boulevard of Broken Dreams
XxXxX
There is a town in North America whose name can make any small, impressionable child whimper, many adults shudder, and many a skeptic scoff. Some say it is bad luck. Some say it is cursed.
Some say it is haunted.
The town is called Amity Park. Beneath the hollowed-out facades of long-abandoned buildings, strange presences often make themselves known. Mysterious disappearances, unexplained screams when no one is around, and other inexplicable yet eerie events are commonplace here. Any people with sense and money had left years ago; some with sense but no money still inhabited the broken-down facsimiles of homes that line the cold and empty streets. The few surviving people with neither sense nor money continue to foolishly walk the streets at night. There aren't many of them left.
You don't go into the streets at night in Amity Park.
Try telling that to the man standing at the town's gates.
He didn't look like the usual array of idiots, drug addicts, prostitutes, and other dregs that inhabited the night alleys of Amity Park. Though his ice-blue eyes glanced from side to side, sizing up the shadows and what might occupy them, they didn't hold that dull, burned-out look common to the hopeless street scum that roamed the avenues at this late hour. His large black combat boots and camouflage pants put one in mind of a military veteran, but the only war he'd ever fought was that war that all city-dwellers fight: survival. His once-white shirt and worn leather jacket seemed poor insulation against the cold that permeated the air.
However, even Amity Park isn't chilly enough in mid-September to make one's breath visible. Regardless, every so often, the man would exhale a fine bluish mist that only served to accentuate the slight chill to anyone watching.
A slight breeze wafted down Main Street as he stepped from the highway into the city proper, rustling his raven-black hair as it passed. His breath still fanning out before him, he continued down the street, never breaking stride, as if he could walk the same route with his eyes closed.
It should come as no surprise to learn he was born and raised in Amity Park.
He stopped once, examining the wreckage of what was once a fast-food restaurant. He nudged the debris with the toe of his boot before shaking his head—almost knowingly—and walking on.
The second time he stopped, a grown woman, seeming to be about his age, stumbled out of an alleyway. When he first heard a rustle from her direction, he whipped his head around and his eyes seemed to shift from ice-blue to neon-green. It must have been a trick of the guttering streetlamps, though, for they were normal when she approached him.
"Looking for a good time?" she purred in a Hispanic accent, sizing him up with a hungry gleam in her cerulean-gray eyes. She gasped when they locked eyes. "Mi Dios... ...Fenton?" But he had already quickened his pace down the street, ignoring her.
If he knew where he was going, he gave no sign, but continued to stride purposefully forward. Finally, he stopped and gazed up at the shabby brick-and-steel façade of the only building in town not falling down or being used as a bomb shelter. Known to the city's inhabitants as "the Fenton place", the house actually served as a home to a family and not a mishmash of people eager only to scrounge up enough money to pay for bus fare (not that the buses visited Amity Park anymore).
When he rang the doorbell (which promptly popped out of its holding, trailing wires and sparking), Jack Fenton answered the door in fuzzy blue slippers and his trademark Day-Glo orange jumpsuit, holding a bat with a faded "Fenton Anti-Creep Stick" label on it and a large ectogun in the other.
"It's three in the morning, we're not buying, and if you're inhabited by a ghost, get off my front porch or eat hot Fenton Bazooka," Jack growled, still half-asleep.
The man just pushed raven-black wisps of hair out of his eyes, and said, "Nice to see you too, Dad."
Jack rubbed his eyes, peered at him, and gasped, "Danny? ...Is that you?" Danny nodded. Jack backed a few steps into the house, still regarding him warily. "Maddie!" he called.
They waited a few minutes for Maddie Fenton to join them. Jack kept a suspicious eye on Danny, not quite sure whether it truly was Danny or a really clever ghost faking. Danny just stood there, hands in his pockets, hair rustling in the slight breeze, every now and then exhaling a light vapor.
Maddie finally appeared in the doorway, holding the Fenton Weasel and looking very peeved through her orange goggles. "Jack, what is going on at three in the morning that requires my presence?" she snapped.
Jack pointed. "Honey, he says he's Danny," he explained, still uneasy.
"Jack, don't be ridicu--...Danny?" Maddie scrutinized him. "You're Danny," she said, more of a disbelieving statement than a question.
Danny nodded again. Maddie aimed the Fenton Weasel. "Okay, if you're our son, you must answer some questions or be torn apart molecule by molecule. Got it?"
Danny said, "Well, can I come in? It's cold out here." As if to punctuate this statement, his breath crystallized in the air again, only this time more visibly.
"Well..." Maddie looked at Jack, who shrugged. She turned back and said, "Okay, but you'll have to go through the ghost shield." As she said this, she moved her hand out of Danny's line of vision and pressed an unseen button. A glowing greenish translucent dome appeared over the house. Danny walked in right through it, throwing a wary glance over his shoulder as he did so. Maddie stuck her head out the door and muttered, "It isn't that cold out here..."
Danny turned to look at her, noting the Fenton Weasel still trained on him. "Doesn't going through the shield prove I'm not a ghost?" he asked.
"Just sit and answer," Maddie snapped.
Danny complied, keeping his hands spread wide face-down on the table before him. He seemed to be familiar with the routine.
"First question," Maddie snarled. "Where is the Emergency Ops Center Release button located?"
"Right next to the Emergency Ham, which has been spoiled for about ten years if it's still in there," Danny wearily responded. Maddie glared at Jack, who winced.
"I told you to throw that out...Okay, next question." Maddie glanced around, looking for inspiration, and said, "What is the secret ingredient in my Caramel Specter-Doodle Cookies that won me Best Cookie in the Amity Park Baking Contest?"
Danny raised an eyebrow, and said, "Ectoplasm."
Maddie looked shocked that he answered correctly. Jack looked horrified. "It is?" he asked. Maddie pointedly ignored the question. Jack added, "You know, Maddie, it could actually be Danny..."
"Our son, Jack, ran away when he was sixteen, and if that—" She flung an accusing finger at the man seated calmly at the table, "—is him, then he has a lot of explaining to do! Your final question," she snapped at Danny. "What prestigious science award is our daughter Jazz currently nominated for?"
Danny lowered his head to stare at his hands, which had begun to tremble violently. Then, barely above a whisper, he said, "Jazz died eight years ago in a tragic ghost-related accident."
Maddie dumped the Fenton Weasel, rushed over to the other side of the table, and buried Danny in a bone-crushing hug. "Oh, God, Danny," she sobbed, "...eight years, and you never called...not once..."
"I told you it was Danny," Jack grumbled.
Maddie finally released him, wiped her eyes, and whispered, "Why, Danny? Why did you run away? We all thought you had killed yourself until we saw that you'd taken Jazz's car and half the working inventions from the lab. Your friends refused to tell us anything, but now we want the truth. Why?"
Danny shifted in his seat, avoiding her eyes. "After Jazz died, I guess I felt...somewhat responsible. So...I just needed to get away—be somebody on my own...I didn't want to hurt you. I just needed to, you know, figure some things out."
"Felt responsible? Danny, unless you were the ghost who knocked six tons of concrete and steel onto Jazz's head, I doubt you have anything to feel responsible for!"
Danny just stared down at the tabletop without saying a word. Maddie hugged him again and whispered, "We missed you so much, hon."
Jack said, "Yeah! Now you can help us fight ghosts! Ever since you left, this town has been absolutely riddled with them. Except that ghost kid," he added. "Strangely enough, we haven't seen him since you've been gone."
"Yeah, that is strange," Maddie agreed.
Danny seemed to be getting jittery, so Maddie and Jack pulled out a blanket and let him sleep on the living room couch. As he sat down, Maddie hugged him and whispered, "Welcome home."
Danny looked out the window to see a homeless Asian guy in an old letter-jacket being chased by a large ghost panther. He remembered the desperate look on the face of the woman who'd stopped him in the street. He thought about how his normally amicable parents had hardened into people who threatened strangers at gunpoint.
"Home, sweet, home," he muttered darkly, and fell asleep.