The Bruises
A Danny Phantom Fanfic
YAJJ
Summary: Lancer sees him coming in with new bruises everyday. He sees how skinny the boy gets. And he knows of the sleepless nights that Danny comes home to. And he knows what that means, and decides to sit the boy down for a chat.
Rating: T just to be safe, though it's probably fine at K+.
Disclaimer: As saddened as I am by it, I do not own anything in this story. :(
A/N: Recently got this idea (like, maybe two days ago?). I'm currently writing a big DP fic but I've got so many other ideas running around that I can't just focus on that. Also, 9 or 10 chapter suicide fic on the way. Anyone curious?
"Mr. Fenton, I'd like to speak with you after school."
Lancer looked at the black-haired boy, who looked up at him tiredly, eyes spread wide with surprise. A bruise blossomed just beneath his shirt sleeve, mostly hidden. Any other teacher might not have taken notice to it, and if they did they would have blown it off as nothing, as boys being boys. But Lancer knew differently. Dash rarely was that violent with Danny, not so much that he left bruises. And Tucker wasn't violent with Danny at all.
But, few teachers knew Danny as well as Lancer knew Danny. And, over the past several years, Lancer had come to know Danny and his family well.
Danny was still surprised. He stepped to the front of the class as the rest of the students walked out of the classroom, shoving him teasingly.
Lancer lifted an eyebrow. "After school, Mr. Fenton. Run along to your next class. But don't forget."
Danny swallowed. He yanked his sleeve down a little, covering the outside of the bruise nestled there. "Okay…" he shuffled his feet and slowly left, meeting up with Sam and Tucker outside. Lancer noticed the boy's limp, leaning heavily on his right side.
With a frustrated huff, Lancer turned his questions over in his mind. It was obvious, what was wrong with Danny. The young teen was being injured night after night. He wasn't sleeping as well as he should be. For a while now, Danny would fall asleep in class more than ever. He would never complete his homework anymore—he rarely did before, but any that had been taken care of before stood no chance now. Lancer was even trying to go easy on him, because he had read so many books on this that it was a wonder that he hadn't noticed before.
His thoughts drifted from Danny to Jazz. His suspicions had never been obvious on Jasmine, though the girl did look stressed and tired often, especially when Danny started his freshman year. But on Danny, since around then, the signs were all too obvious.
Before Danny, Lancer would never have suspected the Fentons. They were good people. Jack was boisterous and child-like, Maddie was loving and strong. Well, that's what they showed. Was there another side of them that they hid away from the public? A side that young Danny saw at his place, near every night?
Lancer shuddered at the thought. He looked up at the clock when the bell rang. He was relieved that he had fifth block prep. Any other day, he would head home now and correct papers in the comfort and safety of his home. But he had to wait, because as long as Danny remembered, he would have a visitor after school.
'Perhaps I should call his class and remind him…' For most other students, Lancer would trust that they would remember, especially if they had just been told at the end of last block. But Danny Fenton was Danny Fenton, and his situation was important, so Lancer thought that he might call around the last few minutes of school. Being the school's vice principal did have its perks. He had access to all of the students' schedules and personal files. So, Lancer scribbled 'Call Lizabet' on a pad of sticky notes, removed it, and stuck it to his computer screen.
He corrected his students' papers until two, when he chose that was a good a time as any to call Lizabet and ask her to remind Danny. He dialed the number that he so easily memorized and held it patiently to his ear.
"Hello, Lizabet Render."
"Hello Lizabet. It's Mr. Lancer."
"What can I do for you, Mr. Lancer?"
"I would appreciate if you would remind a student in your class, Daniel Fenton, that I would like him to come speak with me after school. Would you mind?"
"Not at all, Mr. Lancer. I'd be glad to. Anything else?"
"That's all. Thank you, Lizabet." Lancer hung up the phone, looking down at him, feeling like he should have said something else. Like, that it was urgent, or that he should be quick about it. Something to make sure that he stayed there. Anything. But he wasn't about to call Lizabet back about it, that would be embarrassing, for him, Lizabet, and Danny. He finally decided to stand outside of his classroom and watch for his young student. He had seen Danny pass his room more than once on his way to his locker once school was out.
Lancer stood outside of his school, Great Expectations held tightly in his hand. His eyes barely scanned the pages, mostly keeping track to watch for his troubled student…
Yup, there he was, with Sam and Tucker on either side of him, looking concerned. Sam cooed like a mother hen, while Tucker took to looking Danny over. Danny seemed to be trying to hide away from both of them, his pale skin glowing with a heavy blush. As the trio walked past, Lancer coughed into his fist. Danny looked at him, dipped his head, and gave a small nod. Yes, he remembered. Yes, he'd gotten his call. And, even more importantly, yes, he'd be there. Lancer nodded in reply, dipped into his classroom, and settled at his desk. He allowed Great Expectations and Pip to fill his mind, if only for a few minutes.
"…Erm… you wanted to see me…?"
Lancer closed Great Expectations without looking up at the speaker. He recognized the tired, scratchy voice of his student. He finally looked up at the boy, who looked so much smaller than usual. "Yes, Mr. Fenton, I did." He said loosely. He crossed his arms and leaned back on his computer chair. "I was just wondering how your… home life has been, at the moment."
"My home life?" asked Danny, lifting an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, how are things going at Fenton Works? You are well? Getting enough to eat? Sleeping well?"
Danny's mouth was dropped open a little, and Lancer could see that his mind was spinning. Soon, though, the spinning stopped and the gears in the boy's mind sputtered to life. "what… is this about, Mr. Lancer?" he asked.
Lancer huffed at the ignorant young mind. Perhaps he should try to avoid beating around the bush; maybe straightforward would work best. "Daniel, I know that you haven't been sleeping very well. You used to fall asleep in my class, but never so deeply or for so long." He said.
"So? I'm busy. I don't have time at home." Danny denied, sitting on the desktop behind him. He dropped his backpack onto the seat.
"No time to do your homework, or eat, or even get a wink of sleep?" asked Lancer. He sat forward and folded his hands together. "Danny, what's going on is very serious. Maybe you don't understand the repercussions of your parents' actions, but trust me, I do. I've seen the bruises, Danny."
"Wait, wait, wait. My parents' actions? Since when were we talking about them?" asked Danny, leaning forward a little.
"They, and you, are exactly what this entire conversation was going to be about. I thought it best to bring it up to you before I did to your parents, in case they got a little… short." Lancer explained evenly. He shuddered inwardly at the thought. If something happened to Danny because of him… he'd never forgive himself.
"In case they got short? Why would they get short?" Danny demanded, standing. Lancer noticed that he favored his right leg.
"I don't know," said the teacher, pointing to Danny's obviously injured left leg, "you tell me."
"You… think they did this?" Danny clearly understood what Lancer was implying, finally.
Lancer nodded solemnly, not saying a word.
Danny laughed aloud. "You think my parents did this…" he repeated, holding a hand to his mouth.
Lancer tipped an eyebrow to the astonished boy. He lifted his chin a little, watching for the boy to bubble into tears and admit that it was the truth.
But Danny didn't. He turned to lean on the desk and stifle his giggles. He looked to his teacher once they were gone, wiping away tears of laughter. "My parents didn't do this. They wouldn't do this. They—" the boy stopped, his eyes clouded darkly. He looked away from Lancer and out to the sky.
Lancer nodded in approval at the slow admittance. Something had made the boy lie, but then forced the truth out of him. That much was apparent. "Tell me, Danny. Was it Jazz?" he asked.
Danny looked away from the sky and peered out of the corner of his eye at his teacher. "Was what Jazz?"
"Did it start when Jazz left? Did it start before Jazz left? I remember seeing you start this… this new you, this kid who always fell asleep and such in the middle in the class, in the middle of first semester, your freshman year. Do you remember that? You weren't like that before that."
Danny sucked in his cheek. He slid back into the seat. "Since there is no it, no, it did not start 'when Jazz left'." He huffed and slumped. "It's just been getting harder without her."
Lancer lifted his head at the words, nodding. He leaned forward in his chair, crossing his arms on his desk firmly. "What has, Danny? Anything that you want to talk about?"
Danny growled defensively. He crossed his arms, metaphorically blocking Lancer from him. "No."
"No?" asked Lancer, shocked. Why didn't the boy speak up? "Danny. If it makes you feel better, nothing that you tell me here will leave this room." He even stood and meaningfully shut the door. "Nothing."
Danny bit his lip, but then looked back to the sky. He leaned forward a little and laid his head on his folded arms, watching the clouds slowly float by. He ignored his growling stomach, but Lancer couldn't.
"Why don't you eat enough?" he pressed coolly. "Do your parents not let you eat enough? Do they keep you up? Is that why you always fall asleep in my class? Is that why you never finish my assignments? Daniel, if it's something like that, let me know. I can ease up on the assignments, I can—"
"Stop it!" Danny snapped. He had risen to his feet, his fists were clenched tightly. His eyes were glowing—green, amazingly enough. "My parents don't—they love—they couldn't—" Danny puffed his cheeks out, glaring at his teacher. Shaking, he dropped back into his chair. "Why would you think…" he weaved his fingers together, setting his elbows on his knees.
"The bruises," said Lancer evenly, "The ravenous hunger at lunch, the snarling stomach in the morning. The constant uncompleted assignments. The falling asleep daily in my class, from the moment the bell rings at the start to the second it rings at the end." Lancer lifted his head a little, watching the boy for movement of some kind, some kind of affirmation or declination.
Danny glared at him. "They all have an explanation, and that explanation has nothing to do with my parents." He said. But his face said something different. Uncertainty tugged at his irises, shields built up, shields that were too often put up. Lancer had spent too many years watching the people in his school when he'd been nothing more than a young adolescent, keeping his eye on people to see if they were in a good enough mood to just leave him be, to not recognize the signs behind his eyes.
Lancer drummed his fingertips on the desktop. "Then what, exactly, is this 'explanation'? I can't help but think that you're just covering up for them. Why would you do that? If they're hurting you, Daniel, you needn't defend them. You can tell me. I can get you out of there as soon as you need." He said reassuringly. He stood and strode around to stand in front of the desk and look closely at Danny. He looked over the boy, searching for something that could tell him what the answer to this problem was.
"I don't need you to get me out of there." Danny growled. "I need you to leave me alone."
"Why? Don't want the truth to come out?"
"There is no truth! Do you want them to beat me up or something? Do you want me to get my butt kicked every day from them, or something?" Danny demanded.
"No, that's not what I want."
"Then why do you keep saying that they do do it?!"
"I just want you to be safe!" Lancer snapped.
Danny winced.
Lancer looked to the side and took a deep breath, counting to ten twice, one to inhale and one to exhale. Once he'd regained his composure, he looked to his student, who was shaking still, frustrated at his teacher's actions and words. Lancer wondered if Danny was frustrated because he was guessing really wrong… or because he was guessing right, but Danny didn't want him to. "Look, Daniel," he said firmly, "I ask you one question, and I'd like the truth. I can see all of your bruises and cuts and everything. I see them, fresh ones, nearly every day. Tell me the truth, Danny, where did they come from?"
Danny looked down at the desk and clutched his hands together. "I… can't tell you…" he whispered.
"Why not? Is it putting your life in danger?"
Danny didn't answer. That was all the answer that Lancer needed.
"Are your parents putting your life in danger?"
"…No…"
Lancer really didn't like that pause. He looked over the boy suspiciously.
"They're not!" Danny yelped when he saw Lancer's scrutinizing.
"Why don't I believe you?" asked Lancer.
"Why don't you mind your own business?" Danny snapped.
"Because you used to be a great student, one of my favorites when you actually pay attention to the lesson. But you changed, and I'm worried, and as your teacher I have a right to make sure that everything's alright at home."
Danny huffed. "Yes. Everything at home is dandy. Perfectly fine." He held up his three middle fingers almost childishly. "I swear."
Lancer's lips tipped up into a smile at the little action. "Cute." He chuckled.
Danny sighed. "There's nothing wrong. And even if there was, it's not like I could tell you. You wouldn't understand. If it makes you feel any better, if something goes wrong, I promise that I'll tell you. Alright?" the boy shivered, and Lancer could suddenly see the boy's breath. What the hell… it wasn't as if it was cold in here… "Okay?" Danny pressed, looking anxious. The boy peered out of the window.
Lancer glanced the way the boy was looking, thinking that perhaps his potentially-violent parents were ushering him along. "…Yeah, okay. Anytime you need to talk to me, okay?"
"Yeah, okay, okay. I will. Can I go?"
Lancer watched the boy shift his weight from one foot to the other—he noticed that the boy's pathetic limp wasn't as heavy anymore, and he was astounded. It had been a bad limp yesterday. Was he already healed? "Make sure that you tell me if something is wrong. Okay?" he glanced to his desk, where Great Expectations was resting, with Pip and his many adventures waiting to be read. The boy had said that he would tell… "You can go."
"Thank you!" Danny slipped away from the desk and practically flew to the door. Wait… practically flew? No, his feet hadn't touched the ground for much longer than they should have…
"Danny!" Lancer called as Danny swept the door open and slipped out. "Promise to tell me if something's wrong."
Danny paused and nodded. "I will." He promised. He slammed the door shut and rushed down the hallway. Lancer saw a light flash behind him as he collapsed into his desk and picked up Great Expectations. He frowned, thinking over the past conversation.
He still didn't know what to think. Was Danny being hurt by his own parents? His words told him 'no', but his actions told him 'yes'. He would just have to keep his eye on the youngster. If something proved wrong, he would make sure that the boy was well taken care of. If not… well, then they could just pretend that this talk had never happened.
Lancer took no notice when a blur of black and white burst forth from the school and attacked a blue and green robot ghost outside. And he definitely didn't notice the little limp when the blur hit the ground and struggled to his feet. If he had noticed, he perhaps would have found the answer to his questions, because he would have seen the exact same injuries on two different people. Well, one person and one mysterious ghost-hero-boy, that is.
