Danny is about 16 in this, it's only about five months since he got away from his parents. This is probably post-erasure, but it may not be. Be sure to leave a review! And for those who didn't read the AN in the first chapter, this is a Hidden Phantom side-story fic. Mostly one-shots here.
June 1993
Danny walked out of the general store quickly, pulling his dark grey, Dallas Cowboys hoodie further over his head, white draw-strings hanging loosely over the front. He cast an anxious look over his shoulder out of habit. He could not escape the constant feeling of being watched. The bags he carried were looped around both of his arms, and though they looked heavy to the casual onlooker, they were actually weightless to the young halfa.
Old men were the most common around and inside the store, although a few younger fellows hung out with their dates by the counter, where ice cream sundaes were sold. Danny, however, did not have the money, or the correct mood, to enjoy the atmosphere, one of a small country town, most of the citizens happy with what they had, content, but too sluggish for the sixteen year old. He had lived life on the edge for too long, and had the air of a veteran. An aura radiated from the youth, one of danger, which subconsciously forced others away from him, the instinct to run from that which was dead overcoming any small-town friendliness towards strangers, and heightening the suspicion of the gossips.
An elderly woman with a tight bun that equaled her terse temperament, complimenting her sharp features, though endowed with a lovely voice that was said to be mismatched to her appearance, glared at him with a look that said that he had personally offended her by entering her presence. It had once been said that she could charm a skunk with her voice and looks, but now she seemed unable to think that perhaps he was in trouble, rather than the trouble itself. She murmured, "Kids these days, not what they used to be, I tell you! That one there, he's a real trouble monger, no doubt about it." She had drawn her conclusion from his dress, the hoodie and ripped jeans a trademark, or so she thought, of the degeneration of the day's children. Even worse were the women trouncing around in dark eyeliner, claiming to be "goths", as though such a thing could be natural. Her own granddaughter was one, and she disapproved strongly of the culture.
Danny, though possessing of a finely-attuned sense of hearing, ignored the muttered comment, ignored the pressing of the people in the vicinity to get away from the instinctive danger that set their senses rattling like alarms, ignored the curious stares of some of the younger generation, filled with curiosity at the stranger's appearance in their midst. Instead, he continued his slow trot forward, glancing around constantly, giving the appearance of a bird, never really resting, always searching for danger from any corner.
With eyes only for his course, and for the dangers his paranoid state conjured around him, he did not expect an elderly man to approach him.
The man was colorful, the perfect image of an eccentric relative. He was hoary, yet seemed more alive than the youngest present, poised despite the cane, with an attitude that only served to convey his complete presence in the present, and confident in a way that so many others lacked. He cared not for the danger that rattled his senses, for he had many times served in dangerous situations, a veteran himself, and sensed in the boy a kindred spirit.
He came within a few feet of the wary boy, smiling reassuringly, allowing generous room for personal space. The black-haired boy watched his every move, a squirrel-like curiosity mixed with the twitchiness of a bird. Combat seemed to be inscribed in his every feature, his will one of iron, prepared to run or fight at any moment. The man did not seem to care at all for the possibility of attack, instead allowing himself to appear as non-threatening as humanly possible.
Danny waited for the elderly man to make some sort of move, either an attack, or a simple walk by him that would cumulate in his being ignored. Instead of allowing Danny to relax, the ancient man leaned forward and said, with a small smile, "Hello!"
This simple gesture of human politeness stunned Danny, leaving him frozen for an instant. He might have been nearly finished with high school, yet few talked to him, and even fewer used such a friendly tone. Danny stared, before stuttering out, "H-Hello, sir." He half-prayed he was polite enough to pass this man's approval, though the lack of it would not truly affect him in a negative or positive way.
His response seemed to please the man, whose smile grew in size, confusing Danny with the brightness of it. "Ben, over there," here the old man gestured to a teen with brown hair stationed at the corner, "can help you carry those groceries if you need help. I myself get a little help when I come shopping, and there's none better here for the job." The teen in question shifted uneasily, clearly unwilling to help the ghostly human in their midst, yet managed to struggle a few feet closer despite the aura.
"No, sir," Danny responded softly. "I can manage." In a way, these lines represented his life. He could manage everything thrown at him, or at least put on a good act of doing it.
Somehow, seemingly sensing the dual nature of his reply, the elderly man responded calmly, "Asking for help is not a bad thing. You look lost-would you like a meal? The Simmering Cup sells them at a small price, and you look like you could use one." It was true enough. The boy looked like a street child, ragged and torn at the edges, never relaxing in the slightest. He was as thin as a reed, nay, thinner, as though the slightest breeze would blow him away.
"N-no. I'm fine, sir," The boy denied.
The man would not take no for an answer. The boy clearly needed help, and the man would be damned if he didn't try to give some. Too many had he seen fall into a shadow without aid from someone outside themselves, and he could see the trauma just under the saran-wrap mask, waiting to lure him into a dark corner and ambush him before he could fight back.
Instead, the man intruded into the boy's personal space, letting his hand drift close to the boy, before retracting it when he seemed to withdraw slightly. He used a deal he hoped would work, "I'll pay."
With those words, he could see the boy's resolve crumbling. He knew not to push it farther yet, to instead allow for three, two, one, "You won't owe me anything. It's my pleasure to help you, and I'd be quite willing to do it for free."
A spark flared in the boy's eyes, before he protested, "B-but I can't let you do that for me. I n-need to d-do something if you plan on doing something like that."
The man took a mental step back, realizing he had made a mistake, backtracking. "If you are determined to pay me, I could ask you to do a little yard work for me, and call it even." He knew he had saved himself with that line, and he could see the bonds that kept the boy from accepting loosening.
"My name is Caleb Wilson." The man stated, once again extending his hand. This time the boy slowly reached forward, allowing himself to shake the man's hand. There was no reply to his comment as he waited.
The boy seemed confused by the pause, as in fact he was panicking, though it took an instant for the former piano player and current veteran to notice the frantic glance he cast around.
Danny had panicked the instant he realized he was being asked his name, and almost shut down. He glanced sharply around, looking for inspiration. He needed-a memory popped to mind involuntarily.
"…your teacher for this year's English, Mr. William Lancer!"
"M-my name is William. Err, Daniel Williams." A burning blush crept up his cheeks, and he anxiously rubbed his neck, hoping the possibly insane man hadn't noticed the pause that would indicate the lying nature of his speech.
Caleb nodded. The lie was obvious, but calling the newly dubbed Daniel out on it would doubtless destroy the modicum of trust he had been given, enough to at least allow the boy to not dodge him entirely, and to allow the boy to tolerate going out to eat with someone he didn't know. "The Cup is just around the corner."
The walk was short, and little conversation was made, though as they walked Danny grew more at ease, if only slightly, and he ceased to watch the man, sure he was not a threat, or at least he could be easily escaped should the need arise. They arrived at the Steaming Cup, where Danny ordered black tea, rice, chicken, and an orange, and Caleb got sweet tea, a salad, and fried tenders. A benefit of that particular location was the relaxed atmosphere, undisturbed even by the aura Danny radiated. Part of the reason, of course, lay in the fact that Danny was containing it as well as he could, pulling it in and pushing out calm, like breathing. Haunting auras were irritating, and his had only recently emerged noticeably, so he didn't have much control.
Though the older man tried to start a conversation with him, Danny focused on the food and drink, guzzling it like a starved wolf. Caleb, on the other hand, ate politely, ignoring the bad manners the younger boy possessed, probably born out of a need to eat his food before it could be taken away. He observed the boy closely, hoping for more hints as to the nature of the problem, and thus, how to proceed.
Quickly eaten food-has been taken away in the past.
Wariness-mostly gone, probable cause frequent attacks or abuse.
Clothes-Stolen, due to the good quality and recent tears. Not old, probably less than two months.
Dirtiness-no place to live, or else bad habits. Well-cleaned hands, so likely street living.
Inability to sit still-nervous, unable to fully relax.
Purple under eyes-insomnia, nightmares, or inability to sleep. Probably nightmares, given the good weather lately.
Scarring-this was one Caleb almost didn't notice, except that there were thin white lines peeking out from under his hair in a few places, and his sleeves slipped up, revealing a multitude of scars, some appearing deliberate and straight, others accidental or unwanted, revealed by their jagged nature.
He watched the boy plow through his food, and made a decision. He couldn't eat all the food he had, so he scooped some of it off into Daniel's plate.
"Sir? Mr. Wilson? That's your food," the boy commented, clearly bewildered by the gesture, leaning away from the reaching hands.
"It is, but I'm not very hungry, and you obviously are. I would rather you didn't starve to death," the man stated, giving his reasons, though holding back how much he was reminded of his brother by the boy. Danny started a protest, but was cut off with a sharp, dry, "If you plan on helping me in my yard, you shouldn't be so empty you collapse on your first swipe with the rake."
Danny gave in. "Thank you, sir." He was grateful for the food, even if it felt like he was a pig for taking it. He was conscious of his wild appearance and managed to slow his eating, careful now to use his silverware and wipe his hands and mouth every once in a while with the napkin provided. He left the hoodie up, however. He didn't want the elderly man opposite him to see everything, though the hoodie had slipped briefly earlier, and Caleb had certainly noticed, judging by the gaze that had been cast at his scars.
He finished the food, even with a large amount, before Caleb took his last bite, and gulped the last of his tea in record timing. He set the cup down with a chink sound, and waited quietly. Mr. Wilson probably wouldn't want him to leave, especially since he had promised to help with the older man's yard.
Finally, Caleb ate the last of his chicken tenders, tipped the waitress, and got up with a creak and groan from the chair and himself, leaving to pay the people at the register. Danny followed him, and Caleb led him out, knowing that if he let Danny out of his sight for long, it was likely that in such a large crowd (it seemed like a large crowd to the locals, it being the tourism season, and them having the finest fudge in North Carolina) he would bolt.
Caleb himself fought the instincts that told him such a large crowd was dangerous, and pushed his way through it, finding his car in a matter of about five loud minutes. He settled in the front driver's seat, and Danny started to sit in the back before Caleb snorted and told him, "Get in the front, Danny. The back is crowded and cramped, and there's plenty of room up front." With a little sigh, the teen obeyed him, settling quietly in for the thirty-minute drive to the man's house, uneasy with his proximity, but slowly relaxing once more.
The conversation was small until they reached the house where the man lived. It wasn't quite a shack, just a little run down, with weeds growing rampant and vines climbing the side of the walls. Bits of broken items were scattered across the area, glittering in the mid-day sun. Blue china and red glass flashed, and glittering yellows and greens mingled. Caleb didn't like how run-down his home was-far from the abode he'd been born in in New York, but it did do its job.
"This, Daniel, is my home. I know it looks bad, and you don't need to do too much work, just do as much as you like," Caleb stated, introducing his home to Danny. With a light shake of his head and a little flash of a grin at Danny's startled expression, probably envisioning the loads of work it would take to do much of anything here, he led the boy to the decrepit tool shed, where ancient tools stood beside a massive weed-eater, machinery large due to the early-model nature of the equipment. He told Danny what not to do, and what to do (if he was willing), and sent him off, wondering how long it would take the boy to finish any of the work around the place.
Amazingly, the teen came back two hours later, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, flopping dramatically into a chair with a sigh that expressed his complete exhaustion, but with a happy smirk on his face that bespoke of something strange. When he had regained the energy to move again, he led Caleb around the yard, enjoying the awe displayed when Caleb saw the degree of work completed. The grass was much shorter (thanks, duplication), the glass was removed (intangibility), and the vines on the house had been removed (again, intangibility). A few trees were uprooted, due to super strength, though Caleb certainly wasn't told the abilities part, and Danny allowed him to be shocked over the work completed.
As he returned, preparing to leave again, Caleb said, "Daniel…Daniel, would you like to stay here?"
Danny just stared blankly, unsure he'd heard correctly. Finally, he stuttered a reply, "B-but you only just met me, and I have stuff to do, and I can't-"
Caleb cut him off. "You need someone to help you. I know you don't have a family, I know you're a street child. I can offer a deal. If you stay here, you clean the rest of my yard and fix as much of the house as you can. If you want to stay afterwards you can, but at least the first part will be a fair trade, and the next part can just be interesting." He was deadly serious. Danny had done a great job, and he needed help anyway, so he could pay the boy for the work, set him up a little, and maybe try to heal some of the gaping wounds that seemed hidden, though ineffectively, beneath everything. In the mean-time, he didn't believe the boy would stay unless he had a good reason, and so it made for beneficial bait for both parties.
With hidden happiness, the lonely teen responded, "I guess it wouldn't be bad. If you really mean it, that is."
He shifted a tad nervously, hoping he wasn't intruding by agreeing, and his concerns were soothed when the man responded with enthusiasm, "Thank you! Now that that's decided, I'll take you shopping in the morning for new clothes, and hopefully more food."
Danny proffered his own food, which Caleb accepted with a grateful smile, and set up a bed out of spare blankets in the main room, before curling up on it, exhausted by the tough day of physical labor, and falling asleep without even a bite of supper.
