Author: Alicia of the Temptation.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, materials, etcetera, are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is, in no way, associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Title: Freefall.

Rating: Mature.

Fandom: Danny Phantom.

Summary: I guess I have to go through that promise I made to Tucker.

Word Count: 1, 956.

Warnings: Discussion of mental illnesses, including depression and disassociation, and of self-injury and suicide.

Notes: I'm having a hard time balancing college and free time, so updates will be sporadic. I really like writing this, and I hope I'm doing the best I can. I'm using a little of my own experiences while writing this story, which makes it easier, at least. Please, enjoy!


Chapter Seven

Slow Day


Everyday wasn't a day to angst and mull over his current half-dead status. Eventually, there would be a slow day where he would have plenty of time to think about his life, his friends and family, the ghosts he encounters. Even himself. One slow day came right along a Monday, which meant he didn't have to leave his bed insanely early to go to classes he stopped caring about a while ago.

Mondays also meant his parents would drive over to the town neighboring Amity Park, Pineville, and Jazz would be in her scheduled class for the dual-enrollment program she was in. The best part of this particular Monday? Teacher work day, meaning there wasn't a class to actually go to in the first place. The break made the guilt in Danny's thoughts lessen for the day.

Okay. So he might do a little angsting.

Danny curled himself underneath his bed-covers, which was more out of habit than necessity. Ever since his cyrokinesis developed, the halfa rarely felt cold. Most of the time, it was the opposite. He was ridiculously overheated, even on days when hail or snow fell, or some weird ectoplasmic mutation of the two did, instead. In some way, his ability to control his core's nature helped when there wasn't really anyone to comfort him, or who understood how to comfort him.

Sometimes, he didn't want hugs and back rubs. He didn't want "it's going to be okay's" or "everything will get better's;" sometimes, Danny just wanted someone to sit next to him, just to know that person was there for him. Just to know the person was actually there; a human being with warm hands and a beating heart. Because, although he made many allies in the Ghost Zone, having someone with no beating heart or warm hands to calm him down next to him just freaked him out even more than usual.

Maybe I'm the best comfort I have for myself, Danny concluded, eyes narrowing. I'd sound like a normal, lonely teenager if it weren't for the fact I've got a fucked up metabolism. Hell, a fucked up life.

He supposed it could've been worse. His parents obsessed over ghosts, but they weren't neglectful. They were just…blind to what their son was going on. Danny guessed it was partially his fault; he never did tell his parents about his ghost powers. And he didn't want to bother them now with ghost powers combined with emotional turmoil.

Danny clicked his tongue, They'd probably think it's puberty or something stupid like that.

For a moment, he was reminded of his talk with Tucker. How he promised to go to Vlad, see if the older halfa experienced something similar to Danny. The thought of going to that man had Danny clenching his fists. His thoughts went back to last week, when he smashed Vlad's gift with his bare hands, leaving shards of glass into the palm of his hands.

His trash hadn't been cleaned out yet, and the glass shards were still in the bag.

The thought made Danny push himself out of bed. It was the middle of a Monday afternoon, which means there would be too much activity going on in Amity Park. Even if he flew high into the air and went invisible, the point of falling was to do so while human, in order to increase the feeling of being human. He couldn't do that when there was a dozen people in the streets below him. Tucker caught him falling weeks ago during the middle of the night; falling during the day would lead to a catastrophe.

Danny looked over to his trash can, which was situated in front of his bedside cabinet. Underneath crinkled candy wrappers and abandoned homework assignments lay the remains of the miniature spaceship and its glass case. Danny reached down into the trash, and carefully dug out the shiniest piece of glass. It was the thinnest shard, just a hint thicker than his fingernail, with a smooth edge that shined in the light of his bedroom.

The brunet stared at the glass piece, looking over the edge left from his show of strength. In his hands, it looked more like crystal than plain glass, something beautiful and dangerous in the wrong hands. Danny wondered if he could mimic the same shock of sensation from breaking the glass by cutting his palms with the remains.

Immediately, Danny dropped the shard, as if he had been burned.

What the fuck is wrong with you, Fenton?! Danny scooted away from the place in his bed he had been, clawing into his sheets, instead of into the glass. Cutting yourself? Seriously? As if the crying and the falling wasn't bad enough for you!

It was already bad enough with the crying, the anger, the feeling of being unreal. Adding physical pain to the mix is like adding arsenic to vodka; you won't really taste it until you're already dead. And he was having trouble being half-dead.

Did he want to die completely? Hell fucking no. No, fucking thanks.

Did he want to cut himself? One, he was wounded enough as it was after fighting the ghosts he crossed paths with. He didn't want more unnecessary,inexplicable wounds on his body. Two, even if he was injured, intentionally or not, the ectoplasm in his blood and muscles would heal his skin as soon as he ate a full meal. The effort in making himself put a blade to his skin would have been for naught.

Danny brought his knees up to his chest, then rested his forehead on them. He hugged his legs closer to him, and curled, and curled, himself as tightly as his body allowed. When the ache in his abdomen and back began from the position, Danny focused on that pain. He didn't have to break open his skin to feel a physical ache. All he had to do was stay in his human form.

If he could stay in his human form for more than half a day, maybe the feeling of being stuck would go away.

But, as soon as that thought was complete, his lungs filled with burning cold air, and Danny watched as his breath fogged out from his lips. There was a ghost nearby, close, given the larger plume of fog coming from his lungs. When Danny unfolded himself from his position, he was able to see just which ghost it was.

"Hello, my boy."

"Plasmius."

I guess I have to go through that promise I made to Tucker.

Vlad immediately shifted from his ghost state to his human state, immaculate as always. He dusted off the shoulders of his suit, and look over to Danny with dark gray eyes that were difficult to read. "It's been a while since I've last seen you, Daniel."

"A week, Plasmius."

"Oh, come now," Vlad said with a dry smile. "Just call me Uncle Vlad. I'm not in my ghost form."

"Doesn't make you any less threatening," Danny replied, eyes narrow. "What the Hell do you want?"

"Language, Daniel," Vlad chided, approaching Danny's desk to sit down on the chair in front of it. He crossed his long legs easily, and folded his hands over his knee. "I couldn't help but remember your tantrum last week."

"It wasn't a tantrum, you old fuck," Danny hissed. "I was having a bad day, is all."

"Hm, yes. We all have bad days, Daniel," Vlad said, ignoring the insult. "But, it's merely a matter of how we control ourselves during those bad days. Surely you wouldn't understand, seeing as you're a mere child-"

"Did you come here to patronize me?" Danny asked between his teeth, "Or did you have something substantial to say?"

"I'm getting to that, Daniel," Vlad answered. "As I was saying, you are a mere child. However, it does not excuse your feelings and how you decide to show them. The damage you made to your hands was…unsettling…and I merely wanted to know how badly you felt so as to let your anger take form."

"How badly I-" Danny scoffed, and lied back down onto his bed. He brought the bedsheets to him, and covered himself from neck to toe. "How I feel is none of your fucking business, Plasmius."

"I believe it is," Vlad said. "You are not only the son of my dear old friends, but you are also my arch-rival, and I cannot have someone I fight with be distracted by such troubling thoughts."

"Troubling thoughts? I'm half-dead, Vlad. And to make matters worse, there hasn't been a ghost to fight or a project to turn in for several weeks, and I'm not doing a thing. And when I don't do anything, my mind starts wandering. And when that happens, I start to fucking lose it!"

Danny covered his mouth with his hands and screamed into his palms. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth to bite into the cool skin of his hands. But, before he could bite hard enough to open his skin, his hands were taken away from him.

Vlad held the boy's hands in his own hands. It was a strange happenstance; Vlad's hands were warmer than Danny's and his skin was rough from age and years of fighting. For a moment, Danny wondered if his hands would be just as worn as Vlad's, or if his ice powers would keep his skin smooth and cold for the rest of his life.

"Daniel," Vlad swallowed. "Danny. I understand why you're thinking like this."

"No, Vlad, you-"

"Do not even finish that sentence," Vlad said, hissing at the end. "I've been a halfa since the eighties, almost ten years before you were even conceived. Before your parents were even dating." He held onto Danny's hands a little tighter.

"If anyone knows the difficulties in being a halfa, it is most definitely me. I know exactly what it feels like to look at your hands and think you cannot control them. I know what it feels like to look at your reflection, and wonder if it really is you the mirror is showing. I know exactly what it feels like to want to take a blade to your skin, or fall from a great distance only to pick yourself up again. I know exactly what you are feeling, Danny."

Danny stared at Vlad, at his enemy, at the only person who honest to God understands his feelings. And, for a moment, just a moment, he felt grateful. He felt his chest open, almost releasing the emotional tension within his ribs. However, Danny clicked his tongue again, and pulled his hands away from Vlad's. He could feel his eyes prickle from tears, and cool down from his powers. His powers never failed to make an appearance when he felt horrible.

"Then why does it happen?" Danny murmured. "Why do I have to feel like God or the cosmos, or whomever, or whatever, threw me into this giant pool of water. Why do I feel like I'm unable to come back up to the surface? Why do I feel like I can only look at my friends, my family, and my classmates, but I could never really see them? Why do I have to…why do I have to bother?"

"Danny?"

Danny looked down at his lap, his head falling lower, his shoulders slumped over. "Why do I have to bother having these powers, being a hero when no one else can, being here when no one else is? Why…why am I not allowed to just feel happy and calm for once?"

The boy looked up at the man, who was quiet, face filled with worry. "Why can't I just stop breathing?"