Spy Guy: Man it's been a long time. I think I've bitten off more than I can chew with all my stories. This one's had to suffer, and it's my first. Sigh. Or the sequal to my first. I'm trying real hard to keep the quality up. I have some more written up for the next post, and it's much better than this. Had to figure out Dante's arc a little bit more, but I think I have it. :D I think. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom.
"Hey kid." Said a voice. "Kid. 'S time to get up. There's a bed all made up for you in my den. Come on."
Danny's eyes flickered open and he slowly sat up, yawning. The old man smiled, holding his hand out to the boy.
"Your friends told me what happened to your leg. Trees can be mighty dangerous things. Can ye get along alrigh'?"
"I manage." Danny replied, letting the man help him to the ground.
The house was a small one-story thing, paneled in dull yellow. Nearly dead plants hung from the eve over the porch, reminding Danny uncomfortably of withered hands.
Once inside, he saw a small living room, Tucker inside, unfolding a quilt and placing it on an old brown couch. The boy smiled at him.
"Danny. You're awake." He said. Danny nodded, following the old man down a narrow hallway. The carpet was beaten down…a kind of reddish brown color that reminded him of dried blood. Dull yellow paint was peeling off the walls, some covered up by black and white photographs. From the looks of it, this man was an army veteran.
The den was only slightly different. Instead of carpet, there was wood of the same color. The walls were pale blue, but much was impossible to see as it was covered by ancient newspaper clippings, yellow and curling at the edges. Danny could see the huge urgent headlines, but was unable to make any sense of it.
The man pointed to a beige chair with a thick blue blanket hanging over the side. A corduroy ottoman sat before it, a pillow lying on its surface.
"This is my chair." The man said. "Treat 'er nice."
Danny nodded as the man exited, shutting the door behind him.
A quiet fell over the room as the boy sat down, propping his leg up on the ottoman. He then pulled back the straps to his brace, sighing as he felt air on his leg once more. The knife tumbled to the ground, hitting the wood with a thunk.
"You were way more trouble than you were worth." The boy grumbled, stowing the dagger underneath the chair. Then he threw the brace aside, sighing deeply. His eyes scanned the many clippings on the walls. Most of them seemed to have faces of soldiers…various weapons…a few had factories.
But one caught the boy's eye.
It was a young boy in his teen years, hunched over a large machine twisting a bolt. His dark hair hung into his eyes, and a frown crossed his worn face. Danny immediately got to his feet, taking the article in his hands. After a moment of steadying himself, the boy's eyes scanned over the neatly typed words.
Gibberish. He couldn't read it.
He had to know what it said.
In a flash he changed into ghost, going intangible and floating down the hallway.
Tucker could read it for him. Danny approached the boy, shaking him awake. He mumbled something about computers before his eyes fluttered open.
"Danny?" He asked groggily, reaching to the arm of the couch where his glasses lay. "What are you doing out here?"
"Read this." The boy simply said, holding the clipping out. A green orb of light formed in his hand as he illuminated the text.
"Factory conditions investigated." Tucker read aloud, softly so no one would hear but he and Danny.
"Read the caption." The other boy urged. "The one under the picture."
Tucker nodded.
"'Fourteen year old Dante Spirito (pictured above) blames the death of his father on the horrid working conditions. His words on the matter were, "I'm afraid to leave home because I do not want my family to starve. Without my father, we are all suffering, but I can see why he died. There is no air in here and very little space. I go home coughing at night from the thick chemicals. My father was right. Work does make young men old…"
The sound of the gray haired man coughing came back to him, loud and clear.
"He's the next one Tucker." Danny whispered, pointing to the picture. "Dante Spirito is the next one. I had a dream about him. There was a man who said that. Dante is the next."
"You sure, Danny?" Tucker asked with a yawn. "What if you're wrong?"
"I'm not wrong." The boy insisted. "We have to stay here for a little while longer. You should pretend you're sick so we can stay."
"Me?" The boy asked. "Why not you?"
"I don't want to bring attention to myself, Tuck." Danny replied. "I'm not sure how far away we are, but word of a sighting is bound to spread. I'll be the million dollar ghost all over again."
"Fine." Tucker grumbled. "You should get back upstairs before someone sees you. If Dante is the next one, I would love it if we could stay on better terms with this guy than with Trey."
"Deal." Danny smiled, floating away. Tucker sighed, settling down once more…
Had to act sick…
Joy…
Loud noise thundered in his ears, giving him a huge relentless headache. The air was foul with the bitter scent of lubricant and paint. Danny coughed into his arm, taking a can in his hands. He poured some thick black liquid over a small bolt before he screwed it on. Then he took a huge wrench in his hand and placed it around a larger bolt.. His muscles rippled as he turned it, more sweat forming on his face. For a moment, his head felt faint and black spots danced before his vision. Danny reached a hand to his forehead, stumbling slightly before regaining his balance.
"Dante? You alright?" A man next to him asked.
"Just light headed." Danny replied. "It gets so hot in the summer."
"Just keep going." The other man chuckled dryly. "I hear there's sposed to be a war coming up. It's already started in Europe."
"We're not going to get involved." The boy replied. "It's not our business."
"Would you join if it did?" The other worker asked.
"I would have to serve this country." Danny replied. "Although I would feel torn between that and the home of my relatives. America is my birthplace. Even if things are going badly here."
The smell of eggs and bacon filtered through the house, sliding underneath the door of the den, and reaching Danny's nose. A smile crossed his face as he thought of the thick greasy foods he had had so long ago. How many times had he watched Vlad across from him, eating those very foods while he was forced to eat tasteless mush? Danny yawned, reaching over and taking his brace in his hands. After staring at it a moment, the boy threw it aside, struggling to his feet. He hated that thing. He didn't need it to get to the kitchen.
Danny stood up, pausing as he reached the door. He gulped, realizing how easily it could be locked. But…he could get out anyways, right?
The boy reached forward, taking the knob in his hands and turning it. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as the door swung open with ease. His hand ran over the wall as he limped along, his nose following the pleasant smells.
"Danny?" Asked a familiar voice. "What are you doing?"
Sam walked into view, wiping sleep from her eyes.
"Going to check on breakfast." The boy smiled. "What else?"
"Where's your brace?"
"I didn't want to put it on yet." Danny replied. Sam sighed, putting her hands on her hips.
"At least let me help you. Can't get yourself hurt."
Danny blushed as Sam placed her arm around his shoulders, pressing her body against his own. He stepped forward, heading on his way once more.
"Sam…" He whispered. "We need to stay here a few more days. The next person's name is Dante Spirito. The old man might know about him."
"You sure?" Sam asked.
"Yes. I told Tucker last night. He's going to pretend to be sick, but if that doesn't work, think of another plan, please?"
"Alright, just take it easy." He girl smiled. "We don't need to have a repeat of last time."
"No need to tell me again." Danny laughed softly.
The kitchen was small and round, only big enough for a dining table, stove, counter and refrigerator. The walls were the same color as the living room, the floor done in a dark brown laminate that was peeling around the edges. The old man was hunched over the stove, a pan held in his grasp, flipping eggs with a spatula.
"Good mornin'." He said cheerily, placing two eggs on a plate.
"You two 'ave a good sleep?"
"Very." Sam smiled, leading Danny over to a chair.
"Can you take this plate to yer friend? He seems under the weather today…"
"Sure." The girl said, hiding her distaste for the large mound of bacon on the side. Danny twiddled his thumbs as he watched the man work. Soon, another plate was set before him, smelling much better up close.
"Thank you, sir." The boy smiled, taking a fork in his hand.
"No problems." The man grinned, turning back to his work. Danny cut an egg up and then took a bite, savoring the semi salty flavor it had. He could almost see himself, eating this food while all Vlad could do was watch him.
It was a good feeling.
A few times, the sound of Tucker's sneezing could be heard from the living room. Sam was still in there, most likely giving him how to be sick tips.
Danny couldn't help but laugh softly at the thought.
"Is it good?" The man asked.
"Yes." Danny replied, having forgotten the man was in the room.
"Glad you like it." He laughed softly. "What would your lady friend like to eat? Is she one of them vegetarians? Most kids are now."
"Yes." Danny replied, stifling a laugh. "Just give her a salad without dressing."
The man nodded, taking a round green ball of lettuce from a bag on the counter. He cut it into small pieces, and placed it in a bowl.
"There. That's as fancy as a salad gets around here." The man grinned, setting it on the table. Then he placed a plate for himself down, and took a seat.
"What's you name, kid?" he asked, biting into a strip of bacon.
"Ummm…" Danny said, pausing.
"Dante." He finally replied, his eyes scanning the man's surprised look.
"Really?" The man asked. "Well gosh. I had a friend who went by that name once. My name is Andrew Brown, if you want to know.
"Hello, Mr. Brown." Danny said, nodding politely.
"The more I look at you, the more I see my old friend." Andrew murmured. "It's almost uncanny."
"Was his name really Dante?" The boy asked, taking another bite of eggs.
Andrew sighed, settling down in his chair.
"Dante Spirito." The man replied. "We were in the army together. He was one of the bravest men I met during those hard years . I actually have a picture of him in my den. Did you see it?"
"I'm not sure." Danny lied. "Could you show me? There's a lot."
Andrew nodded, pushing out his chair. The boy got to his feet, taking the man's hand for support as they headed along.
"Did the doctors say your leg would ever heal?" Andrew asked. Danny smiled, relived by such a simple question.
"Yes. Eventually. It's been bugging me for a while. It should get better, I just have to keep working it."
"S'good that you're copin so well."
He led the boy into the den, allowing him to sit down on the chair. Andrew searched for a moment, finally plucking the article from the wall.
"His family was mighty poor during the depression." He said, "He was a factory worker like his dad when the war started. He was in all sorts of picket lines and strikes. I even heard that this one organization tried to have him deported, even though he'd actually never been to Italy his'self."
"So he was Italian?" Danny asked.
"Yes." Andrew replied. " Italy's a wonderful place to see. It's full of magics that have been forgotten here. Dante carried that magic inside of him…"
The man took a long pause, his eyes scanning over the boy before him.
"I'm sure there's others out there. But, like my old friend, they's hiding. Maybe its best in these times."
Andrew smiled warmly pinning the article on the wall once more.
"Would you like me to bring the rest of yer food up here? You look tired."
Danny nodded, staring at the floor.
Danny could feel sweat beading across his forehead, rolling into his eyes, making them sting and burn. His hands gripped a wooden pole tightly, waving a ratty cardboard sign above his head. He could hear men shouting. Others screamed around him. But Danny didn't move. He would never move. Something told him he had to stay still. His instincts screamed at him that he had to stay still. A hand grabbed him toughly from behind, yanking him backwards. Another hand ripped the sign to pieces, throwing the remnants to the ground. Without the weight on the top to hinder it, the pole instantly became a weapon, striking Danny's attackers, and sending them to the ground.
One, a burly man with a greasy black hair, clutched his nose, spluttering through the crimson liquid that ran down his face.
"I don't know why the boss likes you, Spirito." He snarled. "If it were me, I would have blacklisted you a long time ago. Good work is not worth this!"
Danny could feel his eyes burning in anger, but he did nothing to quell it. His nails dug into his weapon, readying it for attack. The man struggled to his feet, brandishing a nightstick,