1: Because Danny's not comfortable.

TW: Abusive relationships, drug abuse, stabbing, suicidal thoughts. Tune away if you're uncomfortable, be safe.

Danny broke his ankle performing on stage. No one liked it, least of all their manager, who had to worry about Bobbi fussing over Danny making sure he was comfortable, the lead singer (and thus the band) being unavailable for six to eight weeks, and their contract running out.

So their asshole manager extended their contract by months if Danny couldn't make the next few shows.

Bobbi was near crying, and Swampy had run off to the bathroom to throw up. Part of their contract said the three couldn't have therapy during their tour, for some fucking reason none of them could fathom. And Swampy had been stabbed earlier in the year. He'd needed the therapy, and instead their contract stood, and they took off time for as much as Swampy needed to become mobile and relatively independent again.

Bobbi had to watch as their best friend slipped into shock, and Danny was rather happy he'd been sent to fetch the ambulance, and not trying to prevent Swampy from taking out the knife. Bobbi was pale and shaking by the time they got to the hospital, Swampy's drumsticks clenched in between his large, pale hands.

So Danny kept playing on-stage.

At least Swampy had a seat on the platforms. Danny had no such luxuries. So Bobbi suggested Danny become their drums player for a while, while Bobbi took Lead Singer and Swampy play guitar, as Danny was competent with drums and Bobbi had a nice, smooth voice, and Swampy had been taking guitar lessons since he was thirteen.

But their manager vetoed it, even if it would be better for them, and expected Danny to back out. He'd be able to milk more time out of them for breach on contract if that was the case.

The three hated every second of it. Much as Bobbi and Swampy desperately needed therapy, they still respected Danny enough not to like it when he pushed himself and worked himself to exhaustion, and Danny respected Bobbi and Swampy enough to work and get them out of here faster.

They were miserable.

Danny lay awake some nights, listening to Swampy snore and Bobbi breathe.

"I want to leave. I want to get out of here. I want to kill our manager. Sometimes I want to smash my guitar, and sometimes I want to kill myself."

~?~

"No. No, no! No! This is a rock-and-roll guitar for rock-and-roll music!" he said.

"Whatever," the customer said with rolled eyes.

"Okay, run! The power of rock too strong for you, I see!" Danny growled.

"Hey, are you Danny, the guitar player for the band Love Handel?" came a voice.

He put down the guitar before his hands started shaking and shoved down his anxiety. Thinking about that time in his life tended to make his stomach curl. "Always an honor to be recognized by my fans."

"Don't'cha think you were a little hard on that guy?" the shorter one asked.

"Oh, he'll be back. When the SPIRIT CALLS HIM!" The Spirit got to everyone eventually. They had an agreement, after all.

"Wow, you sure are passionate about rock n' roll!" the shorter said.

"Well, it's only my life," Danny said.

It was an entire musical number before Phineas and Ferb, as they'd been introduced, fielded that they wanted to reunite Love Handel.

Danny went ashy, and phantom pains shocked up and down his leg.

No. No. No! Not even if their manager was different! Are you fucking kidding me? NO!

"That's a no, little dudes," Danny said. "And the others probably won't either. It wasn't as great as the specials."

"But you guys were great!" Phineas said.

"Yeah, as long as we could tolerate staying together!" Danny lied. That part was Swampy's suggestion. If they all pretended like they couldn't stand each other, then they probably wouldn't want them to stay together again for good. "It wasn't a great place to be."

Phineas looked like he was about to debate further, but Ferb took him by the arm, and dragged him out.

Good thing, too. He sat down on the stool, and grit his teeth as his ankle throbbed.

"The spirit of rock n' roll has called out to me!" his previous customer yelled.

Zinnia, his front desk clerk, smiled. "Of course it did! The guitar you were looking at is eighteen-hundred dollars, by the way."