Chapter 15: Roads to Safe Places
He hesitated, handle cool against his skin as he closed the door. The night air swirled beneath his hood, tugging at his hair as he stared up at the building that had been the centre of his life. The bricks were dull in the moonlight, windows dark and empty. The Ops Centre perched on the roof, geometric, majestic in a whimsical ridiculousness that belied the reinforced steel and advanced weapons tech within. The start and end of so many misadventures. Creaks sounded from the orange and green arrow as it swayed in the gentle breeze, devoid of the neon light that had illuminated the town for almost as long as he could remember. It hung in darkness now. Just as it had for the last week. Ever since... He turned the key in the lock, eyes clinging to the scene like a drowning man to a plank of wood.
An invisible hand tugged at his sleeve.
"Come on dude," his best friend's voice was a murmur in the silence, "we've gotta go."
He nodded, the gesture going unseen as he adjusted his grip on Tucker's wrist, wrapping his powers more firmly around them. They moved to join a patch of empty air by the gate, the others entering their awareness as his influence melded with Dani's.
"Is everyone ready? Got all the things you wanted? Have your ticket?" Jazz checked for the final time, receiving whispers of assent. "And... are we sure?" Her answer came in frightened eyes and nervous pauses.
"Okay... then, let's go."
They set off through the sleeping town, keeping to the shadows and alleyways, hands linked to share the protection of invisibility. Eyes darted to every corner, twitched at every movement. Danger lurked at the margins, breathing with small gusts that broke the stillness of the night. No words were spoken until they reached their destination. Far on the outskirts, at the edge of the highway, under the grimy light that announced the small bus stop. Their way out.
Tucker swallowed nervously as they flickered back into sight beneath the sign, pulling a small device from a pocket. It changed hands, green button accusatory under the dim light of the stars. He shivered, feeling the weight of the metal in his palm. The weight of the choice they were about to make, the terrible sacrifice needed for the plan to work. His thumb hovered over the circle. He looked to the eyes of his friends. Buried deep within hoods and behind dark glasses. Jazz's distinctive red hair tucked out of sight beneath her beanie. She reached for him, wrapping her hand around his, sharing in the responsibility. Sam, Tucker and Dani hesitantly joined them. As one they paused. Breathed in. Breathed out. Pressed down.
Even from far away they could hear the sound. Feel the shockwave that rumbled through the night, rousing the citizens of Amity Park from the depths of sleep. Voices began to drift on the winds, faint cries of alarm and panic reaching their ears. It was time to leave.
Twin lamps pierced the gloom as the bus arrived at the station. He shouldered his bags, refusing to look as he climbed aboard, presenting his ticket with the others. They pulled smoothly away, wheels carrying them into the unknown. He glanced out the window, the city already reduced to a shrinking silhouette on the horizon. Then it was gone, swallowed by the darkness of the night.
There was no turning back.
Blue eyes fluttered. He shifted against the weight of the vision, reality threading through the veil of dreams and memory, reeling him in by inches. For a moment rough cloth chafed his back, swaying and bumping with the curves of the road... no, wait. He was lying down, surrounded by softness. In bed. A motel? Probably not; it felt too comfortable, too familiar for that. So then... where? He struggled to focus, blinking through the images of slick, winding pavement. The ceiling was dark and dim, empty of his constellations, his hanging models and posters and... too high somehow? He pushed himself blearily onto an elbow, trying to make sense of the rest of the room. Again, bigger than expected, oddly familiar. Moonlight peered weakly through a curtained window, throwing just enough brightness to make out the shape of a shelf, something that was probably a wardrobe, a couple of dark pieces hanging on the walls and... a desk maybe? He shook his head, forcing his befuddled brain into gear. The where was sitting just out of reach, but maybe if he could work out how... A ghost. There'd been a ghost attack. People in danger and after that he'd run and... there'd been a locker. Someone had found him. No, not someone - Batman. Batman and Robin. Robin who was Dick and... Bruce...
Wayne Manor. He was in Wayne Manor. Amity Park was months and miles away.
Danny flopped back onto the mattress, ruffling his hair as he tried to rub the old ache away. Past and present had separated themselves but the memory burned, dredged up by his subconscious and shunted to the forefront of his mind. For a while he stared at the shadows, picking abstract shapes from the dark, before rolling onto his side, eyes closing in the hope of falling into better dreams. A black, moonlit highway rose to meet him. He jerked away, pulling the sheets higher as he turned over. A locked front door loomed over a once-known town. The halfa groaned, ducking under the covers to bury his face in the pillow. Wheels, alleyways, a pull towards a place that no longer existed. Like a train arriving at the station the vision rolled in, dragging with it a string of other moments, voices, people, places, old fears and gut-twisting worries he'd tried hard to leave on the road. Every bump and fold in the mattress amplified excruciatingly. He sighed in defeat, kicking off the blankets. Sleep was clearly a dead loss.
The half-ghost allowed his feet to hit the floor, padding across to the window. Fabric weighed against his back as he ducked under the drapes to peer outside. A dusting of snow lay over the secluded corner of the grounds, painted charcoal by the night. It had to be late. He slid back into the room, squinting at the hands of the clock. Correction - early. Sometime between three and four a.m. if he was reading it right. Late enough that everyone should be asleep, too soon to get up for training. He grumbled softly, unease driving him back to the other wall. Agitation curled in his gut, the memory refusing to leave his mind. 'Who's, 'why's and 'what if's prickled through his chest. He paced a circuit of the room. Then another. And another. The space seemed to shrink around him.
Carpet rustled underfoot at his abrupt stop, kneading his eyes with the heels of his hands. He dragged fingers resignedly through his fringe, resting his forehead on the wood of the door before twisting the handle, suddenly desperate to be out of the room. Eerie silence met him in the hall, quiet stillness rising from the length of dark corridor. He hesitated on the threshold, eyes flicking back inside before stepping out, shaking his head with a small sardonic noise. A dull hollowness gently squeezed his chest as crept down the passage. His throat was oddly tight. He felt... he wasn't really sure how he felt. He just... needed some air. Some water would probably help as well.
Ceilings arched high overhead as he stopped at a junction. Unbidden, his gaze drifted down another path, struck by an unexpected urge to talk to someone. But who? Alfred had enough to deal with. Dick would be asleep. And Bruce... he definitely didn't want to disturb Mr Wayne at this time of night. Besides, it was a just dream. A dream of a memory maybe, but he could handle it. They didn't need to hear it, didn't need to be woken up over something that couldn't be changed. He was almost sixteen; he should be able to handle a nightmare on his own.
The halfa shook his head again, setting his feet down their original course. Ornate wallpaper followed him on his way, past elaborate mouldings, antique oak pillars, intricate gas-lamps fitted with electric bulbs - all probably as old as the building itself even if they looked brand new. The occasional passageway broke the walls, heading off to parts unknown. He ignored them, resisting the faint temptation to distract himself with exploring. It wasn't that he wasn't allowed to - Dick had already pulled him along on several 'expeditions' and Alfred said he was free to go where he liked - but the manor was so big. Twisting warrens of halls and service corridors, locked and unlocked doors, concealed entrances... his old house ten times over with room left for the neighbours'. A wrong turn here could mean hours of getting lost. And anyway...
The hall widened ahead of him, opening onto one of the mansion's sweeping staircases. Above a chandelier swung from the roof, crystals hanging like shards of ice. Danny shivered, crossing his arms against a chill that had little to do with the snow outside. He could feel himself shrink, reduced to a child by the sheer immenseness of the space. It dwarfed him with its size. The familiar ache returned as he stole down the steps, barefoot, clad in the long grey shirt and sweats that served as pyjamas. Everything here was too big for him - the manor, Gotham City, Batman and Robin, top-tier heroes... Sure, maybe back in Amity he'd been something special. Or at least, half of him might have been. But if months on the road had shown him anything it was that, in the eyes of the world, Amity Park was just another small, no-name town. Just like he was. Small-town. One foot in front of the other, three-bedroom houses and cramped, dingy motels. His 'everything' barely made the map. And-
He was being ungrateful he supposed. They could have just as easily passed him by. Put him into some form of protection, pushed him off into someone else's custody - or simply turned and left once they had their answers. But despite everything, the hassles he put them through, the obvious dangers... they'd invited him to stay. Offered him a place to live, clean clothes, the closest thing to safety he could get within four walls... had wanted to help, even with the risk to themselves. And... His lips twitched into something that on a better day might have been a smile. It had taken a while to notice. There was always an excuse; being bored, wanting to discuss homework, having news to share, there just-so-happening to be something that needed sorting or fixing or cleaning - somehow Dick and Alfred always managed to find reasons to be where he was. It had irked him at first - he knew the rules, knew how to take care of himself - until he realised what they were doing. Not supervising, not pushing at all, just... being there. Very subtly, very determinedly not leaving him on his own. And he appreciated it.
Even if it... wasn't... the same as...
'Cut it out Fenton.' The halfa jerked his chin sharply, hooking fingers into the fabric of his sleeves. He shouldn't feel this way, didn't need to feel this way. Not now. Not after so long.
But still...
Winter lingered underfoot as he slipped into the smooth, cool tiling of the kitchen. Light stabbed his eyes, pale blades streaming through the spotless windows, turning the room to a landscape of abstract blacks and greys. He paused, unwilling to fumble blindly through the dark but instinctively reluctant to turn on the light. It didn't make sense of course - the building was too large, rooms to far away from each other or the outside world to disturb anyone. Still... the hybrid sighed, reaching internally for the icy point beside his heart. Prickling cold surged through his veins, freezing his eyes as a familiar green-tinted glow lifted the shadows. Feet were placed carefully, tracing a cautious path around the benches. Glass clinked in his hands, ears distantly registering the hiss of the tap as water swirled to fill a cup. He shut it off, carrying his prize over to the stools by the island counter. The room faded, night rushing to reclaim the space as he released his hold on the ectoplasm. Liquid rippled in the glass. He raised it to his mouth. Tightness seemed to swell in his throat; pushing back against the water instead of being washed away. His lungs clenched. Danny exhaled, cradling the drink with both hands as a thumb absently traced the rim. Dull pressure crept along his jaw, spreading upward to his temples. Why? Why now? Why did it have to happen tonight, just when he thought...
Although it wasn't really that surprising. The date, the dream. He knew. He'd kept count - of course he had, it was all but habit by now. The clock had been running down for days, stewing at the back of his mind, jabbing his thoughts... setting him on edge, no matter how many times he assured Dick that it was nothing. That he told himself it was fine. Day fourteen. His two-week limit. The limit that he absolutely did not cross, that, until a few weeks ago, he'd never let himself cross. The point which meant either capture or committing to a place. He'd known it was coming. Their offer had been long-term after all, a permanent change, not just a pit-stop on the road. He'd acknowledged that, had accepted those terms when he'd chosen to come with them. But still, the difference between knowing and doing, between thinking about something and actually being there, living it... yet here he was, no routes planned, no new destination lined up, no contingencies. He lifted the cup again, water lapping up to the rim, an audible clack echoing as the base connected with the benchtop. Shoulders hunched, chewing his lower lip as a hand lifted to rub his face. So he was staying then? Was really going to take that risk? To hold his ground? Actually let himself settle? And if he did, could he ever... could he bring himself to call another place...
It was controlled chaos, the kind that made no sense to outsiders but had an underlying pattern, predictable because he'd spent his whole life surrounded by it. The walls were closer, the finishes cheaper, a not-quite-clutter always hanging around the edges... but comfortable, never cramped. There was the cool smell of metal, mixing with harsh tangs of ectoplasm and clinical detergents, the cloying sweetness of fudge, slightly-burned pancakes and the mustiness of old book pages. The loudness of four voices talking over each other, competing against the buzz of random inventions, psychology, core stabilisation, particle electronics, biology, English assignments, upgrades to the Fenton-thermos and blathering on about ghosts. The closeness of familiar hands, the distance that came from well-kept secrets.
He wanted to go back.
'Stop it.' Glass creaked against his fingers as the halfa clenched his teeth. That was enough. He'd known the cost of their choice when they'd made it. They all had. A one-way trip. It was always going to be. They'd talked about it for days, weighing all the possibilities, as many alternatives as they could think of. In the end they'd all agreed; a decision that wasn't really a decision. And if there were regrets now, well he just had to live with that. But pining over what had been... was stupid. Wouldn't bring it back. Couldn't fix things. Useless. Pointless. A colossal waste of everyone's time. He shouldn't-
"Master Daniel?"
It took all Danny's focus not to turn invisible then and there. As it was he twitched violently, hand slipping through the glass, nearly upsetting the chair as he twisted to face the door. The intruder seemed just as surprised - frozen, tray-in-hand with one foot over the threshold.
They stared at each other.
"Oh." Heat rushed to the halfa's ears. "Hi Alfred." He managed a strained smile, suddenly painfully aware of his crude defensive stance. With an awkward cough he forced himself back onto the stool. "Um, what..." Guilty thoughts flickered back to the trip along the corridors. "I didn't disturb you, did I?"
"Not at all sir." Belatedly he noticed the older man's crisp suit and polished shoes. One thing less to worry about. As for why he was sitting alone in a darkened room... somehow Alfred seemed to understand. Or at very least the butler chose not to question it, leaving the switch untouched as he stepped into the space with an ease that spoke of decades of practice. The tray's contents tinkled as they were set down by the sink. "An alarm needed resetting and I happened to find myself in the mood for refreshment. Although," he half-turned from the counter, "I must say I wasn't expecting company." The underlying question went politely unsaid. Danny shifted under the concerned gaze, eyes dropping to the glass in his hands. A moment passed in uncomfortable silence before the butler sighed, turning back to face the windows. "It would appear that the weatherman was right," he mused, staring out into the night, "The snow does seem to be blowing over." A glance came carefully over his shoulder, "I for one am looking forward to the start of spring. It will be good to see some clear days."
"Mm," the halfa nodded, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed by the Englishman's reaction. Emptiness rose again, tugging his eyes back to the older man. Alfred watched in return, expression unreadable before shifting, moving down the bench to a shadowed niche in the cupboards. Hinges squeaked almost imperceptibly, the faint chime of porcelain and tiny shifts in the dark betraying the elder man's motions.
A voice drifted back along the counters. "Is there anything I can get you?"
Danny shook his head. "I'm fine." There was still water in the glass and with the... way things were, anything else seemed like a bad idea. A pause followed before the voice returned; this time quieter, more measured.
"Are you really sir?" He knew Alfred wasn't asking about food.
"It's nothing."
Shadows made it difficult to see for sure, but something told him that the Englishman was looking his way. He ducked his chin, refocussing on his hands. "It must be a particularly strong brand of 'nothing'," the butler probed gently, "to have you wandering the halls at the witching hour."
He honestly had no idea how to respond to that.
For a while it was quiet, broken only by soft rustling and clinks from deeper in the kitchen. A spoon clattered against the countertop. Steam rushed with the bubbling of a kettle. Danny lifted the cup again, resisting the urge to glance into the dark. Waves rolled through the last of the water as he set it down, tilting the glass back and forward on its edge before draining it completely. It twisted in his hands as he lowered it, making a study of his fingers. A thin white line sliced through one of his knuckles. He frowned, unable to remember what had caused it. Odds were it was something ghost related, but even then... ever since he'd received his powers he'd healed fast. An ironic benefit of being half dead; most injuries wouldn't leave a mark unless severe or caused by specialised equipment. 'Or both.' An old throb pulsed down his collarbone. He pushed back a shiver, focusing on the faint, pale cut. His small handful of scars were memorable for exactly that reason. This one though... Movement jolted Danny back to the present, attention snapping upwards as a teacup was set down on the opposite site of the bench. Alfred settled on the stool, sliding a second cup and a smile across the table. The halfa accepted it gingerly, tugging the saucer towards him with a mumbled thanks. Steam rose from the surface in weird patterns, kind grey eyes surveying him through the tendrils of vapour. An unexpected lump formed in his throat. He looked away.
"Master Daniel?" Blue eyes peeked cautiously through the halfa's fringe, biting his lip as he forced himself to meet the butler's gaze. A look of steady calm answered, the same not-quite-questioning concern. Words rested on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed them back, breaking contact with a tiny shake of the head.
It wasn't worth talking about.
Cloth rustled as the elder man leaned forward. "If I may," the dryness of his tone surprised him, "I find that hiding alone in the dark is rarely an effective way to solve the problem at hand - no matter what other members of this household might have you believe." Danny couldn't quite help the small snort that escaped. Amusement flickered across the Englishman's face, an eyebrow arching with something that, in anyone else, might have been mischief. His own mouth twitched reluctantly in answer.
"I couldn't sleep."
"I believe I've already deduced that sir," Alfred replied lightly. The smile faded, "Could I ask why?"
A lot of reasons. Feelings, thoughts, habits. Memories. "I... It was a dream." The simplest answer was the easiest one.
"'To sleep perchance'..." Sympathy laced the musing. A delicate pause followed. "Might I ask what of?"
That was the question. Danny wrapped his hands around the teacup. Hollowness crept back in, dragging guilt along with it. He didn't want to lie to the butler, but saying it just felt so... ungrateful. They'd taken him in from nothing. From pointless flight between cities, progress in inches if any at all. How else could it sound after that? At best the older man would be insulted. At worst...
"...Of the night we left. You know," the halfa kept his eyes on the table, looking everywhere except the butler, "Amity."
"Ah." Alfred's voice was almost too understanding. Danny flashed him an apologetic glance, relieved when the Englishman didn't seem too offended. More... expectant, really. Like he was waiting for something else. Heat prickled through the china to the halfa's palms. He lifted the cup mechanically, taking a mouthful to avoid having to continue. An attempt to delay the inevitable conversation. Warmth trickled into his chest.
"Is it really okay for me to be here?" The words were out before the young ghost really knew what he was saying.
Concern sharpened into something more serious. "Of course it is." Alfred frowned, gaze suddenly piercing. "Whatever would make you think otherwise?"
"Um," he winced, scrambling for the right answer, "it's - it's not that I'm not grateful. I appreciate all of this, really, I do - it's just..." What was he meant to say? Uncertainty hung in the air, echoing back from a space that seemed much larger than it was supposed to be. Past, present, questions about the future... it was all a mess, jumbling together, disconnected, alien and uncomfortably real. Where would he even start? The memory? The dream? The road, the accident, the incident, his time alone, Dani? The sense that he should still be out there, hanging on instead of moving forward, instead of turning the page like he knew he should. "It's a lot of risk to all of you." It wasn't a lie. But it was only a small part of the truth.
The butler was silent for a moment. "I suppose there is something to that. However," he straightened, fixing the halfa with a look equal parts solemn and sincere, "you must understand that - while undoubtedly perilous for a small group or individual alone - a situation such as yours is something we are well-prepared for. I know it may seem an odd comfort, but we are no strangers to threat - whether through Master Bruce's public position or his... other hobbies. Great pains have been taken to ensure that the manor and its," Alfred paused, "basement are protected, against both physical encroachment and even the most persistent of searchers." On that point Danny could only agree. One of the earliest parts of his arrival had been a security briefing. Batman style. Everything from the defence system, secret passages between the manor and the cave, hidden escape routes, protocols to ensure that neither Fenton nor Phantom would be exposed should either location be compromised... "As you know," he looked up as the elder man continued, "our plans and systems are regularly updated in order to stay ahead of new developments. It was little trouble to include a few additional pieces for your benefit."
"I guess..." It wasn't as though he could argue with that. Or that he really wanted to. Equipment, experience, a public presence... Bruce, Dick and Alfred were undeniably better able to handle things. Too many safeguards for anyone to get past easily. Too well-known to just 'disappear' without notice. That much he could believe. "It just seems like a lot." What was difficult was the idea that he could somehow fit in to that picture - to a place with some of the best protection in existence, where upgrading a multi-thousand-dollar security system in less than a week was 'little trouble'. "I mean, you have enough to deal with without..." the halfa flicked a hand in an explanatory gesture. "And I'm not," he snorted humourlessly, "you know. I'm just me."
Alfred regarded him curiously, eyebrows lifting over a bemused expression. "Well, considering it was your intervention that spared Master Dick and his companions from what, by all accounts, would have been an unpleasant fate - not to mention the information you've given Master Bruce regarding your ecto-technology..." He smiled, "I'd say a safe space to continue seems fair repayment."
"That-" The halfa could feel his neck burning, "that was nothing." He squirmed, scratching the affected area as heat inched towards his ears. "I mean..." Of course he was going to give them ecto-tech. Blueprints, research papers, discs of Tucker's programs, lists of the ghosts he'd faced... information was what they needed, and they could make much better use of it than him. Besides, wasn't that his side of the deal? Information? The proposal went both ways after all. Pretty much the only thing he could contribute. And considering what he'd got in return... he was the one who owed them. Not the other way around. Even if he had 'helped' Robin in Portland. That whole situation... he really wished Dick and Alfred would stop treating what happened like it had been some act of calculated heroism. He'd hardly even had a plan; find the ghost, hope whoever it was was friendly enough or smart enough to have news, kick anything dangerous into the thermos before it could cause trouble. That was it. Do the job, try to stay hidden, don't expect anything in return. Once it was Spectra... exposure risk or not, there was no way he could leave someone like that. He certainly hadn't been trying to earn points. Their costumes, what they meant - exactly who he'd shaken hands with hadn't fully sunk in until later. And sure, maybe he'd expected they would investigate - and maybe it was part of why he'd run - but he definitely hadn't expected that they'd care enough to bother tracking him down in person. Let alone what came after. That he'd be trusted with secrets, offered a place in their home...
He wasn't sure what his face looked like but Alfred seemed to see something in it.
"You know, sir," the Englishman's voice turned shrewd, "while admirable, I find it hard to believe that concern for our safety was enough to prompt tonight's venture. Or your own, for that matter." Alfred set down his cup, pinning the halfa with a steady gaze. "I understand that you may not wish to talk about it, but I feel something else is weighing on your mind. Or," he carefully scrutinised his face, "perhaps somewhere?"
A shiver arrived. It crawled through Danny's shoulders, wrapping fingers around his lungs as his stomach twisted. Guilty sickness churned, rising to a throat that was too hot and tight for the for the one-and-a-half cups in front of him. Stupid really, attempting to hide anything from anyone in this house. He managed a small, stiff nod in answer.
"I take it then, that the nature of your dream...?" Danny blinked in surprise. He'd expected a reprimand. Well, not exactly - it was Alfred after all - but some kind of judgement. A small frown, a note of disapproval. But no. It was... a little unsettling actually, to be met with the same patient sympathy as before. The halfa locked his fingers together slowly, weighing his options. Whether to respond. What to say. Politeness. Pride. The voice of hard-earned pragmatism or the familiar ache of old advice.
He closed his eyes.
"I miss it." Part of him hated the words, hated himself for the confession. "And I know that sounds ungrateful and I know I shouldn't but... sometimes I wish I could..." pain shook the halfa back to reality, "but I can't and then everything's different, and it's all happening so fast and I don't-" He shrugged helplessly. "I guess I don't know anymore."
Silence was deafening. It echoed around the room, deep, and brittle. Itchingly uncomfortable. Danny kept his eyes fixed firmly on the stone countertop, ears stinging in the wake of the outburst. Already it felt embarrassing. Weak. The pathetic breakdown of a kid spooked by a nightmare. He shrank slightly, wishing he could vanish under the weight of the piercing stare. He wanted to fall through the floor. If it had been anyone else - anywhere else – he might have given in to temptation, used his powers to do just that. A few agonisingly long seconds passed before he felt the stare lessen. There was the clink of a cup against a saucer, the gentle scrape of china being pushed to one side. He felt rather than saw the butler lean forward, the folding of hands on the benchtop. A moment of heavy, wordless consideration. What followed was softer, less reserved than before.
"Change can be hard Master Daniel. This house has seen its share and, even if they seem simple, such transitions always come with a period of adjustment. And after where you've been..." he heard the older man shift, "considering the circumstances I'd think it quite natural for you to have some difficulty settling. It was hardly a small step." The young ghost gave a lifeless nod, suddenly very interested in a crease near his sleeve. It was an argument he knew too well. One of Jazz's 'go-to's whenever things got tough on the road. Maybe it had been true at the start but it was old now. Leaving things behind, starting over... that was normal. He was used to it. Prepared. Or, at least, he thought. "But," Alfred was speaking again, "I hope you understand that we do not expect you to abandon yourself by being here. It's true that our... secrets make distance somewhat necessary, but who you are and what you've done is just as important as anything you may do now." He paused. "Obviously, there are a few rules to keep, but choosing to be part of this life does not mean signing our own away entirely. Master Dick keeps track of his circus. Master Bruce still communicates with certain childhood friends."
"And you?" Danny braved a look upwards.
Alfred smiled. "Outside of Master Bruce's circle? A few relatives in London. Though I would not say we are close." Knuckles tapped against the counter as the Englishman's mouth pulled into a pensive line. "In any case sir, what I mean to say is; please do not feel that you would be leaving anything - or anyone - behind by being here. And-" his voice was carefully gentle, "if you'll forgive my saying so - somehow I doubt that your family would resent your accepting outside help if they could not provide it themselves. It's not a crime to seek companionship. We certainly would not be so arrogant as to attempt to replace them."
His throat closed again. The halfa swallowed, faint shake suddenly loud in each breath. Something lingered in the air; painful in an oddly comforting way, sharp and delicate as glass.
"Now," the butler's words moved through the space without breaking it, "as for being a burden. As you know sir, the Manor was built to house more than a dozen. With his company, Master Bruce could undoubtedly fund several times more. A single new resident is hardly a strain on our resources." There was a long-suffering sigh, "Especially when you consider what our other housemates routinely manage to get themselves up to." The sheer resigned pride in his voice drew a weak chuckle from the hybrid. Alfred hummed quietly. "Besides… as you may have noticed, our duo is extremely resourceful. Had Master Bruce - or Master Dick for that matter - felt unwilling, or unable, to have you in our home then they would have devised an alternative." A lined, wise hand caught his wrist, grey eyes meeting blue with a soft smile. "The very fact that you are here shows that they wanted you to be. You needn't doubt that."
Breathing suddenly became a lot harder.
With a gentle squeeze the hand withdrew. "I know it may seem difficult. I dare say impossible at times but, in the words of Frost; life goes on. Even when we feel it perhaps should not." The older man watched him kindly. "I – we – hope that you would one day be able to consider this home; but only once and if you feel it is right. When that time comes – and even if it doesn't – we will be here. Until then… Sometimes it is enough to just make of things what you can. And trust that they will get better with time. Though," his eyes twinkled, "perhaps not always without effort."
Silence reigned as Alfred settled onto his chair, pulling the saucer back in front of him. Nothing more was said; the butler seemed content to sit in peace, finishing his tea as the halfa slowly collected himself. Danny rubbed the circles beneath his eyes, handling each word carefully as they shifted into place around him. There was a steadying, a gradual uncurling of the lungs, settling into the space, the cold tiles and not-quite-familiar rooms. The weight in his chest seemed lighter. Not gone by any means, but lessened - manageable rather than the near-crushing heaviness of before. Even the quiet was still. Not heavy. Not awkward. He didn't feel any need to say something; to excuse himself from the room or gloss over it with small-talk. It was fine. Not comfortable – not yet – but enough. They could just sit. Listen. To the silence. To the creak of wind against the windows, the post-snowfall stillness that came with knowing everyone else was asleep. The faint sounds of breathing. He realised that he didn't mind the butler being there anywhere near as much as he'd thought.
Somewhere deep in the house a clock chimed the quarter hour.
"You know," with a sigh Alfred rose to his feet, "I believe it's high time I was heading back to bed." He lifted the crockery with one hand, offering the hybrid a questioning smile. "Would you like me to..?"
"Oh. Uh… Yeah." Danny quickly drained the end of his cup, sliding it across the bench. "Thanks." The last part didn't really cover it but he thought the older man understood anyway.
"Not at all." China rattled against the sink and the bubbling tap as the Englishman turned, stacking cups neatly away. Hands were dried before he turned back, gesturing to the door with the same grandfatherly concern. "Please, after you."
The walk back was… different. They took the same path he'd used to get there, retracing steps up the sweeping staircases, down corridors just as long with ceilings just as high. Still, something had changed. Alfred was a warm, unspeaking presence at his shoulder, an occasional comment when he was confused at junctions or close to taking a wrong turn. He was grateful for that – it gave him time to think, to sort out the mess inside his head. Perhaps it wasn't the place itself but the atmosphere. Before there had been a presence – hovering in the weight and sprawl of the walls, the vast, spotless grandeur, shadowy modern-gothic vibe and ornate furnishings. A place steeped in long bloodlines and old money, a social class so far above his that he shouldn't even set foot in it, let alone think of staying. Now… it was a house. An enormous, old, stupidly expensive house but still – just a house. It had its own brand of chaos, people living their lives, following their own – admittedly seriously abnormal – routines. Walls were walls, doors were doors, corridors took them places. And yes, it was still a mansion, and then there was the cave – that would never not be weird – but he could deal. After all, Dick came from a circus and he'd managed it just fine. Maybe there was hope for a ghost-kid too.
Maybe.
Given how long the first trip had seemed, the halfa was honestly surprised to find himself outside his own door. For a moment he continued, taking two steps past it before a gentle cough drew his attention. The butler was no longer at his side.
With an apologetic look he doubled back. "Sorry. I was just-"
"-lost in thought?" The older man's question was plain but he could hear the smile behind it. "Quite understandable I think." He studied him for a moment. "Will you be alright?"
"I - Yeah… Thank you." The halfa put as much sincerity as he could into the words.
Alfred's gaze was careful as he nodded. "If there's anything you need, sir – anything at all - please don't hesitate to ask."
He shook his head slightly, reaching for the handle. "I'll be okay."
The butler began to walk away.
"Um - Alfred?" Actually, there was one thing. He'd been meaning to ask for a while, but now… if he really was going to be staying… "It's, uh," he rubbed his neck sheepishly as the Englishman turned. "It's Danny, please. No-one actually uses my full name."
Alfred's smile broadened. "Of course." He got the feeling that the butler was considering something more. There was a thoughtful pause. "You know, given the circumstances I would not be surprised if your alarm somehow failed to work in the morning." An eyebrow arched at the halfa's incredulous look. His eyes danced. "Have a good night, sir. And please, do try to get some rest."
Danny bit back a grin. "Right. You too."
The first few quiet footsteps faded down the hall as he slipped back inside.
It was pitch black – he hadn't bothered to turn the lights on before leaving – but after a few seconds his eyes adjusted enough to move safely. Reaching the bed, he flicked on the lamp, watching the warm yellow light it threw across the room. He flopped onto the edge of the mattress, considering the butler's suggestion before pushing himself upright to hit the mute button on the clock. For a while he sat, eyes roaming the blank, papered walls, the rows of empty shelves. On sudden impulse he rolled over, stomach pressing into the covers as he searched under the bed, fumbling for a travelsack that had remained half-packed despite the offers of help. The halfa reached inside, feeling his way past the ear of a stuffed bear, the corner of a PDA, cardboard tubes and other trinkets he wasn't ready to handle until his fingers closed on the cool metal curve he sought. He eased it free, carefully closing and stowing the bag before pushing himself back up. Light caught the strange metal boomerang as he turned it over, running a thumb over the familiar plate-work, the raised silver 'F' pressed into the centre of a small green ghost. With a click it hummed into life, a tiny light winking into being on the nose. Danny handled it a moment longer before standing, setting it gently in the centre of the shelf. He took a step back, appreciating the way the lamplight played on its surface, the small but significant change it made to the space. It felt more solid somehow; not quite home, but warm and present and real. He blinked, suddenly, peacefully tired. Alfred was right. The halfa crawled under the sheets, rolling to face the ornament as a hand reached up to switch off the light.
His eyes found its silhouette in the dark as he finally drifted back to sleep.
So apparently, I am alive. And, as promised, here is the chapter.
In all honestly I do feel a little bad that this is what I have for you. After a year and bit you'd think I could throw in some high-paced action, lame puns and people in costume doing superhero-ish things. Instead you get an emotionally inarticulate character trying to articulate his emotions. Very inconsiderate of me. Although, to be fair, I did start this in January of 2016 (before the chaos that was) and it has been a very hard chapter to write. It's certainly a weird one. Blame the flashback scene at the start. (Remember how I said that Team Phantom would be making posthumous appearances? This is not the last time.) Definitely a challenge – there's so little physical stuff happening, and at the same time whole lot of internalisation and emotion to balance. Very experimental. Plus a bit of backstory and a bunch of small details to work in.
I would love to hear constructive criticism. I like to think I came sort of close to what I was aiming for, and I did try to keep it from getting boring or falling off the emotional tightrope, but the question is; did it work? Like it, hate it, think it could be better, didn't really understand? Please let me know. (if the last one, PM me and I will try to explain it better for you)
Thus ends the unofficial 'Arc I' of YJ:DW. Now we venture forth into the territory of more team-based stuff and proper story arcs with actual action. I for one have big plans, and time not spend writing this chapter has gone into the making of notes – many, many notes – so hopefully things will pick up a bit. Hopefully. No promises. Feel free to yell if I take more than a year again.
Finally, digital cookies to anyone who recognises the book I took the chapter title from (it has one of the same name). Bonus points if you can spot the Shakespeare reference in the main text and tell me the play/ scene. Happy hunting!
As always, thanks for reading and please review. I will happily answer any and all PMs, so feel free to do that too.
Until next we meet,
-3WD
