Author's Note: There are definitely many similarities so far to Disparaged, but then this definitely has a different feel to it, a different vibe. Danny's fears and apprehensions are based on different feelings here. In Disparaged, Danny's concerned that Maddie is too focused on him; here, Danny's concerned that Jack doesn't have much regard for him at all.
I will say that Condemned has been significantly more difficult to write, but it's coming along okay so far. Hopefully you agree.
(after being) Condemned
Danny leaned out his open window, arms resting on the sill. He surveyed the neighborhood, gazed at the distant lights of the town.
He should go to bed. He really needed to shut off for a while. And it wasn't like he could go out on patrol tonight, so why not just take advantage of his forced lockdown and actually get a full eight hours of sleep for once?
Because there were ghosts out there somewhere. Ghosts that could hurt others, and if they hurt anyone, then it would be his fault for not being there to stop them.
The town seemed quiet and undisturbed for now, but he knew how quickly that could change. He scanned the buildings, the sky, searched for any signs of trouble. He couldn't go out on his normal patrol, but he just couldn't bring himself to lie in his bed and do nothing. He owed it to the town to at least watch from his window.
"Danny?" a voice whispered from his doorway.
Danny turned to see his sister's darkened silhouette. "Hey, Jazz. You still up?"
"I'm about to go to bed, but I just wanted to see how you're doing."
Danny turned around again so she couldn't see his irritation. He didn't even bother insisting he was fine. If she didn't believe him before, she wasn't going to now.
Jazz walked up beside him and scanned the neighborhood through the open window. "Are you going out tonight?"
Danny leaned forward past the sill, the strands of his thick hair fluttering in the night wind. "No."
"You're not worried about the ghosts?"
"It's not like I've never taken a night off before. Besides, Mayor Vlad has his own anti-ghost measures in place." He paused. "And I can't risk Dad seeing that I'm not in my room."
And and AND his mom, of course. Couldn't have his mom alert his dad and couldn't have them go looking for him again and couldn't have his dad catch him in his ghost form again and couldn't have his dad be mad at him again and couldn't have his dad try to kill him again.
Definitely definitely couldn't have that.
"So are you never going out again?" asked Jazz. "Or at least not for a while?"
He stared out at the lonely-looking town. Or maybe he was the one who was lonely, even more so with his sister by his side. "I have to go back out at some point. They need me." He imagined the sleeping townspeople, strangers and classmates, shoppers he passed at the mall, faces he recognized but didn't have names to go with them. So many who slept soundly each night never knowing what he had to do to ensure they could keep sleeping soundly. "I'm just going to have to figure something out, some way to make Mom and Dad think I'm still in my room. Maybe use the Fenton Ghost Catcher." He looked down at his hand. "Or if I could just master duplicating myself."
"But... I mean, you really don't have to go out at all, do you?"
Danny furrowed his brow, a small pout pulling at his bottom lip.
"Vlad's anti-ghost measures have got this town pretty well covered, don't they?"
"They're okay, but not nearly enough. This town needs something with actual intelligence protecting it, not artificial."
"And why does that 'actual intelligence' have to be you?"
Danny looked at her curiously.
"It's just... Fighting ghosts isn't safe, and it seems to be taking a toll on you, emotionally and physically."
Where was this coming from? Emotionally? What the hell did she think she knew about how ghost-fighting made him feel? He resisted rolling his eyes, done with her psychoanalysis before it even started.
"You were almost killed last night—"
"Stop," ordered Danny sharply. "I'm already aware of what's happened in my life. And that was not the first time I've been almost killed."
"That's exactly my point." Jazz matched the intensity of his glare, moonlight highlighting the edges of her face. "You've been almost killed so many times, most recently last night, and it shows no signs of stopping."
This time, Danny did not hold back an eye-roll as he looked out the window again.
"One of these times—" Jazz put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to turn back to her. "—it might not be 'almost.'"
Danny quickly stepped back, her hand falling away. "What are you suggesting, Jazz? You want me to stop fighting ghosts? Because you know I can't just do that."
Jazz's teeth clenched, then relaxed, her whole expression abating into melancholy concern. His own countenance broke down with sudden guilt for making her look this way.
"Why do you do it?" she asked softly. "Why do you feel like you have to stop all these ghosts?"
"If I don't, no one else will. My ghost form is more durable and can take ectoplasmic rays better—"
"No, Danny. Why do you really do this?" Jazz's voice was trembling. "Why do you keep doing this when you are so badly injured on a regular basis, when you repeatedly come close to death, when no one even appreciates what you go through to keep them safe, not even Mom and Dad?"
He couldn't meet her gaze, had to lean out the window and keep his head low to avoid her.
How could he possibly explain it to her? Not even Tucker or Sam had asked him this so pointedly before. He convinced himself in the beginning that he was doing it to make good use of his powers, to take responsibility for what he had done when he turned on his parents' portal and subsequently made their town a magnet for ghosts.
But there was more to it, an obsession embedded in his ghostly molecules that compelled him to keep fighting no matter how much it physically hurt him. He kept it to himself, concealed it under layers of heroic reasoning and noble excuses. He couldn't say the truth, couldn't say it was something far more selfish, couldn't say that the guilt and shame from not doing whatever he could to protect the townspeople from the infestation he himself had inflicted on them would consume him.
He kept hoping there would be an end to it. Each time he released ghosts back into their own realm, he wanted to cry and beg them to stay, stay, please don't return this time. I don't want to keep doing. Don't you see what this is doing to me?
He couldn't tell her the truth. Or anyone. They would only worry about him, and he was so sick of everyone worrying about him.
"I'm all this town has got," said Danny, still leaning out the window. "That's why I do it."
Jazz was quiet, unmoving. Danny turned to her slightly and saw the shine of tears in her eyes.
Once again, he had screwed up. He had made his sister cry. Great.
"Please don't." Danny stood up straight. "Please. I promise I'm fine."
She brushed at her eyes. "I should let you get to bed. I'm sorry for bothering you like this."
"Jazz—"
She walked away.
"Jazz, wait."
She halted, her hand on his door.
"Don't... Don't close that," he stammered. "I'm supposed to leave it open."
She blinked at him a few times before letting go of the door.
"And you weren't bothering me." Danny's hands tensed into loose fists at his sides. "I really am fine, okay? I know I've been acting kind of weird, but a lot's just happened."
Jazz said nothing for several beats before she smiled at him. "You know I'm here for you if you need to talk, right?"
"Yeah. I know. Thanks."
She said nothing again. Danny could sense she was waiting for him to confide in her right then, but as genuine as he knew her offer was, she was not someone he ever wanted to share his feelings with, not when she'd just tell Sam and Tucker, not when she'd overanalyze everything and try to give him advice.
So he stayed just as quiet. She finally nodded in understanding and disappeared into the hallway.
Once again alone in his room.
But when was he ever not alone these days, really?
Even with his sister right there, she didn't seem to be on his side. Same with Sam and Tucker. All of them offering their words of encouragement, their company when he needed someone to talk to. But all they ever really did lately was tell him to relax, to maybe take a break, that he didn't need to keep pushing himself so hard.
As the months kept passing, his friends seemed to understand him less and less.
He instinctively reached for his phone in his pocket, alarmed for only a moment by the empty space as he recalled his father had taken it.
His father. The man who made him feel loneliest of all.
Danny lay back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. His dad seemed to be okay with him now. He didn't seem to be angry with him anymore. He had even said some kind fatherly things to him, had actually apologized for his harsh words the night before and at breakfast.
So then why did he only feel relieved when his dad finally left?
Why did he still dread ever being alone with his dad again?
Why was he not feeling any better right now?
He turned over on his side and pressed his forehead into his mattress, clutched at his blanket with his top hand.
He had always been much closer to his mom. He and his mom used to do all sorts of things together. Not lately, no, but he had many fond memories of hanging out with her as a child. At the animal shelter to walk dogs, in the park to feed ducks, home from school when he was sick, up in the Ops Center to locate constellations.
And his dad would be there. Sometimes. But what did he and his dad ever do together? Just the two of them?
He could only recall the few fishing trips Jack had brought him along on. Yes, brought him along. Danny was sure his dad would get the idea to go fishing first and the idea to take his son along second, never the other way around. Not that Danny minded. At least his dad seemed happy to have Danny join him. And the fishing itself was never bad. Being outdoors in the sun wasn't his favorite thing, but fishing was a "normal guy thing" to do that made him seem more like a man to his dad, a "normal father/son activity" that made their relationship appear healthy and functional. See? He and his dad got along just fine. So much in common. They sometimes went fishing together, see? See? No need to scrutinize it beyond that because his dad would never ever threaten to kill him and make him feel like he was an irritant or an enemy to be eliminated.
His fists and face muscles tensed. How many times did he have to remind himself that his dad did not want to kill him or even hurt him? That his dad actually really did want him in the family? That just because he wasn't the prodigy Jazz was didn't mean his dad disregarded his potential to live up to the family name? That his dad wasn't secretly telling Jazz to keep her name when she married so that someone named Fenton would be successful?
His father didn't think any of that. Danny knew that. Really.
But truthfully, he wasn't sure what his father did think about him. It almost seemed like his dad was only just barely aware of him, only vaguely interested in him. The few times Danny had openly expressed an interest in ghosts, Jack had been ecstatic but never cared to know exactly what his interest in ghosts was. And when he found out Danny was sort of dating a girl, Jack had cared far more that he was finally starting to grow up and develop meaningful relationships than he was about the actual girl he was getting close to. Didn't even care to find out her name, just got him a ring engraved with the name of the one girl his dad apparently thought was the only one who'd ever give him a chance.
Not that he was against dating Sam, but—hmm—anyway—
He didn't know what was going on in his dad's head. And he never really knew. For as long as he could remember, his dad was subject to the largest mood swings, excitedly hyperactive one second and then violently livid the next, especially when a ghost crossed his path. And when Danny happened to be that ghost, nothing made Jack explode faster.
Yes, his father was unpredictable. But Danny could certainly predict at least one thing.
He sat up on his bed and looked out his door.
If his dad found the coded messages on his phone, he would rampage and hound Danny about their meaning. Yes, all right, the likelihood of his dad finding those messages was low, but setting him off again was not worth any risk. He'd feel a lot safer if those messages were just completely gone, so much safer if there was no chance of them being found at all.
Safer? Odd word choice. Just what did he think his dad would do to him? Corner him and shoot him in the head?
Enough. Stop. He just needed to quit overthinking and go get his phone already. He was sure it was in the drawer of his mom's nightstand since that was typically where his parents kept things they took away from either him or Jazz.
Not that they ever took anything away from Jazz, their golden child.
He could just invisibly phase through and grab his phone, delete the app he had been using to secretly communicate with his ghost-fighting team, and then place it back in the drawer.
But what if it was in his father's drawer?
...yeah, so what if it was? Not like his dad's nightstand had its own built-in ghost shield.
Or did it? Seemed like something his dad would set up.
All right, he was just stalling now.
Invisible, he walked into the master bedroom and paused as he observed his parents in their bed. Their breathing patterns were heavy and deep, indicative of tranquil sleep. Danny looked first at his mother's nightstand, then his father's.
Please let his phone be in his mother's nightstand like usual. Please give him this one predictable thing.
He phased his arm through Maddie's bedside table, held in a curse when it became apparent his phone wasn't there.
He stared over at his dad, the snoring vibrations escaping through the older man's slightly open mouth. He kept his eyes on his dad's face as he moved to the other side of the bed.
As long as his dad didn't wake up, as long as his eyes stayed closed…
He could still do this.
Danny faced Jack's bedside table and reached forward an intangible hand into the drawer. He wrapped his fingers around the familiar shape of his phone, pulled it up and turned it invisible. He held it to his chest with shaking relief, then took it out into the hall so that its light would not disturb his sleeping father.
All right. He really needed to calm down already. None of this was a big deal.
4304
Nothing. The phone remained locked.
He had probably just passed over the wrong number. He tried again, more carefully.
4-3-0-4
Still locked.
Several times more. Now his phone was disabled, try again in one minute, dumbass.
His father had changed his passcode, had anticipated this exact situation. His dad really didn't trust him? Had so little faith in him to follow his stupid rules that he would lock him out like this?
Well, his lack of faith was certainly well-justified, wasn't it? No wonder his dad liked Jazz so much better than him. Jazz would never try to take her phone back. Not that she'd ever even need to take her phone back. Not that their dad would ever take her phone even if she did do something wrong for once.
He gripped his phone and held it to his head, gritted his teeth and seethed.
Calm down, calm down.
His father didn't hate him, and he was not one to invade his privacy. As long as Danny gave him no reason to believe he would be hiding anything in his phone, his dad wouldn't try to find anything.
His dad so far didn't seem to think he was hiding anything. In fact, his dad probably didn't care that much at all about what he might've really been up to. Sure, Jack came up to talk to him while he was working on his homework, but he wouldn't be surprised if Maddie had put him up to that.
Because... Because…
No, stop it. His dad did care about him. He just wasn't overprotective and meddling like his mother was sometimes.
Okay, so there was nothing he could do about the secret messaging app on his phone. But he could do something about the ghost files on his computer. They were hidden, password-protected, encrypted, but if his dad found them, he'd be forced to explain them, ordered to open them, and no amount of refusal would save him from the ruthless scrutiny.
Could he really just delete them? After all the time he put into compiling them? The hours he spent writing up log entries of important ghost encounters, the grief he felt when he wrote about what all of this was doing to him on a personal and emotional level, the pained secrets he kept from even Sam and Tucker?
Except he still hadn't written about what happened the night before, what his dad said to him, had done to him. But then maybe he shouldn't write about it. If he didn't write it, then it would be as if it never happened, and then he could surely forget it with time.
After replacing his phone in Jack's bedside table, he made his way downstairs to his computer. Sam and Tucker both had their own copies of the ghost files. He had an online backup of the files he kept for only himself. He could delete all of the files and restore them later when this was over. He just couldn't risk them being discovered no matter how well-hidden they were. He would sleep so much better if they were just completely gone.
Denied access. His computer was locked with a new password.
Why did his dad have to be so right not to trust him?
His upper chest jarred, his head throbbed. He breathed deeply, tried to talk himself back down.
His parents hadn't locked him out of his phone and computer because they wanted to stop him from hiding or deleting anything. They just wanted to be sure he would have no way to use them, no way to rebel and get around the constraints of his punishment. As with his phone, as long as he gave them no reason to think he was hiding anything in his computer, they wouldn't look through it.
And besides, they would unlock it for him tomorrow so he could do his homework. He could just delete everything then.
He just had to wait until tomorrow, had to wait for this night to be over.
He just had to keep waiting for all of this to be over because for some god-forsaken reason this still wasn't over.
And the injection sites on his arm and neck still hurt. His headache was getting steadily worse. But such pain could easily be taken care of with medication. A final dose of ibuprofen for the day, more than the standard but less than the maximum. Six hundred milligrams. Totally safe.
He left the light off as he walked across the kitchen. His eyes were adjusted well enough, and any light would just drill this headache deeper. Now to find something to unscrew it. He swung open the medicine cabinet and scanned the various boxes and bottles he was quite familiar with by now. He reached forward with shaking hands.
Wait, why were they shaking? He paused, tried to still them. Maybe he was just tired. Or cold. It was a little cold in the house, he guessed. He'd feel better soon enough. No need to worry about it.
He reached forward again, his hands jerking as he moved aside the various contents to get what he really wanted. He gripped the bottle of ibuprofen and pulled it out, sending a clattering of other plastic containers to the floor, the cabinet shutting with a bang as he tried to catch them with desperate flailing.
He stopped everything, stopped moving, stopped breathing as he assessed the situation. Complete silence now as he studied the fallen pill bottles. Their child-proof lids were still locked on tight, keeping all contents inside. Good, great, all he had to do was put them back. Carefully, gently, made sure the cabinet closed softly this time.
He dispensed a glass of cold water from the fridge and took a seat at the kitchen table, popping three painkillers and swallowing them down all at once. Clutching the pill bottle in his hand, he lay his forehead against the cool tabletop. Still shivery, still aching. He'd rest here for just a moment, wait for the meds to kick in, then he'd go back upstairs and get some sleep.
The light switched on, ignited his pulse and jump-started his adrenaline. He shot up and sprained his neck as he turned to the kitchen entry.
"Danny?" Maddie frowned as she walked up to him, hair matted and tossed, eyes rimmed with recent sleep. "Everything okay?"
Just his mom. Just his mom. He was fine. This was okay. "Yeah, I'm fine," he gasped out.
Maddie put a hand to his head, smoothed back sections of his hair. "What are you doing down here? Did you drop something? I heard a big noise coming from down here, and then I saw you weren't in your room."
Danny blanched. "I didn't wake Dad up, did I?"
Maddie's frown pulled even lower. "No. Of course not. Nothing ever wakes Dad up."
Danny exhaled shakily and took a drink from the glass of water he had poured for himself. The chill felt good going down, settled well in his stressed core.
Maddie pushed back his bangs entirely and studied his face. "You feeling okay?" Her eyes went to the pill bottle in his hand. "What's that?"
Danny also looked at the ibuprofen. "Oh, I was just—I just came down to get some painkillers. But I'm about to go back upstairs."
"Painkillers? For what?"
"I just have a headache." Danny stood and walked to replace the bottle in the cabinet. "Not too bad, but I couldn't sleep."
"What kind of headache?"
"Just a normal headache. It's nothing, really."
Maddie placed a hand on his shoulder, the other on his face. "Sweetheart, it's probably because you didn't eat much today."
His jaw clenched, his neck warmed.
"Let me make you something now." Maddie opened the pantry and rummaged through the shelves. "How about a sandwich?"
"No, Mom, please." Danny's stomach flipped. "I don't like eating this late."
"How about some milk, then?" She started over to the fridge.
"Milk sometimes makes me sick. Especially at night."
Maddie sighed and went back to the pantry, presenting him with a slice of bread. "Eat this, at least. You shouldn't be taking ibuprofen on an empty stomach. If you wanna talk about making yourself sick."
Danny gave in. "All right. Thanks." He took a decent-sized bite to appease her, chewed and tilted his head slightly to coax gravity into helping him gulp it down.
"And promise me you'll eat whatever I make you in the morning, okay?" Maddie thoughtfully looked back in the pantry. "You like French toast. I'll make that."
Danny smiled affectionately. "Sounds good." He held up the remaining bread in his hand. "I'm just gonna take this upstairs and go to bed. Night."
He started walking away, away from the kitchen, away from her, away from any further investigation.
"Danny, wait."
He stilled, apprehensively turned back to face her. She approached him but did not touch him this time.
"How are you really? Are you okay after what happened last night?"
Last night last night last night trapped and cornered and his dad hated him and wanted him dead—
"Yeah," Danny made himself say. "I really am sorry. I feel bad that I...that I disappointed you." He looked down at the floor. "I know I do that a lot."
"Oh, Danny." Maddie brushed her knuckles against his cheek. "Yes, I was disappointed that you snuck out, but this isn't a common thing, okay?" She stroked the hair behind his ears. "I'm very proud of you."
Danny mustered a half-smile.
"And your father is also proud of you."
His attempted smile immediately vanished.
Maddie observed his expression for a quiet moment. "Are things okay between you and Dad?"
Danny straightened and forced the smile back. "Things are just fine between us. Why do you ask?"
"Well, I know Dad was kind of snappish with you this morning at breakfast. And then you seemed a little jumpy around him today, like whenever he would speak to you."
"Oh." Danny chortled and shook his head dismissively. "That was—I mean, yeah, he seemed really mad at me last night and this morning, so I was sort of afraid to set him off again. But it's fine now." Danny widened his smile. "Dad and I talked, and...we're fine. Really."
Maddie studied him intently for several long ticking seconds. Danny maintained his pleasant neutrality.
Her hand finally left his face and moved down his shoulder and arm. "Are you sure there's nothing else you want to tell me?"
He nodded. "Yeah, Mom. I'm fine. I promise."
A final good night. He turned away from her, headed back up to his room.
He knew she didn't believe him. But she should. Because he wasn't lying. He was fine. Even his headache seemed better. The meds were working and everything was okay now.
The bread was still in his hand. But his stomach wasn't hurting at all. He didn't need to eat the rest of it. He could just throw it away or maybe toss it out the window for the birds to feast on in the morning. He had taken painkillers on an empty stomach so many times now that his body seemed adjusted to handle it.
He had adjusted to a lot of things, actually. Injury, assault, deliberate murderous attempts on his life. Last night was nothing he hadn't experienced before. A gun pointed at his head, that was nothing new. His father wanting to violently end his existence, that was normal. His dad had always hated Phantom and had ranted so many times about belting him down and ripping him apart.
He was used to this. Adjusted.
He was fine.
Really.