Author's Note: I actually finished this chapter a couple weeks ago, but because of NaNoWriMo, I didn't get around to proofreading it until much later, sorry!
(after being) Condemned
Danny lay on his bed above the covers, still fully dressed, his body slightly diagonal with the mattress, one leg hanging off the edge. In the dark, blinds closed so that not even moonlight could get in, the same moon he had been gazing at through a huge telescope not too long ago.
With his dad.
He couldn't find the will to get ready for bed. Couldn't even place his head properly on a pillow or at least get himself under the blanket. He'd have only to turn the blanket intangible and pull it up and through and over his body.
But even that was just far too much work.
The only thing he had energy for was thinking and fretting and worrying. Things he had become extremely skilled at this past year and a half since he shocked himself in that damn ghost portal that he really shouldn't have been playing around with in the first place why oh why was he so damn stupid.
He was also pretty stupid for thinking his dad could possibly be okay with him being a ghost.
All of that build-up, all of that agonizing, all of that time he spent gathering his courage to finally tell his dad the truth. All of that optimism and growing premature relief was destroyed with just one disagreement, and it hurt. Being so viciously denied the payoff he had been heading toward was legitimately painful.
The ride back home in the RV had been excruciatingly silent and frustrating. All of his father's previous cheerfulness was replaced with palpable irritability. No more smiling, no more joking, no more fatherly contact or conversation.
But Jack had still pretended to care about him somewhat. Danny had to give him credit for that, he guessed. Jack had tried to get Danny to reveal what he had promised to while they were eating dinner, the secret that he had been keeping since the beginning of high school.
"It's nothing," Danny had insisted in a small, quiet voice. "Forget about it. It's stupid."
"Anything that's bothering you isn't stupid, Danny," Jack had replied, but his tone was monotone and distant. "Come on. You said you'd tell me once we were alone in the RV."
"I know, but I don't really want to talk about it anymore." Danny kept his body turned from Jack. "I'm just...kind of tired. And it really is nothing. I don't want to bother you with something so dumb."
"Stop that, Danny," said Jack gruffly. "Stop acting like your problems are not important. They're important to us because you're our son. So just knock it off, stop playing such a whiny victim, and tell me already."
Playing a whiny victim. That's how his dad saw him. His dad didn't think that his problems could possibly be that significant.
And maybe his dad was right. Maybe he was just being weak and none of this was a big deal. Maybe he was feeling depressed and anxious over issues that were actually really minuscule. Maybe he should feel guilty for daring to feel this bad when so many others had it worse than he did.
But he still didn't want to talk about it. Not anymore, not ever. His dad could never know the truth.
"Sorry," he had mumbled. "But I really am tired. Maybe I'll talk about it later. With both you and Mom."
Jack never replied to that and remained tight-lipped the remainder of the trip home. Danny sat alongside him in equal silence with not even a cell phone to distract himself.
And now as he lay on his bed, he contemplated what new excuse he should give his parents when they inevitably asked about the mysterious trouble going on in his life that he had promised to reveal. It had to be something really good but not too serious. Something that wouldn't compel them to send him to therapy or something.
Where was Desiree when he needed her? He wanted so much to just wish this all away.
Well, there was one way he could just make this all go away. At least for a little while. He had a stash of narcotic painkillers hidden in his wall. Sam had been stealing them from her parents and sneaking them to him to help him deal with his aches and severe pain from ghost-fighting. Just one or maybe two tablets, and he could drift off peacefully and forget about all of this for at least eight to ten hours.
Sounded like a plan.
He managed to drag himself up into a sitting position, then pushed off until he was standing. He began heading to the wall where he kept all of his contraband he didn't want his parents finding when he was stopped by a soft knock at his open door. Danny looked over in dread, fearing he'd see his mother, or worse, his father.
"Can I talk to you, Danny?" asked Jazz in a whisper. "Mom and Dad are both in their room."
Danny stared at her for a moment, catching his breath and letting relief assuage him. He moved away from the wall where his narcotics were stored and instead opened the blinds of his window so that he could look out at the neighborhood and town instead of at her.
"I'm glad you're here, actually," he said quietly. "I need you to talk to Sam and Tucker for me. Tell them to let you know if there are any ghost threats I need to take care of. Tell Tucker to hack into Vlad's security cameras he has set up around the town."
"Uh, okay—"
"Tell them that I'll only go out and take care of ghosts that pose a real threat. I won't resume my normal patrol until next Thursday when I'm no longer grounded."
"Danny, wait—"
"Until then, I'm going to work on duplicating myself." Business as usual. The time to feel sorry for himself and lie despondently on his bed was over. "Maybe I'll be able to do it well enough by Thursday, but if not, the Ghost Catcher will have to do. I mean, splitting myself in half is not something I ever enjoy doing, but my superhero half is pretty good at fighting ghosts on his own, and I can't let Mom and Dad catch me out of my room again."
"Danny!" hissed Jazz. "Are you really going to go on keeping this a secret from them? From Dad?"
She was right behind him now, but Danny still faced away from her as he stared out his window.
"Oh, right," said Danny evenly. "Tell Sam and Tucker that I changed my mind and decided not to tell Dad after all."
"So you were going to tell him?"
"I was. Not anymore."
"Why not?"
"I've just changed my mind. I think it's better for him to not know."
"How can it possibly be better for him to not know? With all that this has been doing to you? Why do you think it's better this way?"
Danny seethed but continued to keep his back to her while looking out the window. "What exactly do you think this has been doing to me, Jazz? What the hell do you think you know about me?"
"You just seem so unhappy, Danny. So unhappy and...afraid."
"I'm not afraid. I'm just cautious."
"Danny—"
"I would think you of all people would understand, Jazz. Our parents—our dad—they're—insane! Their view of ghosts is crazy. Of course I have to continue keeping my double life secret from them."
"They'd accept you," said Jazz pleadingly. "Dad would understand, Danny."
"I don't care. It's honestly not even about that."
"Then what is it about?"
"He doesn't deserve to know." His voice was low, almost a whisper. The way his father spoke to him earlier, the way he didn't even care to let Danny voice any of his own thoughts and opinions, the way he just completely disregarded Danny because he was only a child and subordinate.
"Dad thinks of my ghost side as a pest with no real feelings, a selfish narcissist that only cares about himself and is only using the town for adoration and approval." He paused, his tone darkening. "And he doesn't think much more of me as his son either."
"Did he say that?"
"Yes. And he wants nothing more than to strap me down and cut me open no matter how much I scream for him to stop. Because he hates me and believes I'm part of an infestation that needs to be exterminated."
"No." Jazz moved closer to him and put her hand on his shoulder. "I mean, did he say that about...you? As his son?"
Danny looked at her for as long as he could before he simply had to avert his gaze. "Everything I do disappoints him. I couldn't even get the right flavor of milkshake."
He broke away from her hold and headed toward his bed, set to simply sleep in his clothes without washing his face or brushing his teeth. "I'm going to bed," he said, his voice cracking.
"Danny, please." She was following close behind him.
"Don't, Jazz." He dropped onto his mattress. "I can't do this right now. I don't want to do this right now. I just want to go to bed."
"You're right. You can't do this, Danny. This isn't healthy, this is wrong." Jazz sat down on his bed with him and took his hands in hers. "You have to tell him."
"No," said Danny sharply, taking his hands from her. "I've already told you no. He doesn't deserve to know the truth."
"You're trying to rationalize it," said Jazz with an authoritative tone. "I can see that. You're trying to convince yourself that this is really the best choice. But what you're really doing is grasping for an excuse to not tell him. Because you're still afraid of him."
Danny made no reply, didn't even look at her. He just really wanted to drug himself into a deep sleep; was that so much to ask?
"But you can't keep doing this to yourself," Jazz continued. "You'll keep being afraid of Dad unless you tell him. Is that really what you want, Danny? Do you want to be afraid of your own father for the rest of your life?"
"Wow, that's such an exaggeration. The rest of my life, really?"
"Don't avoid my question. If you don't tell him, you'll never have a good relationship with him again."
"Oh, because we had such a good relationship before?" asked Danny mockingly. "Dad and I have never had anything in common, Jazz. Yeah, we've hung out sometimes, but I've never felt like I could confide in him, and he's certainly never taken a real interest in me. He didn't even care to learn the name of the girl I was dating last year, just assumed it was Sam and gave me a ring inscribed with her name. In fact, any gift he's ever given me has always been something he wanted me to want, not something I actually wanted."
Danny paused, suddenly overwhelmed with a bitter gloom.
"Dad only notices me when I'm doing something he actually wants me to do," he said sullenly. "Otherwise, I'm a major disappointment to him."
"That is so not true," said Jazz. "And if it really feels that way to you, then you need to try to connect with him more, and a good place to start would be to stop all this secrecy and hiding."
"So the burden of fixing our relationship is all on me? Are you saying it's my fault we're at this point?" Danny glanced up briefly with a quick exhale. "I mean, maybe you're right. Maybe all of this is my fault. I should pretend more often to share his interests. I should work harder to actually be the son he wants." He glanced at Jazz. "I should try to be more like you."
"No, Danny—"
"Why not? Dad actually likes you. You never disappoint him."
"Of course I've disappointed him," Jazz bit back. "I've disappointed Mom, too. But I don't obsess over those moments."
"And you think I do?"
"It kind of sounds like it, yeah. Since you seem convinced that Dad only sees you as a disappointment and that you're not the son he wants."
"Dad is only happy with me when I'm doing what he wants me to do, saying what he wants me to say. The moment I stray from what he wants or I disagree with him, he completely turns on me. Being just me is never good enough for him."
"Are you even hearing yourself?" Jazz stared at him in bewilderment. "Are you really this delusional?"
His nerves and veins were heating up. He couldn't even respond to her.
"Dad does not hate you," insisted Jazz. "And Dad doesn't want you to be anything you're not."
Danny put his hands over his face for a quick second before pulling them away with a loud sigh. "Okay. I'm done with this, seriously. Just leave."
"Danny—"
"No, Jazz. You don't know what you're talking about, and I'm not going to talk about this with you if you're just going to keep telling me I'm wrong."
"I'm not saying you're wrong," said Jazz pleadingly. "But I don't understand why you think carrying on in the exact same way you always do is going to work. Keeping all this secret, it hasn't been working, so why do you think something is going to change if you keep trying this way?"
Still sitting on his bed, Danny turned his body from her. Jazz's hands went to his shoulders, gently squeezing them near the base of his neck.
"Don't you see how much this is hurting you, Danny?"
His eyes were suddenly aching with pressure. He swallowed a few times to relieve the strain. "You're right," he said with shaking voice. "This is really hurting me. This has been destroying me in ways I didn't even know I was vulnerable."
"So then why do you keep doing this to yourself?" Jazz's hands were still on his shoulders. "Why do you keep letting yourself get hurt?"
Danny turned back to her, forcing her hands off his shoulders. "I think the real question is, why do you think I'm so weak?"
Jazz only stared at him, stunned into silence.
"You seem to think that I'm broken and injured and that I need to be sheltered and coddled. Well, I'm not broken, Jazz, and I don't need you to protect me. Just because this has been hurting me doesn't mean it's been defeating me. I am not nearly as fragile as you think I am."
"I didn't say you were—"
"I have taken on so many enemies, have fought and won so many battles that I've lost count. I went through a shock from our ghost portal, a shock that would've killed anyone else." He pointed to himself. "But I survived it. Because I'm not weak."
"I'm not saying you're weak," pleaded Jazz. "I can just see that you're struggling with this so much—"
"Oh, you can see that, huh? And you think you know exactly what will fix all of my problems, do you?"
"Well, I mean, I've studied up a lot, you know—"
"You really think you know just because you've read some psychology books?" Danny scoffed. "You know nothing about me, Jazz. You don't know what it's like to be me or how this has been affecting me."
Jazz gritted her teeth. "I'm not going to let you keep doing this to yourself. All this secrecy and suppression has done nothing good for you. If you won't tell Dad the truth, then I'll—"
"Jazz, I swear if you tell him, I will never trust you again," said Danny in a low, serious voice. "I will never forgive you."
Jazz made no reply, only looked at him with tears shining in her eyes.
"This is not your secret to tell, not your decision to make." He stood up from the bed to get away from her. He was at the window once again, looking out at the neighborhood and skyline of the town. "Don't make me regret you discovering my secret anymore than I already do."
She was quiet. He didn't dare look at her, didn't want to see the pained expression he was sure she was wearing.
"If you really want to help me, then please tell Sam and Tucker to let you know if there are any ghosts I need to take care of," said Danny quietly. "Let them know we're going to have to work out some way for me to fight ghosts again without Mom and Dad catching me out of my room. I'll work on duplicating, but once I'm no longer grounded, we'll probably want to pretend I'm spending the night at Tucker's house on the weekends more often. Things like that. Can you tell them for me, please?"
Jazz never said a word, only left the room with soft footsteps that faded into the hall. Danny put his forehead against his window and breathed deeply. He hated doing that to his sister, one of the few in his life who sincerely cared about him. He knew he had hurt her, but he also knew that hurting her was the only way he could get her to respect his wishes, the only way he could protect himself.
He knew she meant well. It was too much to expect her to understand that revealing his secret would surely make things worse, not better.
His father didn't like him. His father hated Phantom even more.
And if he found out the two boys were actually the same person? It would certainly be an unfavorable combination his father would never accept.
He glanced out his open door. No one was there. He would have to listen carefully so that he could detect anyone possibly coming down the hall.
He focused and willed his molecules to change, felt their mortal and biological properties infuse with something not of this world. No alarms went off, no anti-ghost weapons aimed at him. Tucker had successfully reprogrammed the house system so that it would ignore his own ecto-signature.
He looked down at his now gloved and glowing hands, ethereal wisps of ectoplasmic light pulsating around and within him.
His thought processes were already being taken over by his spectral neural oscillations, brainwaves that carried and transmitted messages of self-preservation. He had to figure out a way to continue protecting the town without telling his father the truth. He had to figure out how to duplicate himself. He held out his hand and targeted its individual cells, mentally commanded them to split and replicate.
Not something a normal human could do. Of course not.
But that didn't mean he wasn't a person. That didn't mean he wasn't capable of normal human feelings.
Could his father ever believe that? Or would he always believe that Phantom was just a contamination that needed to be destroyed?