Author's Note: I'm splitting this final chapter up because it was taking me so long to write it and I wanted to give you guys something. Although I admit it's maybe not the most interesting chapter. But the next chapter will hopefully be something really great! I am excited to share what happens.
(after being) Condemned
The unmasked - Part one
Danny usually didn't fly this high.
This wasn't the highest he'd ever been, no. Of course not. He had even gone beyond the atmosphere once. But he typically liked to stay below the clouds.
At this height, the air was thinner and harder to pull into his lungs. And it felt cold even against his frigid spectral skin.
But he couldn't go lower, had to stay up here. He had to stay far away from his dad.
The sky was such a deep blue up here, rich and saturated. The sun was still well above the horizon, flaring out from its center with warming rays. He could actually stare straight at it without damage to his retinas in this form, could hypnotize himself by watching its radiating light that seemed to spin, could make himself forget everything for this small moment.
The clouds beneath him rolled with feathery vapor. They looked so soft. If only he could rest on them because keeping himself aloft actually did take a fair amount of strength, and he was exhausted.
He ran a hand through a large puff of cloud. He couldn't feel it through his glove, but the condensation clung to him in beads.
Maybe he could just pretend that nothing at all existed below these clouds.
He tried to keep his mind as empty as possible, tried to focus on only the spots created by the sun or the shapes in the clouds. But his mind kept conjuring the last words his dad said to him, his dad's painful grip on his arm, how he had to actually use his powers right in front of his dad to get away because his dad was far stronger than he was.
Without his powers, his dad really could take everything from him. And he sure seemed to be trying these days. Trying to detain him, to take his freedom, to remove him completely because he could never be what his dad wanted and he had never been what his dad wanted because he wasn't good at physics like his dad was and wasn't good at creating anything like his dad was and didn't agree with his dad's fervently held viewpoints and his dad would probably be happier if he were just gone—
He had to stop thinking about this. Had to think about something else.
He shook the beads of cloud moisture off his glove, watched them disperse into the air.
Well. Something else to think over. He still needed to figure out what he was going to do about his narcotics.
Jazz had made it very clear she would not let this go. If he didn't give her his narcotics, he had no doubt she'd tell their parents about his "drug problem." And of course they'd believe her. Even if they couldn't find any in his room because it was hidden in his wall, they would still take her side. Because they always did. Throughout his entire life, when it was his word against Jazz's, they always believed her. Because she was perfect and he could never be.
He could never let them know just how even less perfect he had become since he nearly killed himself in their portal.
So he had to give Jazz at least a few of his pills to satisfy her, to get her off his back. But then what? He would run out of whatever he kept from her, and Sam had refused to steal any more from her mom for him.
He had to get more. Somehow. Running out was not an option. Ghost fighting came with pain, so much pain. He couldn't continue without strong medication, absolutely needed some way to relax his nerves and abate his pain at night so he could sleep.
He had to get more.
He had to.
And with his powers, it would be so easy. He could just phase through the ceiling of the Manson home and—
No, no, he couldn't do that, he couldn't steal from his best friend's parents. Or any individual persons, for that matter. That was just wrong, that was just terrible. Sam's mom already thought so little of him, thought he was a no-good hoodlum. He definitely didn't want to prove her right.
Okay, what about one of the pharmacies? They probably had tons of painkillers, maybe something even stronger than hydrocodone. And surely they wouldn't notice a few pills missing, right? They could easily get more, couldn't they? Or did they manufacture the tablets themselves? He had absolutely no idea, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that they had what he needed.
His chest shuddered, his hands shook. He ran them through the clouds again, watched the wisps curl around his fingers.
Was he seriously thinking about robbing a pharmacy? Him? Danny Phantom? When he was trying to prove to this town that he wasn't a criminal? That he was good?
When he was trying to prove to his dad that he could be trusted?
His body was growing wearier. Engaging his anti-gravity center was becoming more difficult, requiring more concentration than he had the strength for.
He needed to rest. Somewhere distant from the town. Somewhere he wouldn't be found.
He ventured below the clouds. He was flying over the far outskirts of Amity Park, no people in sight, nothing but grass and trees.
The trees over here had fully embraced spring, aglow with white and pink blossoms. They reached toward him on beckoning branches, and Danny did not need to be begged twice. He settled himself on a branch near the trunk and allowed his molecules to return to their less excitable human states.
He pressed his forehead against the tree trunk, clutched at the branch beneath him with his bare hands. Tiny splinters gathered under his nails.
He sighed in a trance, watching the new budding flowers stir in the calm breeze.
The sun was warm and the weather was nice and it was spring.
Right here was so perfect.
He never wanted to leave. He never wanted to go back.
He leaned over and pressed his head into his hands. All of the tears he had been keeping back streamed down his face and onto his jeans.
But it was okay. He could cry now. Because nobody was around to see. Nobody ever had to know that he was not as strong as he pretended to be.
Then again, from the way his friends and sister kept expressing pity for him, they apparently already knew.
And his dad, well, his dad had never thought he was strong.
And how could he have ever thought he was strong, really? When he only ever ran away from his problems, ignored them hoping they'd disappear somehow?
If only he had someone to turn to, to talk to. But there was no one. Not his parents. Not his sister. Not his friends. No one was on his side. But he wanted to believe in someone, anyone. He wanted someone to know what he was feeling even if that someone couldn't help him.
But there wasn't anyone. There was no one here.
He had to do this on his own. And he couldn't hide from it forever.
He rested his elbows on his thighs and stared out at the horizon. The last of his tears trickled down his face.
He couldn't stay here.
He had to go home.
The spring sun felt so good on his skin and he could absolutely fall asleep against this tree, but he had to get home before his mom and Jazz returned from their car shopping. It would absolutely not end well for him if he was still gone by the time they returned. Even if Jazz had decided not to tell their mother anything about his secret narcotic habit while out shopping, there was no way he could expect her to keep it quiet anymore if she knew he had run away like this.
And maybe… Maybe he could patch things up with his dad before they came home. Maybe he could fix all of this. Maybe he could make everything go back to normal. Somehow. If he apologized profusely enough. If he came up with a good enough story to tell his dad. He had been stressed about school, he was doing poorly in his classes, maybe he could even throw Dash under the bus for still bullying him. Anything his dad might believe. Anything that might make his dad soften and forgive him and stop hating him.
And then maybe they could just pretend none of this happened. Maybe they could just ignore everything. Drown it all in fudge and vanilla ice cream.
He wrung his hands as he pulled in deep breaths and thought over exactly what he was going to do next. One step at a time. He would fly home, phase into his room, and hide at least a few of his narcotic pills so that Jazz wouldn't find them. He'd only turn over a few just to appease her. He'd figure out how to get more later. Right now, he just needed to make Jazz happy so she wouldn't rat him out to their parents.
And then... Then…
Then he'd figure out how to approach his dad.
He turned over his molecules back to their ghostly counterparts, feeling their frequencies chatter through his skin as he took one final look at the horizon and all of the pretty blossoms speckling the tree.
He could see this again. Later. When everything was better.
He pushed himself off the branch, engaged his anti-gravity core, and covered himself in invisibility as he flew toward home at a somewhat leisurely pace. He had to get home, yes, but that didn't mean he had to hurry. These few extra moments with the wind rushing past his face and blowing his hair back wouldn't hurt anything.
He was stalling. But at least he was admitting it.
The big, obvious sign boasting Fenton Works was the first thing he saw, then the rest of the house. He aimed straight for his window—he never knew why he always came in through the window, he could of course just go in through the wall—and phased through without a pause, landing on the floor of his room and changing back into his human form.
He stood still for some time, listening for the sound of his dad's heavy footsteps on the stairs, ready to barge into his room and reprimand him.
But there was no sound at all.
Was his dad even home anymore? What if he had left to search for him?
He closed his eyes and bowed his head, breathing to collect himself. He'd find his dad later. First, he needed to go to his wall, phase his hand through, and retrieve his stash of narcotics. Then he had to hide a few of the pills somewhere Jazz wouldn't think to look for them. Perhaps just another section of his wall. Or maybe in his mattress. Or hell, just in his sock drawer. She'd probably never look anywhere as mundane as there.
He straightened and walked over to his wall, his arm outstretched, already intangible.
A chill shook him, stopped him short. His breath blew out in icy crystals.
A ghost? In the house?
He looked around his room, his head turning slowly. Not in here.
He gave his wall a final glance before walking toward his door. Hiding his drugs would have to wait. Stopping ghosts was his foremost responsibility. His obligation. His penance for bringing them to the town in the first place.
Out in the hall, he looked first in the direction of his parents' room, then the stairs. His breath continued to come out in billowy vapor.
Silence.
And then a distant crash followed by loud shouts and curses from his father.
Sounds coming from the basement lab.
Danny immediately power walked to the stairs and practically jumped to the ground floor. He turned in the direction of the closed lab door. The sounds of a struggle between his father and what he had to assume was a ghost continued.
He paused outside the door, listening to the ethereal ghostly shrieking and the blasts from an ecto-gun.
He imagined one of the blasts blowing a hole straight through his head, his chest, splashing everything inside of him all over the lab.
His dad cried out again, this time in pain.
Danny ground his teeth and shut his eyes before giving the command to his molecules to switch. The familiar light glided over his body and settled inside him.
He relaxed his fists and let go of gravity, phased through the lab door and flew down the stairs.
Ready for whatever would happen as a result.