Disclaimer: I don't own DP.
Thanks to Ghost Core, Yasz1221, Turtledude83, Puppy von Wolfenstein, Domination of the World, Invader Johnny, Above the Winter Moonlight, Gerren, Margot-Eve, Guest, KraZiiPyrozHavemoreFun, Guest, Guest, Guest, and Crystalmoon39 for reviewing last time! I am so behind on my "thank yous" right now since I've been struggling to crank out more content this week. But I really am thankful for each and every one of you. Your reviews are the best Christmas gifts any time of the year. :)
And what could this be? A new one-shot to break up the monotony of a miniseries update while I strategize how to tackle one-shot requests? Le gasp!
One-shot summary: On Christmas Eve, a beaten and miserable Valerie receives the gift of hope from an unexpected source.
Deliverance
Shot 30: Tis the Season to be Forgiven (Christmas 2015)
On the morning of Christmas Eve, Valerie awoke in great pain. Dan Phantom had beaten her hard the previous day. He'd slammed her into a skyscraper beam, bruised her ribs, cracked open her helmet. He'd dragged her along by her hair and punched her in the face. It'd been all she could do to drive him off.
Now, her bruised, swollen eye struggled to hone in on the ceiling of the infirmary. It was still early morning, the windows dark. The machines in the room beeped in time with her sluggish heartbeat. She feared in that moment the slightest twitch of her body, for she knew it would radiate pain down her spine. Even the bedsheets hurt against her skin.
Valerie inhaled shakily, staring dully up as tears bubbled in her eyes, then burned down her face. I can't do this, she thought for the thousandth time. Not again. Not anymore.
He was so powerful. It all seemed so futile.
.
He slammed her against the canyon side, pinning her hard between him and the rocks. His fingers ran down her neck, and he looked as if he might snap it. Then he patted her face. "Why don't you go run home to daddy," he mocked, "and lick your wounds so that I might play with you again."
She shook in pain, gasping for air. She did not even have the energy to resist him. "W-why don't you just k-kill me?" she rasped in challenge. But in that moment, she was in so much pain, her pride beaten down, her body broken… "J-just end it."
Phantom laughed at her. He dragged her forward by her hair, watching her bruised and bloody face twist in pain. "But if I did that," he whispered in her ear, "then I'd miss out on so much fun." He shoved her hard into the dirt, marveling at the rips in her battle suit. "I just love your miserable attempts to stop me."
Her body shuddered in pain as she tried to crawl up. "Ngh," she cried, her metal-plated fingers digging into the ground.
His booted foot slammed onto her back, and she gasped, collapsing back down. Her breath escaped her as he stepped on her deliberately, then began to walk off. "Let it be known," he called over his shoulder merrily, "that Amity Park is mine in all but name, and as long as you entertain me—I shall allow its ridiculous Shield to stand."
Then Phantom dematerialized into the nothing of the air, leaving her lying on the ground in defeat.
.
She felt like a fraud. A little marionette.
Valerie blinked, but it seemed to only make her tears worse, and it pained her bruised face. Her breath hitched harder. "I wanna die…" she whispered to the air, begging to be taken away. "I just…" It was Christmas, and Phantom had already won. He was toying with her now. Some part of her will began to shatter as she lay there in pain.
The Red Huntress—her whole, prideful and highly respected position as a protector—was a façade. Just a silly girl that Phantom had not yet squashed because he wanted a laugh.
As she pressed her lips together to stop her sobs, she turned her stiff neck with a wince. She halfway wished someone would walk into the infirmary and see her crying, and the other half of her was horrified at the possibility.
Why hadn't he just killed her? He could have just snapped her neck—ended it all—what was the point of even pretending that they were in a fair fight anymore—?
But her thoughts grew more scrambled. She felt the slightest brush of a coolness against her check, stopping her tears in their tracks. Then she heard the clank of metal against metal. Maybe it was the infirmary's heating system malfunctioning or a hallucination.
Either way, she did not care. Her breath hitched, and she blinked, wishing to feel it again as her hot tears ran down her face. The cold air returned, as if it were a caress against her bruised face, brushing down her tears and cooling the tracks.
She closed her eyes again, slowly falling into a fitful sleep.
Later that afternoon, Valerie awoke to Paulina gently calling for her. "Chica?" the Latina whined at her.
Valerie struggled to open up her eyes, and she blearily stared at the well-dressed and chipper woman before her. Paulina had gone all out, her dark hair sleekly pulled back with a Christmas ribbon and eyes accented with expensive green eyeshadow. Something about Paulina made Valerie hate herself more. She closed her eyes.
Paulina face-faulted. "Chica, you gotta get up. It's Christmas Eve! We're all waiting for you to join the party. The cooks made chocolate cookies, and your papa shipped in some of those red hots you like so much—just for you!"
"Don't wanna," Valerie said, voice rough with tiredness and pain.
Paulina pursed her full lips. "I talked to Kwan, and he said you were just bruised up and that it shouldn't keep you from celebrating."
She groaned, "I'm not going out there like this." At the very least, she had a reputation to keep up. To be untouchable and undefeatable as Commander Valerie Gray, the Red Huntress. As it stood, she was a beaten loser with a bruised face and no hope. Even the thought of Christmas burned her. It meant everyone else would be laughing and dancing and she would be sitting there in misery and pain, knowing that she had not saved them but that Phantom had simply chosen to torment her over destroying them—
She squeezed her eyes shut and then regretted it. Her face pulsed in agony.
"Oh, chica," Paulina said. The end of the world had made her heart grow at least three sizes, although she carried the inherent mar of superficiality in her thoughts. She brushed some of Valerie's ringlet curls to the side. "A little makeup, the clothes I brought for you, and some pain meds—and you'll be good as new!"
Valerie nearly snorted. As if a fake appearance could hide the fact that Amity Park was losing the battle. It was written all over her beaten body. She blinked, and tears began to bubble in her eyes again. Dammit, she thought, trying to control it, but then her breath hitched again, and they began to slip down her face. "I just want to stay here," she argued shakily. "I don't want them to s-see me."
"Girl, everyone wants to see you. Like, half the presents under the tree are for you." In Amity Park, they'd accepted the habit of opening gifts late on Christmas Eve since it meant more time to spend with families before the following ghost attacks. Paulina patted her arm. "Come on. I'm here to make you beautiful, and you don't have an option because Kwan says you're not dying."
"I don't want to." Her heart seared in pain at the thought of anyone giving her presents for protecting them. How had she so deceived them? Here they were, in love with the Red Huntress as their brave and undefeatable savior, and she was just a lie—
Paulina grew uncomfortable, swallowing hard. "And what if this is our last Christmas, huh?" she accused softly, her accented voice heavy with a weigh that did not suit her. "You gonna spend it all by yourself in here?"
Valerie deadpanned, "You tryin' to guilt-trip me?"
"Yes," Paulina retorted, sniffing airily. "You're like, one of the only friends I got left. I am so going to guilt-trip you into coming to the Christmas celebration with me."
Valerie gave her a weak glare. "I hate you."
Paulina rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever." She clapped her hands quickly. "Time to get up!"
The injured woman groaned, slowly giving in, "…Dammit, Paulina."
And so Paulina raised her nose in triumph and then helped the injured woman to sit up. Valerie winced, her breath steeling away at the pain of moving her spine.
As the bedsheets fell away, Paulina caught site of Valerie's bare back, which was dark with a bruise and several scars. This was only the first of a long, recent string of infirmary visits. Kwan had feared that Valerie was getting sloppy. No one knew that Phantom's power had grown beyond her control.
"Now," Paulina said, forcing her voice to be cheery as a watery smile stretched across her face, "I brought you some pretty neat sweatpants, and I got this shirt made for you—it's black and got your initials in red on the pocket and—"
"—Oh great," Valerie sighed, not a bit excited. She didn't have the energy to fight Paulina's attempts to dress her. Seemed everyone had her life planned out for her.
"It was going to be your Christmas present. All from me, but I thought you'd need an early pick-me-up," Paulina said proudly.
"You shouldn't have," Valerie said, feeling somewhat more depressed at the thought of presents. As if she deserved presents.
Paulina hummed some kind of Spanish tune as she helped Valerie dress with surprising patience, pulling her bruised arms through a bra and then the black shirt and the form-fitting sweatpants. Valerie grumbled the entire time, feeling awkwardly like a doll (as always). But damn if Valerie didn't want to admit that the sweatpants were comfortable and as soft as velvet. The clothing was loose enough while still making her feel a bit more human. She sat there on the infirmary bed, petting the material.
"I'm still gonna look like basket case," Valerie complained. "And I don't feel good."
"Chica—you're going to feel like a million bucks soon." Paulina grabbed a bag from floor. She stared at Valerie's face, the beautiful, dark skin marred by a bruise around her eye and cheek. She pursed her lips, gently tilting Valerie's face. "This should be easy enough to hide," she said. And she pulled out a vial from her bag, and it was dark like Valerie's skin. She uncapped it, dabbed it some of the liquid foundation on her fingers, then began to smooth it across Valerie's face. It was cold and light, and Valerie knew such objects of vanity were incredibly expensive—well worth a full month's pay. "I might just put some eyeliner on you too, since you can't get away."
Valerie groaned. She hadn't worn eyeliner in years, and she didn't exactly understand why Paulina was wasting so much of her own money on her. "I don't wanna," she whined.
"Oh, hush," Paulina teased, eyeing the woman's face as an artist would a masterpiece. "This is the least I can do for you."
"Did Kwan tell you? I almost lost Amity Park last night." Her voice was shaky. "We almost all died because of me."
Paulina had a tightness in her face that suggested she was aware, but she said carefully, "We're still here."
"For how long?" Valerie demanded hopelessly, wincing a bit as Paulina swept her fingers across her bruise. "Another day? And how much was this makeup, anyway? It had to be expensive."
Paulina stepped back to see her work, then dabbed a little more foundation under Valerie's slightly swollen eye. "It was worth it," she said firmly. "Cause you wouldn't come out without it. I know you, miss prideful."
"But I almost killed us all," she pressed, her eyes beginning to burn with tears. "Why did you spend money on me? I don't deserve it. And I really don't want to go out and face everyone."
Paulina snapped, "We're still here. We're fine. And stop moving! And…crying! Dios mio, chica, you'll ruin my beautiful work!" She dabbed at the edge of Valerie's eye, her touch gentle. "You know the last time I got to give someone a makeover?"
"A long time?" Valerie whispered, trying to suck it up.
"Yes. Like, five years," the diva moaned. "Now sit there and let me help you."
The two fell silent, Valerie feeling more and more unworthy of the attention Paulina was willing to give to her, despite her failures. She'd always been short with Paulina ever since the end of the world.
"Paulina?"
"Hmm?" she said distractedly, pulling out a brush and some powder.
"...Thank you," Valerie whispered.
After taking a prescription pain medication and having her hair brushed and looking at her natural-looking makeup in a mirror, Valerie did feel a little better. Paulina helped her limp down to the main hall, where all of the citizens of Amity Park had volunteered to dress up the resistance building. Around every pillar were sparkling tinsels, glittering against the lights and the roaring fire in the atrium fireplace. A large Christmas tree stood off to the side, soft lights glowing in an array of blues and greens and pinks and yellows.
Valerie pressed her lips together. Tears nearly came to her eyes again because she'd stared at a similar sight last year and had thought it would be the last time she'd ever see a Christmas tree. It seemed like this would be the last year for sure, especially if Phantom ever lost his interest in tormenting her.
Her father suddenly came into sight, wearing an impressive military uniform with the left sleeve folded and pinned tastefully to showcase his war wound. "Ah!" he exclaimed happily, his eyes misting in joy at the sight of her. "My baby girl. You're up. Oh, it's so good to see you up!"
She managed a watery smile. "Hey, daddy."
Her father's roughly calloused fingers brushed against her jaw as he peered at her, knowing that a sick bruise was hiding somewhere. "My, you must heal fast. We were worried last night, you know." He peered at her eyes. "…Are you wearing makeup?"
Paulina leaned in. "I held her down and forced it on her," she bragged.
Valerie's father gave a laugh, his fingers gently pulling away. "Ah, yes. That sounds about right. You wouldn't win in a fair fight against this one, Paulina."
Paulina face-faulted, her beautiful face scrunching, "You're making fun of me?"
"No, he's being honest," Valerie muttered, the tiredness in her teal eyes glinting away for just a moment with mischief. Then she winced, suddenly feeling a bit dizzy and more tired, and Paulina grabbed onto her arm to steady her. "I need to sit down."
"Okay, okay," the Latina gave in, sighing dramatically. "Bye, Mr. Gray! I have to get senorita grouchy-pants to a chair."
The father smiled and waved them on, trying to catch his daughter's eye. "Be sure to eat some of those red hots for me!"
But Valerie turned away anxiously and did not answer, her heart pulling so tight that it ached her collar bones.
In truth, it was her father's proud face that burned her the most. She'd nearly gotten him killed, and he was…happy? Was this all some act just because it was Christmas? Surely, he had to be furious with her, for being just a play doll of Phantom's to kick around. She lowered her eyes, then steeled herself in worry, because now she had to be Commander Valerie Gray in front of everyone. She forced herself to pull away from Paulina's helping arms. "Where can I sit down?" she demanded. "Like, away from everyone?"
Paulina pouted. "Chica—"
"—I'm serious."
"There's the couches by the Christmas tree," Paulina offered, sadness creeping into her whole body. It did not seem right for Paulina to be sad. "Want me to get you some of those red hots your papa got you?"
"No," she snapped, and Paulina's face fell even more.
"Well, okay. How about some punch?"
Valerie gave her a helpless look. "I just want to be left alone. I'm here. Isn't that enough?" And before Paulina could answer, Valerie hobbled forward, mouth in a thin line as she struggled to hide her injuries and walk tall. She nodded at a few people to keep up appearances, but she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the floor and hide forever.
She stole into a comfortable single-seat beside the couch, wincing as she forced her beaten body to sit down. Bright, cheerful Christmas music echoed from the speakers above, and several resistance members danced with one another, laughing. Valerie noted that they all seemed so happy and carefree. But then none of them knew that Amity Park had nearly become Phantom's territory in last night's battle. Or that Phantom had dragged her by her hair and laughed. Or that Phantom had kept Amity Park standing for the sole purpose of tormenting her with its eventual demise.
The failure screwed up her face, making her bruise hurt. She turned to the Christmas tree to see several gifts wrapped in different colored foils. Some of them, she could see, carried her name upon the tag. And in that moment, she felt entirely unworthy of it all.
Then, suddenly, the sound of metal clanking against metal echoed in her ear. Clink. Clank.
Valerie blinked, surprised. But then it was gone.
A few minutes later, she heard it again, and it was even louder than the music. Clink. Clank. Clink.
"The hell?" she muttered, looking around in surprise.
And then everything changed.
The world around her seemed to slow down, the music fading away, people's faces blurring out. Valerie gripped tight onto her chair, until she realized with fright that there was no chair and that she was gripping snow.
"Huh?" She looked down to see she was sitting atop a fallen, snowy beam. And then in horror, she looked up. The world was now entirely a frozen Wasteland, in the middle of a great snowstorm. The roof over her head was gone. The hallways were gone. She could barely even see those through the heavy blankets of snow falling to the earth.
"Oh my god." Goose-bumps raised on her skin as a wind raised up. "What is this?" she breathed to herself, teal eyes wide. She was supposed to be in Amity Park. She'd just been sitting down against the wall by the tree—and now she was in the middle of the Wastelands?
Odd. She didn't even feel cold…!
And then—Clink. Clank. Clink. Clank.
It was the same, odd metal sound she'd heard in the infirmary and within the main hall. But now it was much closer.
Clink. Clank. Clink. Clank.
"Valerie Gray," called out a deep, baritone voice. Heavily strained. "The infamous and beloved Red Huntress whom I have tormented."
Her heart stopped, her jaw dropping. She knew that voice.
The wind swept away suddenly, and the massive snowstorm dulled into a flurry. The fog of the earth dissipated. And suddenly, she saw him. It was a dark shadow approaching her. A masculine ghost she knew only too well—but her eyes squinted in shock and confusion.
Chink. Clank. Chink. Clank.
As he came into view, she suddenly saw it. Dan Phantom's proud cape was gone, his clothes nondescript black. His feet were bare against the snow, his arms exposed by his ripped sleeves. Thick, banded cuffs were tight around his wrists, neck, waist, and ankles. And from them protruded a river of iron chains. Large lockboxes hung from the chains, dragging behind him with every step. They glimmered with alien power.
Chink. Clank. Chink. Clank.
"Holy shit," Valerie breathed, too surprised to even search for a weapon. This was Dan Phantom. Her enemy, nearly swallowed by chains. They dragged hard on the snowy ground, and every step burdened him. Valerie watched in a distant curiosity at the sweat upon his brow. His hair did not flicker, but fell into his face as straggles. An elegant "CW" was branded into his bare left shoulder, the skin an off-color and raised from the branding. Something about him looked older, as if his features were sharper.
"As always," he said breathlessly, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "your tact amazes me." He stopped before her, and a few of the lockboxes fell across each other, tumbling into the snowdrifts by her feet.
Valerie's jaw dropped a little bit more. "What the hell is this?" she demanded. "Where am I?"
"You are in Amity Park, right where you were sitting previously. Five-hundred years into the future."
"…What?"
"This is the doing of Clockwork, the Master of Time," he declared, wincing as he raised himself from his bowed-over position. A chain and a small lockbox hung from his neck, swinging against the loose material of his shirt. His tired, red eyes landed upon her, and they hardly glowed. "He has displaced you to visit me in my time."
"Your time?" she echoed, a sculpted brow raised.
"I am not from your present," he told her roughly, "but 500 years into the future." Something in his blue face was horribly pained. When he turned his neck, she could see the bruises imprinted upon his skin from the chain swinging at his neck. "This world you see is simply an illusion of Clockwork's power so that you would not suffer within it. Do not worry—all time has stopped, and no one in Amity Park will know you have been spirited away."
Valerie had heard of the name Clockwork once or twice. Legends said he was some all-powerful ghost that not even Phantom could challenge and win against. Legends also went that Clockwork, the Master of Time, was an odd and somewhat cruel ghost. It was not necessarily good to be under his power.
She looked down, and in surprise, she realized a small time medallion was draped around her neck with the same "CW" inscription as was branded into Phantom's arm. Clockwork. "Geez," she whispered, fully alarmed that this Clockwork had already manipulated her into his hand.
She eyed the chained Dan Phantom with great wariness, feeling naked before him. Surely, this was the most vulnerable and powerless she had been in his presence—all clothed in loose materials, her body crippled with pain. But perhaps that was fair, as his spine was bowed by the weight of many chains, and even he seemed frail in his clothing.
"What is this, some kind of Christmas intervention?" she demanded in a huff, if only to hide her great unease and fear. "Am I too much of a scrooge for this Clockwork guy?"
The ghost's thin lips twitched in agonized smile. "No. On the contrary, he desires to give you a gift, as it is Christmas Eve."
The centuries-old Dan Phantom trudged forward, his chains clinking.
"Which is…?" Valerie asked, eyeing his every movement like a hawk.
"Hope," he said wryly. He leaned against a half-rotten, wooden pole, sweat trailing down his face. "He wanted you to see what I become in the wake of your death. That even in death, you defeat me."
The beaten woman stared at him in shock, her beautiful, teal eyes tight with too many emotions. She had a thousand questions upon her tongue without any words to express them.
The wind whipped against Dan, shaking the chains about his body. He fell silent for a time, beholding her image. "Truly, I did not think I would see a living soul again," he said, voice broken. "And to be in your presence…" A dry, bitter laugh shook him, and something in him did not quite look sane. "Oh, Clockwork has a sense of humor. He is wicked. He has even made you speechless! Imagine that."
Valerie's fingers swept through the snow upon the beam, marveling at how it was not cold even though it felt like snow. "...You said something about my death?" she echoed hesitantly, eyeing this odd version of Phantom.
The ghost nodded. "That is why Clockwork has brought you to me."
"My death," she repeated dumbly.
"Yes," he said again.
Her face twisted in confusion and anxiety. "I don't understand," she said. "What the hell is this? Why are you here like this? Is this some kind of joke? Am I already dead or something?"
The handsome ghost's head tilted. "No, you are not yet dead. But you will be soon."
"What?"
"I have been brought out of solitude so that I could relay a message," he said, his voice growing more forceful. "If you lose hope, here and now, my younger self will kill you. That is how you die. You lose hope and fall into a depression that I then exploit. But Clockwork will not allow this to pass any longer."
She swallowed, feeling mortal and small.
The Dan Phantom before her looked broken beneath his chains, his pride gone. He added, voice halted, "Clockwork knows what my past self has done to you, and he wishes you to see me so that you know your fight is not in vain." The centuries-old Dan looked away. "Clockwork wants you to know that after I kill you and decimate Amity Park, the Ghost Council will capture me and try me for my crimes. As I will show no regret for my actions, they will bestow upon me these chains. They will close off the Human World and exile me to it so that I am doomed to wander in my own lifeless empire for the rest of eternity." He looked exhausted. "This could be the future to come for you, which is as fluid as you wish, but it has been my past for 500 years."
Valerie stiffly took a look again at their surroundings. Now that the snowstorm had passed, she saw nothing. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing. Rotting wreckage and a tired looking sun. And then she saw the only sign of life on the ground—the etchings of Dan's footprints and the various drag lines from his chains.
Chills crept up Valerie's bruised spine, and she pressed her lips together tightly.
"Clockwork has sent me here," Dan add, trying to get a reaction from her, "to reverse this outcome. He knows you no longer believe you can defeat me."
That did it. "Believe?" she suddenly echoed, her voice pained. "Yeah. Believe. I guess the dream wore off, huh." She seemed unsure of how to respond to his presence, her fingers still playing with the time medallion to assure herself this was all very real. "So how did you kill me, then? In your time?"
His face twitched in pain. "Do not ask that question, or I shall be forced to answer."
"I want to know," she pressed. Some part of her craved the oblivion and escape—how quickly it would come.
"…You begged me to kill you," he said, jaw set oddly. "So I did."
Something about that seemed right—that she would have to tell Phantom that enough was enough, and that she was tired of the fight. Valerie stepped forward to eye him. "Did you enjoy it?"
His jaw set. "At the time."
"Do you regret it?"
"What do you think?" he snapped. "I'm an invalid beneath these chains, shackled to my past." His voice broke. "I feel everything I've done. I cannot move without feeling it. I am enslaved and owned."
He trudged forward, taking with him his shackles. As he approached her, the dim light glimmered off the lockboxes, and she realized there were inscriptions upon them. He told her, "These are the chains I forged of my own volition. Link by link—it is all mine. Every deed I ever committed."
Valerie's sharp eye noticed that nothing seemed to have a keyhole. "Do they not come off?" she asked hesitantly.
"No," he said shortly.
She reached out and touched one of the lockboxes that hung from his broad shoulder. It seemed incredibly heavy. She did not think, even if she were at full strength, that she could lift it. The metal box seemed to hum with a powerful energy. "What's in this?"
His gaze flew to her. "The ashes of the dead," he responded, as if hopeless. "My victims."
Valerie's hand recoiled back, and a disgusted look crossed her face. "Oh, yuck."
He huffed in a pained amusement. "Isn't it?" he laughed helplessly. "So fitting. Clockwork was in quite the mood that day when he crowned me king of this nothing-world." With a bit of awkward maneuvering and parting of the chains, he managed to sit beside her on the beam. He sighed in relief, worn lines relaxing at the corner of his eyes. "Your box weighs the heaviest."
And then she blinked. "My box?" Beneath her makeup, she began to pale. "Wait, you're carrying my ashes in there somewhere?"
Dan turned to fully face her, and she saw it. There, slung along the heavy chain across his neck, was a small box. And unlike the other boxes, with inscription after inscription upon them, this one carried only one name. Valerie Gray.
He closed his eyes, and a raw agony twitched his jaw. "Do you see it?" For a second, something in him looked so broken and tired that he seemed almost human. "I can hardly lift it."
But Valerie could not help her dark curiosity. She touched the box, running her finger across her name. The box was cold from hanging around his body, and it goose-bumped her skin. She dared to lift it. Odd—it was light as a feather to her.
Dan blinked in surprise, then in great consternation.
She looked up at him, and noticed that the movement of the chain had revealed the bruises on his neck. "You mean to tell me," she said suddenly, "that I spend my afterlife hanging from your neck?"
He grimaced, as if unsure of how to respond to her odd interpretation.
All of a sudden, an odd quiver trembled Valerie's lips, and then a dark, manic anger overtook her. "You just can't let me die, can you?!" And she tore the metal box from his neck, the chain dissipating with her touch. She cast the box far, and its sealed top suddenly flung open. Ashes surged out like sand in a dark explosion against the snow.
Dan's jaw dropped, his eyes tightening at the sight. He barely even realized that his spine was able to straighten for the first time in centuries.
Valerie poked his chest hard, tears in her eyes. "Why you gotta do this to me, huh? Why does everything about me have to be about you?" Her breath hitched. "Just kill me. Just end it. I'm sick of this, and I'm sick of you. All I want is rest."
Before he could open his mouth, she snapped at him, "And that box wasn't heavy. This was just your way of saying I'm fat, wasn't it?"
His jaw dropped a fraction more, and one of his eyes twitched.
She grabbed onto his bare, limp hand and forced it to her neck, tears streaking down her face. "I just wanna die. Can't you just kill me and be done with it?"
In panic, he pulled away from her, his fingers shaking.
.
Valerie pulled off her helmet, looking tired and worn, most of her trembling with exertion from their battle. "You won, okay?" She cast the helmet to the ground, then raised her chin. "I know you're just toying with me."
The ghost leaned in, face glimmering happily. "Why, Valerie. Your intelligence is showing." He patted her bare face where she still had a green bruise beneath her eye. "What a rare and delightful thing. Tell me, what is two plus two?"
"Dammit, if you had any respect for me at all, you'd end it." Her voice broke. "Instead of throwing me around like a play doll."
He tilted his head, red eyes narrowing at her in thought. "You seem to be making very suicidal statements," he hummed. "Have your people recently discovered you are a fraud?"
Her breath hitched. "I just wanna die," she whispered shakily. "Why won't you let me die?"
Phantom's hand brushed her battle-suit. "I enjoy the way you always beg for punishment," he said honestly, "by attempting to defy me. Since you'll die anyway, it's a pleasant appetizer to what I will soon do to Amity Park."
The jab was meant to raise her ire, but it only depressed her more. "What does it matter," she muttered, tears burning her eyes. "You win no matter what I do."
Silence fell between them.
Then Phantom sniffed airily, as if measuring the consequences. "Well, this is quite the surprise." He began to peel off his gloves in interest, as if preparing for something important. "I imagined you would last a few more years, Valerie dear. But it seems I have finally broken your spirit."
He walked up to her, one of his bare hands reaching for her wild, low ponytail. He grabbed into the locks, pulling her head back to bare her naked neck. She did not resist him, although her heart began to pound when his free hand stroked a line on the skin above her carotid artery.
"Beg me to die," he hissed. "You know that I am your only honorable way out of this life."
A spark of happiness and anxiety lit through her. This was it. She swallowed hard. "I want to die," she whispered, her pride faltering at its final edge. "Please."
His hand steeled against her throat, and his eyes darkened in happiness as he squeezed lightly. He leaned in, his cool lips brushing lovingly against her ear as she gasped. "Very well. Out of respect for our past, I'll give you a far more merciful death than you deserve."
Against his bare hand, her heart pounded. For a second or two, she could still breathe small, quick breaths.
And then he crushed in.
The sudden brunt of suffocation exploded within her, and her eyes widened for a moment. She instinctively grabbed at his forearm, her metal fingers digging into his jumpsuit. Dan tightened his fingers, and stars burst behind her eyes. This was not the full power of Phantom's strength—he was not going to just snap her neck—
But she wanted this. Her lungs were bursting, and she wanted this. Her thoughts began to scramble. Her full lips opened in a breathless gasp, her body pulsing with painful tingles.
I'm dying, she thought. She lost the strength to hold onto his arm.
He sneered at her. "So weak," he cackled, his voice a thousand echoes in her ear. His image began to blur out.
Eventually, the pain stopped and her vision pixelated into black, and she could feel herself fall into solid, comforting darkness.
.
"Do not ever," Dan said suddenly, voice rough, "request that I kill you again."
"You're inevitable," she said with a bitter laugh, as if she had not heard him. "I didn't know that for a long time. But now I know."
Dan's eyes hardened as he pulled his hand to his chest, fearful of his own strength and the memories of strangling her. She was spiraling down further faster in his presence. "No," he said forcefully. "I am inevitable only if you do not fight me. And if you tell my younger self to kill you, I will actually do it." He seemed frustrated with her.
"And if I don't tell you to kill me?" Valerie challenged, sure that Paulina's expensive eyeliner was probably going to smudge from the tears slipping down her face. "What'll happen? How many more times am I gonna have to take you beating on me and breaking my bones, huh?" She winced as she stood, and her voice broke. "You just gonna keep parading me around like your favorite chew toy? My body can't take this. I'm losing cartilage in my joints, and I'm only 24. Kwan says I probably shouldn't have kids after all the shit I've been exposed to cause of you. Sometimes I hurt so bad after a fight…" She inhaled shakily. "I can't do it anymore. I just can't."
Dan gave her a wayward stare, eyeing the hidden lines of her body. She looked stiff and pained from her fight, but there was nothing to suggest she was falling apart. He found himself oddly fixated on the thought. Valerie? Already dying?
He sputtered at her, at loss of words. He looked down at the box of her ashes, and his eyes began to burn with a new reality. "I deserved to carry you," he said, voice strained. "For all that you just explained. That was my punishment, and now you have wasted it."
"What does it matter," she muttered. "As if I want any part of me swinging off of you for 500 years."
He grimaced as he kneeled, the clank of a dozen boxes and chains tumbling over each other, his spine still stiff and pained by the weight. With a shaky hand, he began to scoop the ashes back into the fallen box. "This was not the reason for my visitation with you," he said, as if he were hardly talking to her but reminding himself of something. He seemed meticulous about picking up as much of the ash as he could. Then he gently closed the box, and its lid seemed to seal over again without any key.
He cradled the box close to his chest as he stood, and the box no longer seemed to pain him or weigh heavily. He still struggled to trudge forward. "No, I am here to request that you do not give up hope."
"And just how do I do that?" she whispered in great pain. "I've tried everything. I gave everything."
"I cannot tell you how to stop my younger self," Dan said slowly. "Clockwork has forbidden me. But when you are desperate, you become quite innovative. Clockwork has given me to you so that I might help you endure in this…interim."
"Help me to defeat yourself?" she repeated incredulously. "How the hell can you help me?"
His jaw set. His own future depended on her now. "You have the capacity to defeat me in your own time and stop all of this. It's in your nature. You just need to believe that you can."
Tears suddenly rose in her eyes. "Yeah? Well, why is it always me that the whole fate of the world depends on? You can talk about hope and shit, but it's me who has to take getting punched in the face." Her tears bubbled over her eyes. "You're too powerful. I can't do it anymore. Everything's going to die anyway."
"There is still time to reverse the future," he told her slowly. "So that none of this inevitable. You can fight me so that your future does not end like mine in a Wasteland."
"Yeah? And why can't you stop yourself, huh?"
Dan trudged toward her, the chains twisting in the snow behind him. "Clockwork has not given me authority to defeat my younger self. I must bear these chains until the time stream is permanently altered. But you—you can save us both." His face was worn. "I have seen a glimpse of that future, and you are celebrated for millennia by all ghosts and humans. The world blooms into new life, and I find new purpose. You can save us both."
The pain medication was beginning to wear off. "How?" she whispered, voice broken.
"You do not need assistance with strategy or building weaponry. You are my equal in many ways," he told her. He looked at her curiously. "It is simply your will and your body that wavers."
She blinked, and tears began to bubble in her eyes. "But I'm tired," she whispered. "I just want to rest."
"I do as well," he said tiredly. He raised his hand, and chains swung forward. Click—clank-clank— "But I know what bruise you hide beneath that face paint, and I can expend energy to heal it."
Valerie stared at him in suspicion, an odd blush tinging her face and neck. "What?"
"I am not completely useless," he told her, "even with these chains. Allow me to touch your face so that I may heal you. Clockwork has approved me to do this for you."
She swallowed hard. "I don't know…"
His arm began to tremble from the weight of the chains pulling against it. "Clockwork has given me to you. If your hope is failing because your body is failing, then I can be of help. I can take your pain. And together, we might live."
She stared at him, knowing that this was not the Dan Phantom she was acquainted with and that even if he did try to hurt her, she could probably get away. And so, very hesitantly, she stepped forward.
He stepped forward as well, and his calloused fingertips brushed lightly against her bruised face. It was a caress of cool air, and her eyes widened. Clank—clank—
The infirmary. The night before, when she'd been lying in pain…!
Suddenly, his fingers glowed a bright green. An overwhelming energy sparked between them, and the coolness of his touch seeped beneath her skin, as if sweeping up the pooling blood and unraveling the torn fibers of her muscles. She felt her body loosen up, her spine straighten, the ache of her bruises subside. Without thinking, she leaned into his touch and stared at him in wonder, the tension relaxing on her tear-streaked face.
His lips twitched, and he gently moved his fingers to catch her tears. He'd thought for centuries what it would be like to touch a living being again—to feel warmth—to call out and hear a response—and Valerie was so warm and her voice was so real. Five-hundred years of nothing but wind had likely worn at his sanity.
But the wind picked up, as if in warning, and so he pulled away, the tips of his fingers caressing down her jaw. Her face was now smooth without a bruise at all, even beneath her makeup, and he narrowed his eyes to measure his work. "There," he said with satisfaction. "How do you feel now?"
He hardly noticed, but one of his chain links began to loosen in the pile behind him. He was too focused on Valerie in a morbidly amused curiosity.
At the feeling of being healed, tears rose in Valerie's eyes. She clenched her fist, and nothing hurt. She touched her face, and her skin was neither swollen nor bruised, nor did smudged makeup coat her fingers. She felt fully energized, her body buzzing in joy at the burden of pain lifted from her. Her breath hitched. "I feel good," she whispered, wiping her tears away.
Something about her expression—her living and full expression—tightened his chest. This was a far different face than the half-lidded peace he remembered pulling his hand away from in his past. (Oh, how he had killed her? How had he even managed it then?)
Then the wind whipped between them, breaking his hand from her skin. You do not deserve enjoyment from this, it seemed to tell him. The ghost remembered himself, and he recoiled, holding onto Valerie's ash box a bit tighter. His voice was rough. "You must return now. Do not speak of me to anyone, as no one but you will see me. I will come to you whenever you call upon me. From my memory, you will have three days before I make rounds to attack Amity Park again."
She noticed his anxiousness and the way the world around them was beginning to twist in odd ways. Her eyes widened. "Wait—"
He swallowed hard, drinking in the sight of her. "—Good bye, Valerie Gray," he said roughly, as if the words pained him.
And then suddenly, the vision was gone.
The nothingness of the future Wastelands swept away into the main hall of the resistance. The faces of the people began to pixelate back in, and time restarted. The loud Christmas music began again, and the people danced…
…and Valerie was sitting in that comfortable chair beside the Christmas tree.
She touched the armrest, as if unsure if it truly existed. It was soft beneath her touch, and it did not pain her to move. She blinked. Had she just hallucinated? Was it the pain medication Kwan had prescribed for her? An odd day dream?
But Valerie knew that her vision had not been a hallucination because she felt so damn good. It seemed as if the future-Dan's touch had truly healed her of her injuries. The pain of her body and the twinge of failure in her soul were gone.
She touched her face. No pain there either. No bruise or swelling, or even tear tracks. Only a tender coolness, the memory of Dan Phantom touching her as if she were glass…
Valerie swallowed hard, still thinking about the solid clang of the Other-Dan's chains and the way his eyes did not carry the strain of insanity she'd come to know so well. She did not know what to think about this Other-Dan from 500 years in the future. But she held on tight to his words, the smallest flame of her will reigniting. He said she was capable of defeating him. He said that.
He even suggested he had seen it in the timeline! Was it possible? That there was some kind of future-Valerie in the time stream who could save the whole world?
A hand suddenly clapped down on her shoulder, and she flinched in surprise. "Valerie," her father announced happily, "I'm going to make a toast for you. Is that okay if I make a toast, dear? And then you're going to open up some presents." He seemed almost as if he were a child.
Valerie gazed up at her father with wild eyes, still trying to recalibrate from her odd journey and feeling out of form in sweatpants and a loose shirt. "Uh, that's, uh, not really necessary. I'm fine."
"Nonsense! You deserve a little attention. Something to put a smile back on that beautiful face of yours." He turned away and boomed, "Everyone? Everyone!" The music began to die down, and the whole crowd looked at her father as he stood proudly by her chair. "Yesterday, my daughter managed to turn back Phantom once again, at great cost to herself. It is because of her that this city still stands today, and it is because of her that we have another day to be with our families." He fell silent, eyeing the resistance members with his one good eye. "We have no guarantees in this life or the days going forward, as we all know. But one thing I do know is that I have never been more proud of my daughter for fighting to give us another Christmas together." He stepped away. "Ladies and gentlemen, please give a hand to Commander Valerie Gray!"
The crowds erupted into cheers and whistles and claps, and a few small children bounced up and down in excitement, bearing gifts from their families to give to her. Valerie blinked at the sight, suddenly feeling a great distance within herself.
It seemed it did not matter to them that she'd almost lost the good fight. They still believed in her. All of these people—no matter what Phantom had done or whether he toyed with her—believed in what she had done for Amity Park.
Valerie swallowed hard, her throat tight. And then she began to tear up when she saw her father raise his remaining arm in a salute. One by one, the entire crowd began to silence, saluting her as well.
Clank—clank—
There, in the far back of the room, was a dark shadow of a man with chains and metal boxes trailing from his body. The lines of his form seemed to slip, as if he existed between time streams. But he raised a hand to his forehead as well, an odd glint in his red eyes. Click—clankclank—clank!
And then he was gone, the sound of his chains like a lullaby in her ear.
On the other side of the Ghost Zone dimension, Clockwork beheld Dan Phantom with curiosity, leaning on his staff. The time ghost's body was old that day, his face shrunken and worn with the care of a thousand worlds. But he watched the heavily shackled Dan Phantom trudge forward against the future earth as a wandering spirit, holding onto Valerie's box as if to protect it. He was cradling it so close that he did not even notice a few chain links that unhinged from him, rolling off into the snow.
"Clockwork!" cried an Observant.
The time ghost rolled his eyes and turned his head. "What is it this time."
"Clockwork, we've heard tale that you violated Dan Phantom's punishment of eternal exile from all life, and that you sent a human to speak with him." The Observant was pedantic and terrified. "What were you thinking?"
Clockwork leaned on his staff. "You did not watch him stumble beneath the weight of his own actions for 500 years and beg for annihilation." He seemed quite tired. "I am working to prevent a rather miserable new year."
"But this is Dan Phantom! He feels nothing."
The Master of Time snorted. "You also do not hear him talk to the wind out of his own loneliness. It is pathetic."
"But he deserves it!"
"And the Human World does not." Clockwork eyed the healed woman who cried through her smiles as a small boy placed a hand-woven blanket upon her lap. "This cycle of ignorance and want—it must end. Now that Phantom has wallowed in the fruits of his labors, he can assist in reversing them."
In the time portal, the dark-skinned woman touched the blanket and then patted the head of the child. She looked as if a great weight had been lifted from her and a new purpose had been placed in her hands. Clockwork was rather pleased with himself for thinking of pulling the future Dan Phantom to serve her. Valerie Gray would provide him with a solid structure, and he would be the delightful thorn in her side to keep her focused.
"How often will you allow this…broken Dan Phantom to interact with the human?"
Clockwork shrugged. "As many times as is necessary. The time stream is already altering, and he will soon enough disappear by way of integration."
"Are you not worried he will strike out against the human?"
Clockwork recalled the way Phantom had reacted to the crying and injured Valerie Gray upon first sight of her. He'd knelt by her bed, his lips in a tight and pained line. It had been the first time he'd seen life in five-hundred years. His fingers had shook when he'd reached out to touch her, even though his presence still slipped between time streams.
"On the contrary," Clockwork said dryly, "I fear he will become too attached."
The full-brunt of the nuclear winter stormed through him, and Dan gritted his teeth, his red eyes squinting through the snow. Clink. Clank. Clink. Clank.
The cold air burned at the bruises across his neck. The ashes shifted in the metal box as he limped forward, struggling against the wind. "What?" he complained helplessly to the box. "Did you want me to leave you there, all tossed on the ground? Your younger self has no respect. None." His cold, shaking fingers caressed the box. "She was thinking only of the here and now, just as you did."
He was free to cast the metal box aside, as the chain never reappeared, but he could not. It was as much a part of him as his own body, even light as a feather. It was his only proof that Valerie Gray from 500 years in the past had come to visit him.
In the wake of the never-ending snowstorm, his memories seemed like dreams.
Then he flinched at the sudden memory of Valerie's dead eyes from 500 years ago, and the way her metal-encased fingers had slipped from his forearm so softly. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding tighter onto the box. He moaned to her, "You should know that it is miserably cold out here now—the wind cuts me even if I am intangible."
The wind howled, but nothing carried Valerie's voice. He knew from experience he was the only being on the face of the planet. He trudged forward with the steps of a broken refugee in his own kingdom. "But what do you care," he said hopelessly to the box. "You're all snug in heaven and laughing at me, I'm sure."
The wind was suddenly so great that it rattled his chains and swept him sideways in a stumble. The metal box slipped from his cold hands to tumble into a snow drift, where the harsh air then stormed in another direction, mounting snow drifts in seconds.
"No," he snarled, struggling to reach out. The tangle of his many chains made his movements futile. He crawled, dragging the chains with him. His blue hand broke the snow drift and swept the winter dust to the side. He could not lose that box. It was all he had. It was the only tangible proof he'd not hallucinated Valerie…the whole thing…!
Or maybe he had hallucinated it, and he was searching for a box still swinging across his chest…?
Just then, the air to his right shimmered, bleeding out purple and radiating with an old power. And from the portal erupted the majestic and youthful form of the bane of his existence. Clockwork.
He stared at the image of Clockwork, half-fearful and half-snarling. "What is this?" he greeted shortly.
"...The Ghost of Christmas Past," the Master of Time deadpanned. He tapped his scepter against the snowy banks, and the nuclear winter came to a fluttering stop, the winds dying down with a sigh. The powerful ghost beheld his charge in the silence.
Dan took the opportunity to turn away and search for Valerie's box of ashes. The desperate clank of his chains echoed between them. "Have you come to mock me again?" he called tiredly. "To berate me for doing something wrong?"
Clockwork raised a brow. "On the contrary, I am pleased with you today. Even if you did lie in my name."
The younger ghost flinched. Then his fingers clanged against the box, and he unearthed it from the snow drift, brushing it off with great importance. He clung tight to it, as if fearful that Clockwork would take it away from him—like everything else.
Clockwork pressed, "Why did you tell Valerie I gave you permission to heal her, when I did not?"
Dan's face twitched. He grumbled hesitantly, "It was a newer power. I wanted to see its…effectiveness."
"Ah," Clockwork said, nodding. "Yes. Its effectiveness." His body shimmered into that of an old man's, his strong muscles deteriorating away. He leaned against his scepter. "Well. I suppose it would not do to injure Valerie Gray's expectations of you. She has already had so much promised to her and then taken away."
The chained ghost gave him a suspicious look, his blue face burning with an angry and embarrassed blush. He did not like Clockwork to call out his wiles or sting him yet again with reminders of the past. "Fine. You have made your point that I fail even when I try. Now leave me alone."
Clockwork seemed entirely unaffected by Dan's demand. He smiled mildly, amused by the memory of Dan healing anything. "You were talking to that box as if in want of company," he said. "Why do you not simply bury those ashes since Valerie released you from them? They are not sentient."
Dan grumbled in a snarl as he turned away. He held tight, afraid to let it go. "They are all I have."
"You have many other ashes to carry," Clockwork pointed out. "Your body is breaking beneath them."
"I want to carry these," Dan snarled, red eyes glowing hot. "In this god-forsaken planet, they are the only thing I have to prove that I saw her."
Clockwork tilted his head. Dan had been outwardly questioning his sanity for the last few centuries. "Does my presence not prove this day's events?"
"For all I know," the ghost snapped, "you could be just be a hallucination too." His voice broke. "Just another one."
"I see." Clockwork's voice was grave as he beheld Dan. The river of drag marks seemed to bleed off of the broken ghost in a wild array, then quickly recover in the snowstorm. "You are at least consciously aware that tonight is Christmas Eve, yes?"
"Yes," Dan said snidely. Then he grimaced as one of his magical chains pulled too tight on his ankle. An attached metal box had fallen through a snow drift and into an earth crater. Agony flickered across his face as he leaned over, pulling hard on the chain to free himself. "Merry fuckin' Christmas to me."
His will began to crumble all over again as he pulled the chain and lockbox from out of the crater. Agony scrawled across his face at the sudden realization that his chains were actively fighting against him, as if they disproved of his conduct or language. It would be all the harder to drag himself out with them in such a mood.
Clockwork's thin, wrinkled lips stretched as he watched Dan Phantom descend into depression. "I wanted you to know…Valerie Gray searched for me the day after Christmas and demanded my presence."
"Yeah?" Dan said without enthusiasm.
"She wanted me to give something to you on her behalf, and she demanded I give it to you on this night. I accepted."
The young ghost snorted. "What was it?" he muttered. "A piece of her mind? She's good at that."
"Yes, she is," Clockwork said wryly. "But that was not her gift to you." He spun his scepter, and from out of the crackles of the space before him appeared a dark package.
Dan blinked in surprise as it fell at his feet, sinking into the snow. For a time, he did not know what to do. An actual package? For him? With a grimace, he leaned over again, careful that his chains would not crush the package. "What, are you a mailman now as well?"
"Just open it," Clockwork sighed.
The young ghost sneered at him, kneeling in the snow to hover over the package. "It's probably another magical chain. A deception of yours." But his cold fingers managed to unhook the box top, his chains rattling with the action. The box was rather big but did not seem particularly heavy.
When he cast aside the top, he blinked in surprise, then pulled out the object. "…What is this?"
It appeared to be a dark, woven blanket, large enough to cover him. And on the top, tucked into one of the binding ropes was a note. He narrowed his eyes at it curiously.
Because your time looked freakin' cold and I just got twenty of these. - V
Dan held tightly onto the soft material, his fingers shaking. For a time, he said nothing. And he laughed—a joyous sound that rang like deep, clear bells. He had not been allowed a possession beyond his chains in 500 years. "Oh, that woman." He petted the material, in awe of its softness. His chains clanked lightly with his movements. "As if a ghost needs a blanket. How like her to exhibit such misguided direction."
But it meant she had thought of him. Him.
Dan unraveled the brown blanket, in awe that its fibers glowed and seemed to pick up the warmth of the dim sun and amplify it. His red eyes widened in childish curiosity. "Fascinating," he whispered, forgetting for one second all of his chains as he hid his hands in the heat.
And for the first time in years, Clockwork felt hope for the future. He could feel the time stream permanently adjust with images of this infamous Dan Phantom kneeling before Valerie to touch her hand and heal her, Valerie curiously tugging at his chains to unwind them, their faces softening with a knowledge of companionship…
Merry Christmas to me, Clockwork thought, satisfied.
A/N: So, I was inspired to whip this up in three days (totally unheard for me!). Might be a bit rough or unedited in my attempts to get this out before Christmas. As far as where this came from, I was watching multiple versions of A Christmas Carol with my family and got stuck on the image of Jacob Marley shackled by his deeds of the past. I felt kinda bad for him since it seemed there was no hope for him. So I wanted to tackle some friendly afterlife revenge and redemption and a cold, shackled Dan getting a blanket and a new lease on his afterlife. Because that's what Christmas is all about, right?
I'm not sure if you would call this a friendship one-shot since Dan "technically" kills Valerie, but I thought maybe something different would be good for a change this time around. Hope you enjoyed it! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone! In the upcoming year, we have two miniseries to get through, and I have several one-shot requests to begin fulfilling, haha.
Please leave a Christmas gift, ahem I mean a review, with your thoughts, comments, critiques, questions, or ideas! Thanks! XD
