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Shot Summary: It's Christmas Eve. Amity Park has a serious emergency, and Dan is the only one who can save the city. But Dan's help isn't free.
Deliverance
Shot 48: How Dan Saved Christmas Part 1
"What."
"Valerie, please—"
"You've got to be kidding me," she seethed in panic, teal eyes wide. "It's Christmas Eve. Tell me this is a joke."
It was early in the morning. Her father sat at his desk, rubbing his temples. His dark face was heavily lined with stress. "It's not."
She slammed a fist down on the desk and stood up. Her breath hitched. "That was our entire supply." Her voice broke. "And our backup generators? Our fail-safes?"
General Commander Gray swallowed hard. "Gone in the fire. It happened so fast—we're still trying to put out the fires."
"So you mean to tell me we're going into Christmas with no food except for the storage units?" she demanded, voice strangled. "For 10,000 people?"
Their underground fields for farming required complex systems to simulate optimal weather conditions. They used irrigation systems with hydrogen and oxygen generators to create water. But those generators were sometimes unstable. Last night, they had exploded. The fields of food, with acres of golden wheat ready for another harvest, burnt quickly under the flames and had compromised the structural integrity of the underground fields themselves.
Her father had explained no one was allowed to go into the fields, for fear of collapses.
Before Damon could speak again, Valerie demanded, "What's your timeline for rebuilding?"
The old man looked worn. "To clear out damages and rebuild the supports, the wells, the hydrogen and oxygen generators—about six weeks minimum."
Valerie sat back down in a daze. Something cold stormed into her, which was the knowledge that the storage units of food were not enough to feed 10,000 people. Amity Park had taken in as many refugees as possible over the years and encouraged population increases. But given the constant, fruitful success of the underground fields, no one had ever questioned the strategy. In ten years, they'd never had to dig into the storages and usually ended up discarding old grains they'd stored.
Valerie stared at her father, who looked vulnerable and broken as he stared over his papers. She said, her voice soft, "Those storages—we've got enough for maybe those six weeks. If we ration the hell out of it."
Her father's brilliant, teal eyes began to mist. "No," he said. His voice shook. "The fires hit the storages underground before we could stop it. Try maybe three weeks. And that's without regrowing our fields, which will take months." His voice caught on the word.
Valerie swallowed hard, feeling out of sorts. Administrative organization was out of her scope of expertise. "Oh."
Damon suddenly begged his daughter, "I know those Wastelands don't hold much. But you're the only one who can fly across the world in a day. Can you find some plants, animals—anything to get us through?"
Her full lips pressed tightly together. "For 10,000 people? Dad, it's the Wastelands. And I can't do anything without calling Phantom's attention."
Damon looked desperate. "Please, baby girl. I know you're trying to stay away from Phantom. But please try, for all of us."
Valerie was in a daze. She'd not been out to the Wastelands in over two weeks, and Dan Phantom had not pursued her. Their last encounter had left things uncertain between them. A dark blush was dusted across her cheeks as she raised a rather human-looking gun, using her targeting system on her visor to search for small animals.
As suspected, there was nothing. The first battles against Dan Phantom had required significant weaponry to stave him off—and ectoplasm of any kind usually polluted the soil. Entire ecosystems had dried up within months, with only minimal regrowth in the form of weeds. The world was simply a white blanket of snow now.
The Red Huntress blinked and felt tears burn her eyes.
It was really beginning to hit her now, the futility of her father's request. As she'd flown out of the city, she noticed the vents to the underground fields were still shooting out hot plumes of smoke. Even from this distance, she could see them.
"And what on earth is this?" came a familiar, baritone voice.
Valerie flinched and raised her gun, the Phantom Tracker on her arm activating.
A black blur appeared before her. "I do not see you for two weeks," Dan Phantom complained, grabbing onto the human gun in her hand and wrenching it from her grasp. "And then you have the audacity to bring…this?" The infamous ghost, hair flickering brightly, floated before her, analyzing the hunting gun in his hands. He turned over the black metal with a raised brow. "This would not affect me at all."
"No shit," she snapped, glaring at him. She held out her hand. "Give it back. I'm here on business, and it doesn't involve you."
"Of course it does," he sniffed. "It may be Christmas Eve, during which I am bound to the yearly truce. But that does not mean I cannot patrol my lands." He tilted his head at her. "You look absolutely miserable, Valerie dear. Trouble in paradise?"
"What do you care. You like it when Christmas is ruined."
His thin lips stretched without humor. "Ah, I do love a ruined corporate holiday." He floated forward. In the sharp wind, his hair whipped about him, flickering as a halo. His demonic, red eyes were dark with curiosity. "Your town has not been so distressed since I tore down the Shield and claimed Amity Park as my own. So tell me—why does it bear plumes of smoke to the sky?"
Valerie's breath hitched, and she grabbed for her gun, wrenching it away. "We're not part of your empire."
Dan huffed at her. "Yes, you are. And I have been generous with you, even allowing you to rebuild your Shield to keep the insects feeling safe." He waved his hand in the air, frowning. "All I have asked in return is your compliance with various whims."
"Yeah? Well, you're not getting what you asked for this month."
His face faulted slowly—as if it took him time to understand the magnitude of her confession. "You mean to say, you will have no extra candies this year." His baritone voice was petulant in disappointment. "No red hots, no chocolates to share with me?"
Her sculpted eyebrows furrowed as her breath hitched. "Can't you think of anyone but yourself? It's the whole damn food supply. Everything—all of it. Gone. Our generators caught fire and ruined our fields. We don't even have enough to ration. So no. You're not getting anything."
In years past, such a confession would have been dangerous. The psychotic Phantom would have immediately attacked with full strength, knowing that the more energy the resistance expended, the more food they would require to operate. He would likely try to starve out the whole city and watch everyone die a slow death.
But things had become far more complicated.
Dan's expression was set in complete displeasure. "You are not here for me or to share in the Christmas truce?"
Valerie's fist clenched as she blinked back angry tears. "I'm not here at all for you," she snapped. "I'm here to find food for my people. Now go away."
He moved closer. He looked terribly disappointed and irritated. "I have waited two weeks for you."
"I don't want to see you." She pushed a button, and the visor on her helmet switched to black, hiding her face from him entirely. "Just fuck off."
He face-faulted. Valerie was in quite a mood today. He tilted her chin up, red eyes dark as he attempted to peer beyond her visor. "That is not what you said two weeks ago, when you gasped beneath me in pleasure upon my bed."
Her jaw tightened, and a blush streaked across her face. She skirted away from him quickly, horrified by his crude description of her.
An awkward silence followed, which was that despite all the metal and cloth between them, each knew the intimate lines of the other—the scars on their skin and the sound of their breathless moans.
"And what did I say?" she demanded, voice low with a threat. "I recall, 'son of a bitch,' and 'I hate you.'"
He hummed. There was something entirely human in him now that he desired her. "And I recall, 'Fuck me,' and 'harder.'" His eyes were as wine in want for her—the demonic edge softened by lust. "Oh, do I recall it. Especially your little gasps in my ear and—"
"—It's not gonna happen again." Valerie's voice was strangled. "It can't."
"And why not?" he tempted. "No one has discovered us."
The lines of her body were sharp with tension. "You don't know the lies I had make up to hide this," she said, voice low in fear that someone would overhear. "I was emitting anecto-signature because of you. My father freaked out."
Dan's thin lips stretched. "And what did you say then? That you were infected? Did they know it was me?"
"No." Her helmeted head turned away. "Just go," she begged. "I don't have time for this."
Dan beheld the Red Huntress, who was supposed to be his enemy. A woman he was supposed to kill. "A deal, then."
She huffed. "What."
His gaze was heavy in want. "…Lay with me once more, and I shall obtain alternative food sources for your people. We both know these Wastelands hold nothing for you."
Her sleek spine stiffened. For a time, it appeared she was considering his deal.
Then a fury overcame her. She raised her gun and shot at him, the human bullet searing harmlessly through his heart. "Don't you dare even suggest that," she whispered shakily. "Don't you dare."
Dan raised a gloved hand to his heart mockingly. "What other options do you have? You know my resources—the dimensions I could open for you." His red eyes roved down her body in want. "It would be mutually beneficial."
Her breath hitched. "I've got pride, dammit. I'm not taking your deal." She activated the afterburners on her jet sled, and the engines whined up. "And I don't need your help."
Then she shot away in search of warmer climates.
He called merrily after her, "You know where to find me!"
For several hours, Valerie searched the earth for signs of animal life and edible plants. All to no avail.
She felt her eyes burn again as she stared hopelessly at the now-Amazon forest. The air was hot and dry—the desert sands shifting every which way. Cracked trees and vines peeked out as the dunes shifted, revealing what was once lush vegetation.
She pushed her comm. "Daddy?" she whispered shakily.
Immediately, his worried voice came through. "Yes? Are you okay?"
She tried to steady her voice. "I'm fine. But not having any luck so far." Her fingers shook as she considered next steps. "What's research and development got?"
Her father sighed. "Not much. Kwan and Nathan agree that food cloning is still years off. People are starting to get worried. I've had to place armed guards around the grain and bean storages. We were hoping you might find an animal herd that Phantom hadn't killed yet."
Valerie closed her eyes, and tears slipped down her face. "He ruins everything," she said. "The Amazon Forest is just…gone, dad. It's just gone."
"You've made it to the southern hemisphere?"
"Yeah, and it's all desert now." Her voice shook. "I'll sweep over Africa. I think there might still be a few plains intact there. Or there were a few months ago."
"Thanks, sweetie." Her father's voice bled with exhaustion. "Be careful."
Valerie stared out blindly at the desert. "I will." Then she shut down the comm. For a time, she hesitated, and then she began to dutifully pull out a wire from behind a panel on her arm. It disrupted her entire comm frequency to make her undetectable to anyone back at the resistance.
She inhaled shakily, feeling her eyes burn.
She'd known for months that Africa was just a desert too, the soil fully polluted from all of Dan Phantom's ectoplasmic experiments.
She was running out of options.
Except for one.
Dan's hideout was in the ancient city of Petra—a solid place carved from the rose stone cliffs of Jordan. It had an entry so narrow that anyone who dared to enter would be immediately open to attack. Its high pillars and intricate moldings depicted old carvings, the meanings of which were now forgotten with the collapse of archaeology.
Valerie flew through the high-stone paths to the heart of the city, her helmet off in hopes the desert air would dry her tears. Some part of her was already regretting her decision. But Phantom would have sensed her by now. It was already too late to turn back. There were no other options.
The stone walls opened up suddenly, the bright moonlight striking against the towers to cast labyrinthine shadows on the sand.
Within the large city, Phantom had planted his seat of power in the Al Khazneh, or the Treasury building—a slender and tall structure carved into the cliff. When he'd first transported her there, it'd been a blur to her—of stolen kisses against the stones and his long fingers guiding her backward.
Her heart pounded as she thought of the night they'd given into their desire. It'd been a constant mantra of at last, at last. The release from it had left her breathless. Memories of it still painted her face pink.
But now she swallowed hard in a depressed anxiety. She retracted her armor and stepped off her jet sled, walking through the open threshold of the building. In it rested the loot of a thousand cities—pure gold lamps hanging from the ceilings, rare rugs upon the stone floor, silver-thread clothing, diamonds and jewels in piles. Valerie intimately remembered how soft the wolf furs of Dan's makeshift bed were.
Now, without the haze of lust in her thoughts, Valerie found the hideout to be chaotic. Unordered and obsessive in its construction, but she knew he had no concept of restraint or personal value. He'd collected these things only because they were what rulers usually surrounded themselves with.
"Hello, Valerie," came a smooth, baritone voice. It echoed across the walls.
She turned her head. Dan was floating cross-legged above his bed, his cape unbuckled from his shoulders to lie on the floor and his hair undone from its tie. He was sharpening an old broadsword he'd taken from a history museum in England, and he looked quite preoccupied with it. His voice carried a slightly derisive edge as he asked without looking up, "Have you finished your futile task?"
Valerie's face twitched. Her instinctive response was to snap back at him, but then she feared he would take back his deal to spite her.
The entire city of Amity Park was counting on her to save them—not only for Christmas, but from extinction.
Her fingers shook as she began to unbutton her military jacket before him. "I've looked everywhere," she said shortly, voice nearly a stutter of shame. "There's nothing." The jacket fell to the floor, leaving her in her old, white tank top and military pants. "So I'm taking you up on your offer."
Phantom watched her, eyes dark. "Hmm," he said. "I seem to recall you saying something about…having pride?"
Her face twitched in a wince, and her breath hitched. "I don't have anything else to offer." She leaned down to unbuckle her combat boots and remove her socks. Her ringlet hair slipped down her shoulder with her movements.
Her slender, bare feet hit the stone ground, and she stood up again. She felt entirely awkward as she stared at him with her red-rimmed eyes. The first time, it'd been natural. The product of a fall where she'd landed on top of him, and their faces had been inches away, her hips jammed against his. In their passion, she could not even remember if she'd taken off her own clothes, or if he'd done it.
The powerful ghost stood up to behold her fully. "Why are you displeased by this turn?" he demanded. "Discomfort echoes from every line of your body."
He saw the defeated tears in the woman's eyes as she looked away. The air of Petra in the desert of Jordan was far warmer than that of Amity Park, but her skin had goose-bumped. She began to work on her belt buckle. "I don't like debts," she said.
"Is this not mutually beneficial?" he questioned, eyebrow raised. He reached out to her and tilted her chin up. "Two weeks ago, you held my gaze in ecstasy. You arched your naked body against mine. You cried out my name, several times."
Tears shined down her face as her eyes met his. "You wouldn't understand."
Dan leaned forward. His long fingers looped into her belt, sweeping over her shaking hand. He felt her nerves—the hyper rhythm of her heart. "What is there to understand?" he murmured. "Your people need food. I desire another release, which only you can fulfill. It is the eve of the Christmas truce. You know I will not harm you."
Valerie squeezed her eyes shut as his fingers tightened around hers, pulling her hand away along with the open buckle of her pants. Her breath shuddered in strange ways, feeling more vulnerable in that moment than she had two weeks ago.
The buckle fell to the floor, and it clanged hard. She flinched.
At the sight of her flinch, Dan pulled away from her. His red eyes darkened, roving over her. Her breath was stilted, her heart was pounding—and yet it was different. All so different from the first time. "No," he said, almost petulantly. "That is not right. You are not to flinch. You are to touch me as well."
But his tone was not so much directed at her as it was at himself. It seemed he was questioning the difference between their night of passion two weeks ago and the reluctant woman before him.
Valerie's jaw tightened with a bit of fear. If she did not hold up her end, then he would not give her the power needed to feed her people. She moved forward to reach for him with a little more determination.
His eyes narrowed to slits, and he suddenly pushed her away. "No." His mouth was in a thin, tight line of displeasure. "This is not natural. It is not…the same."
Her voice broke. "What the hell do you want, then? This was your deal. I'm taking it."
Dan nearly bared his teeth at her in a snarl. "No, it's not the same. Your moral conscience is between us. I can feel the conflict on you. So what is it?"
The woman fell silent, crossing her arms uncomfortably.
And that's when Dan saw it. He leaned closer to her, searching her eyes. "You do not want me?" he said, almost in disbelief. "After the night we had—you don't want me again." He seemed offended as he pulled away. "That's what this is."
"No, I—"
His strong jaw tightened. "—Two weeks ago, you were mindless in pleasure beneath me. Was that a lie? Did I not satisfy you?" He could not stand to be deficient in anything. The thought that perhaps Valerie was disappointed in him burned into his mind. Surely, he thought himself capable of satisfying the carnal needs of a human woman.
The conversation made her face turn pink.
He stepped forward. "Is that why you left me in the dark of the night, no note or spoken word?"
It'd been all she could do to dress quietly while the Ravager of Worlds slept upon the bed. He'd been tangled in the sheets, his face turned away from her in as much exhaustion as she felt. She could not remember how many times they'd had sex—only that she knew it was late, and her people would begin to worry.
Valerie looked entirely uncomfortable. "It's not that," she said slowly, voice halted. "God, it's not—" She rubbed her temples and nearly began to laugh or cry. "You just don't understand."
He waved a frustrated hand in the air. "Then what? You leave me for two weeks and pretend nothing happened. I assume the issue, if not your satisfaction, is your moral conscience—that you regret freely giving yourself to me." His voice was dark and tight. "But that is why I have offered you my deal."
It was then that Valerie realized the miscommunication, and she backed away in surprise. "What?"
"You regret that night, don't you?" he said lowly, voice strangled with odd patterns. "You cannot possibly, in good conscience, offer yourself out of free and abundant desire." His bare fingers touched her face, then slipped away. "So I offered you my deal, thinking it would satisfy you. Spreading your legs for me would mean saving your people."
She swallowed hard at his sudden touch and the loss of it. "You idiot." She huffed to hide the emotion in her tone. "You big, stupid—" Her voice caught, and she tried to laugh. "I don't regret it. Don't you dare—don't you try to pretend to understand me."
He straightened in surprise. His genuine expressions were always minute, but ten years had helped her see his body language in ways no one else could. "Explain," he demanded. He'd longed to feel Valerie again so intimately, his memories fixated upon her willing gasps, her willing, open-mouthed kisses, her willing sex. There had been an odd joy in it. Something entirely right and natural.
Valerie bit her lip. "I don't want an exchange," she pressed, her raspy voice in a twist of frustration. "Or some kind of business deal. Not with that. That was free." Her voice broke. "Don't you get it? I did it because I wanted it—and—a-and now you're turning it into a payment. Like I'm a prostitute or something."
The powerful ghost tilted his head, measuring her words. "You do not need justification to continue our affair?"
She pressed her lips together in exasperation. "No. If we ever do that again, then it better damn well be because we wanted to. And that's it."
For a time, Dan remained silent, mulling over her demands. Then, slowly, a dark and devilish smile stretched his lips, and a great appreciation appeared in his eyes. "Oh, Valerie. I like when you talk dirty to me."
She glared at him. "Don't try to be cute."
He waved her off, saying, "I am better than cute. But regardless of how you wish to compliment my genius, I shall rescind my previous offer and offer a new one."
A spark of suspicion weaved through her. "Which is?"
He leaned forward, his cool breath brushing against her warm cheek. "Stay with me and forget about your people. And then we can roam the dimensions together. Uninhibited."
She turned her face away, her heart skipping a bit at the offer. "No," she said. Her voice was pained as she broke away from him, frustrated again. Damn that he was an evil villain.
He face-faulted. "Why not?"
"Because I care about the people there," she snapped. "I love them enough not to abandon them, and I'll do what it takes to keep the city going. So give me a new deal. Something I can do in exchange for your resources."
Dan Phantom gave her a flat look. "The people of Amity Park are idiots; insects even. Why do you love them over me?" He waved his hand around. "I own this world. I could obtain anything for you. The wealth of kings. The status of a god."
Her face twisted. "Yeah, no. This place is a dump. All of these things you've stolen—they should be in a museum instead of hoarded in here like some dragon's cave." She pushed his chest with her fingers. "And I'm way richer than you'd ever be. But you don't understand the concept of community. So don't even try."
He took that as a challenge, his hair flickering into sharp points of irritation around his face and shoulders. "Very well," he said. "My new deal. I will assist in saving your city in exchange for one thing."
"What."
"The opportunity to understand you," he said dryly. "Sneak me into Amity Park so that I may see what so entrances you there. Itis the night of the Christmas truce, after all."
Late in the afternoon, after some haphazard preparations, a human-looking male clung to Valerie on the jet sled. He was broad-shouldered and muscled, his arms wrapped tightly around her torso. He wore old and half-rotted clothes they'd found in a demolished home somewhere in the Mediterranean. His black hair hung without a tie, streaming down to his shoulder blades. Valerie had splattered mud and dirt across him. He murmured to Valerie in his baritone voice, "I can sense your worry."
The woman huffed.
He nuzzled his nose into her ringlet hair, her warmth staving off the sting of the cold. He'd grown far used to the deserts of Arabia compared to the snowy weather of Amity Park.
She nudged him. "Stop that. You're supposed to be a stranger, remember?"
His thin lips stretched against her neck. "You are a beautiful woman—the first one I would have seen in over eight years since my city burned at the hand of Dan Phantom." His fingers, which were wrapped tightly over her side, caressed the ribbing of her battle suit.
"You get handsy with me," she threatened under her breath, "and I'll drop-kick you off right now."
Dan huffed in amusement. "I've already been handsy with you." His voice dropped to a whisper in her ear. "Or have you forgotten how you lost your breath when I—"
"—Stop it," she hissed. "I mean it. You're a refugee I've found. And I swear to god, if you drop that illusion and starting attacking people, you'll never touch me again."
"Oh, please," he rolled his eyes, a breath billowing against her neck. "I've made my deal."
"And your alias? Your original city?" Her voice was a bit desperate. "Come on, you need a back story to make this work. And you've muted your signature, right?"
"Of course." His murmur was a delighted, evil tone. "Can you not tell? Your beloved radar does not register me. As for a story, I shall play the role of the shell-shocked, silent refugee with post-traumatic stress, and you will worry over me." He hummed. "After eight years of solitude, I would have forgotten my name, my country. I intend to be very clingy to you."
They fell silent for some time. "Why do you want to do this anyway?" she asked softly as the Shield of Amity Park came into view. "You hate humans. You hate my city."
He did not answer. "It holds something for you that I do not." His voice was petulant with an odd jealousy. "I will discover what it is, and then I shall make it my own so that nothing takes you from me."
Damon Gray was sitting at his desk, reviewing the dismal numbers on rationing possibilities, when he received a comm from Valerie.
"Daddy?" came her rushed, static-torn voice.
He pushed his comm, eyes wide. "Baby girl, did you find anything? Where are you? Are you alright?"
A moment of hesitation, then, "I'm fine. Ran into another ecto-contaminated field and found a survivor. You're gonna have to open a part of the Shield again to let me in."
"…A survivor?" her father repeated incredulously, his heart sinking at the thought of yet another mouth to feed. "It's been years. Are you serious?"
"I know." Her voice was a huff. "He's been using some kind of…old tech to jump dimensions and find food. I think we can use that to keep us going while we rebuild."
His heart stopped. A solution—appearing from nowhere—sounded too good to be true. "Who is this person?"
"I don't know." There was a rustling sound. "I think hiding alone for eight years did something to his brain. He's kind of…off."
The father closed his eyes. "Well. If his technology works, then my god, we'll have something to celebrate. Have you tried it? Did you take it from him?"
"He's holding onto it pretty tight, dad. But he did show me how it worked. Looks like old Fenton tech."
Damon hummed. A small spark of hope rose in him at the thought of Fenton tech. "I'll open a space in the Shield, then. Sending you coordinates now and will meet you there, along with a med team for your tagalong."
"Roger that."
The father then closed the comm and turned to his computer, punching in his number code to access the Shield mainframe. It was possible to open the Shield between two towers, although he hesitated to do it. He'd feared the last time Valerie had returned emitting an ecto-signature that she had died and become a ghost herself. It wasn't until she retracted her suit and slit a finger that he realized she was still human.
The signature had been an odd frequency, somehow staying in her body for a few days afterward. Ecto-contamination, Valerie had called it.
Damon's eyebrows furrowed. "Something kinda odd about that," he said under his breath. But then he pushed the button to open a slit in the Shield.
The metal battle suit of the Red Huntress glimmered in the setting sun as she flew through the Shield. The man standing behind her on the jet sled clung to her tighter, his blue eyes staring in interest at the collapsed Shield panel.
"Shiver like you're cold," Valerie whispered sharply to him. "It's twenty degrees out, and you're not wearing much."
The man huffed into her hair. But he acknowledged it was a good cover, and so he began to shiver slightly, clinging to her tighter. "Do you save all your survivors like this?"
"Shut up. You don't like talking, remember?"
He grunted at her. They lowered to the ground, the whine of the jet sled growing quieter. Around them was a small ambulance with Kwan and a few assistants standing at attention. Damon Gray also stood nearby, arms crossed in worry as he stared at his daughter, then at the disguised Dan Phantom.
Almost immediately, he could tell the man carried a dark edge to him. Those blue eyes were darting and suspicious. His body, although clothed in torn jeans and a threadbare shirt, was stronger than Damon would have suspected of a refugee—which suggested, at the very least, his dimension-jumping technology was not without dangers.
"Dad," Valerie greeted in relief. She looked worn as she helped the male survivor onto the ground. He held on tightly to her, shivering in the cold. "We need a blanket. Heat. Lots of heat."
At that, Damon moved forward, tagged closely by Kwan. "Is he injured?" the father asked, grabbing the top blanket from Kwan's arms and unraveling it. He tried to smile in a disarming way, genuinely attempting to welcome the stranger to the city.
The instant Damon tried to help the man wrap himself in the blanket, steel muscle flinched. Blue eyes snapped to him, and there was something so entirely aware and alien in them that Damon stepped back in surprise.
Valerie laid a quick hand on the stranger's shoulder, helping to wrap him in the dark blanket. "I don't think he's injured," she said. "But it's taken me hours to convince him to come here. Thinks everything's a trap."
"…I would imagine so," the father said distantly, now even more weary around the man. "Son, we're gonna take good care of you. You got a name?"
Dan's face twitched at the term of endearment, still shivering beneath the blanket. Then to play along with his cover, he suddenly reached out to Damon. His roughly calloused fingers hooked onto the pinned, empty sleeve, and he said, voice rough, "You're real?"
It was odd to think of this man as Valerie's father. He was so weak-looking, his dark head balding with age. Dan hardly remembered injuring him.
Damon seemed taken aback at the sudden attention to his old war wound. "Of course I'm real," he said, almost with a nervous laugh. He stepped back more.
The man's blue eyes suddenly shifted away, and he muttered, "They all say that." Then he wrapped his hands tight in the blanket, as if to prove it were there. His teeth chattered.
Valerie intervened again. "Let's get him inside," she said, voice strained. "I'll watch over him."
Kwan stepped forward more, offering another blanket to the man and asking, "Can he walk?" He had a stethoscope around his neck and was fully prepared to do a quick exam right there, concerned. This man did not seem stable. "Sir, you might be infected with—"
Dan grabbed onto Valerie's arm tightly, and he glared at the doctor. "—Don't touch me," he snarled.
Kwan froze and then blinked in surprise at the level of hatred in the man's voice. "Ookay, then." He raised his hands and gave a helpless look to Valerie. "Looks like, uh, Valerie? Valerie, you can handle him, right? Can you get him to the infirmary?"
She looked stressed. "I think we'd be more likely to get him to the showers. Can you find some clean clothes for him?"
The doctor nodded, a bit wide-eyed. Usually, refugees broke down crying at the sight of a still-standing city. They'd touch the standing trees and wave at people. They'd stand and simply listen to the protective hum of the Shield and the sound of other human voices. This man must have been twisted hard by something to react so painfully.
Valerie stood there, half-wincing at the grip the disguised Dan had on her arm. "Merry Christmas to me," she gritted her teeth into a smile. "Now, come on, you—let's get you cleaned up."
At the news of a solution to the food shortage, the people of Amity Park began to celebrate. The sound of cheers echoed down the halls, even as Valerie showed Damon the small, silver device that Dan had stored away in his collections. Their mysterious survivor was currently bathing in the showers, with the two of them standing guard by the door to ward anyone else away.
Damon turned the device over in his hand, running a thumb across the faded Fenton symbol. "A miniature Ghost Portal," he murmured in awe. "I saw the designs for this in the old Fenton lab—never thought they actually built one."
Valerie crossed her arms tiredly and leaned against the wall. She'd long retracted her battle suit, but it buzzed just beneath her skin in fear that Dan would break the truce. "This guy says the Ghost Zone has portals that open to other dimensions. So the idea is, we'd take a scout team and scavenge in those dimensions, using the Portal to jump back and forth. He says there's bears and birds and…so many things."
The father's eyes misted the more he stared at the device. The old Fenton Portal had long been destroyed from the time Dan Phantom successfully knocked down the Shield. "And you tested it? You saw it work for yourself?"
She nodded, then smiled tiredly. "I saw birds again, dad."
Damon swallowed hard, half-ready to forgive the odd stranger for his terse personality. He'd not seen birds himself in years. He'd not seen his daughter smile—really smile—in a long time. He searched her eyes. "How can we thank this young man? Can he really not remember his name?"
She looked away, then said quietly, "He's been alone for so long…I think if we just make him welcome, he might come out of it."
The father hummed a bit in deep thought. "Well, he seems to trust you alright."
And the oddest thing happened, which was that Damon thought he caught the hint of a blush upon Valerie's face. The girl turned away quickly enough, pulling out her low ponytail to play with her hair, attempting to act busy. "Yeah, imagine that. Probably just because I can fly."
The father deadpanned, "Or because you're a beautiful woman who rescued him from loneliness." He tightened his fist around the small Fenton device and added, "I don't want you to feel he's your responsibility tonight, but I'm afraid he might not take well to anyone else for the time being."
"It's okay," Valerie said quickly. "I don't mind; I'll just take him with me to the Christmas party and keep him by my side." She tried to smile. "It's not every day I get to reintroduce Christmas to someone."
Damon huffed in amusement, then stared at her a bit more. "You don't usually invest in the refugees like that. But I overhead Paulina saying he was a good-looking fellow. You're not sweet on him too, are you?"
At that, the woman began to blush a dark red, stepping back from her father in horror. Likely, Dan could hear what they were saying. "Are you kidding me? I hardly know the guy."
The father did not look convinced. "A handsome face is hard for a woman to resist. And I know you. You like rescuing broken people and animals, and he's definitely in need of rescuing."
Valerie's full lips pursed together. She seemed to almost begin disagreeing with him, but then she switched tactics. "And what if I did kinda like him?"
Damon sighed. "Baby girl, he's in shock right now. He doesn't even know his name. You don't even know what he's done to survive."
But the fact was, she did know his real name and his ten-year history. And suddenly, she felt an incredible gap between herself and her father. The gap was that she already felt attachment to the mysterious stranger in ways her father would be horrified to know about.
She finally settled on, "Look, he needs help. I wanna help him. I think he's seen some things he can't unsee, you know? I get that in ways a lot of people here just don't."
Her father pocketed the small Fenton device and then reached out to touch her face. His warm, calloused fingers were soft as they stroked her dark cheek. "I know," he said, pained. "But you don't let that control you. He does."
Valerie leaned into his touch, soaking in the attention from her last living relative. "Then let's help him get better," she whispered.
A short while later, the disguised Dan Phantom sat quietly on the couch by the atrium fire, wrapped in a blanket. He'd showered to wash off the dirt and grime Valerie had wiped on him as part of his disguise. His black hair now hung loosely down his back and collarbones, drying into long, thick locks. He wore loose, black pants and a simple white shirt. In some odd way, he felt relaxed as he stared at the large atrium, prepared to discover the answer to Valerie's love of Amity Park.
The annual Christmas celebration was in full swing. The wine bottles had been opened—parents and children were dancing in the atrium. People brought out most of the candies they'd made in the days before, all while signing up for scavenging duty to be done in the days ahead. They toasted the health of their first living refugee to be found in years. Several families even approached the disguised Dan Phantom and offered gifts in tearful gratitude for his contribution to save Amity Park from starvation.
Valerie sat beside him on that couch, cross-legged in an old shirt and jeans. She held a warm cup of tea in her hand, and she interceded for him while he glared at everyone who came nea, grabbing onto the gifts and saying, "He's a little shy of other people right now. But I know he'll be thankful."
The mothers and fathers then wished them both a merry Christmas and left to join the celebration.
Dan sat a bit wide-eyed at the increasing pile of gifts for the 'man with no name.' It was almost like a tribute to a king—but willingly and without fear or grudge. "What is this."
Her full lips twitched up as she watched him. "You gonna open 'em? They're yours, you know."
He glared at her, but it was more in suspicion. "Did you make them do this?"
"No—I don't think you deserve any gifts at all."
The man face-faulted and turned away, staring at the presents. The wrapping—terribly strange things like newspapers and aluminum foil—seemed to be all anyone had. Strips of red and green fabric were tied together for a more festive appearance. "Then why do your people offer me anything if not under threat by you?"
She shrugged. "Because your tech just saved our asses." She tilted her chin. "Go on, open them. I'm curious."
"And where are your presents?" he demanded, now somewhat protective over the things. They were his now. Only his.
Valerie had the grace to blush a bit, and she sipped from her tea. "They're, uh, under the tree."
Dan craned his neck a bit. Under the large tree in the atrium, which glittered with red and green and blue Christmas lights, was a large pile of wrapped gifts. The ghost saw there was a sign that said, "Valerie Gray." And even in that moment, more families from the town were dropping gifts in her pile.
Dan hummed. "Quite a collection you are accruing. Tell me, is this why you love your city so much—because they worship you as a goddess and pay handsome tribute?"
Her lips flattened in annoyance. "No."
He said, almost to himself, "Whatever materials these people can give you would be dirt compared to what I already own. Is it simply their worship of you, then?"
Valerie tilted her head tiredly. "No. You are so dumb sometimes." She leaned forward, voice low for only him. "I'm probably just getting handmade blankets and candies and cards here because we're all poor." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And you worshipped me more in one night than anything I've felt here. So think again."
The tension between them began to rise as he searched her eyes. He had quite worshipped her that night, reveling in every inch of her body. He'd hidden his face in her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her skin as she'd gasped in ecstasy. "And yet, for all I did, I do not measure against this town," he deadpanned.
Her full lips tilted up. She whispered proudly, "Flash all the gold and sex at me you want. But this town has something you don't. So I'm always gonna come back."
Frustration came over him. "But what is it?"
Valerie fell silent, her little smirk disappearing from her face. "God, you really can't see it, can you. I even told you what it was earlier."
"See what? What did you tell me?" he hissed. His blue eyes flashed with displeasure. "We have established it is not the material possessions. The intelligence of these people ranks far beneath my own, so it cannot be that. Most of them appear to be bottom feeders who contribute only to the surplus population and an increasingly impressive pile of newspaper trash. What seduces you to stay here instead of roam with me?" There was almost a whine in his voice, like a petulant child who had not received the gift he'd wanted. "I demand a straightforward answer."
Valerie rolled her eyes and took another sip of her tea. "It's community," she said finally. "In the Wastelands, I just see broken buildings. Dead bodies rotting away." She waved her hand toward the atrium. "But here, everything's…moving. Everything's alive, and everyone's trying to watch out for everyone else." She pressed her lips together. "I have people who beg me not to fight because they're afraid I might not come back." She looked away for a second, gripping her tea cup a little harder to hide her emotion. "I've got roots here, in ways you just can't understand."
He blinked, watching her closely. "And you believe I am not enough."
"I'm around death all the time," she admitted slowly. "I need life too."
His thin mouth tightened in a strange line. Valerie's words suggested that the seduction of Amity Park was nothing he could replicate. As, in some way, he'd suspicioned. "All of these people?" he challenged. "You need all 10,000 of them?"
She rose to his challenge. "And I'm gonna do everything I can to make that number go up."
Dan's lip curled down. "Why? Life has no worth."
"And dead isn't as cool as you think," she snapped, raising a brow at him. "All you can do is destroy. You don't build things with other people. You sit alone in the desert most nights, obsessing over the same things again and again."
"And you toil," he retaliated, "without gain, the sweat on your brow like that of a slave's. All of your friends and family will die regardless of your efforts, and you will be left in the shrapnel of nothing to live for. By then, in an aging body of your own from which only death will release you."
The merry music of Christmas tunes hung between them, the sounds of laughter echoing distantly from the atrium. The fire before them crackled happily.
"You're just afraid to live," Valerie whispered. "Probably why you died in the first place."
His hands suddenly clenched down into his blanket, his blue eyes lighting with such an anger that he nearly lost control of his illusion. "You do not know what I endured in life," he snarled, voice low to her. "Do not presume to judge me."
A light in the woman's eye—some kind of hope that maybe this odd excursion on a Christmas Eve would alter Dan—began to die. "Look, I am not gonna get into a sympathy contest with you," she said suddenly, her voice hardening. "Just…open your damn gifts so I can lie to people and tell them you were thankful. And then I'll open the Shield once dad goes to bed, and you'll never have to be here again."
The man narrowed his eyes to slits and said, "If you gave up this place, you could obtain immortality with me. I would offer you power and wealth beyond your wildest dreams. I would share my bed, my body, with you."
She looked pained and fell silent for quite some time. "…You could share my bed here." Her voice was soft and low for only his ears. "And not just sneaking in for tonight."
Dan's face, so full of odd frustration, began to soften. "You are ridiculous," he pressed. "Encouraging a wolf to stay in a hen house."
Valerie grabbed onto one of the gifts. It was a slim box from Margie, the resident cafeteria lady. She knew already what was in it. "I know you don't like this place. But you might find it grows on you."
The man took the package, his calloused fingers brushing against hers. She was warm as the sun. "Do not think," he warned, "these gifts can soften me to your perspective."
She raised a sculpted brow. "Oh. I don't know about that."
He grunted and nimbly pulled off the tie around the newspaper wrapping, then tore the newspaper. A small box came into view. When he popped off the top, he saw a collection of fudge and red-hot candies. His head tilted almost like a dog's, and his false-blue eyes began to widen. "Hmm."
Within seconds, he'd opened the red-hot candy bag and stuffed some in his mouth, closing his eyes. He'd craved those candies for a full year.
By the time he opened his eyes once more, he caught Valerie smiling at him in a mischievous way.
He flung the newspaper wrapping at her and then huffed in amusement when she caught it and quickly threw it back.
As much as he did not care for any other human being, Dan felt great affection for Valerie Gray. Enough to endure her odd whims for Amity Park. He blew a strand of dark hair out of his eyes. "Merry Christmas to me," he complained petulantly. Then he shoved a newspaper scrap down the front of her shirt.
Dan genuinely smiled as Valerie yelped and spilled her tea to fight back. Then something almost like a laugh escaped his lips when she pulled on his hair and stuffed the newspaper into his blanket, trying to steal his red-hot candies.
This deal of his (for all of its irritants in the form of existing within Amity Park) had several gifts hidden within it. He was beginning to realize just how much he'd still gained.
Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad Christmas after all. Especially once he learned where Valerie's room was.
A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! I hope everyone has a great weekend. I wanted to thank everyone who has read and reviewed this collection. I really appreciate your support.
I'd received a few ideas for a Christmas plot, but I chose to go with this one because I watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and a title of How Dan Saved Christmas came to mind, and I just couldn't let it go. Other ideas as requested may pop up in the future. Again, there will be a Part 2/Epilogue for this particular installment.
Please let me know your thoughts, questions, ideas, and requests.
