Disclaimer: I don't own DP.

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I really appreciate it! Sorry I've been gone so long. Thank you for your patience with me. Please read the author notes at the end for more of a description about the reason behind my hiatus and for deleting some stories.

Shot Summary: 2018 Christmas Special. Valerie is sick on Christmas. Dan finds this to be most intolerable.

Chapter warnings: None save for Dan being his irreverent self.


Deliverance

Shot 68: Winter Fever


It was 7:30 in the morning the day before Christmas Eve, and Valerie was lying in bed. A sheen of sweat covered her paled skin as she labored to breathe, her eyes listlessly staring up at the ceiling fan above her. On the bedside table was a thermometer and a glass of water. On the floor next to her bed was a trash can.

Just then, her battle armor activated up her right arm, her comm frequency blitzing into noise. Her face twitched in a sort of dazed surprise, then dread.

Over the frequency came a deep, familiar voice. It was irritated and petulant. "Valerie Gray, it is a Wednesday, and you know I always attack the Shield on Wednesday mornings. Where are you?"

For a second or two, she did not react but continued to blink up at the ceiling. Then she closed her feverish eyes and groaned. "Oh my god." With great effort, she managed to raise her arm and push the button to respond. "I'm sick," she moaned. "Go 'way."

There was a pause, and then the infamous Dan Phantom scoffed. "Sickness has never once stopped you."

She whined, "I'm really sick." It'd hit her a while ago that, although she could always pinpoint his location as a result of him discovering her frequency, she could never get rid of him. It was a military advantage but not necessarily a personal one, given that Phantom was prone to winding monologues, odd bouts of loneliness, and an insatiable desire to irritate.

By this point, the energy it took to talk and think was increasing her nausea again. Her face began to twitch in a dreaded anticipation as she struggled to sit up, a dazed feeling overwhelming her.

"Valerie, are you saying that you don't care to defend—"

—And she promptly threw up into the trashcan beside her bed. She winced as her stomach muscles seared with pain, and she remained there, leaning over her bed for a bit, afraid to move. Then she inhaled a ragged breath and reached for her glass of water, only to accidentally knock it over with her fumbling fingers. The liquid spattered across the wood, and the glass shattered. "Dammit," she cried with a hoarse voice, "can't you leave me alone? For one day?"

On the far side of the Wastelands, one Dan Phantom held his communication device away from his ear. His handsome face had tightened in disgust at the sound of her retching and breaking things. "It is not my problem that you have fallen ill," he snapped. "It's your fellow humans who have given you the plague. Honestly, you should know that large human populations breed this sort of thing."

She wiped her mouth and inhaled a ragged breath, still wincing at the pain in her ribs. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to die. Tears burned at her eyes, and the sight of her broken glass of water wavered in her vision like a sea of ice.

Suddenly, goosebumps peppered across her skin. She began to chill, struggling to grab for blankets that had fallen by the wayside.

Dan's baritone voice was more subdued this time—curious. "You're being terribly quiet, Valerie dear. No justifications for the pathetic humans who infected you?"

The sick woman managed a shaky inhale. She remained silent in a massive attempt to avoid crying.

"Just how sick are you?" he asked suddenly. There was an odd tinge of worry in his voice now, as if he were preparing to mother-hen her. "I demand to know."

She closed her eyes. "I'm dying," she whined. And then she shut down the frequency, her head swimming in pain.


Sometime later, Valerie woke up to the sound of someone entering her room. "Chica?" came the soft, accented call of one Paulina Sanchez. The woman walked in, carrying a tray. "It's breakfast time—you've got to try eating something."

Valerie stared up with bleary eyes at her friend. Then she caught scent of the food on Paulina's tray and began to feel ill again. "No," she moaned. "I can't."

Paulina gave her a worried look. Usually, Valerie could at least put up a front. The woman on the bed had a waxen pallor, her pajamas fully disheveled and soaked in sweat, her face gaunt. Paulina almost said something, but then she felt a crunch beneath her feet, and she realized it was glass. "What…happened here?"

Valerie's feverish eyes slid to the side. "It slipped," she said weakly.

At that, the Latina grew even more worried. The sickness that had been going around was a bad bug—reminiscent of the Spanish flu epidemic in that it was most fatal in the healthiest people. If Valerie was losing coordination, then it meant she was losing ground.

"I'll clean up the glass," she said gently. She set down the tray on Valerie's dresser, then moved to sit down on the edge of the bed. The whole room smelled of sickness. "What's your temperature?"

Valerie felt Paulina's gentle fingers come to rest upon her sweaty forehead. "I don't know," she whispered, too tired to keep her eyes open any longer.

Her forehead was very hot to the touch. Paulina pulled away in deepening worry and said, "I'm going to get Kwan, ok? He might have something to help."

The ill woman exhaled in a labored way. "You know—he doesn't."

It was then that Paulina noticed Valerie's right arm was still encased in battle armor, and she furrowed her sculpted eyebrows. A light on the radio link was blinking red, with Phantom's signature on the small active log monitor. It looked as though he were restlessly pacing not far from the Shield. "Is Phantom bothering you?" she whispered. "So close to Christmas?"

Valerie moaned. "He always bothers me, especially around Christmas." And then she closed her eyes, feeling green again. It was all she could do to breathe evenly for a time.

Her friend set upon the edge of her bed, looking worried. "Well. The Ghost Truce will happen tomorrow, right? So as long as he doesn't attack tonight, we should be fine."

Valerie did not even try to open her eyes then.

She sunk deeper into her pillows, trying to focus on simply breathing.


The Red Huntress's condition worsened, to a point where festivities on the day of Christmas Eve carried a deep foreboding to them. Her father wandered about in a daze as he helped to hang tinsel and garland, only to disappear for a time to check on his sick daughter. His own body had worn thin from the sickness only a week prior, his face gaunt in ways it hadn't been since he'd lost his arm.

Each time he left, he reappeared with an increasingly deepened tension line between his eyes. He ate nothing, staring out the windows to a nearby cemetery for military personnel—then shaking out of it, haunted. There were many freshly dug graves.

On the far side of the resistance building, Valerie was lying in bed, soaking through the sheets as Paulina set another cool washcloth over her forehead, brushing back her matted curls.

The ill woman blearily looked up at her friend. "It is Christmas Day yet?" she whispered, voice ragged and hoarse.

Paulina readjusted her blankets. "Not yet." Her accented voice turned in pain. "I wish your fever would break so you can rest during this truce."

Valerie's arm remained encased in her armor, a red light blinking to indicate many missed transmissions from none other than Dan Phantom himself. She was sure he was fuming in great irritation, pacing outside the Shield as he often did when ignored. The Christmas truce would last only so long, and then he would likely instigate an attack against Amity Park, just to piss her off.

But in that moment, she hardly cared, her illness seeping deep into her bones and lighting them and her mind on fire. She barely heard Paulina speak to her or stroke her hair. She could barely even keep her eyes open.

"Chica, are you listening to me?" Paulina whined, gently patting her cheek with another washcloth.

"Nnh." Valerie's voice was a hoarse rattle in the back of her throat. She tried to open her eyes but could not suddenly.

She just wanted to sleep.

And for the first time, she did not care whether she woke up.


By nightfall, the city of Amity Park stood peacefully in the midst of a great snow, its Shield holding strong despite the waning strength of its protector.

Dark, red eyes peered at the Shield, a thin lip curling in distain and worry. "I told you," the ghost murmured. "Cities are breeding grounds for death. But you never listen. You encourage them all to reproduce like rabbits and then wonder why you have a resurgence of disease."

His gaze landed upon the cemetery fields in the distant sector of the city, near the Resistance building. He'd been watching the grave sites grow, to a point where they no longer buried the dead in caskets but cremated them. The ghost estimated that a good ten percent of the total population had fallen in the latest outbreak of disease.

And here he had not even broken down the Shield—he had simply allowed them to fester.

Dan's large fist clenched, his flaming hair flicking about his face with a turmoil of emotion. He did not care for humans who died…

…Unless they were Valerie.

He gnashed his fangs as he pulled away suddenly, materializing into the snowy air. He'd been expecting a quiet truce evening, perhaps with Valerie swinging by to check on him as she always did. He imagined she would share a bag of candy to quiet his spirit, now that she knew food had a way of making him far more calm about the ongoing existence of other humans.

But now…

His power core began to rev as he flew past the limits of Amity Park, away to far-distant lands. He would not stand for Valerie's death. Not at all.


It was midnight on Christmas Day when the destruction began. The winds picked up, carrying with it a great barrage of power. The systems at the resistance whined at the overload of circuits as a haunting wail shook the towers and shattered glass.

"No," Valerie's father breathed, his one good eye wide in terror from the command station. "No, the truce is still in effect. This can't be happening. Not even Phantom breaks the truce."

Another Ghostly Wail.

The towers of the Shield bent at the force, various screws and riveted panels shearing off with increasing pressure, slamming hard into the dirt.

Tower 9 exploded in a burst of sparks.

Towers 10, 11, and 12 quickly followed—like fireworks in the sky. Damon stood in frozen terror as the rest of the town watched, Christmas cookies and decorations slipping from their shocked hands. Ash and metal shrapnel began to rain upon them along with snow. It inspired parents to cover their children and dart for cover.

The main roads began to hum with alarms and retract to open up the emergency escape pods. Crowds and crowds of people rushed in, some of them still sick, running from houses and the hospital, taking their IVs with them.

Above the insanity floated the dark figure of Dan Phantom, his red eyes glowing. "No Santa Claus today," he murmured, his deep voice a resounding mock to the swarm below.

He clenched his fist, cracking his knuckles.

But in his left arm, he cradled something close to himself. His elfin ears twitched as he turned his attention to the distant Resistance building, where Valerie lay in a delirium from her illness. He quickly materialized into a wisp before the crowds, inspiring a cry of fear—that Phantom would appear behind them, blast at their backs—

Instead, the monstrous ghost slipped beneath the earth, surging toward his target, which was a small room in the residential wing of the Resistance, his communicator beeping with increasing proximity to its mate.

The beep turned into a full whine, and he slipped up, materializing back onto the human plane just as he cracked through the flooring. "Valerie Gray," he declared, his baritone voice dark with disapproval, his handsome face twisted in worry.

His red eyes scanned the small room, noting the limp woman upon the bed, with a few meager Christmas gifts stowed away upon her bedside table and some lights hung across her headboard in some attempt to offer her holiday cheer. She looked nothing like the proud Valerie Gray he knew. She was soaked in sweat, her dark skin pale in an unnatural way, highlighting the blue and purple veins beneath her skin. Her blankets hung at her waist, her body clothed in an old tank top and shorts. Her dark curls were tangled over her pillow, as if she had not cared for herself for several days.

Her one armored arm was limp, still blinking with his messages, as she shuddered through another breath.

Her glassy, overly bright eyes dared to open. And then they closed again, and Dan suddenly feared it would be the last he'd ever see of her eyes.

The ghost swallowed back emotion as he set his things upon her bedside table. The sirens screamed in the background—it would not be long before the resistance recognized his signature as concentrating at Valerie's location. He had only moments to be alone with her.

"You are a most irritating soul," he scoffed at her, his voice strangely gentle, "to force my hand like this. Especially on the one day of the year I usually have no desire to be destructive."

The woman struggled to open her eyes at the sound of his voice once more. She came face-to-face with the infamous Dan Phantom, staring back at her with searching, inhuman eyes. Long, cold fingers slipped against her cheek, and she instinctively leaned against him in want for the cool of his touch, her full, cracked lips dropping open.

"Look at me," he demanded.

She groaned, unsteadily breathing for a time against him. And then with great effort, she managed to blearily open her eyes.

Dan leaned forward. "Do you know what day it is?" he murmured.

Her confused, dazed eyes stared at him for a time before her armored fingers twitched. And with the last of her energy, she raised her hand and blasted his shoulder.

He grunted, the full of his body swinging back at the force. The pink blast stormed against his skin, burning crisply through his jumpsuit and his blueish skin. His eyes narrowed upon her—but with vengeful delight.

"Ah," he complimented her. "You still have spirit. Good."

Valerie groaned up at him. "Leave—al—alone." She closed her eyes, her arm flopping down to her side in exhaustion. Her blaster retracted back into her suit, the interface flickering upon her body strangely. "Truce," she snapped weakly. "Christmas."

Dan's handsome face tightened. "What good is the truce," he retorted, "if you still die?"

And then he raised his hand, his healing shoulder knitting over with new fabric. His fingertips sparked with power, and suddenly a barrier spread out around them, wavering green. It made Valerie look even more sickly.

She turned her face to his, her matted curls spilling over her cheek. She stared at him as if she believed she were hallucinating. "City," she demanded. "Safe?"

The ghost rolled his eyes as he levitated cross-legged by her bed, the edges his cape flickering along the floor. "Yes, they are all safe in their hideaways beneath the town. Most are. Some may have been injured by shrapnel, I care not."

Valerie made an irritated noise in the back of her throat, closing her eyes. She tried to inhale, but her chest seemed to seep inward with the action.

A large hand slipped beneath the sweaty nape of her neck to gently pull her up so she could cough.

"Your people are incompetent," the ghost murmured to her, voice turning in great petulance. "Simply because you ran out of medicine does not mean you should all be dying."

Valerie breathed with an increased relief, her neck cradled by his strength. She gave him a bleary look. "Here to kill me?" she whispered, voice ragged.

His thin lips twitch. "What fun would that be, when I desire to fight you later?"

Her eyes met his for a time, and then she sunk against him in an unprecedented amount of trust, closing her eyes. In doing so, she bared her neck, and he could see the rapid, weak beat of her heart in her carotid artery.

"Where are the people who tend to you?" he demanded softly, eyes flickering about. His elfin ear twitched. He could hear the sound of footsteps—a whole army, storming their way. They carried weapons with a high-whine charge.

Valerie swallowed hard, her throat aching with thirst and a harsh pain. She looked exhausted in that moment, unable to do more than simply stare up at her enemy, hoping her eyes could speak for her.

"They ran?" he murmured. "How typical." And then he eyed a still-wet washcloth and bucket of water beside her bed. "Well, you know what they say, Valerie dear. If you want something done right, you must do it yourself."


By the time the Amity Park Resistance had located Dan Phantom's signature and tracked him down, they arrived too late. His barrier was too strong against them, his power a palpable thrum in the air, standing their hair on end.

Through the swarm of the green barrier, they saw the infamous ghost leaning over Valerie Gray's bed, running a cool washcloth down the side of her face.

In his gloved hand was a medication bottle, with the Russian language typed along its side.

It was a broad-spectrum antibiotic he'd stolen from the Russian Resistance, just for her.

His red, demonic eyes flicked up to the daring few who pounded on his barrier, attempting to see through Valerie's door. One of them was Damon, Valerie's father.

He sniffed haughtily, narrowing his eyes at them. "Merry fucking Christmas," he snarled, before decidedly ignoring them all for quite a while afterwards.

The soldiers remained stationed by the barrier as Damon watched the ghost take care of his daughter, his jaw dropping. Phantom offered her sips of ginger ale with a gentleness that defied logic, handing her shreds of bread when she felt like it, regaling her with tales of his most recent exploits—mostly to get a rise of irritation out of her.

"What in the world," Damon whispered, his brows knitting together in great consternation. It wrinkled the cord of his eye patch.

Phantom eyed the father as he hung over Valerie like a dark shadow biding its master. He smiled, his thin lips stretching over dangerous, glinting fangs. "Do not fear," he called out. "For I would not see her die except by my hand, when I decide it."

The father's lip curled in righteous anger—a spark of Valerie's spirit within his docile form. "You have no right to be here," he declared, voice rough. "You have no right to blockade me from my own daughter."

"Ah, but you think I have a right to steal medicine to save your daughter's life—likely at the expense of another." Dan's eyes glittered in a mocking merriment.

From the bed, Valerie began to struggle up, the second dose of the medicine giving her energy to fight. "Dammit," she breathed, giving a worn look to both of them. "Stop. Just—stop."

She struggled in place before Dan moved to help her lean back against her pillows, her matted curls tumbling down a sweaty shoulder. Despite the remaining height of her fever and the pain in her throat, she managed a demonic glare back at Dan.

But then she grabbed onto his strong wrist, speaking words without making a sound.

He grumped at her, rolling his eyes. "He should be thanking me," he snarled quietly. "For here I have provided you with an extended lifespan. What better gift could I give upon this day of a truce, when I had no reason to provide a gift at all?"

Valerie's cracked lips twitched. "You could have," she sighed tiredly, "left the bottle by the Shield and I dunno, knocked."

"I did knock," he said, white brows knitting together.

"You tore down the Shield."

"…It was a big knock."

Valerie huffed at him, but she carried no ill will with it. Instead, her bleary eyes almost softened at him. The other resistances around the world had been struggling to build supply lines to Amity Park. Dan must have known there was no other way for her to receive medication in time.

It was all almost…kind.

The demonic edge in his eyes softened as well before he turned his gaze from her, his barrier still holding strong around her room. "This is a most disrespectful room for a military commander, you know," he declared. His boot kicked aside an old pair of Valerie's crumpled pajama pants on the floor, and his red eyes narrowed at the walls, which were far too claustrophobic for his tastes. "I demand she be moved to a bigger room. Something fit for a queen."

"Oh my god," she muttered tiredly, leaning back into her pillows. She blearily reached for her water glass. "'m too sick for this."

The ghost turned to her and huffed. "I simply think your people should raise you upon a pedestal and worship you accordingly. We are gods, Valerie dear. You must understand this by now."

She groaned and slammed her water glass back down, giving him a look. "Do I look like a god to you?"

The handsome being pondered her question for a time, taking in the human wear upon her gaunt cheek and the unnatural, sickly paleness to her skin. She lay in blankets stained by her own sweat, her hair hanging from her like straggly snakes. She looked utterly human. Breakable. Finite.

"…Yes," he murmured. "You are to me."

And then, of all things, he hooked his finger into a nearby bag of candy that was one part of her Christmas present from Paulina. He pulled it up to inspect the bag, his elfin ears flicking and eyes narrowing in a cat-like curiosity of it. Then he encased it fully in his hand and sniffed. "The truce ends in nine hours, but I will give you twenty-four because I feel generous on this day." His red eyes slid to Valerie. "I hope you will remember this, for I may need you as well in the future." His voice turned into something almost sultry. "And I do rather enjoy our deals."

Then the great and powerful Dan Phantom materialized away, his barrier dissipating into smoke around Valerie's room. It allowed the various soldiers and her father to cautiously enter, paying mind to the destroyed parts of the floor from Phantom's initial entrance.

"Valerie!" called her father. "Valerie, honey—oh, my baby— "

One of the soldiers stared at the medication bottle on her bedside table in awe, his blaster still raised in anticipation for Phantom's return.

Valerie blearily picked it up and said dutifully, voice hoarse, "Take this to Kwan. Have him scan it to reproduce."

"Yes, commander."

She closed her eyes again, still feeling a bit queasy as she rubbed her aching throat. She did not see her father kneel beside her, but she felt the soft touch of his hand upon her cheek.

And then she heard the squeal of one Paulina Sanchez. "Dios mio, chica," she cried, popping her head in from the hallway. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she groaned.

The boisterous woman entered, peering curiously around the soldiers before sitting down on the edge of Valerie's bed, nearly scooting Damon away. "Did Phantom really take my candies?" she wondered, her face flushed in surprise, eyes glittering. "And he helped you? He gave you medicine, yes?"

Valerie inhaled deeply before exhaling in a sigh. "I guess." Despite two doses of antibiotics, she still did not feel chipper or much like being a stalwart commander for the people around her. She shakily brought the covers up over herself to hide. And then she curled in on herself.

Despite the remaining heat of her fever, which was steadily lowering, she felt an additional flush upon her face—and she feared it had nothing to do with sickness.

Instead, she worried it had to do with the warmth she felt when Dan Phantom had looked down at her in soft worry, touching her cheek, cradling her neck as he offered her life-giving water.

Surely, she thought, it had to be a dream. Some strange hallucination.

But she could feel the phantom memory of his cool fingers upon her, and she knew it to be true.

Beneath the blankets, the ill Valerie closed her eyes, realizing he had given her a gift far beyond that of even her own life. He'd given the entire city an opportunity to combat the violent winter sickness. And he'd given them hope, in perhaps his oddest display of Christmas cheer yet.

She giggled tiredly to herself, deciding to tease him later for being the strangest Santa Claus she'd ever seen.


A/N: Hi, all. So sorry about the three-month hiatus from Deliverance! I had a bad experience in which I was being harassed on AO3 and tumblr for my stories, and it really killed my love of writing for a while. I had to delete The Exchange on AO3 because of the type of harassment I was receiving about how I write black female characters. I'm still not sure if I can mentally return to Aftermath because of that whole fiasco, and I'm debating on whether it's worth it to reupload The Exchange to AO3. But, in good news, I definitely wanted to return to writing Dark Gray in general and to play again with this dangerously loveable couple. I really love Dan and Valerie, who represent my favorite hero/villain relationship from all the shows I've written for. I hope there's still some people out there who enjoy them after so long a hiatus! Sorry if this chapter's a bit rough-I need to work on getting back into the habit of writing DP again haha.

Also, I noticed a complaint in regards to the structure of this collection. Trust me, I never expected this to grow beyond a one-shot collection, haha. I unfortunately can't pull out the main thread stories without disrupting everyone's ability to review the reshuffled chapters. But I'll think about what it would mean to split main stories from this collection on AO3, if that would help. 3

I hope you enjoyed this Christmas drabble. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, all! Here's to hoping for a better year in 2019! Please let me know any Dark Gray requests you might have!