Danny watched Mic leave.
He watched the man walk out and close the door. Just as he'd wanted him to.
The click of the door was like a gunshot in the too quiet room. The sound echoed through his mind, violently tearing through memories and kicking up a hurricane with the pieces that remained. And, this time, he didn't fight it. Now that he was alone… really, truly alone, he didn't even try to hold back the onslaught.
It had been the model rocket that had set him off.
The model reminded him of the one his mom had gotten him when he turned nine. She'd set the whole day aside to help him build it. It was a little messy, since the pieces had to be glued together and Danny was a little heavy-handed with that part. One wing, which his mom had done, looked almost perfect, while the other was lopsided and would forever sport a half-dripping glob of clear glue off of the leading edge. The thruster pieces had fallen onto the floor at one point and one of them was only found three years later under the couch. His choice of Hotrod Red paint, ended up needing multiple coats to really shine through, but Danny had been too impatient for that and only managed to let one coat dry before insisting it was good enough. The little model was a mess and ended up being something Danny kept on the shelf in his closet, out of site after he turned twelve and couldn't ignore the flaws anymore.
He'd almost forgotten about it.
This one wasn't even close to the same. It was the wrong shape and size. The deep blue finish was nothing like the vibrant red, dotted with clear glue. It was perfect, while his rocket, back home in his closet, was messy and embarrassing.
And yet the memory had rushed at him. Blindsided him and forced him to feel every emotion that was attached to it, right there. The memory played out in the blink of an eye and a single thought shattered what was left of his composure.
You never said 'thank you' to her.
And now, you never will.
After that things started to blur together. Every happy memory from his life back in Amity started to roll over him, laced with the knowledge that he could never go back now. He was officially cut off from everyone he'd ever loved or known. They were gone. He couldn't hold back the tears and that pissed him off. And then all his focus took a sharp turn towards everything that had happened since he'd arrived in Japan. All the things that had gone wrong. All the feelings of being trapped and his problems being belittled by everyone around him. Fury and rage boiled over and all too soon he was throwing things.
He wanted so badly to blast things. To rip through the clothes with his enhanced strength and destroy and let out the roiling energy building up in a corner of his soul that he could no longer access. That only fueled his emotions.
By the time Mic had walked in, Danny was ready for a fight. He'd wanted so badly to let out his anger and just hit something other than the damn wall. He wanted to feel something break under his touch.
But Mic hadn't jumped in to restrain Danny or hurried to defend his or Aizawa's actions. He'd just stared at Danny, through those stupid, rose-tinted glasses, and listened to him scream. Danny couldn't even really recall what he said, but he remembered the feelings underneath the words. He remembered how loud he was and the pity on Mic's face.
And then the guy just… left.
He left, just as Danny had told him to, and through some unseen force, he took all of Danny's anger along with him.
Danny wasn't sure when he'd ended up on the floor, sobbing and screaming. He could feel his throat straining with the action, but the sound didn't reach his ears. He was little more than a shaking pile of pent up stress and tears, forced by his own stupid brain to remember all the things that made him realize what he'd lost.
Jazz won't be nagging you to text her if you're going to be out late.
His hands fisted into his hair as another sob rocked through him.
No more of Tucker's lame puns.
He tried to curl in further on himself, but the thick bandaging on his leg prevented the natural movement.
So much for buying tickets to that concert for Sam's birthday. That would have been yesterday, wouldn't it?
He pushed himself back against the wall, letting his bad leg lay out, while he pulled is other knee up to his chest.
Never gonna hear mom and dad's inventions whir to life whenever you walk into a room.
His head fell to rest against his knee as he tried to take a shuddering breath, tasting salt as his tears streamed, unrelenting down his cheeks.
No more of dad's crushing hugs.
No more of mom's annoyingly melodic greetings.
No sounds of the Fenton Works Lab.
No more fighting ghosts.
No more.
This was the end of everything familiar.
No more home.
Danny cried more than he'd ever done in his entire life. More than he thought was possible. Even after his voice gave out and the shaking subsided, the tears kept coming.
At some point he heard a knock at the door. He registered Mic saying that there was food for him if he was hungry, but he didn't reply. Mic didn't open the door or say anything else. So, Danny stayed where he was. Curled up against the wall, in a room that he'd trashed in a fit of rage. In some part of his mind he knew he should be sorry about that. The realization that he cared more about the fact that he'd ruined the crap Mic had spent money on, more than the rashness of his own outburst, was only mildly surprising. He was supposed to have better control of himself than this.
For at least one, solitary moment, he was glad he hadn't had access to his powers at the time.
Awareness was starting to seep back into his thoughts, slowly. Everything hurt. His head was pounding. His shoulder ached from the skin being stretched and moved too much. His foot wasn't as bad, but still throbbed. The pain meds likely wore off hours ago. His throat was sore. His eyes burned and felt crusty. His nose was still running and while the tightness in his chest had lessened considerably, but was determined to not let go entirely.
He felt raw. Like a nerve, exposed to the world.
He tried to breathe. He'd sit there for a few solid minutes, doing a decent enough job at existing. Breathing. Feeling his heart beat. Then another wave would hit him and he'd be back to squeezing his eyes shut and taking trembling breaths. The cycle just kept coming back around, draining him more and more each time.
At some point the sun came up.
The longer he sat there, the less time it took for him to start calming down after each wave crashed over him. He was beginning to recognize the numbness that had fallen over him earlier… or… yesterday, that is. It brought with it an exhaustion that Danny only vaguely recognized.
Not the kind of exhaustion he'd gotten used to with hunting ghosts at all hours of the day or night. No, this was different.
Years of Christmases dealing with the emotional whiplash and stress of his parent's yearly quarrel, flickered through his thoughts. It was the closest thing he could compare this to. The exhaustion from being so emotionally overwhelmed by everything going on and having no escape. Just having to wait out the holiday season before finally getting a break from all the yelling and stress.
Despite the memories less-than-cheerful-tone, his parent's presence in them still sent a pang of longing through his chest.
Wonder how long this season of suffering will last.
The thought of wildly swinging between numb fatigue and sobbing mess for any significant length of time was unappealing to say the very least. Some part of him knew that he was owed this. He deserved time. He should be allowed to… to feel all of this and… to grieve… Still, the idea of it was uncomfortable. He couldn't help the emotions that were cascading through him, but he could be annoyed with them on some level.
Eventually the dry, saltiness of his skin and the soreness all over made the desire for a shower too comforting to ignore. He pulled himself up against the wall, being careful about putting weight on his bandaged foot. He looked around for the crutches, finding one nearby and the other… right. He'd used that one to beat dents into the bedside table. At least until the crutch itself bent and became utterly useless.
He sighed and grabbed the remaining crutch from the corner. After rummaging through the bags and managing to find some clothes that he hadn't torn in two, Danny hobbled to the door. He turned the knob slowly, grateful that it remained silent. He cracked open the door and listened. The tv was on downstairs, the sounds drifting up to his room faintly. With any luck, Mic would be down there as well. Danny made to move, but froze when he glanced down.
A bowl of rice and some other… things… fish, probably, was waiting by the door.
Something squirmed in his gut at the sight, though he couldn't really place the emotion. Regardless, the food had long since gone cold and Danny was more focussed on getting clean at the moment. It was his only focus really.
One thing at a time.
He pushed the bowl to the side with a foot and hobbled as quietly as he could to the bathroom across the hall. Once he made it there and shut the door, the rest was left to muscle memory, more or less. He recognised the shapes of the labels and dials from the bathroom at Aizawa's apartment, so getting the shower going was easier than expected. The only struggle was working around his shoulder and ankle. Upon peeling back the dressing covering his shoulder, he found the burn still an angry red, but showing the first signs of scabbing over. He'd been burned enough times through his ghost hunting to recognize that this one would be fine, so long as he didn't scrub it or get soap near it. The ankle was another matter altogether, being much more badly burned and leaving him showering with said leg sticking out from behind the curtain and draped in a towel to prevent the bandage from getting wet.
By the time he finished and was dressed in clean clothes his stomach's grumbling was just on the verge of becoming painful. He'd never been the type to 'eat his feelings' as it were, but he wasn't one to starve himself in sorrow either. Besides, it was another, simple task he could put his thoughts on. Even if the thought of going downstairs and interacting with Mic made him want to curl up and hide from the world.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, the bowl in the hall had been removed. Instead, on a fold-out tv tray, sat a plate of fresh, hot food. The smell made his mouth water and that little, squirming feeling from before came back. Danny chose to ignore it, instead promising himself to thank Mic later. Carefully, he lifted the plate with the hand that wasn't on the crutch. A fleeting moment of pride welled up, when he managed to hobble into his room without spilling anything or tripping. He shuffled around the remains that littered the room and settled onto the bed to eat. The food was good, he noted, but he didn't really pay attention to what he was eating. Thinking too hard about anything felt like a chore and time felt like it was passing him by quicker than normal. He was already half done with his meal by the time he'd started thinking about it at all. Access to his ghost powers or not, they were still there and his metabolism was intent on reminding him of that as soon as he started shoveling food into his mouth. So he just sat there and ate.
He practically cleaned the plate, until he got to the odd lump of something that had been set next to a pile of rice. It had been the last thing on the plate and didn't really have a distinct smell to it, but it was food and Danny was still hungry, so he took a bite.
Instantly his mind was warped back to his family kitchen. Mom's pot roast. The last one she'd made before dad had started experimenting with ghosts possessing processed meat products. She'd cooked the dish later on, of course, but this one was one of her best attempts. The perfect seasonings and just the right amount of tenderness in the meat. Dad had complimented her cooking, as he always did. Jazz opted for a smoothie so she could go straight to her room and study. Danny had quickly shoveled as much as he could into his mouth as quickly as possible before hurrying out the door to beat the tar out of Skulker. Mom had tried to tell him not to rush, but he'd just waved her off and left. Ghost fighting took precedence over family dinner.
You took mom's cooking for granted too, huh.
He sniffed and the sound was too wet. His cheeks were wet too and the tightness in his chest was constricting him again. Robotically, he set the plate on the side table. His hands were shaking by the time he pulled his arms around himself. He'd thought he'd cried all he could already, but apparently not. He shook with quiet sobs and let his body slump onto the bed. With his back pressed against the wall and his face buried into a pillow, he let the sorrow engulf him once more.
At some point he knew he was falling asleep, but he didn't have the energy to fight it off. His whimpering fell silent and finally he calmed to a point where his body could rest. His limbs felt like lead and the fuzz in his head left him with no dreams, for which he was grateful. Some semi-conscious part of him noted that sleep felt amazing. He felt separated from his aches and burns, almost like he was floating next to his own body. Considering the number of out-of-body-experiences he'd had, the thought probably should have bothered him, but at the time he couldn't really see the harm in it.
At this rate the number of things that 'should' bother him were starting to stack up.
His drifting thoughts pulled him deeper into sleep and led him through the corridors of his mind. The image, he realized, was more like a line of floating doors in the Ghost Zone, than a hallway in a house. He passed by the doors without much thought. Ignoring the labels. Not wanting to linger on what lay beyond them or dredge up anymore triggering memories. He floated by, aimlessly at first. At some point though, he noticed his wandering had turned into tracking. A sound echoed through the nothing. Strange and alien. A steady pulse lured him further down the path and he was eager to find its source.
He shouldn't have been surprised.
An icy pond stretched out before him, lined with long dead trees, capped with snow and dripping long, sharp icicles. The ice layered over the pond was thick and sturdy. And it glowed. Deep in the center of the pond something pulsed with a green light. The only source of light, Danny noted. It gave everything in the clearing a greenish hue.
He stepped out onto the ice and the echoing sound seemed otherworldly. It didn't crack or or give under his weight, thick as it was, but it was as if the pond knew he was there. The alien sounds of the ice contracting and expanding hummed along his skin and drew him further out to the center. The pulsing feeling that had lured him here, beat slowly in time with the ebbing light. He knelt and let his bare hand rest against the surface of the ice.
Nothing happened.
The pulse didn't quicken. The sounds didn't shift or change. Nothing reacted to his presence. But he could feel it. The pulsing, he realized, beat in time with the warm rhythm in his chest. The instant he touched the ice he could feel the ghostly energy on the other side. His energy. His ghost half.
Instinctively he tried to reach out to it, like he always did, but of course it wasn't there. It was here. Trapped under the ice. He wanted so badly to grab it. To break through and let that energy flow over him. The comforting, familiar feeling. He wanted that familiarity. He needed it.
His fists made no sound as he pounded them against the ice.
When had he started punching the ice?
Did it matter?
Frustration needled him, like pin pricks under his skin. He tried kicking and scratching and clawing at the ice, but not so much as a shard gave way. The energy trapped below didn't respond either. He recalled, very distinctly, the first time he'd noticed his ghost powers had been cut off from him, the feeling of his ghostly aura reaching out to him. Searching. Aching to be returned to him.
Now it just sat there. Curled up under the ice. Unable to hear or see or feel his presence.
It hadn't waned in power though.
In fact, looking around at the size of the pond, and the glow that emanated from below, he was struck by the realization that this was bigger than it had been before. The ghostly energy was still thriving. Growing. Hoarding power and not having even his ghost sense to drain bits of it away.
He wondered if it would continue to grow, or if it would reach a point where the glass was filled. Would the energy fill the pond and stop there, or would this image shift to accommodate the energy that was out of his control? Would he come back to find a lake next time? Or an ocean?
How do you control an ocean?
The thought sent a chill down his spine and all at once the silence hit him. The sounds of the ice in the clearing had stopped. The glowing light no longer pulsed. Danny looked down and, though the energy below had no form or shape, he could feel it looking right at him. It knew he was there. It could feel his concern. His unease.
You should be scared.
'But I'm not.' he thought.
It wasn't a lie. The realization almost shocked him, but it was true. He was unsure and worried about the inevitability of his powers returning to him and how he would handle it. But the power was still his. It was still a part of him. He didn't fear it. He just… didn't want to lose control of it… again. He was wary and cautious. But not scared.
Good.
A clinking sound reached his ears and Danny bolted upright.
Mic cursed under his breath, nearly dropping the plate he'd come to retrieve. The room was dark. The sun had set and Danny had no clue how long he'd been asleep.
"Jeez, kid. You're gonna give me a heart attack if you keep waking up like that." Mic whisper-yelled.
Danny took a moment to catch his breath and look around the room. He blinked. He blinked again. Why was everything so dark? Normally his eyes naturally adjusted to the dark. His ghost powers taking over on instinct to help him see.
Oh… right...
As if in response, Mic picked up an object off the floor, set it on the bedside table and clicked it on. Light flooded from the lamp and filled the room instantly. Danny had to cover his eyes at the sudden shift from too dark to too light.
"Sorry." Mic said. "Just trying to get this out of here." He lifted the plate in his hand, still sporting a little pile of untouched beef stuff. "Don't want to attract bugs, ya know."
"Yeah…" Danny breathed, moving his hand now that his eyes were starting to adjust to the light.
Mic took a step back, looking around the room and appearing very uncomfortable. Which struck Danny as odd, seeing as this was Mic's house. Probably a testament to how alien Danny's presence made the home feel. Then again, he couldn't think of many people who were comfortable with a ghost in their home.
"I brought this up like, six hours ago." Mic said, nodding at the plate. "If you're hungry again I can cook you something else. Maybe something more… american? If you want."
Danny blinked. "You cook?"
"Well yeah. I live by myself and the only guest I regularly have over is Shouta and, as you may have noticed, his cooking skills leave much to be desired."
Danny nodded, avoiding looking the man in the eye as the fogginess of the dream finally left his mind. His eyes drifted to the floor, taking in all the damage from the day before. He really should make an effort to clean that up. If nothing else, it'd make hobbling around with the damn crutch easier.
"I could eat." Danny admitted.
"Alright. You want me to bring something up to you?" Mic asked.
The offer of further privacy was thoughtful, but also held a dilemma. Just the thought of awkwardly maneuvering down the stairs sounded equal parts annoying and embarrassing, but staying in the room meant being alone with his thoughts and staring at the damage he'd caused. Neither were appealing, per say, but one was less stressful than the other.
Danny shuffled to the edge of the bed and reached for the still functional crutch.
"Can I watch TV downstairs?" Danny asked.
"Sure." Mic shrugged. "So long as you don't leave the property, you're free to explore the house all you want. The tv, food, extra blankets, whatever you need, you can just take. You don't have to ask permission to use anything."
Gratitude warred with suspicion in Danny's gut, but the hazy numbness made them both relatively easy to set aside. He nodded in acknowledgement. "Thanks."
Mic led the way down the hall and towards the stairs. He didn't say anything as Danny took an eternity to wobble down the stairs. He didn't seem bothered or impatient or troubled by Danny in the slightest. He just hovered a few steps ahead, ready to catch the teen if he slipped. Danny wanted to be annoyed, but he didn't have the energy for it.
Apparently, sleeping for six-ish hours did nothing for his mental exhaustion.
Once he'd managed to make it to the first floor, Danny followed Mic to the living room. The room was spacious and sported a high ceiling and light, creamy colors, accented with dark reds here and there. A huge red sectional couch wrapped around the center of the room and faced a massive flat screen tv. On either side of the tv, shelves were set into the wall sporting a very sleek looking soundsystem and hundreds of movies, cds and even a collection of records. Off in the corner, next to a vivid red leather chair, sat an equally sleek record player, no doubt hooked up to the same sound system. Mic handed Danny the remote and strolled over to the kitchen. The two spaces were separated by a breakfast bar, but the open floor plan left little to the imagination.
"You weren't kidding when you said you were financially secure." Danny said, settling onto the couch.
"'Secure' is putting it mildly." Mic admits with a laugh. "I'm no millionaire by any means, but it's not like an added teenager is gonna break the bank either."
From the kitchen Danny could make out an upbeat humming in-between the sounds of pans and cutlery being fished out of cabinets and drawers. The whole kitchen looked sleek and modern and he was actually kind of impressed at how every available space was used to its maximum potential. Glossy, black cabinets swung closed without a sound and everything was way more organized and lived in than the kitchen back at Aizawa's apartment. Furthermore, Mic seemed surprisingly comfortable as he moved about the kitchen. Not quite his element, he still stopped once or twice muttering to himself as he glanced around looking for things, but at least familiar with the task.
Kind of like Jazz, in their kitchen back home.
Danny felt the air woosh out of his lungs as the thought hit him. Jazz wasn't much of a cook, but between the ecto-radiated food and his parent's tendency to forget about meals when they were in their lab for too long, she'd been the one to make sure Danny didn't go without dinner more than a few times. She'd make sandwiches, salads, even soup when it was cold out. Nothing too complex, but enough to get by. Especially after he got his powers and started eating more. That was probably the only aspect of her overprotective habits that he did truly appreciate, since going without a meal left his body running on fumes for longer than the average person.
"Kid?" The voice was hesitant and far closer than it should have been.
Danny gasped and looked up to see Mic standing next to the couch, one hand raised towards him, lingering in the space between them. Concern radiated off of him and Danny wondered how long he'd been sitting there, staring at the remote in his hands. He blinked, forcing the tears back and taking a deep breath before daring to open his mouth.
"Sorry. Zoned out." he mumbled, his voice sounding disturbingly hollow to his own ears.
Mic hummed and reached for the remote, wordlessly flicking on the tv.
"Any preferences? Cartoons? Gameshows? Documentaries?"
Danny just shook his head, not wanting to hear his own voice again.
"Alright then." Mic said, settling on a channel and leaving the remote on the armrest next to Danny. "Feel free to change it if you get bored. I won't mind." he assured as he turned and made his way back to the kitchen.
Danny hardly paid attention to what was playing on the screen. Wasn't like he could understand what they were saying anyways. If he had to guess he would have assumed it was a sitcom of some sort, though he realized later the absence of a laugh track likely meant it was something else. Heck, tv shows could be totally different here. He didn't know and in all honesty he really didn't care.
He spent the next half hour battling with his thoughts. Forcing himself to steer clear of any thoughts of home or his life back in Amity, but also trying to avoid being too present as well. Being present meant feeling his injuries flare up and, while the physical pain was better than the emotional onslaught, he still wasn't keen on the feeling either. Paying attention to the nonsensical action on the screen only made him feel frustrated, so he tried to keep from sinking too far into that chasm as well. Not for the first time, he longed to feel that numbness take him over again. To just feel nothing while the time passed so that he could move on to the next thing.
Footsteps broke him from his near constant mental battle and he looked over to see Mic walking back with a couple of bowls and two glass bottles in hand.
"It's not gormei by a long shot, but it's an easy dish that I remember being popular in the states." he said, setting the bowls on the coffee table and handing Danny one of the bottles.
Danny took it, raising a skeptical brow.
"What?"
"Is this… I mean… It looks like a beer." Danny said.
Mic snickered, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. "You really think I'm the type of guy to give a minor alcohol?" He shook his head. "It's cola, kid. Soda? Pop? Fizzy drink?"
"Yeah. Yeah. Alright, I get it." Danny said, waving his hand absently. "Just used to soda's coming in cans more often than bottles." He took a hesitant sip of the already opened bottle, pleasantly surprised at how familiar it tasted. Almost like a grocery store brand of soda. His eyes finally skipped over to the bowl in front of him and widened in recognition. "Mac N' Cheese? Really?"
Mic shrugged, already digging into his bowl with a spoon. "Like I said, it's easy to make."
Danny's lips twitched at that as he scooped up his bowl. The two ate in relative silence, absently watching the characters on the screen. Danny ended up scarfing down his portion in no time at all. No sooner had he set his bowl down on the table than Mic was scooping it up, striding into the kitchen and then returning with the same bowl full of pasta once more. He didn't comment. Neither of them did. For that, Danny was grateful. By the time Danny had finished his third helping, he finally felt sated and let himself relax on the couch.
With a full belly and a comfortable couch, he could feel the waves of exhaustion washing over him as Mic cleared away the evidence of their meal. Too late, Danny thought of offering to help with the dishes. It would have been the least he could do.
Why? It's not like he's allowed to let you starve.
Danny shifted in his seat. The idea that Present Mic was only doing any of this because he had to, wasn't a new thought. But it still didn't feel… accurate. He couldn't really define it, but there was a different vibe here. Sympathy, and most likely pity, seeped into every action the older man had taken. He felt sorry for Danny and, yeah, while Danny prefered to avoid people seeing him through that kind of lense, it was already way better than feeling like a burden. At least here he didn't feel like a nuisance.
"Kid?"
Danny blinked and looked up, his eyelids feeling heavier than before.
"Zoning out again?" Mic asked.
Danny shrugged with his good shoulder. "Just thinking."
Mic nodded, but didn't walk away. He shifted from foot to foot and glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. Danny followed his gaze and cringed at the time. Maybe he had gotten a nap earlier, but he doubted Mic had.
"Sorry for keeping you up late."
"Huh? Oh. No, that's no big deal, kid." Mic assured him. "I got no reason to be up early tomorrow anyways. No, what I… I figured I'd…" He sighed and grumbled something in Japanese. "Look, if you wanna talk about any of this, you can always come talk to me. And if you're not cool with that, I can arrange for someone else to come by."
"Like a therapist?" Danny deadpanned.
"Like a friend." Mic turned his head and finally met Danny's gaze. "I get that none of this is going to be easy and it really does suck that all of this has happened to you. But you can't keep bottling it all up like you have been."
"... I know." Danny whispered, pulling his gaze away and staring down into his hands in his lap. "Not tonight?"
Mic sighed. "Not until you're comfortable. The last thing I'm gonna do is force you to do anything you don't absolutely have to. But it is something you should at least consider, yeah?"
"... yeah."
Danny released a heavy sigh, feeling his shoulders slump more out of exhaustion than any kind of relief. He sat forward and grabbed his crutch, carefully shifting so that he could stand up. He swayed slightly and instantly Mic had a hand on his arm, helping to steady him.
"I've got it." Danny snapped.
He winced at the loudness of his own voice and watched Mic pull away hesitantly.
"Sorry." Danny mumbled. "Sorry, I- I didn't mean-"
"It's okay, kid." Mic assured him. "I should've asked first."
Danny shuffled around for a moment until he got the crutch situated and started to move towards the stairs.
"I'm not trying to be difficult." he admitted.
"I didn't think you were." Mic said, following a few steps behind as they neared the stairs.
The pair staggered up the stairs in silence, Mic always an arms length away, just in case Danny lost his footing or something equally stupid. Not for the first time, Danny thought this would be a heck of a lot easier if he could just float up to his room. At the top of the stairs Danny paused, taking a moment to feel for his ghost core. It didn't take as much effort, now that he knew where it was… sort of. Still there. Still out of reach.
"You alright, kid?" Mic asked.
Danny nodded, only just now realizing he was breathing a little heavier.
"Yeah. I uh… Not really used to actually having to walk up stairs. Normally I just fly up and phase through the floor of my room." He said. A pang of longing threatened to wash over him at the thought of his room back home, but he quickly pushed it back. Latching onto a passing idea and speaking before he could think about it too much. Already limping down the hall as he spoke. "I mean, I guess you could argue that none of this is really normal for me. Like, yeah my powers are kind of a lot compared to what you guys are used to, but that also means that without them I'm cut off from a lot of their more subtle effects. The quicker healing. The energy boost. Optional weightlessness. Like, a few months back I'm pretty sure I broke my ankle or sprained it or something and I couldn't go to a hospital for obvious reasons. My healing factor healed me up way quicker than a normal person, but being able to float just above the floor and keep weight off it helped a lot too. Plus the ice powers make for an instant cold-pack literally anywhere." Danny rambled.
Mic didn't seem to mind his sudden word-vomit, nodding quietly as he spoke. "Makes sense. Shouta's used his quirk on me before, but it's not like my quirk is used for casual day-to-day living, so I can't really relate." he admitted. "Sounds more than a little annoying, though."
"Yeah." Danny huffed. "Understatement of the century."
They finally made it to his room and Danny pushed open the door. He winced at the sight, once again feeling a bit embarrassed at the state of the room. At the moment, however, he was way too tired to do anything about it.
"If you need anything you know where to find me." Mic said. "Or, feel free to text if that's easier."
Danny looked over his shoulder sheepishly. "I uh… kinda threw the phone you gave me behind Aizawa's couch before the whole heist thing…" he admitted.
Present Mic smirked and nodded in the direction of something behind Danny. "Top drawer of the side table." he stated. "Charger's in there too. Good night."
Before Danny could say anything more, the older man left, closing the door quietly as he went. Sure enough, the phone he'd been gifted was sitting in the drawer. Dead, but unharmed. Danny quickly went about plugging the phone in to charge and shuffled into some pajamas before crawling under the covers. It took hardly any time at all before he was sound asleep.
He didn't stay asleep for long.
Danny jolted upright in bed, his ears ringing as the nightmare played in snippets behind his eyes over and over again. He'd been running, trying desperately to reach something that only ever seemed to get farther away. Then the feeling had shifted, warped so that he was running away from something. Something chasing him. Fear clawed at his heart as the darkness erupted in flames and suddenly he was burning. His skin stung and he couldn't breathe and he was acutely aware of his heart no longer beating.
He sucked in a desperate breath and blinked hard.
He raised a trembling hand to his chest.
His heart was beating. It was racing, in fact. Too hard. Too fast.
Again he tried to breathe, this time feeling his lungs stretch with the much needed air.
The burn on his shoulder screamed as he shifted with the intake. He coughed out a breath, hissing as the pain continued to pull him back towards the waking world. He was alive. There was no fire. He was in Present Mic's fancy house, in the guest room he had strashed yesterday. Or… was it the day before? He'd slept and woken again so many times in an unknown number of hours, he really wasn't sure what day it was anymore.
Once his breathing was steady he cracked open his eyes. The sun was up, though based on the color of the light, he figured it wasn't too terribly late in the morning. That was… better than expected. If he managed to stay up all day he might just get his sleep schedule back on track. That would at least be a step in the right direction. Even if he didn't know where that direction led to at the moment.
However, sitting in bed doing nothing was not an option.
His eyes swept around the trashed bedroom and his mind was made up. He slid his legs out from under the covers and tested his weight on the bad leg. It still stung, but it was more manageable than yesterday. Slowly, he hobbled over and started to pick up the clothes that were strewn all over the floor. Before long he had two piles. Ripped clothing in one heap. Intact clothing in the other. He then set about folding everything that wasn't shredded and sorting them into piles. He put away the clothes and what couldn't be salvaged was stuffed into one of the bags and left in a corner.
That done and his mind considerably calmer, Danny decided he might as well get dressed and try to find some food. He threw on some jeans and a t-shirt and shuffled his way down the stairs. Mic was on the phone in the living room. He waved at Danny as he walked past to get to the kitchen. It took him a minute to find something that didn't require cooking, but eventually Danny snagged a bag of chips and a soda from the fridge.
"I can make you something a little nicer to eat if you want." Mic offered as he ended his call.
Danny shook his head. "Kinda craving junk food, to be honest."
"Works for me. We will need to change your bandages though."
"I can do it."
"You sure? The last thing you want is for that shoulder to get infected, just because you can't reach-"
"Shoulder's already scabbed over." Danny said, popping another chip into his mouth. "Foot's the only thing I gotta re-bandage and I can do that on my own." He paused his chewing for a moment, thinking over what he'd just said. "Thanks for the offer though."
"Just tryin' to help, kid. The first aid stuff is in the bathroom upstairs. Be sure to use that balm in the red tube. Oh and one more thing." he said, turning and walking into the kitchen. When he came back he set a pair of pills down with a glass of water. "Pain meds. Nothing too strong, but it should take the edge off. Still wanna stay off that leg as much as possible though."
"Got it." Danny nodded.
Mic strode out of the room and Danny quickly downed the pills. He wasn't in a ton of pain, but he wanted to be able to move around more today so preemptively managing that was probably the best idea for now. Besides, he doubted redressing the burn on his foot was going to be a fun experience.
Once Danny's stomach was no longer growling for food, he hobbled back upstairs. As predicted, tending to the burn on his leg involved a lot of hushed swearing and slow movements. The one on his shoulder was a breeze by comparison. By the time he'd finished he was already feeling like taking a nap, but that would ruin the whole sleep schedule plan, so he stubbornly hobbled back to his room and set back to work cleaning things up.
He moved in a haze, forcing himself to focus on the task right in front of him and thinking only absently about where to put this or that. The instant his thoughts tried to stray back towards home or anything familiar, he pulled himself back to the present. Even if he wasn't the best at distracting himself, he at least managed not to have a breakdown while he went about cleaning the room. Small victories, he guessed.
Three hours and two bags of broken junk later and the room finally looked like an actual bedroom, if a bit sparse. The only thing Danny couldn't really tend to was the dents in the drywall, which… yeah… not his proudest moment. He figured he could apologize for that later, when he brought the junk bags downstairs. Now that his task was done though, the exhaustion was weighing down on him again.
He glanced at the phone on the nightstand.
4:00 pm.
Danny hummed. Maybe a short nap wouldn't be so bad, he thought. He was already losing the fight to keep his eyes open and at this rate he was liable to just slump against the wall. Experience reminded him that that was always a horrible place to pass out. So he flopped down on top of the covers and set an alarm on his phone for one hour. By then, he expected, Mic would probably be prepping something for dinner.
Too late he remembered the nightmare from that morning and realized he was likely to have more nightmares for a while. But he was already fading and he couldn't feel the stinging in his leg anymore and that was too nice of a feeling to fight.
The darkness morphed and undulated in a way that reminded him distinctly of the Ghost Zone. Kind of goopy, but feeling lighter than air at the same time. A coolness settled around him. He could feel it through the jumpsuit. That familiar feeling of death and static in the air. He floated forward, not recognizing this part of the Zone, but not feeling too concerned either. Tucker and Sam could always use the Boo-Merang to find him, or go to Frostbite and borrow the Map.
Until then, he could wait it out… wherever he was.
"Danny?"
Danny turned.
Jazz was standing a few feet away. Just standing there. Standing on nothing, surrounded by a pulsating emptiness. Watching him. She looked exactly like he remembered. She looked worried and perhaps a little bit scared. Something in his gut twisted at the thought of her being upset. He knew she was worried about him. She only ever worried about him, he thought. It was his fault she was upset.
"Jazz?" Danny called, reaching out towards her.
She didn't seem to notice him, staring in his direction, but looking right through him.
"Danny, where are you?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Where did you go?"
"Jazz, I'm right here." Danny said, floating closer to her. "Look at me. I'm-"
He reached out and touched her arm.
And suddenly everything shifted.
A crushing weight of fear knocked the wind out of him and instantly the nothingness around him dribbled away like oil. Around him he recognized the buildings of Amity Park, though they weren't… quite right. Some loomed larger than he was used to. Others were barely recognizable. Nothing more than crumbling brick and skeletal steel beams. There was a thick, green cloud hanging in the air, keeping him from seeing more than twenty feet in any direction.
And the fear.
The fear was paralyzing.
And all at once, Danny realized he wasn't in his ghost form.
Gravity felt too heavy. His heart was racing. All his hair was standing on end and the chill that danced across his skin had nothing to do with the temperature.
"Danny?"
Danny whipped around, but this time there was no face to match with the voice.
"Danny!" someone shouted.
He turned and caught sight of a shadow in the green mist, but it vanished before he could even make out a silhouette.
"Phantom!"
He spun 'round again, but the shadow was gone and another voice rose up over his shoulder. Then another. And another.
"Danny?"
"Daniel."
"Phantom?"
"Phantom!"
"Fenton!"
"DANNY!"
It was a cacophony of voices. People calling for him. Some of the voices were distressingly familiar. People he knew. Others weren't. But they all knew him. They knew him and needed him. They asked. They screamed. They growled. And the fear that kept him rooted to the spot only grew as the mist began to ripple and spin and warp everything around him.
Then everything went still.
Everything was quiet.
Something sent a chill up his spine and Danny turned.
Jazz was standing there once more.
She wasn't scared this time. Worse… she looked angry. That restrained kind of anger that said that she was holding back something a lot more volatile.
"You ruined it." she hissed.
"Jazz?" he asked, feeling the dread building up again.
"All you had to do was wait." she said, straining to keep her voice even. "If you had just waited, none of this would be happening." She gestured an arm out around her, but all he could see was fog.
"I don't understand. I didn't… I didn't mean-"
"Don't give me that!" she shouted.
Danny flinched back.
"You've never been patient." she accused. "You've never been able to think past your actions. You never consider the consequences. You just charge right in with whatever idea you got in your head first and hope that everything goes fine. Well, look where that got us this time!"
She threw her arms wide and this time the mist flew away.
Danny's eyes went wide as the burned out ruins of Amity came into focus. Buildings demolished. Trees burned down to the stump. Ghosts flitted all around and here and there he could see bodies. In the street. In pieces. Some burned. Some twisted in horrifying ways. Something about the bodies seemed familiar. Like he'd seen these horrors before. But this time they wore new faces.
Faces they didn't have the first time.
Faces he recognised.
Faces of people he had saved before.
Unseeing, dead eyes stared back at him.
"You left us." Jazz accused, drawing his attention back to her.
"I didn't mean to."
"You never do." she shot back. "This," she gestured to the destruction all around them, "is all your fault. Look what you've done. You left and now everything's gone. Everyone is dead because of you."
"No…" Danny whimpered, unable to catch his breath.
Why couldn't he breathe?
Jazz stalked forward, her eyes beginning to glow in an eerie red. Her whole body started to glow. And fade. And Danny's ghost sense was going off and he stared at his sister's angry, red eyes as she loomed over him.
"You better enjoy your new home, Danny." she hissed, sounding nothing like he had ever heard before. "Because of you, there's nothing left for you to come back to."
She lunged forward and dug her claws into his shoulder.
Danny screamed, but no sound came out.
He sat up and gasped, but no air seemed to make it to his lungs.
The nothingness was back.
All around him was black and nothing and-
But…
No.
He could see shapes this time. Steady, unmoving shapes in the darkness. Walls and furniture. The faintest traces of light from… somewhere. He couldn't see. He couldn't breathe. His hands were shaking and he couldn't access his ghost powers to see in the dark and he was barely able to take a wheezing breath. He shut his eyes. He had to focus. He had to breathe.
He tried to inhale, but the air wouldn't come. His throat felt too tight. Too wet. He swallowed and tried again. This time he managed a shaky breath. Not great. But something. He tried again. And again. Getting a little more air into his lungs each time and breathing out as steadily as he could manage. Which wasn't very steady by really anyone's standards.
He pulled a still shaking hand up to his chest. His heart was racing. He could feel it beating frantically against his ribs and the damp shirt that clung to his skin. He was covered in a sheen of sweat and only now did he realize he felt way too hot. Instinctively he reached out for his ice powers, but nothing happened.
Right.
Ankle cuff.
House arrest.
Japan.
His actual memories steadily rushed over him. They didn't soften the blow of the nightmare, but they gave him something else to think about while he was still trying to just exist.
When he was finally sure that he could stand to move, he looked up and took in the room once more. He blinked. His eyes were warm and wet. His cheeks were damp too. It was dark. Night had fallen. Why hadn't his alarm gone off?
He turned towards the nightstand and scooped up his phone. The alarm app flickered to life and instantly he saw the issue. He'd set it for 5:00 am. He let out a frustrated sigh and turned the useless alarm off, turning his attention to the current time. 11:36 pm.
He probably missed dinner.
His stomach growled and he nearly jumped at the sudden sound. He was too damn twitchy. Too wound up. Too hot.
He stood, hissing slightly as he put weight on his bad leg, and shuffled to the chest of drawers. He pulled out some sweats, underwear and a clean shirt and made a bee line for the bathroom. He turned the water on cold, stripped down and hopped in, only just remembering to keep his leg out. He stood there for a long while, just letting the cool water run over his skin. Even cut off from his ghost powers, the cold was still a welcomed relief compared to the heat. His breaths came easier. His hands stopped shaking. The burn on his shoulder ceased its screaming. His pulse began to slow and the longer he stood under the spray the more grounded he felt.
When he finally started to shiver, he turned the water to lukewarm and set about actually cleaning himself. At least at this rate, he wasn't likely to waste all of Mic's hot water, he thought. By the time he stepped out of the shower and threw on the clean clothes, the nightmare had faded. It was still there. Still shouting at him and begging for his attention, but he could ignore it better. He could breath and focus on other things. Like taking his gross, sweaty clothes back to his room to toss in the hamper. After that…
One thing at a time.
He stepped out of the bathroom and the sound of the TV drifted up from down stairs. The voice didn't sound overly enthusiastic, so he doubted it was another gameshow. Still, he was kind of surprised Mic was up so late. Especially since he'd kept him up the night before.
Danny hobbled into his room, tossed the clothes in the hamper and grabbed his crutch.
By the time he made it down the stairs his stomach was aching for food. He limped through the living room, past Mic, who was standing watching the TV. Danny opened the fridge and grabbed some kind of pastry thing that looked like he could eat it without having to attempt cooking something. He bit into the fluffy danish-thing and quickly took a second bite. It was good. Kind of sweet, but not overly so. A mild flavor. Mild he could handle. He opened up the cabinet he'd seen Mic get a glass from earlier and filled a cup of water from the tap.
"Hey, Mic." he asked, glad that his voice didn't sound unsteady or hoarse. "What are these?" He gestured in Mic's direction with the pastry before taking another bite.
Mic didn't answer.
Danny took a sip of his water and looked up towards the living room. Present Mic was standing in front of the couch, staring at the TV, one hand over his mouth. He was still as a statue and Danny was certain he hadn't heard him. Cautiously, Danny took a few limping steps into the living room and looked at the TV.
Aerial footage of a forest set ablaze with blue flames covered the large screen. Japanese text scrolled underneath the footage and a voice was speaking overtop. It was a news reel. And, judging by Mic's reaction, it wasn't something from a film or tv show.
"Mic?" Danny asked, once he'd gotten a bit closer.
Mic whipped his head around, seeming to notice Danny for the first time since he'd come downstairs.
"Hey." he said, his eyes a bit wider than normal. He stared at Danny for a moment, then quickly turned his gaze back to the television. Danny did the same, though his eyes eventually drifted back to the man in front of him. He'd never seen Present Mic… scared before.
"What's going on?" he asked, tentatively.
"The camp." Mic said after a long pause. "The training camp. The…" he mumbled something in Japanese. "The one Aizawa took his class on."
Danny's eyes widened as he realized what Mic was saying.
"That's…"
"The camp's been attacked." Mic said.
The two stood there in silence, staring at the TV as the news footage continued.
"Is Aizawa okay?" Danny asked before he could stop the words from coming out.
"I don't know."