I know I've said this before, but sorry about the long waits in between everything. I write when the inspiration hits; I don't force the words to come. AtF will be updated eventually; I know it's been a year, but I haven't had a lot of time, and keep getting new oneshot ideas that won't leave me alone. I do promise to see everything through to completion eventually; I hate seeing anything go unfinished.
Well, I was originally going to continue this collection in alphabetical order, but can't help the order of inspiration (...yes, that was sorta supposed to be a [really bad] pun, but only my fellow math geeks will truly appreciate it). So instead, here's a little spinoff thing that I came up with while bored at a conference a couple of weeks ago. I had just reread Memories, by Nylah, and if you haven't read it you most certainly should. This is a bit of what was going on inside Danny's head just after he "disappeared"... I'm not going to say any more because I don't want to ruin Memories for those of you who are missing out. You don't have to read it in order to understand this; it can be seen as a stand-alone oneshot, but you'll understand more of the background if you do read it. I didn't follow the story exactly; I wrote this based on just a few paragraphs in the original, and it kinda took on a mind of its own. It still fits in with that fic though; I didn't change anything too drastically, just a few minor details. Enough rambling. Moving on now.
Disclaimer: I own diddly-squat. DP was not created by me, Memories' original idea was not created by me. All I own are the words on this page.
Spoilers: Slightly for Urban Jungle, but only in the form of Danny's new power. I tried not to ruin Memories, but would still recommend reading that first.
Rating: probably a low T, for psychological torture and electrocution. Nothing graphic.
Enough of this blathering from me; on with the fic!
There's nobody here. Other than me, that is. The room seems to echo with each wheezing breath I take, mocking my weakness. Another echo joins the first as I shift in place, chains rattling with the movement of my arms. The only source of light is the dim green glow from the metallic links holding me in place. They keep me from changing into my ghost form; my first futile attempt shocked me into unconsciousness, only to be rudely awakened by a bucket of ice water being dumped over my head by my captor. I've already discovered that the chains are too short to allow me to sit, forcing me to remain standing. Any attempts to fall asleep are met with an electrical shock from the cuffs; they shock me anytime they are forced to support more weight than just my arms.
The walls are damp, and though I can feel it soaking into the back of my shirt, I long to feel that moisture on my tongue. It's been far too long since I've had anything to eat or drink. Unfortunately, the angle my arms are held at impairs my ability to turn far enough for my face to reach the wall. The dampness serves me no use except to make me shiver and occasionally cough violently, pulling my arms against the chains out of reflex and inadvertently setting off the shocking mechanism.
My legs shaking and threatening to give out, I lean more heavily against the wall, but am still unable to give them a rest. They suddenly buckle beneath me and the wristbands do their job, halting my fall after just an inch or two. I grind out a gasp between my teeth as the pulsing electricity assails my weakened body. The chains have been designed well, I note absently as I straddle to get my legs to work again. They emit fairly low-level electricity in a pulse, never getting powerful enough to scramble my thoughts but certainly enough to keep me awake and paying attention. I finally get my knees locked and lean back against the wall again. My eyes slip closed and I command my legs to continue working before surrendering to oblivion.
I wake with a start to the sound of approaching footsteps, amazed that my legs have obeyed my command. I have no way of telling how long I managed to sleep, but it doesn't feel like it was very long. Of course, that could simply be due to the fact that I have gotten a total of maybe thirty minutes of sleep over the course of the past three days.
He comes in through the heavy wooden door that serves as the only entrance and exit to this cell. It slams behind him with a reverberating clang. I'm too busy trying to avoid looking at the pitcher of water in his hand to pay the door any notice. My mouth is too dry to water at the sight of it, but I'm fighting to keep a look of abject longing off my face.
He pours some of the water from the pitcher into a cup and offers it to me, holding it to my lips. My body screams at me to take a drink, even one sip, but I stubbornly purse my lips tightly together and refuse to give in. The cup withdraws, and he takes a careful sip, studying me intently. I can't help but feel like a specimen under a microscope as he scrutinizes my weakened form. I know he sees that I can barely keep myself upright, am on the verge of a dangerous level of dehydration, and have dried blood on my forearms from where the cuffs have bitten into my wrists. I have no doubt that there is also severe bruising on my wrists, and possibly even permanent scarring from the electrical shocks.
"I hope you realize that you aren't getting any water except what you take from my hand, and will not be set loose or fed until you submit yourself to me." His arrogant voice bounces off the walls, a smirk settling into place on his lips.
If I had enough moisture in my mouth I would spit in his smarmy, overconfident face. I opt for a sharp retort instead, feeling my lip curl of its own accord, voice unfortunately raspy. "I'd rather die than take anything from you. Go back to your lonely-guy cat and leave me alone." The venom in my voice would put the world's deadliest spider to shame, but he didn't even blink, opting instead to flick his wrist and completely soak the front of my shirt with the remaining water from the cup.
"Why would I need a cat when I've got you, my boy? One of these days you will call me Father, and that bumbling idiot who formerly claimed the role will die."
If I had the energy I'm sure my eyes would be blazing brilliant green right about now. "I am not, and will never be, your son!" I seethe. The backhand across the face is not very hard but still catches me completely off-guard, snapping my head to the left. I am immediately lost to the struggle to get my legs back beneath the rest of me in order to assuage the pressure of the cuffs on my wrists and the electrical shocks wracking my body.
I have no sooner than resumed my previous position, panting with exertion, than I am hit full in the face by the remaining water from the pitcher. Coughing and sputtering, I lick desperately at my lips, managing to wet my tongue.
"Ah, but you will," he says in response to my earlier declaration. "It's only a matter of time."
The curses I throw after his retreating form would make a sailor blush, but he doesn't seem to notice. The door slams behind him with a clang, locks slipping into place simply to reinforce the hopelessness of my situation.
The dampness of the cool room is beginning to sink into my bones as I stand there, shivering in my soaked clothing. I don't know how long it takes them to dry; I am too focused on my worry about why I am shivering. My ice powers make me extremely tolerant of the cold; the only times I've shivered at all in the past year have been when my ghost sense has gone off. The fact that I am so cold now means that my ghost powers have been suppressed almost to the point of nonexistence.
I don't know how many hours later it is when he comes back. My cough has gotten worse, and I have been shocked awake several more times. He enters the cell, looking like he has just stepped off a magazine cover, shooting me a self-satisfied smirk. We almost perfectly repeat our actions from earlier, right down to me winding up with a stinging cheek and once again soaked and shivering for the next several hours.
The next time he returns I accept a sip of water for the sole purpose of spitting it back out in his face. This time the blow to my head leaves my ears ringing and teeth rattling, to the point that I don't even notice at first when the water hits me or the door slams in his wake. Panting from the effort of standing and shivering even more violently than before, I feel something in my mind give way. I can't keep this up much longer.
When he returns again I sob without tears but remain compliant. As I drink greedily from the cup I can't help but think of it as a betrayal.
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