This isn't good, noted Jazz. She then returned to her previous line of thought: How in the world is he recovering so quickly?
"What? Ghosts? No. No!" Danny replied as though it were a completely ludicrous suggestion, "No, what makes you say that? I wouldn't mix with ghosts!"
It should have been impossible. Not even an hour ago, he was unresponsive to painful stimuli; now, he was articulating sentences with ease, and that was not nearly the extent of his symptomatic strangeness.
Then, Jazz cognized what Danny had said, and she stared at her brother incredulously. Sometimes, she wondered how he had managed to keep his secret for so long. Redirection could be effective, but his was often a strange and thoroughly useless breed of redirection. Danny had to realize that shouting, "I'm not a ghost!" was hardly conducive to having their parents remain convinced of that fact. Reverse psychology was not an obscure concept…
"Oh, Dad's just being silly," comforted Maddie, frowning.
"Hey, it's a valid concern!" Noticing the glares of both females present, Jack relinquished his efforts and resolved instead to pout indignantly.
…Then, again, Mom and Dad were more than slightly oblivious.
"Sweetie," repeated Maddie. Jazz watched several emotions play across her mother's face. That was worry, and that was… hesitation, understandably. Maddie was accustomed to kicking down doors and rushing in with guns blazing. Often literally. Typically, in fact. "We just want to know why you've been getting hurt, and why—"
She needn't continue. Why his grades were falling. Why he missed curfew. Why he came home with cuts and bruises. Why he avoided the lab whenever possible. Why he avoided them. Jazz knew, but they couldn't, not yet.
"We just want to help you, Honey," Maddie finished abruptly.
"Mom, Dad, I—"
"Danny's being bullied in school!" Jazz blurted, smiling contritely and shrugging at Danny's outraged expression.
"What? Why didn't you tell us?"
"No-one messes with Jack Fenton's family! Who is it, son? I'll tear them apart—I mean contact Mister Lancer. Your mother and I will contact Mister Lancer because that's what responsible parents do." He seemed slightly uncertain, though. He turned to his wife, apparently for confirmation; she nodded, and he happily slung an arm across her shoulders.
"Well, um, there are a few people who—wait." Danny's eyes widened. "Dash. Did that actually—am I just imagining…? Crud. Crud, crud, crud, crud, crud." Danny gripped the edge of the bed. "What happened to Dash?" he asked hoarsely.
"He'll be fine. He's already been discharged," said Jazz gently.
"But, I mean, what happened to him? And—oh, crud." His knuckles turned white.
Jack and Maddie stood in confusion. Maddie flexed and relaxed her fingers; Jack simply furrowed his brow.
"What…" Maddie began but was promptly silenced by Jazz.
"Don't worry about that right now, Little Brother. He'll be fine, and you'll be fine. Everything will be okay. Inhale through the nose; oxygenate your brain…
"Danny, please?
"Okay, good. Good." Jazz sighed and turned to her parents. "Uh, can I talk to Danny alone for a minute?"
Danny hit his head against the wall in exasperation. However, he seemed to reconsider doing so upon realizing what pain it caused.
"Aw, Jazzypants, come on, we—"
"You must be…Mister and Missis…Fenton" Dr. Robertson entered the room, and she stared at the Fentons for several moments before pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yes, that would explain a few things. All right. If you would come with me."
"But—why can't we stay with our son?" asked Maddie, frustration evident in her squared shoulders and balled fists.
"It will only be a moment, Miss," said Dr. Robertson dispassionately, already stepping over the threshold.
With a last, furtive look at their children, Jack and Maddie followed suit.
"No. No, no, no, no, this is not happening." Danny's hands were shaking.
"Danny, you got into a fight," said Jazz slowly, "Dash initiated it, and you were barely aware of what was happening. What you did was reflexive." She gave him a tiny smile. "But no-one needs to know why you have those reflexes in the first place."
Danny stared. "What—happened—to—Dash?" he repeated deliberately.
"A few bruises—they're really minor; they'll be gone in a week—and, well…"
"Jazz."
She exhaled. "Broken arm," she finally admitted, "Dislocated shoulder."
"What! Crud, this is not good…"
"Danny, it wasn't your fault. He'll be healed in a few months, anyway, so—"
"Yes, it was! And Jazz, he's a football player! He'll lose his scholarships! This could ruin him!"
I'm rationalizing. I'm trying to protect him. I need to deal with this objectively. Be objective. Deep breaths…
"No, no, no, no, crud, crud, crud... I used my Phantom strength against a human; I used my Phantom strength against a student. Not good, not good… Wait. Did anyone find out? Is that—is that why I'm here?"
He was going to become a big jumble of stress and anxiety if he didn't calm down.
"No, Danny. You were injured because… Well, when you did what you did to Dash, Kwan…"
"…didn't mean to do it; I swear I didn't. I was just freaked out, man! I saw Dash lying there, and Fenton was standing over him, and I just—I don't know. I didn't want him to beat on Dash or go crazy on everyone else or, or—oh, man. I was just trying to pull him away, but the table was there, and I wasn't thinking right, and, and—I swear I didn't mean to do it!"
Kwan was at the police station of Amity Park. He was not seated in an interrogation room, and he did not know he would be less comfortable if he were. He felt more exposed this way, surrounded by constant sound and movement: officers getting coffee, talking, making phone calls, coming in, going out, opening and closing drawers, shuffling through files…
They obviously did not hold his questioning in high esteem.
"Yeah, I got that, pal. Okay, Fenton is the, eh, blond kid?"
"What? I mean, no, man, Fenton's the one that I—oh, man, I really… Oh, man. I'm never going to get out of jail, am I? You're going to throw me in for life, aren't you? Oh, man…"
"No, kid, you're not goin' to jail. Just gi'mme a straight report, would you?"
"No, no, it's fine, man! You don't have to lie to me, or anything. Man, I'm going to jail… I didn't see that one coming. Deserved it, though, don't you think?"
The lack of formal investigation was probably because his case was so hopeless. He was never going to be free either way; why waste time and resources on him? That had to be the answer.
"Jesus, kid, you off your head? I just told'ja you're not goin' to jail! I just need the damn story."
He was going to spend the rest of his life in prison. Wow. He hoped that Fenton might forgive him at some point.
"I got to take this call, kid. No funny business, you hear?"
Wow. He would never go back. Never again would he sit with the A-listers, or play football, or go to the park, or watch television, or eat at the Nasty Burger…
"Hey, Cone or whatever your name is, you listenin' to me?"
"Will I ever see my friends again?"
"Eh? Your teacher said you're only suspended for a week, kid. A right lot more direct he is than you are, for sure. Go along, now. And don't go bashin' any more heads into tables, or we will throw you in the slammer. Half a mind to do it meself, I have… Oi, kid, I said run along!"
Kwan blinked. "Run where?"
"Along! Home! Out!" With that, the policeman grabbed Kwan by the collar.
This is it; I'll never see daylight again—
"Stop! I didn't mean to do it! No, please, man, you can't put me in jail; I have, like, my whole life ahead of me! Stop, stop, stop—"
Kwan attempted to arrest their movement by latching onto a nearby desk. To his misfortune, said desk had papers taped to its every surface, and all that Kwan accomplished was to remove several photographs.
"No, stop!" Kwan nearly sobbed.
"'Ey, boys, can I get some help over here? Too old for this, I am, hah…"
Eventually, a very upset and befuddled Kwan was wrestled to the sidewalk. For several minutes, he watched cars pass, watched people going about their daily business—a woman pulling a child from a pastry shop even though he didn't want to go; a man with his dog, holding a sign entreating passerby for whatever could be spared; a gaggle of giggly girls chattering about everything and yet nothing substantial; people driving one-handedly or while phoning or preening or fiddling with the radio—before he gained his bearings.
Kwan could have killed someone. He could have killed Fenton—wimpy, dweeby, helpless Fenton, who fought back for once in his life and somehow succeeded. Kwan should have known that Danny wouldn't have done anything more, wouldn't have kicked someone who was already down, wouldn't have attacked a person without reason; Danny wasn't like that. He wasn't like… Dash.
Kwan felt sick. Had he cast away everything he had? Would he lose his scholarships, his spot on the team, his grades, his...friends...?
"My life is over."
The homeless man looked up. Lost everything, his sign read, Anything helps. "Join the crowd, Letterman."
There was a sharp pain in his hand—small, nothing truly remarkable—and he noticed the tape-edged print-outs he still held in his fists. He unfolded them to reveal a familiar, white-haired, green-eyed ghost.
I bet you wouldn't get into a mess like this, huh?
Kwan started walking.
A/N: Thank you to everyone for your responses, and I hope that not all of you want to punch me for disappearing like that. I was ill for a few weeks with a rather nasty infection, and I returned to school with a mountain of work to make up. (Not to mention that I subsequently experienced an anxiety-related medical emergency in the middle of second period. Being brought out of school in a wheelchair while crying and screaming and wearing my sweaty gym clothes was thoroughly embarrassing.) There are also finals coming up. Beurk. Excuses aside—sorry if it sounds like I stole and am repeating the contents of a complaint box—here is chapter 6! I hope that all of you wonderful people enjoy it.
Also of note: I added an explanation to the end of chapter 5. I apologize for the confusion! I also fixed a couple of things in previous chapters ("while simultaneously" was a headscratcher). The only change of real importance is that this story is no longer set six months into Danny's freshman year; rather, it is set at the beginning of his sophomore year. Hopefully, that's after Reign Storm, The Ultimate Enemy and Urban Jungle... I'm not completely sure. There were two episodes in which Danny was on summer vacation, so he's in his junior year by PP, right? I feel like this fic is becoming really AU.
As always, suggestions and criticism are greatly appreciated. I read every review.
P.S. The computer I have been using is useless at this point; I suppose it works, but it does this really cute (*cough*) thing where it crashes almost immediately upon starting up, and then, when it attempts to reboot from crashing, it crashes again. Repeat ad nauseam, and see if your head doesn't explode. Does anyone know if it's possible to update a story from an iPod? EDIT (7/14/2012): Solved! Thanks, everyone!