Breaking Dawn
A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque
I do not own Danny Phantom.
"What can men do against such reckless hate?"-King Theoden of Rohan, "Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers" (2002)
Chapter 5: The Return of Major Andrew Skryme
Danny Fenton felt slightly less vulnerable as Agent Thomas Brody escorted the ghost boy and his friends and sister outside into warm afternoon. The smell of spent diesel fuel burned in Danny's nostrils as Brody walked beside him, his trenchcoat billowing about him in an almost theatrical manner, and as the asphalt grated under his sneakers the young hero's brain began to buzz with all that Brody had told him.
Inwardly, Danny was kicking himself. He should have realized that someone like Major Skryme would not give up so easily; the hero should have anticipated some sort of vendetta against him and prepared himself accordingly. But with the elation of coming home and the happiness of his new relationship with Sam, all thoughts of the rat-faced Major had dissipated like smoke on a windy day.
Danny clenched his fist so hard that his knuckles turned pale. He already had enough problems to deal with, and the new threat of Skryme hanging over him like a thundercloud of malice and ill intent was something that the young hero did not need. The ex-Major was only throwing gasoline on the fire that Vlad had created, and Danny's breath left his nostrils in a sigh as Brody gestured him to a nondescript, gray Volvo.
"I'll drive," the agent said, arching an eyebrow good-naturedly. "Unless they're giving out licenses at fourteen."
"I wish," Tucker said dreamily "Imagine all the girls I could pick up in a red Camaro!"
"When I was your age I woulda been happy if my first car had had a full set of wheels and a working engine," Brody retorted, clicking a button on his keyring as the vehicle's headlight flashed.
The agent went to open the door, but the fact that Danny's face had suddenly broken into a white-ish pallor instantly caught his eye. "What is it?"
"Reporters," Danny groaned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
"Those vultures," Sam snorted, her gaze resting scornfully on the pack of microphone and camera-toting men and women darting across the parking lot. "Don't they have anything better to do?"
"Doesn't matter," Brody growled. "Get in!"
Danny needed no second encouragement, and he shut the door just in time to turn his head away from the blinding flashes of dozens of cameras. Like jackals on a fresh carcass, the scourge of the media swamped Brody's vehicle in a vain attempt to gain some kind of exclusive scoop, but Brody merely scowled and rolled up the windows. Their muted cries, though made unintelligible through through the thick, bulletproof glass that the agent had personally installed, could nonetheless be heard as a mighty, collective drone not unlike that of a massive bee.
"Looks like that press conference the other day worked really well," Jazz commented sarcastically as the Volvo pulled away.
"The dark side of fame, kid," Brody's grin was humorless. "You'll grow used to it eventually."
"I hope so," Danny nodded fervently before his face fell. "Are they gonna be there every day when I get out of school?"
"Probably," Brody admitted. "The trick is to outwit them. I've already booked a different rental car for tomorrow, and I'll pick you guys up in the back parking lot rather than in front."
"Are you sure you don't mind doing all this?" Danny felt somewhat uncomfortable, as though he were imposing on the grizzled cop. "I mean, I don't want to be a burden or anything."
"I wouldn't trust anyone else but me with your safety," Brody replied. "But even if I did, it's not as if I have anything better to do; I was starting to grow restless after a few weeks up in the Rockies. Sure, the fresh air and scenery is great for a while, but after a few weeks of nothing but clouds and trees began to miss the city. So when I turned on the TV and saw you giving that interview the other day, I knew it was only a matter of time before the piss hit the fan."
"And when it did, the fan broke," Danny muttered.
Brody's normally hard face was gentle. "That bad, huh?"
"No," Danny shook his head. "It was worse."
"It'll get better eventually," the agent tried to be reassuring as he deftly turned onto the Fentons' street. "We just need to bide our time until things settle down a little."
"Not if Skryme has anything to say about it," Sam put in. "From what you've said, he seems to be turning into a problem."
"Skryme is nothing more than an arrogant bastard who got knocked off his high horse," Brody said firmly. "I'll deal with him; you kids have enough to worry about already."
The comfortingly familiar neon sign of Fentonworks hove into view, and Danny instantly felt just a little bit safer at the sight of the sanctuary that was his home. Choking exhaust sputtered out of the gray sedan's tailpipe as Brody swiftly removed the key from the ignition, and the agent grunted slightly as the act of getting out of his seat irritated his continuously aching back.
"You ok?" Danny glanced at him, concerned, at the way Brody squinched his eyes shut.
"Get to a certain age, and old battle wounds start to take their toll," Brody replied gruffly, straightening with a groan. "God, I hate getting old…"
"You're not old," Tucker said teasingly as he rapped on the Fentons' door. "You're just vintage."
Brody's hand clutched the taser on his belt, and Danny was almost convinced that the agent was about to use it when his mother, Maddie Fenton, opened the door.
Mrs. Fenton's standard maternal meeting of "How was your day?" was interrupted when her eyes alighted on Agent Brody. "I remember you," she said thoughtfully, before her tone turned to outrage. "You're the one who tried to arrest Danny! What has he supposedly done now?"
"Uh, yeah," Brody rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I do feel bad about that…"
"He's on our side, Mom," Danny said quickly, before dropping his voice to a whisper. "Remember, he cleared up the whole mess with Vlad after…"
Maddie's face creased in understanding, and Danny's eyes darkened as he realized he could not force himself to complete his utterance. Danny's mother then recalled the lengths to which Brody had gone to conceal the foul deed Vlad's manipulations had forced her son to commit, and she blushed with embarrassment whilst making a point of holding the door open. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely to him. "Please, come in."
"There's nothing to apologize for," Brody assured her, nodding amicably.
"Can I get you anything? Perhaps a cup of coffee?" Maddie asked, slipping effortlessly into the role of gracious hostess.
Brody, being a notorious coffee addict, was loath to turn down her offer. "Black, if you have it," he said.
"Might I ask what brings you to Amity?" Maddie added, disappearing into the kitchen as Danny and his companions followed her inside.
"I've been assigned to ensure Danny's safety until things cool down a bit," Brody tried to keep his tone casual so as not to worry the ghost boy's mother with tales of religious zealots and racist bigots who cried for Danny's blood.
"Will you be staying here with us?" Danny asked, understandably curious.
"I have a motel room booked a few blocks away," Brody shook his head. "I don't want to impose, kid; Lord knows I've already caused you and your parents enough trouble already. And in any case, I'm an early riser; chances are I'll be up and at 'em by the time you roll out of bed. I'll meet you outside before and after school, and I'll be close by in civilian clothes if you and your friends go out in public. Just make sure to give me some notice beforehand," he added. "I'm many things, kid, but not a mind-reader."
"And you're sure all of this is necessary?" Jack Fenton asked, suddenly appearing by Maddie's side, his normally jovial expression replaced with a fretful frown.
"I'm positive, my boss is positive, and my boss's boss is positive," Brody snorted. "Your boy has as many friends in Washington as he does enemies…for now, at least."
"What do you mean?" Jack inquired.
Danny took that opportunity to speak up. "You guys remember Andrew Skryme? The rat-faced Army guy with buck teeth? Brody got him fired after what he tried to do to me, but now he's been given a job in D.C. and he's determined to try to mess with me. Brody says that Skryme might be behind a lot of the creepy websites and stuff that have popped up recently."
"I remember him," Maddie growled. "That awful little man!"
"What are you going to do?" Jack asked Brody.
"Nothing, at least for the moment," Brody sighed. "Until I get something on him that I can use, and I will, all we can do now is weather the storm as best we can. It'll all blow over, given time; sooner or later, everyone will lose interest and Skryme's lies won't mean anything. But before all of that happens, it's my job to keep your boy safe from any of the wackos that might come out of the woodwork."
"So Danny's in danger?"
"Better safe than sorry, ma'am," Brody replied diplomatically. "And the risk is doubled, now that everyone knows where he lives. In fact, I think I will stay here, just for tonight," he concluded after a moment's thought. "If that's okay with you and your husband, of course."
"We don't have any spare beds," Danny admitted.
Brody grinned wryly.
"Who said I was planning on sleeping?"
Epilogue
Washington, D.C., that evening…
The obscenely expensive ballpoint made soft scratching sounds as its delicately tapering point left line after line of untidy scrawl upon the crisp, clean sheet of paper. Its dark, wet ink shone dully in the dim glow of the desk lamp that stood by the writer's elbow, and sparse illumination cast by the cheap accessory was just enough to reveal the hate-laden features of the rat-faced Andrew Skryme.
The rat-faced villain took a moment to take a surreptitious swig from the flask that he had concealed within the folds of his expensive suit. The strong alcohol burned Skryme's throat as he choked it down, and he blinked his eyes blearily as he glanced at the clock.
Skryme cursed, realizing how late it was, and he gazed angrily at the enormous mountains of paperwork that still needed to be filled out before he could catch a few hours' sparse rest in his dingy bed. He damned Fenton and all his delinquent friends to the innermost circle of Hell, and Skryme's shifty, beady, watery eyes narrowed with unrivaled malice.
It was all Fenton's fault, his and Brody's, that he found himself working the night shift at an obscure desk job in some government facility. The hunt for Fenton a month prior had utterly destroyed Skryme's military career, largely due to a stinging report Brody had filed with the ex-Major's commanding officer. In it, Brody had detailed Skryme's sadism and his insistence that Fenton be tortured and executed without a trial, and consequently the villain had been summarily and dishonorably discharged after his superiors had finished screaming at him. Skryme's insistence on such barbaric methods, they'd said, had come close to causing an embarrassing scandal, and it was only by Fenton's inherent and forgiving nature that the boy's family had not hauled the entire U.S. army to court. The Army brass had even gone one step further, stripping Skryme of his rank in front of the Joint Chiefs themselves and publicly humiliating him so as to warn others not to repeat his mistake. The entire ordeal had cost the villain his commission, his credibility, and his job, and thus it was that the embittered Skryme fought to keep himself from throwing his desk clear out the window in a furious rage.
He hated Danny Fenton and the coffee-swilling idiot Brody as he had never hated anyone else. The two of them had utterly destroyed the illustrious military career Skryme had worked to build, and now, even in his lowly position, his black heart yearned for vengeance and retribution.
It had been a mistake, largely due to an overestimation of Skryme's character, that he had been hired by Representative someone-or-other to oversee his campaign funds for the coming re-election. The fact that Skryme's shift began when the entire office was otherwise empty made the atmosphere even more conducive to larceny, and thus Skryme had decided, from time to time, to "relocate" federal tax dollars to fund his private war on Danny Fenton. Through a series of obscure bank accounts and encrypted passwords, Skryme had slowly and steadily added a continuous trickle of cash to his own growing wealth, and he had already begun to use his embezzled greenbacks to further his nefarious ends.
Skryme, albeit unknowingly, was going to finish what Vlad Plasmius started.
He was going to utterly ruin Danny Fenton.
The secret campaign had begun slowly, just after Fenton had arrived back in the United States. A few phone calls and several hefty anonymous donations had enabled Skryme to help elevate legislators who shared his bigotry into seats on Capitol Hill. When he was not confined to his desk, Skryme had made great efforts to ingratiate himself to these men and women, and through them he had started to whisper dark and dangerous lies into the ears of the government. So Machiavellian was Skryme's plot that even Cardinal Richelieu would have nodded in approval.
But Skryme did not stop there.
Through his network of spies and paid or bullied informants, Skryme had made contact with a number of fanatical religious groups who had denounced Fenton as the fruit of Lucifer's loins. Several of these radical churches had coffers large enough to support election campaigns of representatives that Skryme had also backed, and through his machinations these dangerous fringe groups now wielded considerable political clout. Skryme had even secretly launched a number of Web pages devoted to convincing the public of Danny's "evil" nature; several of them had already racked up over a million hits and garnered hundreds of subscribers.
One by one, the dominoes of Danny Fenton's downfall were being set up, and all it would take would be a simple push to send the full brunt of Skryme's malice crashing down upon the boy.
Skryme paused, his hand stopping in mid-reach as he went to bury himself among the mounds of paper once more. A sadistic grin slowly stretched across his face, and the embittered ex-soldier chuckled quietly under his breath.
The thought of revenge always gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling…
A/N: Okay, so before any of you ask, I want to put the record straight: Sadly, my return to the realm of fanfiction on this occasion was merely the product of good timing and favorable circumstances. It turned out that I had a brief moment of peace in the middle of my hectic travel itinerary, and seeing as how you've all been waiting so patiently, I thought I may as well make use of the time that was given to me. ^^ This story is still on hiatus, though, so I'm afraid you all should not expect another update in the near future. I say this not to disappoint you all, but only to be truthful; even now, as I glance at my proverbial "to-do" list, I cannot accurately predict when such a run of good luck might present itself to me. I ask you all once more for your forgiveness and understanding, and I send each and every one of you my thanks and undying gratitude for waiting for me so patiently and being so understanding.
I am, and shall ever remain,
Your humble servant,
Quill N. Inque
P.S. To all those who wished me good fortune on my journey, I want to say that, so far, it is going spectacularly. This morning we went whale-watching, and tomorrow we are to explore the wonders of Vancouver's Chinatown (the third largest of its kind in North America!). Father is also planning on taking me to a sort of Renaissance Faire, and even after that I look forward to white-water rafting and kayaking in the Canadian wilderness. ^^
P.S.S. I've been trying to find this one DP fanfic for sometime, but so far I've had no success. I can't remember either the title or the author's name, but from what I do recall, I believe it involves Vlad pushing Danny through the locker room wall and thereby putting his secret in jeopardy. Can anyone help me find it? A special exclusive sneak peek at coming chapters will go to the first person who can answer my query! ^^