Title: The Boy in the Bottle
Pairing: Vlad Masters/Danny Fenton (Maybe more…?)
Summary: Vlad Masters is marooned on a deserted island, that is until he finds a strange bottle. And what should be inside but a teenage boy? Alternate universe to the tune of I Dream of Jeannie.
Warning: Slash.
Rating: T
Such wonderful reviews! How could I not submit more? Thank you very much, all of you. I got a little blush on my cheeks from all of the praise. You'll be happy to know that I actually have five chapters written already, but I'm taking my time submitting them. I like to look over things vigorously. I was even making changes to this chapter right up until I submitted it.
It is soooo hard to make Danny speak how I want him to but still make him sound in character to himself. Know that it's just something that will have to be worked through until he adapts to English more. I did it on purpose and not because I have no idea who he is or what he talks like. Just… so you know.
Chapter Two: The Blue Djinn
"What more would you have me do… Master?"
The man smiled in accomplishment as he looked over his now suddenly much more subservient genie. He shook the excess drops of water from his soaked pants, rolling down the cuffs he had made earlier that now only trapped the salty liquid. "What I want, my dear boy, is my salvation from this island." His wish was already on his lips once more, but he gave pause. The other was speaking English now… "But, since you're in a much more talkative mood now, I'd like to hear an explanation from you first. I never thought that I'd get to learn about an actual supernatural being from the source, as opposed to theories or fiction. I wouldn't mind hearing the circumstances of my own little unpleasant genie."
"What is there to tell?" the boy muttered in unexpected exhaustion, hurling himself to the ground and staring despondently at the water that lapped the shore. He sighed heavily and crossed his arms over his legs. "For two thousand years I have been trapped inside of that bottle." He nodded his head lightly towards where the aforementioned object sat nestled in the sand near them.
"Seems like an occupational hazard, if you ask me," the man retorted.
"I have not always been a genie!" the other was fast to reply, looking up at him with sad eyes, mournful to his own fate. The older man sat down next to him, watching the teen and waiting for him to continue. It was interesting to observe the hesitance so clear in him, as if he did not want to say anything of himself but couldn't banish the words from his tongue. It, of course, made sense that after two thousand years he was more than anxious to tell someone. Convenience had made that 'someone' his new master.
"I was a normal boy," he made himself begin at last. "My father was a merchant. I helped him in his trade and loved to assist, hoping to one day take it over when I was old enough." He stopped for a moment and looked down to the sand, dragging his finger through the grains in ornate swirls. "Until one day when I came upon some ruins far away from our house. It had recently become my job to go out and search for rarities to sell, you see. During my search of these ruins I found a freshly lit temple that looked inhabited. I hate my curiosity that made me look inside."
When there became such a long break in his speech that it seemed he may never continue, the man prompted him to go on. "And?"
"It was," he barked, suddenly angry. "Inhabited, I mean. There was a man inside, on a throne. He was scary to look at. Red eyes, like hellfire. But that was nothing compared to the real fire that grew on his head like hair, a white flame at that. His skin was a pale and blue, more haunting than a corpse. All around him were all kinds of luxuries: gold, jewels, wonderful foods, and women. He smiled at one of them and I saw sharpened fangs in his mouth." The boy took a minute to collect himself, seeing the face that had played through his head for so many years still so vividly. "I tried to leave, I did. Slowly, I began backing out of the temple. But I was grabbed by a guard almost as scary as the other man. He wore big armor with purple flames all around, and he had green eyes that looked at me from a darkness where a face should have been. He grabbed my arm very hard and dragged me before that demon on the throne…"
"And then?" the man asked after another lull in the conversation.
"He told me…" The boy spoke slowly. "He said that I was very pretty, comparing me to a girl," he spat, livid at the remembered indignation he had felt then. "He said… that he was a powerful genie known to those who met and feared him as the Blue Djinn. I told him to let me go and was denied. Then he said he was 'quite taken' with me and that, if I would agree to belong to him, anything I could ever want would be mine. All that I would have to do would be to pledge myself to him and forget all thoughts of independence."
"You said no," the man surmised.
"Of course I did," the teenager scoffed. "I do not want a life of captivity, and I told him as much. I said that I did not want to belong to another, could never belong to another. I said such a life was cursed and unbearable on the spot!"
"I imagine he did not like your response."
"No." The boy paused, his expression quite sullen. He looked up towards the sky, seemingly indifferent to the bright sun that shone directly into his eyes. "It made him really mad. And in his anger he saw fit to give me the flawed limitations of his kind. He turned me into a genie, giving me all the powers that he himself possessed. But then he forced me into that bottle and sealed it shut, so I could know true imprisonment. After that, rather than keeping me for himself, or putting me in some spot common to people, he saw fit to place me here, this small deserted island."
"Yes, I don't think this little isle has seen more than the three of us in its entire lifetime," the older man commented, still upset himself at the vacant spit of land.
"I do not think so," he smiled sadly in agreement. "And then, before he left me, the Blue Djinn said that, should any soul ever happen upon me here, I would truly understand what it meant to belong to another, and it would be far worse than if I had given in to him. Because if I had been his, he would have waited on my every command. Now I am honestly condemned, belonging to another as their prisoner and slave."
"And then he left you here, for two thousand years?"
"Yes," the boy replied, bobbing his head up and down. "Although he did say before leaving that when I do begin to hate my life of servitude, he would always be willing to forgive me and take me back. But I do not want to, even now. He is a fiend."
The man nodded in thought, surprised the teenager had divulged so much to him and all at once, especially given his earlier performance of dislike. It was more than obvious now that he really had been looking for an audience to tell his story to. And what a tale it was, the man reflected, contemplating all of what he had just heard. On the one hand, he was now the owner of a magical entity that could be made to do anything he asked without refusal, though perhaps a little impudence. On the other hand, however, he would have to be careful to never push the boy past his limits because surely there existed some line that, when crossed, might actually result in his taking the evil genie up on his offer and leaving him.
"Then I suppose I will have to make sure you never feel the need to go back to him," he smirked, trying to win his genie over early on and prevent such a happening.
"Thank you," the teen smiled happily. He made to embrace the man again when the other stopped him with an outstretched hand. "But what can I do for you, Master?" he asked, sitting back on his bent legs.
"For starters," he replied, "I want off of this island. I think the best rescue would be a plane."
"A… plane?" the boy asked, quizzically.
"Yes, it's…" The man thought on how to explain planes a bit better. "It's a large metal machine that flies through the air like a bird. People ride inside of them. For landing on an island, I think we'll either need a helicopter or a seaplane. Yes, I believe we'll go with a seaplane. It has special legs to land on water with."
"Ah," he answered in slight understanding. "Then that is what you wish for?"
"Yes, I wish for a seaplane to come and rescue me."
The boy climbed to his feet excitedly and pulled the other onto his. When they had steadied themselves, he crossed his arms and said, "As you wish, Master."
As soon as his eyes had opened again from the closing that seemed to beget his magic, the man heard the distant humming of an engine on the horizon.
"Ah-hah! I'm saved!" he exclaimed. The genie smiled for him, until a suddenly apprehensive look was turned on him. "I won't be able to explain you. Quick, get back in your bottle."
"I will not!" he huffed, at once appalled at the thought. "You obviously have no concept of time, or you would not ask me to do that. I have been in there for two millennia! I have memorized the painting on the walls, the stitches in the cushions. What a terrible master you are."
"But your master I am!" he yelled, holding the bottle up in front of the teen. "Now get…" He paused and took a calming breath, trying to be civil with the other. "I will not put the stopper back on, all right? This is not captivity, only temporary concealment."
"I suppose," the boy drawled uncertainly. "And you will not replace the top?"
"I promise," he almost growled.
Content with the answer, the genie closed his eyes and nodded his head, rolls of green smoke overtaking his body until nothing solid remained. Then the wisps of what was left slithered into the open bottle.
Not wasting any time, the man grabbed his long discarded suit jacket that he had taken off some hours ago and wrapped it around his genie's container snuggly before pocketing the unused lid.
By the time he had finished and turned around, he saw a familiar form running up the beach towards him. "Vlad!" it yelled. As the person came closer, the large stature of a man became increasingly apparent until he was right upon him. "You're alive." He ran an exasperated hand over his almost completely shaved head, his fingers lingering in the one part that was not and fiddling with his long green mohawk.
"Of course I am, Skulker," he replied haughtily, walking past his employee. "It will take more than a plane crash to do away with Vlad Masters."
"Any others?" he asked, quick to follow his newly rescued boss.
"I'm afraid not. The pilots went down with the craft." He paused in his walk towards the idling seaplane. "Make sure that Riter offers our condolences and reparations to the families." The larger man nodded and offered a helping hand into the waiting aircraft. "Straight home to Wisconsin," he made sure to tell the pilot.
Vlad then settled into his overly plush seat, feeling he could at last rest well in the cool leather. There were many things to attend to when he made it home, after all.
Names! Yay. Fewer pronouns.
By the by, I happily write Danny as being a bit bipolar at times. Sometimes he'll hate Vlad. Sometimes he'll like him. Sometimes he'll instigate make-out sessions. (Wha?) I feel like with two thousand years with no one but himself around, he probably developed just a slight touch of the crazies. Just sayin.
Not that he isn't a total hormonal woman in the series. You know it's true. Just look at 'Torrent of Terror'. After so much time in the bottle here, he's probably forgotten how to even use emotions correctly around other people. Hahaha.
Also, mmm. Dark Phantom as the Blue Djinn. Now I just have to cement the idea I'm working on of how to put him in the story. How could I not have my second favorite pair in here? Fufufu~