danny isn't quite sure what to make of taylor just yet.

he's never had a big kid be his friend before, mostly 'cause a lot of the big kids were mean to jazzy, so he didn't want to be their friends anyway. but taylor is nice and he doesn't get mad when danny needs help climbing the stairs, just smiles and holds his elbow tight, promises that he won't fall. it reminds him of jazz, who would give him bearbert when he was sad and let him sleep in her bed when he had nightmares and held his hand at the bus-stop so the big kids didn't knock him over. but taylor isn't like jazzy either.

it leaves a funny feeling in danny's tummy, thinking about jazzy when she isn't here.

when they get to the stairs, taylor grins and tugs his hand, but it isn't mean pulling. it's excited. he's happy to play with danny and he doesn't really understand because no one should be excited to play with a bad boy like him. except mr. walker and ms. penny say that he isn't a bad boy, that mommy and daddy were lying, so maybe that's why taylor wants to play? maybe that's why he can eat food and wear nice clothes and sleep in warm beds? because he isn't a bad boy?

"Danny? Are you okay?"

danny jumps, jerks, but then he remembers taylor is small like him. he won't hurt him. mr. walker promised. danny tries to smile even though it still feels wrong, like when mommy used to use the wrong soap on his clothes, and taylor looks relieved, his shoulders all loose and floppy. the smile is back, and it kind of reminds danny of tucker's golden-retriever puppy, matrix. happy and warm and like it could make the whole world bright again. it might be the way his teeth poke out of his lips, though, that makes it crooked.

he nods, says, i'm okay, and taylor squeezes his hand.

"Alright, let's go play!"

they walk down the hall very slow because danny's legs don't always want to work right. sometimes they go wobbly and sometimes they go smoky, like they're trying to fade away, and danny hates it when they do that. one time, they fell through the floor and he got really scared, breathing too hard and screaming and he got them pulled out before ms. penny came running in. he'd cried and cried and cried, because what if she found out? would they hate him? would they hurt him? his heart said no but there's a mean voice in the back of his head that says yes yes yes they would.

but taylor doesn't seem to mind.

he makes sure danny is sitting in his favorite spot on the carpet and plops down next to him, grin still wide and hair all green and messy. danny's never seen someone with green hair before. it's kind of neat. like ember's hair, except it doesn't move on its own.

"Okay, Danny, what d'ya want to play?" taylor looks like he's trying not to bounce in place, to be good, and danny feels bad for him. "We can play rockets or cars or – ooh! I know! Let's play pirates! That's my favorite."

pirates? danny remembers a movie with pirates that came on tv once. mommy and daddy were in the lab, and he's not sure if he was supposed to have watched it, but it was scary. there were zombies in it. scary skeletons. he'd had lots of nightmares. and taylor is getting louder, brighter, like he's exploding out of his skin and it makes his tummy do an odd flip because, no, he doesn't think taylor means to do it, but it's still scary.

danny scrunches up his face a bit and plays with his fingers. he doesn't want to say no. because then what if taylor gets mad or gets sad or doesn't want to play anymore? it'll be all his fault and that's not okay. he's trying to be a good boy, not a bad boy, so maybe he should just play pirates even though it sounds loud and hard and scary? taylor looks at him for a second and shrugs, takes off his coat and sits it on the bed. he's less big now, quieter and less bright.

"We don't have to play pirates, though. It's a little loud, and I know Papa said you don't like loud things. You pick, Danny."

he. . . he doesn't mind? danny can pick?

danny smiles again, and this time it doesn't feel stiff. it feels nice, warm, and danny wonders if this is what things are going to be like from now on, picking games and having people tell him it's okay to be scared, okay to be weird, okay.

I'm going to break you, ghost, what did you do with danny, ghost, this is all your fault, not okay, hurt you break you bleed you, not my boy who are you why why why hurt yell not okay not okay bad bad bad

he takes a big breath and it still catches in his chest, but not as bad, and he says, can we play rockets?

taylor nods, and his eyes are really bright, and danny thinks that smiling is a little easier now. he doesn't know how to be around people who aren't ms. penny and mr. walker yet because people are still scary, bad bad bad, but taylor seems nice even though sometimes he's too loud and too much, a lot of person? danny doesn't know what to really call it.

but they go over to the toy box anyway and pull out rockets, and danny hasn't really got to play with someone else besides ms. penny since he got here. it's nice. taylor might be loud and bright and much but he knows how to make the right noises and he listens when danny wants to explore the moon instead of saturn because saturn's made of gas, tay, you can't walk on it!

they play on the rug until danny feels his knees begin to burn and his grin is so wide that it stretches his face.

at first, their astronauts are explorers. they go out to find cool space-rocks and computer stuff and aliens that can be friends. they're like captain kirk except they don't kiss space princesses – girls have cooties, taylor explains – and the crew is made of humans and aliens too. danny wants to have mr. spock as his number one, who reminds him of jazzy and ms. penny because he thinks before he does things and is very quiet. taylor wants a captain like worf, who is big and strong and not afraid to fight anyone because klingons are awesome.

they're too loud for danny now, and sometimes the thought of fighting makes his tummy hurt, but he's glad that it makes taylor happy.

taylor is telling him how his astronauts are going to fight a big group of space-monsters, the red paint on the side of his rocket shiny and new, and he jumps to his feet a little too fast. danny jumps, shrinks, tries to keep from crying or panicking or being a big baby because he likes playing and he doesn't want to make taylor leave. but it's too fast, too much, he wants out out away and he holds his little blue shuttle so hard his fingers turn white.

then taylor plops down next to him. and he isn't smiling. he looks sad? kind of like ms. penny when he has an "attack" and then he holds up his hands real slow. touches danny on the shoulder even slower.

break you beat you hurt you ghost ghost ghost bad break hurt please, don't, Mommy I'm sorry help me

danny takes a deep breath and it sticks in his chest and it hurts, because his chest still feels so empty even though he's been with mr. walker and ms. penny for a long time, now, and he just wants things to be better? why can't things be better? why is he so scared hurt sad wrong mistake ghost bad? danny feels taylor take the shuttle after a second, but he's nice, it doesn't hurt, and then he rubs the big marks that the metal left behind, the ones that ache like his chest. they sit on the rug for a long time, taylor rubbing the marks on his fingers, and danny manages to gasp out I'm sorry even though he wants to cry but can't because tears don't work anymore. it's just that thick goopy stuff that sticks to his cheeks and makes ms. penny look sad.

taylor sits criss-cross applesauce and his face is serious. too serious.

"It's okay, Danny. You don't hafta be sorry!"

after a second, taylor grins, and he pulls off his pirate gloves. one of his hands is a lot like danny's except instead of being too small, too skinny, too white, it's chubby and the nails look a little green, just like his hair. the other one is metal. it's shiny and has plates to it, like a spaceship, and the knuckles on the fingers are different colors, big circles where they meet his hand.

taylor has a robot hand and it's the coolest thing danny has ever seen ever.

"When I first came to the Zone, I was scared like you." taylor is quieter than he's ever been and that's a little sad but oh my gosh a metal hand. "I'd had a bad accident, and I didn't have an arm or a leg. Papa – I guess you call him Walker – told me that I never had to be scared as long as I was with him, 'cause he'd protect me. He even had someone make me my new arm and leg! they're pretty cool, huh?"

danny thinks he's smiling but it's so wide, splits his cheeks so hard that it almost hurts. hurts like the rest of him, like his head and his heart and his fingers and his bones, but this isn't the bad kind of hurt? it's hard to talk about, hard to wrap his mind around, but he reaches out and touches one metal finger, feels the metal is warm instead of cold and it buzzes like that feeling he gets when his feet slide on the carpet.

after a second, taylor turns his hand and the palm is up, the center glowing bright green and danny can feel the light on his cheeks. bright bright happy green, not like the green that stays in his bad dreams or the thick-sticky that sometimes leaks out of his eyes. it kind of hums. ms. penny sometimes does that when he wakes up from a bad dream and can't go back to sleep. mommy used to do it before break you hurt you ghost ghost ghost where's danny? he was a bad boy.

it tickles his fingers and taylor giggles. "Technus made them after I'd been here for. . . I dunno, three months? Somethin' like that – I'm not good at keeping track of time unless it's Christmas. But I guess what I'm trying to say is it'll get better. Maybe not fast, maybe not a whole lot at a time, but Papa promised it'd get better, and it did. You gotta believe that too, 'kay?"

danny's figuring out that it hurts, still, but it's not as bad anymore. he still doesn't like loud and he doesn't like fast and his body still doesn't always do what he wants it to why is his chest so cold? but that's okay?

it's nice, though.

meeting a big kid that doesn't think he's a baby.

but. . .

danny sits and traces the green circle with his finger and thinks about how long he's been with mr. walker and ms. penny. he thinks about how mr. walker always makes him his favorite foods and how they have pancakes with different shapes and fruit in them, even though the strawberries are purple here, and how he gets to ride in the crook of one arm. he thinks about how ms. penny talks to him and how they sit and read books and how she tucks him in every night with his favorite blankie. he thinks about how mr. walker sometimes sneaks him candy when he's having a bad day ("Don' tell on me, punk, Pen'll have my hide) and how ms. penny gives the best hugs and goodnight kisses and how sometimes she smells like mint instead of raspberries ("Goodnight, baby. Have sweet dreams, okay?") but that's okay because it's her.

danny doesn't know what he'd do without mr. walker and ms. penny and it's so different than what it was like with mommy and daddy, but not? it's better because mommy and daddy never made train-pancakes with purple strawberries and they never told him bedtime stories or called him "punk" or "baby" or wrapped him in blankets like a tiny burrito.

mommy liked to call him "sweetie" when she was upstairs, but usually it was jazzy who tucked him in. and daddy was loud and said "Danny, my boy!" a lot, but he wasn't very good at remembering that little boys need food that isn't covered in green goo. they loved him until they didn't but sometimes danny thinks that maybe mommy and daddy weren't very good at being a mommy and daddy.

mommy, i'm danny, why don't you believe me? please mommy, i'm sorry, don't please please please

sometimes, when danny is being especially bad and asking questions, he thinks that he would like mr. walker and ms. penny to be his mommy and daddy. sometimes, he thinks they sort of are?

because when they kiss his forehead and give him baths and tellstories-goflying-makepancakes. . . .

it's like. . . having a mommy and daddy again but better.

taylor calls mr. walker "papa" and danny thinks. . .

could i call him papa too?

he's almost afraid to look up from the robot arm. danny swallows and feels the shivers run down his back again, the beafraid-don'tlook-hurtyou-badbadbad that beats against the inside of his head and it's horrible. but danny takes a deep breath and the ache helps him to stop being so scared.

he lifts his head, looks through his bangs because, holy crud, this is so weird. but danny looks at taylor and he's grinning, wide like it's going to break his face in two. his teeth are so big they glow bright white. it looks like he's buzzing in place, and danny doesn't think that he's ever seen a big-kid so excited before? at least, not about anything that he's ever done because danny is just a stupid baby, and most of the time big kids are ignoring him unless they're picking on jazzy.

if they're picking on jazzy, danny kicks them in the shins until they stop and look at him like he's annoying.

"I think Papa would love that!" taylor squeaks, and it's high-pitched like he's trying not to scream the words.

danny feels something break loose in his chest and it's warm, hot chocolate that sits in his heart instead of his tummy, and he can't stop smiling even though it makes his cheeks feel too tight and the cold never really goes away.

then taylor looks confused, nose scrunched up like he's thinking real hard. "If you're gonna call him Papa, what're you gonna call Penelope? I know she's real important to you."

the cold returns and it's building in his guts, sinking through his bones until the guilt and the badboybadboybadboy is pumping through his bones. danny didn't think of that. he didn't think about how ms. penny would feel if he called mr. walker 'papa' because he's a terrible boy, horrible and selfish and how could he just not think about that? he loves ms. penny lots, so much sometimes it scares him because what if she doesn't really love him back? they really haven't known each other that long. but she's so nice and she does things that mommies should do, like give him hugs and kisses and tuck him in and tell him that he's a good little boy.

he's so dumb, a big dumb baby, and he shouldn't be allowed to call anyone mama or papa.

danny can't breathe.

he can't breathe.

there's a hand on his back and it's rubbing circles and somewhere deep underwater he can hear taylor talking to him, and he sounds scared, but danny can't hear anything but whooshwhooshwhoosh in his ears and he's shaking but his body won't move, like his arms and legs are filled with rocks. he can't see.

why can't he see?

everything hurts, so cold so cold so heavy and somewhere taylor is yelling to someone.

dark.

cold.

can't move.

can't breathe.

someone talking. different voice. hands on his forehead, bigger and warm. ms. penny?

still can't move and it's so cold. why is it so cold? don't know. scared. dark. want mama. he's in the air, not on the floor, and his body jerks, twitches, but it still won't listen. hurts hurts hurts, scared, want mama, where's mama?!

someone's holding him. someone else is crying. they're soft and warm and smell like mint and raspberries. work arms, work, it's mama!

mama, mama, mama, i'm sorry 'm bad, mama don't hate me, 'm sorry, don't hate me.

talking again. it's ms. penny's voice.

soft. pretty. safe.

"Shhh, baby, it's alright. I'm right here. You're just fine."

mama, 'm sorry, don't hate me, please please please. . . .

"No one hates you, sweetheart. Shhh, little love, deep breaths. Remember? Follow me."

deep breath. snuggle tight. don't cry.

'm sorry, mama.

"I've got you. I've got you."

mama, 'm sorry.

he's so cold. why is he so cold? it hurts hurts hurts and mama's talking to someone and she sounds real scared and he doesn't know what's going on anymore, why won't his arms and legs listen, and he hears someone else talking that might be papa.

everyone sounds so scared.

it's so cold.

it hurts.

danny thinks he might want to die now.

~*O*~

Be Jazz Fenton.

Wake up in the morning way earlier than you probably should and wait for the new nurse – her name is Becky, but sometimes you forget – to come in and check on you. Watch the clock tick-tick-tick on the wall. The big hand is at the top, and the little hand is straight below. The numbers are still jumbled, but you know that Mommy said the top is twelve and the bottom is six. So it's six in the morning. It's very early.

Tap your thumb on the mattress. Rub against the blankets – they're very scratchy – and then squeeze Bearbert as hard as you can. Think about turning on the tv. Remember that the nurses don't like it when you watch cartoons so early, how they tell you that you need to eat and need to drink lots of water and need to sleep because "your body is very tired, Jazz, and it needs time to get better." Instead of watching tv, roll over even though it pulls on the needles in your arms and watch out the window. It's very high up, not very pretty to look out sometimes, but you can see the sky.

It's dark.

It probably won't be light for a while.

You wish you could see the stars, but you're in the middle of everything, and there's so many lights here that you can't see anything but dark black sky and it makes you think of soot and monsters and little boys with no eyes. Don't think about the little boy.

He visits you when you sleep.

Lay and doze and play with Bearbert's ears because those are the parts that are softest, the bits that still remind you of Danny because he used to play with ears, liked to tug and pull on them when he was excited.

Be Jazz Fenton and remember you are excited even though you're so tired.

It's like a weight in your bones, pulling down until you slump back into the horrible pillows and fall back to sleep. The little boy is waiting for you. He sits in the dark and looks at you with those empty, horrible eyes and the green drips down, down, down, over his cheeks and chin and falls in big drops on the ground that you can't see. Sometimes, this little boy talks and he sounds like Danny he is Danny, Jazz and it makes you want to scream.

Sometimes, he doesn't say anything, just looks at you and his face is sad as the green drops down.

You think you might be going crazy.

Be Jazz Fenton.

Wake up again when a nurse puts a hand on your shoulder but try not to look as scared as you feel. It's just Nurse Becky. She's a lot younger than the others, even younger than Mommy, and she always tries to talk to you like a grown-up, not a baby. Her smile never reaches her eyes, though.

Sometimes, you hear her talking with Nurse Miranda in the hall. She talks about how Mommy and Daddy should get in big trouble and uses bad words that you'd get your mouth washed out with soap for.

Sometimes, when you're all alone and no one can tell you what to do, you think she's right.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Nurse Becky always calls you that. "Did you sleep well?"

Don't tell her the truth. Grown-ups always look at you funny when you tell them the truth, that weird mix of "I'm so sorry" and "you're so crazy" that makes your stomach knot up. It's easier to feel less-bad about lying than telling the truth and watching The Look come up. Instead, try to smile even though it doesn't quite fit and say, "Yes, ma'am."

Nurse Becky rolls her eyes and ruffles your hair. She doesn't like being called ma'am. You do it anyway. It's like a joke, but not.

She goes through the new morning routine that you've got. She takes her fingers and counts how many times your heart beats, listens to you breathe. She takes your blood pressure with the cuff-thingy that makes your fingertips tingle. Then she checks your bruises and makes sure that the medicine hanging in the bags by your bed is going through the tubes in your arms right.

It doesn't take super long, but it's boring and annoying and the needles itch.

When she's finished, watch as Nurse Becky smiles again and writes in her chart. Her scrubs are purple today, with little yellow bats. She's got a bow in her hair. You like that. You miss your bows.

"Alright, Miss Jazz, I'm all done here. Now it's time for the most important thing you will do all day." She's trying to look serious and it's not working. "Pick what you want for breakfast."

The hospital's food is gross, but you're not allowed to have anything outside of what they make for you. Well, some of the nurses bring you snacks and candy sometimes – Kyle even brings you chocolate bars – but those don't really count. It's nice, but not the same. Still, they try, and Nurse Kelsey is really nice so you try not to disappoint her more than you already do.

Be Jazz Fenton.

Choose pancakes for breakfast because they were the only thing that Daddy could ever make right, even though he always put too much syrup on them. Wait in your bed with cartoons and Bearbert until the food cart comes by. It's in a yellow-plastic tray that smells bad, but when they open it up your pancakes are warm and they don't smell like ectoplasm, so that's good.

Eat them without complaining even though each bite is like cardboard covered in syrup.

Drink your milk.

It's not chocolate, not your favorite, but drink it anyway.

Look at the clock on the wall as the cartoons – it's Rugrats, this morning – keep rolling by. Don't pay attention, not really. There's too much going on in your head for that, too many questions and not enough answers. Too much missing Danny and Dash and Mommy and Daddy. Even though Danny isn't coming back he's dead, you know it, and you can't tell and Dash used to be mean and Mommy doesn't like you and Daddy always smells like that gross brown water he drinks.

Be Jazz Fenton.

And nearly fall out of bed when Dash comes running through the door, out of breath and hair flying, shoes squeaking too loud on the white, white floor. He's not smiling, his eyes too big for his face, and then his shoulders slump forward when he sees you. Watch as the smile you like best comes out. It's like sunshine and you feel tears well up even though, no, you're not supposed to, Mommy said you're not allowed to cry.

This is Dash, though.

He doesn't care when you cry.

Watch as Dash scrambles to your bed very carefully, how he rounds the bottom and comes up onto the side that doesn't have tubes and wires and everything that's stuck in your arm. He climbs in before anyone – not the nurses that come through the door or his daddy, who's big and tall and grumpy-looking – can tell him to stop. There are tears in your eyes, running down your cheeks.

You're not supposed to cry.

Dash wraps his arms around your shoulders real tight, as tight as you can stand, and buries his face in your braids. "Are you okay?! Dad says you got hurt!"

He's warm and he's hugging you so tight it hurts and he's here, with his hair falling everywhere and his shoes on the wrong feet. You don't really like princesses because you think that they're not very smart sometimes, but you wouldn't mind being one if your prince was like Dash.

Hug him back. Hold tight, so tight your fingers start to tingle, and your knuckles turn white. Bury your own face in the front of his shirt – it smells like cotton – as he rocks a little. Cry against him.

There's a hand on the back of your head, a little thumb running back and forth, and Dash is talking real quiet. "It's okay, Jazz. 'm gonna make it better. I dunno how, but I'm gonna make it better. You'll see. You're gonna be okay. I promise."

You can hear one of the nurses crying, too, and you think Dash's daddy is talking quietly to someone but it doesn't matter. Not really.

Dash is here and he says things are gonna be better.

That's all that matters.

Cry for a long time and then feel bad because there's stains on Dash's red Christmas sweater, the one with reindeer on the front. Watch as Dash shrugs his shoulders and snuggles back into the bed beside you.

He says, "That's okay. It's an ugly sweater anyways."

Sniffle. Wipe your eyes. "It's still your sweater. 'm sorry."

Dash grins and scratches the back of his head. "Nah! I'm sorry. You're the one stuck in the hospital." His nose scrunches up. "It smells like feet in here."

Giggle. Hiccup. "Yeah – I don't smell anything anymore. You get used to it."

Watch as he frowns and turns to look at his daddy. "Dad, is that right? Can you get used to the smell of feet?"

Mr. Baxter is a big man with hair that's blonde like Dash's and dark eyes. There's a scar over his eye, like a burn, but there's lines around his mouth. Maybe he smiles more than you think. He nods once. When he talks, his voice is deep and it rasps at the edges.

"Yeah, kiddo. You can. It's like when you stay the night at the firehouse and complain about the smell of beans."

Dash nods just as seriously. He looks back at you. "The firehouse smells like beans instead of feet, but it's still gross."

Be Jazz Fenton.

Laugh as your best friend in the whole wide world sits on your bed for hours. He and his daddy have brought you blankets and another stuffed animal – an elephant with soft ears – and a card that tells you to get better soon. Dash blushes when you kiss his cheek because this is the best Christmas present you could've gotten now that Santa isn't reading your letters anymore. The cartoons are still on, but no one is paying attention to them.

Dash sits by your side and holds your hand and you talk about what's going to happen now that you're not living with Mommy and Daddy anymore. Try to ignore how your fingers go cold when you think about Uncle Vlad and his too-blue eyes, the ones that aren't like Dash's, the ones that make your insides do funny twists because it's like being under a magnifying glass. Try to smile.

Know that it doesn't work because Dash's daddy puts a big hand on the top of your head, all rough with callouses, and frowns. "It's okay to be sad, kiddo. You've got every right to be. But you need to remember that we've got your back, okay?"

You don't know Dash's daddy very well. Not at all, really.

But his hands are warm, and he looks at you like you're someone, not like you're very sad or bad or a dirty bug.

Sniffle a little bit and wipe at your eyes. Nod and pretend the words don't hurt, like your stomach doesn't twist itself in knots and ache when you think about how nothing is okay anymore. How Mommy looks at you with cold eyes. How Daddy smacks you even though he doesn't mean it you think he might and his breath smells. How Danny hasn't come home yet.

How Danny hasn't been home in a very long time.

Feel the way Dash wraps his fingers around yours. How he holds tight but not enough to hurt, not enough to leave marks in the way Mommy or Daddy or other kids would. Dash is warm and Dash is nice and Dash is your best friend. You snuggle into his side and try to smile at his Daddy, who watches back with something funny in his blue eyes, and you can't quite place it.

That's okay.

You've still got Dash.

Be Jazz Fenton.

Hold tight to Dash's hand for the rest of the day. Watch cartoons. Snuggle your new elephant friend. You're so tired because sleep isn't your friend anymore. It's filled with little boys that have no eyes and the sound of Mommy screaming and too-blue eyes that look at you like you're a bug. But it's warm, here. You can hear the thump-thump-thump of a heartbeat in Dash's chest, heavy and safe against your ear. An accidental lullaby.

Take another nap with your best friend. Wake up when his Daddy shakes you both awake, waving Mickey D's chicken nuggets under your nose. The nurses aren't looking. So you eat them with lots of barbecue sauce and a smile, thanking the man with a grumpy face who might not be so grumpy? He ruffles your hair and winks.

"Just don't tattle on me, kid."

Eat your nugs. Be content even if you're not quite happy and talk for hours. Talk about nothing. Talk about everything. See that Dash watches and listens with his very serious blue eyes. His hair is still messy and his clothes don't match and he dragged his daddy all the way here for you. It's amazing.

You've never had a friend who would do that for you.

"Jazz? Sweetheart, I'm sorry, but visiting hours are almost over. Your friend has to go home now."

Nurse Miranda doesn't mean to ruin everything, not really, but you can't help but hate her just a little bit. Hold tighter to Dash's hand, almost too tight. He doesn't complain. Just squeezes back 'cause he knows what it's like. How you don't like being alone, but you don't like people either, and how the numbers on a page can swim like letters and make you feel like an idiot.

Dash's daddy stands up. Stretches his arms and you can see the muscles there. Big and rough like his hands. He jerks his head towards the door.

"C'mon, brat. We'd better get you home before your mom has a conniption."

Dash squeezes your hand one more time. Looks at you with his Serious Eyes. "I'm comin' back. Everything's gonna be okay. I promise."

He can't promise you that.

No one can.

But it's sweet of him to say, so you smile and give him a big hug around the neck. Watch as he walks back over and holds his dad's hand. He waves, looks sad. His daddy smiles at you and that's sad, too. He winks once, lines all around his eyes and mouth, and then they're gone. All that's left is the smell of Dash, of Mickey D's, and a stuffed elephant with soft ears. Hold it tightly and bury your nose into it.

Don't cry anymore.

You're not allowed 'cause Nurse Miranda is watching.

She's talking, going through the night routine and giving you medicine and making sure you eat supper. But everything sounds so far away. Like it's not important. But it is and you wish your mind would understand that. They just don't, though.

You want Dash to come back.

Nurse Miranda leaves.

Be Jazz Fenton.

Know that everyone leaves.

Curl up around your elephant, stare at the walls, and go to sleep.

Wait for the little boy to show up.

Don't scream when he does – he doesn't like that.

~*O*~

Vlad would be the first person to admit that he knew next to nothing about small children. He wasn't one of those soft-hearted individuals meant to be swayed by the promise of big eyes and round, button noses and chubby cheeks. Children, he found, tended to be underfoot and obnoxious. Overly questioning.

Still, Jasmine was nothing like what he'd expected upon their first meeting.

Freezing droplets of rain pounded against the windows of his mansion, a discordant rhythm that he found soothing. Vlad swirled his glass of red wine thoughtfully. One hand fiddled idly with the hem of his pressed-wool trousers.

Mr. Turner had warned him that the girl would look. . . sickly, due to the condition they'd found her in. But instead of a little girl with a cold he received a too-thin doll of a human, staring up at him with a level of mistrust that he'd never encountered in another human. Well, perhaps another human outside of politics. The paperwork had stated that she was six. But she'd looked – oddly enough – both younger and older. Younger in that she was utterly tiny, small and dwarfed by the over-starched sheets of her bed and the hospital gown that swallowed her frame. Older in the look in her eyes, the way her thin brow creased in thought each time he spoke, the way she stiffened under his gaze.

Jasmine Fenton was nothing like what he'd expected.

It was intriguing, in a sense.

He'd assumed Mr. Turner and the others were simply overzealous in their accusations against Maddie. Perhaps, however he might wish to deny it, there had been a bit of truth to their statements. There had been the remnants of bruises peeping out over the collar of that hideous gown, along her arms and collarbone. Jasmine's cheeks were near-hollow and her eyes were shadowed.

Those eyes, though. . . .

So much like her mother's.

Vlad took an appreciative sip of his wine. A 1941 Cheval Blanc. Rich and acidic and well worth the excessive prince tag. There was something soothing about a fine vintage enjoyed during a thunderstorm, even whilst one's thoughts were occupied by less than savory topics. There was a rush of air behind him, cold and bringing the smell of mildew.

A smile curved the billionaire's lips. "Ah, Bertrand! I was wondering when you'd return! I hope this means you have good news for me? I'd be. . . disappointed, if you'd showed up empty-handed."

He turned his smile to the shapeshifter, allowing his eyes to glow ruddy in the low light of his study. Bertrand was rather a monstrous creature, amorphous and reeking of ancient rage. The only features that remained consistent throughout his many transformations were the eyes. Bloody red and hungry.

Idly, Vlad wondered if red eyes were a trademark amongst more powerful ghosts or if they were merely a reflection of the personality. A rather remarkable physiological adaptation, to be sure, but not a very consistent one.

Bertrand inclined his head. Each movement rippled in his form like a tidal wave, bringing out different features as it traveled. A popping shoulder joint here, an abnormally gaunt cheekbone there. The creature's smoke-like hair rippled in such a way that Vlad could practically smell the gasoline and match, and a jagged, toothy grin responded to his query.

"I've found the key as you requested, Plasmius." Bertrand had a strange accent, lilting in a way that rang Scandinavian. "It rests near the edge of the Abyss, beyond Pandora's Lair. But it's heavily guarded by one of Pariah's creations. The Behemoth, as it's called. Powerful beast, massive, and far more intelligent than many give it credit for. I nearly got caught myself."

Vlad quirked an eyebrow. "You seem relatively unscathed to me, shapeshifter. I rather dislike it when my associates lie to me."

A low growl rumbled through the room, bringing with it the chill of an ocean storm. "I am ancient, whelp. There are many cracks and shadows to hide in. The Behemoth is clever, yes, but I more so. It did not see me slip away. You, however, should be careful. Rumors are beginning to float through the Zone. You just might catch unwanted attention if you don't tread lightly."

Another sip of wine. Vlad shrugged, relatively unconcerned, and flashed his fangs in a menacing grin. "I'm quite sure I can handle myself, Bertrand. But I thank you for the advice nonetheless. Now, you're sure it was the key that you saw? I cannot afford to make mistakes, not with the unexpected developments as of late."

The shadows rippled through his study, encroaching violently into his personal space. Vlad remained unconcerned – dominance displays and tantrums were not frightening in the least – and quirked a nonplussed brow at them. Bertrand moved closer to the fire, looming like a wraith in the dark. His teeth gleamed with saliva. His eyes gleamed with hunger.

"I do not make mistakes, Plasmius," Bertrand snarled, voice distorted in his pique. "The Key was there. All you need do is acquire it. And for that, you are on your own. I do not take it upon myself to volunteer for suicide missions. Besides, I have my own business to attend to besides being your lackey."

"Ah, yes! I'd heard that your little misery-weaver was captured by the warden. Curious, though, I would imagine she'd have returned to you by now. Walker is rather soft on red-heads, after all." Vlad practically trilled the last part, ensuring that the lie's delivery was convincing.

A white-lie, but an entertaining one, to be sure.

There was a shriek of wind outside that could not seem to drown-out the low hiss of rage that Bertrand created. The shifter whirled on him. Vlad took another sip of his wine, still smiling, as his personal space was invaded by eight feet of snarling, furious ectoplasmic goo. The damned thing smelled like death, ironically enough.

Oh, the clichés in his situation were enough to infuriate!

"Do not speak to me about Penelope!" Bertrand snarled. "You know nothing, whelp! You sit here in your castle and think yourself above everything, but in truth you're naught but an accident. A freak of nature who has managed to cling to an existence as a half-alive thing with nothing but his money and his schemes and his power to comfort him. My zvezda will come back in time. She knows the consequences."

The words struck a nerve, a raw one that scraped against the back of his teeth until his tongue bled from clenching it. But Vlad forced his face to remain a mask, smile mischievous, shoulders relaxed. The creature did not know that he already had Jasmine, the gaunt, distrustful little girl with eyes so much like her mothers it ached. The creature did not know that he was working to find Daniel, who likely looked much like his mother as well.

Bertrand did not know that once he had the ultimate power, he would have Maddie, and the worlds would grovel at his feet for a mercy it had not shown to him.

For now, anyway, that was as good a defense as any against this overly-aggressive eldritch monster.

"Temper, temper, Bertrand," Vlad cooed, tone dripping honey. "I was curious, nothing more. I'll keep my curiosity to myself next time, hmm? Besides, we both know I've set my sites on another."

Bertrand and his shadows withdrew. His form settled into something a bit less monstrous, features pale and human though his frame still stretched too tall. Crossing his over-long arms across his chest, the shifter nodded.

"Of course." One eyebrow shifted upwards. "I assume there is nothing else you require of me?"

Vlad finished off the last of his wine, relishing the flavor of the alcohol. "Not for the moment, no. Should I require anything else, I'll simply tell one of your little spies of my need. For now, you may go."

Something dangerous lit in the back of Bertrand's eyes, and for the first time since he'd met the eldritch creature, Vlad felt a twinge of unease ripple down the back of his neck. Bertrand was foul-tempered and short-sighted, yes, often blinded by his obsession with his little pet emotiphage. But there was a shrewd intelligence that lay behind the bluster. It could be. . . unsettling when provoked.

The moment passed quickly, and Bertrand offered him a mocking bow before melting back into the shadows, taking with him the cold and the rancid odor that had become nearly gagging. Vlad snarled to himself for his momentary lapse.

However, as he began to mull over the information Bertrand provided, his stratagem for the game began to shift accordingly. The Abyss was at the very edge of the known Ghost Zone, a black hole which had formed when two truly massive kingdoms collided centuries ago. It was dangerous to approach and near-impossible to escape from if an unlucky soul stumbled past the event-horizon. However, if he could work that to his advantage. . .

Perhaps getting past the Behemoth would not be so challenging after all.

Still, he might have to delay proceeding further until Jasmine had settled in comfortably. It wouldn't do for Maddie's precious daughter to be injured because she was curious and fell head-first into her new father's business.

Vlad thought back to that little girl in her hospital bed, with her too-wide violet eyes and red hair tied in ribbons. Hospitals still put his nerves on edge, even after all the years that had passed since his accident, so visiting her had been a bit of a challenge. But it was also difficult to see such a tinything, stuck in that bed like he'd been. Empathy had never been something that Vladimir Masters was known for.

It made his skin itch.

But, as he returned to his desk to finish going over paperwork for the night, the look in Jasmine's eyes refused to leave him alone.

She'd looked through him. Like she'd seen him.

And there was something about that he found disturbing.

A/N:

Holy fuck I should be studying for a test but the plot wouldn't leave me alone and now it's like one in the morning, so here, have this blurb of a chapter that I've cranked out in the last three days. . . . Danny is going to be really depressing for the next chapter or so but after that I PROMISE it will get better. Mostly. Maybe.

These poor children deserve so much better, I mean REALLY.

Also, Vlad is a fuckass and his character is super hard to write because of it, so please don't murder me for him being a dickwaffle this early on, okay? He hasn't met the sunshine baby yet. He needs to ease himself into loving the sunshine baby. Still a fuckass, though.

Thank you all so much for making it this far, and I hope to see you all in the next chapter!