"Pass the blue marker, will you?" Jazz nudged Danny.
"You can't reach it yourself?"
"Well, I would if someone didn't groan at me last time I did. Jazz, you're blocking my paper! Have you never heard of asking? God, you're so annoying!" Jazz said, mimicking Danny in a high pitched voice.
Danny's eyebrows shot to the ceiling. "I do not sound like that!"
Grinning, Jazz pitched her voice as low as she could. "You'd rather I sound like this?"
"Oh god, I don't know which one's worse."
Jazz giggled, her laugh bouncing across the air like a skipping stone.
Danny rolled his eyes, not even bothering to hide the smile gracing his lips. This reminded Danny of the good old days, before his life fell apart. Jazz, shedding her 'I'm too mature for you' role for a few minutes to relax and have fun. And Danny, taking a break from being Phantom to goof off with his older sister.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend like they were at home in their kitchen. He was annoying Jazz as she tried to cook for them. Mom must have contaminated dinner again. She would do that sometimes—on accident, of course. The dinner would come to life and either try to take over the kitchen or sit sullen on the counter and grumble at them unintelligibly. Those days had been so blissful, so peaceful. They both had it so good and they didn't even realize it.
But those days were long gone. And Danny was never going to get them back.
Jazz's smile melted and was replaced by a more somber expression. "I'm really glad you're okay, Danny. After we got the call this morning...well, you can imagine. We were really worried. Especially Mom. They really wanted to be here, you know, but they had a meeting about one of their grants today and they couldn't reschedule. But they'll be here tomorrow. And they want you to call tonight, obviously."
As soon as Jazz opened her mouth, Danny's eyes had latched onto his paper. His eyes swam as he viewed the drawing in front of him. It was supposed to be a night sky with some mountains and a river. Jazz had been full of nothing but glowing praise ten minutes earlier, but looking at the drawing now...why was it so bad? The mountains were stale, and the river wasn't bending into the distance the way he wanted it to…
Was he always this bad at art? He tried to go back into his memory, fetch some instance where he doodled a landscape. But he...couldn't remember. Sure, he'd pick up a video game before he'd pick up a pencil and sheet of paper any day, but he had drawn before. He knew it. But he couldn't remember when. Or what he drew. Other than the doodles in his cell with his ectoplasm, but—
No. Don't think about that.
Surely the government didn't mess him up this much, did they? That he actually lost his ability to draw? No, he must have always been this bad. Maybe he should ask Jazz—or not. That was a terrible idea. She'd never give him a straight answer.
He tried to focus again, searching for something that he might have drawn before the facility. Before his time with the government. Before Phantom, even. But there was just...nothing there. Except...he must have...
"Danny?"
Danny's head whipped up. "What?"
"I was telling you that we were all really worried about this morning?"
He waved her off. "It's fine, Jazz. Really. I'm fine."
She bit her lip. "It's okay if you don't wanna talk about it. But don't pretend you're okay when you're not."
"I'm fine."
"Danny, stop!" Jazz paused, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When she started again, Danny could tell she was using all of her self-control to keep her voice calm. "You were really sick a few hours ago, and Mom said they're upping your medication. So please, please don't pretend you're okay to me. Alright?"
He rubbed his temples, his stock of patience quickly depleting. What was with everyone today, anyways? Getting up in his business?
He was so done with this.
Danny snapped, "Okay. Fine. I'm a complete medical and emotional disaster and I'm supposedly a danger to myself so I'm locked up here under twenty-four hour supervision and I—I can't look at the color white without completely...losing...without having a...a breakdown. Is that—is that good for you, Jazz? Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Jazz looked wounded, but she didn't flinch at his glare. "If that's what it takes, then yes, Danny."
He gritted his teeth and looked back down at his bad drawing. It was so shitty. Why did he think he could draw a river anyways? Whose bright idea was that?
"You know, Danny." Jazz's thoughtful voice cut through his path of self-destructive thinking. "I know that wasn't your intention, and this may not mean much to you, but that's the first time you've ever admitted that anything is...that you're not okay."
That anything is wrong, Danny filled in the mental gaps. That anything is wrong with you.
"I guess...I don't know. It's not exactly a secret I'm...you know." He gestured down to his underweight body and wheelchair. "I'm fucked up."
"Danny, you're hurting right now. That's okay. You're allowed to reach out for help, okay?"
He could feel her emotions. The sadness, the seriousness, the love. If Danny didn't put a stop to this soon, she was going to end up crying. "I know, Jazz. Geez, I was just making a—a...general statement."
"Okay, Danny." She sighed, her lips tugging downward.
Danny studied her face and her posture for the first time since before the Guys in White. Her red hair was still meticulously placed under a bright teal headband. Her clothes were still perfectly fitted over her thin body, with not a speck of dust or a single wrinkle showing on the fabric. Her skin was clear of blemishes, with a touch of translucent powder foundation spread across her face to touch up any tiny imperfections. She was, by all accounts, as put-together as ever.
But when Danny looked closely, past the touch of mascara and powder foundation, he could see the small cracks in her presentation that gave away the hell she'd been living in for the past few months. The dry skin on her hands, the slight dullness to her eyes, her unplucked eyebrows—all tiny details that were unnoticeable to the average person, but were far too noticeable to Danny.
"Right," he said, unsure of himself. This wasn't the first time Jazz had tried to get him to open up to her at the psychiatric hospital. Only a few days into the treatment, she came to visit, armed with a paper bag—Danny wasn't trusted with plastic, according to the hospital rules—full of pre-approved snacks. She buttered him up, making sure he was full of food from home, before hitting him with the questions.
"How are you, really?"
"Mom said you had a bad day yesterday. Do you wanna talk about it?"
"How has therapy been going? Do you like your counselor?"
"We miss you, Danny. And I love you so much. You remember that, okay?"
Jazz hadn't stayed long after that. Danny wasn't in the mood to talk then. She tried to smile at him, but her smile wavered and she rushed to hide her eyes from him. And all Danny could do was watch as she broke away from him and left. He didn't try to respond, to stop her from leaving, and when she brought up an arm to wipe her face, he turned away. He just...couldn't.
And he still couldn't, if he was being honest with himself. "You're going to be...to be—be jealous, Jazz. They're letting us go outside to play with puppies later. I think we, uh, get to take them for a walk, too."
Warmth spread across Jazz's face, immediately dispelling the darkness that was beginning to creep onto her features. She finally uncapped the blue marker Danny passed her and started coloring again. "Wow, that's exciting! Where are they getting the dogs from?"
"Dunno. But that's not important. The important thing is that...that I get to play with puppies, which means that it...that the universe doesn't totally hate my guts."
"I guess even the universe takes breaks sometimes, right? It doesn't have time to hate on you all the time."
"Well, if the—if it's taking a break, it better...uh, it better last the next two hours. I know it's not really the same, but…I do...I...uh...you—you remember Cujo, right?"
Jazz nodded, unfazed at his broken speech. "The green puppy, right?"
"Yeah…" Danny said, his voice trailing off. His brain felt fuzzy, and he could feel his eyes beginning to glaze over. The colors on his paper blurred together, and the slight texture to the white tables was starting to disappear...
"What about him?" Jazz pressed.
Danny's eyes snapped back into focus. "Who?"
"Cujo."
"Cujo...oh! Yeah." Danny tried to ignore the way his cheeks were heating up. "I haven't seen him in a while. Since last spring."
Jazz tilted her head. Her red hair fell from her shoulders. "Really? It's been that long?"
"Yeah. He's been with Ember, though. Apparently, she had...she told me...told me she had a d—puppy when she was in, uh, in high school and she wanted...she missed having one. He still comes over to—to visit sometimes but, I, uh, I haven't...you know...since...I haven't…"
Danny internally cringed. Even after trying to change the topic, he still managed to accidentally bring it back to his current situation: dissected like a fifth grade science project and locked up in a mental hospital.
Thankfully, Jazz didn't rise to the bait. Or maybe his speech wasn't as intelligible as he thought it was. "You'll have to see him when you come home then sometime. And for now, you get to play with some adorable puppies! Tell me all about them tomorrow, okay?"
Danny nodded. "Okay. Yeah. I'll do that."
"Sounds good, Danny. Listen, I've gotta head out now, but I'll see you tomorrow for the family session, alright? Mom's gonna call you tonight, but I'll let her know you're feeling better now. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Jazz stood, pushing her chair in.
For all her mother-hen-like behavior, Jazz had just enough tact to know when Danny was beginning to tire. And as a natural introvert, Danny understood that need for space after a period of socialization. But like a faulty phone software update, his mental social battery went from being an average length to almost nothing. Jazz, thankfully, was a pro at recognizing the signs. She knew exactly when to make up some excuse—even if Danny could see through it most of the time—and leave.
"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow." Danny managed a small wave and watched as she was guided out of the facility by one of the staff.
He regarded his crudely drawn mountain scene one more time next to Jazz's...he wasn't sure what she was trying to go for. Maybe a beach? Although it was hard to tell where the ocean ended and the sky started. For all his worries about his own art skills, Jazz was just horrendous. And a small part of him reminded him that, once again, Jazz was indulging in an activity that Danny enjoyed for him.
He shook away that pinprick of guilt and stacked the two papers off to the side. Scooping up the markers, Danny tossed them back inside their clear plastic bucket.
"Did you enjoy your visit, Danny?" one of the nursing assistants said, popping out of nowhere. She grabbed the bucket from the table and stacked it on a wooden shelf.
Danny was too drained to be startled at her sudden appearance. "Yeah. When's the next activity start?"
She looked down at her watch. "You've got about a half hour. What's up?"
"Nothing. I'm just...really tired. I'm gonna go lie down if that's okay."
Her eyes swept over him, and she offered him a smile. "Sure, Danny. Keep the door open though, okay? We'll come by when it's time to go."
"Thanks." Danny beelined to his dorm and transitioned fluidly from his chair to his bed. He was getting faster at the transition from his wheelchair to other objects. Most of that was due to still having some function in his legs. Although, based on what the doctors had told him, he was extremely lucky his spinal cord hadn't been completely severed. Especially considering his spine wasn't stabilized until he got out of the GiW facility, weeks after the initial break.
The three weeks in the general hospital after his release from the GiW had been excruciating. His memory was spotty, riddled with holes thanks to the copious amount of drugs the hospital had been pumping into his system. Even still, memories flickered in and out of his mind. Recovery periods from the surgeries, new stitches appearing a disappearing around his body, and all the time lying flat on the bed without a pillow, unmoving for days at a time. The doctors tried their best to save what was left of the nerve endings in his spine while also dealing with his healing factor, but no one knew how halfa physiology worked. All the detailed timelines, the years of meticulous study and research about spinal cord injuries were all but thrown out the window when Danny arrived.
And even worse, no one knew what exactly happened to Danny. The government records were sealed, and Danny wouldn't speak.
Danny shifted, trying his best to get comfortable despite the numbness running through his lower half or the constant thrum of dull pain in his chest or the way the thin hospital blanket under him itched his arms but didn't itch his legs or the fact that the walls and ceiling were white. He was fine. He was fine.
Not for the first time, he longed to lie on his side. But lying on his side only brought pain and he hadn't done it since...before that fateful day in the Guys in White facility. When they took away his ability to curl up in a tiny ball in the corner of his room, tucking his legs into his chest and ducking his head into his arms, because oh god everything hurt so badly and sometimes he just wanted them to finish him off please just let the pain stop.
He vaguely remembered hitting the ground when they tossed him back in his cell that night. What could only be described as a volcanic eruption exploded in his back, spilling its lava throughout his entire body (not his legs though, but he couldn't think about that right now). He had fought within himself, struggling with his brain to please don't pass out please don't pass out because his body wasn't lying straight on the ground and he knew his spine was broken and he needed to straighten his body out or else the pain would only get worse but he was too weak and oh why was he shaking like this he couldn't move why couldn't he move?
"Danny?" a familiar voice came from the doorway.
He perked up, allowing himself a quick glance to the doorway to see his favorite of the psychologists on staff. Her black hair was pulled into its signature tight ponytail, allowing her curly ringlets to puff out behind her. She wore a calm, effortless smile that made even the toughest patients open up to her.
"May I come in?"
"Sure."
The psychologist stepped into the room and made her way over to the bed. She tilted her head and looked down at Danny. "What's going on, dude?"
"Nothing," Danny said.
"I heard about this morning. You wanna talk about it?"
"No," he said quickly. No, he didn't want to talk about how he threw up on the ground, not knowing why he was shaking or why his entire body felt cold. Or how the teacher had to herd everyone out of the room before calling his therapist to come down to the classroom area and get him. How he spent the next hour pulling his hair out in her office, crying because "the government was right, I'm such a freak!"
"Okay," she said. She turned and leaned against the wall. Crossing her arms, she stared up at the ceiling, pursing her thick lips in a thoughtful expression.
"Is it time to leave yet?" Danny asked, his voice tense.
"No, not quite. But soon."
"Oh," Danny said, confusion blanketing his tone. Were the staff...concerned about him? He was just taking a nap, wasn't he?
But you haven't tried to sleep yet, liar.
She made no move to leave. She stood there, fingers tapping her elbow, neck bending side to side to stretch it, just waiting patiently for Danny to make the first move. Because other than his own therapist, he knew she knew him best. She knew exactly what would make him spill.
It didn't take long for the silence to get to him. "I think we're going to try walking without the walker soon. Just to see if I can."
"Congrats, Danny. You've worked so hard for this."
"Yeah," he said, allowing a weak smile to dawn his face. "I'm ready. It's been...too long. I just...I'm sick of my body not responding to me. I just really need this."
She hummed in response but didn't push further.
He spoke without thinking. "You know, I haven't slept on my side in weeks."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I...they told me I could if I put a pillow between my legs. But...I don't know...I just haven't gotten around to it yet."
"Do you think you will?"
"Yeah, eventually." Danny's eyes trailed the ceiling. "I think I'm just...I just don't want to hurt my back at all. When they...Operative...uh...you know, he never personally came to my...uh—my cell. Except that one time. He broke my back with the metal baseball bat and...he...um…" Danny took a breath, trying to collect himself. "He dragged me back. Back to...to...to there. Personally. And he threw me in my cell. I landed in...on...my side. I don't even think I could scream anymore. I was just...focusing...trying to breath. You know? And he...he was just pissed. So mad. Told me…told...told me..."
"Think of this as a warning," Operative O said, his deep voice filling the cell despite its quiet tone. He clicked his tongue as if he were dismissing a child. "Try to escape again, make even the slightest hint of a getaway, and you'll get a lot worse than this."
Danny's eyes darted around the dark cell and shallow breaths escaped his lips. He shook, his back on fire. Cold sweat clung to his forehead. He dug his fingernails into the damp ground and, scraping together his last morsel of focus, he managed to flip his body on his back. He tried to brace himself for the flare of pain as his back hit the ground, but nothing could have prepared him for the sensation akin to a hot sword dipped in acid slicing through his body. He gasped, his mouth and eyes open in panic. Part of his body wanted to squirm—if only to relieve whatever hell was burning through his flesh—while the other part of his body knew he couldn't. Not only was he locked in his body, but his...legs…
Where did they go?
"I plan to keep you alive, rat. So don't get your hopes up for a painless death. Your soul was tainted the minute you invited ectoplasm into your body. You do not deserve death. Your soul will never rest. So hear me now, dog." Operative O stepped into Danny's cell, his shoe splashing on a puddle of ectoplasm. "If you so much as breathe—or whatever disgusting substitution for breathing you half-breeds do—in the direction of the exit, I will make you wish you had never been born. I'll bring you so close to the brink of death that you will be begging for me to just end you. But I won't. I'll sit there and watch you as you suffer. And I'll make sure you suffer for the rest of your pathetic excuse for a life."
"He told me it was a warning," Danny forced out, drawing himself to the present. "And that...I...if I tried again...they...he—uh, I don't...I don't know."
There was a heavy silence.
"That must have been really terrifying," she said finally.
"Yeah...I…" he swallowed, avoiding her face. "It was my fault."
"What was?"
"I…" Danny's breath hitched. His heart thudded in his chest. His cheeks burned. He tried to swallow that unnatural lump in his throat before he managed to get out, "It was my fault I got paralyzed."
"How so?" she pressed.
Danny blinked back tears. "I tried to escape."
"The facility?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch.
"Yeah," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. "I tried to escape. They opened the door to give me food at night. So I...pushed...knocked him out. Ran. And...they caught me."
"Oh, honey…"
Anger flashed through him. "No. I was so, so stupid! What was I thinking? I couldn't...no one could...it was a maze...it...no one could have…right? No one could have…"
His voice trailed off, and his eyes clawed at her face in desperation for reassurance or anger or something that would say 'Yes, Danny, you were so fucking stupid for trying to escape when you knew the Guys in White facility would be impossible to break out of without your powers.'
But instead, all he found in her eyes was sadness. "Oh, honey," she said. "No, it wasn't your fault. You were trying to survive, Danny. You can't fault yourself for that."
"I should have known better."
"How could you have predicted this?"
"I don't...I should have known."
She let go of her elbows, allowing her arms to dangle loosely at her sides. "Okay, then let's go back to that moment. When you decided to escape, Danny, what did you think was going to happen? What was running through your mind then?"
"I…" His eyes flickered back up to the ceiling. In a detached voice, he said, "I don't know. I just knew I had to get out of there. I knew...if I stayed—I just...I realized that if I had to stay locked up in there for the rest of my life, I was going to kill myself. It was either I escape, or…"
His eyes moved to look straight into hers.
"Or I die."
The door opened, and Danny was hit with fresh air and blinding sunlight. He blinked a few times, allowing his sensitive eyes to adjust to the new view. There was a small section of pavement—much to Danny's relief—and a larger grassy area that was encased by a metal fence. Tucked away to the right was a small play area.
Danny maneuvered himself onto the pavement, pointedly avoiding the eye contact of the three women standing behind large crates on the grass. He had no doubt the volunteers were informed beforehand that he was here. He was recognizable on sight now, if his interactions with new patients were anything to go by. The redhead had told him that his face—both his faces—were on the news and on social media non-stop after he was revealed.
"Hello everyone! Gather round!" one of the volunteers said. The way she spread her short arms out, beckoning everyone to be included in the circle, reminded Danny of Tucker's mom.
"My name is Charlotte, and I'm one of the trainers here. To my right is Sue and to my left is Maria." She paused, allowing both women to give a small wave. "The three of us work as service dog trainers. So we train puppies till they're about two years old to be working dogs, if the puppies so choose. Sometimes they don't wish to be working dogs, so they get adopted out to loving families!"
She looked down at the crates, her deep eyes sparkling. "In these crates, we have some pups that are three to four months old. They've recently been introduced to going on walks, which they love very much. They're all very friendly, but they're still puppies, so they're very playful and they get distracted easily."
The blonde woman cut in, "Yes, they're super friendly and they love attention. So we're gonna let them out, and you guys are allowed to pet them and play with them. We're just gonna take some time to get to know each other. They've been in their crates for a minute, so they're all quite excited to be out and about! Then we're gonna put their vests on and go for a walk!"
Danny glanced around. Despite many of the teens' tough exteriors, Danny could see their necks craning down at the crates, curiosity and excitement bouncing in their eyes.
"Okay, let's let these little guys out of their crates now!" the head volunteer said, bending down to undo the latches on the crates. The other two women followed suit.
One by one, small puppies stumbled out of their enclosures, looking slightly disoriented at first to only perk up at the sight of grass and other humans. Some charged right over to the three woman, recognizing them as their trainers. Some dogs lazily sniffed around the grass. A few of the dogs, however, bounded right over to the nervous group of teenage boys.
The group of boys began filtering onto the lawn, grabbing balls or pieces of rope that the trainers had put down ahead of time. Danny wheeled over to the edge of the pavement and stopped, unsure of what to do next. He wasn't strong or skilled enough with his chair to go on the grass. He couldn't bend down and pet the puppies either, at least not without risking falling out of his chair which would be...embarrassing.
His hand twitched, wanting to grasp his hair, and he fought to keep it on his lap. If the nurses found any signs that he wasn't stable enough for this activity, they would pull him inside. And he really wanted to try this. He needed to prove he was good enough to be outside with the other teens.
"Look, Danny!" the friendly voice of his favorite psychologist said. "This one's sniffing your chair! I think he likes you!"
Danny craned his head around to see a small yellow lab sniffing the back of his wheelchair. Its nosed roamed around the black material in curiosity as to what this large contraption could be. The puppy tilted its head up to look at Danny.
Danny's breath hitched. What should he do? With Cujo, it was so easy. Cujo was a ghost, and ghosts had a tendency to be direct about their feelings. The little ghost dog would waste no time telling Danny if he wanted to be pet or played with whenever Danny would come to visit him. But a real life dog...what was the protocol? Should he wave? Or would that be weird? He couldn't exactly bend down to pet the little guy. Oh god, was he doomed to fail this task before it even started?
The puppy, at receiving eye contact with Danny, opened its mouth and dangled its tongue over the edge of its lips. It beamed up at Danny, tail wagging with excitement.
"Wow, what a cutie," the therapist said. She bent down, wrapped her hands around the puppy's torso, and hoisted him into the air. She moved around in front of Danny, displaying the small puppy in all its glory. "Aww, he's so adorable. I just want to hug him forever."
"Yeah," Danny agreed, still unsure of what he should be doing. "He's cute."
"You want to meet him?"
"Uh, sure."
"Here." The therapist plopped the puppy down on Danny's lap.
"Oh!" Danny's hands shot up, hovering toward his chest. The dog maneuvered around Danny's legs, turning around to face him, eyes sparkling with interest. In the back of his mind, Danny registered a vague pressure on his legs where the dog was. But it didn't feel like when Cujo would climb all over his lap. He couldn't feel this dog.
At his hesitation, the therapist reached out and began scratching behind the dog's ears. The puppy closed its eyes, leaning into the welcoming touch. She grinned and allowed her dark fingers to travel along to the side of the puppy's face.
"See, Danny? Just like this. Look, he loves it! Aw, lil baby. He's such an angel," she cooed. "Danny, do you wanna try now? I think he'd really love to be pet by you."
"Oh—uh, okay." Danny's hands lowered slowly, hovering over the puppy. He glanced around to see the other boys happily interacting with the dogs. The redheaded teen tossed a ball across the field, his face stretched in a wide grin as the golden retriever bolted after it. Even the shy Hispanic boy was crouched over a puppy, rubbing its belly as the dog rolled against the grass.
Danny breathed out, willing his shoulders to relax. He could do this. He just had to try. If everyone else could pet the puppies, then so could he. He was fine.
"Okay," he said, making contact with the tan fur. It was soft against his fingers, and he delicately ran his hands along the base of the dog's skull, allowing the thin strands of fur to pull between his fingers.
The dog wagged its tail in delight.
"There you go, Danny," the therapist encouraged. "See? You're doing great."
"Yeah," Danny said in a breathy voice. He felt his chest unwinding. His mouth quirked upwards. "Yeah. Wow. Yeah."
The puppy curled up on Danny's lap, nuzzling its head against his arm. Danny ran his hands along the puppy's back, his eyes wide. It was...relaxing? Against Danny? It actually enjoyed Danny's petting?
"Wow...it's...yeah…" Danny said. "I've always wanted a puppy."
"They make the best pets," the therapist agreed. "They just give so much love. I think everyone could use a little more love in their lives. No matter who they are."
"Yeah," Danny said.
The puppy was so calm. So peaceful. It breathed out, its breath tickling Danny's arm. Danny rested his free hand on top of the puppy's head, rubbing small circles into its skull. The puppy's eyes closed in response, its body melting into Danny as it dozed off.
"Hey!" A sharp voice cut into Danny's thoughts. "Dog! Come back here!"
Dog.
Dog.
Danny's body tensed. His vision tilted.
"Come when you're beckoned, dog...or your life will be far worse than you can imagine…"
Chills swept through him. He felt the blood drain out of his face. His lips were cold.
Dog.
"You need to be trained...like a rabid dog..."
His breathing hitched. He ripped his arm from under the puppy and drew his hands close to his chest.
White walls, splattered with green as if part of a five-year-old's art project stared at him. He wasn't...no, he was back there. He was back there in the facility. They were testing...ugh, what were they testing that day? He glanced around for clues, to see wires protruding out of his arm, green fluid flowing slowly through the plastic tubes. It was flowing...out...no, that was the wrong direction...
The leering image of Operative O flickered into his view. "Your only use, dog, is as a science experiment. When I'm done with you, Pavlov himself will be jealous of my work."
"Danny, careful!" The wavering image of the therapist appeared through his vision. She jolted forward, her arms shooting down. Down…
Danny felt his head tilt down. There was an animal on his lap. A puppy. Its wide eyes were staring up at him. The puppy. The...
Dog! The puppy, Fenton!
He forced his breathing to regulate, taking in deep breaths of air like he practiced with his therapist. In two three, out two three. In two three, out two three.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he whispered, "I'm not a dog. I'm not. I'm not."
The therapist stood back up. "Oh, Danny. Are you okay?"
"Yeah." He opened his eyes and surveyed the scene. Thankfully, the other boys were too distracted with their dogs to notice his near breakdown. "I'm sorry, I'm okay. I can do this. I'm fine."
"I believe you, hon." The therapist gave him a proud smile. "You're doing amazing so far. I'm so proud of you."
Danny turned his head down back at the puppy, which was leaning its head against his torso. He rubbed the top of the puppy's head, watching as it started dozing off again.
"Dogs are so precious, Danny," the therapist said. "They do so much good for the world."
He froze, and his initial instinct was to glare up at the therapist. Let her know that nope, she'd just crossed the line. He was not going there. Not now, not ever. He would take those emotions to his grave if needed.
But before he could start the process of forming a glare, a second voice hit his mind. Why? Why was he so defensive about that word? Why did it get to him?
Why was he so hurt?
The dog on his lap had done nothing to hurt anyone. It was calmly napping, snuggling into Danny's disfigured body as if he were the best pillow in the world. It was peaceful, loving, and perfect in every way Danny wasn't. He didn't think that this puppy had a hateful bone in its tiny body.
Why did the Guys in White do that? Why did they have to make Danny associate a universally treasured animal with something so dirty? Why did they frame Danny as something undeserving of basic love, when dogs themselves were brimming with so much of it?
"I'm just…" Danny started. The words were lost in his throat. "I just…"
"Take your time, hon," the therapist said.
He huffed, as if resetting his breath would help him think faster. The Guys in White were wrong. They were wrong to think of dogs as dirty mutts waiting to be tamed, and they were wrong to associate Danny as a creature unworthy of anything. But it was all over now. Danny was out of the GiW's custody. He was here now, in a safe place with a puppy sleeping on his lap.
"I think they're nice. Puppies are, I mean," he finished lamely. Because how could he begin to explain the mess of thoughts swirling around in his brain? His mind so desperately trying to sort the GiW's reality from actual reality? Because he was safe now. And the GiW were wrong. He was safe. The worst was behind him. It was only uphill from here.
The therapist nodded. "Yeah, they really are."
...right?
Thanks for reading!
Also shoutout to imekitty for beta-ing this chapter! She's literally so amazing ahhhhh I can't. Go read her fics!