PLEASE READ: (edit notice)
If you're a new reader, this won't affect you! But I made a mistake a few chapters ago that one of my lovely readers reached out about. I stated that Danny will be attending an IOP program which runs after school for 3-4 hours, when in reality he would be attending a PHP program which runs 6 hours per day for a few weeks before going to the IOP. While this won't really affect the plot, I wanted to let everyone know about the edit in case of confusion!
Happy reading!
Danny panted, his body straining from the effort it took to drag himself to the other corner of his cell. His ribs ached, his broken arm screamed, and consciousness slipped further and further from his grasp with each second. But he had done it. He made it to the other corner of his cell.
He was as far away from the red package as possible.
Operative O hadn't taken the red bag with him when he left. He'd placed it right next to Danny's face, unsealed. "So you never forget what you are."
Danny had tried to forget. He spent the last few nights in his cell trying to ignore the smell of processed liver, the pool of bile, the way his gums bled, but it was just so hard and revolting and there was no way he could have prepared himself for this.
The door opened, and Danny froze, his eyes glued to the ceiling above him. Was Operative O back? Danny hadn't eaten in three days, but he had been hooked up to an IV drip while the Guys in White conducted their experiments. Even then, Operative O's threat from his last visit to Danny's cell had lingered in the air like a dense cloud of smog.
"Your dinner, and a message," came a gruff voice.
Danny let out a shuddering breath. It wasn't Operative O. This man's voice was textured like sandpaper, whereas Operative O's voice was deep and slimy.
This was someone else. Danny was safe for now.
With a bit of effort, Danny turned his head over to see a tall operative with a gloved fist held out in front of him. He opened his palms, revealing three granola bars.
"Operative O would like me to inform you that he's displeased with your performance this week. Your ectoplasm levels have dropped significantly, and it's hindering our research. Either you eat this or Operative O will see to it that your nutrients are leveled out through other means." He glanced at the red bag, his lips curled into a snarl.
Danny's heart sank. Lugging his useless body to this side of the cell had taken every morsel of strength he had left in him. He could barely keep his eyes open, let alone force food down his stomach.
And after his last meal, Danny wasn't sure he ever wanted to eat again.
"IV fluids are being administered as only a temporary measure because of your ectoplasm's value. But don't get it wrong, ghost." The man paused, dropping the granola bars onto the floor. "You're not human. If we don't give IV fluids to lab rats, what makes you think you're special enough to deserve any?"
I don't, Danny wanted to say. I know I'm not special enough.
But instead, he continued to lie on the floor, glaring at the operative. Because talking back to him would only result in more punishment, more pain, and Danny wasn't sure how much more his body could take.
The man studied his watch. "It's six-fifteen. That means you have less than fourteen hours to consume these, or else…" His eyes flickered back over to the red package.
"Give them...give them…" Danny reached for the granola bars. "I...I'll...do it...give them…"
The operative's expression hardened into stone, and before Danny could make a sound of protest, he kicked the granola bars to the opposite side of the cell.
Right next to the red package.
"You don't get to give me orders, ghost." The man turned and pressed his keycard to a black scanner on the wall. The scanner beeped and the door slid open.
Danny blinked at the sudden pouring of light into his cell.
He itched to stand up, punch this operative in the face, and bolt into the hallway. Maybe he had turned down the wrong hallway last week when he tried escaping. If he tried this time, he would go down a different path. Turn right instead of left. Maybe this time, he would find the exit so he could go home.
But that was stupid.
There was no point. He couldn't walk. He couldn't fly. What, was he supposed to drag himself out of the facility?
Like that would work.
"Tick tock, ghost." The gravelly voice of the man pulled Danny back to reality. "Fourteen hours."
The door to his cell slid shut, and once again Danny was alone.
He looked back at the granola bars and tried to ignore the red bag, but it was too bright. It was impossible to ignore. Not to mention, the bag was still open and still smelled like that and now he was going to have to go near it to eat the granola bars which made him want to vomit all over again. But he had to do it. He had to survive.
It was only three granola bars. He could do it.
Tears began pooling in his eyes, and he blinked, fighting them back. Operative O was likely viewing him from the security cameras, and Danny wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of watching him melt down over this. Not again.
He pressed his palm down on the damp floor and tried to pull himself forward, but his back cried out in dissent. He paused, letting out a sharp breath, only for his chest to prickle and—
His chest?
Why did his chest hurt?
It was as if Danny were a puppet on strings. An invisible hand pushed his head down until he was met with his chest—or what was supposed to be his chest.
His body was split open, skin painted with green. Broken ribs stuck out in odd angles, some sawed off completely. His green muscles pulsed and twitched in time with his breathing.
No…
He tried to turn away, but something was holding his forehead in place. His eyes swung to and fro in desperation, only to land on Operative O.
When had he gotten here? Why was he in his cell? He still had fourteen hours left.
But he wasn't in his cell anymore. It was too bright.
Operative O lifted his arm up, bringing what appeared to be one of Danny's torn off ribs up to his eyes. He inspected the bone like it was a rare gem, twirling it around and catching specks of light in its green coating.
No...give that back...give it…
Danny made a sound that could only be described as a gurgle, and Operative O locked eyes with him. "Welcome back to consciousness, dog."
The bright lights glared down at him, and he tried to look away again but the room was white. It was white and green and filled with voices and sharp objects and pools of ectoplasm and he hurt he hurt he tried to scream but he couldn't make a sound he wanted to go home.
He had to...had to…
Something touched his core.
Danny's eyes flew open. Static crackled in his ears and flashes of white and green played like strobe lights in his vision.
He leapt from his bed and barely made it two steps before he fell, hitting the floor and eliciting a wave of shock throughout his body. He needed to escape. He needed to get out of here. He tried to stand again, but like a toddler, he was reduced to crawling across the rough carpet until he found his bureau. He pulled himself up and flung open his bedroom door before stumbling and falling to the bathroom.
He shut the door and dragged himself over to the toilet. Gripping the white basin, he gagged. Nothing came up but spit, and he tried again, desperate to rid his body of the pepperoni and stray ectoplasm and everything that was in the red bag.
His chest burned.
His chest.
He lifted a shaking, sweating hand and pressed it onto his shirt.
It was damp. Oh god, it was damp. It was wet with his ectoplasm. He was cut open there was ectoplasm everywhere. He ripped the offending garment over his head and tossed it to the side, not bothering to look where it landed. It didn't matter, as long as it was off his body.
Once again, he pressed a hand to his chest, feeling for a hole or ectoplasm or anything to indicate he was still trapped on the metal table, being ripped apart from the inside out. But he only felt the prickly closed lines of skin where the doctors had sewn his body shut like a rag doll.
He was safe. His chest was closed. It had healed. It was wet with perspiration, not ectoplasm. Breathe two three, out two three.
Danny took a deep breath and looked around for his shirt. It had landed on the plastic bench his parents bought for the tub that he had to use because Danny Fenton was no longer capable of standing to shower. Just another change in his life.
He reluctantly pulled his shirt back over his head. He didn't want the damp fabric to touch his skin—after a certain point, his jumpsuit was never dry in the GiW facility—but he didn't want to look at his bare chest anymore because it reminded him too much of that night and he couldn't handle it he felt like he was dying.
In two three, out two three.
He placed a trembling hand on the counter and struggled upwards. His body was exhausted, and yet his brain wouldn't stop firing neurons, wouldn't stop telling him to run, wouldn't stop showing him flashes of green against the white tiles of his bathroom floor or convincing him that the shadows of the room were the Guys in White coming back they're coming for you Danny get ready.
Fourteen hours. He only had fourteen hours of safety left.
Danny leaned over the counter, resting his elbows along the cold marble and gripping his hair.
Come on, Danny, come on! Breathe two three, out two three.
It wasn't working. His legs felt like Jell-O and he still couldn't breathe and his chest still ached. He needed to shut his brain off. Stop thinking. He needed something to help.
He threw open the medicine cabinet before he could tell himself otherwise. Where was his anxiety medication? Maddie kept a weekly pill planner in the kitchen but she had to refill it every Saturday night so that meant that the rest of his monthly supply had to be somewhere, right?
He dug around, knocking aside bottles of Advil and Tylenol. Those wouldn't do. He needed something stronger he needed help he couldn't go back to sleep without it.
His hand gripped a bottle. Oxycodone. Left over from his surgeries. He couldn't take this. He should flush it. He needed his prescribed medication, not this.
He placed the oxycodone on the counter and searched through the cabinets again. Tylenol, Advil, Excedrin, Nyquil, Dayquil, Jazz's stupid One A Day pills that Danny was sure was unnecessary bullshit, but no anxiety pills. They weren't here. They weren't here.
This wasn't right. This wasn't normal. He knew his psychiatrist told his parents to monitor his medication, to not allow him access to it, but Danny didn't think his parents would actually follow that rule. They had never been so meticulous, so observant. Why start now?
His legs were threatening to give out, but maybe if he searched one more time he would find his prescription. It had to be here. There was no way his parents were responsible enough to pay attention to all the details.
He reached for the medicine cabinet again only for his legs to buckle. He lowered himself to the ground, defeated, his brain still telling him to get back up, his core still screaming at him to protect himself because he only had fourteen hours left, the red bag with its haunting smell still seeping through the corners of his mind.
Please let me rest. Just let me sleep.
He curled in on himself, hugging his damp T-shirt at his chest. If only he had finished those granola bars. He had fourteen hours, and he couldn't do it. The Guys in White had generously offered him a fighting chance, and he failed.
Maybe they were right. Maybe he didn't deserve the food after all.
"You knew this was coming," Operative O hissed.
Danny shook his head. "Please…"
"You're begging me now? How pathetic. You really are a dog."
"Shut up. I'm not a dog," he whispered. He gripped his scalp. "I'm not. I'm not."
He turned back to the orange bottle on the counter. That was all he had. It was his only option.
He shouldn't do it. But…
The packaging had his name on it. The doctors had taken everything about him into account when they prescribed the pills. And, thanks to his healing factor, he hadn't even come close to finishing his prescription.
Just one more pill wouldn't hurt. Besides, he needed them. They were prescribed to him for a reason. And it wasn't like this was the first time he had done something like this.
He hardly remembered it now, but one good hit from a blood blossom-fused ecto-gun from Valerie had left him screaming. It had apparently shaken Sam and Tucker to their core, and they said an opioid courtesy of Mrs. Manson's medicine cabinet was the only thing they could think of to help him. No one brought it up after that, and no one ever told Jazz what happened. The weapon in question mysteriously disappeared from Valerie's arsenal the next day, much to her apparent dismay, but Danny never confronted Vlad about it.
It was as if that day never happened.
Until now.
It was just like before. These memories in the government facility were his new Blood Blossoms; they infected his skin, his bones, his mind. He couldn't turn them off, he couldn't run away, he couldn't do anything but crawl to the bathroom like a toddler, sit on the cold floor, and tear his hair out of his skull.
Danny reached up and snatched the oxycodone off the counter.
Dragging his body onto his bed from the floor turned into an impossible task, or at least not possible without ripping off his comforter and sheets in the process. It was moments like these that Danny was thankful he owned a nightstand.
He stood and glanced over at the window. He had wanted to ask his mother to open it for him before he went to bed, but he had been too embarrassed. It was such a small thing anyway; Danny didn't want to bother her any more than he already had that night.
His phone screen lit up, and Danny blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. It was flashing green: fully charged.
Danny lowered himself onto his bed and took his phone from its charger cord. Jazz must have plugged it in for him at some point while he was in inpatient. She was always pushing for him to do normal teenage things before everything happened.
That, or this was her subtle way of telling him to text Sam and Tucker. To let them know he was back. That he was okay now.
He could text them later. They were probably asleep anyway.
Danny pulled his comforter over him and pressed the home button on his phone. His screen lit up again with the force of a thousand suns, and Danny ignored the wall of notifications in favor of turning the screen brightness down.
He unlocked his phone—pointedly averting his gaze from his messenger app—and opened Twitter.
The Twitter was Tucker's idea. In fact, it was so much Tucker's idea that Danny didn't even know about it until Dash was laughing in his face about how "Danny Phantom liked my tweet! Not that he'd ever notice you, Fentino!"
Oh, the irony.
Tucker had been so smug about it when Danny confronted him after school that day, pointing out that Danny needed to work on turning his brand from "creepy dead teenager in a jumpsuit" to "lovable dead goofball in a jumpsuit" if he ever wanted to win the public over. Even Sam, who had once said that Twitter was where failed comedians went to die, agreed.
So, Danny Phantom got a Twitter account.
And now the public knew who he really was.
Danny clicked on his timeline and read his bio. "Going to fight whoever said 'I'll sleep when I'm dead' in the Denny's parking lot."
That was Tucker's doing as well, arguing that Danny's suggestion of "Amity Park's local Casper" didn't quite have the right tone they were looking for.
He scrolled down to see his most recent tweet, a video message from July Fourth, just a week before he was revealed. He squinted at the screen, trying to recall what he had said. But that month had turned into such a nightmare that now trying to remember anything happy from July seemed impossible.
He clicked on the video, and the cheery face of Danny Phantom popped onto the screen. Phantom stepped back, revealing an American flag draped across him like a cape.
"Hello, citizens!" he exclaimed, his voice pitched down in his goofy 'hero voice.' His eyes were dancing with light, and his grin was so wide that Danny could see his glowing teeth. "Just your resident ghost here wishing my American followers a happy Fourth! Go eat some tasty cookout, check out your local fireworks, and have fun! Don't drink and drive!"
Something clicked in his brain, and suddenly, he remembered that day. He had been invited to the Foley's annual barbecue. It was always a huge event, filled with extended family, Mrs. Foley's coworkers, and other close friends. In all the commotion, Danny and Tucker had managed to sneak off with the American flag from the flagpole to film the silly message.
Danny felt the corners of his lips twitch up. He had been such a goofball then. So carefree, so innocent, like nothing could bring him down.
He glanced down to see the top comment. Thanks, Mom, it read.
He snorted. He had almost forgotten the running joke of his being everyone's "ghost mom" despite his obvious outward appearance as a teenage boy.
He scrolled down some more.
How does a ghost even get a flag? You can't exactly walk into a Walmart and purchase one.
Happy fourth to you too, Phantom!
Serious question: do other American ghosts in the GZ celebrate American holidays? Or just the ones that haunt in the US?
But as he scrolled farther, his smile began to drop. The comments were more recent. More relevant.
Things Danny didn't want to see.
My heart goes out to you, Danny. No one should have to go through what you did.
I'm praying for you.
r u ok? its been a while since u got out…
A ghost pretending to be human to spy on highschoolers? So fucking creepy.
dumbass, can you not read? scientists are saying he's a hybrid. like a real life arnold palmer.
That's even creepier.
phantom come back we miss you!
too bad the government didnt finish u off
Danny clicked out of the app. Going on his Twitter was a dumb idea. He shouldn't have been so cocky.
But he couldn't help the sudden spark of curiosity that had formed inside him, and he found himself opening Safari and typing Danny Phantom into the search bar.
Just how much did the public know about him?
He knew some things from what the other teens told him in inpatient. He knew he had been on the news nonstop while he was in the government facility, and he knew his family had done press conferences denouncing much of the widely accepted ecto-biology facts of the time. His sister had also mentioned the word "protest" but Danny couldn't imagine anyone protesting for his release.
He knew a lot of people were afraid of him, even disgusted by him. He knew people didn't want the government to release him. He knew the government wanted to use his ectoplasm to power their technology. He knew people wanted him dead.
He clicked on the first link that popped up. It was a video from Amity Park Central News. The video buffered, and he scrolled down to see the release date.
A week ago. Perfect.
He fullscreened the video and hit play.
A brunette woman appeared on the screen, sitting tall in front of the APC News backdrop. The backdrop shifted, morphing into a determined Danny Phantom flying through the air on one half and a shy Danny Fenton on the other.
The woman began speaking. "Over the summer, Amity Park's resident ghost hero, Danny Phantom, was revealed to be none other than local high schooler Daniel Fenton. Ecto-biologists around the world are calling him the first ever human-ghost hybrid, and while many are theorizing how this came to be, no question has been so searched for by the public over these past few months as the question of what happened to Danny Fenton Phantom, and where is he now?
"After his reveal back in July, the government was quick to detain him, citing infringements on the Anti Ecto Control Act. However, with strong public outcry and a court case between the Fenton family and the state of Illinois, Danny was released from the government. He returned home to his family in critical condition and was held in Amity Central Hospital for three weeks with reports of scarring, multiple broken bones, a spinal cord injury, and severe malnutrition. Danny can be seen exiting the hospital in a wheelchair here, and it is unsure at this time if he'll ever be able to fight ghostly invaders again.
"Although Danny Fenton Phantom attempted to return to public high school, sources say he suffered a nervous breakdown after only a few hours inside of the building. He was removed from Casper High and has not been seen again. Sources tell us that he is currently recovering in a psychiatric facility, where he is kept under twenty-four hour supervision. Sources also tell us that he is doing well and that he's set to be released soon. We at APC News wish him all the best during his journey to recovery. Tim, back to you."
The video cut to black.
Danny stared at his screen.
So, that was it then. The public knew everything.
Well, not everything. They only knew the general timeline, not the intimate details of how and why Danny Fenton Phantom ended up this way. There were probably rumors floating around, wild conspiracies on the internet, but no one knew.
Good. Danny intended to keep it this way.
He clicked the back arrow and scrolled through the headers for a few more articles and videos. Titles like "Why The Government Took Danny Phantom" "Who is Danny Fenton/Phantom? A Look on His Home Life, School Life, and More!" and "Parents of Danny Fenton Phantom Speak Out" flashed before his eyes, but he kept scrolling until one particular title caught his eye.
"March for Danny Phantom Slideshow Photographs"
...what?
So there was a protest for him?
He stared at the title, his brows slowly creasing. This didn't make sense. None of this made sense.
His finger hovered over the link.
Why would anyone want to hold a protest for him? He was a freak of nature, he shouldn't exist.
And besides, he was just one person. Just one of millions in this country. Hundreds of children and teens went missing every year, and yet there was a protest for him? Why?
Despite his bewildered state, he pressed his finger down on the link.
The page loaded, revealing a large photograph angled towards a crowd of people wearing T-shirts and shorts against a blue sky. People in the crowd held up signs that said things such as "Free Danny Phantom!" and "One of Us!"
He pressed the next button, scrolling from photo to photo of hundreds—no, thousands of people who had taken to the streets for him. They had shouted, marched, demanded his release.
How had he missed this?
He paused at each photo, soaking in the colors and captions and the stories each person had to share about him.
A woman standing tall, wearing a white cropped shirt and high-waisted blue shorts. Her immaculate afro was combed out above her head, and her smile was wide, confident. In her hand she held a sign covered in green and silver glitter.
"My apartment building caught on fire, but I didn't know. I'm deaf, I couldn't hear the fire alarms. By the time I smelled the smoke, it was too late. All my exits were blocked. But then Danny Phantom came, and I knew everything was going to be okay." —Tamara, 32
A small boy with sandy red hair and freckles, dressed in a black T-shirt with the DP logo on the center. His arms were stretched out beside him as if he were trying to hug the world.
"The ghost was THIS big! It was huge! It went BAM BAM and the windows broke! But I didn't cry because Phantom flew in and he zapped the big ghost and saved the day!" —Lucas, 7
A tall, lanky man with straight brown hair that was split with a clean part to the side. He held a sign against the gray fabric of his T-shirt that read "Why do cadavers have more rights than a sentient person?"
"A building collapsed and I got trapped under some rubble. I didn't know how long I was under there, but I was sure I was going to die. Suddenly, I felt cold arms around me, lifting me up and onto the street. I turned around and there he was: Phantom. He saved my life that day. Now it's time for me to save his." —Keith, 26
Danny shook his head, looking at each photograph as if they were lost paintings.
He couldn't believe it. There was no way that he had done all this, that he had affected this many people around him.
And yet, as he dug through his damaged brain, he remembered these incidents. He remembered when a spirit accidentally lost control and set two buildings on fire, the day when one of Skulker's hunts had brought him to an elementary school, how Spectra and Bertrand had collapsed an office building to prey on the grieving.
He pressed the next button and froze. His eyes widened into saucers.
There, standing against the thousands of others, were Sam and Tucker.
Sam held a blown-up photograph glued onto a piece of poster board of the three of them, arms linked behind their backs, laughing as if someone off camera had just told the funniest joke in the world. Under the photo were the simple words, printed in bold, "Bring Our Friend Home."
Danny couldn't remember what they had all been laughing about now, but it didn't matter. That photograph had long since been framed—a gift from Jazz—and resided on his nightstand next to a model rocket.
Danny's eyes drifted over to Tucker, and he snorted. Of course Tucker had printed out the most embarrassing photo he could find.
It was a picture of Danny, still in ghost form, asleep with his mouth wide open on Tucker's bedroom rug with a tower of Doritos balanced on his forehead. Tucker was hovering over him, giving the camera a shit-eating grin and two thumbs up.
Under his photo too were the words, "Bring Our Friend Home."
Danny's eyes drifted down to the caption.
"He's my best friend, simple as that. He's my bro and I miss him." —Tucker, 16, event organizer.
"I moved here when I was thirteen, and I was really alone. Danny and Tucker saw me sitting by myself at lunch and so they sat down and started talking to me as if we were already best friends. And, from that day forward, we were. I won't let the government rip him away from us so easily." —Sam, 16, event organizer.
Danny shouldn't have been surprised. Sam had attended more protests than Danny could keep track of, dragging him and Tucker along whenever she could.
And yet, he was surprised. Because he never expected anyone to care this much about him. Not Sam, not Tucker, not the thousands of others who traveled to fight for him, no one.
And suddenly, guilt was sweeping over him and he found himself staring at his text message notifications because he should really text Sam and Tucker, especially now after all they had done for him.
Truthfully, Danny hadn't thought much about Sam and Tucker over the past few weeks. Jazz gave him updates on them, but her comments were always unprompted. He didn't know why he was so damn nervous to talk to them again. Maybe it was because he didn't want to disappoint them with how different he was now. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that after he came home from critical care and Sam and Tucker came to visit, Danny spent most of their time together thinking of ways to make them leave.
He was such a bad friend. They deserved so much better.
And after everything they had done for him, they at least deserved a text back.
He opened his message app. He had dozens of texts from various classmates, but Danny didn't even look at them. His eyes were glued to the top two messages on his phone from Sam and Tucker.
They were sent recently.
Danny took a deep breath and clicked on Sam's messages.
Sam, 9/13, 8:13am: Good luck in school today, Danny! :)
Sam, 9/13 1:06pm: Hey I heard what happened. Are you okay?
Sam, 9/13, 2:15pm: Do you want me to come over?
Sam, 9/13 2:43pm: Danny please respond so I know you're okay.
Sam, 9/13, 3:09pm: I'm sorry but I'm really worried.
Sam, 9/13, 5:41pm: Hey I just heard back from Jazz and she told me what happened. Danny I'm SO sorry that this is all happening to you, and I hope you know you didn't deserve any of this. I know you won't see this until you get out, but I'm so proud of you for getting help. I'll always be here for you, no matter what. Focus on getting better and I'll see you soon
Sam, 10/11, 6:07pm: Hi! Jazz told me you were coming home tomorrow. I hope everything went well. Text me when you can!
Danny swallowed the lump in his throat as his eyes scanned the messages once more, then again.
Danny had been so stupid, so stupid, for ever thinking Sam didn't care. That he was just a bother to her. That staying in contact with her was a waste of time because there was no way she'd want to hang out with him anymore.
How many times tonight had he seen her prove him wrong?
He clicked out of Sam's messages and went to Tucker's only to—holy shit.
Tucker had sent him dozens of messages over the past four weeks. And when Danny reached the top of the message chain and started reading Tucker's justification for the utter spam, he felt another wave of guilt hit him because how could he have ever doubted the selflessness and unconditional friendship from these two?
Tucker, 9/13, 1:23pm: yo danny. i heard about what happened in school today. u good? u want me to come over? we can play doomed or we can just chill and talk shit about people. either works for me.
Tucker, 9/13, 3:06pm: danny? u there?
Tucker, 9/13, 3:55pm: hey we're really worried. sam's losing her shit rn. please just let me know ur alive
Tucker, 9/13, 5:45pm: so we just found out from jazz that u went to the hospital. u wont see this till ur released but i'm sorry about everything. u dont deserve this shit.
but since u won't see this till idk how long im just gonna turn this into my personal journal so when u get out u wont have missed out on anything! it'll be awesome dude. trust me. i'll keep u up to date on all the memes and trends
Tucker, 9/15, 9:13pm: [video] danny watch this i said 'bone apple teeth' at dinner tonight and this was my mom's reaction im dying lmfao XD
Tucker, 9/19, 4:22pm: i've decided to keep track of every book title lancer shouts this year. So far i have little women, lord of the flies, a tale of two cities, fahrenheit 451, and the count of monte cristo
Tucker, 9/20, 11:18am: [image] i'm sure you'll appreciate this meme
Tucker, 9/22, 5:31pm: so the nasty burger added a new burger called the ecto-delight and it's just a regular nasty supreme but with avocado im like wtf dude that's straight up sacrilegious! sam says it's an improvement but i told her to shove her tofu melt up her ass. back me up here danny
Tucker, 9/23, 8:02pm: dead teacher 5 is in theaters now but since i'm such a WONDERFUL and AMAZING friend i've decided—with no prompting from Sam—that we will await ur return before we watch it
Tucker, 9/23, 8:22pm: but like u still better get out before it's out of theaters. no pressure tho
Tucker: 9/23, 8:25pm: sam says that was mean and that OF COURSE we're gonna wait for you, even if that means we end up watching it on her home theater and i have to risk my laptop security when im inevitably chosen to pirate the movie for u two goons cuz neither of u know what the words "anti-virus software" means
Tucker, 9/25, 4:55pm: [image] ember thought u were home so she brought cujo over cuz he misses u so we gave him one of ur socks and he fell asleep with it
The texts went on, but Danny couldn't see them through his blurred vision.
He brought a hand up to his eyes. He didn't deserve them. He had been so distant when he saw them the month before, and they still showed so much love.
Miguel was right. He had so much support from his friends, family, and even people he hadn't met outside of his Phantom form. He thought back to the protest, the signs, the photos of all those people who spent their Saturday pressuring the government to release him, shutting down roads and infiltrating news channels in the process.
All thanks to Sam and Tucker. Event organizers.
He felt a tear slip from his eye, followed by another. God, he didn't even realize. Here he was, sitting here moping like he had no one. But that couldn't be further from the truth.
More than anything, he wanted to show his friends that he wasn't a disappointment. That they didn't save him from the government for nothing. Because he didn't understand why they believed in him so much, but they did and that's what was important.
He wiped the tears off his cheeks. He was such a mess. Such a mess.
He wanted to go wake up Jazz and hug her, tell her how much he appreciated and loved her too. Tell her thanks for visiting him so much while he was in inpatient and before at the hospital. Once he was allowed visitors at the general hospital, she used to drive there straight from school every day. Even if he was asleep, she would sit there quietly and do her homework.
He never realized until now just how thankful he was for that. She was such a good sister. He didn't deserve her.
His breathing was calming down, and he yawned. Oh wow, he was exhausted. He should go to sleep.
Yeah, sleep sounded nice.
He went to put his phone down and stopped. Sam and Tucker needed a response if he was going to be a better friend to them now.
He opened up a new group chat with the two of them and began typing.
Danny, 2:27am: hey! sorry for not reaching out yesterday, i was rlly tired but u guys are so great and i rlly missed u both these past few weeks and i cant wait to see u. I know ur both asleep right now but if u wanna hang out tomorrow and play doomed lemme know
Okay, that was done. Just in time too because his comforter felt so soft and amazing and he never realized how squishy his pillow was. He kind of wanted to sleep on his side but he was too tired to put a pillow between his legs so he would just have to remember that for next time.
He closed his eyes and yawned again. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so relaxed. And loved.
Everything was going to be okay.
Thanks for reading!
Also, on my tumblr ( lexosaurus) I've been getting some DM's rightfully concerned about how gore-y this is gonna get. I would say this chapter's flashback is a pretty good indicator of how in-depth I'm willing to go. I can think of one scene that goes a bit further. While I will heavily imply certain topics, there are certain lines I will not cross!
Huge thanks as always to my beta-reader imekitty! She's amazing and if you like this fic, you definitely love her Disparaged, Dissembled, and Condemned series!