Danny watched the countdown on Tucker's television. They usually celebrated New Year's at Sam's house, but not this year.
He wasn't allowed over to her house anymore.
Thousands of people were packed in the streets of Manhattan, all cheering over some pop singer Danny didn't recognize. He'd been a little too busy lately to keep up with current media trends.
Danny had a Coke in hand. Sam and Tucker were also drinking Coke, plus a little something extra that Sam had snuck from her parents' liquor cabinet. Danny desperately wanted some too, but he wasn't allowed. He was on medication.
Still, sobriety wasn't fun when surrounded by people who were not. So, when he last excused himself to the bathroom, he popped an extra pill instead.
He didn't have many of these left. He could have rationed it better. But he didn't.
Oops.
He should have felt happy tonight. Relieved, even. He'd made it through what could easily be defined as the worst year of his life. He'd experienced the deepest depravity that humanity had to offer, and he was still alive.
That meant something. He knew it did, deep down inside. But he couldn't stop the crushing crises course through him as he said goodbye to the previous year and hello to the next. A hello so empty, it felt like a black hole was sucking his entire psyche into it.
This would be the next year of his life. Another year of the Ghost Investigation Ward stalking him. Another year of the fire of his fried nerves igniting in his chest. Another year of clawing at the steepest cliff of recovery until his fingers bled and his voice was hoarse from yelling, pleading for someone to listen, for someone to help.
The singer's set ended, and one of the television announcers came on air to announce the final minute of the year. The crowd's roar increased, and Tucker playfully nudged his shoulder.
"This is it, dude!" he yelled, his voice thick with alcohol.
Danny pulled his throw blanket farther up his torso and gave what he hoped was an adequate thumbs-up to his friends. His fingers were heavy and clumsy tonight.
Sam said something, and Tucker burst into laughter, grabbing her arm for support.
The chasm between Danny and his friends had never felt larger.
To them, this New Year's celebration symbolized something different from his. It had been a horrible year for them too, but their trauma was done and over now. They'd fought valiantly for Danny to come home, and he had.
Yay! Victory for Sam and Tucker!
And now, it was over. Whatever horribleness that they'd dealt with was about to be wiped clean.
But Danny's…wasn't.
And that was the difference between them. They got to do normal teenager things like drink alcohol on New Year's, while he couldn't. They got to laugh about what awaited them in the upcoming year, while he couldn't. They got to be normal, while he wasn't.
During their freshman year, there had been a point where he knew they were jealous of his ghost powers. Tucker had been a little more of an open book, but even Sam—in her loudest angry outbursts—had expressed more or less the same. But now, even when Danny stretched his ghostly empathy as far as it could reach, he couldn't detect the barest whisper of jealousy from either of them.
Because his powers were only fun until they weren't. And at that point, they were life-ruining.
"Shhh! They're starting!" Sam said, flinging her arms across Tucker.
When was the last time she'd playfully touched him like that?
He took a long swig of his drink and tried to block out the acrid taste in his throat.
"Ten…nine…eight…"
Danny felt the warm embrace of the blanket and the medication. The burning in his chest lessened, finally, though no one else but him would be able to tell.
He had become an expert at hiding his pain.
"Seven…six…five…"
Sam was standing now, and Tucker was trying his best to help Danny up so he could celebrate with them. They stumbled, but Sam grabbed his other side, her strong arms supporting his weak ones.
Her laugh bubbled in his ears. He'd always liked her laugh. It was sharp, especially through the tilted room.
"Four…three…"
Tucker said something, but Danny couldn't understand him.
He…
The world was warping now. Melting, spinning.
It was nice. So, so nice. To not have to think. To let the chatter of his friends blend into the sound of the television and fog until everything was too indistinguishable for him to attempt to puzzle out.
"Two…"
He leaned on his friends, who were free to interpret that however they'd like. Maybe he was leaning on them because he wanted to be closer to them, maybe he just couldn't support his body.
Wow. The world was really spinning. Thank god his parents were letting him stay over at Tucker's tonight. There was no way he could deceive his mom right now.
"One!"
His friends cheered beside him, the TV was a mirage of colorful confetti, and just like that, the new year had begun.
Danny took another sip of his rum and coke.
Perfect.
Jazz left with Jack. It was a three-day road trip to Boston, just the two of them, stopping at a few prime tourist locations to give Jazz her last big "hurrah" on the way to her new life.
Maddie didn't go. She couldn't. She had to stay here with Danny. Danny couldn't be by himself yet. Danny wasn't healthy enough. What if Danny needed something? Danny couldn't travel with them. Danny wasn't stable enough.
Danny, Danny, Danny.
Danny liked to pretend that his parents planned Jazz's college move-in this way. That they hadn't been stressing about who would have to miss out on such a monumental moment in their child's life, and Jack hadn't given Maddie his signature guilty smile on his way out the door.
That Danny hadn't gotten in the way of his sister's life yet again.
He liked to pretend that he had been at Harvard with her, hugging her goodbye. That their last moments together hadn't been in their living room, that he hadn't turned away from her, ducked his head, and mopped the corners of his eyes because he'd failed at hiding how selfish he was, failed at obscuring the truth.
He liked to pretend that Jazz's last words to him hadn't been, "Promise you'll call, okay?" and that there hadn't been an underlying tone of, "Promise you'll call me if you need me, if you're having a hard time, if you're feeling close to a breakdown, okay?"
He liked to pretend he'd left her with words of encouragement, telling her to have a good time and to make new friends, instead of the words he actually said: "I'll miss you."
He liked to pretend.
It was easier to give in to the fog.
Danny flew deeper into the city, invisible. He'd missed this, the rush of air across his cheeks, the tight twists and turns around building corners he could make, the feeling of freedom flowing through his veins.
He'd missed this far too much. And now that he'd built back some of his strength in his ghost form over the past few weeks, indulging in a daring flight after so long was pure bliss.
It would be better if he didn't have to hide Phantom like some dirty secret. He wished, more than anything, he could go back to the way things were before his reveal. But if nothing else, he still had his invisibility.
Racing against an imaginary opponent, he channeled more power into his speed, pushing himself harder than he had in months. He was still a long way off from his top speed, but he would get there again. Maybe not tomorrow, but eventually.
He whipped around a corner and flew through an intersection. It was empty, but intangibility meant he didn't have to care about passing cars. He couldn't help it, he whooped in delight. It had been so long, too long.
The whir of a car engine going a little too fast for the area sounded behind him. Danny risked glancing back, wondering what kind of idiot was seriously speeding down this road, only for him to nearly fall onto the pavement.
It was a white van.
A Guys in White van.
He cut around a corner and pulled up in the middle of the road, turning to look behind him. Sure enough, the van also turned the corner.
That wasn't a coincidence.
His world slowed around him, he felt the weight of the collar snapping on his neck and the sounds of a gunshot rattling in his mind. He grasped for his neck, but where he expected a collar, there was only skin. His parents weren't here this time, no one was shooting at his dad. It was just a memory, just a memory.
He forced himself back to reality, back to the van approaching him. Just before it gained on him, he took the risk and bolted back the way he came.
Only to hear tires screech as the van pulled an illegal U-turn in the middle of the damn road.
The van was following him. It was following him.
It was following him.
If they knew he was here, then the van was likely outfitted with power-level detectors and ectosignature readers. Wouldn't the agents know that the ghost they were following was Phantom? And that they couldn't touch him anymore?
What a silly thought, though, assuming that a piece of paper from a judge meant anything to the federal government. Of course, they were following him because he was Phantom.
Danny's blood roared in his ears, and he kicked it into high gear, dodging around the maze of city blocks until he didn't know where he was anymore. Colors melded with the wind, whipping past his face and stinging his cheeks. Panic and adrenaline forced him forward, stretching him to his limits and past them. He needed to get out of here, get away, shake them, don't get caught, Danny, don't get caught.
Bracing himself, he jetted through a row of buildings, timing his rings to snap and his powers to fade out just as he exited the last wall and crashed onto the alley pavement.
A chorus of cries sounded around him, and he scrambled behind a dumpster, breathing hard. His body had not liked that fall, and his chest was singing a song of pain. He flipped his hood over his hair and ducked his head into his knees, forcing himself to breathe through the waves of nausea and fire that licked his body.
"Who the fuck?"
"Hey! Hey, kid!"
The gruff voices around him got closer.
"Did he just fly through the fucking wall?"
"Someone get this fucking—"
"Kid!"
Danny risked peering up to see a shaggy man in a beanie holding his backpack. "Hey, that's mine!" he cried, sitting upright.
"Hang on, is that…?"
"Oh, nah!" A tall man in a bomber jacket threw the end of his joint to the ground and stomped it out with his foot. "Nah, I'm not sticking around!"
A few other men followed him out of the alley.
"I'm sick of this ecto-bullshit!" Danny heard the bomber-jacket guy cry from the street.
"That—that's mine." Danny slowly stood, despite his shaking limbs. He held onto the brick wall for support and let his eyes glow green. "Give it back."
He watched as the remaining men behind the beanie guy stiffened, and one more slipped from the alley.
The beanie guy dropped the bag and raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, I wasn't tryna steal it. I was giving it back."
Danny let the glow of his eyes peter out. Then a white van zoomed past the alley, and on instinct, he dropped back to the ground and curled up behind the dumpster.
His actions had not gone unnoticed. A man with a gravelly voice said, "Hey, Tim, I think the Phantom is hiding from someone."
The beanie man pivoted between the small group and Danny. He leaned down, his face softening. "Phantom? Are you bein' chased?"
Danny's mouth dried. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"I don't wanna get in nobody's business," another man from the group said. He picked up his own ratty backpack. "I ain't tryna get on the cop's radar, kid."
"Wait, come on!"
But the man in the ratty backpack too ducked out of the alley.
"Sorry," Danny choked out. At the moment, it was all he could do. The government had to have known he was still in the area, even if they couldn't detect him in human form. They knew he was trapped here.
It would be too easy to capture him now, especially in a seedy place like this. They could just blame it on the local population who, by the looks of things, had their own set of problems they were dealing with.
"Leon, we can't leave the kid here," the beanie guy said. "Not if he's bein' chased."
"He's a ghost, ain't he? Phantom kid, can't you fly away?"
Danny gripped his bangs and breathed low into his forearms. He wanted these men to leave him alone, go back to smoking weed and whatever else was in their pockets, just let him deal with his own shit behind this dumpster.
God. How pathetic. He'd only just gotten his ghost form back and already was cowering in an alley like a criminal.
You haven't done anything wrong, he reminded himself. Phantom's legal now. You've done nothing wrong.
So why didn't it feel that way? Why was everyone treating him like some disgusting leper? Why couldn't he just fly around the city without his worst nightmare tracking his every move?
He heard the van pass by the alley again and dropped his head back onto his knees.
God, he was exhausted. He hated this feeling, he hated everything about this.
"Come on, Phantom, we gotta get you out of here."
A hand gently touched his shoulder, and Danny jerked back. "Don't touch me."
The beanie man retracted his outstretched arm. "Sorry, but you gotta get out of here."
Danny saw that the remaining men from their original huddle had ventured closer, and he directed the green glow back into his eyes, hoping to scare them back.
Phantom's powers bleeding into his human form or not, he wasn't strong enough yet to handle these four men in human form. Especially when his collapsible crutches were currently tucked in his backpack.
"I'm not moving," he hissed. "Don't even try."
"Whoa, whoa! Calm down, kid."
"Tim, it's a ghost. It ain't gonna listen."
Danny's head snapped over to the other talkative shaggy man. What was his name? Lenon?
"Uh, Leon, I don't think he likes being called an 'it.'"
"No, he doesn't," Danny snarled. "Get away from me."
"Phantom, we ain't tryna hurt you. We tryna help."
Danny's brows shot up. "Oh? Forgive me if my ecto-bullshit self has—has trouble believing you."
"Come on, Tim, let's go," a new voice piped up. "He don't wanna talk."
Good. Leave him alone, let him stay here until the Guys in White give up their search and move to another city block. They couldn't track him in his human form. So long as he stayed quiet, stayed hidden, he could lose them.
His chest whispered in discontent again, and he couldn't help the choked gasp that came out of his lungs.
"Phantom, you alright?"
Danny tried to nod, but the adrenaline was leaving his body and with it the last of the pain medication. That, or his body was finally letting him know just how unhappy it was that he'd rammed into the pavement a minute ago.
"Yo, agents! Get the fuck out!" the bomber-jacket man's distant voice shouted from the street.
Danny's breathing picked up again, and his head swam. They can't touch you. They can't touch you, he repeated like a mantra to himself.
"Remain calm, we're only here for a routine inspection," another voice echoed around the corner.
Danny went cold.
His eyes trailed back up to the small group of scraggly men before him with untamed beards and missing teeth. He closed his eyes and clamped his jaw together. Finally, he gave a low, "Help me."
The men wasted no time grabbing his backpack and arms, hoisting him up, and pulling him down and around the alley at a pace Danny could only pretend to keep up with.
He should have been humiliated, but he was too focused on trying not to puke.
"Where we takin' him?" the man with the deepest voice whispered. His accent wasn't from around here. Danny couldn't place it—maybe New York? He wasn't lucid enough to be able to tell.
"Drew's just 'round the corner," the beanie man said.
"What, you crazy? We can't take him there," the man with the probably-Brooklyn accent said.
"Why not?"
"'Cause, that's the kid! He's—" Brooklyn's voice lowered. "He's the Phantom."
"Yeah, but Drew's place is on the next block."
Danny heard a sharp sigh. "Fine, but it was your idea."
"Hey, kid," came a scrappy voice and the smell of cigarettes. Danny was only vaguely aware that someone was leaning down to his height. "We gonna take you to a friend's house. You gotta keep your mouth shut about it, though."
"Fine by me," Danny muttered.
They jerked him around another corner and Danny grunted at the sudden movement, nearly sending the entire team tumbling.
"Can't you walk, Phantom?" Brooklyn asked.
"Not really," Danny growled. He could, but not without tools. And not this quickly.
"Remember?" the gravelly man said. "He's got a wheelchair."
"Oh yeah, where is it?"
"Not here," Danny said.
They halted before a dingy door. Behind it was the low thump of a hip-hop bass and various deep voices. The beanie man stood before it and knocked.
There were footsteps, and then a lock turned, and smoke poured out of the open door. Danny lowered his head, his heart suddenly in his throat. The last thing he needed right now was to be recognized and tossed back into this sketchy alley.
"Winnie! You look as radiant as ever," the gravelly voice said from behind him.
"Fuck off, Leon," a woman responded. "Get in here."
"Thanks, princess!"
"Don't call me that."
The group stumbled through the doorway. The man with the beanie dragged Danny over to a giant sectional couch in the middle of the room and dropped him next to a group of larger men who did not look like they were cool with Danny's scrawny butt being nearly thrown over them.
"Hey! Tim, what the hell?" One of the men jumped out of the way.
The voices in the room hushed. Immediately, Danny was aware that every eye was on him.
Yeah…
"Whoa, is that—"
Someone muted the music.
"That's the Phantom kid!"
Despite most of these men easily weighing at least a hundred pounds more than him, they scrambled away as if he were the biggest threat here.
"Bro, what the fuck?!" One of the bodybuilder-like men stomped over to the four scrawny homeless-looking men. "What the fuck are you thinking bringing him in here?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" The gravelly man–Leon, was it?—put his arms out in defense.
"Easy!" another man in the room yelled.
A trim man on the edge of the couch put out his joint and stood. Immediately, all eyes were locked on him. He was tall with black, meticulously faded hair and sharp eyes that flickered between the two groups of men in the room. His face was smooth, cheekbones high, and his expression unreadable. His black hoodie was long, but when he raised his arm back up to point at Leon's group, Danny saw slender fingers peeking through.
"I have a quick question for you four." The man's voice was smooth and yet just as sharp as the suspicion in his eyes.
Danny could feel the tension in the room mount. He didn't dare move a muscle.
"Just what the hell were you fuckwits thinking?"
"Drew!" the man with the beanie defended. "The government was chasin' that kid. I couldn't leave him out there."
The man—Drew—turned, approaching Danny as if he were rabid, assessing every inch of him. Around them, one spoke, no one so much as twitched.
Danny held his gaze just as he would any other ghostly predator. Because this man—this situation—was familiar. It was just like the ghosts in the Zone. Ghosts held respect via power, and this man before him clearly commanded the room.
It was perhaps the ghostly part of his brain that whispered that if this commander signaled for his cronies to attack, Danny would have no way of escaping without transforming.
"You're really Phantom?" the commander finally spoke, his dark eyes boring into Danny's.
The unease in the room thickened as Danny hesitated, but then he gave in, pulling the green of his core into his eyes. He saw green light reflect onto the smoky air before him, and gasps rang around the room.
"See, Drew? I wasn't lying."
"What the hell are you doing in our part of town?" the commander—Drew asked. "Aren't you supposed to be injured or something?"
Danny finally broke eye contact. "I—I—I'm being followed."
"And? How is that my problem?"
Danny looked around the room, finally taking in the faces of the cronies hovering along the plain, undecorated wall. All shapes and sizes stared back at him bearing expressions ranging from apprehension to fear.
Danny sighed and began struggling upright. "Look, this was an accident. Sorry for—for intruding. I'll leave."
Drew folded his arms, watching Danny clumsily try to balance without assistance.
"Can I—" Danny looked around the room to see one of the men still holding his bag. He needed his crutches. "Can I have my bag?"
"Your bag?" Drew glanced over to Leon's group. "Give it to me."
Danny held his arm up. "Wait—"
The braver of the bodybuilders stepped forward and pushed him back onto the couch.
Danny fell back, heat rising to decorate his cheeks. How degrading, being pushed down so easily by this random human man.
"For all I know, this is a sting." Drew rifled through his bag and dumped the contents on the floor. "Are your brains really that fucking fried? If the government is tracking this kid, then why the fuck would you bring him here?"
"I didn't know where else to bring him!"
"I don't care, I'm not going to prison for kidnapping a fucking celebrity!"
"Wait—wait, my—" Danny winced as two metal tubes fell out of the bag and clattered onto the floor.
"The fuck are these?" Drew asked, nudging one with his foot.
Danny's face was surely blazing red. "My crutches."
"Those don't look like crutches to me."
"They're coll–collapsible. My dad built them."
Drew nodded to the bodybuilder who picked one up like it was a pipe bomb and gingerly handed it over to Danny.
He tried not to fumble as he felt for the side of the tube, pressing the button and expanding the device to reveal a regular arm crutch.
Drew nodded stiffly and returned to ripping the bag apart.
"If I could—could have the other one, that—that would be—"
"Shut up," Drew said. He unzipped the front pocket, and it took all of Danny's strength to refrain from transforming into Phantom right there.
"Wait!" Danny stumbled forward, his hand shaking again. But one crutch wasn't enough, and he collapsed at Drew's feet.
Drew's hands tightened on something, and Danny had a moment of pure terror icing his veins before Drew's hand slowly pulled out his cell phone.
Relief shuddered over him, and Danny couldn't help the shaky breath that escaped his lips.
Drew's eyes pierced into his. "It's off."
"I—I didn't want anyone…tracking me."
Drew rolled his eyes and tossed the phone down onto the coffee table full of ash and drugs. And to Danny's utter despair, his hand plunged back into his backpack and he pulled out something else.
Something that sucked the air out of Danny's lungs completely.
Drew held up the bag of pill bottles like it was some sort of prize. He read the labels, and Danny watched as his lips curled upwards in realization.
"No," Danny mumbled, too stricken to do much else. "Please stop, stop."
"Who would have known," Drew said, almost thoughtfully. "Danny Phantom, town hero, on opioids."
Sharp breaths and mutters filled the room.
Danny felt his eyes prickle in shame. "No, you don't—you don't understand. I need those. Please, I need them. They—they're my medication."
"Right, Pamela Manson," Drew sneered. He kicked the other crutch over to Danny, who scrambled to unlock it and push himself up.
"You don't understand," Danny said, his voice slightly less panicked now that he was on equal footing. "I'm a—a halfa, human medication doesn't work the same on me. I have nerve damage."
"And so, what, you need to go behind the doctors' backs? Steal other people's shit?" Drew laughed. "Doesn't that go against your moral hero shtick?"
"No—I—" Danny gritted his teeth in frustration. His throat closed, his voice betraying him.
"Don't get yourself worked up, kid. I don't care." Drew put the plastic bag back in his backpack. "I just think it's funny, is all. It also makes sense. I mean, no one can get thrown into so many buildings all the time without having a little something to take the edge off."
Annoyance pinged through Danny. This guy was completely misunderstanding the situation, but Drew was a total stranger accompanied by other strangers. There was no way Danny was about to get into the intricacies of ghost biology and Obsessions with this random guy.
But he couldn't just let people think that Phantom was some sort of junkie who only got into ghost fights because of drugs.
The voices around them were starting to pick up again.
"Who woulda thought."
"I always figured the guy was on something."
"So much for the hero thing."
Danny cringed, listening to the whispers making all sorts of assumptions about his character.
No, no, no. Why was this happening? Now everyone was going to know that he used drugs and everyone was going to think he was some sort of addict chasing his next high rather than the truth.
He needed to fix this. Do something—say something. Anything. He needed the medication. For pain, for sleep, for anxiety, to be normal. Didn't they understand? No, of course they didn't. They didn't know what happened while he was supposedly arrested. There were rumors, but they didn't know, they didn't get it.
But his voice didn't work, and it was obvious that Drew had a smarter tongue than he did anyway. He needed to show them. There was a way. He had the visual evidence, didn't he?
Before he could talk himself out of it, he phased his hoodie off and pulled his T-shirt up to his neck.
"Whoa, Phantom, what are you—" Drew's eyes snapped onto his chest, and despite wanting to crawl into a hole and die, Danny forced himself to keep looking forward.
The room was silent once again.
"This is what the—what the government did," Danny said.
Realization hit Drew's face, and his jaw dropped as horror overtook his features.
Danny released his T-shirt, humiliation crawling up his spine. "They had to cut me back open at the—at the hospital after because the—the operatives didn't bother putting everything back together correctly."
He looked out into the room, and the faces of disgust, revulsion, and pity looked back at him. Self-consciousness threatened to knock him back down to the couch, but he pushed it away.
He'd never told anyone what happened outside of therapy. Sure, Sam and Tucker may have pieced it together more or less on their own, but these guys were strangers, and Danny had never told strangers anything.
"So the rumors are true," the round-faced girl from the doorway said. "You know, what they been saying about you."
Danny leaned on his crutches. "That's why I have the meds. Honestly."
Drew exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why not go to a doctor? Aren't you fucking famous?" He handed Danny's bag over, finally.
Danny didn't want to mention that the contents of his backpack were still scattered all over the floor.
"Wouldn't you be able to get this shit from them?"
"Because, like I already said, my metabolism burns through this faster than—than normal humans. I can't just—I'm already on a prescription. It doesn't work, and they won't listen to me because I'm too young."
"And now you just happened to land here."
"What?" Danny guffawed. "You think I planned this?"
"No, no, that's—" Drew sighed sharply and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. He glanced around the room, seeming to realize the audience they still had around them. "Alright, everyone get the fuck out for a second. Except…" He looked at one of the bodybuilders next to him. "Except you. Everyone else, out. And don't say a fucking word about this or you won't like what happens."
"Don't worry, I'm not a snitch," one of the men said. He grabbed a jacket thrown over the couch and began leading the group out.
The group of scraggly men gave Danny a sympathetic look, and the man in the beanie nodded one last time to him. "Good luck, Phantom."
"Nice to meetcha, kid," the woman said. She paused, looking like she wanted to say more, but then ducked out the back door with everyone else.
And then it was just the three of them: Danny, Drew, and the third man who, without the interference of ghost powers, could probably beat the shit out of Danny in about two seconds flat if he wanted to.
Thankfully, Danny had intangibility on his side.
The door closed, and Drew collapsed onto the couch, picking up a blunt from the table. He took his time lighting it and inhaling, before, much to Danny's surprise, he held his arm out, offering it to Danny.
"Uh—um, no thanks," Danny said quietly. "I don't smoke."
Drew shrugged and took another hit instead. He gave Danny a curious look. "Jeez, kid, I'm not gonna bite. Sit down."
Danny glanced back at the bodybuilder, who was also sinking into an armchair, before he decided to sit back down. Which, glancing down at his quivering legs, was probably good timing.
"Alright, so you were being chased, you said?" Drew asked.
"Yeah."
"By who?"
"The Guys in—Ghost Investigation Ward," Danny responded, barely remembering to use their official name rather than the mocking one he and his classmates preferred.
Drew shot him a suspicious look. "I thought y'all went to court with those guys?"
Danny's silence was enough of an answer.
"Figures." The bodybuilder tsked his tongue. "They don't play by their own rules."
"The fuck were you doing in this part of town anyway? Aren't you from the west side?"
Sometimes Danny forgot that nearly all his personal life was easily found online. "I—uh, I can fly. It's…I get around."
"Shit, I guess you can."
They fell back into silence, and Danny watched the smoke swirl around the air. Now that any lingering adrenaline had completely left his body, he was steadily becoming more aware of his own discomforts. The fire from the fall prickled his chest, and his ectoplasmic power itched his skin, threatening to emerge and force him to fly away. His throat was parched, but his water bottle was still somewhere on the floor with the rest of his stuff.
Drew tracked Danny's eyes to his scattered belongings and jerked his head to his friend. "You mind getting our guest's things?"
"Huh?" the man said.
Danny instantly felt self-conscious all over again. "No—no, don't worry. It's fine."
"Marcus, the kid can't walk, come on."
The bodybuilder grumbled but nonetheless stood from his chair, scooped Danny's things up, and stuffed them haphazardly back in his backpack.
Danny sat tense on the couch. He wasn't sure what this sudden tone shift from Drew was about, or what his new objective was by shooing everyone else away. He couldn't have been in a rush to talk to Danny given the blunt that he was blowing into the room. Regardless, every single movement had Danny on high alert.
The bodybuilder jerked his arm out to Danny, who flinched on instinct. "Here," the man said gruffly, and it took Danny a second too long to realize that he was returning the backpack to him.
"Oh. Thanks." Danny accepted the bag and gently lowered it to the floor by his feet.
That seemed to satisfy the two men, who settled back into their chairs and passed the blunt between them.
The awkward air was too much. Danny ran his fingers through his hair, saying, "Um…I'm sorry to have intruded, by the way. I—the Ghost Investigation Ward should be gone now. I can leave."
Drew waved him off. "Don't worry about it. Those guys are freaks anyway."
"Yeah. I guess."
"Listen, kid," Drew started, his tone shifting. Apparently, now he was in the mood to talk brass tacks. "I don't know what the fuck happened to you, but I've been around the block and I know your type."
"My type?" Danny said, bewildered.
"Yeah. Your type. Dumb, upper-middle west kids who get into this world not knowing how the fuck it works."
"I—I'm not—"
"Don't fuck with me," Drew snapped. He took a hit and let the smoke cloud over his head. "I've been in this scene my whole life. You think you're the first kid who went through some shit and got into drugs to help?"
Danny's mouth slammed shut at that.
"Listen." Drew dragged himself off the back of the couch and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I know the shit they sell nowadays. You know what fentanyl is?"
Danny shook his head slowly.
"That's what I thought."
"West kids, huh?" The bodybuilder barked a laugh.
Drew ignored his friend, continuing, "I'll be honest, I always liked Phantom. I always thought you were a good guy just doing what you could do to help with the ghost problem. And if it meant that I didn't have ghosts fucking with me so much, then I thought it was great that you were out there doing your thing. Which is why I'm gonna propose something to you."
Danny's tongue dried. "What is it?"
Drew nodded to Danny's bag. "If you want something, you come to me for it."
Whatever Danny was expecting to happen, this wasn't it. "What?"
But it seemed, by Drew's unchanging expression, that he was serious. "I don't want you getting laced shit off the street from some guy who is gonna take advantage of you. If you want some good shit, you want pills, you get it from me."
"Wait—wait." Perhaps for the first time, Danny looked around the room and noticed the bags and powders scattered around. "Hang on, are you a dealer?"
The bodybuilder reacted as if Danny had said the funniest thing he'd ever heard. His laugh wheezed, and he wiped his eyes with thick fingers. "Oh man, kid, you're something else."
Drew's lips quirked into an amused sort of expression. "Yeah, Phantom, I'm a dealer. And if you want some pills, then I can give it to you for a fair price. And that's my proposition."
"Oh…" Danny's eyes trailed to his legs. "Oh."
Never in his life would he have imagined he would be in this position, seriously mulling over the words of a drug dealer.
Danny was a good person. He always had been. He wasn't some…some addict who needed a drug dealer to cope. He wasn't that person.
He wasn't.
And yet, the government had fucked that all up. They ruined his body, turning him into someone with constant pain and PTSD to boot. Now they were stalking him, waiting for the best opportunity to snatch him for round two, and if Danny didn't hurry up and finish healing, they might succeed.
He was a good person, he tried his best, and yet he had no choice.
He needed the medication.
It was that simple.
"Okay. Yeah, thanks."
Drew stood and stretched, satisfied. He walked out of the room, and Danny heard him rummage for a moment before he returned with a small bag containing a few white pills. He tossed it to Danny, who caught it on reflex.
"Here's some oxy on the house," Drew said. "Call it a belated thank-you."
"For what?" Danny mumbled, turning the bag around as if it were gold. Inside was a scrap of paper with a phone number scratched on it.
Drew didn't answer, and instead went back on the couch, pulled a vape out of his pocket, and scrolled through his phone.
Getting the cue, Danny stuffed the plastic bag in his backpack and stood to leave. "Thanks," he said, hoisting his bag over his shoulder and hobbling to the door.
"Don't mention it," came Drew's faded voice as Danny closed the backdoor behind him.
The alley was empty now. Straining his ears, he couldn't hear any operative voices. But that didn't mean there wasn't still a van camped nearby. He slowly shuffled down the block, trying to put distance between himself and Drew's apartment before he transformed.
Not alerting the government of Drew's drug den was really the least he could do after everything Drew had done for him.
He turned a corner and found the guy in the bomber jacket smoking along the wall with someone else. The two held each other's gazes before the man nodded stiffly to Danny, who returned the gesture.
Then, without fanfare, Danny let the rings wash over him, invisibility to cloak back over his body, and he was gone.
In the air.
With his backpack and everything else inside.
So I actually wrote the bulk of the scene with the dealer two years ago, and I've been WAITING so patiently (read: frothing at the mouth) to get to the point in the fic where I could actually post it. I'm so excited that point is finally now!
I love that now, with Danny's increasing freedom, there are more and more opportunities for him to interact with the "Outsider POV" so-to-speak like this. And, of course, Danny's doing Really Really Well.
I could ramble about this chapter for hours, but I will refrain! Thank you imekitty for beta reading this chapter, and thank you all for reading!