Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The text to Vlad is two weeks late and simple: c u in 2 months.

The reply back is just as basic with a I'll be waiting — Vlad doesn't pry further and doesn't reach out again. Danny's got too much suddenly on his hands to really care, chalks it up to the man not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Vlad will wait, and he has two months. Cool.

Then, as it usually tends to, the time flies by.

Danny works, slowly wiggling his way back into the good graces of his job, and deals with the consequences of finally ascending to the throne. With his continued presence, the abandoned keep has come back to life in more ways than Danny would have ever thought possible, having never spent so much time in it before except when he had nowhere else to go. The kid thinks it's fun at least, to report on the burgeoning modernization, but he doesn't have to deal with the giant yeti who comes every few days attempting to pledge allegiance for his realm. 

Or the giant roman ghost who showed up last week just wanting to 'talk' to Danny. As if. He won't be falling for that.

So. These aren't problems, at least. Not yet, anyway, but. 

The true problem at the moment reveals itself as Shantel, funnily enough. Danny doesn't know how else he can explain it to her, his sudden determination to stay sober. What more can he say than No thanks. What more could he have said to keep from being tricked out to a bar twice, once for his birthday even? Because he drank anyway to get her off his back, to appease the teasing and less than playful ribbing from everyone else. 

At least Ya's not pushed the 'issue,' only offered a blunt once and then dropped it. That's more understanding being shown by a guy Danny's only known sporadically half a year to Shantel's full twelve months. And it really, really fucking sucks.

So, yeah. There's that. The kid is still staying in the Ghost Zone, antsy but mostly understanding. Out of the way of the annoying frequency with which Shantel tries to come over and talk things out. Talk what out, Danny doesn't even know. 

By the time his self imposed two months are up, he's almost glad to buy a bus ticket out of Gotham and weather the near full day trip to Amity Park like a normal human being. It's gross, maddening, and exhausting, but in a more mortal way, so it's alright by the time the final bus pulls into Amity Park.

Knapsack over one shoulder, he caps the journey off with a taxi from the bus station. Danny's careful not to look too hard at any one thing out of the window, to wonder why the terminal was so empty when the buses used to be packed and busy. 

"Hey, I know you from somewhere?" the driver asks at a red light, and Danny closes his eyes. Right across from the intersection is a flat, weed filled vacant lot, still fenced off even years later. "You from around here?"

"No," he says, and the cabbie hums, eyeing him in the rearview mirror, but thankfully lets it go.

All too soon the ride is over. The cab lets him out directly at the steps and moves off as soon as he pays. Danny watches it go, childishly unwilling to turn around. Nothing really looks different this way, though it's quieter, the street and the air. The shadow cast from behind him is about as even with the rest of buildings, and he knows. He knows .

Fenton Works is gone.

Pain knots itself in the middle of his chest, and he grits his teeth, hand coming up to rub at the spot. He turns around, and just. Looks. Looks at the dark stains on the steps, the shuttered windows, and then the flat roof high above his head. The sign is gone, the lab with it.

It hurts, but Danny breathes through it, sure that it's… all fine. Vlad did something, obviously. Maybe even for a good reason — most likely for a good reason. It… better have been for a good reason.

Danny pinches the bridge of his nose, takes in one deep, steadying breath, exhales, and then starts up the front steps. The doorway is relatively clean, as if someone upkeeps it, and, surprisingly, his key still works on the lock. Immediately, he hears the alarm beep, and for a moment he completely blanks even as he reaches the keypad.

Certain numbers on the buttons are almost completely faded. Danny bites his lip as he traces them, and sags with short-lived relief as the alarm status goes green with disarmament. Then he sees the vague outline of where a picture frame used to be. Right beside the alarm, there should've been a portrait of a four-year old Jazz with a two year old Danny in her arms, both of them beaming for the camera.

It's gone. Then, as Danny turns, actually looks, he realizes that everything is gone.

It feels stupid to admit, but he'd thought it'd be… the same after all this time, a time capsule of kicked off shoes and misplaced papers, pictures on the walls and unwashed dishes in the sink, random gadgets strewn around the corners. A jacket on the couch, a stack of books on the coffee table. A carefully preserved moment of what life used to be like.

It feels really, really stupid to have a fresh wave of tears rise up at the stifling, hot emptiness before him. Everything's gone — a sterile cleanliness coated in a layer of dust. If Danny didn't know any better, he'd think it was any other one of empty brownstones down the block, that he'd walked into the wrong house, except.

Along the wall to his right, just up the first steps of the stairs, he can still see the bad patch-job Mom did. Dad tripped over Danny's shoes and put his hand through the wall during the summer before eighth grade. There's still a darker stain in the middle of the floor from a forgotten coffee spill that sat for days , and, as he ventures further, locks the door behind him, an ecto gun burn still on the kitchen ceiling. The thermostat doesn't work when he flicks it over to cold, and that hurts too because of course the utilities are off, have been off.

No one's lived here in a long time.

He drops his arm, and stands in the doorway of the kitchen, looks at the slightly off panel of the window where an ecto-weenie escaped and broke the original glass, the replacement glazed and wavey instead of clear. 

Danny laughs softly, and sniffles. Alright, enough of that. Steeling himself, he turns to the doorway down into the basement. Someone shut the door that was never, ever closed and locked it, but he has that key too. It swings open with a creak to a darkness that doesn't scare him like it used to, a long time ago before the accident, but he hesitates anyway.

C'mon down Danno, I'll show you the latest breakthrough me and Mads have come up with!

Dad, at least put a suit on him first. He'll get iridated!

Good ole Jazz, always looking out for him.

Danny lets his hand trail the railing as he descends the stairs, dust collecting across his fingers. By the time he reaches the end, he can hear the faint hum of the generator. He doesn't bother with the lights as he surveys the empty shelves, the lingering but fading dim glow of ectoplasm in the air. It's all gone, and the more he lets the idea sink in, the more he knows Vlad must have done it. 

A not so insignificant part of him's pissed about it, upset at the thought of Vlad or worse, strangers, picking the house over, boxing up their lives. But, Danny squashes it before it can grow and overwhelm him. He should be grateful, right? He'd… He'd have never done this for himself. It makes sense. It's… a good thing. 

Forcing his thoughts back on task, Danny pivots instead to the whole thing that started this mess years and years ago.

Stalwart, the portal stands at attention like it always has, metal casing dull with lack of care. Danny walks over, and lets his hand hover over the outside control panel. Sometimes he used to wonder if his parents cared about this thing more than either him or Jazz, but that feels unfair to think, so he shakes it away. Danny pushes the On button before he can think better of it.

There's a moment where he isn't sure it'll work, that the generator doesn't have enough juice to spark the rip between realities, but then something thunks out of sight. Then, the portal groans, the metal gates peeling apart. Green swirls into being, filling the gloom with neon and light. Danny aches at the sight, hands fisting at his sides. He stands there, but nothing comes through. There hasn't been a ghost sighting in nearly over half a decade now.

His parents' life's work. He'd thought… it'd get to be here forever even if he never saw it himself again — a permanent monument to their memory, for good or ill. But he guesses life isn't fair that way, so. If Danny can't have it, then no one else can.

Light flashes, and Danny slowly lifts off the ground. The pitch grayness turns purple and sharp blue. The portal reaches for him, and he reaches back, core buzzing with recognition. Sensing his intent, the ring and crown join in. The ectoplasm stutters in its lazy counter spiral, and reverses. Focusing, he has it pick up speed, faster, faster, faster. 

Another bright pulse, a whistling wind filling the space. Again, the portal groans, but now a chunk of the outer ring crinkles like paper and tears, the metal breaking free to disappear to the other side. Slowly, more and more rips off, sucked inward. It eats itself up until there's nothing left but the portal itself. Danny lets it slow, ears ringing, and then lets go.

With one last twinkle, the portal winks out. Danny is the only source of light left, the shadows thrown wickedly across the now bare hole in the lab's wall, stripped of its metal plating and now just dry packed dirt. His core thrums with not quite sadness but not quite relief either as he floats back over to the control panel and rips it out of the wall. Wires spark, and he grabs those too despite the sting, the echo of static up his arm. Danny flushes energy up the cords, the smell of burnt copper filling the air.

He looks at the On and Off buttons as he backs up, and stuffs it into his bag, absently noting his gloves and boots are different, that the material of his jumpsuit has changed. He doesn't know when's the last time he looked in the mirror like this, isn't sure he even wants to know what he now looks like dead. Danny flexes his fingers, core buzzing, and.

And, what? Now, his home is just a building, worth only for the land and materials that make it up. The Guys in White will do what they please with it, and there's nothing Danny can do about it. It's not even a home anymore, just a quiet box of memories.

And that is what hurts the most.

His hands curl into fists. Fuck. Fuck.  

He isn't supposed to be mad. He isn't. Danny should be grateful, he knows that, should make another go at showing just how much he now appreciates what Vlad tried to do and actually did for him because in hindsight? Danny was a little asshole, grieving and traumatized, but an asshole nonetheless. Still is, a lot of the time.

But he can't help it. It's red hot and burning, the way he wants to scream at the unfairness, the injustice. He's hurtling through the roof and across the dusky evening sky before he knows it. The wind scores through his hair as he leaves city limits, crosses county lines. Vlad's manson comes into view all too soon, the castle like roofs orange in the dying sunlight. Danny dives through the walls without a thought, only pulling back up once he pinpoints the man himself.

He finds him standing at the island in the kitchen he used to make Danny do homework at, bent at the waist and flipping slowly through a book, mug in hand. A speaker is playing a song from somewhere in the room, a crooning ballad in Russian. The intent of the words comes across as sad, pensive, even though Vlad seems… okay. Seems fine. Seems unbothered, if also pensive, maybe even melancholic. 

Just a little angry too, beneath the gray like blue.

Danny stares at him, unnaturally still just barely a few feet away. He thinks about the different gloves, the boots, and wonders what else is different because. Because Vlad's different now too. His hair is just a little more white than gray now and there's more wrinkles on his face. Just as Danny's grown up, for lack of a better word, Vlad has too — the time has passed here even without Danny around to see it.

He doesn't even realize he's not breathing until he spits, "What the hell did you do with all of, of the stuff from home?" Danny drops the invisibility. "Why did you… who gave you the right—"

Vlad startles, the tea in his mug spilling across the counter. " Fu — Daniel?" he rasps, eyes wide, and seems to drink in the sight of Danny, surprised. "What? Home? I haven't… First time I've seen you in years and the accusations fly right off the bat; you haven't changed a bit—"

"Shut up!" Danny snaps, dropping his bag, and surprisingly he does, mouth clicking shut. "Just, just shut up, I… I went home and everything, everything was…"

It was all gone. Light flares, and Danny stumbles against the kitchen island. His too human hands grip the edge of the marble — he feels it shift under his fingers and can't help but flinch. Monster. He lets go and wraps his hands around his arms instead. Stupid, stupid. 

Are you scared of me?

"It was all gone, where did you take it?" he starts again, but the words wobble, descend into a sob. Through the sudden tears, Vlad looks like a deer caught in headlights. "I thought… why would you…"

Why did Danny think he could do this?

A hand feathers over a shoulder, and Danny realizes he's squeezed eyes shut when he presses them together even harder. "Dan… Danny, how about we sit down?"

He wants to refuse just to be contrary, but what good will that do? Danny wasn't supposed to come here to, what, start a fight? Rehash all the things that just don't need it? Vlad firms the touch, and he goes along with it, lets himself be guided over into the attached den and pressed into a worn recliner. 

Danny remembers curling up here, mad about the forced interaction, seething at the sudden lack of independence. Proving himself untrustworthy stung. It still does, in a way, because… well, Danny still is untrustworthy, isn't he?

Vlad settles himself on the opposite couch, tugging his loose tie off completely. It's an interesting sight to behold — Danny's never seen the man look anything less than well put together except for a few times. Now makes another.

"I, well, I'm glad to see you, Danny," Vlad starts, and smoothes at his wrinkled and untucked shirt for a moment before stopping. Continues, as if Danny didn't exit, stage left like a thief into the night a whole two years ago, with, "It's been awhile hasn't it—"

"W-Why did you clean out the house without asking me? I… I thought that maybe—" Danny stops with a shaky inhale, and scrubs at his eyes. The tears don't stop. "I didn't…"

For a moment, he thinks Vlad will give the usual peacemaking answer, the sort of response that let him get away with being Mayor for two full terms even with Danny making things even harder. Something about it being for his own good, Vlad knowing better. Not an apology, just excuses that make too much sense.

But, then he surprises Danny.

"You… You weren't ready, and I didn't know when or if you ever would be," Vlad admits, more gently than Danny honestly deserves, but frank too. "But things had to be done, and I wanted it to be as painless as possible for you after the… funerals. I wanted your input but I ultimately didn't get it — I'm sorry."

Danny… he remembers a little of that — remembers slamming doors in Vlad's face, lashing out at the mere mention of anything, being distraught that the Mansons had refused to let him attend or even sit Shiva — but all the reminder does is sour the surprise at the admittance of fault. "I wouldn't have wanted it emptied out, not like that, not… You should have tried harder."

If it had been left up to almost fifteen year old Danny? He'd have probably wanted it left exactly as it was.  Would've wanted the food left in the fridge, the dirty dishes in the sink, garbage in the trash, all left to rot as is, his homework left on his desk in his room, Jazz's college applications left on the kitchen table. The RV out front to rust away in the wind, rain and sun. Would've wanted everything left as it was as if they all might have come home at any moment and picked right up where they left off.

Vlad just looks at him, carefully neutral but… genuine, despite the sadness and grief now writhing around him. "I should have. I'm sorry, I truly am. I wanted to wait but I ultimately didn't for many reasons you wouldn't have appreciated. If I'd known you were coming… I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

With a shudder, Danny sucks back on snot, and rubs his arms. "I hate you," he says, and doesn't mean it. Hasn't in a long time, probably. "I hate that they're gone."

Because, yes, Danny lost his family, but so did Vlad despite his… everything, up until then. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and even as fraught as their relationship was before, as fraught as it was with his old best friends on his end, Vlad tried so damn hard after, and will sit here and just take it because he blames himself for just as much as Danny blames himself. He sees that now.

Doesn't mean he's any good at taking it into account yet — man was an absolute freak to fourteen year old Danny, but. People can change, and for the better, hopefully.

"I… that's not fair, I don't… hate you," Danny amends, rubs again at his eyes. Ugh. "I just… wasn't expecting that. "

Vlad winces at that. "Not that I don't deserve a few harsh words flung in my direction every now and then to keep me on my toes." He's quiet for a moment. "I… have everything in storage. Here. I still have it all; I knew you'd want it, eventually."

Danny sags back into the chair, more unfair things nipping at the back of his lips, and reroutes the conversation. "Well, as long as the GiW pays fairly for the land and building, I guess it doesn't matter — you got everything worthwhile out, and I took care of the portal. It's gone."

"Oh," Vlad murmurs, blinking, stunned. Danny wishes he'd paid more attention back then — to how the man actually feels beneath the careful veneer. "Oh, that's… good. Are you okay?"

Is Danny okay? Probably not; the last few months have been a bit of a rollercoaster, one hit after another, but. 

"No, but I… I finally think I will be," he admits, playing with his hands. "Don't think I've ever said, but thank you for taking me in when I asked. For trying. And I'm sorry about… that day, I just…"

Vlad makes a soft noise, and Danny startles when he stands, crosses the scant feet between them to drop to his knees next to Danny. Tentatively, he reaches for Danny's hands, and when they aren't pulled away, folds them between his own. There are wrinkles there too, silvery scars and crooked knuckles. 

It's warm, almost uncomfortably so, but not.

"My dear boy, I did not try nearly as hard as I should have, you've nothing to be sorry for. I was the adult in our situation, and a fool to think it would be easy enough to stumble my way through it all," Vlad says, eyes on their hands. His core pulses hesitantly through the touch, and Danny allows his to reach back — they resonate, a careful, harmonic circle of hot and cold. "I should have seen the signs, I should have locked my lab up; there's a lot I could have done better, and not getting you the help you so dearly needed somehow is something I will never forgive myself for."

How would Vlad have done that anyway? Without jeopardizing their secrets and chancing the eye of the Anti-Ecto acts? He was just one, lonely guy suddenly in charge of a whole other human being. Sure he volunteered but… money can only get you so far, and Aunt Alicia couldn't , and it's better with family or friends than the system, right? Danny should be grateful for what he got, even if he squandered it, right?

Why don't I feel that way then? 

Danny grips Vlad's hands tighter.

There was just as much to blame on me too, right?

"I'm sorry," Danny repeats. "I… the bus trip to Ampark wore me out, and then I saw the house and took care of the portal and then flew here—"

"You're tired after a long day, I can understand that," Vlad says, allowing the out. "There's a lot we need to… talk about, but it can wait until tomorrow at least."

Tomorrow. Just one more night.

"S-Sounds good to me," he agrees.

Just one more night.

Chapter Text

This is Danny's last chance.

His finger hovers over the last button, the last digit, and he bites his bottom lip. The small, open wound there stings, but he digs in with his teeth anyway, the pain grounding. This is his last chance. Danny's tried everything else and he just doesn't understand—

He sucks in a breath, and presses the last button. The phone begins to ring, and he wraps the coiled wire of the landline around his fingers, tugs on it as it rings, and it rings, and it rings.

Maybe he should try back later. Maybe it's just the wrong time. Again. For the fifth time in a few days. He's trying earlier today, before lunch but not too early. They'll answer him this time, won't they? He doesn't know how it should work, since Sam… since Sam was—

"Manson Residence, Jeremy speaking."

"Mr. Manson!" Danny gasps, curling over the phone. Don't cry. Don't cry. "Mr. Manson, h-hi, this is Danny, Danny Fenton? I was just, I didn't know, were there any… any…" 

The man sighs, and Danny stops, heart pounding. "Son, please stop calling. We already told Masters that everything would be family only."

That's a punch to the gut if there ever was one. Vlad knew? And didn't tell Danny? Let him be so stupid and bother them when, when—

"I'm sorry, I just," Danny starts, squeezing his eyes shut, "I just… can I bring flowers? Or a-anything? I'll just drop them off if I can know where—"

"No, Daniel. Now please stop calling."

The line clicks. Danny sits there through the dial tone for a very, very long moment. Then, there's a loud crack and he's staring at the shattered remains of the handset and base, on his feet and just, he can barely breathe—

Hands close around his wrists. Danny screams, human and ugly and loud, and then shoves. Through the tears, he sees Vlad stumble against the dresser, hears the door to this disused guestroom slam shut. Raising his fists, he winces, startled to see that his knuckles are busted and bloody, that there's blood smeared across the wallpaper torn, cracked and splintered stone wall. The pain rises like a tidal wave, and the nasty swell of rage falls apart between his throbbing fingers.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he sobs, "They, he said, family only but I know they—"

They hate me. They've never liked me. Never liked my parents, and if we'd never been friends, Sam never would've—

"Daniel, please calm down, you're hurting yourself," Vlad says, hair loose and in his face. He pushes himself upright, and his eyes are wide and unsure. "I only just—"

Danny swings for the wall again, and it craters, the force shaking up the entire room, dust flying. Random, lifeless pictures fall to the floor, frames cracking and splintering. It hurts. But it… it feels good too. Danny wants that, wants to stop feeling this way and feel that.

Wants to bring the sky crashing down around his ears.

His core bleats with offense, feels like a shaken up soda, fizzy and bubbly with pressure. "Leave me alone!" he screams, and the words go strange, picking up oddly in the middle and at the end. Danny whirls on Vlad. "Why did I even think you'd — I hate you!"

The man freezes, and Danny shoves past him. He grabs for the door knob and feels it spark. With a hiss he lets go, gives a mindless yell in frustration, and then goes through the door itself instead. He doesn't get far before tripping onto a bed frame. 

Shocked, Danny pauses, heartbeat a drum solo in his ears, and gropes blindly at the green blanket under his hands. He snaps his eyes around, takes in the neon purple decorations and dark red walls, the swinging canopy and plump pillows.

"What," he whispers, confused, and curls his fingers. 

Like a hive of upset hornets, his core buzzes, drawing on the sudden flush of ambient ectoplasm. Light sparks, but Danny douses it, the embers of his gutted rage fanning back into a storm. Ice begins to spread from his fingers, and he rips his hands away, the faux comforter tearing.

Gasping, he stumbles back, chest heaving. This. This is the Ghost Zone isn't it? Where—

Again, his core vibrates, pulses with a conflicting sense of MINE and PROTECT even as Danny wants to hurt . Red fills his vision, and he grabs for the nearest pillow, rips it in half. Fluff immediately flies. The niggling voice hiccups. He goes for another, goes for the hanging canopy. Goes for a chair, throws it at the wall and watches it splinter. 

By the time Danny flags, utterly spent, a lot of things are just… broken. He finds himself sitting on an uncomfortable lounging chair, a table on its side to his immediate left. His hands are dark and misshapen, and the bones move weird when he flexes them. It hurts, so he clenches and unclenches them a couple times, the pain clearing away the cloud of exhaustion.

Danny doesn't want to be here. He doesn't… want this. Doesn't want to feel this way anymore. Palming his chest, he digs his fingers into the thin material of his shirt and scores the skin; his core is right there. If he could just… just get rid of it—

If he'd never gotten these powers, never stepped foot in the portal, none of them would be dead. 

It's what hurts. 

"O-Oh," Danny says to the empty room. "I know what I need."

And he knows exactly where to get it.

Chapter Text

It's late, whatever time it is.

Danny steps back into the room he left after some trial and error, and Vlad isn't there. The phone's been swept up, the pictures rehung or missing entirely, but. Vlad isn't there. Good.

He shuts the door behind him, watches as the dusty gold returns to the purple knob, and then reopens the door. The manor hallway greets him with the vague idea of displeasure and disappointment. Danny curls his lip, and somewhere the Dairy King must flinch. 

Something's… different, but that doesn't matter. Nothing really matters, but for some reason, Danny's pretty sure Vlad is holed up somewhere to the west, above ground, and he can… feel his portal. He already knows where the lab is, regardless. Dropping through the floor, Danny ghosts over a couple hallways, half following memory, half muddled and nascent yearning. Before he really knows it, he finds himself where he needs to be.

The lights are dim, the portal swirling behind see through glass. Shadows play across the stone lab walls and metal equipment, panels of buttons flickering. No alarm sounds, so Danny uncaringly sweeps across the room, beelinging for the small collection of boxes tucked in the corner.

It's a blur, what he grabbed and left behind, but he thinks he brought what he needs. Danny reaches for a box, and pauses, frowning limply at the tucked flaps. Vlad's been in these, but he can't muster the offense from earlier, curiously empty save for the spurt and throb of his hands. 

He doesn't find what he wants in the first one, the contents mussed from their neat setting, but as soon as he tries the next one, he hits jackpot.

Gleaming in the sharp light, two sets of gloves sit before him. Slightly confused, he hefts the one set and can't immediately see the difference. Did… were there always two sets of these? Danny chews on his lip, and shrugs internally to himself. As long as they do the same thing, what does it matter, right? Better than the ghost catcher.

Standing, Danny shuffles a few feet away, and carefully fits one gauntlet over a hand. It immediately starts to glow green, and when he flexes the fingers, claws pop free, sharp and wicked. Huh. Maybe it's a new version he hadn't… seen. Whatever.

The other goes on just as easily, and Danny listlessly looks them over, turns his hands around and back. It shouldn't hurt, but he doesn't think he'll mind even if it does. With a huff, Danny folds his wrists, touches the tips of the claws to his chest. His core thrums, uneasy, just underneath.

"Leave me alone," he whispers, and.

There is an agonizing flare of pain, a scream that doubles, and the unmistakable sound of something tearing. 

Then, Danny's looking up from the floor, achingly cold and light and alone, everything dull and grayed at the edges. The metal gloves fall from his hands with brittle cracks against stone. Everything still hurts, but it's blunted, almost like it's far away. It's quiet now too. This doesn’t feel like last time.

This… this is what he wanted? Right? He can't… can't quite remember the feeling.

"Why… why did you do that?"

Struggling to keep his eyes open, Danny turns his head, and blinks slowly at the sight before him. Oh. It's not… not quite like looking into a mirror, but it's close enough. 

Danny looks at Danny, but not quite.

Vivid green eyes bore into him, dark circled and freckle dusted; there’s no cape, no annoyingly bright smile this time. "Why did you do that?" Phantom cries, tears falling down his cheeks and clinking against the floor, small pearls of ice. "Why would you ever—"

"D-Daniel?"

It's like a switch flips. Vlad hurries into view, a spinning shadow thumping into the ghost’s back. Phantom's face suddenly swims with rage. He tries to call out, but it's too late. In a blur of white, there's a crash, and Danny gasps shallowly at the following shout of pain.

"This is your fault!"

No. No, it's Danny's, theirs, why is he—

Something topples over. Something shatters. Danny shudders through one breath, then another. Things go quiet. Just on the edge of his vision, his other self limps into view, dragging a very human Vlad by his torn and bloodied shirt. He drops the man and stumbles over, stares down at Danny for a long and inscrutable moment.

"Fine, don't answer, coward," he mutters, tears dripping off his cheeks, freezing still mid-air, and then crouches, scoops up the claw tipped gauntlets. 

"Don't," Danny whispers, croaks, but Phantom ignores him, turning away with a set, blank expression. "D-Don't…"

He can only watch as the ghost drops down to straddle the man, carefully fit the gloves over his hands and flex the fingers. Danny feels so empty, so lonely, and so exhausted — he tries to lift a hand and barely manages to twitch his fingers. 

Move! he shouts at himself. Move!

"D-Daniel," Vlad murmurs, eyes slowly blinking between them.

"Not him," Phantom hisses, and clicks the claws, spreading them over Vlad's chest. "He… he doesn't want me, so I'm not him, and you… you can't have Plasmius either. That's fair. That'll make it fair."

No. No, no, no. Vlad smiles, crooked and resigned, limp beneath the best and worst parts of Danny. He hadn't— he'd just thought it would—

"Don't," he cries, shoulders shaking as he manages to roll over, but. This isn't right. This isn't what happened. "Don't, don't, it's not his fault—"

"I don't care!" the mirrored half of himself screams, and rears back one wickedly curved hand, white hair billowing like wind charged flames. "I don't care, I don't care — why is he still here when they aren't? It's not fair, it's not fair—"

This is a dream.

This is a dream. 

WAKE. UP.

The realization hits. Danny sits up with a gasp, heart pounding in his ears, and tries to stumble upright and onto his feet, but the blankets and bed are unfamiliar, denser than he's used to. The summer quilt twists around his legs, sends him halfway off the bed and onto the floor. He lays there for a very long moment, the breath kicked from his lungs, startled.

It’s still dark. He’s at Vlad’s. Everything is... fine. Danny slowly sits himself up, leveraging half way back onto the bed before deciding, actually, no, the floor is better. Fuck. With a soft noise, he slides back down, taking the blanket with him. Danny drags himself forward so that he can collapse flat on his back between the bed and the wall. The ceiling keeps him preoccupied for all of a moment.

That… isn’t what happened. Danny tiredly grips the ring through the low cut of the night shirt, core a second heartbeat beneath, and closes his eyes. He may not remember a whole lot, but. That isn’t what happened.

The memory pushes itself forward like a storm, riding in on the perfect system of swooping high and low pressure. Danny looking at his dead double, at vivid green eyes baring dark circles; there’s no cape, no annoyingly bright smile. Phantom collapsed whereas Danny stayed standing, the pale shade descending into immediate sobs, tears glittering pearls of ice as they tink, tink, tink on the stone floor. It felt like he'd been scooped out, accidentally left just slightly adjacent to his actual body. 

Phantom gasped with a sticky, "Why would you do that? Why, why—" as Danny dropped the gauntlets and then just. 

Walked away. 

He… He doesn't remember thinking about it, but he must have, right? At some point Danny thought about it, his core bleating with MINE and PROTECT. But then it wasn't there to say much of anything at the moment, was it? Protect Danny from what… he hadn't realized at the time. 

Didn't realize until he'd climbed up the too many stairs and ambled toward Vlad's bedroom. Until he'd found himself in the man's bathroom, staring numbly at the array of over the counter medication behind the mirror. 

A lot of it was still sealed, a few years out of date and meant only for show, clearly, but. The labels always said don't take too much, this is the recommended amount, be careful. Be careful of what, Danny'd already died once, what's one more time? Maybe it'd stick this time. He remembers grabbing the allergy pills, the cough syrup, but after that?

After that, not so much. 

Of course, what he really remembers is after… that. Being made to do his homework at the kitchen island, being made to spend more time than not outside of his room. Vlad hovering, being stricter but not at the same time, removing anything sharper than a case knife from easy human reach and emptying every bathroom cabinet. He remembers being angry about it all, but also… not. Remembers sleeping in random rooms because why not. 

Danny doesn't really remember the hospital, and forgot about the lingering shade in the corner up until he couldn’t.

It might’ve been… some handful of months later at that point, maybe a bit more. He’d been vaguely aware that people had visited, but those had been the rare times Vlad hadn’t forced him to see anyone at all, homeschool requirements be damned. So it came as a surprise when Danny woke up one late evening to see his ghost huddled up against the side of the bed, looking decidedly less than dead.

Danny remembers looking into his own tear streaked and bitter face and just not caring.

“Vlad wants to put us back together,” Phantom said into the silence, shifting, and the large glass bottle in one hand drew Danny’s attention, the dark liquid swishing. “Told ‘em about the ghost catcher, but that there’s no point if you don’t want it.”

I don’t, is what Danny had wanted to say, but the words weren’t forthcoming then. What did he want that he could even have? 

“And, I thought this could… help, but I guess not.” Phantom brandished the bottle, but in the red gloom of sunset, Danny still couldn’t really make it out. “Fruitloop’s got a lot in the basement, y’know? Figured he wouldn’t miss one. Saw him drinking a little a month ago and… I don’t know, it made him less upset.”

Danny had uncurled at that. “What do you mean?” he croaked, dropping his feet over the edge of the bed. Phantom looked up at him, blue eyes flashing green — they hadn’t spoken to each other since. Since. “Is that…”

The ghost pushed the bottle into his hands, and yeah. It’d been a half empty bottle of wine. Warm, and ultimately nasty, but Phantom had been right. It made him feel less upset, made him realize he was still even upset in the absence of it. So much so that when a few more months went by, and Vlad tentatively brought up the elephant in the room, Danny said yes. 

Well, he’d said, “Sure,” in a noncommittal way, buzzed enough to not care about the hungry look in Phantom’s gaze, the sheer relief in Vlad’s. The man had been making noises about seeing someone, and Danny hadn’t wanted that, echoes of Spectra’s voice coming unbidden from the mire. Almost couldn’t believe Vlad would chance it — but the alcohol made it easier to be easygoing, so. 

It wasn’t all that different from playing a role for his parents. We'll tear you apart molecule by molecule, ghost! For Jazz. We should tell them. Hell, even for Sam and Tucker. Are you okay? 

They wouldn't have actually done that to him. They didn't need to know, though. Danny was okay.

In a way, it was almost easier to be what Vlad wanted to see, to tell him the things he wanted, needed, to hear. Most of the time, anyway — Danny knew better than to drink all of the time. Knew he needed to brush his teeth more often, to do his own laundry, to get his homework done, and say yes. To do all of that just… just to be able to drink enough to take the edge off when he truly couldn’t help it.

A slippery slope if there ever was one, hah.

What had Vlad cared, anyway. It was all about his ideal family image in the end, right? 

Wrong? Danny thinks tiredly to himself, and finally drifts back off to sleep.

Chapter Text

And this is what 'you' also remember:

The crack of your knees on the floor, the tinkle of your frozen tears. A savage pit of despair, a roiling anger, a bone-chilling sense of emptiness. Agonizing seconds, minutes, passing. A whistle of air, a hard twap across the back of the head. Vlad, shirt wrinkled and eyes wide, confused. 

He'd said something, called his name, and the blistering rage boiled over like untended rice in too small a pot.

Then. Red blood over your taloned hands, screaming, screaming, screaming. Green blood on Vlad's face, weeping gashes down his arms. Blood on the floor. It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair—

Then. A stillness so jarring you felt like the world itself had stopped moving. Dread suffused you. Tic, tic, tic. Fear. Fear. Fear. A void except I'm so tired.

"I'm dying!" you remember screaming, just knowing as the world restarted, all the air rushing back in with a snap. You'd thrashed weakly, Vlad panting above you, hands wrapped around your wrists, weight heavy across your back. "I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm—"

'You' didn't die, but at the time you know he wished he had.

Chapter Text

Danny wakes up slowly for once.

Morning light is steel blue and pale yellow against the wall. He lays there a moment before unwinding, stretching hard enough he hears more than one bone pop. His head hurts, a faint headache, and he smacks his lips.

"Thirsty," he mumbles, throwing an arm over his eyes for a moment. 

Ugh.

He pulls himself upright and off the floor after a few more minutes of wallowing, digs out some more socks from his bag, shoves his cell phone into his pocket. Danny feels vaguely well enough to face the day, though thinking about the night before makes his chest feel weird, like a prickly mess of too late embarrassment and uncertainty. Pressing roughing over his face, Danny sighs and leaves the barely furnished bedroom. 

Danny'd picked it at random after they'd turned in for the night. Too tired, too strung out to talk anymore. Vlad probably figured he'd haunt his old room, but. He couldn't muster the courage to.

What if… What if it'd been cleared out too, y'know? Something silly to worry about, in all honesty — it's Vlad's home, and he can do what he wants with it. Though Danny isn't so sure the man dared to touch a thing after he… ran off. 

It's probably just as he left it, however that was, the details indistinct and blurry.

Pausing halfway down the hall, Danny frowns, glancing bleary-eyed around. Hm. Unwilling to get lost in what amounts to some ghost's lair — even if it is just Vlad — he focuses, and pinpoints the flickering flame of the man's tightly leashed hurt, relief and… affection? Ah. Is that what that was last night?

Huh. Danny is just not going to… dwell on that. Nodding to himself, he carefully follows the source and ends up in the same kitchen from the night before. Now bright with sunlight, he takes in the same old subtle Packers decorations that fill the space. The smell of cooking bacon and blueberries makes Danny's stomach growl, covering up his snort.

At the stove, Vlad turns at the sound with a crooked smirk, hair only loosely corralled into the usual ponytail and clad in the fuzziest, pink housecoat Danny has ever seen. "Ah, led by the stomach, I see."

Well, that's convenient. "You know me," Danny agrees because it used to be true enough, and he does not want to engage in another heart-to-heart this early about Rights by Conquest. No one's cooked him food like this in a long time, so let's just focus on that. "What we got?"

"Turkey bacon, eggs, and pancakes," the man replies, going back to flip the aforementioned flapjack. "There's juice, water, and milk in the fridge, help yourself."

Danny bobs his head and sidles around the island to awkwardly stick his head in the fridge. He eyes the orange juice, fingers hovering over the jug's handle, and pauses, spotting the wine on the top shelf. His hands drift — the bottles are cool to the touch, and he doesn't even like wine. Fuck. Sucking back on his teeth, Danny yanks the orange juice out and maybe shuts the fridge too hard if Vlad's confused look means anything.

Might actually have to talk about… that. Just to head off anything because Danny's going to have to come back, he knows that, but it's just… a weakness, and. And, even with nearly one fourth of Danny's sum total of existence between now and freshman year of high school, it still feels wrong to tell Vlad of all people how to fuck him up so easily if he wanted to. Push a drink under his nose right now, press and prod, and it's going to be way too hard to say no. Not to just take a little taste and then not stop.

What's the harm?

Don't hit me, please!

Mood soured, Danny grabs a glass from the rack by the sink and sits down at the island where cracks are just visible from last night. He pours the juice with one hand and rubs at the seams with the other, filling the breaks with just a little ectoplasm. Vlad finds him innocently sipping from the glass when he turns around again, plates in hand.

But maybe the man did know him well enough because he frowns at Danny and pulls the plate back just a hair when he reaches for it. "What's wrong?" Vlad asks, brow furrowed. 

Nothing is on the tip of his tongue, an easy enough lie, but Danny's supposed to be doing better at this, so he swallows that back and says, "S'alright with you if we eat first?"

Squinting at him, Vlad lets him take the plate and settles where he stands. "Of course, Dan… Danny," he says, and reaches over for the remote wrapped in plastic. Danny watches as he turns on the little television on the opposite counter — sports casting, by the muffled sound of it. "You can change your mind too. We'll… we'll have plenty of time for it all, catching up, I hope?"

"Yeah," Danny agrees, and scoots the bacon away with his fork, damp anxiety turning his stomach at the sight of it. "You… you can call me Daniel, if you want."

Vlad doesn't immediately reply to that, cutting neatly into his pancakes. "... Do you want me to call you that?"

Scooping some eggs into his mouth, Danny looks away. "Not really," he admits.

"I'll stick with Danny then."

They don't really talk more after that. Danny can just make out the commentators' speculations, and zones out a bit watching the would-be players run drills and laps. He doesn't realize he's stopped eating until Vlad starts to take the plate away, his fork clinking against the ceramic.

"Uh, thanks," he mumbles and relinquishes the fork and knife, most of the plate empty anyway. 

"Do you… not like turkey bacon?" 

Caught off guard, Danny blinks slowly. "I don't… I'm not strict about it but I don't really eat most meat anymore. Did I never tell you that?"

He thought he had, somewhere in the three years he was here, but. Perhaps it's more likely he'd just… refused to eat and let Vlad struggle to figure out what he would eat so he wouldn't 'starve.' Unwilling to explain, unreasonably worried he'd… be questioned about it, and then upset the man didn't just know even though Danny knew he wasn't a mind reader. Yeah, that sounds about right.

"No, but it's good to know now," Vlad says easily, and dumps the plates in the sink after popping the two leftover strips into his own mouth. 

Danny hums and taps his fingers along the edge of the island. Vlad levels him with an unimpressed eyebrow raise, left palm splaying in a go on gesture. With a sigh, he looks to the ceiling, but the floating rack of pots and pans do not provide a sufficient distraction.

Hrgh.

"I'm… I'm going on a few weeks sober right now," he says to the ceiling, curling his senses close, rushing the words out. It's like ripping off a band-aide; be quick, be fast, it'll hurt less, right? "I… well, I am? An alcoholic. It's still a work in progress, but, like, if you could just… hide your liquor from me? Out of sight, out of mind, ya feel?"

The ensuing silence is deafening. All Danny hears is his own heartbeat, his own breath. He squeezes his eyes shut, biting his lip. Is he… disappointed? Mad? Thrilled to see more of Danny's failures? Why won't he just say something?

But then he hears Vlad exhale, feels the bloom of concern and determination break across his cheeks. Then he hears the fridge open. Danny snaps to attention and watches in mute bewilderment as the man plucks the bottles of chilled wine from the fridge. Watches as he methodically tucks them into his arms and then just.

Walks off through the nearest wall.

Danny doesn't know what to do except wait, rooted to the spot. It gives him time to work the roar of his heart down to a steadier mewl and finish the orange juice. Vlad rises up from the floor by the fridge upon his return, fuzzy housecoat gone, the sleeves to the day old wrinkled button-up rolled up past his elbows. He looks… frazzled, upset. Feels frazzled and upset. 

Uh oh.

"You… have you already been to the cellar?" he asks, stricken. "If… I didn't. I'm so sorry, I hardly ever go down there and—"

"Huh?" Danny says, confused, maybe even a little offended. He's… not that bad. Hopefully. "The cellar? I haven't—"

Wait. Danny cuts himself off, brows furrowing as he stares blankly at the marble top of the island. The cellar. The cellar. Oh. Depression really does ruin your memory, huh — he almost forgot again.

"Huh," he repeats hollowly, "yeah, actually, I have been. Like not now, don't worry, but… before."

All the color drains from Vlad's face. "Before? What do you mean before, there are so many bottles missing, when would you have even—"

With a sharp inhale, Vlad cuts himself off. His distress folds in on itself like origami, the final result something Danny is all too well acquainted with: self-loathing.

He stands. "Vlad, no, look, I… what could you do? I was a superpowered child and very good at hiding what I didn't want seen. Don't, don't blame yourself, I was real fucking good at hiding it after—"

Vlad raises a hand and Danny stifles the age-old instinct to duck, instead just falling quiet. "It doesn't matter, Danny," he says roughly, eyes fluttering. "I was the adult, you were the child. I should have, and could have, done better. I took the 'good' changes in your behavior for granted and didn't look closer until it was much too late. I've failed you so much, but I hope you'll still allow me the chance to make up for it. I'll be better. I promise you, I will."

Flexing his hands, Danny swallows against the knot in his throat. "I believe you," he says, and for lack of a better idea, opens his arms. 

The older man makes a small noise and walks through half the island to wrap Danny up in a hug. It's tight and warm, and a small part of Danny contemplates picking Vlad up, but the touch is too nice to screw up. He just tucks his face in Vlad's neck and inhales shakily. Fuck. Damn. Crying sucks.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Danny mumbles. "I'm going to be better too, I'm so, so sorry."

Vlad cups the back of his head, and for a brief and electrifying moment, it's Jazz, it's Dad, it's Mom. A sob breaks free, and, God, Danny is tired of crying, hasn't he done enough of all that? 

"You were a child, I need you to understand that," Vlad says, the words choked. "You were grieving and depressed. You just wanted peace any way you could have it."

Peace. That really is what Danny wanted, isn't it? Even before the explosion, and arguably before even the accident. But the gauntlets didn't work. Cutting neat lines across his thighs didn't work. But then the alcohol… It helped a lot. It shut up the worst of the anxieties, and became a habit somewhere along the way.

Then he woke up on his eighteenth birthday, thought Fuck it, and just left.

A child. He was such a child because he was one.

"W-When'd you get so smart, you old Fruitloop?" Danny jokes, sniffling. 

Vlad laughs, the sound strangely deep and soothing — such a marked difference, what time does. "Therapy, believe it or not. Think you might give it a try now?"

Ah. “Maybe,” he offers quietly, not too sure about it honestly. “I’ll think about it.”

Not like he doesn’t have so much other shit to think about, but what’s one more for the list. Danny sighs and tentatively lets go. Vlad backs up easy enough, wiping none too subtly at his own eyes. That actually felt nice. Ugh.

“That’s all I ask,” Vlad says, and then gives him a quick once over, searching. For what, Danny doesn’t know, so he crosses his arms at the look. “It’s… early yet, but I do think we have quite a bit to talk about. Do you want a break?”

Shrugging, Danny looks down at the man's slipper clad feet; they match the missing housecoat. “I’d rather keep going,” he says, aware that if he stops now he may not say all that he needs, wants, to say. 

Vlad inclines his head, then continues with, “You said you took care of the portal?”

“Yeah, I, uh, stripped that part of the wall bare — nothing’s left except ruined wiring and dirt,” Danny says, glad for the change in topic. He glances unsurely between the den and the barstool, but Vlad makes the choice by wandering away to the same seating from last night; Danny follows, mirroring Vlad as he sits. “I’ll go back and dig around behind the wall plates another time before they… do whatever.”

“And how exactly did you do all that? Do I need to dispose of anything?”

“Oh, no, it’s all gone, I —” Danny pauses, brow furrowing. Huh. How… did he know to do that? Yikes, he’ll worry about that later — “I took care of it. No clean up needed unless I find something in the walls.”

Knowing Mom and Dad, there’s ecto-blasters in there somewhere. Maybe even in the floor. 

“Well, the GiW haven’t sent an actual offer of purchase yet, but… if you’d like to just take their offer we can do that or we can fight it. I’m more than willing to drag this through the courts.”

Danny shakes his head. “It’s alright, I’ll take the offer,” he says, even though it’s not, not really. “No need to make them more aware of us than they need to be.”

Court fights get ugly, right? At least, that’s what Darryl’s said in his own experience; Danny would like to not experience it if he can. The world is a much stranger and reasoned but aware place than it used to be when he was fourteen. Everyone would have loved and hated it in equal measure. Plus, he'd actually have use for the money now; best to think of it like a gift that way — glass half full.

“Speaking of,” Danny continues, “you gave Valerie my number? I hadn’t spoken to her since the funerals, and I feel like you knew that.”

The guilt is minute but there at his words. “I’ll confess that I was rather at my wit’s end about contacting you,” Vlad says, wincing. “I am sorry about that.”

“S’fine. I’ll stop… changing my number. Think my carrier was getting annoyed anyway.”

That gets a chuckle, and they lapse into a bit of silence. Well, that’s a couple things somewhat neatly tied up. Danny supposes he could… move on to the more exciting things. Fuck, what time even is it? He’s getting so much done so early for once it feels like an out of body experience. 

Clearing his throat, Danny rubs a little nervously at the nape of his neck, playing slightly with the chain for the ring, and Vlad narrows his eyes. “So—”

“Are those tattoos?” he interrupts, and Danny freezes. Vlad simmers with curiosity, intrigue, and something he can't quite place. Then clear shock. “Is that… a ring?”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Danny starts again, waving his hands. Shit. He forgot — divert, divert, divert. “I, uh, have a kid!”

Vlad’s eyes go as wide as saucers. Fuck. Stupid, not like that. Danny groans, hiding his face in his hands. Yeah, that sounds super great. An alcoholic — married? — father. Ugh.

After a pregnant — hah — pause, Vlad shifts. “You’re… a father?” Danny peeks at him from between his fingers, and is only met with bewilderment and bemusement, a terribly domesticated sense of concern and care. Who even is this man? “Is the child like… us?”

Danny hates his life right now. More than he ever has, he thinks, and that’s saying something. 

“Let me… try that again,” Danny croaks, choked, and drags his hands down his face, cheeks hots. Damn. “Yes… and no these are tattoos. Yes I’m kinda a dad, I guess. No, I'm not married.”

“You guess?” Vlad echoes, confused. 

“You’ve met Bruce Wayne, right?” 

The man doesn't fall for the non sequitur, but scoffs anyway, clearly humoring Danny. “Yes, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting the man a few times; our circles don’t overlap too much usually, though.” Vlad squints at him. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“So, you know how everyone just says he plucks kids off the street to adopt, right?” Danny pushes, aggrieved. “What if I said I kinda did the same? Except, as you well know, I’m living under a false name?”

The realization dawns, and Vlad pinches the bridge of his nose. “Bleeding heart, Daniel,” he says, and then furrows his brow harshly. “Danny. And this is not meant to be… cruel, but how exactly do you think you can take care of a child?”

Ouch, but fair. “I feel like you're laborin' under a misconception here — kid's not a baby, s'more like a teen, I think, and problem is he's actually… kinda like us. So it was me or, uh, human trafficking, maybe?”

This is definitely better than a child out of wedlock — or in? — right? Is Vlad even old fashioned like that? Is he one of those people who hate tattoos? Danny truly realizes the shallow depths at which he knows the man before him at that moment. Who is Vlad Masters, truly? 

He… went to college, but did he ever actually finish? Does he like anything besides the Green Bay Packers? What does he even do day-to-day? He's not the mayor anymore, right? Without Mom and Dad around… what does he care about?

“... My point still stands, unfortunately.” Danny works his jaw mulishly, frustrated now on two fronts. “I can see you’re set on this though. Does this have to… do with the ring? Or the tattoos? You tend to have a reason for the things you do, I know now.”

"Maybe," he says, and then sighs, sagging his shoulders. Wasn't he not gonna talk about this today? "I'm attached, what can I say."

Vlad frowns. "I wager it's a bit more than that."

So, so perceptive when he wants to be, huh. "Yeah, yeah, okay," Danny starts, and pulls lightly at the chain of the ring to dangle it in the light — it preens. "But, uh, well. Turns out I won the right to Rule by conquest in that fight with Pariah. Go figure."

There's a flash of stark surprise, a dart of jealousy, but it's immediately overwhelmed by tempered concern. "... Never a dull moment with you," Vlad says after a moment, gaze on the necklace. "That's the ring of rage."

"Yep," Danny says, popping the p. Nothing to worry about here, he is unbothered about it. Hah. "And the tats? The crown. Had to get creative about it."

“Hm.” Vlad takes a moment to digest that. “So… you’re the Ghost King.”

“Yes.”

The jealousy is there again, and Danny tries his best to not let the apprehension show on his face, the tentative camaraderie dissipating. Don’t ask, don’t ask, he thinks, fingers curling into fists. Vlad’d wanted the throne, right? That’s what had kicked that whole shitshow off in the first place except… the ring and crown chose Danny despite it all.

"Okay," he says, and Danny narrows his eyes, probing the man's well of mixed emotions. "Are you… Pariah Dark was, ah, well…"

"I won't be him." Well, he'll try anyway. "I haven't… I don't know yet if Pariah was just like that or if something happened to him, but I won't be him. We — and by we I mean me, the crown, and ring — have come to an agreement, more or less."

Intrigue rears its head again. "They have intelligence of their own?" 

Danny nods slightly, feels vaguely like a bug beneath a microscope — Vlad was friends with Mom and Dad for a reason, obviously. "Oh, do they," he admits, chuckling, and barely aborts a nervous palm at the ring. "I have no idea why they chose me out of us all in that fight."

Which is a bit of a lie, but. Danny doesn't think he could stand to contemplate it anymore than he already has right now. 

Why me, why not literally anyone else? What do I have that none of them did? 

Or, was it better me than any of you?

Finally the man drags his gaze back up off the ring, and smirks, just a little, over a surge of vague shame — thank fuck. "I'd like to think I helped enough for consideration, at least."

"Yeah, you would, wouldn't you," Danny jokes back, and the man rolls his eyes, the uncomfortable air waning. The ring and crown do not deign to answer one way or another. "But, I have it all in hand alright? I'm not asking for a handout or anything."

"I want to help, if you need or want it; nothing would be a ‘handout’ as you say," he returns easily, sitting up straighter, which startles Danny because he hadn't even noticed the lack of posture, too focused on the inner turmoil. "But I think we should take a break here, unless there is anything pressing you must say right this moment?" 

Blinking, Danny becomes aware of the ache just behind his eyes, and he rubs at one. "A break?" he echoes, unsure how he should feel about the shift in colors, the recession of vibrancy.

The light is still bright, still sunny, but at the thought searing. It stings all of a sudden, his dry mouth returning with a vengeance as he consciously pulls back into himself. 

Oh.

"It's almost noon, Danny, we've been talking for about three hours."

Oh.

"We can take a break," Danny says because if he feels raw, Vlad must feel flayed, having kept a brave front anyway. The man looks brittle in a way that he’s trying so hard not to feel. "I think… I'll take a nap, actually. That cool?"

“Very much,” he says, amused, and stands, tugging at a nonexistent tie. “I do have a bit of work to get to, but by all means rest. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Danny nods with a meek, “Okay.”

Awkwardly, he lets Vlad leave the room, unsure what else to say. Danny ends up sprawling over the now vacated couch, curling over a pillow and dragging the afghan off the back of the cushions. In the near silence, he becomes aware of his slowing heart, the still lingering exhaustion. He’d felt none of it really in the moment, but now it’s all he can think about. 

He’s not sure what he expected, honestly. An argument? Like, they almost had one but then… Vlad backed off. Not once, but a few times, though he clearly had thoughts on what Danny’s said and done. Maybe… outright envy about the Ghost King bit, but even that was swallowed back, though it took a moment. 

Danny’s said a lot but it feels like not much has been resolved. 

Briefly, he entertains the thought of reaching out to Vlad again, just to see how he feels now, no longer right in front of Danny, but it feels a bit gross. Bad enough to have not trusted the man outright, but he’s allowed that right? To have not trusted Vlad?

Which isn't to say he trusts Vlad now, nothing is that easy, but it’s something they can work towards, he thinks. Vlad will try and that’s what matters; Danny believes that much. No one’s perfect… still feels bad though. 

“Mmrgh,” he grumbles, and stuffs his face into the pillow. 

A few minutes pass that way. The sports casting is quiet, and Danny is nearly asleep when something small and wet touches the back of his bare leg, startling him. He stills, the faint feather of breath continuing for a moment before disappearing. Turning his head, Danny blinks at the sleek, white cat that freezes under his sudden gaze, one paw halfway on the couch. This close he can read the little gold name tag — Snowy.

Huh. “Lame,” he says, and the cat’s ears twitch, yellow eyes flickering as it drops back down to its feet. Uncurling an arm from under the pillow, he dangles it off the couch, wiggling the fingers, and makes some kissy noises. “Hi Snowy.”

The cat squeaks and sits. He tries again, and there’s another squeak, except this time the cat comes closer; it sniffs his fingers, leaning back when he reaches, but after a moment, shoves its head into his hand. Danny pets it for a long moment before drawing away to roll over onto his back. One more squeak follows, but he drops his arm back down to scratch solidly on the cat’s brow. 

He falls asleep doing that and wakes only when there’s the unmistakable click of a camera shutter, a brief flash. Danyn slits his eyes open to see Vlad standing a bit away from the couch, a plastic film camera in one hand and a handful of folders in the other, a stack of a papers hanging off one finger. 

“What,” Danny grumbles, and then barely bites back a shout as a weight drops across his stomach before springing away. With a groan, he curls over onto his side. “Ow.” 

Vlad, the bastard, laughs, Snowy winding around his ankles, tail up and twitching. “I see you’ve met Snowy. Lovely, isn’t she?”

Glaring half-heartedly, Danny sits up, the blanket pooling across his lap. “She’s a sweetheart unlike you,” he rasps, taking in the polished visage of the man before him — pressed suit and unwrinkled shirt and slacks, slick hair; his shining shiny armor. That’s more like it. “Couldn’t get more creative than Snowy?”

Snorting, Vlad runs his thumb over the camera crank once, twice, and then snaps another picture. Ugh. “She came with it, so she already knew it,” he says before coming closer to set everything down on the coffee table. “Hungry?”

“What time is it?” Danny asks instead, blearily glancing around for a clock before eyeing the folders. “I could eat, I guess.”

Snowy follows Vlad as he walks back to the kitchen, shucking the suit jacket primly as he goes. “Almost five in the afternoon,” he says, tying on an apron, and Danny winces. “Do you eat dairy…?”

“Yeah, just… think of it like soft vegetarianism.” Palming his face, Danny rubs the sleep out of his eyes, but doesn’t… do much more than scrutinize the line of the man’s shoulders. “My bus leaves late tomorrow morning.”

There’s a minute twitch at the words, a superficial tensing, but Vlad merely says incredulously, “The bus?” as he pokes into the fridge, lifting out some sliced cheese and a container of red liquid, a box of butter.

“Well… yeah, how else would I get here?”

“Fly?” he says, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

“And how would I explain being here without a paper trail?” Danny snips back, not liking where this is going at all. 

Vlad pauses, and glances briefly at Danny before pulling some bread out of a cabinet. “You could have flown anyway, save you the trouble of a bus ride.”

“I paid for it, may as well use it, not everyone is made of money, Vlad.”

There’s a moment of silence. Danny fiddles with the afghan for a moment before sighing and getting up. He folds it back up and flops it across the back of the couch before sitting back down, unwilling to close the distance. Snowy takes that chance to trot back over. She only leans back a little before letting him pet her again.

Look, Danny’s not exactly hurting for cash, but that year on the streets stripped away enough of his naivety about money that he knows to not waste it. Well. Not to waste it on anything except booze, at least; he paid his bills, and then drank the rest away, alright? 

“Sorry,” he says to the quiet click, click of the stove.

“No offense taken,” the man returns, and then almost hesitantly adds, “do you mind if I say something you may not like to hear?”

“I hear things I don’t wanna hear all the time, my guy.” Danny keeps his eyes on Snowy and her very soft, white fur; Milton is definitely softer. “But shoot, I guess.”

Again, more silence. It takes more effort than he would like to not pry. What is going through that mind of his, Danny wonders, because emotions do not tell him thoughts. Imply them, maybe, yeah, but. Well. Y’know.

Vlad sighs himself. "The more time I have for self reflection, the more I realize that while Jack and… and Maddie loved you and Jasmine, they did not do right by either of you, even if unintentionally," he says, and Danny… definitely was not expecting that, a heat suffusing him. "Glass house, stones, I know, but… Danny, there's nothing wrong with you, you know that right?"

His first instinct is to quip back with a bitter, Shows what you know, because, really, what isn't wrong with him? He doesn't say that though.

"I know," he lies instead, and sits back from Snowy to a tinnie protest.

"When was the last time you went… ghost, as you used to love to say?"

Ah. Another curveball there. Danny crosses his arms, glancing up and over the ceiling. Hm. Hmmmmm. Is he really going to go there right now?

"Last night." Vlad makes an unimpressed noise. "What? I mean, yeah, last night… a couple weeks ago… before that…? Never, if I could help it, so what?"

Something grinds, and metal thunks on metal; butter sizzles. “'Never, he says,'” Vlad echoes, and Danny refuses to look, stubbornly hunched down on the couch. “Just… consider forgiving yourself, won’t you?”

Flip, Danny says, “Sure.”

Vlad drops the topic then, the smell of melted cheese and tomato filling the air. Danny stews until the food is finished, chewing the inside of his bottom lip until it bleeds. He drags himself back over to the kitchen island, and maybe stares too long at the grilled cheese and soup before starting to eat. They eat in relative silence, the television having turned itself off hours ago probably. The soup stings the back of his lip.

God, when did he get so, so… that? There’s nothing to forgive. That wasn’t… They’re not the same, him and Vlad, Plasmius and… Phantom. Everything was as much a punishment for Danny as it was his ghost half. He knows it was stupid to have blamed his core for anything but there’s so much to it that he just doesn’t—

He just doesn’t know what to think, and it’s easier not to. 

Hrgh. Just another thing for the list, apparently — Danny'll pencil it in at the very bottom just to be safe.

“—hear more about the child you’ve picked up? Danny?”

Uh. Danny blinks, the sound trickling back in. He looks up into Vlad’s eyes, blue on blue, and then looks back down. Most of the food is gone again, his fingers a bit tacky with tomato soup. Dangerous thing to not be paying attention.

“His name is Jasper,” he says, and Vlad shifts just the littlest bit. “I, uh, found him by chance after he escaped the hospital I work at — and before you freak out, he’s… fine, mostly. The ectoplasm helps, he just has amnesia.” 

And probably some other stuff but Danny will also figure that out.

“How is he like us? Did someone else…”

Danny shakes his head, stuffing the last of the sandwich into his mouth. “He died, I know that for sure, but somehow he came back to life. He’s like us in that it was violent enough to matter, but doesn't have powers or nothing.”

"And the human trafficking…?" Vlad prods, surface emotions wafting off him like heat. Danny doesn't even bother to parse it. "That's pretty serious."

"I thought he might'a been a protected witness or somethin' but I'm not so sure anymore…" Danny trails off, running a finger along the rim of the bowl to swipe up the last of the soup. Fuck, he forgot to get Wulf on it; the scent might be lost now. "Someone got a job at my workplace to look for him instead of, like, being normal about it, so… I don't know. She quit soon after he ran away from the hospital and I took him in."

Vlad makes a considering noise. "And where is he right now?" 

"Uhhh," Danny says, rolling the words around his teeth. "In the Keep."

"The… Keep?"

Nodding, he looks up at Vlad again, settling his gaze on the bridge of the man’s nose. "Where we fought Pariah; it's mine now and safer than the apartment… kid needs the ambient ectoplasm and all."

There's no immediate follow up question to that. Vlad reaches for Danny's plate and bowl and he lets him take them without protest. He starts to wash the dirty dishes before saying any more.

"Would you like for me to tidy up your identities?" he says. Danny frowns at his back in confusion. "I could work out a name change for you and papers for the boy, if you'd like."

Oh. That's… huh. "Can I get back to you on that?" Danny says weakly because. That's his name right there, even if he hasn't been Danny Fenton in a long time; he doesn’t even know when’s the last time anyone’s said his last name. "I know I should say yes but…"

"The offer has no expiration date, just let me know." They don't talk for a long moment as Vlad stacks some of the plates onto the drying rack. "I have a few items of interest to show you once I'm done. I've realized you may not have been aware of a few things."

The folders. Danny glances at them gloomily. There’s so much shit he’s not aware of he can’t even begin to make a guess at what those things hold. No one can say Vlad's not dedicated, at least.

Danny worries briefly at the sore point of his lip before saying, "Lay it on me then, V-man."

Something shatters. Danny whips his head back around, heart beginning to race. He can't see the water and gleaming porcelain on the floor, but it's easy to picture with Vlad halfway turned toward the drying dishes, reaching hand empty. Oh. Fuck.  

V-man.

"I, shit, Vlad, I wasn't even," he starts, words fumbling out of his mouth. "I'm sorry."

Like cracking stone, the man exhales, shoulders sagging for all of a moment before firming. "It's alright, let me just clean this up, give me a moment."

Danny hunches his own shoulders, hands flexing along the edge of the island — he can just barely feel the breaks, so he stops. Then stands, and walks himself back to the couch, dropping down onto it like a rock. There’s the unmistakable tink of the shards being swept up, but Danny doesn't look back up until Vlad re-enters his field of vision.

There's scattered, dark splotches along the tucked waist of his white button up, a bandaid on one of the fingers of the hand that reaches for the stacked folders. "Jack and Maddie," Vlad starts, throat bobbing, "had to fund their research somehow, obviously, and I didn’t realize you didn’t know that. They have a lot of residuals that are still paying out to you today. Their papers have garnered a lot more interest over the years with the world's otherworldly state of affairs."

Oh. "What's that mean," Danny questions weakly.

"You're not… filthy rich by any means but it's built up quite a bit. As your legal godfather, I had control over most things until you turned eighteen but even with that, I'd never want you to want for anything, Danny. Do you understand?"

"That's… not what I meant but, uh, thank you?" Danny tastes a bit of blood over his tongue. "I mean… they didn't get a whole lot wrong, some stuff they got scarily right about… ghosts."

Vlad nods slightly, gaze drifting around in thought. "I took the liberty of… taking down a handful of papers and ending a few contracts they had with the GiW and others, but what was bought was bought and I can’t take those back."

He slides one folder toward Danny on the coffee table and he responds in kind by reaching for it. Flipping it open, he can't help but laugh a little. It's enough zeroes to take his breath away, holy cow.

"It's yours to do what you will with the accounts and residuals; it would have been strange if I, personally, had cut off everything they patented or published, but for you it could be seen differently. I've highlighted what you might want to retract or take down."

Taking a breath, Danny finds the will to say, "I trust you got what was most important, but I'll give it a look…"

This list is starting to get ridiculous. Goddamnit.

A small smile curls the edges of Vlad's lips. "If there's enough time, we could see about getting a debit card made for you in the morning when the bank reopens." He taps another folder. "This is just… name change paperwork. The others are property deeds for the house, the RV, and the lab, other miscellaneous titles and paperwork, and then mail addressed to you."

"I got mail?" Danny murmurs, and reaches for that before anything else.

Most of it's junk, colleges and universities reaching out with rejections and, surprisingly, a few acceptances — all hilariously out-of-date now — but some of it isn't. There’s a handful of postcards from the Foleys,’ a couple from Valerie too, exactly one from Aunt Alicia, and then. An envelope. Danny fiddles with it, flipping it over.

The lettering is jittery, but still mostly readable, and it says, Ida Manson.

“What is it?” Vlad asks, but Danny ignores him, immediately hooking a finger under the loose end of the flap and tearing it open. Folded copy paper falls into his hands. “Danny?”

“I don’t know.” Danny smoothes out the papers. “Just…”

It's fairly simple, what the letter says.

Dear Danny, 

I fear this may come at too late of a date, but forgive an old woman her technological deficiencies, will you?

You were one of Sam's best friends, and she talked about you and the other boy Tucker a lot. I was surprised by your absence from my granddaughter's funeral until I learned why exactly you weren’t there. I dearly love my daughter and her husband, but I don't think it was right of them to bar your presence, Sam’s best friend.  

I'm so sorry they took their grief out on you. I'm sorry I couldn't do more. Everything is so different these days and once you left Amity Park I didn't know how to find you. I don't live there, you see, so it took awhile but I recognized Masters, your godfather, from a news event. Some of the things Sam mentioned to me before were about him. 

Not very nice things, mind you, but that wasn't something I could help with, so I'm sorry if I have failed you in any way by not acting on what I knew. 

Are you okay? I hope you're doing well. I miss my granddaughter, but she lives on through those of us who remember her, so I wanted to at least try to see if you were well.

I know Pamela and Jeremy visit Sam's grave at least a handful of times a year, but on the weekends and later in the day. I'm providing the address below. I think you should be able to visit. Take a stone with you, if you'd like.

You need not reply. I know this may be too little and very much too late, but I'll also include my phone number in case you want to talk. 

Kind regards,

Ida Manson

The words blur, a splotch running some of the printer ink. Danny sucks back a breath, and.

And, it's not like Danny couldn't have scoured the cemeteries if he wanted to. He could have, but. That was an even harder reality to face. He watched everyone else be lowered except Sam, and in a way it almost felt just a little like maybe she wasn't actually gone like the others. So, Danny didn't look for her grave, in a way wanting to respect her family wishes even if she wouldn't have ever agreed. 

Parents have it hard too sometimes, don't they? 

"Fuck, fuck, when did you get this?" Danny says, and Vlad shades with confusion, a bit of guilt. 

Clearing his throat, he says, "I’m not completely certain, maybe a bit more than a year ago?"

Sam's grandmother. God, she must be, have been, old already. Is she… still alive? Is Danny too late? At least a year ago. If he'd just stayed—

No. Don't go there. What ifs and could have beens. Just don't… go there. Danny exhales, fingers crumpling the paper a little. He is so, so fucking tired of crying. 

“C-Can I use your computer? Lost mine a while ago and just never replaced it,” he says thickly, reeling himself in. “I need to look some stuff up.”

“Of course,” Vlad says, neatly gathering everything else back up into piles. “But on one condition.”

Danny freezes, blindsided. What could he possibly… Now of all times—  “Yeah? What’s that?”

Firmly, he levels his gaze with Danny’s. “Drink a glass of water.”

Drink a glass of water. That's… it? Danny shakes his head, and Vlad smiles fully this time. 

"I've seen you drink a glass of orange juice and nothing else but soup today, so do me that favor and my laptop is all yours."

Well. He certainly can't argue back at that. "I… Alright."

Maybe it can be this easy sometimes. With bold declarations, and no subterfuge to be found. Drink a glass of water. Of all the things he needs to do, Danny can definitely do that.

He drinks three glass of water.

Go figure.

Chapter Text

The rest of the evening sort of just… dwindles into night. 

Danny honestly doesn't know what to do with himself. He looks up what he can until his eyes go cross, the text of the computer screen blurring over the harder he tries to read it. Vlad absconds with the laptop in a moment of weakness, and when Danny comes back from the restroom, gently refuses to relinquish it again. The fact that You're not my Dad nearly leaves his mouth tells Danny to back down and shut up, to eat the food placed in front of him for a really late dinner, and then put himself to bed. Too much sleep, not enough sleep, dealer's choice on the matter.

Day's been rough; he'll take the loss because there's always… well, not tomorrow, today, but. Another day. Hrgh.

He only just remembers to actually check his phone after he's rolled himself into fresh clothes following a quick, and encouraged, shower. Squinting at the simple im ok that Jasper texts back much too promptly, Danny runs a hand through his hair. Only half-heartedly runs through his mental checklist of goals and is only mostly sure he's gotten to just about everything he needed to in his time here and then some.

Sometime after that he falls asleep because a buzzing noise snaps him back awake.

The familiar-unfamiliar bzzt-bzzt-bzzt has him slapping drowsily for his phone on the nightstand, yet to throw himself to the floor this night. He squints at the call screen, but the letters swim too fast, so he just flips the phone open and tucks it against his ear with a raspy, “Hello?”

For a moment, nothing is said. All Danny can hear is faint breathing, then a thick swallow.

"I… Did you… is there a door?" comes the kid’s voice, an unsure stammer. "I didn't want to bother you but I can't…"

Ah. Danny rolls over onto his back, scrubs a hand over his face. He'd meant to get to that and just… didn't. Ugh. Whatever. It’s… He just forgot. Didn’t check in like he should have besides that one measly text and—

It’s different just having someone there, physically and within reach. Danny knows this, and yet.

"Yeah, yeah, just gimme a moment.”

Jasper makes a soft noise, but otherwise says nothing else. The floor is cold beneath Danny’s feet as he stands, collecting two pillows under his free arm before ambling over to the door. He goes out, and then shuts it as gently as he can before gripping the door knob tight. It’s a little harder this go around, bridging the distance purposely, but it’s much too late for Danny to care about ruffled feathers.

Green glows from between his fingers and the signal drops, Danny stuffing his phone into his pocket as he lets go. It doesn't take long at all for the door to slip open from the other side, for a mass of blanket to step out and then near immediately into Danny's side. A little startled, he aborts an instinctive side step, letting the kid bump into his shoulder and then kinda just... stay there as the door slips shut behind him. 

Huh. "What's wrong?" he whispers.

The blob of a comforter tightens, Jasper shaking his head. 

Okay. That's fine. Danny shifts his hold on the pillows, and carefully takes a handful of the blanket to tug on. The kid follows easily enough as they begin to walk. More awake now, he plucks gently at the flailing wisps of scared-scared-lonely that radiate off the kid to draw them in, to soothe the agitation and anxiety. I’m here, Danny tries to say, and though the words are unforthcoming, his core hums with the intent.

It must be enough because when Danny starts to get them settled on the same couch from earlier the kid pushes up on his side without a word instead of huddling once more on the opposite end. He doesn’t quite burrow up under his arm, but it’s a very close thing. A little lost, Danny just slowly drops said arm along the back of the couch, unwilling to cage Jasper, and shuffles the afghan over his lap before listing over a bit himself, eyes slipping shut.

It’s not long before a presence has Danny slit his eyes back open. In the gloom, Vlad peers curiously at them, housecoat wrapped over what looks like actual pajamas, undoubtedly drawn by the sudden appearance of someone else in his lair. He doesn't do anything except just look and leaves without a word after getting whatever he needs out of it.

With a sigh, Danny goes back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Danny wakes to voices and a horrible crick in his neck, the weight on his side gone.

“—rather good at this. Do you cook often?”

“No, he won’t let me.” There’s the unmistakable scrap of a spatula on a pan. Frowning, Danny wrinkles his nose before peeling his eyes open to pale daylight. “My turn: how old’re you?”

“Forty-eight, how about you?”

“We’re going with fifteen. What’s your favorite animal?” 

Sitting up, he spies Vlad sitting at the kitchen island, chin propped on a hand — Jasper is at the stove, the pop and sizzle of grease fading in. “Vampire bat,” the man says, lips drawn with amusement, and his eyes flicker toward Danny. “Ah, look who’s up.”

Confused, Danny looks between the two of them. Jasper shoots him a quick look before going back to what looks like really thin pancakes. Huh. He shakes his head, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. Nope, it’s real.

“I really like jellyfish,” Danny offers sleepily, before mouthing What the hell at Vlad, who shrugs, hands rising briefly and placatingly.

“We were just playing twenty questions,” Vlad says. “Getting to know each other is all.”

Danny hums, more assured by the air of ease between them than the words. He didn’t know Jasper could —  actually wanted to? — cook. The kid’s offered to help more than once, but. The idea always brought back up long gone quiet mornings, too still afternoons, and lonely evenings, a too short Jazz at the stove on a step stool. Hm.

“What’s cookin’?” he asks, squinting at the afghan and Jasper’s blanket on the floor; he must have kicked them off, sweet thought, though. Danny pulls both back onto the couch before picking his miserly self up and meandering over to the barstool next to Vlad. Their shoulders almost touch. “Smells good.”

Jasper shakes the pan in his hand, the thin pancake flopping out and onto a stack in a plate, before saying, “Crepes.”

“Fancy,” Danny says, and drums his fingers on the edge of the counter. The oven bar comes up to Jasper’s waist, and the hem of the shirt looks familiar. “Still wanna do twenty questions?”

The jealousy is new, faint, but there. He wonders what Vlad has asked, wonders what exactly the kid could even have as answers. Why didn't he think of this? That night nearly three months ago feels so long ago.

“What’s your favorite color?” Jasper asks.

Danny can’t help but glance at Vlad from the corner of his eye, feeling more than a little awkward; the man inclines his head, so he says, “Blue.”

“Yellow. What’s yours?”

The kid doesn’t answer for a moment, shoulders twitching. “Green sounds about right.”

A smirk makes itself at home on Vlad’s face, and Danny rolls his eyes, but tucks the admission away. His door is red, not green — he really needs to search color meanings up. Or ask Wulf. Sigh.

There’s only enough time for a couple more stilted rounds before Jasper turns the stove eye off with a click , turns around with a tall stack of crepes and sliced strawberries. A jar of something that isn’t peanut butter — the hell is nutella? — is added to the spread, followed by a plate of what Danny guesses is more turkey bacon. He frowns at Vlad, unsure how he feels about eating next to the man, but then Jasper sits at the seat directly across before Danny can decide if it’s worth hassling himself about it.

Danny accepts a plate and then stalls as he watches what the two of them do. Jasper grabs for a handful of crepes and drops them onto his plate, Vlad leisurely following suit. Slowly, Danny mimics them, eyeing how they start to smear the crepes with the hazelnut spread and stuff them with fruit. 

“Ain’t never had a crepe before, huh?” Jasper asks, folding his last crepe over, and Danny startles at the smallest twinge and sting of frustration from him, sharp even though he’s carefully not looking.

“No,” he mumbles, curling inward a bit more. This wouldn’t be so bad if it was just one or the other, Jasper or Vlad, but. “Guess you have?”

Frowning, Jasper takes a bite out of his crepe. “Guess so.”

“Is it like that so far?” Vlad asks, and they both look at him. “You just seem to know how to do things?”

The kid shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Interesting.”

There are words nipping at the back of Danny’s lips — Would you like to cook sometimes? Are you upset? I’m sorry. Don’t talk to him, don’t talk to him — but he can’t say them. He wants to, but all of a sudden he feels almost… put on the spot, dropped right into the middle of an episode of a show he’d meant to be watching. Stuffing a less than well put together crepe into his mouth, he stares down at his plate. It’s tasty. Probably.

Ancients, get a grip.

Vlad doesn’t let the silence go for very long, however, continuing with, “What’s the plan for the upcoming school year?”

It’s painful to admit, but easily prompted, Danny says to his plate, “Hadn’t quite got that far. Need paperwork to enroll in stuff and all…” before looking up to Jasper, who now radiates a strong though faint sense of confused wonder. “... You do wanna go to school, right?”

“Uh,” he says, blinking. “Yeah. I do.”

“There are a lot of alternative based styles to education nowadays, but it’ll require placement tests and a lot of deadlines are coming up very, very soon,” Vlad says, though the next words are said with less than genuine cheer. “Of course, a public school is fine as well... Perhaps a private school?”

Danny very nearly says Nothing wrong with public school, but rethinks it before he lets the words fall out of his dumb mouth. “Homeschool wasn’t too bad, and given the whole, uh, no memories things, might be better?” he allows, though Vlad probably should have bullied him into making the program’s social meetings more often. “Any of that sound alright, Jasper?”

“I wanna go to school,” he says, and then frowns down at his own plate. Looks back up at Danny, not Vlad. “But what if I…”

What if I don’t know anything? What if I fail? 

Danny hears it as if he says it; he sits up straighter — get a grip. “Then I get you a tutor if you need it and get you caught up,” he says, brushing the back of a hand across his lips, smearing a bit of spread. Licking it off, he continues, “Whatever you wanna do.”

The kid nods slowly. “Yeah… yeah, I wanna go.”

Conversation dies off again, but it’s not… as awkward. To Danny at least. Vlad lightly bumps their shoulders when Jasper looks away, and he scowls at the man, suddenly embarrassed. Yeah, alright. Maybe he actually is a mind reader. Or Danny’s just that easy to read right now.

“This is really good, I wouldn’t mind eating it again,” he says, and Jasper eyes him suspiciously. Geez. “And, uh, I know I gave you like the briefest overview of who this fruitloop is, but he’s… like me.”

Kid hadn’t needed to know more until Danny was sure Vlad wouldn’t be… well. Vlad. As Danny remembered him, at least. Jasper was worried enough in his own, unsure way, no need to add on to it until Danny knew one way or the other. 

“I think it’s more like the other way around, but I digress,” Vlad jokes dryly, now taking the brunt of Jasper’s narrowed gaze. Like a party trick, he snaps his fingers, popping a pink spark. “I’m glad I’ve gotten to meet you, Jasper.”

“Sure,” the kid says, and chugs half his glass of orange juice. “Hey, what time is it?”

Uh. Danny glances around, still not entirely sure where the clock he knows existed is. Pretty sure it existed. It was shaped like a wheel of cheese missing a wedge — feels like something he couldn’t make up if he tried.

Vlad hums, and raises an arm, the shiny sleeve of his shirt riding up — long, raised scars are just visible along his forearm. Hrgh. “Seven-forty-three,” he says, and taps the face of his watch. “When does your bus leave again, Danny?”

“Eleven,” he mumbles. That’s not a whole lot of time, not to do all what he wants to do, anyway. “Gonna have to run.”

“I could drive you,” Vlad offers, and before Danny can even protest, continues with, “I can pick you up from the house so you don’t have to try and hail a taxi. No one has to know it's me; I employ a driving service sometimes.”

It’s a weak protest, because when has Vlad never not had an intricate plan, but Danny says anyway, “And your day job?” 

The man gives Jasper a quick, appraising look, and then, suddenly, there are two of him. The kid barely even blinks, chewing on the last of his crepes. This new Vlad brushes at his housecoat, eyes closer to purple than blue. Huh. Danny forgot about that power.

“He can see to anything needed of me,” Vlad says, waving a hand, and the duplicate smirks before wandering away through the nearest wall. “Some contact lenses, no one ever knows.”

Well. It would be nicer to not chance someone Danny might have known. “Fine,” he says, unsure if he’s actually fine with it or not. “I’ll meet you there.”

Plates and dishes are cleaned up soon after that. Jasper is gently hustled away from the sink by Vlad, and the look the man gives Danny is exasperated but fond. He doesn’t quite know what to do with that either. It’s good, right? First meeting, though unplanned, is a success. Could have been much, much worse, Danny supposes.

Steering Jasper back toward his hastily applied door, Danny plops the blanket back over the boy’s shoulders, and he frowns at him as they leave the den. Nothing is immediately said as they make their way down the halls, Jasper eyeing the stone walls and decor. 

“Old guy’s loaded then?” Jasper asks as they pass a suit of dustless armor. 

“Yeah, don’t ask me exactly how though,” Danny says, pretty sure a not-so-insignificant part of it is ill-gotten. “Inherited dairy empire and some other stuff, I guess.”

Jasper nods his head slightly and doesn’t ask anything else. They very nearly part ways like that, a taut tension filling Danny as they approach the still glowing doorknob. The kid reaches for it, opens the door, and Danny takes up a handful of the blanket before he can move too far away, before he really thinks about it. Jasper pauses in the doorway, looking back at him questioningly. Danny drops his grip on the blanket, and rubs at his neck with a sheepish wince.

Use your words, he tells himself.

“I, uh, I’m not real good at communicating, actually,” he says, and Jasper arches an eyebrow at him. “I think a lot of what I want to say and don’t actually say it, but… I’m working on it, so… if there’s anything you want to say, just say it, alright? We should, uh, be able to talk about these things, like school, or, um, me letting you do some stuff. I hate feeling useless, but I guess you might feel the same way, maybe?”

There’s not much to do in the Keep, and Danny prepared enough food for a week so Jasper wouldn’t even need to think about cooking. The only thing he left him to do was look after Milton for barely two days in the whole of nearly a hundred of them; Danny would’ve gone stir-crazy within the first two weeks. Overcompensating much, huh?

“Heard that, did’ya?” Jasper says, and then briefly closes his eyes. “No, yeah, I, uh, feel pretty useless, s’one way to put it. I think school’ll be… good, but I can do things… even chores, just to help out?”

“You can definitely dust,” Danny says, trying to make it sound reluctant but failing.

“Oh, can I?” Jasper says back, eyes brightening with amusement. “I remember how trashed the apartment was that first day, y’know.”

Wincing, Danny lightly taps at the kid’s shoulder with a balled fist. “Hey now, no sass,” he teases.

Jasper rolls his eyes with a shake of his head, and then pauses once more, face going serious. “Can I ask something?”

Alright, here we go. Danny nods, smile waning.

“Has he… uh, y’know, hurt you before?”

Oh, ouch. “No,” Danny says, and uh, wow, that’s a bald-faced lie; where’s the kid get the idea to ask this stuff, though? “Er, it’s… complicated.”

“So… yes,” Jasper surmises, that conflicted well of frustration from before rising again, dusted with a bit of anger, uncertainty. Huh. “You didn’t say all that much, so I was kinda… worried. About it. What you might’a been coming back to for whatever reason…”

The kid doesn’t even need to say That you might not have come back from because he knows enough but not enough. “It’s really, really complicated,” Danny repeats, and swallows. They hurt each other enough it balances out, doesn’t it? “We’re gonna be working on it. Vlad’s… a weird guy, but he’s not the guy I remember anymore, not exactly, so try not to worry about it much, alright?”

“Alright,” Jasper says, clearly still unsure. “I reserve the right to kick him in the balls if he’s too ‘weird,’ though.”

That startles a long, hard laugh right out of Danny. Ow, ow, his ribs. “I’ll hold him still,” he manages to say after he catches his breath . Jasper looks entirely too pleased with himself for that one. “Geez, what am I gonna do with you?”

The kid shrugs, says, “Don’t you have a bus to catch?” and then heads off through the doorway. 

With the barest displacement of air, the door shuts. Danny is left there, core fluttering as he wipes tears from his eyes. Okay. That wasn’t… so bad? He shakes himself. Yeah, not too bad.

How exactly do you think you can take care of a child? 

Well. He certainly needs to try better at it. Danny flicks the door knob and the green flakes off. His room for the time being greets him when he opens the door again, and he shuffles over to his cell phone still on the charger, bites the bullet.

how does 1 parent???

Lindsay responds in the handful of minutes it takes Danny to shuffle himself into some day clothes. The ring only muzzily protests when he tucks it back beneath the collar of his shirt, and he’s pulling on an elastic hairband when he sees the notification. Danny quickly snatches the phone back up, one sock in hand, one sock on foot.

cal me l8tr!!

Oh. That’s… new. She’s tried to feed him for months, but never have they done more than text mostly about work. Sure, at work they talk about a lot of stuff, but. This is new.

o7, he types back, and shoves the phone into his pocket when he sees the time. Later. He’ll call her later.

Right now though, Danny’s definitely behind schedule. 

There’s no time to swing by the bank, not with having to at least make a token show of leaving the house he supposedly never left. The flight back is… different, purposeful rather than not, but Danny doesn’t feel like dwelling on it, so he doesn’t. How Vlad manages to roll up to the house barely even fifteen minutes after Danny stumbles his way inside, then out, he decides not to ask. After seeing him with Jasper… it’s enough to soften him up just a little. 

It’s hard to leave, even after everything though. Danny rises from the doorsteps, playing with the keys in his hand, and nearly doesn’t. He has to — there’s less than an hour and a half before his bus leaves, he has work tomorrow, has Jasper and Milton waiting, but. He could just… not. It’s tempting.

Even so, Danny leaves. He gets off the porch and shoves himself into the backseat of Vlad’s dark grey SUV, buckles up. He doesn’t look as they pull away, well aware of Vlad’s careful glances in the rearview mirror.

“Where to then?” he asks, coasting up to the next light.

“Amity Park Hebrew cemetery,” Danny says before he can psych himself out of it. It’ll be cutting it close, but — “Uh, know where it is?”

“Not exactly,” Vlad admits, but Danny’s got it in hand — he grew up here; he’s got the gist.

By the time he steps back out of the car, having directed Vlad with minimal struggle, the sun is shining and the birds are singing, the clouds having disappeared in the near past hour — it feels like it should be raining lightly with some fog rolling in, the sky overcast and dark. One of the few things Danny remembers that he can’t do is control the weather, so it’ll just have to do.

Vlad’s car is just a little too large for the road inward, so Danny hops out when he parks and walks up to the cemetery proper’s gate, leaving his bag behind.

He can’t help but dither upon the entrance, stalling, unsure. He’d looked up what he could, but coming by himself feels strange, the idea of invitation colliding with staunch denial. Flexing his hands, he edges over, half a foot crossing the clear boundary. Nothing happens. 

Danny releases the breath he’d been holding. Of course nothing happened. Despite the thin veneer of the plane between Amity Park and the Ghost Zone, restless spirits are few and far between on this side. Here, he still doesn’t hear even the slightest rustle of resentment or anger, left behind regret. It’s much more peaceful than the streets of Gotham with its loitering shades, that’s for sure.

Squaring his shoulders, he ventures further, well aware of how little time he has. The grass is green and well manicured, but there’s enough careful patches of wildflowers and other flora that he thinks it’d be appreciated. It takes no time at all to find exactly what he’s looking for, tucked nearly in the heart of the grounds. 

Sam’s grave is as pristine as one might get. It’s not ornate, but it is detailed, the headstone of carved stacked rocks and cut tree stump. Smaller, smooth stones perch upon the uneven levels, and he can’t help but curl his empty hands again. Danny takes a moment to just… sorta take it in.

“Hi, Sam,” he says after a moment, feeling a little silly, and immediately looks skyward when tears blur the edges of his vision. Not again. “Ugh, sorry, it’s just… you know.”

Silence follows, obviously. Danny chuckles a little.

“I’m sorry,” is what he ends up saying next, again. He grimaces, but. “I’m so, so sorry. I know you wouldn’t wanna hear it but I really am so, so sorry.”

That’s not sticking to his reason for being here, but it suddenly feels so, so selfish to be here. Her parents wouldn’t want him here, didn’t in fact, probably still don’t, and he can’t help but be uncertain that he knows she would have wanted him here. Danny doesn’t deserve it. 

“I kinda feel like I’ve forgotten you,” he admits, and sniffs. “Tucker too — I don’t know what I remember, really; it’s all so hazy now and… it sucks. I shouldn’t’ve come today but I really wanted to and—”

Ugh. Danny cuts himself off, squeezes his eyes shut. The broad strokes, he’s still got those — her hair, the sly look she got before getting them into a bit of trouble, the color purple, and maybe the echo of her laugh, but. The other, only marginally smaller stuff… like how they met, how her and Tucker’s first meeting went. What her room looked like. How she ate compared to him and Tucker. The way she organized her book bag or took her notes.

What she’d complain about, what exactly she dreamed of. The specifics that made her her as a person, y’know?

They’d fought enough times about things during freshman year, and Dany wishes he could remember what anger, guilt, and frustration looked like on her face. Any image he conjures up feels inauthentic. He knows she smiled more than she cared to admit, but all he can picture is the mischievous grins.

Danny knows who Sam Manson was, but what she was now seems to be lost to him. Does that make sense?

Exhaling, he opens his eyes and closes the few feet to briefly run his left hand along the carved stone, careful of the plot. The lingering feelings imbued upon the left behind stones reach out to Danny, and he pulls back before anything becomes too clear.

“Sorry, I just… I wanted to come see you,” Danny says, glancing skyward again when his pocket buzzes once — time’s up. “Gotta bus to catch. I won't show up empty handed next time, alright?”

Again, the silence is answer enough. 

And, again, Danny has to make himself leave.

He slides back into the SUV to no fanfare, and Vlad eyes him when he gives a quiet, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he returns, sticking his own cell phone back into the cupholders between the front seats and shifting the car back into drive. “... Is it possible for you to take one more day off work?”

“Not really,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”

Whether Vlad believes that or not, he doesn’t show it on his face and doesn’t question it any further. Danny sniffles, and glances out the window this time. It takes no time at all before the cemetery disappears from view, before Vlad is parking the car right outside the bus terminal. Danny can even see his bus from here, the very short line of people waiting outside of it. 

There was a For Sale sign outside the old Nasty Burger lot. He doesn’t think that was there before. Sighing, Danny unbuckles and scoops up his bag, but pauses when he steps out, hand on the car door. 

He meets Vlad’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Could you go ahead and change my name and everything?”

“Of course,” the man says, hands flexing around the steering wheel. “I’ll have it done within the week. I could even start vetting some homeschool programs if you’d like…?”

I hate feeling useless, but I guess you might feel the same way, maybe?

“I’d appreciate it,” he says, and really does mean it. “And Vlad?”

“Yes, Danny?”

“Thanks for everything, I’ll see you later.”

Overhead, an announcement drones, and Danny shuts the door before Vlad can say anything else. Hitching his bag higher up on his shoulder, he hustles across the lot just as people start to actually enter the bus, the driver waving people on. 

He’ll be the last person to board, but the closer he gets, the more he realizes doesn’t want to get on. The darkened cab is suddenly uninviting and claustrophobic. Get a grip. Danny gets one foot up on the steps, the driver right behind him, and he just...  can’t.

He stumbles backwards through them, core ahead of his racing thoughts, and leaves behind a duplicate in his wake. That Danny pauses, glances over his shoulder, eyes glinting green in the poor light. 

Just… consider forgiving yourself, won’t you?

He swallows as it finishes the climb and disappears from sight. The bus driver gets in their seat and then closes the door, Danny left invisible by the curb. The bus pulls away a few minutes later. Looking back over his own shoulder, he watches as Vlad’s car leaves too.

It feels like something unclenches. He relaxes the hold on senses in turn and that strange part of him aches with a quiet, Fly?

“You know what,” Danny whispers to himself, looking up at the inviting sky. “Why not?”

By bus, it takes nearly a whole day to get from New Jersey to Wisconsin and vice versa. By air? Well.

It can’t take any longer, can it?

Chapter Text

Somewhere, an old alarm begins to sound.

It takes awhile, but eventually someone notices.