Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

March 4th, 2004.

The whole town remembers it well. It started off slowly, as any day tailing the end of winter's breath might. It was partially sunny, but bitter cold, holding at 29 degrees for most of the day. It wouldn't warm up for long.

It was 32 degrees when the streets screamed to life.

Maybe around 4pm, perhaps closer to 3:45, no one was really sure, an ambulance and Amity News 4 bolted down the main drag of the city. Past the library, past the highschool and into the residential area. The Baxter household heard the sirens from their living room, saw the lights from the bay window, and charged their way out the door. Accidents didn't happen often. Even less frequently were ambulances summoned.

So when the screaming van startled the neighborhood out of its winter daze, multiple homes emptied and the sidewalks thundered to life. Everyone wanted to see. Everyone wanted to know. Be it Small Town Syndrome or Train Wreck Syndrome, everybody and the stray cat population followed the ambulance's path. Excitement was a luxury. No one knew what to expect, no one knew where the ambulance was headed. The initial reaction to the Fenton residence being bathed with red and blue light was...well, impassive at best. As the camera crew set up, townsfolk started griping.

"Maybe they finally blew themselves up."

"Oh, I wish."

"Maybe the girl fell down the stairs."

"I bet they got tangled up in that stupid fishing pole...what was that called?"

"Who cares? If it'll keep them from shooting at my lawn gnomes, then I say, good riddance."

"You know, they ruined my birdbath last week with their 'car.' Completely destroyed it."

"Oh, please, Mrs. Manson. It was an ugly birdbath."

Speculation funneled along the typical path of small town gossip as the EMTs rushed into the house with the stretcher. It was several minutes before they returned, in a hurry, their haul actively emitting smoke. The town observed the girl hopping up into the back of the ambulance with them, and saw the Fentons standing on the curb. Shock was only briefly plastered on their faces, the bane of Amity Park stricken silent for about a minute before they faced eachother, loudly announced "IT WORKS!!" and bolting back into the house. It was then that everyone realized. It wasn't the sister, the mother or the father going out.

It was Danny Fenton.

Chapter Text

For all of his bitterness, for all of his hatred, frustration and rage towards the town, Vlad does occasionally find himself homesick. It's not a welcome feeling. Amity Park is a dull, quiet town with uninteresting people. If the feeling niggles at his brain, it usually just takes five minutes of Amity's newsfeed to tell him he's missing out on counting the ceiling tiles in his office. So when that obnoxious little ache for home comes stumbling into his thoughts, he turns on the television and hopes there might actually be something interesting going on. There never is, and it seems to settle him down again for a while.

Feeling lonely and wanting for his hometown, for the first time in a few years, Vlad pours a cup of coffee with a sigh and pads into the library. It's late in the day. He's not expecting much. He's already changed back into his nightclothes and pulled on his robe. The few times he's turned on Amity Park news, he wound up tuning it out in favor of counting the stitches in his knitted throw pillow.

So when he flops unceremoniously onto the couch and grabs the remote, he keeps the pillow close by. The TV powers on and he takes a sip...

"-till no word on Daniel Fenton's condition. It was at 3:48pm on March 4th that his sister, Jasmine Fenton, reported an accident in the home. The nature of the accident still hasn't been disclosed at this time, but Daniel Fenton was seen being taken away in an ambulance one month ago today. Thick gray smoke was seen coming off of his body, the boy completely unresponsive when paramedics arrived..."

Vlad sits. And stares. And stares. And stares. The anchorwoman's voice lost to the white noise of his memories. The footage of the ambulance burns into his retinas slowly while the incessant beeping of heart monitors floods his ears. The sounds of nurse chatter, families arguing, patients crying and snoring, and the stench of antiseptic and alcohol all around him flood his senses and for a moment, he's back in the hospital. Waiting for his friends to visit him. Waiting to see them. To hear them. Listening for Jack's booming voice. And it never comes. They never come. They never visit. The only guest in his room is the night shift, to change his bandages.

Vlad blinks the tears away, banishing the memories to the darkest little corner of his mind and sees the television again. Showing a head of black hair through the gray smoke. As the stretcher is lifted into the back of the ambulance, a hand falls over the edge, too small, seemingly lifeless, pale, fingertips and nails charred deathly black. Another accident. Another one. The Fentons. Have had. Another. Accident. And it's not some clueless friend hanging around them that's taken the damage. It's a child. Their child. Their son. Faintly, in the file footage, "IT WORKS!"

...Vlad's heart turns rotten at seeing them run back into their home as the camera pans to follow the ambulance.

"As shown by Jack and Maddie Fenton eagerly demonstrating a new ghost hunting tool, it's quite clear the boy's parents are in high spirits that he'll make a full recovery. We tried speaking with Daniel's sister, Jasmine Fenton, last month, but she had joined the paramedics in the ambulance. We're hoping for an interview with her later this evening, along with an update on her brother's condition. We hope to bring that report to you tonight, at eleven."

The mug in Vlad's hand shakes as rage stirs inside of him. Wild energy, dangerous and uncaged, crackles to the surface of his skin in vibrant pink static. That fat idiot and the love of his life are attempting to 'wow' the crew with another hunk of junk while a child is left in critical condition. And judging by the look on their faces, Vlad is feeling as though the Fentons have forgotten about him. Him...and their son.

The mug shatters the TV screen, and Vlad walks out, up to his room. If he's going to visit, he's going to be dressed properly. His robe and silk pajamas are traded for a black suit, one of his finest. He opts for a proper necktie. He'd prefer the string tie, but he's storming in unannounced amongst rabble he's not met with in twenty years. He has to look his best. It doesn't take him long. He pairs his suit with black winterboots and his favorite black overcoat, and maybe he cinches the belt a little too tightly. But he doesn't care. It is winter after all, and he does get cold, even with his fire core. The next things he grabs are his wallet, keys, his phone and his black fur gloves. As he puts them on, pressing between his fingers, he thinks back to a letter that arrived to the mansion fourteen years ago. It announced the birth of the second Fenton child, whom he'd never bothered to learn the name of because he was still bitter with Jack at the time.

'Daniel Fenton,' he reminded himself.

But it also included a form to fill out and sign. He'd filled it out, admittedly while completely rat-arsed, however he never officially signed it. But he kept it, anyway. Now, more than ever, he wanted to sign it. And Vlad Masters dumped his third dresser drawer out to expose a hidden compartment. He phased his hand through for the contents, not having the patience to trip the latch.

Two papers, stapled together and fourteen years yellow. The header, "Minnesota Designation of Standby Guardian," was permanently etched into his memory. The Fentons had sent it to him with their signature already on it. It even granted him guardianship over their daughter. He just had to finish it. And he would, and did, with a fountain pen fed by black ink and unchecked hatred. He folded them neatly, with great precision, and tucked them into his coat. It might be his last clear-headed moment for a while, so if it was worth doing, it was worth doing right.

"Daniel Fenton." He rolls the name over his tongue, trying it out. It's foreign. New. He'll get used to it, he decides, Ancients help him.

'To the portal!' his mind screams. His body complies. With haste. With speed. With urgency. He doesn't realize he's flying through his own halls, barreling at breakneck speed to his lab. His fangs drop and the halo splits so fast that an electrical charge floods the room. Computers short. Monitors fail. The lights of his lab go dark as he forces the portal doors open and charges into the void.

He didn't know what he'd find when he got there. He wants to imagine that the Fentons are there, in the hospital, surrounding their son. He wants to imagine Maddie at the bedside, imagine Jack conversing with the doctor. Even though he knows that it's all a lie, he wants to imagine friends going in and out of the room throughout the day. He wants to imagine a boy he's never met surrounded by anyone and everyone under the sun. He doesn't know this boy. He's never met him, never seen him beyond the photo of him swaddled in a fluffy blue blanket in his mother's arms. But he's answering a sudden call to be there and stand in the way of the flames. He's headed out of state, by way of ghost zone back-roads, for someone that's been harmed by the very same people that hurt him.

Floating doors and heaps of realm and rock fade in and out of sight as he searches for the new doorway. The doorway that wasn't even there until one month ago. The doorway that he couldn't believe he was now going through, now that he had need of it. He recognizes the mess in the basement. The mess that signifies Jack Fenton. A twitch comes to his left eye. The man always was a slob. A tornado in a tidy room. The bull in the china shop. The uninvited wrecking ball to the library.

He doesn't ponder on any more metaphors, too focused on phasing through the house that had shockingly little security. Especially considering the ghost portal that was just wide open for all of the Realms to see.

Chapter Text

Once the initial shock of Danny Fenton landing in the hospital had been gotten over, everything went back to normal, nearly. The staff kept about their business, keeping the well-worn wheels of healthcare going. They got used to the patient in room 308 relatively quickly. It wasn't like he was going anywhere anytime soon. As far as patients were concerned, he was easy, despite his condition. They just monitored. He never argued, never complained, he didn't even press the call button. Of course, being out cold has a way of simplifying care.

The staff did what they were trained to do. They stabilized him, kept up with bandages and bedding when needed. They checked his vitals regularly. Occasionally, tests were run. A redheaded sibling was a common sight, regularly visiting every morning and night, and sometimes they let her sleep there if the doctors didn't notice her arrival. Trying to be supportive of a local that they recognized and knew was usually well put together, they smiled at a teacher, chased away cheerleaders looking for photo opportunities, and forced high school jocks out of the building, banning them from re-entry. But they also kept a sharp eye out for parental support, checking the elevators everytime they opened. But the Fentons never graced the halls, nor did they rile phone lines.

The tall, dark and silver haired stranger came stalking through the halls a month later. And he arrived with an expression that could pierce armor. He walked right on past them, ignoring their presence with distinct tunnel vision. He stormed by the receptionist and pointedly glared at her when she started to protest. She tried to ask if she could help, only to be snarled at with full fangs. The sound shook her, unearthly and inhuman. But it bought him the desired singularity. He didn't respond to questions, didn't tell any of them where he was going. He knew. One look at him and the nurses could tell he knew. How he knew, they did wonder. But one look, which they then mistook for a hallucination on their part as all that could be seen were glowing red sclera, and they were less than inclined to ask.

The elder halfa would never admit to letting his control slip to the point of forcing innocent healthcare staff question their sanity. To suggest so might risk exposing more of his inhumanity. He takes the stairs in hopes of expending some of his energy. Enough hate and fire flows in his veins that he's likely to swing at the next nurse that asks him if he needs direction. And he can't deal with that. He won't have the time.

Vlad follows his senses. Follows the scents that pass by his sinuses and listens intently for key words that would lead him to his destination. He heard the mutters and whispers of patients and families, and he picked apart the Latin based jargon that was used regularly as a cushion for the blows of poor news. He hated the barrier that the medical tongue provided. But being trapped in an antiseptic hell for several years, one is bound to pick up on a few things.

Within a few minutes, he pinpoints a male adolescant on the sixth floor. The patient responds to pain and stimuli, but is otherwise soundly and thoroughly unconscious. Vlad hears a doctor quietly utter the word 'comatose,' and slows in his steps. He's on a stairwell when he catches it, on the third floor and headed for the fourth floor, and feels a suffocating fog wash over him. It's been a month since the accident. This boy that he's so determined to get to, to shield and defend, even comfort, is dead to the world.

Vlad had been left fully conscious during his debacle. Awake and aware of the physical pain and unable to do much else but surrender to it. But somehow, as he ascended the final flight of stairs, it brought very little consolation. If anything it almost felt worse. As he understood it, comatose patients should still be able to hear everything around them, and if he was right, and the Fentons weren't there, then even in the thick fog of sleep, the boy would be left wondering where everyone was.

'I need sleep,' is all Jasmine can think.

'I need a break.' She straightens up in the chair.

'I need help.' She gets up and starts pacing.

'I need mom and dad.' She looks around, doesn't see anyone.

'I need you back.' Jasmine sits down again, next to the bed, and gently grasps her brother's bandaged hand in both of hers. The charring hasn't healed much. Black fingertips poke out at the edge of the gauze. He's breathing, but through a tube. His heart's beating, but too slow. He's still there, but...is he? She looks down to examine herself. "Nasty Burger" reads upside down easily, and so does the name tag.

'I should change.'

Her only company is his heartbeat, announced in a steady rhythm, trying its hardest to tell her she's not alone. But she is. The nurses come by, they change his bandages, they check the numbers, they make notes on the charts. They give her a smile, say "it might be a while." But they don't give her her brother.

"Mom and dad said the portal works," she says softly. "They...they've been studying it. And things have been coming through it. Ghosts. Or, so they say. I don't really care. I just wish you were here to yell at them. But, I guess it doesn't matter since they aren't here. So it's probably a good thing, huh? ...I'm sorry I didn't make it in this morning. Mom and dad are focused on the portal, so I've been working at the Nasty Burger. I never imagined dropping out of high school, but I had to. You'll never let me hear the end of it. The bills are a lot, the hospital was even nice enough to set up a payment plan, considering the circumstances. But since science comes first, what can I do?"

They told her that talking can help. From where Jasmine Fenton sits now, however, talking seems about as helpfull as food poisoning with the flu.

"Sam and Tucker came by yesterday, they've been visiting every other day or so... They miss you. Dash visited, too, which surprised me. The staff had to chase all the other football players out. The cheerleaders wanted to see you, but I didn't let them in. They wanted pictures. You hate that, I know. So I slammed the door in Paulina's face. It really shocked me, how they could be so self-centered. Oh, and Mr. Lancer came, too. For a few hours. He read you Robert Frost. What did you think?"

...silence.

"Well, I liked The Road Not Taken. Makes me wonder what would have happened if mom and dad hadn't built that stupid portal. I know it was inevitable, they've been talking about it for years. But... I think... I think that, maybe, if I had just burned the blueprints," she takes a swipe at her cheek, brushing a tear away, "then maybe, just maybe..."

"They would have simply redrawn them," comes the reply, and it startles her, straight to her feet and whipping around to face a man that, though she's never met, she'd recognize anywhere.

"Vlad Masters! The Dairy King! Fortunate Magazine named you man of the year in 1997!"

"Yesyes, do keep your voice down, child. I don't wish for the entire town to know I'm here." Vlad finds Jasmine Fenton in a state best referred to as, well, a wreck. Her hair, her mother's color, is snarled and frizzing, pulled tight into a bun. Her eyes seem bloodshot, dark bags underneath and trapped in a semi-permanent wince as she fights to stay awake. In her dulled blue irises, he can see the last dying embers of adrenaline for the day. She's dressed in a pair of tattered jeans and a white t-shirt, spattered with grease stains, with "Nasty Burger" scrawled in its traditionally horrific font across her chest. Her name tag is crooked, and her shoes, black flats, are absolutely filthy. Admittedly, he didn't expect to find someone that was put-together by the bedside of their sibling. But he also wasn't expecting an utter disaster, either. He did, however, expect to see Jack and Maddie nowhere in sight. Somehow it burned him even more that he was right on that last one.

"What are you doing here?! I mean, shouldn't you be out absorbing another company?" Her voice faltered at the last few words, hinting that she wasn't thrilled with millionaires as a whole.

"I was a friend of your parents. We attended college together. For a short while, anyway. I expect you are Jasmine?"

She nods, and he reaches into his coat and passes her the papers. Jasmine takes them, examining them slowly and carefully. The bags under her eyes make it clear she's struggling to take in the information; she's rereading the front page after five minutes.

While her attention is diverted, Vlad steps closer to the bed, and despite his internalized bravado, feels something inside of him start to crack. There, on the bed. Daniel Fenton. A teenager. A youngling. A child. Vlad stares. Daniel Fenton is wrapped in two blankets. One, scratchy hospital white, the other a plush blue with little white stars scattered about the surface. Lines are drawn between certain stars, forming constellations. He suspects it came from his own room. His hair, obsidian black, is completely disheveled. Multiple cables are coming from under a blue gown and leading to various monitors. All of which Vlad hates already. But at the heart of it all, it's a somewhat kindred soul that can't even greet him. He's smaller than Vlad expected. There's an I.V. line in his arm giving him fluids, and the intubation makes Vlad uncomfortable. Eyes shut, dead to the world, skin paled like death...

"I don't understand... Mom and Dad never talked abut you. But this says you're our guardian?"

Vlad removes his gloves. "Yes. I'm a bit ashamed to say that there was a delay in signing it. I'll be filing it tomorrow morning. It was their wish, should the need arise, that I look after you two. And it appears to me that this is that time."

"Wait, wait, wait. Wait. Does this mean... Are you taking us?"

Vlad sighs, weighing his words carefully. He doesn't want to. But he's willing to. At the very least, he might have to take Daniel. "I am stepping in," Vlad sits down in the chair she's been living in for the last several weeks, "I'd like you to tell me what happened and what your brother's condition is."

The redhead sputters. "I don't even know you! Why would I tell you?! You're not my dad and you definitely aren't my uncle and you're not my cousin or my brother or a relative of any kind!"

"But I am one thing. I'm here."

That's all it takes, he can see, to break the wall she'd thrown up so quickly. She doesn't ask for proof of his claims, which he thinks she should. And he would provide it. But she's so drained, so burned out and so spent that she just looks back down at the papers in her hand, slumps and passes them back. The man is playing on her emotions and lack of rest, he's fully aware. Were Jasmine not so broken down, she might pick up on it.

"I'm here and I'm asking because I care. What is his condition?"

"You don't know us," she says softly. Brain burned out, but still firing on some cylinders.

"No. I don't. But I do know your parents, and I'm willing to help. But I need to know what's going on with him," he motions towards the otherwise lifeless boy.

Jasmine visibly slumps and leaves the room. She comes back with an orange plastic chair that looks less comfortable than a bed of nails. She plops down like a sack of potatoes and takes a few breaths.

"It's that stupid portal. Mom and dad built that stupid portal and... they plugged it in, and nothing happened. So they gave up. Danny wanted to know why. They'd been dropping the components for it in his breakfast every day for three years, he wanted to know why all that cereal went to waste," a light chuckle slipped out. "Maybe he just wanted revenge for all the ruined breakfast. I don't know. He wanted to look inside. See if there was a loose part or something. Something simple that he could fix. I went downstairs with him to supervise; I didn't want him getting hurt. I made him put on that suit for protection. He went into it, and for a moment everything was fine..."

Vlad swallowed. But motioned for her to continue.

"There was a power switch. Inside. It was the dumbest place for it. I told them it was a bad idea to put that switch there. They didn't want to hear it. He bumped it by mistake! It was a mistake! An accident! It was just one lousy button! The portal flashed, it got so bright I had to cover my eyes, and when it was over, he was just lying there!"

While the redhead did her best to settle herself down, burying her face in her hands, Vlad pinched the bridge of his nose. He can hear her heart slow down to a safer rate after a moment. And all of the energy drains from her face, leaving dull and tired eyes.

"I tried to help him, but CPR wasn't working. So I called an ambulance. They had to use a defibrillator to bring him back. His hand..."

Vlad looks at the charred digits.

"It's burned from the jolt he took in the portal. The suit didn't do much good. They got his heart going again, but it's too slow. But everytime they try to bring it back up to normal numbers, it gets out of control and they have to stop it again. They don't know why. They finally just stopped trying and intubated him to make sure he gets enough air."

"Have they done any tests for brain activity?"

She manages a nod. "Everything's working. His reflexes are there, maybe a little slower than they like, but he's not brain dead. He shouldn't be like this. He should be awake. They've labeled him comatose, but only because he just won't wake up. No matter what they do or try, no matter what drugs they give him. They don't know what do with him. They don't really know what's wrong. The best working theory is his heart's just beating way too slow to give him the oxygen he needs to regain consciousness. But they're giving him the air, and he's still...just..." she throws up her arms, and in frustration, motions to the whole bed, "like this. He's always cold, now, too. They can't fix that, either. His body temp is severely hypothermic, but extreme hypothermia means brain damage. His brain's fine. It also means numbness, and he responds to pain, so he's not numb. It's almost like the lights are on, we're home, we're in the house with him-"

"-And he's in a different room."

"Yeah. They told me two weeks ago that this is just gonna take time. He's gotta get through it himself. They'll give him the air, but that's all they can do. I feel like he's slipping through my hands. Sometimes literally."

Vlad's eyes narrow. And something...sort of...niggles. "How so?"

Jasmine blinks. "What?"

"You said he's slipping through your hands. How do you mean?"

"I think it's just me being overtired. Forget it. It's silly."

"No, no, tell me. I'm serious." He leans forward and gives her a look, an expression that almost says to her, 'I may know something you don't.'  At least, she might cue in if she weren't so bedraggled in her exhaustion.

"Um, well, it's silly, like I said. But I'll be holding his hand for a while, and then all of a sudden it drops out of my hold. I think it's just me being so tired that I'm falling asleep and letting go without meaning to."

Vlad feels his heart kick up in his chest. 'No.'

"He's cold, now, you said?" A slight nod.

"His brain is active?" A nod.

"His reflexes are there?" He keeps his composure, retains his settled exterior. But, inside, his core is practically vibrating in fear.

"Well, they weren't, at first. It was about a week before he started responding. Every day is just a little bit better than the last, but-"

"-his heart is also slow?" Another nod.

"How slow?"

Jasmine stares at him, but points to the monitor.

'Twenty-fou-oh for Ancients' sake!' "I see." Vlad gets up and sheds his coat calmly. He thinks he knows what the problem is. He just wishes it will be something else. Hopes he's wrong. After all, the chances are just outrageous.

"Why don't you go home for the night, Miss Fenton? A few hours of rest might do you some good." He needs to check. Just to be sure. But he needs her out of the room, first.

She shakes her head slowly, "No, I gotta stay with him."

"Go home. If you stay, you may be forced to suffer through News 4's interview. I can hear the van pulling up outside."

That earned a groan. "Alright, I'll go. But, can you stay with him? Please?" Her eyes plead silently, begging him to not leave her brother alone.

He gets up and gently ushers her out of the room. "Go home, my dear. And sleep. Rest assured I've no intention of leaving him unattended. With any luck, I might even chase the news crew off."

Something was mumbled, possibly a "thank-you." But it was garbled into submission under the weight of a yawn. She's slowly heading for the elevator when Vlad hears a finger jabbing incessantly at a button.

"Oh, Miss Fenton, one more thing?" Jasmine turns back and peers at him in her sleepless stupor.

"Take the stairs."

"What?! But we're six floors up!"

"Trust me. Just do it."

The whine that echoes back to him makes him feel sorry for her. But it'll spare her from the unfortunate run-in with the pack of vultures he knows is quickly climbing the floors.

Just as he's gone back in and settled back into the chair, the elevator dings behind him.

Chapter Text

There are many sounds that help add depth to the world. They add color, in a way. Meaning. Sound is the scent of sight. Sound announces sunrise by way of the rooster. It soothes by the patter of rain and warns by the lion's roar. It even tells a mother when her child is in pain. Some of the sounds Vlad favors the most are whimpers for mercy. Cries and pleas for relief, for him to let go or stop have always fueled his ego and his need to prove that he's above whatever victim that's crossed his path. There are many ways to acquire such sweet music. Particularly, he always enjoyed getting them by pure pettiness, threatening ruin over precious objects of sentimental or monetary value. There's a certain sense of satisfaction gained through these behaviors. It's the cheapest of thrills, but nearly an old pastime of his.

The camera lens is thoroughly blocked by the palm of his hand, preventing the collection of footage of Daniel Fenton. He grips the plastic rim firmly, hearing the frame slowly crack under his strength. The cameraman whines and gnaws on the finger he's chosen to bite down on, in false hopes it'll ease the pain. They can hear the glass of the lens itself start to fracture. Slowly.

"Filming a minor without permission, and without a parent or guardian present. Have they taught you nothing?" Vlad berates quietly. There's a distinct lack of emotion on his face. But his eyes are dangerously close to turning red. He can feel his fangs wanting to drop.

The glass finally shatters.

"Hey!" The cameraman gives the camera a hard tug, trying to pull it away. But Vlad's grip is unrelenting. "It wasn't my idea, man! I just shoot what I'm told! Hey!" Another fruitless tug, and Vlad responds by crushing the plastic. Shards of the lens scatter across the floor. "Hey, this cost me over two thousands bucks!"

"Oh," Vlad tilts his head, "is that all?" Vlad relaxes his grasp, just long enough to hear the man's heart start to slow down...and then wrenches the entire camera away with barely any effort on his part. He storms over to the window, rips it open, and though the man rushes to stop him, Vlad hurls it out before he gets to him.

Vlad watches as he runs to the window, thoroughly pleased with himself. It's worth it to see him lean partially out the frame, just enough to see the impact on the pavement below. He was briefly tempted to grab an ankle and just tilt the louse up and out to join his ruined camera. But he's a good little evil bastard and keeps himself under control. Seeing the man bolt out of the room, down the hall towards the stairs is just icing on the cake. He settles back down into the seat by Daniel's bedside.

"I don't appreciate one of my crew being harassed." A woman enters the room, without invitation. She's dressed in gray slacks and a black T-shirt, with black heels. Her brown hair is wrapped up in a bun to keep it away from her eyes. Slightly tanned, she's not dressed for the weather of the town. He supposes she's pretty, but even vampires tend to be. She holds out a hand. "Cindy Hansen."

He looks at it, unimpressed, and looks up at her. "I don't appreciate people preying on the misfortunes of children." He could be a cruel man at times, but even Vlad drew the line at bringing harm to children, be it mental, emotional, or physical. He just wouldn't.

She nods in understanding and pulls away. "This interview wasn't my idea to begin with. But it's been several years since anything interesting has happened in this town, and my boss is desperate."

Vlad grunts. "Not the word I'd use."

"Well, I still have a job to do," Cindy looks around, then behind her, out into the hall, "I was supposed to speak to Miss Fenton tonight. Where is she?" Her tone is soft but Vlad can hear the inner beast that possesses most reporters creeping through the edge of her words.

"I've asked the girl to step out. She is a child, not a Pulitzer."

She looks back at him, eyes narrowing as she studies him. It takes a moment, but he sees the flicker of realization spark in her face. "You're a long way from home. Aren't you, Mr. Masters?"

Vlad would normally preen at the recognition. But this time, as he considers the circumstances and lays his eyes on the boy in the bed, he's not in the mood. "I'm right where I'm supposed to be," he replies, voice low and grim.

The reporter takes a seat in the other chair. "What's a millionaire like you doing in Amity Park?" She's interested, now, which is not what he wanted.

"Contemplating homicide if you don't leave in the next five minutes."

"Oh, come on. Seriously. Amity Park is barely a dot on the map. Why are you, of all people, here? It's Amity Park. There's no theme parks, there's no factories, there's barely even a playground. The land isn't even worth developing. There's nothing special here."

'But there is,' Vlad thinks, fixated on the raven haired boy.

"Don't tell me you're here for this," she points a thumb towards the bed. Vlad glances at her for a moment, with a look that anyone with a decent survival instinct would cower under. He looks back at the bed.

"You've gotta be kidding. This kid's a loser. I mean, he's the school punching bag. His grades suck, he doesn't have any special talents, barely any friends, he can't even run a lap around the football field. And his parents wreck the town, like, twice a week."

The halfa doesn't pick up on the tone of dismissal so much as he's smacked clear across the face with it. "Miss Hansen?"

"Mm?"

"Get out."

She blinks. "What?"

Vlad bolts upright before she can process it, and grabs her arm with a grip he has to remind himself not to overdue, or he'll bruise her, and Cindy finds herself hauled to her feet. Before a word of protest can be uttered, he drags her out of the room and down the hall. A nurse is just stepping off the elevator when he pulls the reporter over and gives her a shove inside. He slams his arm against the frame to keep the doors from closing and she whirls around, dizzy and stumbling, to face him.

"I find very little amusement in the failures of the local educational system, and to see that even the adults of this town would sooner give kinder regards to a mutt in the street brings me even less comfort."

He swipes his hand across every button on the panel, "And that boy is worth more than you." Six floors up, she won't be stuck in there for long. But he gets the feeling he's gotten his point across. Free from distractions, he just needs to sit, defuse and wait for the shift change. To confirm, or hopefully and preferably, deny his theory.

It's absurdly late when the shift change finally comes, and Vlad keeps a sharp ear out for the brief few minutes he'll have. Footsteps and chatter slowly drift down the hall. The elevator dings, the doors open. He waits until everyone's piled on. Then, the agonizing microseconds as the doors begin to slide shut. Somewhere in his consciousness, a piece of his brain wonders where he learned such patience.

The moment he hears them slide, he's on his feet. As quick as he can, the halfa gets up and nudges the plush blanket and hospital sheet down to the boy's waist. He shifts the cords to the side, but doesn't disconnect them. He'll alert the staff if he does. "Please," he begs quietly, "let me be wrong. Just this once." He holds a hand over the small torso, just inches above, and feels for traces of ecto-energy. For a brief moment, nothing comes to him, and he starts to feel relief. His heart even starts to settle, for the first time in hours. But just as he's about to pull away, he feels a spark in his fingertips. It's tiny. Miniscule. Barely there. But he feels it, nonetheless.

It's a faint pulse, infantile in its strength. But he recognizes it immediately. His heart sinks into a stomach filled with dread. Now he has to think. He knows it's been a month. The core should be developed, by now. At least partially. Is it possible that in his moment of death, Daniel's body took just enough internal damage to delay the process? Vlad concentrates again. He'll need to tap into the new core.

All ghosts have a core, and while some are situated slightly differently, over the stomach, the back of a neck or even in the head, the most common placing is in the chest, either centered or over the heart. Vlad's own fire core is where his heart would be. And finding the boy's core placed over his own speeds the process along. He won't need to waste precious time searching for it. Hovering his hand, he builds a small charge of energy that targets the core. A void opens. Nothingness, like the center of a black hole that divets into the smaller body. And there, in the middle, perhaps the size of a marble, is a bright blue orb. It crackles softly, and Vlad is mildly startled to feel the temperature is significantly lower than his own and dropping. Rapidly. He recalls Jasmine mentioning hypothermia.

'An ice core, then,' he realizes. But it's drastically underdeveloped. He can feel the raw energy now that it's exposed, and it's apparent that instead of focusing in on itself and growing, most of the ecto-energy is flowing through Daniel's body. Vlad briefly wonders how much voltage he took. At the current rate of development, with most of its energy diverted to the healing process, the youngling halfa could be locked in this state for as much as a year. If he's going to recover in a more timely manner, he needs a boost.

"Forgive me, this is going to hurt. But it's for your own good."

Carefully, he reaches his hand into the void and cradles the pathetic blue core in his palm. Channeling pure electricity, as strong as he can manage, vibrant and pink, down his arm and into his hand, Vlad snaps his fingers shut and grasps the core tightly. The strength of the charge forces Daniel's spine to arch off the bed. His eyes snap open, glowing ectoplasm green. Vlad can feel his core dropping further in temperature. The room chills and frost splashes across the surface of the bed, down the frame and over the floor. He doesn't see the charred hand ice over.

The rate of growth increases dramatically, pushing on his fingers until the cold forces him to let go, and Vlad pulls away suddenly. Daniel collapses against the bed like a rock, eyes still open and alight. He's breathing heavily, despite the intubation, almost fighting it, like he's just run a marathon. The void closes.

But the goal is achieved.

Vlad's arm burns from channeling so much concentrated power, but it's worth it when he looks up and sees the monitor. It no longer reads twenty four beats per minute. Now, it's reading sixty. And holding. A brief yelp slips out as he practically falls backwards into the chair, clutching his arm tight to his chest. His fingers are numb with frostbite. His fire core is working overtime to heal him, as he's literally cooked his nerves. He feels a snicker pull free, followed by a chuckle, then a belt of laughter, until he's practically in hysterics. But the thrill of having successfully powered the boy's core melts away seconds later. Vlad Masters is left staring at the ceiling and fighting back tears as he finally swallows the reality. The whole thing took less than two minutes, but...

"Dammit, Jack," he huffs, "what have you done?" A tickle comes to his throat, he coughs once, and a whisp of hot red smoke escapes his lips.

"Fuck."

By the time the next shift has arrived, Daniel's eyes have drifted shut, he's relaxed, and Vlad has tucked him back in to be found just as he had been left. The frost has creeped back up the bed, back into the unconscious body and the floor is bone dry. The staff nudge the millionaire out of the room so they can remove the tubing. Vlad hears comments and practical trills of joy from the nurses. And he lets them speak, but listens in. Because their patient has been labeled comatose for a month. None of them thought he'd wake.

"He's still awfully cold.''

"But he's breathing on his own!"

"His parents are never in here, who's his guardian?"

"I think his sister is looking after him, at the moment."

Here, he cuts in. "Uh, no. That would be me." Vlad re-enters the room, pulls the paperwork from his coat, and passes it to one of the nurses. "He's in my care, Jasmine is only sixteen." It's not filed yet. But by the time the sun graces the town, it will be. The benefits of the late hour means they can't check until morning. By then, the proper documentation will be in the state's records, and the yellowed papers he's presented will just appear as proof of his claim. It's not necessarily a lie, in his opinion.

"Alright, Mr. Masters. Well, it looks like Danny could possibly wake up in the next few weeks. But we'll need to have the doctor take a look at him."

Vlad nods. "That's fine. I know it's late, or early, depending on who's asked, but I wonder if we could discuss the billing. You see, his sister chose to take on the bill, and I'm afraid it's become too much for her."

The woman smiles cheerfully. "Sure!" She rushes over to the counter and sits down at the computer, "I know Miss Fenton currently has a payment plan set up. We don't usually allow that method with this kind of situation, but in this case, we made an exception. Now, what are yo-"

"-I want to pay it. All of it." The feeling has mostly returned to his limb, the tips of his fingers are still a little fuzzy. But he has enough sensation to reach into a back pocket and dig out his wallet. He dumps a solid metal card on the counter in front of her. "Now, preferably."

She looks startled, and hesitantly picks up his card. "All of it? Now?"

Vlad braces against the counter in a manner that can easily be mistaken for exhaustion. "Yes. Now."

"Are you...this is a pretty big amount. Are you sure you don't want to discuss it wit-"

"-She's sixteen years old, she's in over her head. I will tell her in the morning. Just run it."

"Alright," she finally does as he tells her. The amount, he can guess. It won't hurt. His account won't even notice. She passes the card back to him a moment later.

"It's my understanding that the doctor will be by in the morning, yes?" He puts his card back in his wallet. The nurse nods. "Good. Have him look Daniel over, and then I'd like to speak with him. Personally."

Chapter Text

"You're taking Danny out of the hospital?!"

Vlad winces at the rise of her voice, his hand jerking a little in signing the release papers. "I'm having him moved to my home in Wisconsin. It's only a day trip away, and you're more than welcome to see him. But the doctors have done what they can. The kind of care your brother needs now is not in the hospital's purview to provide. I just need your signature on this," he holds a pen out.

Jasmine balks. "Who's going to care for him?!"

"I am," Vlad answers flatly, "I know what he needs. If you come to your senses and settle down, I'll be more than happy to explain after he's been transported. Take the pen."

"What?! No! What about mom and dad?! Shouldn't they have a say in this?! Or at least be told?!"

Vlad stops. A vine of thorns wraps itself around his heart at the mere mention of...them. He turns to look at the redhead, eyes alight with fire and malice. They must flash red, at least briefly, he figures, because she takes a step back. "Are your parents aware of what's going on?" He asks quietly.

"W-well..."

"Are they aware that your brother is comatose?"

"Not really, but when they get focused on their inventions, their passage of time i-"

"-Are they aware of the accident?"

"I-"

"-Are they even aware? At all? Of anything? Of the debt you had piling up? Of you dropping out of school? Of your job? Are they aware that it's been an entire month since they've last seen their son?"

Jasmine bites her tongue and looks away.

"I said I was stepping in. This is why. Old habits die hard, Miss Fenton. I had hoped that the present scenario might not exist, but I'm not surprised that it does. And that is what should have you worried. I'm not taking him away from you, I am simply relocating him to an environment wherein he'll be cared for properly."

"Well, why does he have to go with you? Why can't I just take him home?" There's tears running down her face now, but if they have any affect, he doesn't show it.

"Can you guarantee that he'll be looked after? Can you tell me, with the utmost certainty, that if I left him with you, you would continue your schooling, in its entirety, and your parents would care for him while you're in class? Would they share the load? Can you guarantee that they would take the moments necessary to check on him? Change bedding and bandages? Make sure the I.V. never runs dry?"

She doesn't respond, but the man can see he's slowly getting through to her. Even though he isn't divulging all of the information, or the unfortunate and very dark truth of the matter.

"Better still, I'll lessen the severity of the situation; would they even notice if he walked in the door of his own accord, tomorrow?"

He glares at her, eye-to-eye, having backed her mind and her semi-justified whining into a corner. To him, she's acting like a child. And he'll stare her down. Until she breaks, if necessary.

"That's not fair," she replies, but there's no fight in it. Instead, it sounds of surrender when he isn't done firing.

"I think it's perfectly fair. You're so quick to rush to their defense, and in the same breath, you can barely make excuses for their absence," Vlad shoves the form and pen into her chest, "Sign it."

Sometimes, the heartless exterior Vlad has built up over the years proves detrimental. At other times, beneficial. In this instance, he can see that it's doing both. He hasn't told her everything yet, which is deliberate. He was planning to, but he needs full control over the situation, first. Jasmine places the paper on the nurses' counter and signs it in silence while he watches. She's giving in because she needs the help. She's giving in because it means she can get back to her life and save her future. She's giving in because in the end, it's what's best for her brother. Vlad doesn't relax until the last of her name is scrawled onto the bottom of the paper.

"How long?"

Vlad takes the form and hands it off to a nurse. "How long do I intend to keep him?"

"Yes."

"I don't know. To have him conscious and home to you, the hope is a few months. The reality might be longer, but we'll see."

It's a vague prediction that successfully pacifies her. She watches at a distance while nurses proceed to move her brother from the bed to a stretcher. Just as they start to go by, she stops them long enough to take the star printed blanket that she'd draped across his lap. Letting them go, she bundles it up in her arms and tunes out the noise and the chatter of it all, watches the elevator close until she can't see her brother anymore.

"I suppose there is one small mercy," Vlad says as he hears the elevator descend, and glances at the plush blanket balled up in her arms.

Jasmine blinks and looks up at him while he puts on his coat.

"He's now breathing on his own with acceptable oxygen saturation. Otherwise, this would be a fixed-wing transport. This is much easier."

The redhead doesn't reply.

"Now," he pulls his gloves on, "do you wish to come with me? Or would you rather go home and inform your parents?"

"Go home," she says softly.

"Very well. If you'd like, I can drop you off."

The girl nods and waits until he's ready. It only takes him another minute, but it feels like an eternity. She keeps her head down. She sees his boots go by and follows. Into the elevator, and out, through the main doors and into the cold winter air. There's a limo waiting, which, if it shocks her, she doesn't say so. She gives a momentary expression of surprise, but nothing more. She might be inclined to roll her eyes as Vlad opens the door for her, but outdated chivalry is far from her mind by this point. She climbs in and practically plops onto a seat, he seats himself opposite of her and closes the door.

It isn't until they've pulled away from the curb that some more energy works its way to her jaw.

"You said, 'old habits die hard.' ...what did you mean?"

Vlad sighs. He should have known that she'd pick up on that. "Even back when I was attending college with your parents, Jack and Maddie were still chasing the idea of a portal. I was working with them, since the idea of a ghost portal fascinated me, as well. We managed to construct something, little more than a show piece, really. They wanted to turn it on and see if it worked. But your father made some severe miscalculations and I was hospitalized," he glances at her, seeing an expression of sudden clarity on her face, "I was in hospital for several years, and they never came to visit. I never heard an apology, never got a phone call, I never even recieved a poorly conceived note. I matured with the company of nurses and doctors. My friends were antiseptics, antibiotics, alcohol and gauze. No one came to see me. Not ever. And that is why your brother's situation upsets me so much. And, it is why I pushed so hard for you to let me take over. I know exactly what's wrong with him, and he is going to need all the guidance he can get."

And she was stricken silent for the remainder of the ride, which he took advantage of to rest his eyes. The car turned occasionally, stopped a few times more, and before long, Jasmine peered out the window to see home. Vlad leaned over and opened the door, looking at her. Examining the look in her eyes. He hears her swallow, and tries to find something to say that will ease her burden a little more. He makes a mental note of the blanket, watching her clutch it tightly to her chest. Maybe he should look into similar bedding...

"Would...would you like me to go in with you? To tel-"

"-Why?" she bites, "You're right, okay? They don't notice anything. They don't pay attention. Its not deliberate, they're just...hopeless."

He sighs softly. "Well, when they finally notice, or, I'd like to imagine they will, eventually, what do you intend to tell them?"

"The truth, I guess," she climbs out of the car, "maybe. I don't know."

As she takes a step towards her front door, "I'll call you when he's awake."

It's faint, but he does hear her mutter, and it nearly breaks him. "At least someone cares."

Vlad waits until she's inside before telling the driver to go. And deep in his chest, he actually feels something of a connection towards her. A misunderstood mind lost in an intellectual wasteland, and an overlooked soul scrambling for a firm hold on a world that seems content to just leave her in the dust. He knows the feeling.

He arrived unannounced, stepping up for a child not his own. He's paid the bill in its entirety, effectively giving the girl her life back and saving her from being financially ruined before she's even old enough to vote. He's seized control of an emotionally traumatic situation and thus is taking on what should be someone else's responsibility. He's doing what the Fentons should have done. He realizes, as the car pulls away from the curb, that he is being the parent.

Chapter Text

The ride is long. Hours long. They don't stop. Sure, the limo's plush seating is beginning to gnaw at his tailbone. But they're not stopping. He's going home, and for the next several months, he's going to be sharing that home. He's going to be caring for a youngling halfa. The notion leaves a foul taste in his mouth. Not that he's no longer the only one of his kind, but that the other is a child. A boy who belongs in school, looking for a date and fussing over homework. Not trying to grasp the concept that he's worse than dead.

Vlad settles for stretching out across the seats, finding the position a little kinder. The war he's waging on his spine is worth it. More than worth it. But he'll need to be able to stand up if he wants to get his new ward settled into a room.

He's just dozing off when the limo finally slows in a familiar turn, and the bumpy blacktop of the highway is replaced by smooth pavement. It would normally take him a moment to get upright, but he's not about to waste any time with what's waiting. He bolts upright, ignores the raging sting in his vertabrae as they crack back into position and pushes the door open.

''Where do you want him, sir?'' one EMT asks.

Vlad goes and quickly gets the front doors of the mansion open. ''Ground floor, gentlemen. This way, please.'' They go inside, turning down a hall that usually leads to the servants' quarters. The halfa continues to find it all surreal, but can't dwell on it. Not until he has his new ward settled. ''Here,'' Vlad stops long enough to open a new door. The paramedics ignored the grand stonework and football memorbillia going in, but having seen it, the dark wood paneling on the walls of the new room does surprise them. They don't say anything, of course. It's not their place. But they push the stretcher straight to the bed. Vlad pulls a red comfortor aside just as they shift Daniel over. For just a second, he thinks the boy's expression softens upon contact with the plush mattress.

He pulls the cover back up, tucking the boy in and gently laying his arms across his stomach. He's careful to not jostle the I.V. line. The medics set up a monitor to keep track of his heart. Vlad wants to feel that it isn't necessary anymore, but he wants to be sure, first. Even if he knows what he's just brought home is another halfa.

"Will you be needing any additional equipment?" One holds out a clipboard and pen.

''No," Vlad signs the papers, "That'll be all. Thank-you.'' He passes the clipboard back.

He waits for them to leave, listening for the front doors shutting behind them. Studies the near comatose patient he's just taken on while the ambulance's engine revs and pulls away.

After three days, the monitor's beeping is grating on his nerves. Vlad hates the sound, even if it proves a sign of life. His new ward doesn't really need it. But again, better safe than sorry. Daniel Fenton lays amongst the plush pillows of the bed, silent as the wind, body otherwise statuesque if not for his slow breathing. He's managed to get the boy's heart-rate up a smidgen more since the hospital, just a little, to 65 bpm. It's nearly bordering bradychardia, but it's far better than the original 24 lousy beats per minute. All he had done was deliver another jolt of energy to the younger's new ghost core.

Though still growing, it's nearly there, last Vlad checked. But it would still be another month. And the moment Daniel woke, Vlad would have to begin training him. Teaching him to control and harness his new abilities. Though still unconscious, the bitter cold of his growing core was already becoming a problem. More than once, Vlad has caught frost creeping down the bedding and across the floor. And more than once, he's had to light the fireplace to keep the room temperature up. It's not easy trying to light a fire when it's 32 degrees and dropping. And harder still when the fire succeeds in bringing warmth, as the source starts to fret slightly in his sleep. Anywhere above 45 degrees and Daniel gets distressed, heart beating faster than acceptable and sweat forming on his forehead. Vlad knows that in the long run, this makes sense. The ice core means his body temperature is much lower than a human's, now.

And as he leaned against the doorframe, wrapped up in his heavier robe and looking on but wary of the bitter chill, Vlad sighed, the weight of the situation dragging his mood down. He remembers his own accident with unfortunate clarity. He's partially glad he wasn't present for this one. But he's also upset at not being there. It might have helped. He might have answers for some of the questions he knows are just around the corner. He might have even been able to prevent it. The entire debacle meant that he had to delay the reunion by a few months; he needed time to teach the child. And though he didn't want to, Vlad saw to it that the Fentons received an invitation. They responded almost immediately. The elder halfa is dreading the event. Jack and Maddie are the last people he wants to see, at the moment.

"What have I gotten myself into?" His habit of burying himself in his work is as strong as ever, this work was just different.

Just then, on the bed, Daniel's eyelids twitched. Just a little. Just enough. Vlad felt elation in that little movement. He gulps and crosses the threshold of the doorway, into the cold, and settles into the easy chair he placed at the bedside. He decides he can suffer the chill. For a few minutes. The elder halfa begins to wonder what the boy will be like. He'll never get to know the human Daniel Fenton; the portal saw to that. And Vlad has to face that fact. He'll be attempting to get to know someone who's going to wake up and realize that everything is different. He'll be fighting with someone suffering confusion, depression, rage, and possibly even an existential and/or identity crisis. Vlad went through his own fits as a pissed-off adult, he can handle a fourteen year old going through the same phases. Right?

Chapter Text

Danny blinks his eyes open. Everything is white. No sun, no sky, no roads or buildings. There's no grass, no flowers. No bees, no birds, there's nothing. Just white. Looking down at himself reveals much of the same. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and loose pants. He's barefoot, too, which does make him raise a brow in confusion.

"Am I dead or dreaming?" He asks aloud. His voice echoes softly into the void. He pinches his arm. He thinks he feels it. There's a faint fuzzy sensation. Not pain, but something that's just barely there. Something is wrong, and he knows it. ''Not dead, but...'' He knows he felt the pinch. His arm says he did, the skin is slightly redenned from it, but his brain can't agree.

''Where am I?''

Faintly, footsteps begin to sound behind him. There's a barely-there echo with each step. Danny turns slowly.

What he sees stuns him to silence. Just as white as wherever he is, a woman, a harpy if he guesses right, completely coated with shimmering snow white feathers. Her face, very nearly human, is pure white, even her lashes. Her eyes, equally so, though they almost glow. There's no pupils in them, just pure glowing white. A layer of feathers coates her head and drapes down her back like hair. She stands much taller than him, he figures around nine feet high. Her legs are long. Her feet, those of a bird, with two talons pointed forward and a single claw back on each, pure white. One lone tail feather drags behind her, nearly matching her height in length, and he thinks it splays out enough to cover an entire sidewalk. Her arms, as wings, in a display of beauty that nearly reminds him of a swan. As she steps even closer and cranes her head down to examine him, he takes a step back and stumbles to the ground.

"You are smaller than we usually expect," she says softly.

"Um...I'm sorry?" Really, what is he supposed to do with that?

"There is nothing to apologize for. But we do not often see your kind so young."

"We?"

She straightens up, extends her wings out, and gives a graceful bow. "I am the spinner of your thread of life. My older sister draws your thread, and my eldest sister cuts your thread when your time is done. Welcome to the void." She smiles, "May I have your coin?"

Danny blinks. "Coin?" What coin? He didn't have any money on him. And she was just talking about thread.

One wing reaches forward and the feathers recede to reveal a human hand that gently taps his chest. As she pulls away, an object manifests in front of him.

"What is that?"

"Your soul," she replies gently, smiling at him as she takes it in hand.

Danny sits, confused at its shape. "My soul is a coin?"

"Yes."

"So, what about my 'thread?'"

The harpy uses her other wing to gently nudge him to his feet. "All existence is determined by choice and by chance. Who you choose to be, your personality, the paths you take in life, all that makes you who you are is decided by choice. Therefore, when, and thus, where you will go, is decided by chance. And what better way is there to rule in your fate, than to merely toss a coin? Mortals such as you toss coins everyday to make simple decisions, and sometimes hard ones. I do believe even some entertainment starts with a coin toss. To decide who should move first, yes?"

"Huh." It made sense, in retrospect. But in his gut he felt that there has to be a catch. Life and death can't be as simple as tossing a coin.

"All beings are spun a thread of life, but when it is cut is determined by chance. We do not cut thread when we think it is long enough. We cut it when chance intervenes."

"So, you make the thread, someone else just starts pulling, you flip a coin, and if it's tails, the other one just cuts it? And that's it? Lights out?"

"Essentially, yes!" She sounds thrilled that he understands. "Shall we give it a go?"

He looks at the coin in her hand, a shining silver dollar with heads facing up. Is that really all there is to it? A flip? A toss? A simple, unbiased fifty/fifty? Heads, you live? Tails, you die? Danny swallows the uncomfortable lump that forms in his throat. Talk about a gamble. He's never flipping another coin ever again. But, no sense in arguing with the nine foot bird woman that is literally holding his soul in her hand. "Sure, may as well."

Her feathers bristle, pleased with his response. She takes a few steps back, putting a small amount of space between them. Despite her peaceful demeanor, Danny is overwhelmed with anxiety. He draws in a sharp breath as the harpy flips the coin, his soul, his chance of life, into the air. His eyes follow it. Time seems to crawl. It spins, changing sides more times than he can count. It glints in the light as it falls to the ground, like a spinning top, twirling effortlessly and slowing, until...

The harpy frowns. Danny's eyes widen. The smallest margin of chance. The probability of it all. There, the piece stands. Not on heads, not on tails, but on its edge.

"What does that mean?" he asks quietly.

The Spinner looks away, almost in shame, and begins to walk away.

"Hey!" Danny reaches out for her, grabbing her wrist. He wanted her arm, but she's twice his height. The silky touch of her feathered skin makes no difference to his confusion. She looks down at him, as he throws his other arm back and points at the silver. "What does it mean?!"

She tugs her wrist free with little effort. He's not angry, she knows this. He's terrified. "It means there is nothing more I can do. I'm sorry. The decision is final."

Danny looks back at it, then back up at her. "That's not a decision!"

She places her hand on his shoulder. "It is. Whatever it may mean, it is a decision. And it is out of our control."

"Flip it again!"

"I can't."

"Why not?!"

"Sister Inexorable cannot cut a thread that Sister Alloter cannot hold."

Danny tugs at his hair in frustration. "It's a fucking coin! Not a thread! Just flip it again!"

"It is chance. The chance has been taken, the ruling has been made. Your thread, and you, are beyond our grasp."

Suddenly, there's pain. A buzzing sensation tears through him, focused in his chest, and he drops to the ground with his hands pressed over his heart. He feels heat, unbearable and beyond any fever he's ever endured. His chest burns, but he feels it through his whole body. Feels it in his bones. Like he's vibrating. He doesn't really notice when he opens his throat to scream.

"I'm sorry, but there is no place for you here." He hears her words through it all, his body locks into position and he sees her turn around for the last time. Clawing at his chest through the pain, he watches her walk away until she's faded from sight. And distantly, as black spots flood his vision and the pain sears him from the inside out, he's sure of it, would swear on it. He sees just a portion of her tail pass through another coin that stands on its edge. He swears it's intentional. It does not move. It holds fast in its place, undisturbed by her presence and the weight of her steps. And he knows, because his own coin stands behind him, that it isn't his.

Chapter Text

Still writing more, don't worry. I'm not cutting the story off. But I wanted to share some of the artwork I drew up for this fic. Before anything else, I started with the Spinner. I scribbled her out over a few days at work. I finally ran her through my art program, Ibis Paint X, which is free in the Google Play store. I started with little pieces of cardstock, which are plentiful at my job. Lots of sketches and re-sketches and re-re-sketches and so on, before settling on a design.

She even started out walking like a raptor, actually. I had this idea of her walk being very dino-esque and she'd keep her arms sort of tucked in like a rex. And originally, I had settled on her not having wings, then decided on wings for about one hour, then dropped that. And instead of human hands, she was supposed to have these three long death spikes/claws/talons/pokey things. Ultimately, I had to ditch the death spike pokey things to make her part work.

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Here she is in all her rough draft raptor glory.

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Here she is with her wings, which lasted an hour, which is how long it took to scratch this one out. As soon as she was done, I just kinda decided, "Yeah, no, too much, I ain't doin' that, and she doesn't need them." I revisited wings one more time and stuck with my decision.

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This was the final product. But, of course, in order to make her part in the story work, she did have to have wings ever so briefly. I still didn't draw them, though.

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I also wanted the other two Fates involved, and there was supposed to be a quick interaction where Danny is just standing there while the Fates just pass his coin/soul around and it doesn't have any faces. First the Spinner would call in the Allotter, and the Allotter would just pass it to the Inexorable, who just goes, "we can't flip this," and apologizes to Danny. I even worked up designs for the Allotter and the Inexorable, but ultimately left them out because I couldn't find a way to work them in without the scene coming off as clunky.

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Believe me, I was really bummed when I just couldn't get them in, because it took a week to settle on the Spinner's design, and about a month for the Allotter, but it took me about a hot minute to decide that I wanted the Inexorable to be based off of a death's head hawk moth.

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I promise I have more, I drew up some stuff for Danny and Vlad. But ya'll have to be patient.

Chapter Text

She comes to visit a week later.

No longer having the weight of her brother on her shoulders, Jasmine finds the days lighter in terms of grunt work. She quit her job the day Vlad Masters took her brother out of the hospital. Once she got into the house, she went upstairs to her room and added Danny's blanket to her bed. She had hoped that having it on her bed, with her at night, it might bring some comfort. She genuinely tried.

That first night, she turned off all of her alarms and slept like a rock.

The second night, she waited up for her alarm to go off. She set one every morning and every night. To tell her when it was time to visit the hospital. She'd gone back to school that morning, and was waiting for her 7:30 alert when she saw 9pm on her phone and remembered. She finally rolled over for sleep after another half hour, but very begrudgingly.

The third night, she was awake until 2am. Now that she wasn't working her tail off and was back on to her regular routine, she had energy to spare.

By the fourth night, she gave up. After tripping over her brother's backpack repeatedly, having moved it into her room for safe keeping, Jasmine fell into a depressive slump and padded into Danny's room. She leaned against the doorframe for a few minutes, clutching his favorite blanket to her chest. Before she knew it, she was curling up in his bed and crying into his pillow. She was wallowing in her misery. Angry that she'd had to do so much of it herself. Upset that her parents didn't even notice the empty place at the table. And above all, frustrated that what she'd been doing hadn't been enough. That she wasn't enough.

It was midnight when she finally drifted off to sleep, but she slept soundly then, and did so again on the fifth night.

On the sixth night, she'd made her decision. Her coping mechanisms were getting her through the day, but they weren't enough. She was groggy as hell when she'd read the guardianship papers Vlad had handed her, but she remembered his phone number in the contacts. It took her half a second to make the choice. She snatched her phone off of its charger and dialed.

It was 10pm. The sun was down. But he picked up on the second ring. She didn't give him the chance to greet her.

"I'm packing a bag, have me picked up tomorrow afternoon. I need to see him."

"...I told you I'd call when he's awake," he replies.

"And you also said I was welcome to visit. I'm coming for a visit. Have someone here to get me, I known you can do it. I'll walk if you don't." She snapped her phone shut before Vlad could even fight it.

The car pulled up to the house the next day, at 4pm. She was ready. Having negotiated her homework and assignments and missed work with the school, and having spent her lunch period arranging a schedule within which she could make up everything and stay on track, Jasmine was set. She'd packed a duffle bag, her brother's, with enough clothing to last a month. Longer, if he let her do her laundry. She hasn't told Vlad that she intended to stay until he was awake. And come Hell or high water, there wasn't a thing he could do to stop her.

"Mom! I'm going out!" She called from the front door, "I'll be back eventually!" What reason did she have to grace her parents with a time frame? She didn't wait for a response as the basement just echoed the sounds of hammering and welding up the stairs. She was sure they heard her. Wether or not they heard her is a different matter.

Vlad expected her to be asleep when the car pulled up to the steps; it was almost one o'clock in the morning.

He wasn't prepared for her to push the door open before he could get the handle, and thus didn't have time to dodge the door opening; it knocked his knees pretty hard. He restrained the instinctive growl as she stalked up the stairs into the manor. He shut the door and sent the car off while she stood in the foyer and waited.

He observed her as he stepped back inside. Her hair was brushed and straight, her headband was neatly placed. Her clothing, a pair of blue slacks and a black sweater, unruffled and her shoes were clean. The bags under her eyes were gone. Bright blue irises looked on, crystal clear in their vision. She was in a much better state, now.

Although, standing as she was, with her backpack on both shoulders, a duffle bag at her feet, head held high and her hands folded neatly in front of her, Vlad was unnerved. She was calm, collected, set in her mind. Worse still, one hundred percent aware of herself and her surroundings. He looked at the duffle bag. She's packed it tightly enough that it maintained a perfect cylinder. Looking at her face showed a set jaw and an expression that left no room for argument.

"Well, hello to you, too."

"I'm staying."

"I figured."

It was rare for someone to catch him off guard. And he mentally factors in that the first time he met her, he did not meet someone clear headed. He'd met an utter disaster nigh asleep on her feet. This time, this time, he's really meeting Jasmine Fenton. He supposes she takes after her mother, but to his recollection, Maddie was never this unrelenting. The teenager has practically invaded his home, and she knows it. But with her little brother at stake, she doesn't care.

He motions towards the stairwell and she picks up the duffle bag. He leads her up, and down a hall to the room he's prepared for her. He pushes the door open to her room and she promptly sets her stuff on the bed. He notices she doesn't unpack right away.

"Where's Danny?"

"I really think-"

"-Where. Is. My. Brother?" Her voice is stone, tongue sharp and clear. She's enunciated her words deliberately, leaving no room for confusion.

"Miss Fenton, it's quite late."

"And the longer you push back, the later it will get. Where is he?"

The halfa takes a breath and leads her out. She's going to be a handful, he can tell. He wonders where she gets it from, as his memories of her parents don't reveal any structure or order. He suspects, as they descend the stairs, that her rigidity may have been born out of a need to control a chaotic environment.

Vlad takes her down the hallway leading off the foyer. All the way to the end, and he stops in front of a door. "Before we go in, I must warn you it's quite cold."

Jasmine follows him in, wrapping her arms around herself in a shudder as a cold gust of air threatens to knock her over. The room is mostly dark, except for a faint golden glow coming from a canopy bed. The curtains are drawn, obscuring the view. But the marginal light allows her to see a pattern of constellations scattered across the fabric. She brushes her fingers against the material, finding it silky.

"I observed the blanket you were holding. I assume it's his?"

Jasmine nods. "He likes the stars. He's wanted to go to space ever since he could walk. He has these little glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his ceiling. Aunt Alicia and I got him a telescope for his ninth birthday. He still uses it." She quietly soaks in the acknowledgement. The fact that he cared enough to pay attention. She pushes the curtains aside and takes in a small breath.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she's almost thrilled the bedding matches the canopy. Her brother is laying against the pillows in silence, a relaxed expression on his face. There's a night stand on the other side of the bed, where a monitor sits and keeps track. His hair is still a mess, but when is it not? She can see he's been redressed, too. The horribly scratchy hospital gown has been replaced by a Prussian blue t-shirt that's at least one size too big. But it's soft. She tugs the comfortor aside to examine his frame and sees black leggings. Against the deep blue and star speckled materials, even in the dim lighting, she can see how thin he's gotten.

"His hand!" She takes his left hand into hers. The ugly char that once marred his fingers has healed. The skin is no longer cracked and appearing in danger of flaking off. It's still black, but it looks far healthier than when she last saw it.

It's clear to her, as Vlad carefully takes the boy's hand away and drapes it across his stomach, and pulls the comfortor back up, that he's taking this seriously. He's taking care of him. The weight-loss worries her a little, but she understands the man can only do so much.

"The I.V. gives him fluids and nutrients. When he wakes, I'll worry more about getting food into him." He finishes, resting the blanket against the smaller body gently. "There. You've seen him, you know where his room is. Now, go to bed. It's late, and it's not like he's going anywhere."

He ushers her to her feet and out the door.

It takes Vlad a few days to find a comfortable rhythm with the girl. She has a hard schedule preset, and she sticks to it. She might alter where she sets herself up with her schoolwork, but from 9 a.m. to 5:30, with a forty-five minute break for lunch at one, she's glued to her assignments. He checks in on Daniel and spends a few hours with him while she's busy. He feels guilty at the idea of leaving the boy alone. When she's done, Vlad feeds her supper. After supper, he settles in the library with his knitting. She gets a cup of hot cocoa and spends a few hours with her brother, snuggled in a thick blanket. She talks sometimes, but more often plays music on her phone instead, opting for some of his favorite songs. And once Vlad stopped thinking of her as a possessive harpy for knocking his knees in with the car door, he saw her actions were out of love. He already knew, but now, he actually saw it.

Jasmine settles quickly. The first thing she notices is the lack of staff, especially when considering the size of the manor. But seeing as the man was keeping himself busy, she chooses not to point it out. Vlad was fine with her not asking, but he doesn't realize that she's watching him. She finds him to be an interesting case study for her schoolwork.

Something else he'll never admit to is that he finds the kitchen to be a decent outlet. He can take his frustration out on produce, chopping at vegetables and pretending they're underperforming staff. He can beat at dough the way he wants to beat other board members, and stirs the various contents of his pots with the same grace and dexterity that he uses to write out termination forms. He can even meditate while cooking, if he's in the right headspace. And Jasmine examines every one of his motions. She notes his behaviors. The acts that settle him the most. The flares and sparks in his eyes, and the calm that descends on him as he finally lays out the dinnerware; she forgives his obsessive need to have the dishes just so. They eat in silence.

They pass the days this way. And before he knows it, they're halfway through May, and she's fully caught up with her schoolwork. Once she reaches her carefully scheduled goal, Vlad is pleased to see her cut back on her hours. She starts an hour earlier, but finishes at three. He happily gives her a late lunch, and settles at the table with her and has his own. Jasmine is unaware that such a normal act, sitting down together for their meals, is easing the tension she came with. He notices, though. And another drop of poison strikes his heart at every meal as it dawns on him. It took rendering her brother comatose, removing easy access to him, and literally letting her barge into his house to provide her with a sense of normalcy and sanity. Because he knows Jack. And he doubts that she's ever had a calm and uninterrupted meal, even once in her life.

Chapter Text

The moment they've been waiting for comes on a Saturday morning. They're taking a break from their routine, both holed up in the library. He, with his knitting, she, with more cocao and a book. He's about halfway through a row on a new blanket, and she's about halfway through her cup when they hear the scream. Tired from a long month, Jasmine doesn't notice right away. Vlad bolts from the couch, out into the foyer and down the hall to Daniel's room.

He nudges the door open as quietly as he can. On the bed, the boy sits. Wide-eyed, upright, shaking. The monitor on the nightstand is practically screaming. Vlad swallows, pulls the door shut and leans his forehead against the wood to think. He wants to go in there and hold the child. Comfort him. Tell him it'll be alright. But at the same time, he knows he's a foreign face. Daniel doesn't know him. ''It's okay, son, you're just half dead, and you're not the only one'' is not how he wants them to meet. It would certainly be one hell of an introduction, but he wants to peel the band-aid off slowly, not tear it off. His instincts are demanding he go in and provide comfort. Ultimately, after a few minutes, his logic wins. Let his sister start on him, first.

As if on cue, he hears soft steps behind him. "He's awake?" She says eagerly.

Vlad composes himself and straightens. "He's conscious, he's upright, he's distressed, and I think it would be best if you went in, first. Better he see a familiar face before a stranger."

Jasmine nods, perhaps a little too excitedly, in his opinion, but he steps aside and opens the door. The redhead darts past him almost immediately. "Danny! Yo-... Danny?"

The silence worries him. He opts to enter despite his initial intent. What his eyes meet next shatters the resolve inside. He takes it in, anyway. Daniel Fenton is staring at his own arms, which are switching between visible and invisible, without command or control. He's turning his arms over slowly, examining the change while his heart rate increases further. It's a basic ability in terms of ghost powers, and even for him, was the ability that manifested first.

"Vlad," Jasmine tugs at his sleeve desperately, "Vlad, what's wrong with him?!" Because he knows all she sees is her brother partially fading in and out of reality.

The elder halfa manags to disconnect her grip from his sleeve and walks up to the side of the bed. "How do you feel?" he asks, and then mentally kicks himself. Of all the stupidest questions he could have asked...

"I can see my blanket through my arms."

Vlad nods. "Comes with the territory, I'm afraid."

"I can see my blanket through my arms."

"I heard you...and, no, you're not going insane."

Danny looks up at him with terrified cyan eyes. "I can see my blanket," he starts to hiccup, "through my arms!" The dam bursts and he breaks, shoulders wracking violently and Vlad doesn't fight his instincts anymore. He's sitting on the edge of the bed before he realizes it, pulling the boy close. Into as tight of an embrace as he physically can, trying to relax the smaller shaking body against his own frame. The fit he attempts to trap and hold rattles against him and his heart wants to tear itself apart.

"I know," he whispers, starting a gentle rock, "I know." The sway doesn't help the confused sobbing at all.

"I'm sorry," the halfa fails to fight the tears from welling up and running down his face.

"I'm sorry," he can't help repeating it.

"I'm sorry." Over and over, in a steady and consistent mantra.

"I'm sorry." The apology he never got, in all those years in the hospital.

"I'm sorry." The two words he was rightly due, so eager for, so desperate to hear, was ready to beg for, and still wants, he was denied.

"I'm sorry." The mental anguish and frustration that followed and manifested into a hardened exterior that could grind diamonds into dust.

"I'm sorry." In that moment, he felt robbed.

"I'm sorry." Robbed of closure, of sanity.

"I'm sorry." He knew what not hearing those words could do to a person that needed them. And so long as he is able, he won't deny Danny those words. Sometimes, a simple apology is all that's needed to start recovery.

"I'm sorry."

...minutes pass, and he can feel that while the boy's physical strength is fading, his core has the power to keep him in this state for hours. "Jasmine," he calls out to the girl, acknowledging her after so long. He turns his head to look at her and sees she's just as broken and confused as her brother. But it's all for the wrong reasons. She stands, palms practically glued over her mouth as she tries to make sense of everything and possibly tries to think of a way to help.

"Miss Fenton," he says, a little louder. The redhead blinks once and snaps to attention, "In the nightstand, behind me. The blue box."

She bolts to the stand and pulls the drawer open, finding a blue plastic box.

"Open it."

She does, and he can feel her breathing hitch, a sudden burst of fear coloring her energy. He unwinds an arm from the crying mess in his hold and reaches behind to her. "I'll explain in a moment, just give it to me."

The hesitation rattles him, but he can't snap at her. He feels a plastic tube being set into his hand and feels a sense of relief. A syringe, albeit a small one. She's rendered silent as he pulls the cap off the needle with his teeth and she quickly moves around to see, just in time to watch him slide the point directly into a vein in Danny's arm. The reaction is almost immediate. The violent tears sputter to a halt and his body quickly stills. A hard shudder rattles his spine and he goes limp in Vlad's arms. The elder halfa hands her the empty syringe.

"There, now. That's better," he gently lays the boy down, pulling the blanket back up over his chest and brushes several flyaways out of Danny's face.

"What was that?" She asks.

"A small, but powerful sedative. He'll be out for the rest of the day."

"What?! But he just woke up! You're putting him out, again?!"

Vlad sighs and stands up. "If I hadn't, he would keep going, long into the night. He needs a little more rest after the shock."

"Vlad," she bites, danger and warning dripping off of her tongue, "what is wrong with my brother?!"

Chapter Text

"I don't understand," Jasmine says as they re-enter the kitchen, "what do you mean he's half dead?"

Vlad pours her another cup of hot cocoa while she sits at the island. He glances at the tin and scowls at how low it's gotten. She's single-handedly gone through most of it. "Simply put, he is caught between this world and the other. He is both dead and alive. In a sense, he's a walking, breathing purgatory."

"How?!"

Vlad sits down across from her and thinks. There's no easy way to explain, in layman's terms, at least, the concept of the Fates. Certainly not without insulting her intelligence. And the girl has proven herself to be highly intelligent, just like her mother. After a moment, he decides that their words might make more sense to her.

"I'll try to recite as best as I can. Keep in mind, Daniel will have gotten the same speech, and then we'll address the meaning."

Jasmine looks wary, but nods and sits at attention.

"All existence is determined by choice and by chance. Who you choose to be, your personality, the paths you take in life, all that makes you who you are is decided by choice. Therefore, when and where you go is decided purely by chance. Quite literally, my dear, just like the Super Bowl, it all comes down to a coin toss."

The redhead falters. "I'm sorry...What?"

Vlad shrugs. "It's a coin toss."

"Are you serious?" She's asking because she doesn't believe it. He nods. A half hearted and almost hysterical laugh slips out as she leans back in her seat. She looks up towards the ceiling. "Life is just..."

"A coin toss. Yes. It's a rather disheartening truth, but one that everyone learns eventually. Just like drawing straws, it's an absolutely ancient tradition. But it has been found to be the most unbiased means of decision. Just two sides, nice and simple."

Jasmine blinks. "But," she looks back at him, "coins have three sides."

Vlad wants to smile for a moment. Oh, hell, who's he kidding. He does smile. Because she's just picked up on the only flaw that even the Fates couldn't account for, and nearly right away. "Clever girl. You've just answered your question."

"The Fates flipped a coin for Danny and it landed on its edge."

"And it can only be flipped once."

"And that's why Danny is stuck in the middle."

Vlad gives a sorrowful nod. "Your soul takes the shape of a coin. The embodiment of chance. Heads or tails, life or death. Upon being flipped, once the decision is made, the soul is either returned to its owner or sent on its way. The coin the Fates have tossed for Daniel will remain in the void, untouched, for all eternity, because the final decision is that no decision can be made."

"So now he doesn't have a soul?"

Vlad sighs. "Yes and no. His soul is outside of his body, as it would be in a normally deceased individual. But, it's not gone, it's just been left in the void. Because he exists on both plains, the fact that he is technically dead means it cannot be returned. But, he is also technically alive. So it cannot move on, either. It is intangible to both him and the Fates. They can't move it and he can't claim it."

It's a lot to take in. The logic is there, she guesses. Jasmine takes a sip of her cocoa, which has cooled slightly. She grunts faintly at the reduction of heat. Vlad takes her cup.

"What does this mean for him, physically?"

Vlad looks her in the eyes. "Tell me, child. What do you call a person who has died, and yet, remains in the living realm?"

She focuses on his. "Well, I guess...I'd call them a ghost."

"Very good." He holds her mug up in his hand, nearly by his fingertips...and a bright pink flame crackles to life in his palm. Within moments, steam rises from the vessel's contents and he sets it back down on the table in front of her. Her bright blue eyes are nearly the size of dinnerplates as she watches the steam rise.

"Daniel will maintain most of his humanity, but there is now a part of him that is no longer human. He now has abilities that humans only dream of. He will continue to grow, for a few years. However, I wouldn't be surprised if he stopped growing in height by the time he's eighteen, as his death was far more instantaneous than mine. These changes began the moment of the accident, and these changes are part of why he has been unconscious for so long. But ultimately, he will outlive you and your children, your grandchildren, their children, and so forth. Once he's done growing, he's done aging. Time will become irrelevant."

His words are breaking her, syllable by syllable. And she feels her heart clench and stutter in her chest. He stands up and takes a box of tissues from the counter and places it in front of her. She snatches one instantly to swipe at the fresh tears sliding down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry to say this, but he may even sever his ties with human society in a few decades. Mentally, it may be too much of a strain to stay connected. I started dying twenty years ago. The process was slow and miserable. The pain and stress took what little color I had left in my hair after the accident. I stopped aging by my 30th birthday."

She grabs another tissue.

"I severed most of my ties with relative ease. I maintain some for financial reasons. But I didn't have anyone in my life that cared enough to look in on me. So, there was no one to miss me. It's quite apparent that Daniel does have people who care about him, or you wouldn't be here. And watching his friends and family grow old around him may break him."

"Stop," she whispers, "j-just...just shut up." She doesn't want to imagine any of it. But now all the redhead can think about is her brother waking up one day and wondering where everyone has gone. Because there's a possibility that day will come. She's seeing walls of photos, of places and people and memories that both have been and will be, and there may come a time when he forgets it all and stares at the walls in confusion. She hiccups into another tissue as she sees him standing in an overgrown field, alone, with only traces of a city poking through grass and trees. The fields brown and die, ice over, melt, grow, brown, die, ice over, again and again, over and over until the sun burns out. And he's left in the dark. Alone.

"You asked the question. This is the answer."

He knows he's coming off as being insensitive. But he also knows what she's feeling, can guess what she's imagining. Because he imagined it happening to himself. He's already gone through this crisis. Some might think it a tad harsh to put her through the other side of it, as she'll never experience it herself. It's a brutal thought, to know that in time, you may be forgotten and left behind. That someone you care so deeply for might one day look at your face and not recognize you. He'll have to watch the boy endure the same realizations as it is. But the sooner she cries it out, the sooner she'll swallow it down and accept it.

He leaves her in the kitchen like that. As stoic as he can be, Vlad is capable of empathy, and sometimes cares too much. Jasmine is an emotional young woman, and she's drained him of what little energy he had left.

Chapter Text

He comes to rather slowly. Danny notices the touch of fluff, first. Curling his fingers on his right hand, he feels plush softness and warmth. And purring. His brows knit together in confusion. He doesn't have a cat. Slowly, his eyes open. What he sees first is a quilted ceiling, in a deep blue with softly glowing constellations scattered across the surface. Turning his head slightly to the left yields dark blue curtains patterned with more constellations, and a large window. It's dark outside, he can see thousands of stars. No city lights in sight. He starts to shift, aiming to be upright and bracing against a mattress that definitely isn't his. His spine pops and cracks, he's been laying down for a while, he figures. He rewards his movement with a low groan of discomfort. Once he's seated with his back pressed against the pillows, he finally looks down at the ball of fluff that's settled on his lap.

Danny is wary at first. He doesn't have a cat, and doesn't particularly like them because they don't like him. But this one, draped across his legs as it is, seems content with being in his presence. Covered with long, white and layered hair, it gives off noticeable body heat. He slowly stretches a hand out to pet it, and hesitantly relaxes when the cat leans in, tilting its head for further attention. A jingle meets his ears and Danny looks down towards a collar. A polished heart dangles, bright and gold.

'Maddie' reads clearly on the golden tag.

"Huh. That's mom's name."

And Danny tries to remember. He doesn't know where he is. He remembers the Spinner. And the coin. Coins. How could he not?

Vaguely, other parts drift through. It's all sound, really. Words here and there. He shakes his head a little. It didn't make any sense. This bed, comfortable as it is now that he's sitting up, isn't his. The walls are a rich brown wooden paneling, like what he'd expect from a house built in the seventies. He remembers seeing such panel work in his grandparents' house once. He didn't care for it. But here, with the deep blue bedding, it actually worked. The warm wood seemed to contribute an air of calm. There's a string of lights lining the curtains on all sides, giving a soft yellow glow. Otherwise there's very little light.

Faintly, distantly, he hears footsteps approaching. Maddie tilts her ear towards the sound a few moments later, and he puzzles at having heard it before the cat did. His hearing shouldn't be that good. Heck, with all the music he's blasted through his headphones, he should be half deaf. Those steps slowly draw closer, and after a solid minute it feels like they're practically on top of him. But time still passes as they keep walking. And then the door opens.

Maddie looks up and calls out.

A man he's never seen before steps in. He's tall, with long silver hair draped over his shoulders, wearing a red robe that looks really expensive.

"I trust you've a little more sense about you, now, yes?"

Danny pulls the comforter up on instinct and bumps the leads attached to his chest, causing him to pull at his shirt and look underneath. "What the..."

The man goes up to the foot of the bed, hands tucked in the pockets of the robe.

"You've been out for quite some time in a state of hypothermia induced hibernation,'' he watches as the youngling disconnects the leads, ''It was necessary to monitor your heart. Do you remember anything?"

The boy looks up and his eyes drift to the side. "I remember..." He hesitates. If he says he spoke to a white harpy woman covered with feathers that flipped a coin, he might get committed. "I...I don't know. I think I was just dreaming. You'll think I'm nuts."

There's a sigh from the man, miniscule, barely audible, who promptly takes a hand out of his pocket and tosses something onto the bed. Danny hears the song of metal and retreats instantly, pulling his knees up to his chest and backing up into the headboard. Maddie yowls and leaps off the bed.

A silver dollar glares at him from its place on the bedding, shimmering even in the faint lighting.

"Try me."

Danny gulps. How could he know? "That isn't..."

"No," the man says, and leans down to pick up the coin. He turns it from side to side, almost studying the surface, before shoving it back into his pocket. "No, yours is in the void. ...just like mine." And he levels the boy with a look of sympathy and sadness.

It tells Danny everything he needs to know. It tells him he's not crazy. That it was all real. That he really was speaking to a harpy. That he's not the only one with this fate, whatever it entails. He wasn't dreaming. Faintly, words and phrases trickle through his mind, again. Tidbits of sound that have meaning, but he can't pick up enough to understand them. But they largely have one thing in common. With the exception of a few bytes of data, he can hear his sister's voice. Following that realization, something inside fractures.

The air chills a little as his emotions shift. The stranger looks around, huffs, and can see his own breath.

"Where am I?" He's been meaning to ask since he woke up to the cat on his lap. He can tell he's not in a hospital.

"You're in my home, in Wisconsin. My name is Vladimir Masters. You may call me Vlad.''

"Where's my mom?"

The stranger seems upset, suddenly. And Danny begins to worry. Was he not supposed to ask? Did something happen?

"If I had to guess," he pauses, "still tinkering with the portal with your father. Jasmine is out in the kitchen."

Knowing his sister is nearby soothes the ache a little, but...

"Mom and dad said the portal works. They...they've been studying it. And things have been coming through it. Ghosts. Or, so they say. I don't really care. I just wish you were here to yell at them. But, I guess it doesn't matter since they aren't here. So it's probably a good thing, huh? ...I'm sorry I didn't make it in this morning. Mom and dad are focused on the portal, so I've been working at the Nasty Burger. I never imagined dropping out of high school, but I had to. You'll never let me hear the end of it. The bills are a lot, the hospital was even nice enough to set up a payment plan, considering the circumstances. But since science comes first, what can I do?"

"Daniel?"

"Sam and Tucker came by yesterday, they've been visiting every other day or so... They miss you. Dash visited, too, which surprised me. The staff had to chase all the other football players out. The cheerleaders wanted to see you, but I didn't let them in. They wanted pictures. You hate that, I know. So I slammed the door in Paulina's face. It really shocked me, how they could be so self-centered. Oh, and Mr. Lancer came, too. For a few hours. He read you Robert Frost. What did you think?"

"Daniel?" It's muddled, in the distance and lost as his eyes seemingly cloud over.

"I was a friend of your parents. We attended college together. For a short while, anyway. I expect you are Jasmine?"

There's a hand on his shoulder and another waving in his face, but all he registers is the slight change of light, the shadow casting over his eyes.

"I don't understand... Mom and Dad never talked abut you. But this says you're our guardian?"

"I am stepping in. I'd like you to tell me what happened and what your brother's condition is."

"Why aren't...where's..."

"I don't even know you! Why would I tell you?! You're not my dad and you definitely aren't my uncle and you're not my cousin or my brother or a relative of any kind!"

"But I am one thing. I'm here."

"Where's...mom?"

"You don't know us."

"Don't...where..."

"No. I don't. But I do know your parents, and I'm willing to help. But I need to know what's going on with him."

"Daniel!'' Vlad grabs his shoulders and shakes, hoping that treating him more like a maraca will yield better results.

...Danny's eyes drift up to him, clouded but aware. ''Where are my parents?'' he asks again, words precise and clear.

Vlad pulls away and sits down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. ''Home, studying the portal. No, they don't know you're here. I doubt they're even aware of the accident.''

''Can I...'' Can I call them? Can I talk to them? The questions die on the edge of his vocal chords. Vlad spares him a look, waiting for him to finish. But he senses the boy won't. Among the messy array of emotions and epiphanies he knew were due, learning that the youngling halfa was aware of the neglect was not one of them. And he wasn't prepared for it.

''Daniel..."

Danny shakes his head lightly. ''Nevermind. It's...it's fine. I'm used to it. Forget it.''

There's a faint snarl that rumbles to the surface. It's otherworldly. Inhuman. Danny looks startled by the sound.

''Sorry!'' the man says quickly.

''What was that?''

''My other side slipping through. Don't worry about it. Jasmine is in the kitchen. I know it's nearly midnight, but...would you like to see her? She's been run through the wringer and I think it could do the both of you some good. Especially her. You weren't exactly in a...communicable state this morning."

Danny jumps slightly. ''Are you serious?! I've been...''

Vlad nods. ''And it's the sixteenth of May, in case you were wondering.''

Danny looks horrified.

''Why don't we go out to the kitchen and get a small meal into you, hm? I'd wager you haven't eaten a thing since March 4th, and saline can only provide so much at a time.''

As if on cue, Danny's stomach started to growl, pulling a chuckle from Vlad. ''There. See? Even your body thinks you should put the next panic attack aside for now.'' He starts to help Danny towards the edge of the bed and the boy fusses away.

''I can walk,'' he protests, ''It was just an electric shock. My legs are fine.''

Vlad bites back the sigh. ''Yes, but you've been on your back for several months. Your muscles will be weak from lack of use!'' He reaches for him again and Danny gives a swat.

''I'm fine! I can do it!'' He gets his feet out from under the blanket and over the side. He's stubborn, he wants to do it himself. He doesn't want to be perceived as weak. Vlad understands this. But as he watches him start to shake, transferring his weight to his knees, the older halfa knows better.

''You are not fine, Daniel! You've been in a coma! You can't jus-''

Danny falls to the floor with a surprised shout. He lays there briefly, eyes wide. ''What the...'' He gets on his hands and knees and tries again, only for his limbs to fail at the slightest shift of weight. Vlad pulls him up from the floor and plops him on the edge of the bed.

''I told you. You're not fine.''

''But I feel-''

''-Daniel!'' the man snaps, ''Your body has been through a dramatic existential shift! You've spent the last two and a half months asleep! You haven't moved your legs once since the accident! You need to let me help you!''

The boy looks up at him, looking ready to burst into tears for a second time. But he doesn't. He looks away in silence. The elder halfa doesn't bite back the sigh this time. It escapes with relative ease and he extends and open hand. ''Please?''

Danny spares a glance at it, frustrated with the entire situation. After a minute of consideration, he places his hand in the other. ''Fine.''

''Good. Now your other hand...''

It takes about half an hour. Several stumbles, yes, but Vlad is there for the boy to brace against. He doesn't let him fall a third time. With gentle words and even gentler coaxing, Vlad gets him standing, however unsteady, under his own power. When he's sure Danny can hold his own for a moment, he puts some distance between them, allowing the youth to cling to the post of the bed for support.

''Alright. Now, walk to me.''

Danny's face becomes reminiscent of a deer in headlights.

''Come on. Standing is one thing. Take a step,'' he holds his arms out, open and ready to catch.

Danny hesitates. His breathing excallerates as he places one foot forward.

''Come on,'' he urges softly. Vlad watches the shift of weight. Danny put his other foot forward, boldly beginning to pull away from the post. The man watches with baited breath, ready to intervene, ready to rescue and even coddle if necessary. But he starts with infantile steps. He's wobbling, shaking, a rattle is gripping the youth in his bones, but he presses on stubbornly. And in that moment, as he watches Danny's fingers drift away from the bedpost, he knows this is worth it. It's worth barging into their lives unannounced. It was worth nearly lying to the state and practically kidnapping him. Because if he hadn't, he wouldn't be here, now, helping a confused half life. And the child would have no guidance, no support, no protection, no encouragement. He internally shudders to think of what might happen if he hadn't stormed in uninvited.

He senses, as Danny gets within reach of him, that in another world, this is not how it goes. In another world, in another time, Danny doesn't fall into his arms shaking, grabbing onto his robe for comfort and support. He doesn't move to sit with him on the floor with his arms wrapped around him, trying to calm him down. Danny doesn't relax into his chest and soak up the warmth of his core. They don't bond. Not like this.

Vlad can feel the smaller lungs and heart working overtime through the palm he's stroking circles into his back with. He hears a soft sniffle and knows the child is overwhelmed by it all.

''It's okay, son, you're just half dead. And you're not the only one... Just breath...''

Chapter Text

Vlad is very careful with getting Danny back up to his feet. He's pleased that each passing second upright returns just a little more strength. They make their way out of the room slowly, with Vlad as an ever present net to catch if the boy wobbles a little too much. Quietly, in the back of his mind, the elder halfa wonders if Danny appreciates any of the assistance. As he watches him slowly walk, calculating each step and how far apart he can place them, a part of him also wonders what the human Daniel Fenton was like.

In his bitterness, by his decision to wallow in his hatred for Jack Fenton, the oppurtunity to know the boy pre-halfa is long gone. Danny starts to put more distance between them, experimenting with his legs, but never strays too far from a wall to lean on. Vlad wants to know the human. And he can't. He never will. He could have, he could have been better and moved on from the accident. But what's done is done. The halfa Daniel Fenton is what he has to work with.

They turn down the hall and slowly wander into the foyer, where Vlad looks up and sees Jasmine.

"Danny!" She runs over to him and immediately pulls him into a tight bear hug. Vlad watches him freeze for a brief moment, nearly afraid of welcoming the embrace. He's hesitant to do it, clearly he wants to. His whole body trembles as he returns the hug. Like he's vibrating.

Vlad gives him a knowing look. It's her heart. Beating in her chest, loud and alive. Excitedly. Even though their hearts still beat, it's a softer, fainter sound. Barely tapping against their sternums. It's one thing to know you're half dead, it's quite another to feel it. And Danny feels it. He can feel her heart beating a hummingbird into his own chest, and he chokes back the startled yelp that threatans to escape his throat.

"You're shaking!" she pulls back to look at him, "Are you col-oh. I guess I really shouldn't ask that, should I?" the nervousness of her tone matches his full body tremor. He stares at her, surprised, and then can't help but burst out laughing.

Vlad smirks. He wants to believe he's taking it in good stride. But he knows better. "His body temperature is much lower now. I'm sorry to say that it's permanent, but on the upside, he won't get cold easily." Jasmine gives Danny another squeeze, this one tighter, and where he might normally be struggling for air, she's stronger than she looks, he's suddenly aware he doesn't need the air. He doesn't need the air. He contemplates that realization for about half a second before he opts to ignore it. Vlad sees the dismissal on his face and grinds his teeth together to stay quiet. Denial. Already. Though, really, his first cue should have been the boy's refusal of aid climbing out of bed and standing up.

He manages to corral them to the kitchen, forcing the redhead to let go. He knows that with the promise of food, it'll be easy getting them seated. Danny does need a little help getting on the stool; his legs are still weak from his extended sleep. But with a little support from his sister, he manages.

"Now then, while Daniel's consciousness is cause for joy, I feel we need to discuss some of the uglier truths of this situation before we celebrate." He places a pot on the stove and poors in broth before setting it to simmer.

Vlad feels two pairs of eyes set on him for his declaration. He opens a cabinet and takes out two cans of beets, and a can opener from a nearby drawer. He sets everything on the island. But instead of opening anything, he braces against the edge. "I'm going to be blunt. Jasmine, you may think me cruel for it, but this is necessary."

The girl looks at him nervously before exchanging a similar expression with her brother.

"Daniel, you're half dead. I know you don't want to accept it. But you must. Don't dig your heels in, you'll only make the process harder." He takes carrots out of the fridge and a knife from a block.

"I wasn't-"

"-You've already started. You may not be aware of it, yet, but, yes, you were,'' he starts chopping the carrots down, ''Not fifteen minutes awake and you were already insisting you were fine. You're not. And may I point out the screaming fit this morning? Jasmine," he sees pure horror on her face, "don't give me that look. My own death was slow and miserable. I suffered slowly. For years. I'd rather hit him upside the head now."

"I am fine, though. Right?" the boy asks softly, "I came out of it okay. I mean, I'm al-"

"-No, Daniel. You're only half alive. Do try to keep up."

Frustration crawls to the surface. "Better half alive than completely dead!" he snaps.

Vlad ceases chopping, sets his eyes on the child and leans forward. "You know damn well you're looking at someone who is in your position, and has been for far longer. Trust me when I say this; in about ten years, you're going to see things very differently."

Danny's sudden bravado shrivels up and dies as he looks the older man in the eye. He's never actually seen darkness before. He's heard it described in a book, always metaphorical, always splashed across the page with pretty words he barely understood. But here and now, he sees it. Really sees it. Vlad's blue eyes dull with a shadow he didn't think could be real. He starts to see movement. Little flicks of fire, red and pink. It startles him a little and he looks away.

The man straightens and begins opening the cans. "I'm trying to prepare you for the inevitable epiphany that's coming your way. Because once it crosses your path, you'll be begging for an end that will never come. And the sooner you accept the hand you've been dealt, the easier it will be for you to just move on."

He starts combining everything into the pot. "Call me insensitive, call me a bastard, call me whatever you wish, but I'm not your enemy. This is called tough love. And I'm giving it to you because I didn't have any support whatsoever. You have a sister who was beginning to throw her future out for you. You have a friend that's been triggering my firewall for the better part of a month looking for my contact information. You have another friend that sent your sister nearly one hundred messages, demanding to know where you are."

Danny hangs his head low in silence.

"You have a safety net that's ready and willing to protect you and comfort you. I didn't."

The younger halfa looks at his sister, who says nothing.

"This brings me to the other ugly truth of the matter," he takes a seat at the table while the pot starts to boil.

Danny looks up at him. Vlad props his elbows on the table and folds his hands. He takes a breath. "You cannot tell your parents any of this."

If the boy is hurt at all by the statement, he imagines it isn't by much. But...

"Why not?" Quizzical, trying to understand.

"Think, Daniel," the man says softly, "Think good and hard. Don't make me spell it out for you."

Danny focuses. His parents aren't the easiest to converse with. They spout scientific garbles regularly, making him feel like an idiot. He started by pulling a dictionary out to better understand them, but ultimately gave up. He gets picked on at school regularly. They've never been very good at comforting him. In fact, he can remember a day he came home with a black eye, and for four hours, they didn't notice. When they sat down to dinner, they did. And he was grounded for getting into a fight. He didn't even get to defend himself. Their shenanigans pull him out of bed at all hours, even on a school night. He's never had a weekend to himself. They've never gone anywhere that he's wanted to go. Every trip is a working trip. He's crammed into the R.V. with their junk. He's forced to help build and maintain their equipment regularly. They even interrupt him while he's doing his homewo-their equipment.

Danny's eyes widen and he jerks his eyes up at Vlad. He looks ready to panic.

Vlad, for his part, has already figured this out. As a result, he doesn't want to send the boy home. He knows he'll have to. He could file the paperwork for custody. The thought has crossed his mind several times. Quietly, giggling away and running in circles in a distant corner where his subconscious barely registered it. But the idea was there.

"First, you need to eat. We start your training tonight."

They don't say anything more. They instead sit in silence and wait for their late dinner to be ready. Vlad lets them sit quietly while he gets up and starts seasoning the contents of the pot. Having been unconscious for two months, Danny has thinned down dramatically, nearly skin and bones. He'd already dropped a fair amount of weight in the hospital, had lost more here. So the meal was light. Vlad had gone into a recipe box and dug out his grandmother's recipe for borscht. He left the meat out but still used beef broth. He didn't want to shock the boy's body with the sudden influx of food. And the young halfa seems aware of his condition as Vlad serves them, taking care to eat as slowly and as calmly as he can.

Jasmine nibbles quietly, chewing on the carrots longer than necessary and staring off into space. 

Chapter Text

After their late dinner, they settle in the library. It has enough open space for what they're doing. Vlad places a few pillows on the floor before the fire and they sit. Jasmine eyes the shelves of books, searching for something suitable to distract her from the dark cloud that hangs over the situation. Vlad notices.

He points, "Third shelf up, fifth book in from the left. It might bring some comfort."

She glances at him, almost hesitantly, before going to the shelf he's suggested. She pulls down a hardcover book, in a deep burgundy with gold book corners. It has a faint ethereal glow to it and the cover is unremarkable, but soft, with tears through parts of the strange fabric. It's old, the pages are significantly yellowed. She opens it to the first page and finds handwriting.

Personal Study of Ecto-Exposure and Side Effects

She raises a brow at him.

"It is a collection of all of my notes on myself. All of the changes I've endured, things I've learned, the things I've been taught, my abilities and such. Some of it is quite extensive." He motions for her to sit, "There were...anatomical adjustments as well, so you'll also find scans and X-rays." Vlad seems a little uneasy at mentioning the last detail. But she nods and settles on the couch with the journal. If nothing else, it will give her a starting point.

Vlad looks back to the boy sitting patiently on his pillow. "Why don't we start with the simplest of tricks?" Vlad holds up his arm and Danny watches as it becomes see-through for a minute, before reverting back to normal. "Invisibility. Then, we'll move on to intangibility, flight, temperature control and so on."

Danny's eyes practically glow and Vlad leans backwards a bit, away from the burst of energy. Possibly the fire of youth, but he has a very radiant core, so much so that it's overwhelming.

"Flight?! I can fly?!" He's practically bursting at the seams and ready to bounce off the walls, half off his pillow and nearly about to jump.

It's a good sign, Vlad supposes. He chuckles and gently places his hands on the boy's shoulders, easing him back down. "Yes, lad. But not yet. You need to learn control, first."

Danny slumps with a curse under his breath.

"Mind your tongue, young man."

"Well, why can't I start with flight? What did you start with?"

Vlad quirks a brow and holds up an invisible arm again. Danny groans. "You can't run before you walk, son."

Laughter erupts from the couch. Jasmine covers her mouth and they both look at her.

"Sorry! Sorry, it's just..." She giggles, "He tried to skip walking when he was little!"

Vlad smiles at him.

Danny glares at her. "Yeah, yeah, I face-planted the kitchen floor. Laugh it up, sis."

"Well, if you can maintain some of that raw energy, I could have you phasing through cookie jars by tomorrow morning."

Danny perked up.

"Follow my directions without argument, and I might be able to throw you off the roof by the end of the week."

Jasmine startled. "What?!"

"I'm kidding!" Vlad chuckles, then, quietly, under his breath, "mostly."

The girl grumbles.

"Why don't you go get another cup of cocoa?" the elder halfa suggests, "It may get cold in here."

The redhead gives the man a hyper-focused glare as she slowly gets up and leaves the room. When she's finally gone, a toothy grin forms on Danny's face.

"You have to get me flying. That'll be a great prank."

There was a sudden spark of light in the boy's eyes, and despite its mischievousness, it brought a tiny jolt of joy to his own core. Here, Vlad may have a tragedy sitting in front of him, but the child was overly eager to learn. It seemed the darkness of the situation was brightened by the potential to soar above the ground, at least partially. It was a simple ability, really. One that every specter in the Ghost Zone has. If he's lucky, his ward will take to his powers quickly.

...Danny does follow his instructions, to the letter. There's a smidgen of resistance met, but only by confusion, which Vlad and Jasmine eventually straighten out. Really, the difference between intangible and invisible is obvious. But he had to rephrase it three times, and finally, after half an hour, and Jasmine shoving her empty mug into his hand to explain it him, it clicked. And once he understood the difference, he went from trying to phase a hand through the floor to phasing his whole body through the door faster than Vlad could blink.

The invisibility was handy, he found, but the intangibility? That was far more interesting. It was a sudden source of amusement, Danny found, going through the door repeatedly.

"I'm in, I'm out. In, out. In, out. In, out, in, out, in, out," he's starting to laugh, and Vlad looks on, propping his elbow on a knee and resting his cheek on his hand. There's a genuine and almost loving smile on his face.

Jasmine's eye starts to twitch. After a few minutes of her brother enjoying himself, she hurls a throw pillow at the door...and misses; he's pulled his head back through just in time. She's grumbling while he walks back through the door, trading his intangibility with invisibility.

"Ha! You've always been a terrible shot!" It echoes, rather strangely, through the room. He's not at a distance, it shouldn't echo at all. But it does.

Jasmine approximates the trail of his voice and holds up the book in her lap. When she thinks Danny is close enough, she snaps it shut as hard as she can. Vlad watches as a plume of dust billows out of the text and disperses, creating a faint outline of where Danny is standing. It's a clever response and he's pleased that she came up with it so quickly.

The redhead grabs another pillow and hits her brother square in the face.

"Hey! That's not fair! G-e-a-ah," The dust cloud rises up, "ah-ah-CHOO!"

A burst of white light blinds them both, forcing them to shield their eyes. The light splits in two, and Danny is suddenly visible again, rubbing at his nose in annoyance. But he distinctly feels that something has changed inside. There's a faint sensation in his bones. Prickly and buzzy, like sandpaper, and it's quickly fading, but he can't ignore it.

Vlad bursts out laughing. Danny looks down at himself.

Jasmine rubs hard at her eyes to dull the pain from the flash.

"Well," Vlad gets out between breaths, "that's one way to do it!"

Danny blinks, holding up his arm and staring. His skin is now a tad darker, a color most would actually consider healthy, and an ethereal glow coats the limb and the rest of his body. Examining himself further reveals that the deep blue T-shirt he's wearing has turned black while his black leggings have turned white. "Um... What just happened?"

Vlad gets up and starts circling him, studying the change. "What's happened, Daniel, is you've sneezed your way into your ghost form." He fusses at Danny's hair, once black, now a soft and snowy white, and literal snowflakes fall when he ruffles a few strands. They melt when they touch the floor. "I must admit, I wasn't sure how I was going to teach you to transform. But this will certainly do."

He takes the younger halfa's other arm, his left, and exams closely, feeling the ghostly energy vibrating just under newly tanned skin. Whereas Danny's human skin was deathly pale and held no markings of any kind, his ghostly flesh was just tan enough to reveal small freckles that scattered their way up the limb. Turning it in the light just right reveals a foreign, zigzagging fern in a florescent trail. It starts at his fingertips, rendering the skin there just as white as his hair. And, Vlad realizes, where the sooty charring once was. It works its way up. Under the shirt, over the boy's collarbone and down towards his chest. He suspects it stops where he knows his core to be.

"Lichtenberg," he utters softly, eyeing the pattern and how its visibility changes in the lighting.

Danny looks at him. "Whatenberg?"

Vlad smirks. "Lichtenberg. Your arm."

Danny looks, sees, and becomes fascinated all over again, irises glowing and practically chasing the path as he tilts his limb this way and that. Vlad looks at his eyes while he's distracted. Vibrant, ectoplasmic green. He shakes his head.

"It's the result of an inflammatory response. As current spreads out, causing ionisation and heat effects, it causes damage to the small subcutaneous capillaries. I imagine it to be the fault of the electrical charge you took. Normally, such scarring fades over several months. In your case, it might be permanent."

"Huh." Danny tugs at his sleeve to follow the fern-like pattern, and then fusses at his shirt to see where it stops. He pulls the collar of the garment down a little, just enough to find the epicenter placed over his heart. "I like it."

The man lets go, takes the book in Jasmine's hands, and opens to the first page. His fingers trace the surface of the paper, finding it more than supple after so long. He's completely filled it just studying himself. It seems fitting that he'll need another book to start recording Danny's case. Even though they're both halfas, and thus, two of a kind, there are drastic differences between them. He has a spare journal in his desk, they were given to him as a pair long ago. He hands the book back to Jasmine to continue reading.

"We've covered Invisibility, intangibility, and going ghost," he huffs, rubs the back of his neck and looks at his watch, "all in about one hour." He's tired, suddenly, ready to crawl into bed. But he can't leave the boy as a ghost all night. Despite it being almost two o'clock in the morning.

"Alright, Daniel, since you seem to be taking to this frighteningly quickly, there's one more lesson for the night."

"Flight?" Danny says with a wide grin that's intoxicating.

Vlad chuckles and ruffles his hair, watching the downpour of freezing snowflakes that follow. "Not tonight. Unlike you, we've been up all day. Tomorrow. I promise."

Danny's face falls and a pout plasters itself where his smile was. He looks up at the man, eyes wide and clear, attempting a beg.

Vlad isn't impressed. "Young man, I amassed my fortune by being a cold, heartless bastard. Puppy dog eyes don't work on me."

Danny slouches. "Worth a shot. What's left, then?"

"Well, you've successfully changed over to your ghost form. Now you just need to switch back."

Chapter Text

I'll spoil ya'll just a little bit more. I've got a flea market this weekend. So next chapter might be at least a week away.

So. Had to do another art barf chapter. Because a few things have been drawn since the last one.

Let's start at the top, shall we?

Let's face it. Danny's ghost form, traditionally, is a bad color pallet swap. So, for this AU, which I'm officially calling the Kindred AU, I'm sticking to that for a little bit. But bear with me. In the beginning, it starts as a bad color swap. I had fun with changing the pallet though. And I frequently had to remind myself he's a bit more tanned in his ghost form. I wanted to keep him pale. But for the purpose of this AU, I couldn't. In order to make the Lichtenberg visible, I have to stick with the darker ghost tone. As it's plainly visible here, the Lichtenberg is barely visible.

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Here, with the pallet swap, it's more easily defined. I spent way too much time on it, trying to get the glow.

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Now, having worked up the first two pallets for the outfit, I did attempt to design a new ghost get-up for Danny. Don't get used to it. It's not staying. The original idea is that he'll slowly adapt his ghost form into what he needs as time goes by. Don't get used to that, either, I haven't really settled yet.

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The grand waking-up moment. My original plan was a startled, panicked bolting awake followed by Danny just going "Oh shit" and then realizing he had the cat on his lap. I cut out the "Oh shit" moment, kept the panic fit, stuck him with a sedative, and put the cat on his lap later. It just worked better. Couldn't really figure out how to follow up the "Oh shit" moment.

And the bedspread. The fucking bedspread! I swear. If I never attempt a constellation pattern again, it'll be too soon. I love it, don't get me wrong. I'm keeping it. Hell, Danny gets to keep it, too. But I am NEVER doing that, again.

.

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Green number is heart rate, yellow is respiration, blue is oxygen, red is blood pressure. And I'm not a med student, so leave me alone, okay? I tried! I really did. I spent about three hours online trying to figure out that the yellow line is respiration. I've been in the E.R. before, nothing serious, I'm just a longhauler, and I had an out-of-control ticker that was jumping out of my chest with a resting bpm of 120, and, FUCK NO, that isn't good, so I remembered most of the monitor, but not all of it.

Here's where I unload on that bit of information.

*Deep breath*

I went to an urgent care for a chest x-ray and they did an EKG while I was at the check-in spot (middle of the pandemic) and the resting rate was 101, I didn't know and they didn't tell me right away, I walked down to the imaging department, and the receptionist was on the phone when I got there, and she hung up and said, "Uh, they need you to come back, your heart rate was high." And I'm autistic. I don't handle sudden changes or shifts of routine well. I especially hate it if you stop me in the middle of completing a task. I was so loopy, I just went, "Oh. Okay." And walked back. They told me that they'd feel better if I did the x-ray in the hospital. So I went to the E.R. and told them what happened and spent 6 hours sitting in a room hooked up to a monitor that WOULDN'T SHUT UP. My heart rate was 120+ all fucking day, my blood pressure was completely whacked, and this shit went down after I did a five and a half hour shift in a manually run acupuncture office, and yes, being manually run makes a ton of difference, on a SATURDAY, and I'm normally nocturnal but I have a daytime job. So, you do the math. I should have been waaaay more pissy. I should've been an absolute bitch. I wasn't pissy, and or even frustrated. I was whoo-hoo! loopy. I just went "oh, okay, i guess im over here, now. Hey! How's it going? By the way, the old lady two rooms down won't settle down, so, you know, heads up and good luck. Hey mom! Wanna watch this documentary on an island based facility that studies viruses?" I didn't get home until 10 o'clock at night! Yay! And then I crashed and slept for 14 hours because it turns out your heart burns a crap load of energy when it's picking a fight with your sternum.

So that's why the monitor bit got tossed in for Vlad, just in case anyone was wondering or felt like i mentioned it just a little too much. Chest x-ray was fine, by the way. And I have heart and pressure meds, so I'm good, now. Oh, and COVID fucks with essential tremors, too. Fun!

Okay! Pushing that shit show aside! Here's the final product! God, I love an A.D.D. fueled writing fever when I'm approaching 24 hours awake. I'm fine! Ignore the crazy eyes you're picturing!

.

Once again, green is heart rate, yellow is respiration, blue is oxygen, red is blood pressure. Aaaannnnyyyywwhhoooooo, I love the constellation pattern. I really do. I plastered it on the blankets and the pillows and the curtains, and let's face it, a four poster bed with star map print bedding is my dream bed. It really is. But all that said, I'm not drawing this again. Maddie was fun, though! I don't usually draw animals, but working with a longhair breed idea was interesting! I've got three cats myself, a creamsicle, a tortie and a Siberian forrest cat.

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And Danny's first flight! We'll get to that soon! Hopefully, in the next chapter.

At some point, I'll share Vlad's overhauled ghost form.

Chapter Text

It's 3:30 in the morning when Danny collapses, falling into his sister's arms. There's sudden bags under his eyes. He's ready for sleep. The ethereal glow that had been covering his form is gone; he's human, again. After spending twenty grueling minutes searching for that strange sensation in his skeleton, he manage to switch back. And Vlad made him do it repeatedly, making sure he had a firm grasp over his body. He can't run the risk of going ghost in the middle of class. He's changed a total of twelve times. His legs can't support him anymore. His eyelids feel like they weigh a ton.

Vlad reaches forward, carefully untangling him from Jasmine's hold and scooping him up into his arms.

"Now we can go to bed," he says to the girl. The redhead fusses at her brother, being held bridal style and completely out of it. He lets her fret; she pushes his hair out of his face and feels his forehead, even if all she'll feel is cold. She tugs at his shirt, righting it and giving some of his dignity back. After a solid minute of letting her be a big sister, he carefully starts walking.

"I don' ffffeeeell right," the boy slurs. He's so drained he's unaware he's even being carried.

The older halfa winces. "You've burned through your core energy and then some. I'm sorry I pushed you so much. But it was necessary."

Danny groans softly and his head drops against Vlad's arm. "Issis gonnnna hap'n everrry time?"

"No," Vlad says softly, "no. Not at all. This is just the result of changing your form so many times. It happened to me, as well."

Vlad gets him to his room and tucks him back into bed. He gets the star speckled comfortor pulled up and is about to close the curtains on the canopy when he looks back at the bed one more time. He's propped the boy up against the pillows, similar to how he was in the hospital bed. Human and pale, he almost looks dead. His ears know better, and the smaller heart beats faintly in the silence.

The night has gone well, he can hear Jasmine making her final ascent of the stairs for the evening. He'll be doing the same, shortly. But this mess, this disaster of clueless parental making that he's taken on without hesitation... Vlad's been broken inside in numerous ways, into several pieces. if his heart were glass, it would be dust. It's been stone for two decades, but it's been fractured everywhere.

Against his better judgement, he reaches a hand out and brushes the back of his fingers against a pale forehead. Frightening cold sears his heated skin and his core gives a hard beat to heat his frostbitten apendages back up. He pulls away and studies the pattern of snowflakes that's been freezer-burned into the skin. It'll heal, it'll fade. But the halfa picks up on a quiet warning in his brain.

'No control.'

And he knows right then and there, he won't be able to help with Danny's temperature management. He knows who can. But while he draws the curtains shut and exits the nest he's built for his ward, the thought of taking him into the Ghost Zone so soon worries him. The boy is still fragile. The Ghost Zone is flooded with entities that could tear him to shreds in his current state. And Vlad, after all the work and time and freezing he's put into this mess, would never forgive himself if something were to happen to him. After all, he's supposed to be the guardian.

A huff of frustration escapes as he makes his way up to his room. He'll need to procure further protection for the boy. His own strength is remarkable, but Vlad knows better, and to assume that he'll be enough to shield Danny from the various threats of the Zone is foolish. He can handle himself, yes, but he's never gone into the Zone with a curious teenager trailing behind him. But, before he can even approach that idea, Danny needs to know how to fly, first.

Danny wakes to his sister nudging his shoulder.

''Morning, sleepyhead!'' Jasmine chirps.

Danny sits up and stretches with a yawn. ''Mm. What time is it?'' his stomach rumbles loudly.

The redhead laughs. ''Eleven thirty and time for you to eat, apparently,'' she shoves his blanket aside and pulls him to his feet, ''Come on! Vlad has your breakfast ready!''

Danny manages a tired grumble and lets her nearly drag him from his room. He's walking a little better, today, he notices. His legs are less wobbly than they were last night. He still doesn't feel fully recovered, but he's getting there. So he leans on his sister as they make their way down the hall. Jasmine lets him. She knows he's not very steady on his feet, yet. As they make their way out to the foyer, Danny is confused to see pillows and cushions everywhere.

''What's with the extra padding?''

"Your flying lessons,'' Jasmine grumbles.

''Really?!'' Danny darts off to the kitchen, weakened legs be damned. He practically throws himself at the island to avoid falling as his calf muscles yell at him. Vlad jumps a little at the display, the boy lying on his chest on the surface, fingers scrambling for a grip so he doesn't slide off.

''I get to fly today?!'' A huge grin is plastered on his face as he looks up at the man, eyes bright and eager. It's intoxicating.

A chuckle pulls itself free and Vlad places a hand on the marble. With a touch, he turns the island intangible, and Danny falls to the floor with a resounding OOF. It doesn't deter him in the slightest, scrambling back onto his feet and leaning against the counter instead. He grasps the edge firmly to hold himself up.

''Your energy is something else,'' he places a plate and fork on the island where Danny was previously laying. On the plate is buttered toast and a single cloud egg. ''You need to eat, first. Then we'll start.''

Danny eagerly takes the fork into his hand and begins to eat. Mercifully, he maintains the sense to eat slowly.

Once he's finished, and Vlad forces some orange juice into him, they relocate to the foyer. Jasmine sits on the stairs to monitor. It's not that she doesn't trust Vlad, she just doesn't trust her brother to not do something stupid. She'll never tell him, but it's why there's extra pillows everywhere, even though Vlad insisted he'd only need one.

''Now. Flying is really quite simple once you get the hang of it. This shouldn't take long.'' He guides the boy to stand on one of the numerous cushions. Then, gently, he grasps Danny's hands in his own.

''Don't I need to be a ghost to fly?'' he asks.

''Not necessarily. It certainly makes things easier. But I want you to learn in your human form, first. So. I want you to focus on your skeleton.''

Danny blinks. Ok, he can do this. He remembers the sensation in his bones from transforming. He closes his eyes.

''Jasmine,'' he says, ''Tell me. What allows birds to fly?''

''Their bones are hollow, which reduces their body weight,'' she replies, ''but, our bones aren't hollow.''

''Yours aren't, no. As I said before, there were anatomical adjustments to my body. Daniel will have undergone the same changes.''

''You have hollow bones? Really?'' She sounds like she doesn't believe him.

''Yes, my dear. Really. Ghosts don't weigh much, and are already predisposed to flight. I'm still half alive, half human, in a sense, and to merge the two states would render the human skeleton hollow so that both forms can coexist. If you will, the ghost hides in the skeleton. But the two forms are forever intertwined.''

Jasmine stares, completely confused. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does. What else would enable the human form to float? Have you never played 'Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board?' Our bones are strong, but still light enough for flight," his voice lowers and turns serious, "That said, due to the porous design, any X-Rays taken will appear a tad fuzzy, no matter what. Closer examination will give everything away. So, from here on out, human hospitals and doctors are out of the question."

Danny blinks his eyes open. "What if I get sick?"

Vlad looks at him. "Any illness you catch will be beyond the scope of human medicine. Trust me. If you do fall ill, it won't be due to a living ailment. At that point, you will come to me, and I'll get you to a qualified doctor."

"So, are you immune to human diseases, then?" Jasmine asks.

Vlad nods. "Yes. And Daniel is, as well. If you ever held any concern over him pursuing... extracurricular activities, rest assured, there's no need for that, now."

Danny tilts his head in confusion. "Extracurr-"

"-Never mind!" Vlad cuts him off, "Focus!"

Danny rolls his eyes and closes them again. "Ok, now what?"

"Now, if you're really in-tune, you should be able to feel those hollow spaces in your bones when you breath. With birds, their bones are filled with little air sacs that allow for more oxygen absorption, which helps them take in oxygen while breathing in and out, and provides the extra energy needed for flight. Technically, you and I don't actually need air anymore. But breathing is still a good practice to maintain, if for no other reason than to avoid startling the living."

Danny breathes, long and deep, feeling the way his muscles move. Feeling how they move over his skeleton, and dipping further. He shivers when he feels a rush of cold air inside, and a burst of frost coats his hands, and Vlad's as well as he's still holding them. But the man ignores the chill. Even as more frost proceeds to trail up Danny's arms and down, down his legs to the floor.

"Ah. You've found them, then. Now. Another breath, slowly, as deep as you can. If it helps, picture a balloon inflating with air. That is, in a sense, what you're trying to achieve."

And he breathes in. Dragging air in slowly, feeling his bone structure as if it were his skin. Feeling the air rush through, nearly hearing wind in a tunnel. The balloon analogy helps, sort of, but he finds the wind tunnel method much more to his liking. He can almost, no, he does feel it. He feels the inside of both of his tibias and fibulas expand, like the marrow is being pushed aside and widening their centers. It's very strange. Akin to dipping his fingers into jello to see if it's set, only it has but doesn't retract.

It travels up, into his femurs, into his pelvis. Up his spine, his ribs, his arms start to feel...fluffy? Floaty? There's the sensation of being literally light-headed, and his mind strays to feathers blowing in the wind...

"And there you have it!" Vlad announces.

Danny's eyes snap open. Vlad still has his hands grasped tightly in his own, not ready to let go. But, is he shorter, now? He looks down, and, no! He's off the ground! Hovering above the cushion he was just standing on!

Jasmine sits on the stairs, wide eyed and covering her mouth with both hands in a mix of fear and surprise.

Danny can't help the nervous laugh that slips out. He's flying! Well, floating. And Vlad kicks off the floors coming up to hover in front of him.

"I told you this wouldn't take long," he chuckles. He lets go of the boy's hands, allowing him to just levitate like that.

"This is trippy." Danny leans, can he lean? He leans back, and finds that he can tilt easily. A little too easily, actually. He's upside down before he can stop himself. "Vlad!"

"Go through the motions, lad." He gives Danny's leg a nudge, sending him into a slight spin. It's not enough to give him motion sickness, but blood is rushing to his head.

"Come on. Feel for those air pockets, again. Give and take air as you need. You've had science classes. Have you ever seen a balance scale?"

"A what?"

"Think of the scales of justice. That scale," Vlad floats around him, trying to keep him calm, "imagine adding weight to one side. What happens?"

"The plate drops."

"Correct. In this instance, it's the reverse. Imagine your legs as the plates and take some air out of the pockets in your bones accordingly. The weight of your skeleton will readjust your position."

Danny concentrates again, and this time the feeling comes to him much easier now that he knows what he's looking for. And suddenly he rights himself, albeit with a slight drop of altitude, but he manages it.

"There. See? No need to panic."

Danny laughs, and gives another lean. With the cold of his core, it really feels more like being a lava lamp except that he's controlling when and where the globs of wax move. It's just that those globs of wax are actually air. Once he realizes that, something clicks. When he corrects himself again, he gives a small kick out into the open space...and moves several feet to the right.

Vlad watches. Listens to the giggle that follows.

"Oh, I get it, now!" And he gives another kick, this one a little harder, and shoots straight up. Vlad follows him. If they had been in any other building, Danny would have hit the ceiling. But he manages to stop, just inches away from face planting the stone work.

The smile that's been working Its way onto his face breaks into a Cheshire grin and he twists around to face Vlad again. "Can we go outside?" He's about ready to burst.

Jasmine breaks her stunned silence. "Wha-No! You just started! Vlad!"

The man can't fight the eager blue eyes. He'd be remiss if he tried. And it's an opportunity to show the youngling halfa a view that he'll never forget. He holds out his hand again for Danny to take. "Don't let go."

He leads him intangibly through the ceiling and numerous floors of the manor, despite his sister's protests. Out. Out into the daylight. Ignoring the depressing fact that this is the first time Danny's seen the sun in months is easy. Danny keeps a firm hold on Vlad's hand as they dart straight up into the sky at a speed only the undead can handle. A human body would fly apart, he thinks. But he follows without another thought or an iota of fear. Into the clouds and higher still.

"Close your eyes. You'll love this."

Danny does. They keep flying upwards, at the same break-neck speed, for what seems like hours. And Danny just soaks up the breeze and the brush of the clouds and the chilly air the increasing altitude brings. Briefly, he tilts his head a smidgen to listen. A tuft of cloud whips past his nose, tickling his sinuses, but he fights the sensation back.

"Almost there, just need to get above the cloud cover," Vlad softly calls back.

Danny becomes confused. They're going straight up. What's there to see?

"Alright," They come to a sudden stop, Vlad gently guides him up a little more, "Open your eyes, ребенок."

Danny blinks them open slowly, still feeling a tad windswept from the vertical climb. What he sees steals the air from his lungs.

Nothing but stars. His heart is fit to explode at the site. He can see every constellation known. Sagittarius and Scorpius and Libra and Virgo and just...so many stars.

"As I understand it, you've always been a stargazer."

Danny floats, stunned into silence. When he asked to go outside, he never expected...

Vlad looks out into the dark. He's made this flight before. Numerous times. He's always enjoyed the view, devoid of human activity. It's always a beautiful sight. His first flight, it felt like he had flown into the heavens. After that, the thrill wore off, but the appreciation remained. He can't imagine what it's like for a boy who's always had his eye on the night sky.

"How high up we are?" Danny gasps out.

"Just under fifty thousand feet. Just enough to get above the clouds. If you look down, you'll see that our feet just touch their outer edges."

A sniffle escapes Danny as he continues to just soak in the starscape. He's heard of people weeping before sheer beauty before, but he always thought it was a literary tool. Not literal. He fights the urge to cry back.

"I'm sorry. When you asked to go out, I just wanted this to be the first thing you see. I didn't mean to cut the lesson off."

Danny just hovers there. He sniffles again, "It's fine, Vlad. It's fine. I just never thought I'd...I'd-dd-g-ghg-ahg-"

Vlad's heart stops, "-Don't tell me you're going to sneeze."

Danny rubs hard at his nose, "I'm-m-tryig-n-not to-to-ta-"

"-Daniel, No!"

"Aa-CHOO!"

A blast, a bright, blue cold ring of energy propels Vlad away. The blast begins to disperse across the sky, coating the cloud cover at their feet.

It takes Vlad a moment to get back to him. "Daniel!"

Danny rubs at his nose again, chasing the last of the itch away. "Sorry! I just couldn't hold it in any longer!"

Vlad doesn't sigh or grumble. He can't be mad at a basic bodily function. But he looks out over the clouds. Danny follows his line of sight. The blue ring of energy goes a bit further before it starts to fade.

"Well, that'll be on the news in the morning."

Danny looks up at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Vlad laughs. "You just seeded the clouds, Daniel."

"I wha-oh. Oh. ...Oops."

Vlad snickers and ruffles his hair. "I hope you like blizzards in May."

Chapter Text

They get back down to earth around dinner time. Once Danny had recovered from his sneeze, and Vlad was sure he wasn't going to make the weather any worse than it already would be, they were content to just float there in silence for a while. They only came down when Vlad heard Danny's stomach growl.

This time, he prepares a vegetable soup, and allows Danny a few pieces of bread to dip into it; he doesn't want to put him back onto a normal diet just yet. Jasmine makes sure that Danny eats slowly, still aware of his limitations. He finishes just as he's starting to drift off in his seat. Vlad catches him before he falls over.

"What's left?" She asks quietly.

Vlad carries him off to his room, his sister following in stride. "He's learned the basics. What's left, I can't teach."

Jasmine gets the door open for him. "But what's actually left to teach?"

Vlad sighs and places Danny on the bed, Jasmine pulls the covers on top of him...and watches as a sudden burst of frost coats the surface. It trails across the bedspread, down to the floor and threatens to nip at her feet. She steps away just in time.

"That," Vlad says, "That is what's left. He has no temperature control. His core is running wild, releasing cold energy at random. He needs to get a handle on it before I can send him home. If he doesn't, he could run the risk of freezing people in their tracks. Literally."

Jasmine huffs and sees her breath.

"It's going to snow tomorrow, as it is."

Here, she blinks in surprise. "It's May. It was 61°F and sunny, today.

Vlad nods. "And it'll be 20°F with a blizzard, tomorrow."

"Why?"

A light snicker escapes him. "Because he sneezed at 49,000 feet."

"...I'm sorry. What?!"

"From what I've observed," he nudges her out of the room and follows, "If his system is physically startled, as it would by sneezing, then cold sometimes escapes in force, manifesting randomly, but in force, nonetheless. If his emotions shift dramatically, it slips out as a temperature shift. And he's still healing, so the layer of ice on the bedspread could be his core reducing external temps to create a friendlier environment for him to exist and recover in."

"And when he's awake?" Jasmine asks.

"As I said. No temperature control. He's not even aware he's icing things over. He needs to be taught so he can become aware and control it better. Ideally, I'd like him reach the point where we don't have to hit the dirt whenever his nose starts to itch."

They make their way upstairs, both eager for sleep. "You can't help him?"

Vlad shakes his head. "No. If it were just a few days after the accident, that would be different. He needs someone who lives in the cold... Speaking of which, you may need to pull the weighted blanket from the ottoman in front of your bed tonight. As much as I love my home, it can get drafty during cold spells, and this won't be a normal blizzard."

Jasmine nods and they go their separate ways, his room much further down the hall than hers.

Danny woke to Maddie pawing at his face. He opened his eyes, and proceeded to giggle and pet her, giving extra attention to scratching her ears. She took the affection for a few minutes before jumping off the bed. He sat up slowly, allowing his spine to crack with a stretch.

Maddie yowles once from the door. "Yeah, yeah. I'm up."

It takes him some time to get to his feet and out into the kitchen, relying on the wall for support.

He finds a plate of fresh toast with avocado spread, and a note.

Eat. Slowly. Come to the study when you're done.

Danny rolls his eyes, but sits down. He was soooo tired of everyone telling him to take his time, even more tired of being watched to make sure he did so. Today, at least, no one was leaning over his shoulder. But he ate slowly, anyway. Avocado on toast always struck him as a weird concept. But as he bit into it, he found it worked. Maybe those vegetarians aren't crazy, after all. He nibbles in little bites, taking a good half hour to eat. He wants to scarf it down and go see what Vlad is doing, what he wants him for. But he notices, in a few instances where he took a few bites too close together, his stomach had started to rebel. He couldn't scarf, or he'd barf.

When he's finished, he has the good sense to put his plate in the sink and rinse it off. He wanders out to the foyer and into the library. There's a door there, that's propped open. Light is coming through, and he nudges it gently.

"Did you keep your breakfast down?"

Danny resists a second eyeroll. "Yes, mom, and I ate every last bite," he bites back.

He looks around, not familiar with the room. It's spacious, like the library, with little furniture, and the walls are lined with shelves that hold numerous books. The theme of the room is warm reds and browns with plush carpeting. In the center, a coffee table sits, with a maroon couch on one side and a red chaise on the other. There's what he recognizes to be a liquor cabinet against a wall, behind where Vlad sits at a desk, on his computer. His fingers are occupied, typing faster than Danny's ever seen, even Tucker couldn't keep up with him. Curious, he lifts off the floor gently, the room flashes briefly as he changes forms, and floats around behind him to see. He knows an email when he sees one, but the header, subject line and whatever he's typing are jumbles of letters and symbols and coding.

"Don't bother. It's encrypted," the man says softly.

''Who are you writing to?'' Danny asks, hovering over Vlad's shoulder.

Vlad gives a slight chuckle. ''Well, given that you still need to learn temperature control, I'm contacting a friend to help provide safe passage in the Ghost Zone.'' He looks back at Danny briefly, and, ah, there's that sparkle in his eyes, again.

''There's a zone for ghosts? Wait... There's more ghosts?!''

''Yes, and yes. There's an entire realm just for ghosts to roam, and there are many, many ghosts within it.'' He finishes typing and sends the email off.

''Are there more like you and me, then? Are there more half-ghosts?''

Vlad's eyes darken, just for a moment. He guides Danny down to the floor. When he's standing, Danny looks up at the man with confusion. Vlad turns to him. ''Listen to me very carefully,'' he makes sure the boy is paying attention, ''There are numerous entities within the Ghost Zone. Most of them, you must keep your distance from. Especially right now, in your condition, you wouldn't stand a chance against them. The specters in the Zone are powerful. They have their borders and boundaries. Places, lands and lines that you do not cross. As for us,'' he takes Danny's hand into his own, cradling it in his palm and letting just a little more of reality sink in, ''You and I are unique. There are no other beings like us. This condition, Daniel, is permanent. Under normal circumstances, ghosts do eventually fade. But...''

''We're not normal.'' Danny responds softly.

Vlad gives his hand a squeeze, ''No,'' and he lets go.

''So, who were you messaging?''

''Someone who can protect you in the event that I can't. He should be here soon. He's a bit moody, but you should get along just fine.''

Danny floats over to the chaise and sits. He doesn't notice it, but as he touches the fabric, a layer of frost coats the piece of furniture, with him as the epicenter. It quickly covers the whole chaise and drifts down to the floor.

The elder halfa does notice. He's not thrilled. With the sudden freezes random and intermittent, his furniture has suffered slightly under Danny's presence. After another few minutes, Vlad comes over to join him. Instead of sitting, however, he starts wiping the frost off the surface of the chaise.

"Why are we going?" Danny asks, not paying attention.

Vlad points. "Look out the window."

Danny turns his head and looks. And his eyes widen. It's a large window, first of all. About as tall as Vlad. And half of it is obstructed by thick white snow.

"Whoops."

"You are a walking winter storm, and you need to learn to control your core so that you don't spawn a natural disaster. Or worse, an ice age."

"Why can't you teach me?" The man's already taught him so much.

Just as he's finished stripping the thin layer of ice off where he wants to sit, a fresh layer recoats the seat. Vlad gives up. "I could have if your abilities had developed more slowly," he chooses to sit across from the boy, on the couch instead, "The time to teach you would have been within a few days of the accident. Obviously, you weren't in a state to be taught. This is why your powers are bombarding you all at once. Had you been conscious, you would have had more time while your core grew."

"Oh." Danny feels...guilty, suddenly. Guilty for making things difficult. Guilty for being unconscious. Guilty for having gotten into this mess in the first place. And he feels guilty for having forced Vlad to sit on the couch.

Vlad hears his tone and catches the dimming of light in his eyes. "It's not your fault, Daniel. It just means you need a different teacher, that's all. It's by no means impossible to deal with. But I recognize that I can't help you, and I know someone who can."

Danny gives a rather meager shrug. "I know. I just feel like this all could have been avoided."

Vlad tilts his head in thought. "Maybe not." His death was slow. He began with a brief, sudden exposure to concentrated ecto-energy. However, it was a very low amount. He wasn't dead right away. Things were slow. His abilities manifested over years as opposed to days. It makes him wonder how long minor, regular exposure would take to do the same thing. If he knows Jack, it's highly likely that Danny was already being exposed to small amounts of ecto-energy on a regular basis. And if minor enough of an exposure, it could take decades to create the present scenario. But, with that logic, the Fenton parents would be next in line for this fate. Unless...

"How do your parents manage their exposure to ecto-energy?" Vlad asks.

Danny blinks. "They don't get exposed. They're always wearing protective suits. And they always go through decontamination. And I know, because I'm always the one putting their stupid suits in the wash. Jazz is kind of a germaphobe. She won't even touch their stuff. She won't go near the basement unless she has to, and she won't go near them until she's gotten them to shower after decon. Twice."

Vlad pinches the bridge of his nose with a groan. He can calculate her exposure from there, and it means Jasmine has been fussy and controlling enough to keep her own subjection to damn near zero, and Danny's been getting doses of what is essentially ghost radiation regularly. The variables matter. The time it would take to expose Jasmine to enough ecto-energy to alter her genetics, at her hyper-controlled rate of exposure, would have her dead five times over before even the first inkling of a problem.

"Whoa."

Vlad looks up. Just in time to see a whisp of blue smoke escape Danny's mouth. The boy coughs and shudders, feeling a chill run up his trachea. "What was that?"

"That would be your ghost sense," Vlad smirks, "It'll tell you when a ghost is coming near."

"So why doesn't it go off around you?"

"Because there's a specific range of detection. I've been within range of you for weeks."

"So, if it's going off, then that means..."

"There's another ghost nearby. You'll get used to it."

Danny seems to become nervous from there. Suddenly faced with meeting a real ghost, not another half ghost like Vlad, he's unsure of himself. After another few minutes, though the door is still propped, a knock comes, and Danny presses himself into the back of the chaise, attempting to hide from view.

"Come in, Skulker," Vlad urges.

Chapter Text

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Chapter Text

Skulker is...intimidating. The black pants, tank top and various pieces of equipment and belts have a way of doing that. Being taller than Vlad, and built like a brick shithouse, Danny feels the urge to shrivel up into the floorboards. He can see knives and loops of cord hanging off his waist. Definitely not the run-of-the-mill house haunting entity Danny would expect. More...hunter.

But finally seeing another ghost, a pure ghost, not the halflife that he's turned out to be, interests him. Even if Skulker's size and general aura instill fear in him. He quietly lifts off the chaise, wanting to get a little closer despite his discomfort. He lingers behind him, going invisible and hovering just over his shoulder.

"Let me see if I got this straight...you want me to play guardian angel for some runt?"

Vlad smirks. "No, that's my job. Your job is reinforcement," his eyes drift up to just above the ghost's right shoulder, where he can see the faintest of light fluctuation and refraction, "You're being rude."

Danny flinches and drops the invisibility.

The ghost turns his head towards his right, where Vlad's eyes were focused.

"Skulker, this is Daniel."

Danny tilts his head, staring into the green voids of his eyes. His tilt becomes full body, floating in front of him and looking at him, completely upside down.

Vlad stands and approaches quietly. As tempting as it would be to physically right the boy in the air, he knows that its just curiosity. He stands next to Skulker, crossing his arms.

"He's...a challenge," he says softly.

"Mm."

"So, what are you?" Danny asks. There isn't any fear left in him.

"Overqualified," Skulker chuckles and flicks him in the nose.

"Ow!" Danny falls to the floor like a rock, wrinkling his face and rubbing roughly at his nose to dull the ache.

Vlad visibly tenses, earning a quirked brow from the ghost. The older halfa watches his movements, ready to berate the hunter. But instead of reacting the way Vlad was so heavily dreading and anticipating, because, hello, they're inside, Danny just sniffles.

The halfa lets a huff of relieved air escape, settling his heart down and slams a fist into Skulker's chest. "Don't you ever do that again," he grits, "My home is not an indoor skating rink."

Skulker tilts his head slightly in interest. ''He's that unstable?''

''He's right here, ya know!'' comes from the floor.

They look down, to meet bright ectoplasm green eyes alight with annoyance and an actively icing floor.

''So he frosts the carpet. What do you need me for?''

Vlad sighs and buries his face in a palm. 'Ancients, give me strength.' ''Have you been outside recently?''

''Admittedly, no. I came through the back way."

Vlad stalks over to the window and wrenches it open despite his better judgement. Mercifully, the snow is compacted enough that it doesn't fall in.

Skulker whistles as he stares out over the horizen from what little he can see. Vlad shudders visibly and audibly, wrapping his arms around himself to keep warm and Danny floats up next to him, eyes locked on the ever growing wall of white. It looks so inviting... He's unaware he's drifting forward and reaching out for the cold fluff until a hand snatches his ankle and pulls him back. It's been years since Skulker has seen snow in the living realm; his contracts tend to favor either warmer climates or the Ghost Zone.

''Now do you get the picture?'' the older halfa grits out. Danny drifts back up and receives another gentle shove away from the open window.

Skulker chuckles and grabs a handful of snow, packing it into a ball and tossing it to the youngling halfa, ''Here you go, runt.''

Danny catches it with an unearthly squeal and plops down on the floor with it, crossing his legs and promptly takes a bite out of the ball.

Vlad rolls his eyes and walks back over to the couch. ''His core is perfectly stable, he just has no control over how or when his cold energy escapes. Even his emotions play a part.''

Skulker takes another handful of snow and shuts the window. Danny chomps away at the snowball.

''Are you sure he needs to be helped? Seems to me he's just unconsciously correcting his environment to suit his needs.''

Vlad continues to shiver. ''He's half human and still needs to live among humans, and I can't send him home until he can control himself,'' he watches as the boy finishes the last of his snowball, and begins to pout. Skulker tosses the newly formed sphere in his hand over to him, and another squeal resounds.

They watch as he settles back down, eyes becoming calm and lidded, pupils thinning to slits as he starts nibbling on the snow. Briefly, his eyes flash an icey blue. Vlad wonders if he should be concerned. It's a new color, one he's not used to in the boy. The little sounds of joy at being handed a snowball are also new, and definitely not of human origin. Is another ability emerging? Ice crackles to the surface of Danny's skin, coating him from head to toe in a seemingly oxygenless hue as he eats.

''Alright,'' Skulker concedes, ''I get it.''

''Thank-you. All that's left now is to get him through the portal."

The last few bites of snow fall to the floor suddenly. The icey skin melts in an instant to reveal tanned skin that wants to turn pale.

''Portal?!''

Chapter Text

It takes significant convincing to get Danny to come down the stairs voluntarily. But a good hold on an earlobe proves effective, even on a half dead child. Once they get there, Danny sees that Vlad's lab is nothing like his parents' lab. It's much larger, and cleaner and organized. There's adequate lighting. And while there are several tables, none are intended for holding down the prize of a ghost hunting trip. Instead, they're covered in multiple pieces of equipment. Microscopes of varying strengths. Analysis and scanning. Magnifying lenses and dozens of small sample slides. And it's all neatly arranged.

There's a few papers out of place, and some blueprints laid out. But overall, it strikes Danny as an actual lab. One meant for research and study. Not the crazed hyper antics of a duo of obsessive and neglectful nut jobs. There's even hunks of equipment and weaponry that he faintly recognizes, simply more sleek and practical versions of the tech he's known his parents to build. And there's a distinct lack of the acidic acrid stench of dry-rotting ectoplasm. The floor is mopped and clean, practically a mirror. The walls boast photos and mounted tools and guns instead of black charring and scorch marks.

The contrast between the two labs, to Danny, is frightening.

At the back of the lab, behind a clear blast sheild, an octagonal doorway that he recognizes. Again, more refined, more sleek. But he recognizes the design. Even the bolts in the frame are in the same arrangement. And it's open. And active.

"You want me to go through that?!" Danny shouts, pointing at the swirling green doorway.

Skulker looks down at him in confusion. "It's just a portal. What's the problem?"

Vlad sighs and pinches between his eyes.

Danny backs up. "No way! I am not going in that!" Fear is plastered all over his face, all of the color has drained from his skin.

"You're going, wether you like it or not." Skulker gives him a hard shove forward.

"The hell I am!" Danny bolts away, out of the lab and up the stairs.

The hunter holds his arms out in confusion. "What's his problem? It's just a portal!"

Vlad groans and finally looks up. "I hadn't forgotten, I just wasn't prepared for it to be an issue."

Skulker's eyes narrow. "Didn't prepare for what to be an issue?"

The man waves him off. "It's complicated. I'll go get him."

The manor has them close enough that Vlad's ghost sense never triggers. Which means he can't tell when he's getting closer to finding his ward. He finds Danny after half an hour, hiding on the roof of the manor. Curled into a ball, in a hole dug into the snow and shaking. It breaks Vlad a little more, as if he hadn't been tested enough.

"Daniel," he sits down despite the chill.

The boy says nothing in response. He just tenses more and continues to shake. Vlad sits next to the divot in silence and looks up. It's still snowing out, but there's a distinct vortex surrounding them, whipping sharply and holding steady.

He can imagine what's running through the child's mind. Trapped in echoes of memory and searing pain, going through the coin toss. Hearing comatose conversations on repeat. Waking up and looking for his mother. Like a broken record, over and over again. Silver tossed in the air that won't stip spinning. He resists the urge to reach out and brush his hand through his hair, aware that if he touches Danny, his hand will be frozen in an instant.

Vlad observes Skulker phasing through the roof, who looks at him quizzically. Vlad holds a finger to his lips, telling him to be quiet, and then points up.

The vortex concerns the hunter, and draws him out further to inspect it.

They linger for a while. Silently. Afraid that if any noise comes, they'll be swept away by the child's emotions.

It takes time. Several hours. Through the walls of flurrying ice and snow, Vlad can see the sun beginning to set. Skulker is scanning the weather pattern for information.

"Daniel," Vlad says softly.

The walls stutter a little and loose some speed. It starts to wind down. The vortex starts to thin. The walls start to disperse. Vlad looks down at the smaller body to find it still curled tightly into a ball. But Danny's eyes had settled, have become half lidded and tired. When the last streaks of sunset finally pierce the sluggish and dying swirls of the vortex barrier, he finally reaches a hand down and brushes through deathstruck locks.

"For your own sake, we have to go into the Ghost Zone, and I can assure you that unlike your parents' portal, mine is stable." He doesn't get a response. Perhaps, he decides, a distraction is necessary. He looks down at the boy and back up at the hunter. Suddenly, it occurs to him that he's never shown Danny his ghost half. He's made it clear that they're the same, he's flown, and taken him up into the stratosphere. But never has he actually exposed his other side.

''Skulker,'' he calls softly and the ghost turns his head slightly, ''Go on ahead. I'll be down in a bit.''

Skulker looks down at the shuddering mass curled into a fetal position. He doubts it, but gives a grunt and phases down through the roof.

Vlad gently wrangles the boy into his lap, not meeting much resistance. It's easy getting him situated, wrapping him tightly in his arms and allowing his warmer body temperature to relax him. Danny feels numb, but not from the cold. The fluttering of sounds and conversations have passed, he's mostly just drained and unsure of how to move forward. He doesn't want go through a portal again. But he's aware that he has to.

Vlad quietly grasps one of Danny's hands, carefully interlocking their fingers. He's suddenly aware of just how young the boy is by the difference of their hands. The youngling halfa is a puny, pathetic little thing in comparison. He hopes that'll change. He hopes he'll grow. Reaching down into his core like he has so many times, he feels a rush of heated energy, electrifying his bones...

The flash of light doesn't draw his attention right away. He barely registers it. But as he sits in the comfortable embrace, his notices the air warming slightly. His eyes drift lazily across the skyline and then down to his hand where he feels particularly concentrated warmth...and the hand holding his is not human.

It's a darkened teal. A white sleeve with black trim and a loop wrapped around the middle finger. And nails that are elongated and sharp. He startles a little, pulling away to turn and look at the man.

Danny will always recognize him, no matter the form he takes. Vlad's hair is ashen sooted black, framing his face and draping down behind his shoulders. A few fly-aways hang in front of his face, and his beard is the same black, but with a stripe of white in the middle. Pearly white fangs hang over his lower lip. Horns jut out from his skull, one on each side, kinking twice and reminding the boy of a dragon. They're the same color as his skin, deep teal. He wears a white tunic with a black belt, and a black collar covers most of his neck and down over his collarbones. Where his arms would meet his torso, a white cape frames his shoulders with black trim and trails down behind him.

Vlad remains quiet as Danny opts to draw closer, hyperfocused on his eyes. All red. Nothing else. No pupils to see, no white, no blue, nothing Ieft to discern that the man is at least partially human. The younger halfa reaches a hand up, almost shy in his approach. His fingertips brush an inhuman cheekbone. Despite the warmth emanating from within his form, Danny finds that Vlad's flesh is reminiscent of stone. It's soft, but seemingly more firm than usual. So, Danny thinks, closer to a gargoyle. But not without its...charm? Is charm even the right word? Something stirs in his chest, something new. Something strange. He finds it too confusing to understand and packs it away for later.

Vlad senses some apprehension as Danny pulls away. "You're handling this remarkably well."

Danny doesn't respond...at first. He heard him, he's just unsure of how to express how he feels about Vlad showing this side of himself. But it certainly explains the unearthly rumble he heard him give the night he first woke. It was a foreign sound, because Vlad is foreign to humans, now. And that spawns the sudden clarity that Danny may never fully fit in ever again. No matter where he goes, he'll always be set apart from the rest of the world.

"I'm gonna be out of place everywhere."

And Vlad tilts his head in thought. "That depends on what your final form will be. The shape you take now may be temporary. But I get the feeling that, where we are going, you'll fit right in." He gently takes a smaller hand into his own and stands, prompting the boy to follow suit. "Are you willing to humor me, now?"

"Do I have a choice?"

VIad chuckles. "If my furniture weren't on the line, you might. I'll throw you through if I have to."

Danny swallows and nods. "Okay."

He's able to lead him back down to the lab from there. They get to the portal, with its hypnotizing swirls of green and violet, and Vlad looks back at him. "I'll go through first," he gives Danny's hand a light squeeze, "Don't let go."

Chapter Text

So! Finally! Well, sort of. I'm keeping Danny's final form under wraps for now. I've settled on a name, I think, to identify what he is, but I'm not sure yet.

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Vlad's design took a little bit of effort, simplifying certain details here and complicating others there. It was interesting, and a fun little challenge, trying to keep the spirit of what was originally presented in the show. There were some bumps along the way, though.

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This was the earliest design, scribbled out on a piece of cardstock at work. I played with it some more, fiddled with the fangs, and got this.

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I briefly experimented with something a little more monster-esque. Which led to this.

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Which came from this.

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And then we went right back around and recovered because I needed an angry gargoyle Vlad! Behold, the process.

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Incidentally, me and my process will also cause delays. Sorry! But I hope the visual aid helps! And I don't know where the ruby clasps came from, they just sort of appeared.

Chapter Text

''Whoa.''

Vlad smirks and Skulker gives a chuckle. ''It's a lot bigger than you thought, isn't it, whelp?'' the hunter asks.

Danny nods faintly, eyes wide and darting all around, soaking up the swirls of ghostly green and violet. He wasn't sure what to expect when he stepped through the portal. He's transfixed by the display.

Doors without frames drift lazily through and by. Heaps of realm and rock move like molasses. Stray flights of stairs that lead to nowhere hover and linger. Carved stones hang effortlessly in the space, looming over everything. Some resemble gravestones, others look more like pillars and columns and he wonders if there's a ruined templed somewhere nearby. Chunks of land meander about, lined with dead trees and incomplete rope bridges hanging over their edges. He dodges a crystal about the size of his head as it tears past him, ducks from a school of little blob ghosts, and...

A blue scaled hulking beast roars loudly and flies in the distance, spewing sickly green glames and tangles with a much larger and blackened sibling. ''ARE THOSE DRAGONS?!''

The elder halfa finally laughs. ''That'll be the Princess Dorathea and Prince Aragon. Those two, you'll want to avoid. Dorathea is sweet, but her brother is the problem child. And yes, some ghosts have landed on the dinner menu before.''

Vlad leads him into a path, quickly passing multiple floating objects that continue to amaze and astound his younger counterpart. ''The doors lead to other realms, places that many ghosts choose to reside within. I don't reccomend going through them without company. Every now and then, doors collide, and you get a black hole. Trust me, you don't want to be around for that.''

''So, it's inside-out space!'' A toothy grin of excitement plasters itself onto Danny's face, and Vlad winces.

''Not quite what I was going for, but-DANIEL!''

Danny has drifted off to the right, towards a door that looks reminiscent of a stained glass window.

''He's a handful,'' Skulker quips and beats Vlad to the boy, snatching the back of his shirt and pulling him backwards. Danny looks at him with a perplexed expression. ''You can't just open random doors, pup. You never know who you'll run into.''

''Or who you'll let out,'' Vlad warns and grabs the smaller wrist, ''Please, Daniel. The Zone is not a playground. You could fall into the Bermuda Triangle if you're not careful.''

''Wait. Really? I could go to the Bermuda Triangle from here?'' and Vlad gives a suffering groan, but makes a point of not letting go.

They fly past multiple islands and drifting mountains, for about an hour, and then Danny notices the temperature is starting to drop. ''So, where are we going?''

''To the Realm of the Far Frozen. You'll like it. Lots of snow and ice and yeti,'' Vlad replies.

"Yeti?!" Vlad turns his head away from the burst of excited energy, and Danny pulls free. He shoots off ahead of them, feeling for cold. There's no air stream, per se, in the Zone, but cold air does waft through lazily. Danny cranes his head out, mouth slightly open as he breaths inward.

Vlad races to catch him, but stops just short of grabbing an ankle when he sees what Danny is doing. And he can't help but linger and study the behavior. It's another page for the book he still needs to write in, he realizes, and realizes further that Danny isn't even aware of what he's doing.

Vlad marvels at the behavior, Skulker quirks a brow and follows close behind.

Danny's head tilts slightly, this way and that, at different angles, and shifts his jaw in the faintest micromovements. He feels the air over his teeth and tongue and swerves to the side, following a trail. It's the right direction, yes, but it's still strange. Vlad and Skulker exchange looks.

Skulker drifts up to Vlad's side. "Were you aware he has heightened thermoreceptors?"

Vlad shakes his head. "No, admittedly, I wasn't. But I suppose it makes some sense."

"He's an odd one."

"Mm."

They follow, even if they know where they're headed. It takes another hour. But Danny does sense his way to a floating island of white mountains and glaciers.

"I hate the cold," Skulker growls, "You'll have to go down without me. They don't want me on their land."

Vlad raises a brow for one second and levels a glare the next. "You didn't."

Skulker came to a stop and hovered into a holding pattern, leaning back, crossing his arms and folding his legs. "I tried. I did not get far."

Danny focuses and turns around. "What does he mean? What did he try?"

Vlad nudges him down to the island. "Later."

Their feet touch snow. Vlad, wrapped up in his cloak, shivered slightly. It's all ice and snow. It's bitter, chilling and frozen. It's a hostile environment. Life would never prosper here. Danny breaks into a run.

"Daniel!" Vlad gives chase. "Daniel?!"

He's not listening. He's too busy taking in the snow covering dead trees and rocks. The ice at his bare feet that he doesn't seem to slip on. The brisk air whisking by his face. His heart is pounding in his chest, he's breathing hard, but he doesn't see his breath in front of him. It's all cold and snow and so welcoming. A laugh escapes. It's an instantaneous sensation, feeling as though the bitter cold is where he belongs. Danny knows his core runs cold. He knows he has ice powers. But he hasn't put much thought into it until now.

And the land just feels so right. So perfect and idyllic. Home is where the cold is. He slows and begins to explore. Ducking under tree branches and carefully climbing over snowbanks. There's stonework buried beneath the sea of white. Ancient, if he guesses right. With marginal persistance, he comes to a clearing. He stops and listens. The world seems to have gone quiet and he stretches his hearing. There's faint rustling off in the distance. Behind him, he can hear Vlad's labored breath as he races to catch up. There's a faint gust of wind and a whisper within it. Were he human, he might be more worried. It's a hushing call. A gentle order to be quiet and relax. He sits down on the ground.

That's how Vlad finds him after a few minutes. In fact, he damn near trips over him. Stumbling around him and heaving bitter air, puffs of his warmer breath swirling out in front of him, the older halfa stops and hunches over, bracing against his knees to catch his lungs. Vlad can feel the unnatural chill biting at his skin as he composes himself. And for once, having such long fangs proves highly impractical; they hurt, like he's just bitten into an ice cube.

Danny pays him no mind, barely acknowledging his presence until a hand snatches the back of his shirt and pulls him to his feet. Vlad whips him around with dizzying speed and grips smaller shoulders like a vice, ''Don't you ever run off like that, again, young man, or I'll tear your hide!''

Bright green eyes appear stunned and confused. Almost as though he's not understanding that he's being scolded. ''...Sorry..." his eyes drift off to their surroundings.

Suddenly, a twig snaps behind them, less than twenty feet away.

Instinct drives his next movements. Vlad whirls the child around again, letting his cloak provide cover and turns, thoroughly blocking the boy from view. ''Don't move.''

Chapter Text

By now, he should really be used to Vlad's overprotective nature. He's been coddled since he woke up. And watched like a hawk. From dawn to dusk, at every turn, with every step he takes and every meal he eats. It's almost smothering. Almost. And Danny knows he means well, knows he's just trying to cushion the blow as new twists to his new life arise. And the last several days are almost a blur to him. On this matter, in a foreign environment that Vlad knows far better, he's aware it would unwise to question the man's firmly rooted desire to be a human shield.

Danny peers around the edge of Vlad's cloak, curious to see what has him on the defense as footsteps approach.

What appears from out of the thicket is a great, white hulking beast covered in plush fur. And tall, too. Taller than Vlad by a good foot or so. With horns of ice. And its left arm, though reminiscent of a human limb, was made entirely of ice crystal and Danny could just barely make out the blurry outline of bones within. It wore a tattered blue cloak that draped down its back and a blue kilt with a golden belt. And a single jewel, he suspects a diamond, studded the belt. Not exactly what Danny pictured for a yeti.

"Vladimir," it grunts.

"Frostbite," Vlad acknowledges, keeping Danny close behind him.

The beast tilts his head, studying the halfa. "The last time our paths crossed..."

"You put me in my place. Yes. I remember."

"I recall banning you from my realm."

Danny's heart jumps a little. Are they in trouble?

Vlad nods. "You did. And given how...convincing you were in executing your order, I wouldn't normally be inclined to violate your ruling, but there are extenuating circumstances."

The yeti glances at a blur of movement behind the halfa's cloak. "I do not usually grant a second audience to trespassers. But you're not alone, are you?"

Danny gulps and ducks behind the older halfa.

Vlad swallows. "No. I've come seeking aid with a problem, of sorts."

Frostbite straightens and folds his arms. "And what kind of problem could drag you back to my borders?"

Vlad makes a faint sound, nervous in its effect and delivery. He shifts his stance, bringing Danny forward. And Danny goes rigid, not exactly sure if he's being offered up as a cut of meat or not.

The freezing beast stares in surprise. The entity, the child before him is puny. Barely a head past Vlad's waist.

"A rather scrawny little cub, isn't he?"

Vlad nods, though he seems to take the jab a little too close to heart. "I'm trying."

It's a bright-eyed thing, the yeti decides, and still has some growing to do. He leans down, sniffing lightly at him. He detects the scents of rain and snow, with a hint of ozone. He can smell at least one other prevalent individual, a female, and the fading signs of a small feline.

Danny holds still, unsure of what would be an appropriate response. He's seen enough cartoons as a little kid that he worries one well meaning gesture could be severely misinterpreted. Frostbite's eyes glow an unnatural purple as his head cranes slowly. He finally snorts and looks back up at Vlad.

"And he's not yours."

Vlad grips at Danny's shoulders a little too tightly. "I'm his guardian."

"Apart from a desperate need for a decent meal, what is the problem, exactly?"

Vlad huffs, trying to assemble an explanation. He glances over at a low hanging branch covered in snow. He sighs, snatches a clump of white fluff off of the branch and shoves it into Danny's face, partially up his nose.

"Agh! G-hey! That's cold-d-gh-ahCHOO!"

...a blanket of blown snow with a thin veneer of ice is all Danny sees when he recovers, right where the yeti should be. Danny gulps at the sight. After a moment, the ice begins cracking, until it bursts, shattering into dust and the hulking white mass underneath shakes the snow off. He looks surprised, staring down at the youngling.

He looks back up at Vlad with a smile, ''I see your dilemma.''

They're led into the village. And Danny observes that it looks more like an encampment, dotted with little caves and domes of ice serving as huts. The terrain is more rugged than he's used to. But he supposes it makes sense since it's just ice and snow. There's even a small center to it. A town square, if you like, with what appears to be a well, assuming the water hasn't frozen. And Danny then wonders if they even have running water. And if so, where is it and where does it go? Because, again, it's an island floating in an open void. It wouldn't be too far off in appearance if someone just lopped off the top half of Mt. Everest and built on it.

Multiple yetis are going about their business and conversing calmly and openly. There's active ice sculpting and carving, a few smaller beasts sit at attention while an adult scratches writing onto a wall of clear ice like it's a chalkboard. In another corner, what can best be described as a hovercraft sits propped up on frozen blocks. One yeti lies underneath fussing with components, yelling loudly in a strange tongue and throwing a wrench away while another hands him a different tool. Danny can only assume, from the eyeroll of the second that it's a cursing fit. A smirk forms and he bites back a laugh. It's funny. No matter where you go, you can always tell when a mechanic is having a temper tantrum.

A gentle tap on his shoulder catches his attention and Vlad motions him to follow into a large cave. The ceiling seems rather high, even for the people residing there. But the cave walls are lined with multiple screens and piping. Strange pieces of technology that he's never seen before hover past and dart over. Orbs and cubes with glowing details emitting lasers in greens and blues. Control panels stand and float, with buttons flashing in an array of colors and thin panes of ice hang in the air with numbers and equations etched into their surfaces.

Vlad is unfazed by the display of advancement. Danny is fascinated.

Frostbite leads them deeper into the dugout on a path that splits in two. They head for the right, into a new room that faintly resembles a doctor's office. There's a sink, cabinets and drawers, multiple monitors mounted to the walls, and a metal table that sits in the center of the room.

"Alright, pup. Up you go." Frostbite motions towards the table. Danny hops up and sits, hanging his legs over the side.

Vlad stands next to him, ready to interfere if something untoward occurs.

Frostbite pulls a drawer open that goes directly into the cave walls. "I'll start by scanning both of your cores."

Vlad blinks. "Both?"

"Both," the yeti replies.

The older halfa looks confused, but says nothing as Frostbite presents a small gray metal orb. It floats up towards them and emits a green laser, scanning Danny first. It scans Vlad a moment later, much to his discomfort.

When it finishes, it beeps twice and hovers back over to the yeti, landing gently in his hand.

"The data will be available in a few minutes." he places the device on a magnetic base that lights up upon contact. The screens begin showing code.

"Now then," the beast turns to the younger halfa, "to better understand what I'm dealing with, I'll need to perform a quick physical, and by then I should have the data from the scanner."

Vlad tenses slightly, but understands...until Frostbite looks back at him and nods towards the entrance. His muscles seize in retaliation. Is he being asked to-

"Out, please. It'll only be a few minutes."

Danny suddenly feels a tug on his core. An alert weariness to being separated by order. He stiffens slightly and gulps. Inside, his core spirals and twists against the grain, rubbing itself raw against its own energy. Outside, Danny's eyes divert away from both of them, pointedly taking a newfound interest in the marks on the ice walls that shaped the cave. Subzero frost creeps across the metal table and quietly crackles down to the floor below.

Vlad isn't paying attention. But he must sense at least general discomfort because he holds his position. "I don't think-"

"-I may need to ask a few questions that are potentially sensitive in nature. I doubt he'll want to answer with you present."

At this, the halfa concedes. Reluctantly. With visible hesitance, earning a raised brow from the snow beast. But he slowly makes his way out. Warmth boils to the surface of his skin and his nails sharpen as he curls his fingers out of reflex. An itch, though not necessarily an itch he recognizes, grates against his fire core. Like sparks and sandpaper. It's not distrust. He knows Frostbite would never hurt Daniel. But its a sensation he can't place and it manifests into pacing outside the cave mouth. Back and forth and covering his own tracks. He leaves hideous treadmarks across the ice.

He feels...feral. Wild. And pulled taught. Impatient and nervous and riled.

He's pacing a small pond before he realizes it, an elongated puddle perhaps an inch deep that freezes on one end just as he reaches and thaws the other. Steam hisses from contacting hot to cold. And the cycle repeats.

Frostbite's hands are so much bigger than his own. Danny notices right away as he takes his left hand and examines the ethereal fern trailing up his arm. Violet irises follow the path up to his sleeve.

"Does this go further?" The yeti asks.

"Yeah." The boy pulls his shirt off to reveal the rest.

"Hm," the beast studies the pattern, every branch of it, and how it curls over his torso just above where his heart would be, "It'll never fade."

Danny shrugs. "Ok." He doesn't particularly care if the lichtenberg disappears.

''Tell me, how did you pass?'' Frostbite goes back to the drawer and produces what appears as a small rod. Holding it horizontally, it proceeds to emit a wide blue laser that scans down Danny's body more slowly than the orb did.

Danny physically slumps at the question. ''I pressed a button and got electrocuted.''

The scan finishes and a screen behind Frostbite powers on, he turns to look. Revealed is a 3d model of Danny's skeleton. The image of bones disturbs him. "You are torn in twain. Just as Vladimir is,'' he looks back to the young halfa, ''Your core is bound in your flesh.''

Danny pulls his shirt back on. ''If that's a fancy way of saying I'm half dead, then, yeah. I know. What about it?''

Here, the yeti hesitates, clearly unsettled. ''Lift your shirt for me, one more time.''

Danny does, and Frostbite gently taps a single frozen claw against the flesh of his stomach, just above his navel. Danny's brows knit together in confusion. The yeti stares at the expanse of skin for a few seconds and taps again. And again a few more seconds later. A fourth tap, a few seconds more and the yeti straightens and turns around to face a monitor. He taps on the screen and begins swiping though the read-outs.

''...is something supposed to happen?'' the boy asks and lowers his shirt.

''Yes, but... where is... Core temperature 2.7 Kelvins... Core weight 21 grams... AB-... for Clockwork's sake, where is-ah! Radiocarbon dating is 14.471 years, rather young...ecto-carbon dating is...2.466...months?''

Danny leans a little to the side in an attempt to see the monitor. Frostbite's broad shoulders block his view. ''Is something wrong?''

A sigh escapes the yeti and he shuts the monitors off. ''Not exactly, no. 'Wrong' would be the incorrect term to use in this instance... What is your opinion towards Vladimir?''

Danny blinks in surprise. ''Um...'' he shrugs, ''I don't know. I...he's taking care of me. He's helping me, he's teaching me how to be whatever all of this is,'' a motion towards himself, ''which I really appreciate. I could never do this at home or I'd end up on a table.''

Frostbite tilts his head in thought. ''But how do you feel?''

''About Vlad?'' and Frostbite gives him a nod.

Danny thinks. How does he feel about all of this? How does he feel about Vlad and the fact that he's helped so much so far? He's grateful. He's thrilled. Someone cares about his wellbeing enough to look past whatever obsessions they might have. He's eating three meals a day instead of scrounging through the kitchen for snacks because his parents forgot to go grocery shopping. He's sleeping through the night and waking up on his own clock. So, he feels rested, too.

His bed is more than comfortable. It's covered with constellations. It's his dream bed, in fact. Someone cared enough to notice his preferences. His room is cozy and secluded. Partially isolated. Not like his room at home, with a doorknob that's broken from being burst open so many times. He's not sleeping with one eye open. He actually gets to reach the dreamscape.

He may feel smothered on occasion, but he wonders, as his mind wanders through his memories, if what he's really been getting is proper nurturing. He gets some of the same sensations from Vlad's actions that he gets from his sister and his friends. He's looking out for him, trying to help him along. Help him grow. His parents are supposed to be doing that. He's already reached the point where he doesn't expect anything from them. He knows they love him. But he's always played second and third and even fourth fiddle to their inventions. He doesn't like being the center of attention. But a strange warmth descends upon him, like a blanket. Like he's being comforted.

His needs are being met, his stomach is full, his bed is warm, his door locks and his ceiling isn't charred by misfires.

But...is guardian really the right word? It doesn't sit right with him. Neither does uncle, or father, or friend. He has an uncle. He has a father. He has friends. Real friends, who don't leave him hanging. Legally, on paper, he's his guardian. But guardian just feels...wrong?

"I feel..." he rubs at his arm out of reflex.

Frostbite focuses on him, waiting for his answer.

"I'm... He's doing so much for me. He's already spent so much time on me... He's helped me a lot, he's being supportive... Honestly, I'm not really sure," he swallows a lump in his throat he didn't even know was forming, "I haven't really..."

Frostbite can practically hear his mind straining to find the right words. Can feel his core twisting and tilting awkwardly in confusion. "It's alright," he says softly, "Leave it for now. I only ask because of our biology."

Danny looks up at him. "Biology?"

"All ghosts bear what is called a vessel spell. It can be activated at any time. Usually, when we are formed, we are old enough upon death that the spell is already in place. But there have been a few entities that were formed much earlier in life. And so the spell was not present. In those cases, when the spirit becomes of age, it will appear."

"So, the poking was...?"

"You don't have yours." Frostbite reaches down and taps against his fur. A triangle appears, glowing in a strange shade of blue, and the tip of the triangle is pointed upwards. "A simple tap is all that's needed to wake it, provided the spell is present."

"So, what does it do?"

Frostbite tenses slightly and the triangle fades from view. "I think you may be a tad young for that knowledge."

"Well, you threw such a fit over me not having it, I just figured I'd ask."

The yeti straightens. "I do not have fits."

"What does it do?" Danny asks again.

"When you're of age, you'll know."

"And that's when, exactly?"

"With any luck, well after you're out of my hair," he guides Danny off the table, "Now, go on. Shoo. I have more data to study. Go start something. Start trouble," he gently pushes him through the medlab's entrance.

Chapter Text

Danny seems to be getting on with the yeti rather well. Vlad thinks so, anyway. He watches from a distance, watching them roughhouse and play like wild children. The strength that's slowly been developing as the boy's health improves manifests as being able to take a hit. And a toss. And a hard landing. And as minutes tick by, and they continue to playfully throw him about like a rag doll and pelt him with heaps of snow, more energy seems to develop and Danny starts returning the well intentioned blows.

A stray ball of white fluff makes contact with the boy's face, and Vlad winces as a sneeze resounds from the epicenter of joyful chaos. A fresh blanket of snow covers the entire pack in a sideways drift, halting the horseplay. Danny practically shrivels up, cowering in the middle of the stunned silence. The older halfa is considering intervening, standing up and ready to come to the rescue when they shake the snow off with overzealous laughter. Scooping the boy up like a prize, proclaiming "Our little snowdrift!"

He relaxes...a little. And the nickname seems fitting as he considers the instances of cold weather bursts.

The play continues with greater ferocity.

"He seems to fit in rather well," Frostbite walks up next to him.

"Mm."

"If he were not half-living, I'd be inclined to have him stay. He seems to thrive in these conditions."

Vlad sighs.

"But, as I understand it, he still has living family?"

The man sits down on a bench carved from ice, wrapping himself up in his cloak for warmth. Frostbite joins him.

"What did you find?" he asks. He doesn't want to get into the ugly nitty gritty of the boy's home environment.

The snowbeast beside him watches on, a speckle of mirth coloring his eyes as Danny jumps and takes a dive into the snow, disappearing from view. A faint trail on the surface forms. He's tunneling.

"Before I divulge anything, I must ask you...what are your intentions with this boy?"

Vlad blinks and looks at him. "Intentions?"

The yeti shows no emotion. "I'll be blunt, then. Do you intend upon him?"

Vlad's eyes grow wide and a splash of red crosses his cheeks. "Inten-are you out of your mind?!'' his voice rises, ''He's fourteen!" Wether it's from rage, disgust, embarrassment or denial, the beast is unsure.

"I understand he's young. But given the result of some inquiries, I'm thinking more long term."

Vlad grumbles.

"And he's still growing. ...as are you."

Vlad is met with both confusion and the urge to rip his head off. He thinks better of it. "What do you mean I'm still growing?"

"I mean you are still immature," he ignores the expression of anger and bewilderment, "Ghosts are interesting creatures. We are ultimately another form of life. And with life comes nature. Biology. We still endure changes and adjustments, just as livings do. When we last met, in the midst of distributing appropriate punishment, I could sense that your core was different from ours. And, despite outward appearances, not fully formed. The scan merely confirmed my suspicions."

"Please don't tell me you're trying to give me the talk."

"Merely a watered down version," he continues, "As you were the only one of your kind at the time, your core had hit something of an impasse with development. There was simply no reason for it to continue growing because there was no one else. So it stopped. Now, with the presence of another like yourself, you will eventually begin enduring...urges."

Vlad buries his face in his hands in disbelief.

"Under normal circumstances, such urges would come about slowly. Gently. A flicker here and there that we can normally write off. I worry that in your case, they may appear without warning. At which point, there's a chance that at least one of you will be driven by pure instinct alone, and you'll be beyond rational thought. I hope that, by then, you will have sorted out where you stand with the boy so that you can handle the situation accordingly."

Vinegar, tart and sour, flavors Vlad's mood as he comes to understand the meaning of his words. "You imply that I wou-"

"-Not yet, no. Pay attention. There's still time. But for the boy, he will continue as normal, and eventually, well, nature will intervene since there is another potentially compatible half-living."

Barbed wire twists in the man's gut. "He's a teenager!"

"He's a teenager for now. You have a few years to figure out where your relationship lies."

"I'm his guardian."

Frostbite's tone drops low in warning, "But that is not what he considers you to be. He understands what you are according to the laws of your world. But that's not how he sees you."

Vlad's eyes widen and he looks back at the chaotic snow fight, focusing on the wild teenager giving the pack a run for their money.

"At present, he's more confused than anything else. He doesn't see you as a parent. It would seem that, despite everything, his living parents still hold that title. He knows you aren't family. He knows you teach him, but you're not a mentor to him, either. He's still trying to figure out where you fit within his circle," the yeti looks out to the noisy play, "I don't mean to upset you. I just want you prepared for the possibility that he'll see you as something more."

Danny bursts from a bank and topples a yeti with surprising speed, catching them off guard.

"I can teach him to manage his emotions. But as for the outbursts of cold, there's nothing I can do. And nothing I can train out of him. His core is far colder than anything I've ever seen."

"How cold?" the halfa asks.

"It was measured in Kelvins," earning a wide eyed roll from Vlad, and Frostbite continues, "Ice and snow are slipping through because there's not enough thermal sheilding on his core. He's still growing, after all. The shell is still forming. When it's complete, he'll also achieve his final form, whatever that may be. He'll straighten out in time. His core is perfectly stable, as you've already found. My suggestion is to keep him until the month passes. Everything was being stalled by the coma and the damage he took, and then you gave him a boost," Frostbite says softly, "So his system is being flooded with everything hard and fast. There should be just enough sheilding formed for him to stop icing surfaces over and altering weather patterns by the end of the month."

"That's it?" the man asks, "I just have to wait it out?"

Frostbite nods. "That's it. It will take a few years for his core to fully coat itself, but he'll be safe enough for living society in a few weeks."

They watch the younger halfa continue to play in the snow for a while. Wreaking general havoc as he's taught to sculpt ice in his hands and concentrate energy. They set up makeshift targets and start firing blasts of ice, showing off who's the better shot. Danny does alright, getting about half the targets. Not all in the middle, but at least he hits a few. And the yeti give him pointers and quiet suggestions. Telling him how to channel the cold outwords. The best stance when on solid ground. Compensation for movement.

These were lessons Vlad wanted to teach. But as he listens and observes, he notices that Danny takes certain information in better. Because it's being presented to him differently, in a way only ice-dwellers can understand. His aim gets better, he misses a few targets and strikes a few yeti by mistake. The targets he does hit, he's gotten a little closer to the center. Another snowball fight erupts as a result of his poor shots. It's all in good fun.

Clad in only leggings and a t-shirt that's at least one size too big, the youngling is barefoot and exposed to the bitter chills of the realm and the antics of its inhabitants. And he's holding up just fine.

"There are a few other things I should mention, before you take him back. A few small things."

Vlad grunts in acknowledgment.

"His diet will need to change. I know you have him eating light to avoid shocking his human form. But I recommend switching to raw meats. And soon, before he gets a craving. Unchecked hunger might have him hunting for sustenance in the human realm, and I don't think I need to explain how dangerous that is."

Vlad gives a faint nod. "Alright."

"His fangs should come in in a few years, as well...'' he trails off.

Vlad feels him hanging off the edge, and is out of patience. ''What else?'' he asks, low and warning.

"Your reaction to being told to step outside. To separate yourself. It worries me."

Vlad says nothing. But his brain is scrambling.

"It implies that your ghost half may have already decided on him as a future companion."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous. This is something you won't be able to run from, Vladimir. I can practically guarantee it. The true test will be how you handle things once he's out from under your roof."

There's a distinct rumble of disapproval that emanates from the halfa. The concept as a whole... It's just absurd to him. He knows the yeti is thinking ahead. But Vlad still doesn't see it.

"When he finally becomes of age, which could be four years from now, or it could be seven, his vessel spell will manifest,'' the beast looks at him, ''I know you have yours, and I know that yours became after your death. And you are aware of how painful it was when it appeared.''

The halfa heaves a breath and closes his eyes. He spent a week with a fever, feeling like his brain was cooking in his skull while someone was beating it in with an anvil. He'd been bedridden the entire time, unable to sleep, eat or even move as it felt like his insides were being shredded and rearranged. Curled into a crying ball on his bad, wanting to scream and being in too much agony to do so. The process drained him so much that he slept for another week afterwards.

''I remember,'' he says softly, ''It was absolutely fucking miserable.''

Frostbite nods. ''For most of us, we are formed with the spell already in place. But there have been entities throughout time that died young. And their stories are very much the same; high fever, intense headaches, crippling agony and the preference to be torn down molecule by molecule rather than suffer through it. The boy is a bright thing, lots of energy. I would hate for him to endure the process alone.''

''You want someone there for him.''

''Didn't you?''

Vlad drifts back into his memories. It was a horrid week. One he never wants to go through again. He tore holes in his blankets and sheets trying to ground himself. He clawed at his stomach until he'd bled and kept digging. He narrowly avoided disembowling himself. And faintly, he remembers looking around in confusion, in between the tears and torture, looking for someone, anyone, to take the pain away.

''I...'' He'll never admit to it.

But he understands with unfortunate clarity just what the yeti is asking for. ''My circumstance was...unfavorable.''

Frostbite grunts in annoyance. ''It's nothing to be ashamed of, wanting help.''

Vlad's tongue moves before he can stop himself. ''I never had help. I learned withing days of my death that I wouldn't be getting any. I learned very quickly that I was set to suffer alone. I got through everything without any support. No one was going to be there to comfort me, so I had decided that I would never look for comfort. I wouldn't look for help. I wouldn't ask for help. And therefore, I didn't. It became beneath me.''

There's a pained expression on the yeti's face as he takes a good look at the half ghost. He studies him, studies the form he's taken as a ghost and realizes the meaning behind his acidic tongue.

''Whatever comes of this bond you have with that youngling, do not choke him with your misery.''

Chapter Text

It's nearly midnight when they return to the manor. Danny slips through the portal with a yawn and floats his way up to his room. He's tired. He's had a physically hard day. A good day, a fun day. Who'd have thought yetis made good playmates? But it was a trying day on his body and he was ready for bed.

Vlad is tired, too. But for now, he's more focused on the new desire of keeping the boy at arm's length. Further, if possible. But he can't. He's too wrapped up in this, now. Too deep. He wishes, as he powers on his lab computer, that the snow beast is just pulling his leg. That it's a joke. But he also knows that the inhabitants of the Far Frozen are an honorable people. And while they do have a sense of humor, it's simply not in their nature to toy with something so serious.

Frostbite's words are still spinning in his head when he sets up his own little scanner. While just as advenced as the technology of the Far Frozen, it's more like a camera that rests on a tripod. He turns it on from the computer and tells it to scan. Again, he wants this all to be just a bad joke. But after ten minutes, as the data begins to display on the screen, complete with a 3D rendering of his core, he sighs. Because it's not a joke. No one is joshing him. He's not being guyed. His core is changing. Or, to be more accurate, growing. Its temperature is about normal, for him, roughly 260°C. But where it would normally remain so, it's fluttering about, dropping and climbing over and under a 100° range. It's a significant margin. He's not thrilled. Honestly, it scares him a little.

He faintly hears conversation through the ceiling; Jasmine's been left alone all day and is grilling her brother. He decides the boy can handle himself. He needs a break of his own. He shuts everything down, but leaves the scanner set up and retreats to his room for the night. He changes into a black T-shirt and a pair of blue fleece pants. It's still a little cold in the manor. But the weather outside is dying down as he climbs into bed.

He doesn't sleep. The fact that his core is changing generates a rather unhealthy amount of anxiety. He doesn't know what to expect, anymore. He thought he'd turned all the corners he possibly could years ago. That's not the case, anymore. Is there going to be more pain? More suffering? More clawing at his own skin? Will his temperature fluctuate enough to leave him feeling ill? Are the changes coming his way small or drastic? Is he looking at being bedridden again for an undisclosed amount of time? Is he done functioning in society? Will his human side still look human when it's all over? Or will he be forced to become a recluse? Worse still, what if his ecto-signature changes? What if it amplifies? Will he be able to engineer a dampener strong enough? Can he build one fast enough? For as kooky and whacky as ghost hunters can be, they're a very real threat. Will he need to fortify his home? Will he need to leave his home?

The bombardment of questions and worrying drags him from his bed with frightening strength and he's in his study before he can stop himself. And the liquor cabinet, in that moment, seems to be the only sure thing in his life. He helps himself to a bottle of Spirytus and starts to slowly sip at it.

It takes a while for him to recognize that after a few hours, he's well past the pleasant buzz he's so heavily preferred over getting shit-faced drunk. Somewhere in the spirited haze, he paced around the study until he lost the feeling in his legs and plopped down in front of the fireplace. But his fingers white knuckled the bottle, unwilling to let go.

And that's how Jasmine found him at nine a.m. the next morning. Sitting crisscross applesauce before the fire with the bottle still in his hand and a fresh swig burning his throat. Jasmine knows he has issues. But she's observed him and how he manages and controls himself in his day-to-day activities. She knows a downwards spiral when she sees one. And she wonders what happened. Wonders what drove him into the bottom of a bottle. She lingers in the doorway quietly for a few minutes, watching him slump forward and listening to shuddering huffs of air, like he's fighting back tears. His hair is a disaster, tangled and twisted all over, some of it hanging in front of his face and partially obscuring the red tint to his cheeks.

He doesn't even acknowledge her presence. She suspects he's too far gone to do so. So she walks up behind him quietly, careful to not let her feet shuffle across the floor. His eyes are on the fire when she sits down next to him. She lets him drink for a little longer. Lets him get lost in himself. The depressed and downtrodden are more likely to speak when they've loosened their to tongues with booze. Despite his half-dead state, the redhead detects that this applies to even him. It's another half hour before he realizes she's even there.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

A huff. A snort. A chuckle. And then he breaks into a sickly laugh as he sets the bottle down. He draws his legs into himself and buries his head between his knees to suppress the unholy lilt of his voice. He tangles his hands in his hair and digs at his scalp, not hard enough to draw blood. Just hard enough to attempt a distraction from the throb in his skull. The sound of his voice concerns her, but she doesn't pull away. This is what she wants to be when she's grown up. This is her ultimate occupation. If she can help Vlad, then anyone else coming down the line will be a cakewalk.

He laughs for a few more moments, almost making a decent plea for insanity. And just when Jasmine is contemplating hitting him to see if it will snap him out of his fit, the veins in his hands suddenly glow a vibrant pink. His laughter fades as the glow trails from his fingertips to his arms. His clothing masks the rest. And then it's like she's sitting next to a space heater. Powerful warmth pours off of him in suffocating waves. Warmer than the fire, yet she remains. When the last of his laughter dies in his throat, he finally relaxes. And lifts his head up to stare into the flames once more. The red hue of drink is gone from his face. And his eyes are clear and alert. She may not understand what's just happened, and she acknowledges that she doesn't, but she can tell he's suddenly very sober.

"I thought I was done," he grates out.

Jasmine sits silently.

"I thought it was over."

"Thought what was over?" she asks.

"All of it. The growing pains, if you will. The agonizing process by which my state becomes. But, apparently, I'm not. There's still more."

"More... More what?"

"There's more. More..." he sighs, "More. Just... there's just more," he grabs the bottle, "I don't know what, I just know there's still. Fucking. MORE!" He hurls the nearly empty bottle into the fireplace. It shatters and blue torrents of inferno burst forth, threatening to catch her and set her clothing ablaze.

Jasmine jumps a little at the display of temper. She's learning as she goes, and she's already learned a lot as it is. "And there's more for Danny, too."

Vlad says nothing. He doesn't find solace in her statement. He's already aware that there's more in store for the boy, as well.

"What I mean is, Danny's going to go through this, too. You won't suffer through it, alone."

"That's hardly of comfort, my dear. This is a miserable existence to lead and I assumed that I'd have the rest of the answers for Daniel. This means I can no longer help him."

"No, it just means that, now, you can help each-other."

He looks at her, eyes swimming in confusion.

"Think about it. You now have two subjects to study. Yourself, and Danny. As you go, find what works best for you, he'll find what works best for him. You can pass advice and ideas back and forth. Eventually, you'll both level out."

Vlad's eyes drift back into the fire in thought. She's right, he realizes. Hell, every cloud has a silver lining. He's still unhappy with the situation. And Danny, as a teenager, going through the rest of these changes, will possibly be more volatile. But her words do ring with reason. And they remind him that there's method behind every bout of madness.

"You haven't slept, have you?"

"I've been chasing my sanity into the bottom of a perfectly good bottle of Polmos Spirytus Rektyfikowany, which is intended to be diluted and mixed with other liqueurs. No. I haven't slept at all. I do faintly recall putting in a few miles around the couch, though."

She's not impressed. "That's great. You got in some exercise. Now, go to bed. I think I can cook for my brother."

He quietly gets to his feet. He's just gotten to the door when she calls to him.

"Vlad," she utters softly.

He turns towards her.

"Don't ever let me catch you drinking like that, again."

Chapter Text

The next several days found Danny restless and confused. As he tried to understand why Vlad had shut himself away, all the reassurance in the world from his sister didn't put him at ease. He wondered, wandering through the manor, what had happened. What he could have done. What had he done to upset him. And even when Jasmine tried to tell him that he hadn't done anything, that it wasn't his fault and Vlad would just have to get through this himself, he just couldn't settle. Something must have happened while they were in the Ghost Zone. It couldn't have been from him falling to his instincts and running off. Could it?

Danny shakes his head and starts to pass by Vlad's bedroom door. He has a faint urge to try the knob. To push through. Phase through. See if he's willing to talk. He reaches for the polished wood, letting his fingers just brush the surface. He nearly attempts a turn, until memories of never having time to himself flood his mind. Years of his parents just bursting into his room to show off a new build yank his hand away. And they've built a lot of junk over the years. He remembers the morning they woke him to show off the Fenton Bat. That morning, he remembers all too well. It pissed him off something fierce, being woken up suddenly at five in the morning for a cheap baseball bat with Sharpie scribbled on it. He pulls away and keeps walking, wringing his hands and fussing his fingers together in his anxiety.

But the silence was overwhelming. Jasmine tried distracting him with food, but to no real avail. He nibbled, mostly, taking little mouse bites at his meals. Preparing his favorite foods didn't seem to work, either. The redhead was nearing her wit's end faster than she realized. Six days into this slump the man has gotten himself into, with the six day byproduct of her brother going off his feed, she's ready to pull her hair out. Jasmine knows that Vlad needs the time to process whatever it is that's broken him down. She might be able to help if he would just tell her more, but he outright refused. She knows that he needs time to accept whatever is coming around the bend. But Danny can only eat so much in a day, and he's eating even less, now. It doesn't bode well for his overall health.

She draws the line one morning when she sees him step on the scale and reads him at eight and a half pounds less than he was ten days ago. And yelling at him for stress starving will only make it worse. Instead, she glares at the digital readout, huffs only a single breath and storms out. Danny wants to follow, but he's too tired, feels too drained. He crawls back into bed, sluggishly curling up under the blankets and flopping like a stone.

Jasmine marches up the stairs and down the hall.

He's taken her words to heart. He hasn't touched a drop of alcohol since that night. But processing, swallowing and accepting the circumstances that were so carelessly rendered upon him is no small task on a sober mind. He'd prefer to drown himself for however long it might take to come to terms with this mess he's permanently buried under. His liver would recover. And though he'd never officially sworn to the girl that he would abstain from his cabinet, her words were spoken nigh on pain of death, polished and sharp. So he listened.

But for the sake of his own sanity, what little he had left to maintain in his state, he needed to avoid the boy. His gut was roiling with discomfort and disgust at the very suggestion of what Frostbite had said.

He hasn't eaten in days. He's been pacing his room, rocking in the corner and sleeping through the bouts of hunger. Pulling at his hair, shoving the contents of his vanity onto the floor, clawing at the furniture in fits of rage. His quarters are a disaster. The finely carved posts of his bedframe are wretched and ruined. The blankets are scattered, partially hanging off the bed and stretched out onto the floor, some almost entirely and only hanging on by a corner and the mercy of a weighted blanket. The walls are scratched where stone is bare and tapestries in tatters where they hang in the way.

But he's handling it just fine, thank-you very much.

That's not what Jasmine seems to think, however, when she summons her mother's strength and literally kicks his door in. And he knows she used her leg to do the work because he catches her foot slamming down just in time. He's slightly inclined to admit he's startled.

"It wasn't locked," is all he can muster through his surprise.

She doesn't blink. Instead she enters and slams the door shut behind her and approaches. "You are self destructing. And while I can't possibly fathom whatever it is you're going through, it is affecting my brother."

Vlad sighs and sits on the edge of his mangled bed, leaning against a fraying post.

"He's not eating."

"I don't see how that's my fault. I should think with Jack and Maddie for parents that you'd have learned how to cook a decent meal yourself."

The echo of flesh contacting flesh as his head suddenly snaps ninety degrees to the right leaves his ears ringing.

"He's worried that he's done something to upset you, that he's done something wrong. You've made yourself so damn prevalent to his life in the last few months and now you've cut yourself out, what else is he supposed to think?!"

He looks back at her in mild terror.

"Get out of this room, go downstairs, cook for him yourself, and talk to him. Whatever has you bent out of shape is clearly ghost related because you won't talk to me."

He can't tell her. He just can't. As Vlad makes his way down the stairs and Jasmine watches with folded arms and a foul glare, he bites back the retorts on his tongue. Part of him knows he should tell her, considering how it may affect things a few years down the road. But to tell her now...she may very well decapitate him. She's as intelligent as her mother, but she's far more aware of herself and her surroundings. And it makes for a horrid combination. A she-wolf with the capacity for human emotion and the knowledge to take his mind apart. Wether or not he'd be a willing subject is an entirely different matter.

Vlad nudges the door to Danny's room open quietly and goes over to the bed.

Danny, drowsy, weak, blinks his eyes open to look and sighs. The older halfa can't decide if it's from relief or annoyance. He struggles to get himself upright and Vlad pulls him up out of bed. He helps him stand, and he feels the difference in weight. He decides against chastising him. It wouldn't do any good, anyway.

The walk to the kitchen is slow. Danny's become frail and shaky. Trembling in general weakness and the effort to just walk down the hall. His complexion has grayed some, the pallor making Vlad uncomfortable. It's not quite the same weakened state he worked so hard to get him out of when he first woke. It's more deeply rooted. Vlad peers into the energy trailing off of him and winces. Even his core has physically slowed in its rotation. But the boy persists and pushes himself forward. They're just at the kitchen doorway when his legs give way. He feels ready to just flop on his side right there on the floor and sleep for eternity.

Vlad sighs and pulls his shuddering form back up, into his arms. He almost expects to be clung to just gets more upset with himself when he doesn't. He places him in a chair at the island. There's a distinct, drained slouch to his sitting, head hanging low while he tries to lean into the back of the chair for support.

Vlad feels...something, suddenly. Something different. There's the discomfort rendered by Danny's starved complexion and there's the guilt from being the cause of his state. But a new feeling crawls into his heart, strange and foreign, weaving its way through cracks and voids of stone. Unsure of what to call the sensation, he opts to ignore it. Instead, he goes to the freezer and pulls a pack of meat out.

He's taking the yeti's words seriously. Where he might normally just place the pack in the oven to thaw, he doesn't have that luxury. Instead he places it on the table and lays his palm over the surface. He channels warmth carefully. Slowly. He wants to thaw the meat, not cook it. It takes a few minutes. When he's sure the pack is warmed just enough to pull the pieces apart is when he tears the plastic off and pushes the pack towards the younger halfa.

Danny twitches faintly and he sluggishly picks his head up to look. His eyes flash green briefly, then turn to a bright, glowing icey blue, pupils thinning to a strange feline glare. The instinct itself is infantile, but he seems mildly interested in the flesh. Vlad lingers by the counter with baited breath. The boy's nose twitches as he sniffs, leaning in towards the package. Tilting his head slightly in curiosity. The scent seems to spur him on a bit and he twists in his seat, bracing both hands against the flat surface of the island.

Vlad waits, fighting the urge to tap a foot or hand impatiently. It takes the boy five grueling minutes to grab a piece.

Any other day, in any other circumstance, Danny would be clear headed and questioning why he's being served raw beef straight from the package. But his state must have rendered his humanity silent, Vlad figures, because the boy just begins eating. Chewing at the thawed pieces and gnawing on the still partially frozen bits from the center of the bundle. And the older halfa doesn't stop him. He considers the chunks as the youngling slowly works his way through them. By the time Danny swallows them, they'll be in shreds and frozen. If he eats a piece, with his core temp fluctuating, it's possible it'll be fully cooked by the time it reaches his stomach. Really, its a spur-of-the-moment idea that serves absolutely no purpose as an experiment. Just a curiosity. Especially since he still has more to learn.

Oh, well. May as well start small. He reaches out for a piece...only to be growled at and have his hand slashed at.

It startles him. Danny missed, but the animal response from the boy sees him taken aback and Vlad stares in surprise. He doesn't try reaching for a piece again. Instead, he decides he'll eat later and leans back against the counter again. He lets his eyes drift shut for a few minutes. He's really tired...

''Why am I eating raw beef?''

Vlad blinks himself awake. ''Hm? Oh. It was Frostbite's idea. And you've been rejecting food for almost two weeks.''

Danny stares at the piece of cold meat in his hand. ''Okay... But why raw beef?''

Vlad shrugs. ''Faster than cooking? Your color is improving.''

Danny hesitantly sniffs at the cut with very human insecurity.

''I've already told you, human ailments are a thing of the past.''

Danny stares at the flesh a little longer before holding it out to Vlad. ''That's nice. I'm good,'' in a tone that sounds as though he's weirded out by the fact that he was consuming raw cow. To be fair, though, most people would be.

Vlad quirks a brow at the extended hand. ''You're not going to rip my throat out?''

Danny pales. ''Why would I-''

''-Never mind,'' he takes the piece and pops it into his mouth. It's mostly thawed, but still quite cold. He channels his heat as he chews, finding each bite needs more effort as he works his jaw before swallowing. He was right, of course. It was a completely useless experiment. But still an interesting one.

''We need to talk,'' the older halfa says gently, and takes a seat at the island.

Danny pushes the nearly empty package as far forward and away from himself as he possibly can. ''Did I do something?''

''No. No, of course not. Um...''

Danny leans forward a little, curious.

Vlad clears his throat. ''Your eighteenth birthday. You're going to spend it here, for your own safety.''

''Okay, but...why?''

''Because your vessel spell has not manifested yet. With luck, it will appear then. It's an agonizing process that will take about a week and I'd rather you not endure it under your parents' roof. If it doesn't appear, then you'll spend your twenty-first birthday here, too.''

Danny nods. ''Alright,'' he folds his arms and leans back in his seat, ''Are you actually gonna tell me what it does? Because Frostbite woudn't.''

Vlad sighs and pinches between his eyes. ''You're a little young for that information.''

''Yeah, he said that, too.'' He's getting annoyed.

''And for good reason.''

''Look, I'm already half dead. It's all downhill from here, right? So why can't you just tell me?''

''Daniel..." Vlad's tone drops in warning.

''If I'm going to go through it, I should at least know why. What does it do?''

''I'll tell you when you're a little older.''

''But-''

Vlad's face flushes red, ''-Daniel, you're not even fifteen yet! I will tell you before you're suffering through the joyous week long fever and sniveling and crying and attempts to rip your own guts out, but not now,'' he pushes the package of meat back towards the boy, ''Now shut up and eat so I can tell that harpy you call a sister that I haven't sent you to bed hungry after not eating for ten days.''

Chapter Text

With some gentle prompting and resistance to further demands for answers, Vlad managed to force Danny to push his questions aside in favor of better dietary habits. Within a few days, Danny's weight was back to where it was before Vlad's little crisis, and a few days more saw proper gain. Per the instructions of the Far Frozen's chieftain, some form of raw meat was included at almost every meal. Even if it made Jasmine uncomfortable.

Of course, Danny hadn't forgotten, and still wanted to pry for an explanation. But as the days slowly dragged on, he found that even hinting at the subject caused Vlad to shut him down. Eventually, he just stopped asking. But he didn't forget.

They focused on something else, instead. They monitored his cold abilities. Vlad watched for bursts of frost and noted over time that each one was becoming smaller than the last. Midday and evening flights into the atmosphere began to yield less and less of a release of pure ecto-energy. By the time the month of May was threatening to draw to a close, emotional shifts only came with frosted fingertips. Danny actually had to choose to cover a floor or chair. It meant accidental exposure was far less likely. And Vlad could finally breath a sigh of relief when regarding his furniture.

Danny settles in a little more. The older halfa keeps an eye on the calendar.

On the last Friday of the month, Danny senses something is amiss. He gets up on his own...okay, Maddie helped. She sat on his chest and yowled at him until he acknowledged her. But he got up and wandered out to the kitchen looking for sustenance. He hasn't woken up hungry and actually desiring food in weeks. When he gets there, just rubbing the dirt out of his eyes, his sister is at the stove and Vlad is on the phone with a folder in front of him, and numerous papers are scattered about the surface of the island. When they see him, Jasmine freezes and Vlad jumps a little. In a hurry, he presses the phone between his ear and his shoulder and snatches the papers up. He shoves them unceremoniously into the folder and quickly bolts out of the kitchen.

"Jazz?" He asks suspiciously.

Jasmine goes physically rigid and focuses on the pan in front of her; she barely flips the pancake in time. It's a tad darker than she likes, but it's not burnt.

Danny looks out in the direction Vlad ran off to and then back at her.

"What's going on?"

"Um...well..." She's weighing her words carefully.

Danny folds his arms and glares.

"Well, you've been...out of...school...for several months, for obvious reasons, but..."

Danny's brain short circuits. "No."

"Danny, yo-"

"-No, no," he holds up his hands to stop her, "I don't wanna hear it!"

"Danny-"

"No! I'm not doing it!"

Jasmine turns the flame off and turns to him. "Would you like to repeat the grade and do another year as a freshman?"

Danny physically deflates. "...no."

She places a plate on the island and encourages him to sit. "I'd give you the whole 'We wouldn't do this if we didn't love you' speech, but-" In an instant, she knows she's made a mistake when she sees his eyes.

Danny has always conveyed his emotions through his eyes very well, his glares and twitches as legible and obvious as maxed out font. Bright green with anger, with years of public humiliation by the school system and its students and staff, a toxic scowl dripping with poison. Jasmine clamps her mouth shut. He doesn't need the speech. He's heard it dozens of times and it's never done anything to placate him. If anything, it's always seemed to rile him further, especially on the occasions it was delivered by their parents. Most children just buckle under the speech to shut their parents up and then realize the meaning later in life. But for Danny, it never worked. She suspects it's because they've never truly paid attention to him or his needs. They've never once asked for his side of a story. Never once offered an icepack or a shoulder to cry on. He's always had to deal with whatever the problem was and suffer the consequences that followed by himself. Alone.

She wants to say, 'but for some reason, that never works with you.' Now, she can't. Because of the sudden epiphany, she knows why. A lifetime, however short, filled over the brim with condescension and correction, and not an ounce of support. In this application, the speech would be genuine. But thinking back over the years, examining incident after incident and every resulting behavior, it's been pointlessly and rather heartlessly abused.

Her heart skips around in her chest as she quietly serves him his breakfast and starts washing the dishes. Behind her, a fork jabs at the plate a little too hard.

She figures he's glaring in her general direction and not at her. She can feel the anger emanating from him, but it's not directed at her, specifically.

He's halfway through his plate, taking his time and chewing more than necessary so that he can beat something into submission without risk of punishment when Vlad returns. He's clutching the folder, its contents neatened and organized and the phone in his hand and Jasmine turns around to face him. She shakes her head vigorously, waving him off and pointedly mouthing 'Not now!' before he can say anything.

He sighs and ignores the negative aura pouring off of his ward. He goes to the island and places the folder down within the boy's line of sight. 'Casper High Summer Program' reads in thick, black lettering. Danny's eyes drift to it and he reads and rereads and re-rereads. They're still glowing in that sickly ectoplasmic green when Vlad clears his throat.

Danny jabs his fork particularly hard into another piece of pancake in response.

"It's for your own good."

Jasmine quickly sets the dishes in the dish drainer and leaves.

"Uh-huh." He puts the piece in his mouth.

"It was this or repeat the grade."

"Uh-huh." Another bite.

"And, I'm aware of the environment."

"So?" He's nearly through his plate.

"So, I actually have a few options for you."

"What?" he grates out in a threatening tone.

"You can attend the program in-house an-"

"-No."

"I can go back to Amity with you and you can attend, and I'll be there in the school with you to-"

"-No."

"I can go back to Amity with you and I deliver your lessons myself, outside of the school, and some of your teachers help me when I find it necessary."

"..."

"Does that scenario seem more amenable to you?"

Danny chews and swallows. "That depends."

Vlad bites back the growl tickling his throat. "On?"

"On whatever the fuck 'amenable' means."

The blatant disregard for his company is a shock, the use of the language itself more so. And there's a bar of hand soap sitting on the edge of the sink that's looking very, very tempting. He huffs in annoyance instead of grabbing it. He might lose his fingers if he tried. And he'll grant the boy a mulligan on this matter as he's literally taking the bulk of his summer away.

"Well, it's the only scenario that puts you through summer school without putting you in the school, in view of the public. And it will catch you up and ensure that you don't repeat the grade."

Danny continues eating, though Vlad does note that the fork hits the plate with less malice. He takes the gentler stabbing as a good sign.

"Its the thirtieth. At this point, your core is shielded enough that you won't freeze anything when you experience intense or even slight emotion. School is out. This program begins in three days. I have already enrolled you. I'd rather you have your tantrums for a few months instead of the next four years."

Danny finishes his breakfast and pushes his plate forward and pulls his legs up onto his chair, close to his chest, and folds his arms. In a display that says he's not necessarily accepting of the situation, but he isn't fighting it. And that's fine, the older halfa decides. He doesn't have to like it.

So long as he doesn't hear another 'no,' he'll take the lack of response as a victory. "I'll have Jasmine pack her things, then. We'll leave tomorrow morning."

He leaves the kitchen, leaves Danny sitting in his chair scowling.

Jasmine meets him in the foyer. "How'd he take it?"

Vlad heaves a sigh of relief. "Rather well, I think."

Glass shatters from the direction of the kitchen and the man winces.

"All things considered."

Chapter Text

It's the next morning when Danny realizes that he doesn't have much to pack. Really. Logically, he knows, duh, he came to Vlad's mansion comatose on a stretcher with nothing but the hospital gown on his back. But still, he has a brief panic fit when he realizes that all he has with him is the clothing Vlad changed him into and nothing else. No shoes, no sweater, no mp3 player, nothing. He's been kept relatively busy by his new state. Learning to control one's powers has a way of eating time.

Jasmine, on the other hand, had a month's supply of clothing to pack back into the duffle bag she took from Danny's room; he's forgiven her for the misdeed. She lets him play on her phone while she packs to ease some of the frustrated energy; she'd folded everything and laid it out last night. It takes her about half an hour to pack everything. Afterwards, Danny curls up in a chair next to her bed and makes the choice to pout and glare. Jasmine doesn't stop him. Vlad knocks on the door a few minutes later, holding a new pair of socks and sneakers, a pair of blue jeans a white T-shirt with NASA printed on the front, and a constellation printed hoodie. The bundle disappears before the man can blink, with Danny literally flying through the halls to his room.

He strips out his clothing so quickly that he nearly makes himself dizzy. He redresses with the same haste...just to wear normal clothing again. Just to feel normal fabric on his skin. Just to feel normal. What Vlad had dressed him in had been made from silk. And while he had been more than comfortable, his brain is still experiencing denial, even though he doesn't recognize the denial itself, and he just wants to go back to the way things were.

The denim scrapes his skin just right. The cotton of his shirt does the same. Cheap sneakers, cheap socks, he doesn't realize Vlad's chosen his clothing so carefully, and that it'll allow him to return home as if he's just been away for a few days. The true length of time, of course, they all know. But the shroud of the lie, woven into simple common fabrics and the sense of home being nigh around the corner also does something else. Something Vlad hadn't planned on. Something he hadn't intended to cause. And something he doesn't become aware of until they're in the limo and pulling out onto the highway.

The closer they get to Amity Park, with each passing hour, Danny's core dulls in its vibrancy. And begins to tremble. Its pulsing limps and stumbles, stutters and flutters. And Vlad looks on to the child to see him fidgety and restless. Curling and uncurling his fingers over and over again. A physical manifestation of anxiety.

Vlad swallows and turns his head to look out the window. He wants to provide some comfort, but he's caught between doing so and still desiring to keep him at a distance after Frostbite's words. And the agitated energy is pouring out in thick suffocating waves, stilling his tongue and rendering him a little nervous, as well. He bites his lip. Being a spectral empath isn't all it's cracked up to be. Jasmine sits in silence, aware of her brother nearly vibrating in his seat and flatly ignoring it. It won't do her any good to dwell on the cause when she already knows what it is. There's no words she can utter to settle him down. There's many cheap shot phrases she can spout. But they're all meaningless and a waste of the effort to speak when she remembers that he's a half ghost returning home to ghost hunting parents.

Danny feels like he's about to burst. He's so worried, so nervous about returning home. He feels like a charged explosive. A hunk of C4 just waiting for that final signal. He wants to go home, but he doesn't want to go home. He wants to see his friends again. He wants to go back to normal. But it's everything else that comes with being home that he doesn't want.

The incomplete meals from new parts falling into his food.

The four and five a.m. startled wake-up calls to test fires.

His door bursting open and slamming against his dresser.

The excited shouting of explanations as a new creation is brandished in front of him.

The accidental fire that chars his ceiling.

The stench of burnt sheetrock and paint that fills his room.

Cleaning up after the trail of destruction.

Being kept up late by the explosions in the lab.

Losing sleep to the insanity of it all and being expected to just keep up.

Being expected to manage and maintain equipment he didn't build, doesn't use or won't touch.

It's all of the additional chores and micro steps that pile up on top of his day. And he has to add summer school to that stack, now. And he'll finish just in time to start up regular school again. Which means he really won't get a break. He begins to feel overwhelmed. By the time they're entering Amity Park, Danny is visibly suppressing the innate desire to scream. And Vlad wonders, as he's being soaked to the bone by a wave of pure anxiety, if this is really a good idea. Or, should he have filed for custody?

When the car stops outside of the house he's come to hate even without seeing the inside of it, the anxiety abruptly stops. Very abruptly. Like someone has flipped a switch and cut the power. Vlad looks back at the boy in shock and confusion. Danny's skin has gained a deathly pallor. His eyes have dulled and darkened. Like looking through foggy glass. The shaking has ceased. His core spins, at a steady and consistent pace, but in a drawl. They get out of the car and Danny shrivels in on himself. He somehow looks smaller, as though he's attempting to bury himself in his hoodie. He keeps his head down. Locks his jaw shut. His eyelids droop a little. All of his personality, his energy, that spark of light that makes Danny who he is runs off and hides in a cave in his head.

Jasmine opens the front door and Danny follows behind her with robotic movements. And it finally dawns on the older halfa, albeit far too late.

Danny Fenton has officially shut down, and survival mode has kicked in.

"Mom, I'm home!" Jasmine calls and dumps the duffel bag on the couch.

''Just a minute, sweetie! We're almost done!'' the redhead rolls her eyes. Danny slumps and flops on the couch, using the bag as a pillow and turns on the television. Vlad looks around.

The living room is comfortably furnished. The couch, with teenager draped across it, seems well worn. A few throw pillows raise Danny's sneaker clad feet. The carpet is stained with splotches of ectoplasm in various stages of decay. A second glimpse at the occupied couch reveals more stains. The television screen is slightly smudged with soot, The coffee table is covered with blueprints that sport old rings where mugs sat. There's a few bookshelves, small ones, in disarray but in use. The walls are all decorated with photos, all the way up the stairs to the second floor. A few are crooked, but none are cracked. That said, there's multiple points of charring scattered about the walls and ceiling.

Jasmine walks off to a room off the living room. The kitchen, the elder realizes. He follows her. His highly displeased with the state of the living room. He hopes the kitchen is better. When Jasmine flicks the lights on, his fangs threaten to drop.

The sink is overflowing with used dishware. He can forgive that. He's guilty of letting the sink pile up on occasion. But the cupboards are covered with char. There's even a few with holes in the wood. And through those openings, he can see there's nothing on the shelves. The wood of the kitchen table that he can see is burned in some places and slightly melted in others. The rest is piled with tools and bits of metal and rough scraps of drawings. He opens a horrifically dented refrigerator against his better judgement. Inside, there's very little. A half empty two liter bottle of soda, a gallon of expired milk, some odds and ends wrapped in foil, all mingling with test tubes and trays of slides and questionable organic matter. A few containment vessels with little blob ghost floating in them sit in the back.

Danny manifests behind him, practically out of nowhere, and leans in, opening the crisper and pulling out an apple that looks like it's almost past due in some spots. He watches the boy take a knife out of the sink, clean it, cut off the rougher spots, dump the knife back into the sink and proceed to eat it. His eyes are still fogged over as he goes back out into the living room and sits down. Vlad shuts the fridge carefully. It takes every ounce of self control to not slam it.

Jasmine leans against the counter and looks at him, arms folded against her chest. Her expression is a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. But she says nothing.

From the living room,

''Danny! You're home early. Did something happen at school?''

''No. Teachers have a meeting. So it was a half day. Early dismissal.'' Monotone and dry. There's no real strength in the words. The rise, fall and lilt of his voice just feels fake. As fake as the words themselves.

''Isn't that nice! Oh, would you be a dear and help clean up downstairs? Your father tipped over a few boxes this morning and you know he can't organize.''

''Sure, mom.'' And they both descend into the basement.

Jasmine had tilted her head to listen, and Vlad could see she wasn't about to go out there and call out her mother.

Vlad's lip curls back in a snarl. ''It's been three months!''

She shrugs. ''Not to them, it hasn't.''

''It's Saturday! It'll be June tomorrow! This isn't-! This is... This is an absolute-'' he doesn't finish his sentence. Instead, he storms out into the living room and down the stairs to the basement. It's one thing to have an idea of what goes on in the home environment. It's quite another to be slapped clear across the face with it. And the idea that Danny so easily slips back into an apparently old habit, just going along with what his parents think and answering based on that idea to achieve the best possible outcome...

The chatter between the banes of his existance ceases when he reaches the lab, and Jack and Maddie turn in surprise.

''Vlad?! Wow! It's been years! When did you-''

He holds up a hand to stop them and looks over to Danny, who was quietly packing components back into their respective boxes. ''Daniel?''

Danny startles and looks up at him. For a brief microsecond, there's that little spark of light. ''Go back upstairs. I'll just be a few minutes.''

Chapter Text

"Vlad! It's been so long! How have you been?" Maddie opens up. Eager to converse with him as an old friend, he figures.

He turns to them once he's sure Danny is out of sight and sound, intending to glare. With the power of a thousand suns, preferably. But instead, his eyes fall behind them. To the portal. It's currently shut down, and on the wall next to its entrance, an alarm is sounding. The ecto-filtration unit. He's not surprised they've forgotten to empty it. But that's not the only thing he sees. Inside the portal bay, on the floor, there's an ugly black scorch mark that trails up the wall.

He's here to yell at them. To rip them apart. He's been having imaginary conversations in his head for weeks. He hadn't actually settled on how he wanted to start berating them. He initially figured he'd just wing it. But now, as his feet take him past the Fentons and into the portal bay, something stirs inside of him. A new and strange beast that he didn't even know existed.

"Vlad?" Jack calls.

The halfa hears him. But he doesn't respond. Instead, he squats down before the black burn that has altered the metal slightly. He hesitantly lays shaking fingers against the floor. Soot stains his skin. He can feel the deposits gritting into his pads, working their way into his fingerprints. There's a jolt of energy that runs through him, a small one. It's simply an impression. An echo leftover from the accident. For a brief moment, his body burns at the feeling. Rather severely, almost as though he's taking the charge himself. But it's just a death impression. A manifestation of the shift of energy that altered the course of a life. Had Danny simply died, the energy wouldn't be here, and he'd likely be trapped in his death state. And though being an eternal entity is a terrible fate, being trapped in a death state is worse than death itself.

He stands slowly, following the burn up the wall...to a small panel that's barely waist height against him. A simple panel with two buttons. One red, one green, and the green bears the darkest burn. It's plastic is even partially melted. Vlad gulps.

'This is where it happened.'

Jack comes up to him, standing just a few feet away and looking over his shoulder.

'And you allowed it to.'

"Yeah, we're not really sure what happened here. We just found it. Whatever happened, it got the portal working."

Vlad's lip twitches and his fingers curl inward.

"And thank god, too, otherwise we'd have t-"

Vlad rears his fist back and swings as hard as he can...and lays Jack Fenton out across the portal bay floor.

He doesn't register the pain in his knuckles, what little there is. And it's healed almost as quickly as his fist had been thrown. Vlad stares down at the man he's just knocked unconscious. Maddie is frozen in place, hands plastered over her mouth in shock, and he can hear her heartbeat. He can sense her fear. And her disbelief, as her eyes have fallen on her husband.

"Do you know why your portal works?" Vlad tilts his head in her direction, "Madeline?"

He steps over Jack and out of the bay, approaching her calmly.

Maddie tries to move around him, to get her husband, but he throws his arm up to stop her. ''No, no, no, no, no,'' he nudges her backward with a firm hand on her shoulder, towards a stool, "He's built like an ox. He'll be fine. Sit."

Maddie does, however reluctantly, and shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

Vlad leans against the table and remains silent, letting her stew in her panic for a few minutes. He waits until she's coiled into a metaphorical spring of her anxiety and fear for her safety.

"I want to yell at you."

She tenses slightly.

"I want to scream."

Her fingers curl into her thighs.

"I want to tear you limb from limb. ...But I can't. Because, among other reasons, It will do Daniel no good if I do so. So you are going to sit and listen." In reality, said reason is currently tied for first place with 'But I can't because Daniel will hear it.'

As it is, he can hear every muscle in her body seizing.

"So, I will ask again. Do you know why your portal works?"

And she shakes her head back and forth vigorously, fighting the urge to get her husband up off the floor because she knows Vlad will stop her.

"Your portal works because Daniel's body completed the circuit." He doesn't look at her when he says it. He doesn't want to. He can imagine her face.

"That charring that you are too dense to recognize is from your son being electrocuted."

He hears a faint whimper. He presses on.

"I don't know how you two could possibly forget about a bunch of paramedics hauling a smoking child out of your house. I'd like to think it might have been traumatic enough of a sight that your minds just cut the memory out. But even that doesn't quite cover it. And it certainly doesn't excuse everything else."

He can feel a shift in her energy. She's pulling back in towards herself. Be it for comfort or to search for the day in question, he doesn't really care.

"I am..." he heaves a strained breath, "I am the last person on this world that should be judging someone else's parenting. But, I think on this matter, I will pass judgment."

"Vlad..." Maddie nearly whispers.

"You have failed. Both of you. In fact, you've failed so spectacularly that when I showed up to the hospital, your daughter, who had never even met me before, just caved right in and relinquished control to me."

Not entirely the truth, Jasmine required some prompting. But Vlad decides she doesn't need to know.

"Children are raised to question and avoid strangers. And Jasmine did neither, she was so tired. She didn't even bother to call her mother and ask who the stranger was."

Maddie's paper-thin resolve starts to crumble around the edges.

"Children are generally attached at the hip to at least one parent. Which tells me that the home life is so chaotic that she feels she can't depend on you as her mother. She's doing things herself. She's handling the basic day-to-day tasks. She's handling the phone calls. She's handling the aftermath of you two going on a hunting trip. She's learning to be an adult when she should be chasing companions. And I haven't even gotten to your second born, yet."

He finally looks at her, and Maddie is...quiet. And has wrapped her arms around her torso. She's probably ready for him to stop.

"I don't doubt that you love your children. But, lets face it, it's as though you and Jack never left college. You still act like kids. You allow yourselves to get lost in your research, and in the process, you go blind to the needs of your children."

She's shutting down. Or, at least, she's trying to.

"As for Daniel..." he sees her flinch out of the corner of his eye, "Perhaps it's due to my not being the only one to be injured by something you and Jack built, perhaps it's because Daniel was far worse off in his injuries... Either way, his situation upsets me even more. My recovery was miserable. But the mercy was being awake and aware. Daniel was comatose for two and a half months. And when he finally woke, his first two questions were 'Where am I?' and 'Where is my mother?'"

Vlad can hear her heart in her chest, beating in over time. He can sense her state, fragile and on the brink of collapse. He knows he's hitting her with a lot, and all at once, no less. But he can also feel himself becoming less and less attached to Maddie as a whole. His memories are fond but fading. The pictures are yellowing and crinkling in a corner of his brain.

"Now, due to his coma, Daniel has missed quite a bit of school. Enough that he'll need to take a summer course, or he'll repeat a grade. To avoid the public humiliation he'll suffer for repetition, I've already enrolled him in a summer program. Given the tendency towards discord in this house, he will be staying with me, and I will provide his lessons."

"Wait, you're...taking him for the summer?" Her first words in quite some time.

"Yes. He's been through enough. I'll be staying in town until he's back to school. You have until then to straighten yourselves out. I'd prefer to take him into my custody. But as I've said, he's already been through enough, and the court process would be torture. I'm not above tampering with the minds of others. But I draw the line at Daniel. If, however, I feel that no effort or not enough effort has been made on your part, then I will get the state involved."

Maddie seems to soften. Just a little. "Can I..." she wipes at her nose, "Can I visit him?"

Vlad tilts his head in thought. Genuinely. He wants to tell her no. The bitter, frustrated parts of him, anyway. On the other hand, the question means she's not going to fight him. She could. But she won't. On the surface, it seems he's gotten through to her and triggered some instincts that have been dormant for a long time. The recognition that, for Danny's own sake, she has to let Vlad intervene. The awareness that what she's doing isn't working. Then, strangely, a thought niggles at his mind. And Vlad wonders if she didn't actually forget about her child. He wonders if she knew he was out of the house, and was just pretending everything was fine to make it easier on herself. But if that were the case, then how could Jack not notice? Or was Jack in on the delusion? Or, was she lying to her husband to save face?

Somehow, though, in considering the possibilities, and her reactions, Vlad suspects she and Jack both simply forgot. Whatever the reason, it's the most absurd case of Forgotten Child Syndrome he's ever heard of.

"I'll leave my address with Jasmine," he replies softly, "Do with it what you will."

By the time he comes back upstairs, Jasmine has cleared the kitchen table and laid out all of the dishes in stacks. Plates and bowl and cups and silverware, all in their own little piles. To him, looking at the arrangement, the organization is a coping mechanism due to it's time consumption. The girl has scrubbed the sink itself clean and is currently rinsing the cleaner and suds down the drain with the sprayer. She doesn't turn to acknowledge him.

"I expected a raging fit from you," her tone gentle.

"It would have been a waste of perfectly good oxygen."

"Mm." She turns the water off, "Danny's upstairs in his room."

He gives a nod in thanks. "I've informed your mother that I'll be keeping him for the summer to get him through the course. She has until the school year begins to get herself in order."

"What about dad?" She dries her hands off on a towel.

Vlad winces. "He'll need to be informed...when he wakes up."

She turns then, looking at him with a raised brow. "Lecture him to sleep, did you?"

"Uh, no, I hit him."

The towel hits the table with a soft whack and Jasmine is caught between wanting to congratulate the halfa and wanting to lecture him herself. She's always sensed that he's stuffed some of his darker urges into a bottle. She knows he's capable of doing great harm. Even without having seen his other form. But seeing Danny's ghost form and the ice that randomly manifested for half of May told her enough. And the contents of their trip into the Ghost Zone has been purposefully kept out of conversations. All things considered, her father got off pretty easy.

"I suppose it was due," she finally responds and starts gathering the silverware up, "last room at the end of the hall. Ignore the holes."

Vlad gives another nod, scribbles onto a piece of paper and sticks it on the refrigerator door. He doesn't pry any further. For the moment, there's no more words they need to exchange. He leaves her to the mess and ascends the stairwell just as he hears Maddie come up from the basement.

Down at the end of the hall, he sees Danny's door. A poster of the earth viewed from the moon covers the bulk of the wood. Closer inspection reveals it's scuffed and old. Light shines through a few random spots behind the paper. He huffs at that before he knocks.

''It doesn't lock,'' resounds from the other side, eminating exhaustion.

Vlad turns the knob, hearing a few parts inside grind and snap lightly, and opens it. Stepping inside, the older halfa looks around and studies the room. His eyes glance at the ceiling, where he sees little stars stuck to it, glowing faintly. Some of them are stuck onto little randomly sized squares of duct tape. He suspects, based on the living room downstairs and the bedroom door, that it was done to cover up holes and make the most of a situation.

The room is well furnished, if a little cramped for his own preferances. The bed, which Danny is presently sitting on while he rifles through a booklet of CD's, is not made. It's a tangled mess of blankets and sheets, but it looks comfortable. There's a desk with a computer that's currently shut down, and the dresser has a few articles of clothing hanging out of mostly closed drawers. The walls are lined with different posters, some for space, others for movies he's never seen. But while the room is well used, lived in and almost crowded, there's a distinct lack of random little keepsakes and tchotchkes. There's no knick-knacks or any special little items placed on shelves or the dresser. The only thing that stands apart to further support that it's Danny's room he's standing in is a telescope by the window.

Danny seems intent on just shriveling in on himself out of habit, and Vlad watches him put the CD binder down and reach under his bed. He pulls out a box and starts sifting through it. And there Vlad sees what's missing. The little mementos that would open a window into Danny's personality are carefully tucked into that box. Where they're safe. Safe from misfires and random shots. Safe from the two hundred pound lummox he's knocked out in the basement, that he knows has a habit of just barreling through everything in his path.

''Daniel?''

Danny grunts and keeps going through his box, clearly searching for something.

Vlad bites back a sigh, he's huffed enough excess air for today, and quietly comes around to him. He gently takes the box away and places it next to the boy on the bed. Danny blinks at it for a few moments. Vlad can see the teenager he's slowly coming to know peering through the veil behind foggy irises. But survival mode has caused him to surpress and pack himself away in favor of just getting through the day-to-day chaos. Just as he's packed all of his keepsakes into a box and keeps them shoved under the bed where they won't be destroyed. Vlad eyes the various little baubles and trinkets and feels like he's looking directly at Danny's brain. Even in his room, there's no safe zone. Anything and everything precious is tucked away.

''Daniel,'' he says again, gentle, not wanting to startle him.

Danny looks at him with those clouded eyes.

''I want you to pack a bag. Bring whatever you like. You're going to be with me a little longer. Just until you're through the summer course. I have a property in Polter Heights, that's where we'll be staying.''

There's a little spark in the younger halfa's eyes, suddenly.

''Can I see my friends? Sam's house is in that neighborhood.'' he asks, voice soft and shy.

Vlad smiles. ''Of course. Just remember, you'll have to keep up with your work.''

Chapter Text

Despite being able to and having worked with Danny and Jasmine, Vlad is not well versed in dealing with children. The Fenton siblings are teenagers, one very nearly an adult. But they are still children. More mature than most for her age, Jasmine carries herself with a straight back, solid shoulders and a mother hen's glare. The need for control in a chaotic household has forged her into an imposing young woman. Strictly no nonsense. Vlad shudders to imagine her as a mother.

And Danny has had to mature rapidly, as well, given his altered state. But even half dead, with all of the trauma that a half death will induce and all the issues Danny has just from growing up under his parents' roof, he's still able to act like a kid. Danny still finds things to enjoy and has approached many of the problems with his new condition with a strangely simple innocence. He's found ways to make light of his form. He's learned how to play. This, Vlad can understand and manage. He can deal with Daniel Fenton, the child.

But other children? Human children?

They're parked in front of a large house in Polter Heights and Vlad is hauling a suitcase out of the trunk when he hears an unholy shrill strike in two chords...and Danny is tackled to the ground by a pair of younglings Vlad doesn't recognize. He'll never admit to anyone, common mortal or deity, that they surprised him. He stands stunned as Danny is caught in a two fold embrace. A girl that looks like she's just wandered out of a death metal concert has her arms wrapped tightly around his neck and is continuing to squeeze, and a boy has wrapped himself around Danny's torso. It doesn't look comfortable; Danny is being pulled in two directions by the pair.

The girl seems the most emotional even with her makeup. "Where have you been?! Jazz wouldn't tell us anything! When did you wake up?!"

The boy comes off more frustrated. "Why didn't you call?! I couldn't even trace Jazz's phone! Where were you, man?!"

Remembering that he's half dead and doesn't actually need to breath, Vlad can see the active decision on Danny's face to feign suffocation and he taps at the girl's arms.

"Guys! Tucker! Sam! Air! Going dark!" They both let go and he makes a small show of inhaling.

"Sorry! But you were gone for months! Where were you?! Jazz wouldn't answer my calls!"

"Forget her calls, I couldn't even find her! I tried pinging towers and all I got was static! And I couldn't even get her IP address when she checked her emails! I fried my computer trying to get through! Seriously, what kind of place needs that much protection?!" Tucker nearly barks.

Vlad glares. So, this is the rugrat that's been setting off his firewall. So nice to put a face to the pest. He opts to carry his luggage inside instead of berating the lad.

He can hear their chatter from inside as he carries his bag upstairs. He can hear the lilt of Danny's voice that indicates he's at ease. The practical mutism that he'd almost succumbed to at his home was gone and Danny was unrestrained, as though a switch had been flipped on in his brain. He takes his time unpacking. Hearing the positive tones in Danny's voice and the laughter that occasionally flows as the minutes tick by, Vlad decides it's good to let him socialize. Let him enjoy the company of people his own age. They can relate on a lot, but Vlad is more than twice his age, after all.

Forty-five minutes have gone by when Vlad finishes getting settled in. He realizes that the younger halfa is still outside. Still talking. Still conversing with what appears to be the only friends he has. Vlad doesn't want to pull him away. He knows the boy needs this. He's descending the stairs when Danny pokes his head in from the doorway.

"Can they come in?" he asks in a hopeful tone, and the other children peer around him. The younger halfa looks up at him with bright blue eyes, almost aglow. Clearly pleading.

Vlad pauses on the last steps, looking somewhat startled. But Danny misses it. It never occured to him that being in Amity Park with Danny meant he'd have to facilitate having friends over. But again, he knows Danny needs the interaction to stay healthy.

"I... I suppose. But he," and Vlad points to Tucker, "is to stay away from all of my devices."

Danny smiles and all three of them bolt past the man, up the stairs and down the hall. Vlad shakes his head and wanders into a living room.

Children are loud. Little hellions. Raucous urchins. Yappy anklebiters.

Vlad sits in a cozy living room with a book in his lap. He's attempting to read. The content is dull. But he'd soak it in just a smidgen better if it weren't for the three elephants upstairs. Tucker has brought his own electronics with him, which suits Vlad just fine, thank-you, and it sounds like they're binging on videos of cheap physical humor. He can faintly hear the garbled audio. There's laughter. Lots of it. And easy conversation as the boy slips back into a comfortable routine with his friends.

Good, Vlad thinks. Let him laugh. It's overdue.

The babbling and jokes go on for over an hour. Vlad has just managed to tune the noises out when he picks up on a new conversation. The goth starts it.

"So, other than zapping yourself into a coma and waking up just a few weeks ago, anything new?"

Vlad turns his eyes up in the direction of Danny's room. Expecting he'll need to intervene. These two youths are the only friends the boy has, which means, from the looks of things, they're a tightly knit group as a result. Which also means there's the potential for secrets. And while he wants Danny to settle back in to Amity Park and interact with others his own age, Vlad does not want them aware of Danny's new condition.

He sets the book down and floats up through the ceiling, holding fast to his intangibility and invisibility. He only means to be sure that the boy will keep quiet. He flies down the hall silently and phases through only part of the door. Just enough to get a shoulder and an ear in. Their range of contact means his presence won't trigger the other's ghost sense. But he's still careful. If he moves the wrong way, light will refract, and he'll have an entirely new issue to deal with.

Danny has paused at the girl's words. He's hesitant. The older half can detect the faint sound of smaller vocal chords catching on themselves. Which makes him feel a little better.

"Well...yes, but... I don't think... I don't really wanna talk about it. It's complicated."

Vlad stuffs the scoff threatening his throat down. Complicated. How...infantile of a description.

"Come on, Danny! You know you can-"

"-Not on this, Tuck!" the halfa snaps, startling his friends. It even makes Vlad jerk a little.

"I'm sorry. It's just...it's still kind of raw. I don't really wanna talk about it."

Vlad pulls away as they acknowledge Danny's preference. They're going to find out eventually. It's only a question of when. But, at least for now, his ward has the good sense to keep it quiet.

They become a regular presence for Danny. Vlad instills a hard schedule, akin to his standard school hours. He wants him ready for the new year, but Vlad also knows better than to bury him in a mountain of schoolwork. From nine a.m. to three, it's school. Afterwards, Vlad lets him loose. Occasionally, Sam and Tucker show up a little early, and Vlad lets them sit in the living room until Danny's timer is up. A literal timer. The children adjust and accept the situation as it stands. And they're exceedingly patient for a pair of teenagers.

Vlad lets Danny have his CD player while he works. At first, he was hesitant, worried about the potential distraction. But Danny knew what worked for him. And once the headphones went on, he stayed focused.

At the end of the second week of the course, on a Friday, Vlad hears a knock at the door. He's expecting it to be the boy's friends when he opens it. And is reasonably surprised to find it's not them, but his mother. Maddie had fidgeted uncomfortably under his shocked expression, but he'd led her in and up to Danny's room. Vlad quietly opened the door for her, not wanting to disturb his ward's focus. Maddie looked in from the doorway. Saw her son sitting in the middle of the bed, surrounded by course work and wearing headphones. His back was turned. He didn't notice. He was fixated on schoolwork, his pencil moving easily along the papers without stopping. He's at rest. Calm. Orderly.

Maddie gave Vlad a soft nod of thanks and let him shut the door again. Vlad was somewhat grateful she opted to remain quiet. He wasn't set on cutting her off from her son. And it was clear to him in her demeanor that she's taking things seriously now. She left without a word. It becomes a routine. Every Friday, she'd visit, just long enough to lay eyes on her child. He's always buried in schoolwork when she stops by. She never interrupts him. Vlad finds the routine to be a sign of improvement.

Slowly, steadily, Danny catches up. He stumbles over a few subjects, but Vlad gets him over every hurdle. Every struggle and angry erasure of pencil marks. He finds that he doesn't need to consult any of the teachers. The study material hasn't changed so much that he can't teach them. Which means Vlad is even happier, because he doubts the competence of the school system already. Only once did he have to go digging on the internet for a lesson.

Danny's mental health improves, too. Not under the same pressures and demands of the typical hick town taskmasters masquerading as teachers, Vlad observes a quiet development of confidence. As the summer begins to draw to a close, however, he wonders what will happen when the younger halfa is handed back over to the public school system. What will happen to his grades? How will he perform? Will he do better or worse? More importantly, and perhaps the most concerning to Vlad, what will happen to his mental state? Will the boy shut down like he did at his house?

On several nights, after Danny has gone to bed, Vlad would pace his room and wring his fingers, trying to plan and plot a course of action should something go wrong. Wondering if he can provide a quality education if he has to remove Danny from the school permanently. Wondering what decent tutors or schools are in his area of Wisconsin if he can't because he knows there's nothing surrounding Amity Park.

It's all a terrible waste of time, of course. He won't know until he tries. Until Danny tries. So all he achieves from it is pacing a flat path into his bedroom carpet and tiring himself out.

He'll just have to wait and see.

Chapter Text

Danny actually finishes the program a week early, thus giving him a few days to relax and celebrate. This takes the shape of him crashing in the living room with his friends, some sleeping bags and a few "B" horror movies. And Vlad doesn't mind at all. As far as he's concerned, the boy has earned the break. He's actually proud of him for finishing early. And Vlad has gotten used to the presence of the other children, he only had to swat Tucker's hand away from his computer once.

"What you've done to your own systems can easily be done to you," he'd warned, and it was enough. Tucker had paled and walked away. He wasn't out to scare him, but the threat still got the desired effect.

On the last Friday, Maddie came to visit again. Only, this time, she has Jasmine in tow. Vlad stops them in the foyer before they went near the stairs.

"He's finished the program a little early," he addresses Jasmine, "You'll find him binging on television in the living room."

And Maddie gulped. She's here to check on him. She's gotten so used to just seeing her son that she isn't prepared for a conversation. Vlad can sense the distress. The awkward wobbling waves of worry that pour off of her are hard to miss. Jasmine simply gives him a nod and walks off in the direction of the television. Jasmine leaving her mother behind makes Maddie even more nervous and she fidgets with her hands, knocking her knuckles together and heaving a few breaths of panic.

"What am I... Vlad, I can't... What am I supposed to say to him?"

"There's many things you could say. I'm afraid you'll have to wing it. That's what parenting is about, good or bad. Just go in there, and-"

"-No, no. Vlad, I... Please, I don't even know where to start."

Vlad sighs. She's a clueless wreck, but she's aware that she's clueless.

"You're going to have to talk to him, eventually."

"I know, but... I... I know."

She shifts her weight on her feet and starts pacing a bit. An apology is definitely due. But she's made a pretty big mess of things and there's a lot to apologize for. What she should start with? When should she start with? Maddie knows she's done a lot of damage, and is unsure of how much can be repaired.

Vlad watches her, folding his arms and moving back, giving her the room to space and think. He could help her, but this isn't a bed he made. It's hers, all her responsibility. He's bandaged wounds and given numerous lessons. He has coddled and fed, comforted and deflected. There are things he could have handled better. There are things he handled rather well under the circumstances. And there are steps he could have taken but didn't because they might not have had the intended benefit in the long run. Laughter emanates from the living room, calming his own slightly unsteady heart. It won't do him any good to soak in the nervous energy coming from the boy's mother, so he walks away, into the kitchen to prep lunch.

Danny is just as unprepared. If not more so. He wasn't expecting to look up and see his mother. He wasn't expecting her to visit. None of them were. And his core flutters uncomfortably at seeing her. His mouth goes dry and locks shut. What little color he has in his skin fades from his face. His fingers curl into the surface of a pillow that's in his lap, his left hand drifting behind the pillow so he can hide the black on his fingers. She doesn't notice the char. But she does notice that he pulls in on himself. Pulls away. And his eyes darken a little.

Jasmine nudges Sam and Tucker up to their feet and guides them out of the living room.

Danny, seated on the floor, feels smaller somehow. And there's a new desire to phase through the floor and nestle in the little gap between it and the basement ceiling. Out of sight and mind. He's not worried about being yelled at or lectured. He's just not ready to interact with his mother.

"Um..." Maddie clears her throat, "Vlad says you finished the program."

Danny swallows.

"He says you finished early."

He nods a little and clutches the pillow a little closer to his chest.

"That's good. That's... That's very good," she comes over and sits on the couch, "Hopefully next year wo-"

"-Look, mom, no offense, but I really don't wanna talk about it," he looks up at her, "okay?"

It catches her off guard. Both Danny's tone and just being cut off. She looks him in the eyes. He looks tired. He looks frustrated. And a little sad. And like there's more going on underneath the surface, but he isn't ready or willing to tell her. In her gut, she can actually feel that there's something else. Which is a strange sensation in and of itself. She's never really had gut feelings, before.

"Okay," she says softly, "Alright. I'll leave it."

Danny averts his gaze to the television. The movie is still running. He doesn't really focus on it, though. He stares into the screen, lost. He leans back against the couch and pulls the throw pillow closer, as close as he can. Wrapping it up tightly in his arms. Letting his blackened fingers into view, peeking out from the sleeve of his sweater.

She finally sees them. Burnt and ugly. The skin has healed. But the flesh strangely remains darkened. Even his nails are dark, almost sooty in their appearance. Flat. As if they were covered in a thin film of ash and grime. But they aren't. Nor do they reflect any light. Anyone else might mistake them for being covered with dried ink. She knows better. Maddie wants to ask how far up the hand it goes. She wants to see it up close. She wants to hold his hand.

"We... We've cleaned some things up at home. Done some repairs... And Jazz set up a schedule. For the chores and dinner and family time. That sort of thing. So far, we've been sticking to it."

Danny's eyes drift downwards, glazed over with frustration. He knows he shouldn't feel riled. But he does.

"Does dad know?" his words are barely above a human whisper, but she does manage to catch them.

"Well... I... To be honest, no, he doesn't. He's been sticking to the schedule, he just doesn't know why."

"So you never told him."

Maddie stiffens slightly. "He thinks he just hit his head. You know how he is. I was hoping, if you came home and saw the improvements, that you might stay?"

Faintly, in the distance, Danny's ears distinguish a knife on a cutting board that's cutting a little more quietly than normal. He's not surprised Vlad is listening. And the chopping slows a little, as if waiting for his response. And he already has one.

"Fifty percent is not one hundred percent."

Maddie blinks. "I... What?"

The knife in the kitchen pauses.

"Fifty percent is not one hundred percent."

"Meaning...?" She's confused.

"It's not enough."

Maddie blinks again. "I don't understand."

"It's math," Danny answers, "You and dad, one hundred percent. Just you, fifty percent. I don't wanna go home until he knows."

"Danny, you know how he gets... I don't think-"

"-Then at least try!" He snaps, turning towards her. "Yeah, I know how he is. He's as dumb as a fucking rock. I know," he ignores the shocked expression towards his language, "I've only known him my whole life. You want me home? Fine. But that's what I want, first. I haven't asked for anything from you since I was nine. If I'm never going to get anything else from you, you can at least do this!"

His core cracks. Just slightly. Just barely. A hairline. And too low on the spectrum for a human to hear. It hurts. He feels cold. His breath hitches with a wince and he turns away. Thus, Vlad chooses to appear in the doorway. He looks down at Maddie, eyes dark and grim. When she notices him, he holds an arm out into the foyer. A silent motion for her to leave.

Maddie wraps her arms around herself and gets to her feet.

"I'll come over Sunday. But if dad's still clueless..." he doesn't think he needs to finish.

His mother doesn't respond. She just follows Vlad's order.

If he wears out his welcome from Vlad and gets kicked to the curb, well... There's a charming heap of snow and ice in the Ghost Zone where Danny knows he'll thrive. If not there, then he wonders if there's a door for him. A realm of his own. He doesn't like that he's considering the possibility of Vlad giving up on him. But so many people have, so it wouldn't surprise him. The idea that his mother would half-ass this, just do what she thinks is enough...

Vlad ushers her out. When they get outside, he shuts the door behind him.

"He can't stay here forever," she utters, broken on how to meet his demand.

Vlad detects the shudder in her tone that proves the desire to have her child back and do right. But he's not in the mood and folds his arms. Maybe he puffs his chest out. Just a little.

"He'll stay for as long as it takes. He's really not asking for much."

"What am I supposed to do if Jack doesn't understand?"

The halfa shrugs. "Tell him you tried. That's all he wants. He doesn't expect anything of his father. You should actually be grateful. Even when you try, if Jack doesn't get it, and he won't, it's still not one hundred percent."

Maddie's eyes fog in confusion and she tilts her head to indicate so.

"It means he's settling for less."

Her eyes widen and he waits for her process that information.

"I imagine he'd like one hundred percent, but he already knows it's not going to happen. He's given up that fight. He's just dictating how much less he'll settle for."

She sighs.

"On the upside," he glares, careful not to let red swallow blue, "It certainly makes things easier for you, doesn't it?"

She gapes at him, his words poison delivered upon a serrated oral blade. They're meant to hurt. They're meant to sting. And they do.

"You-!"

He approaches, and leans in close. His voice drops to a low tone, gravelly and threatening, "I'm not here to help you, Madeline. Helping you was never my goal. I'm here to help Daniel. As far as I'm concerned, the fact that you're going to gain from this is just an unfortunate side-effect," he bites, "He's expecting less. Willing to take less. Willing to endure more. Willing to give that thousandth chance. Willing to just swallow it down if it falls through. Worse still, he's willing to rinse and repeat. Not many children in his situation have that kind of spine. Or fuse. So, my dear... Please... Be. Grateful."

Vlad knows it's not something to be grateful for, at all. Far from it, in fact. Because it means Danny doesn't expect much from her, either. She's failed enough that he's willing to just take the nonsense and suffer, and he has been, for several years. He's just expecting her to fail again. It means he's used to picking himself up off the ground. He's used to falling without a net, getting a cut and no stitches. No comfort, no pity, no response, nothing. Had it continued, had he not intervened, if Danny had just been left to his own devices with his abilities and the ridiculous household, a monster would have potentially spawned from the wreckage. His interference is possibly the only reason Danny hasn't fallen into the abyss.

Maddie backs away. He isn't fully convinced she's grasped the concept.

But if it'll give her something to chew on and keep her up for several nights, then he'll take it.

Chapter Text

Coming home knowing that his mother is trying to improve the overall environment spawns a sense of bitterness in Danny's heart. It's not a foreign sensation, just one that he never tried to label until now. She's only trying because it all finally came around and bit her in the ass. And because Jasmine is forcing it. Frankly, if it weren't for his sister, he doubts there'd be any changes at all. Or worse, the changes wouldn't last very long. Years were spent chasing for basic affection. What he got held weight and meaning, but those moments were incredibly brief. They were not intentionally half hearted, but the damage was still done.

Entering into the living room, Danny notices the walls have been repainted to mask the charring. The same color, yes, but effort was made. The room as a whole has been neatened and straightened out, with new shelves put up, along with a rack for blueprints that have been properly alphabetized...he suspects by Jasmine. There's a schedule chart on the back of the front door where they used to hang their coats, and the coat rack has been remounted on the wall behind. The photos on the walls have been straightened, the carpet has been vacuumed and is scented faintly of vanilla. It masks the bulk of the rotted ectoplasm stench. But there's a tiny little burn at the end that his halfa nose can still detect. The television screen has even been cleaned. No more black smudges of prints.

Maddie stands off to the side in silence, keeping her head down and letting his eyes wander. Vlad inspects on a path similar to the boy, making his own mental notes. While Danny chooses to head upstairs to his room, Vlad moves towards the kitchen. The first thing he checks is the refrigerator. No matter the state of the sink or dishware, he wants to be sure that if he leaves the boy here tonight, he won't be going to bed hungry.

It's well stocked. The contaminated matter that once ruled the cold roost is long gone and he also smells a bit of fading bleach. The inside has been scrubbed down to near show-floor perfection. There's no stains or residue left, no ugly spills that might require a blowtorch to be removed. The crisper is stocked properly with fresh produce. There's something inside of him, hiding away in a dark corner of his mind that's been pacing back and forth like a lion in a cage. And seeing the improvements slowly tempers it. A few frayed threads on the edges of his thoughts straighten and twist back into the weave. His fangs, which he didn't even know had dropped, slowly recede as he closes the refrigerator and looks around the kitchen. The sink has a few small plates and a coffee cup in it, likely from the morning. The dish drainer is only half full, and what resides is neatly arranged. And the cabinets are suitably stocked with canned goods. The collection of stray tools and parts has been relocated to a rolling cart that's currently kept against a wall. And even that is neat and tidy.

It's a lot. It's good progress. But it's not enough. It's not everything. The careful arrangement isn't staged. It's just that it screams of Jasmine's touch. He's never known either of her parents to be anywhere near this organized. Everything is just so. Almost obsessively. And he wonders just how much of a say Maddie got in the matter, or if her daughter finally put her foot down. He can appreciate Jasmine's work and her pushing for an at least semi-normal household. But so far, what he's seeing doesn't feel as though it's all happened under the volition of the parents. There's plenty of effort here. It's just all from the wrong person, it seems. A faint grumble resonates in his chest. He needs to see the boy's bedroom.

He marches past Maddie, up the stairs without even sparing her a glance. At the end of the hall, he sees Jasmine passing a box to her brother. Tilting his head for a better view reveals it to be the collection of keepsakes Danny had been storing under his bed. And Danny himself heaves a huge sigh of relief once it's in his hands and darts into his room. Vlad follows with soundless footfalls. Jasmine eagerly allows him by, he notices, likely seeking his approval. Whether for her efforts on the household or for the need to just be told she's done well, regardless of whatever it is that she's done, he isn't entirely sure. His heart ticks strangely in his chest as he passes her. Her whole demeanor forms a strange image of a child waiting by their father's chair and holding up a drawing, just waiting for the father to look.

Well, it's a strange image to him. Children were never a desire. And certainly not a necessity. He's going to watch the damn sun fizzle out and collapse into a black hole. Producing an heir just seems...pointless.

Danny's room has also been repainted. Again, the same color, but the holes have been patched. The squares of duct tape are gone from his ceiling and brand new stars are scattered about the surface, almost in the exact same arrangement as before. Turning around to look at the door, Vlad notices its been replaced outright. The doorknob even locks. The same old poster has been carefully stuck to the front. The bed that Danny now sits on has been made, but it's all the same. The furniture in the room has shifted ever so slightly, some pieces an inch or two out of place. But the halfa can see that the whole room has been ever so carefully put back together as it was before.

It's all about consistency, he realizes, and all for Danny's sake. The repainting and repairs, careful placement of belongings and furniture. They've been very deliberate to alter the boy's room as little as possible. And when they worked, Jasmine took the box of keepsakes and kept it safe.

Vlad sighs loudly, torn in multiple directions at the whole situation. Maddie needs an actual chance to show that she can do better, but the changes to the house have all been under Jasmine's instruction. She took charge, became the adult. But it's not her job to do so. Maddie is obviously trying, following her daughter's instruction because she herself wouldn't know where to start. Everything looks right, but it doesn't feel right. The inner conflict tugs at his heart uncomfortably. And that notion of taking custody is still there in his brain. He has the money. He has the power. He could do it. It would only take one phone call with the lawyers he has. If he were more malicious, he could ruin the Fentons if he wanted to.

...but he tries not to make a habit of kicking someone when they're down.

Jasmine shifts in the doorway, catching his attention. Turning towards her, her eyes are bright and pleading.

Let them try.

Let me try.

Give them time.

Give us time.

I can fix this.

He steps past her, out of Danny's room and pulls the door shut behind him. It leaves them alone in the hallway for a moment while he mulls over the words he wishes to use. When he's made up his mind, he motions for her to go downstairs and follows behind. Maddie is still standing in the living room, quietly waiting. Jasmine runs down to the basement long enough to bring her father upstairs.

Laying his eyes on the other half of Danny's lackluster childhood is no easy task. Especially as the last time Vlad tried to communicate with Jack, he'd opted for his fist, instead. But Jack is less energetic this time. He comes up the stairs wiping his hands on a rag that's seen better days. His sleeves are rolled up and he's preferring to study the living room carpet rather than look at Vlad. His boisterous personality is grey and dull under the halfa's gaze. While he's not out to make the family anxious and miserable, it suits Vlad just fine. It means they're both aware for the first time in their adult lives. Possibly, they may even be ready to listen.

"I'm going to be honest. I'm not at all thrilled with the progress made."

Jasmine stiffens from head to toe.

"It's not the amount of progress that bothers me," Vlad says softly, acknowledging the teenager, "It's the nature of the progress itself. There is a lot of it. A lot of work has been done, a lot of repairs have been made, and there's been significant adjustments to the overall lifestyle. But, from where I'm standing," and he looks at Jack, "It's being made by the wrong party."

The man continues wiping at his hands. It's no longer necessary, he's gotten all the grime he can. But the halfa can see the reflex is a coping mechanism in the human.

"Children should not be pulling the weight of their parents. It is not their duty to clean up after the trail of destruction, it is not their job to be the adult. And it is certainly not Jasmine's responsibility to hold your hand while the two of you get your act together," he watches both parents wince, "What's been done here is a good start. But none of it should have required a teenager to direct it. In an ideal world, none of it would have been needed in the first place."

Jasmine looks ready to scream. Her energy is warping and shifting violently in hues of bloody red and black. Invisible to the human eye, but an ugly cacophony of splatters and lightning strikes to Vlad.

"That said...I will humor her."

The tidal wave of color simmers down. Jack and Maddie finally look at him, perking up slightly but still unsure.

"I will leave Daniel here because Jasmine seems to think this will work out. Clearly, she can reign you two in, so I have some hope that she'll succeed. With that in mind, Jasmine, I've known them far longer and you will call me if this falls through. And I will be calling to check on Daniel regularly. Once a month."

The girl nods eagerly and her emotions morph into an unsteady array of blues and yellows. She runs up the stairs to her brother's room.

Vlad sighs once she's out of ear shot and moves for the front door. He's had enough. He's burned out. He needs to get out of this house. He's just turned the knob and pulled the door open when he hears it.

"Thank-you, Vlad," Maddie utters softly.

"Don't thank me," he nearly snarls, "If I had my way, I would have seized custody of Daniel months ago. Your daughter's age shows through in that she is naive enough to think she can fix you. I think the two of you are a lost cause. I'm giving this chance to her. If she fails, and part of me is sincerely hoping that she does, I will take your children."

Jack's neurotic towling of his hands freezes and Maddie's heart beats overtime in her chest. Sickly pasty swathes of green threaten to drown the halfa. Vlad maintains his calm composure and pulls the door shut behind him.

Sweet, pure, toxic terror. It's so hard to come by.

Chapter Text

Supposedly, time heals all wounds. At least, that's how the saying goes. But Danny has always found the phrasing off. He could never figure out why until now. It doesn't heal wounds. It just scars them over and dulls the ache. But the memory remains. He'd be a little more inclined to believe the original saying if it weren't for the fact that Jasmine is the one orchestrating the improvements. Things do get better. Slowly, but they do. His parents follow her instructions and eventually start to see the benefits of them. But it's because of the need to have his sister give the commands that the wounds still ache. Some days, only faintly. Other days, they're open, bleeding and raw. They're really trying. They know they need to. They just never know what to do, how, or where to start. So his sister continues to lead the way.

Vlad holds to his promise. He calls on the first Sunday of every month. He communes with Jasmine, first, and then with Danny. Danny is always eager to take the phone, too. He darts down the stairs like a child that ate too much sugar. Sometimes Jasmine can't pass him the phone quick enough and he's left standing there, nearly vibrating in his shoes.

Every call is spent going over the basics; how the month has gone, if he's eating right, his weight, his grades and schoolwork. And if Danny voices trouble with a paper, Vlad helps. So, some calls last an hour, and some run up to two and three. But it's all for Danny's benefit.

However, every time Jasmine tries passing the reigns of the process to their parents, they seem to stumble over their own feet. It's not easy, learning that what one has been doing for years has actually been hurting their children. And Danny wonders, as they trip their way through the mess, if Jasmine ever really got over it. Or, was she so focused on meeting the unmet needs that she didn't stop to process her own grief? It's a very real possibility, he thinks.

It makes for an awkward environment. One that Danny won't leave open to converse over anything that leaves him sore. He tries to give. He really does. He tries to give them at least some semblance of his feelings. But he's spent so long biting his tongue and suppressing the urges to scream that he doesn't really know how. He supposes, after one particularly tense dinner, that he could just speak the words themselves. But how he delivers his pain will affect how his parents respond. And he's afraid he'll finally cave in and yell if he tries to talk. Ultimately, he doesn't want to talk about it.

Jasmine doesn't need to talk to him. She's been enduring the very same nonsense since she was born. But after so much awkward silence, she asked anyway.

"I really think you should talk about your feelings."

Danny's fork stabs his plate harder than necessary. "No."

"Sweetie, we're really trying! But we can't fix something if we don't know it's broken," Maddie says softly.

Danny glares at his mother while he chews the bite of food in his mouth. He takes another stab at his plate and clacks his teeth down on the fork when he takes the next bite.

"Danny... Please?" Jasmine urges.

Danny swallows. "You want me to tell you how I feel? Fine. I feel like going over it all is gonna be a huge waste of time. It's too late, it's in the past. I'd really prefer to just forget about it and start over."

"That's not very healthy," his sister replies.

"It's not like we can change anything. Picking my memories apart isn't gonna change what happened. It's just gonna make me mad."

"But-"

-Danny slams his fork down, "JUST LET ME BURY IT! OKAY?!"

They had all startled back in their seats. And he'd startled himself, too. He's never raised his voice at them, before.

"I'm sorry. ...I don't want to talk about it. It's all broken. It's over, it's done with, it can't be fixed, so just leave it. That's what I want. That's what I feel. I just want to move on."

After that, he quietly scraped his half eaten plate into the garbage can and went upstairs to bed.

And Jasmine had reported it to Vlad, who was promptly of very little help, in her opinion.

"He has a point. It won't fix anything."

"I'm trying to help him! If he won't communicate, how am I supposed to help him?! How am I supposed to help mom and dad?"

"He's communicating fine. You're just not listening."

"How is letting him bury the past going to help him?!"

"It won't. He'll have to face it, eventually."

''Then how is-''

''-It's called 'setting a boundary,' Miss Fenton. And respecting his wishes. If you push too hard, he'll close himself off entirely. You need to let it be for now. When he's ready to address it, he will. Until then, consider that he's voiced himself and set that boundary as progress."

''Bottling it up is not progress!"

''You're not listening to me.''

''You're not listening to me!''

''And You aren't listening to him.''

And Vlad had hung up on her at that point.

...Danny had shut himself away in his room for several days following that dinner, only coming out for school and to pick at the dinner plates set aside for him after everyone had gone to bed. He's not trying to fight the changes. He knows they're good. He knows they need to happen. But he feels like he's being rushed by his sister. Like he's under a time crunch. And it bothers him. She wants the family to get better, wants him to get better and wants their parents to do better. But some nights just feel forced and he doesn't like it.

Jasmine knocks on his door multiple times a day, trying to get his attention. To lure him out. And all it does is annoy him. He doesn't want to talk. He told her as much. She didn't get it. One could suppose that it's a potential sign of things regressing back to normal. She understood so much and yet never really understood him growing up. And despite his 'dumb teenager' facade, Danny isn't anywhere near as dumb as so many people seem to think. But it's easier to shrug and mumble and walk away than it is to call them out. There's less punishment that way.

Shutting himself off in his room, Danny realizes that's just how he feels. Like he's being punished, and for a variety of things.

For stepping into the portal.

For landing in a coma.

For needing help.

For needing to get that help outside of home.

For finding the comfort, affection and attention he's so desperately craved from someone else.

For hiding behind Vlad while he tries to fit back in to the world.

For being happier with Vlad than when he's at home.

For being happy, at all, with Vlad.

And for just wanting anything at all instead of biting his tongue and continuing as if nothing was wrong, and accepting the hand he'd been dealt.

After a solid week of wallowing in his bed and burying his face in his pillow, wondering if he should just leave, there's a different knock on his door. A heavier, but gentle knock. And it doesn't come with begging, pleas or demands to come out and face his problems. It's patient. And waits for him to respond. Hesitantly, Danny untangles himself from the nest he's built on his bed and opens the door.

Of the three possibilities, he least expected it to be his father. But there he was, holding up a spoon and bowl of pasta salad...one of Danny's favorite dishes.

"Um..." Jack clears his throat, "you don't have to come down to eat. But I thought you'd like this while it's fresh instead of letting it sit in the fridge for several hours. Jazz has gotten a little nuts about cleaning the fridge, and... bleach fumes don't really make a good aftertaste."

Danny blinks. A few times. Before he takes the bowl and sits down right there in his doorway to eat. His father settles on the floor next to him. He lets Danny eat for a few minutes, grateful that he's taking the time to chew instead of scarfing it down as quick as possible.

"We're trying, son," he says.

Danny takes another bite. "I know."

"Jazz has this idea on how things should go and...well..."

"It's too much, too fast, too all at once and she won't listen to you guys?"

Jack chuckles. "Pretty much."

Danny smirks around his spoon. "Welcome to my world."

"And she's still bent out of shape over last week."

"Mm."

"Look... We can't promise to be perfect. But we can promise to keep working on it. And if part of that means you'd rather not talk about certain things, then we'll work with that."

Danny sets an empty bowl down and sighs. "Tell that to Jazz."

"She just wants what's best for you. Just like we do."

"What's best for me and what I need are two different things."

Jack nods.

"And if I'm gonna stay, then I need her to let up. I already tried telling her and she doesn't want to listen. I'm used to not having a say, so it really shouldn't bother me. But this time, it does."

Jack gives another nod, but this one is slower. More thoughtful.

"And I really think that if anything more is going to change, she's gotta change first. I'm telling you, she has issues."

"I'm not sure if-"

"-I feel like I'm stuck in a chokehold with her. She's so controlling. Even her psycho-analytical-whatamacallit is controlling. I'm saying she needs help, too. Not just you and mom, and not just me."

"You think she needs a therapist of her own?"

"Well, that or a tranquilizer. I'll take either one."

Jack chuckles and ruffles Danny's hair. "I'll talk to her, okay?"

Danny grunts and taps his finger against the rim of his bowl. They sit in silence for several minutes, just listening to the sounds of the kitchen. Particularly, the sound of Jasmine dominating any conversation her mother tries to initiate with psychological talk.

"I want more, but I am not going down there."

Jack laughs and takes the bowl. "I got it."

The next call from Vlad, Danny took. And when he was done, he passed the phone to his father. And then his mother. And for the first time in years, Danny laughed, aloud, under his own roof, in front of his parents, at the scowl on Jasmine's face as she was the last one to get a turn.

And when she took the phone from her mother, Danny was still laughing while she glared at him.

"Yes, Miss Fenton. He's laughing at you. But... He's laughing. What you're hearing is improvement."

Jasmine scowls a little less once she realizes he's right.

Chapter Text

Monitoring from afar is a struggle. He's trying his best. Vlad knew that as soon as he'd specified once a month, it wasn't going to be enough. Not for him. He wanted to call every two weeks. But he's already given, and he knows Jasmine needs time to work. Danny needs time to adjust. Jack and Maddie need time to improve.

Coming home to an empty manor that first night, Vlad collapsed into his bed and slept. For three days. Handling two children had been tricky, but there was some mercy in that one of them is nearly totally independent. He just had to endure her temper, more than anything else. Interacting with the Fenton parents was the real drain on his body. Spectral empathy, visual empathy, is a difficult ability to manage and it's very easy to overload himself. Actively having to choose to not see is a steady drain on his core energy. He could just see 24/7, but the rainbow barf array of swirls and globs and jagged strikes of colors makes him nauseous. Given the choice between making himself sick in public or choosing to be colorblind, in a sense, and slowly drain his core for a few hours, the math isn't hard.

With just Danny and his sister, however, he didn't have to choose. They're young. Easier to manage. And they have the energy to bounce between wallowing in misery to just having a laugh. He never felt sick with them around. Two people are far easier to endure than an entire crowd in a shopping plaza. The Fenton parents had been difficult because he'd been so upset that he fed off of their emotions and projected his own. Akin to an echo bouncing back into him with the force of an eighteen wheeler, his core nearly fell apart. The cracks and fractures would heal; that's what the seventy-two hour nap had been for. But once he woke up...

The first morning, his instinct had been to wake Danny so that he could prepare breakfast. He'd gone down the stairs and down the hall to Danny's room...only to find the door open and the space empty. Then he'd remembered. Gazing at the unmade bed, something in his brain riled awake at the sight. That same strange beast or feeling that's been cropping up for the last few months. That thing that had paced back and forth in its corner while he was in the Far Frozen had begun pacing again. He left Danny's room as he found it.

He did his job, he put Danny back together and got him on his feet. It had been an interesting interval in his life. A fun one, however brief. But he needed to move on.

The liquor cabinet called out to him a few days into the depressive slump he fell back into. And this time, Jasmine wasn't there to keep him in line, and he wouldn't have to worry about getting shit-faced drunk in front of a minor. But, he knew better. And limited himself to a simple nightcap. As tempting as it was to bury his brain in alcohol and regenerate the liver later, he needed to remain sober. For Danny's sake.

But now that he had no-one to fuss over, he didn't know what to do with himself. Prior to Danny entering his home, Vlad had passed his days by with studying. Trips to the Ghost Zone. Research. And building tech he'd never use in his basement. He was content in his reclusiveness. He had no need to interact with living beings outside of his home. Everything he might ever need could be delivered. Extroverted activities were pointless. Now, all those tasks he used to entertain himself seemed... Wasteful. It got to the point where the monthly calls were the highlight of every month.

The rest of the time, he was finding himself stuck fast in the routines that had shaped the spring and summer months.

Four weeks in without the boy and he was still checking his room every morning. He was lingering longer in the library, waiting for someone not even there to finish his breakfast and come in for lessons. He's still setting extra places at the table. Still prepping meals as though there's more than just himself to feed. The liquor cabinet in his office dredged up Jasmine's words repeatedly and his cheek sometimes gave a phantom burn if he stared at the scratches on his bedroom walls. He was even going into the cocoa tin to see what was left in it. He never took any mix, never made a cup for himself. But the mug the girl had favored, tanned by age with a single pale blue flower on one side, still sat in the dish drainer waiting to be used.

Logically, he knows, there's no need for the extra dishes or the doubling of recipes or the checking of the cocoa tin. However briefly they lived with him, however faint their own impressions were on the manor itself, he was still stuck. Only a few things were out of place. Only a few details could be found that would indicate that someone broke his singularity. That someone else had been there with him. Even Maddie had been affected. He frequently found her yowling away in Danny's room, incessantly pawing at the blankets in search of their owner.

It's a pathetic display of attachment, and yet... It cracks his heart every time, hearing her call out for the boy. He's spent the bulk of his life alone. Until now, he's thrived on not being emotionally attached. Falling back into the same rhythm shouldn't be difficult. He played his part. It was always supposed to be temporary, so, why does his home feel so...so... It all just feels wrong. Something is wrong. Something is... Someone is...

He desperately tries to justify himself one night while he washes the same dishes, unknowingly, for the third time in a row.

''No, it can't be that. Why would I miss him? Why would I miss a child? I didn't even gain anything from him!" He snatches clean plates out of the dish drainer, dumps them into the sink and proceeds to scrub harder than necessary.

"What's there to miss? He's rowdy, he's wild, ill-mannered, short tempered, he froze my furniture, froze my carpet, he buried the manor and half of the entire state under a fucking blizzard, in the middle of Summer, and I should have washed his mouth out with soap at least four times! So why do I... I...''

The dishes clatter softly in the murky water as he pauses to stare at his own reflection.

"I shouldn't...but... I..."

He huffs and rinses the plates off. "Ridiculous."

He gets ready for bed earlier than normal.

Somewhere in his brain, there's that same nagging, niggling feeling in his head. And it's finally making its way to the surface.

Chapter Text

He tried to ignore it.

He tried to get through his days by burying his head in the sand because he didn't want to know what the feeling was.

He didn't want a label for it.

He just wanted it to go the hell away.

Passing the time by reading, studying ancient texts or knitting were proving pointless. Whatever it was, it wasn't interested in shutting up. When the first month had passed and he'd called Jasmine to follow up as he had promised, he had hoped that speaking with Danny afterwards might temper the niggling in his head. And while he conversed, the strange feeling had changed. It, or he, he wasn't sure which, had perked up hearing Danny's voice. The moment the call ended, it reverted back to an unhappy growling sensation. It wasn't right. It's not normal. At that point, he wanted to know what it was so he could silence it.

Peering into his own head had never yielded pleasant results. But that sensation that he's been trying to chase away for months seemed to stand apart in his brain. Not necessarily as another personality, but it was still separate. As if a piece of him had broken away but insisted on hanging around. So, he'd decided to take a peek, and settled in the library one rainy night. He sat before the fire, closed his eyes, and reached in.

...if Vlad's mind and its inner workings had a physical form, they'd manifest as a vast, twisted labyrinth of a library with numerous dark corners. Books would be all over dull carpets and in crooked stacks. There'd be countless doors between the shelves that lead into his memories. A grim and dingy basement would linger underneath, lined with misshapen prison cells housing different growling globs of shadow and darkness. Skeletons in varying states of decay and disarray scattered in halls, mounded in corners, reaching bony fingers out to grasp at nothing. If libraries pulled triple duty and additionally served as body farms and dungeons, that's his head. There's a main room to the library, with a fireplace burning in pink and red flames. The bookshelves are high, nearly infinite. And there's an easy chair in front of the fireplace. So he can meditate and review the knowledge he's gained over the years, or wallow in self-loathing if he's in a particularly sour mood.

Prying into his mindscape revealed his fundamentals in shreds and tatters. Books were torn apart at the spine and strewn carelessly about the room. Pages were mangled and scribbled all over. Some were just in pieces. The carpet was ripped and threads hung loose, with numerous holes that were just black voids leading to nothing. The shelves were burned black and ashen, and some were still burning. The easy chair is on its side and pushed out of the way, and the fabric of its upholstery is shredded. And where the chair should have been, something else was sitting in its place.

Having spent years carefully compartmentalizing his entire mind, Vlad knew where everything was in his head. He knew exactly what was in his head. And that which was blocking the fire and had torn his scape apart was not on the list.

It was shrouded in Plasmius' cloak. It bore the skin of Plasmius, and the hair, and horns, and its face. But this form of Plasmius was also strange to him. He guesses, upon further examination, that it is Plasmius, completed. It wore a pair of teal wings on its back. Its horns were slightly longer, sharper, and a second set of smaller horns jutted out just underneath. Its fangs were far more pronounced, practically tusks. Its nails were now claws. When it became aware of Vlad's presence, it stood up, turned, and towered over him by a good two feet. A hulking beast of a gargoyle. And it loomed over him, glaring through glowing red eyes, and seemed to be quite thoroughly annoyed by his presence.

''You don't belong here.'' He barely managed to get the words out, he was so frightened that something new had moved in.

It growled, it raised its arm up, and before Vlad had known it, he'd been backhanded out of his own head and woken up on his back on the real library floor. With a pounding headache, an aching back and aching legs. It shocked him, being knocked out of his own head. He's worked so hard to keep everything balanced and under control. He never once imagined that he'd lose that control.

When he went to bed that night, he fell back into his mindscape through a backdoor.

Pushing past the proverbial doors to the library, he found it in the same state. Torn apart and messy. With Plasmius perched high up on a shelf, glaring down at him and growling softly. And on its left ankle was a shackle, glowing in an ominously familiar pink. A chain ran down the length of the shelf and across the utter sty on the floor...and connected to a shackle on his own right ankle.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," he bit.

The gargoyle huffed from its position on the shelf.

Vlad glared. And started cleaning. Sort of. He gathered up all of the books and papers and shreds and dumped them at the base of the bookshelf Plasmius loomed off of. It watched him. Carefully. Following his movements. Vlad put out the fires on the shelves and mended the tears in the rug with threads of pink energy. But only for half of the room.

The mess is piling up on half of the library floor and Plasmius is starting to growl more loudly, looking down at the debris almost frantically. And Vlad just keeps working, even as the floor is eventually covered in ripped tomes and papers. When Vlad tosses a particularly heavy book his way, the resounding thud and flurry of shredded papers at the point of impact draw a full roar out of the gargoyle.

"Hey! You made the mess, you get to live with it!" He gives the chain a hard tug with his leg and Plasmius shudders on its perch, nearly falling down. But it manages to compose itself.

"Just because I'm stuck with you now doesn't mean I'm going to put up with your shit. You made the mess, you can clean it up."

Vlad continues working. It feels like several hours pass. He's just about to right the tattered chair when Plasmius jumps down from the shelf. It doesn't startle him. In fact, Vlad ignores him by standing the chair up and stitching its holes shut. And Plasmius glares through the flurry of paper upon landing.

"It wouldn't kill you to have some sense of decorum."

Plasmius stalks his way up behind him and grasps the chair with one hand, squeezes until the wood cracks, and chucks it into the fireplace. The flames burn hotter and brighter for several moments, engulfing the piece of furniture and swallowing it whole.

"Really?" Vlad quips.

The gargoyle huffs again and walks back over to the pile Vlad has made. It kicks the papers and books aside, shoving them back towards the invisible line Vlad has mentally drawn down the middle of the library. At first, it seems to be a tantrum, and Vlad is rearing to scream and yell at the chaos. But watching it, the pile begins to form a ragged outline. Very rough and imperfect. The tears and shreds are lined up very carefully as Plasmius works, sharpening the image. Every torn paper and book has a place and purpose in the frame. Plasmius stacks certain pieces, arranging them in a specific manor.

When it finishes, it opens its wings and flies up to its favored perch and settles on the edge of the bookshelf again, leering down at the counterpart it's bound to.

And Vlad is left speechless. The mess is reorganized. The scraps and tears have formed a jagged cutout, in depth, in full scale, of Plasmius' form.

"Your mess. You live with it."

He didn't know who else to turn to. It's not like there's a panel of experts on half ghosts. So, Vlad returns to the Ghost Zone, for the only entity to have any knowledge at all of his condition.

He's also slightly grateful that he isn't greeted at spearpoint this time. Instead, Frostbite almost seemed to be expecting him. He led him through the village calmly, back into the medlab. There's a teapot and two cups waiting on the table, with a few chairs made of sculpted ice. The yeti encourages him to sit.

"So, not only are you not handling the separation well, but your ghost half seems to have gained sentience," Frostbite says while he pours a cup of tea.

Vlad sighs from the cold while the snowbeast sets the teapot down. Tugging at his cloak to keep warm, he's finding some new levels of strength in his arms and very nearly tears the material. Nearly. And he still has that headache, and upon changing forms, he found two very small protrusions just under his horns, one on each side.

"I scanned my core after the last trip. It was fluctuating in temperature, but that's all. There wasn't anything to indicate that my form would be changing. Or that I'd be developing a secondary personality."

Frostbite laughs. "You don't have Multiple Personality Disorder."

"Then what is it?" Vlad grates through chattering teeth, "Because ever since that night, I've been hearing it in my head. It talks. It mostly growls at me, but it talks. I go to sleep and it pulls me back into my mind and it just glares at me. I don't even dream anymore. It pulls me in too quick."

Frostbite sips at his cup. "A second personality would imply an unsound mind. You've certainly been through a lot, but your mind is surprisingly durable. What's happened is you've cordoned off and isolated parts of yourself to the point of irreparability. If you'd care for a little honesty, my own scans of your core did show that something was off. But you were here for the boy, and I doubted that you'd be open to conversing at the time."

"Wonderful."

"I figured you'd make your way back here when you were ready. I'm just surprised it took this long. But, I suppose a slow burn is more fitting for...you."

Vlad scoffs.

The snowbeast hums. "You say it erupted from within your framework?"

Vlad thinks back to the pile of papers and books.

Frostbite takes the silence as his answer.

"It's indicative of your mental state. From the sounds of things, you've been suppressing a rather unhealthy amount of your emotions. Your rage, frustration, bitterness, anger, hatred, unrivalled anxiety, your outright denial... It all adds up after a while. For humans, the treatment would be medication, therapy, or both. But for ghosts, it's not so simple."

Vlad turns his cup back and pours himself another to warm up. For Frostbite, the tea is more of an informality. A way to ease the tension. For Vlad, it's a very real necessity.

"As ghosts, our presence bends the fabric of existence, giving us very unique and otherworldly abilities. We're able to tap into our memories and wander our minds. In a sense, we use more of our brains than even the most intelligent humans. Were we still human, it would be regarded as a gift. As we are now, it's extraordinarily ordinary."

"Your point?" Vlad grunts.

"My point is, that, due to the nature of our being, it is far easier to do damage. Both to yourself and the outside world. Your relentless suppression of your emotions and needs has literally created this proverbial elephant that you're now permanently chained to. It simply gained more sentience the longer you fought your own head. And from what you haven't told me, you've been restraining yourself for months. Stopping your feelings short is one thing. But to pack them away in a box and just keep adding to the pile is pure carelessness."

Vlad stares into his cup, taking the chastising tone without argument.

"Your Empty Nest Syndrome is merely, as the livings say, the icing on the cake. And was most likely the spark that breathed life into your unwanted guest. Had you faced your problems prior to the pup leaving, you would have been fine. The mass of repressed material would have simply remained a mass and dwindled over time. At this point, even if you face them now, it's too late. For better or worse, you're stuck with it."

Vlad finally looks up at the yeti. "Then what do you propose? Because I can't keep living with him. With it. Whatever. Whatever it's supposed to be."

Frostbite sighs. "My advice?"

Vlad nods.

"Face your problems anyway, and your feelings, accept it and make peace with it. Learn to live with it. Because it's not going anywhere. It will learn to move in sync with you, but it will always be. And...due to its awareness, it will have its own wants and desires. And those wants and desires might not line up with yours," 'Yet,' he thinks, "It already knows what it wants. You're just going to have to tell it to be patient."

"You can't be serious."

"Telling it 'no,' at least for now, will only make matters worse and increase the risk of it taking control."

Vlad groans and beats his head against the table.

Frostbite winces. "Don't do that. It can feel your pain."

Vlad's lip curls back in a snarl and he looks up to scowl at the yeti. "If it's stuck with me, it can suffer with me."

"Don't issue challenges to it, either. It may only be a piece of your psyche, but it's still sentient. It is aware of itself and you. Whether you like it or not, your ghost half has officially moved in, upstairs."

Vlad feels...worried. He already has an idea of what this is going to entail for his day-to-day living. "Will... Will Daniel have the same problem?"

"Well, that depends," Frostbite says softly and finishes his cup.

"On?"

"On whether or not he's capable of admitting and accepting his own feelings. The boy has grown up with loving friends, family and basic human interaction through his formative years."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Frostbite huffs, but a smirk works its way onto his face.

"Unlike you, he's not emotionally constipated."

Chapter Text

So. Here's the skinny... Um, I'm out of meds! My A.D.D. is gonna be unmedicated for a while because there's another pill shortage. Yay. And I can't have caffeine anymore because Covid fucked up my heart. Yay.

I write when I have have my meds in me. That's why I usually make my updates on Fridays and Saturdays. So, no meds means updates are gonna be scattered. At least until I can refill my script. I'm sorry in advance, this is by no means the end of this fic. But my medication is on "manufacture back-order." Whatever the hell that means, and I don't know how long it's gonna take.

But I also know it's been quite a while since I posted any art! So the next several chapters might be art dumps, because those are going to be easier for me. So, just be patient with me. I will try to write when I can.

So! Vlad's upgraded/split not-quite-personality/denial!

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I really like the extra set of horns, personally. Makes him more menacing, no?

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I also revisited the Spinner. However briefly. Her job involves the tossing of soul coins, and until Vlad and Danny, it's basically just been her and her sisters in the Void. Now, she has these two coins in the Void with her, which she can't move, she can't touch, and the Void is vast and endless. I like to think that every now and then, she just kind of happens across them again and again.

And she doesn't really know what to do with them, because she can't do anything with them. And once the coin is tossed, that's kind of it, she doesn't see what happens to the souls or where they go, she just knows that they go somewhere. So I think she'll just stare at the coins and maybe wonder how Vlad and Danny are doing.

So, just bear with me and stick around, okay? I'm gonna try. I just need my meds.

Chapter Text

A little side piece of art I kept forgetting about. This was drawn pretty early on, I just completely forgot about it and it got buried in my gallery. I wasn't thrilled with it.

I actually have a good pile of Danny Phantom art, so I've created another work that will be just for my art! It'll be a combination of fanart and my original characters from my own a.d.d. brain. There'll be lots to see, so feel free to check it out! Now I just gotta learn Roman Numerals for chapter labels...

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Chapter Text

With the amount of noise Plasmius was making in his head, Vlad canceled the reunion outright. Maybe he'll schedule a 25 year event, instead. But right now, while he spends his days yelling into the soundless halls of the manor at an entity that no-one else can even hear is not the time to invite a crowd of people over. The combination of tasteless music and simpleminded small-town peasants with Plasmius' relentless temper tantrums might drive him over the cliff he's been precariously teetering on the edge of for years.

He never misses a phone call. But as Christmas drew closer, Vlad wondered for a time if he should try silencing Plasmius long enough to visit Daniel again after so long. The mansion is vast and empty, mirroring his syndrome with unfortunate accuracy. It irritates him to no end. And Plasmius does calm when it hears the boy's voice...

No. Just... No. He needs to get his other half under better control. Vlad grants a longer phone call the day before Christmas. And he notes some chords of disappointment in Danny's tone when he tells him he can't make it over for the holiday.

"Are you sure you can't come over? Even or a little bit?"

And the mass of stone in his chest just kept fracturing, little pieces flaking away here and there to release auras colored blue in depression and longing. Though he'd spoken his reply, "I'm sorry, I just can't," it had to be forced out as the monster inside lashed out in an attempt to claw the words back. It wants him to cave. He wants to cave. But there's no way of knowing how Plasmius will behave once he's within reach of the boy. For Danny's own safety, Vlad ultimately said goodbye and hung up. Another Christmas alone would not be new. But... Alone with Plasmius...

The phone snapped shut and a pair of taloned hands snatched Vlad's shoulders and dragged him back into his own mind, back into the half-tattered library, leaving his body to collapse onto the floor of the foyer.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Vlad shouts, pulling free from Plasmius' grasp.

"You deny at every turn! You cut us off!"

"I'm cutting you off! You! Not me! I cut you off because you are dangerous!"

Plasmius looms over him, wings open to block the light of the fire. "...you still lie to yourself."

Vlad scoffs and folds his arms. "How do you figure that?

The gargoyle towering over him leans in, closing the distance until their faces are only inches apart. "A mirror can only reflect. It is the eyes of the viewer that distort. Whether you accept the truth or shatter the pane, the reflection remains the same. I am you. And, as I am you, this-self knows the last thing desired is to bring harm to him."

''I didn't think you were capable of rational thought,'' Vlad bites.

Plasmius snarls. ''This-self doesn't trust itself.''

''No. I don't trust you. Okay? You are not me. I don't care what Frostbite says. You are your own disaster. You are dangerous, you are reckless, you-''

''-I am a disaster you made!'' it roars, ''I am made from the pieces you tried to bury and throw away! This-self has shut itself away for decades, choosing to be solitary and refusing any and all around it that live! All out of bitterness! This-self is tired of having everything and yet having nothing!''

Vlad sighs and attempts to turn away, only to be grabbed by the jaw and forced forward. "If you must refuse to see the mirror, then so be it. This-self will be cleaved in two until you open your eyes. But this part of this-self wants him back.''

''You want me to let you out.''

''..."

"What makes you think I'm going to just let you out?"

"I don't think. This part of this-self...it will find a way out. Whether or not you are in control is up to you."

An unholy growl riles free from Vlad's chest and unbeknownst to him, his skin darkens into a hellish teal. "You wouldn't dare."

Plasmius releases its hold. "The chain shortens daily. This-self borrows time, and time always runs out. He is happier here. He can be himself here. He trusts this-self more than his own. He cannot relate to any other, no matter the effort or air spent in trying."

Vlad glares at the beast. Partially because he still feels threatened, but mostly because he knows it's right.

''Above all, he is safer here. To trust that there will be no other accidents... If something goes wrong, there may not be enough time to reach him.''

''I don't need a reminder of the danger I've put him in by sending him home. But to drag him through the system would put him through potentially irreparable trauma and emotional distress. And it would not garner trust in any strain. It would ruin him. Break him. I didn't want to send him home. I had to. You know that.''

''Do you?'' Plasmius asks.

The questions stabs at his heart and Vlad stands in stunned silence as the gargoyle takes flight and disappears into the darkness. He looks down at his ankle to observe the glowing shackle. For now, its links just fade out into nothingness.

''Fuck."

...it's the first year he doesn't set up a tree or other decorations. There's no point. He has no reason to. There's no fussy redhead to challenge his intellect and patience, and there's no overly eager youngling to teach or force food towards. And he's always lived alone. There's never any guests, there's no maids, no servants. He'd just be fooling himself if he decorated, now. In years past, even last year, he didn't mind the setup. He liked playing carols over the radio while he hung ornaments on a tree. He'd pass out in front of the television every night with some sort of animated special. That was his tradition. For a while, it worked. It was all he wanted.

Now it all just seems like a waste. The connection he built, the company they provided. It doesn't seem right to set up anything if it's just for him. But he's trying to keep Plasmius away from Danny until he can figure out how to live with it. So, if Danny isn't going to be there...

''I'd rather not celebrate it, at all.''

Christmas without Vlad.

It's a new concept. For one, Danny didn't even know he existed before May. But for another, with how involved he had become in Danny's life, the younger halfa had almost assumed the elder would just continue to stick around. Setting up the tree and decorations, Danny kept looking to the door in hopes that he would just walk in at any moment. He wanted...

He wanted Vlad there. He's not sure why. Not even now. But when the star went up on the tree and the garland went around the banister, and the seasonal dishes came out, and then the snow, the caroling, the movies and specials and Frosty the Snowman and Rudolph... Danny wanted Vlad there. Danny wanted to share all of that with Vlad. He wanted to watch all of those movies and cartoons with him. Yes, he has his friends and his family, but now it just feels like there's a hole in his life.

When he soaked in those "B" horror movies with Sam and Tucker, Vlad sometimes sat in the living room with them, occasionally peering up from a book or the newspaper. And every time, they were convinced he wasn't paying attention, until he served them an early dinner and offered up his opinions. What he thinks the characters should have done differently. What they did wrong. If there was a lesson to be taught, he gave it. It was from those moments that Danny realized just how much Vlad paid attention.

Even with all of their improvements around the house, with all of the steps that they took, sometimes, his parents still have a...moment. It's a brief moment. It never lasts long. It's just something small that happens. Something stupid and otherwise insignificant. To remind him of how delicate the balance really is.

"I thought you liked white chocolate."

"No. I don't. That's Jazz."

"That's a nice sweater. Where did you get it?"

"I've had it for three years. From the trip to the planetarium? Don't you remember?"

On Christmas morning, he woke before anyone else and meandered down to the tree in the family room. He stares at it for half an hour. Feeling incomplete. There's gifts under the tree; a few for his mother, a small box and a large rectangular box for his father, a few small things for his sister, and one thing for him. He hadn't asked for anything. But he figures Jazz didn't want to leave him out of the festivities. He nibbles at some oatmeal, but doesn't finish the bowl. It was only 7:30 in the morning, but he knows his family will be up soon. And for some reason, he just doesn't want to do it.

Jasmine came down the stairs just in time to see her brother going out the door barefoot in jeans and his zodiac hoodie. He heard her moving around, but he was too depressed to care. Danny wanders the streets for several hours, walking block after block and retracing his steps. Going home never crosses his mind. The snow on his bare feet feels nice, just like it did in the Far Frozen. It feels natural. Sure, he gets a few odd looks from people when they realize he doesn't have any shoes on, but he doesn't really care what they think. At some point, he finally stops at the park and settles on a bench.

That's how he spends Christmas. Away from his family. Away from the TV, away from the noise and the cooking and burnt pie, away from the test firing of the ghost blaster his mother built for his father. He'll see if there's any damage to the house later. It's not like he doesn't want to spend it with his family. But if Vlad isn't there...

''I'd rather not celebrate it, at all.''

Chapter Text

Danny sits on that bench all day. Or for whatever remains of it. But he stays there, on the cold metal and even draws his legs up to himself for comfort. The sounds of the holiday flooded in slowly, on a lazy river muffled by the Minnesota snow. Cheers and trills of joy, children tearing through paper, dinner table speeches and the clinking of countless glasses. All delivered to him in a controlled tempo. Faintly, underneath it all...

"Where's Danny?"

His heart jerks a little. They're asking for him. They're actually wondering.

"I don't know. He went out, earlier. I think he just needs space."

No. That's not what he needs. Not in the slightest. He needs... He wants...

"He should be here," Danny mutters into his knees. He buries his face into his kneecaps in hopes of physically restraining his emotions. He doesn't want to have a breakdown in public, even if he's the only one insane enough to be outside.

"Fenton?"

The call of his name startles Danny out of his slump and he looks up.

"Dash?" His chest quivers in a nervous rattle, unsure of what's to come. With Dash, or any of the Baxter clan, it's never anything good. Granted, the school year has been unusually calm for him, so far. He actually hasn't needed to pull a spitball out of his hair or kick his way out of a locker in a while. But it's Dash.

"What are you doing out here? It's freezing!"

Danny knows this. "Not to me." And he watches the blond's eyes drift down towards his bare feet. Just as pale as the rest of him, just as colorless. Just as dead. Meanwhile, Dash's face is tanned and red in the cheeks and nose from the bitter cold. His toes should be just as red. Hell, they should be necrotic for the number of hours he's spent out here. For a moment, he wonders what hypothermia is like.

Dash sits down next to him. "Your parents throw you out or something?"

"No," Danny says softly, "Just... I guess I just didn't want Christmas this year. ...what about you? Why are you out here?"

"Oh... My parents are fighting again. They fight every year. So, we do gifts and whatnot after desert when they've had a drink to cool down."

Danny winces. "Yikes."

"It's just on Christmas. See, dad's got an ex-wife, and every year he wants to visit her, and mom fights him every time."

Oh. 'That's not that bad,' Danny thinks.

"The rest of the year is fine. They just fight on the one holiday."

'So, what made you such a jerk?' the halfa wonders.

They sit together in silence for a while, just watching the sun set. It's a huge change of pace for Danny, not having to duck and cover from the jock. But it's strange enough of a moment, or maybe it's due to the holiday, but he relaxes.

"So... What happened to you?" Dash asks.

The street lights start to flicker on and Danny's eyes drift downward. To think. To decide what he should say. How to best answer such a question without disclosing his condition and putting himself and Vlad in danger. And all he could come up with?

"I got stupid."

Dash scoffs. "Well, you're always stupid. What else is new?"

Danny huffs, annoyed. His self esteem drops a little. "Do you... Do you ever wonder what happens when you die?"

"Oh, no," Dash groans.

"I'm serious," Danny bites.

"Dude, it's fucking Christmas. Come on. No-one wants that philosophical bullcrap."

For some reason, those words...hurt. They sting and stab. Danny's heart jerks in a manner all too familiar. He suddenly has the urge to cry. He feels...disregarded. Pushed aside. Again. Just like he's used to. Maybe that's why it hurts. Having spent his entire summer being noticed and paid attention to, and knowing what that feels like... A thin veneer of ice forms over his toes and slowly creeps up to his ankles. The snowfall, which had once been calm and steady, sways to an angle and falls a little harder. In thick, fluffy crystals.

"You're right. It's stupid. Forget I asked." He pulls in on himself, shutting a part of himself away before it's dragged down any further.

"Man, I always knew you had issues, but..."

"I get it, Dash. I'm sor-"

"-I mean, you disappear for three months, you come back, you start doing better in school all of a sudden, and-"

"-I was in a fucking coma."

"...oh."

"Yeah. 'Oh.' I was in a coma, mom and dad had no clue where I was, they didn't even pay attention enough to look, Jazz dropped out of school to pay off the hospital, and when I wake up, I'm somewhere in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, Wisconsin, with a complete stranger, and it's a shit show recovery! I slept for two and a half months! I woke up and I couldn't even walk! I had to re-learn how to fucking walk... And mom and dad weren't even there. They didn't... They didn't even notice. I woke up, and everything was different. Is different. A lot happened. A lot changed. And I still haven't figured some stuff out, yet."

"Hey, I didn't mean to-"

"-And this guy that took care of me... He's... He pays attention. He listens. He... Everything mom and dad couldn't do or wouldn't stop long enough to do..." The ice on his ankles climbs up his legs under his jeans and it's starting to hurt. But he doesn't pay it much thought.

"I wanna go back," he almost whispers, "Some things are better at home, now, but I don't know how long it's gonna last. I'm afraid of it all falling apart. I went through a lot of absolute shit. And he was the only one who really, really cared enough to notice when I needed something, or when I needed help, or when I wasn't eating right... I just want to go back."

He hadn't meant to just unload like that. He didn't mean to bury his bully under the last ten months. Danny didn't even know he'd been holding anything in. Now that the words are out, now that he's finally said his piece, he feels a little lighter. It feels strange, saying what's on his mind. Airing out his frustrations, even it's to the last person he should be airing them to, it feels...good.

"I just can't decide if I should stay here or try and go back..to him."

"'Go back to him?' You know what that sounds like, right?"

Danny blinks. Thinks it over. Thinks it through. What does it sound like?

"You're really messed up, aren't you?"

The halfa's eyes cloud as he keeps thinking, picking apart the other's words analyzing the implied meaning of his own words. It takes him a few minutes longer than it should. But once he picks up on it...

"Oh, god," his face tints pink when it dawns on him. It's the first time he's ever really blushed. As he kicks that notion around in his head, he decides that it makes sense. And Frostbite's words come tumbling back to him.

"What is your opinion towards Vladimir?"

Danny's face reddens further, all the way to his ears, and he drops his forehead into his knees. "That is not what I need right now."

Dash stands up and dusts the new layer of snow off of himself. "Yeah. You have fun with that, Fenton. I'm cold, I'm going home."

"You're not gonna tell anyone, are you?!" Danny asks, and immediately regrets it because of the potential seeds he's just sewn. The garden that could be grown from his agony would feed the school for years.

'Damn it, why do I have such a big mouth?!'

Dash pauses in brushing the snow off of his arms, tilting his head in thought. Thus, each passing microsecond makes Danny worry even more. Because he's thinking about it. And Danny wonders who he'd tell first. Who would crack the first joke. Who would be the first to drag him through the football field. Or worse. But...

"Nah. Not worth it."

The halfa's eyes nearly pop out of his head. "What?"

Dash shrugs. "It's not worth it."

"Are you serious?! This is gold to you! You practically live for this! Your entire freshman year was football and wailing on me! What's changed?!"

'I really need to sew my mouth shut.'

Dash gives him a look. It's a look Danny's never seen before. Not on Vlad, not on his parents, not on any other adult he's run into in his life. A foreign blend of recognition, understanding and empathy. Once again, his addled mind takes a moment to catch its meaning. Were he not so bogged down with everything else in his life, including his newest epiphany, he might have figured it out sooner. But, better late than never.

"Wow... Really? You, too?"

Dash shoves his hands into his coat pockets with a little too much force, turning away and pointedly marching for his house.

"Wait!" Danny's off the bench so fast he nearly trips over his own feet. But he catches up to him pretty easily. "Is that why you're not gonna give me a hard time over it?"

Dash sighs into the cold night air. "That's part of it."

"What's the other part?"

They stop on a corner, under a street light that's actively dying. But it still provides a little light.

"You're gonna follow me home until I tell you, aren't you?" Dash asks, thoroughly exasperated.

"I might. I can. I'm pretty hard to lose, these days." 'Thank-you, power of flight.'

"You're pretty hard to catch, too."

The halfa's heart freezes in his chest. In shock, in dawning, in thorough realization.

"You picked on me because you like me and you didn't know how to talk to me."

"Well, I-"

"And, talking to me would have hurt your social status and possibly outed you to the team. So you started dating Paulina so that you could keep lying to somebody, probably your family, if I had to guess. And you started torturing me to really make it look good."

Dash's head droops in shame. "Sounds pretty bad when you put it that way."

Danny gives a half lidded glare. "That's because it is bad. I'm used to being tortured and left behind. I've been dealing with that my whole life. But, it's Paulina that's in for an ugly wake-up call. You're gonna break her heart. Worse, this'll drag her through the mud. Her friends will drop her like a lead weight. She'll never live it down."

"I know," Dash groans.

"You're gonna have to tell her."

"I know!" Dash barks. He's aware of all of it. And the longer he carries on the lie, the worse it'll be when the truth comes out.

"You're really messed up, aren't you?" Danny asks.

It's meant to be serious. But they break down laughing. The jock gives a half-hearted punch to the halfa, who doesn't even feel it. They lean against a building to get it all out, coloring the night with a more positive tone. It takes them a few minutes to get to where they can breath.

"So...do I have a shot?" Dash asks.

Danny chuckles. "Not a chance in Hell."

"Fair enough," the blond laughs a little more, "Who'd I lose to? I mean, it's obviously the other guy, right? But who is he?"

Danny barely manages to avoid turning as red as he had before. "Leave that one alone, Baxter. Trust me."

Chapter Text

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Once he figures out that he's very much attached to Vlad, it seems like all Hell breaks loose in his head. He wants to see him again. He wants him around more. He's lonely, and he's already aware that despite his best efforts, everyone around him is about fifty thousand volts away from being anywhere near relatable. But he can only push so much before Vlad just hangs up the phone.

And he's noticed that Vlad has been physically keeping his distance. Like he's afraid to get too close. Every time Danny asks about having him stop by, just to see how much certain things have changed, Vlad becomes audibly strained over the phone before turning him down. While Danny expected that the other halfa would be giving his family a wide berth to work in, he hadn't expected to be cut off. It worried him for a while, making him wonder just what he'd done wrong. What did he do that would make Vlad stay away?

It eventually devolved into the idea that Vlad was done with him. That Vlad just couldn't stand him anymore, and that the monthly calls were too much for him. And despite all that Vlad has done, all of that time and effort and training, it's an easy idea to swallow. With all the years he's spent being the lost puppy that people want to love just enough to put back together and then abandon at the side of the road, his mind is all too easily prepared to slip into that alley. From there, a tired acceptance forms, which slowly starts chipping away at his self-worth.

He's acknowledged that he's taken a liking to the man, even if he doesn't know what to do or how to pursue it. But when Vlad seems more interested in avoiding him, what's the point in trying?

'He's had enough of me.'

'No matter who I go to, I'm too much.'

'I'm too much to deal with.'

'I have too many problems.'

'Maybe I'm the problem.'

'Maybe I can't be fixed.'

'Who would want to fix me, anyway?'

It's okay, he decides. It's just like before. He can slip back into old habits. Anything to get through the day. Survival mode is familiar. And easy...

He starts pushing his dinner plate aside from lack of appetite, with the promise that he'll eat before he goes to bed. His plate is wrapped in plastic and put in the fridge. Come morning, he ignores it. And skips breakfast. In school, he skips lunch. And promises to Sam and Tucker that he'll eat when he gets home.

He starts burying parts of himself to be safe. He stops sharing his thoughts with his parents. He signs into his favorite online games less and less. Stops trying to be himself. The cheap horror movies pause, the astrology books go unread, the jokes don't crack. He dulls. Inside and out. His core drawls in rotation. His complexion greys some. He spends less and less time on the phone with Vlad, only because Vlad is giving him less and less. The bathroom scale comes under less strain. He unintentionally starts hiding behind his hair, allowing his bangs to get in the way and mask the poor pallor of his flesh.

A benefit, or a downside, if you'd prefer, to his oversized hoodie is that no one can see the weight he's dropping. No one can outline his vertebrae or count his ribs. No one knows. Worse still, he doesn't recognize that he's being self-destructive. He just doesn't see a point in trying for anything. The only person in all of existence he can share his plight with is cutting off his calls and avoiding coming into contact with him. Due to the amount of growth his core has made, his tolerance for hunger and low energy is much higher. He feels a slight twitch to his stomach every now and then.

"I'll eat later," he tells himself.

...it takes far longer for her to notice than Jasmine would care to admit. And it's not his slowly failing physical health that tips her off, despite the dinners he pushed aside. And she's kicking herself for that, too. What gives him away is his report card, which she intercepts in the mail. When she opened it, Jasmine had to do a double take. At the bottom of what were essentially pre-accident grades, that is to say, teetering just above failing, there's a note written by one of the teachers. In bright red ink...

"What happened?!"

Slowly, she mentally assembles the order of events. She goes back to that December call. And the depression in Danny's voice when Vlad had told him he wouldn't be visiting. The disappearing act on Christmas day. And every consecutive call that followed, with Danny constantly asking for Vlad to stop over.

"Just for a little while?"

"Just for an hour?"

"Just a few minutes? Please?"

"You don't even have to come inside! Just a quick talk!"

And each call had left him more and more defunct. She kicks herself again. She's been hearing it for months, now, and she hasn't been listening. She's lost count of the number of dinner plates she's scraped into the trash can. And the same box of cereal, Danny's favorite, which he usually has to beg for because it's loaded with sugar, has been sitting in the cabinet. Untouched. For four months.

"You've gotta be kidding me. Again?" 'Why didn't I see it sooner?'

Knowing how fragile her brother's mental state is and understanding that fragility are two different concepts. And while Vlad has known, for some time now, just how delicate Danny can be, clearly, he never fully grasped it. It's what drives her to set the report card aside and jab her fingers into the keypad on her phone.

Vlad is literally knee deep in research in the library when his phone rings. From across the room, laying by the door on a small end table. He realizes he has to dance around stacks of books that he's assembled and opts to ignore it. Until it rings again. And again. And again, and again, and again, and-

"Yes, yes, alright! I hear you!" The book in his hand falls onto the couch and he stumbles through the mess like a newborn fawn, knocking over a few stacks. The mess will annoy him, when he gets to it.

He snatches the phone up and flips it open, not having the patience to read the caller ID.

"What?! What is it?!"

"He's stopped eating, again."

Vlad sighs. 'Oh, brother.' "For how long?"

"Since you refused to show up for Christmas."

The groan he sends through the receiver earns no response.

"I'd kick your door down, again, but that's a long walk."

Vlad doesn't respond.

"He's been begging for you to come over for months, and you've been cutting the calls shorter and shorter. I think he's feeling rejected. Just like last time."

"I haven't rejected him. I'm-"

"-Well, it sure looks like it! The fact that you have the communication and social skills of a brick shouldn't be my problem! But it is! So I'm going to wake him up, I'm going to give him the phone, and you're going to talk to him."

"Miss Fenton, please, I really don't-"

"-You're going to tell him why you've been keeping away, you're going to apologize, and then I'm going to force some food down his throat. And you'd better be forthcoming about it."

"Jasmine, I'd really rather-"

"It's ghost related, right?"

Vlad sighs. "Yes, but-"

"-Great! This should be easy for you, then!"

"Miss Fenton, I'm busy!"

"...maybe it's not such a long walk."

Vlad physically winces as Plasmius' laughter resonates in his head. "I like this human," it says between breaths.

"Alright, fine. I'll talk to him."

Danny was sound asleep. He was napping. He was comfortable, he was content for the first time in weeks, he was actually hoping to slip into hibernation, again. But any sensible person is bound to startle awake rather violently when their bedroom door is kicked open.

Danny was happily wasting his afternoon when his door slammed against his dresser, jolting him upright in a flash and shoving blood into his heart to beat at a human pace. Tachycardic for him.

He's visibly trembling, eyes bright green in fear, and a blue cellphone nearly takes out his nose. 'V. Masters' reads in dull black lettering on the screen.

"I expect you two to talk for no less than an hour. Got it?"

Danny tilts his head past the phone to look at his sister.

"Why? He'll just cut me off, again."

"Because, I called him, this time. You're both going to talk and actually communicate with each-other. Apologize, come to an agreement, make up, I don't care. But you have a problem, little brother, and I'm fixing it. And if he hangs up on you, I'll walk there myself and knock both of your heads together. Because you're both hiding something from the other, and you haven't eaten in months."

Danny blinks.

Jasmine raises a brow and wiggles the phone in her hand.

"Okay, then." And he takes the device before he has to dislodge it from his nasal passage.

Jasmine smiles triumphantly and walks out.

Danny groans up at his ceiling in frustration before putting the phone to his ear.

"I'm sorry," Vlad says softly, "I've not been meaning to ignore you. The gods know that such a thing is impossible even if that had been my intent. But I've been dealing with issues that would have been far less manageable with you around. I need to sort myself out before we can even be in the same zip code, again."

"Yeah?" Danny gets out of bed and shuts his door, "Well, I've been feeling like the only person who has any common ground with me can't stand me anymore. And since he's been refusing to talk to me, or even see me, what else do I have to go on? So, I've been unintentionally starving myself, losing weight, botching my grades and in general just being depressed. Oh, and the neanderthal that's been bullying me for most of my public education told me that he's been picking on me because he likes me, and his communication skills are about on par with yours."

"I-"

"-And, after all the years of humiliation and locker stuffing and fighting and bruises and running for my life, he had the nerve to ask if he had a chance with me, and, I swear to god, don't even ask if I turned him down."

"Uh-"

"-So, here I am, going through the motions of sorting out my own shit and actually trying to figure out what my sexual preferences are, which I sure as hell am not gonna ask my parents, or my sister about, and the only person I feel even remotely safe asking is miles away and has been doing everything he can to not come near me!"

Hey, unloading everything at once worked great on Dash. It should work just as well on Vlad, too, in his mind. They're both idiots to him. The only difference is Vlad is an idiot he actually likes. Plus, this way, he can actually get his words out and get his piece said.

"That is...a lot to unpack," Vlad replies.

"So what the fuck is wrong with you?" Danny asks, nearly huffing for air.

"..."

"Well? Come on! This is one excuse I gotta hear!"

"My ghost half has become sentient. It has gained its own thought processes, its own sense of humor, keeps me up all hours of the day and night by yelling at me, growling at me, picking fights and arguments and, in general, just being a pain in the ass, and it has become very attached to you."

"...oh."

"And I'm apparently growing another set of horns. And a pair of wings are coming down the line, I'm sure. Frankly, the day I don't wake up looking like an oxygen deprived troll is welcome to arrive whenever it likes."

Danny doesn't know how to respond to that.

"I imagine that it might have helped if I'd actually told you that I was dealing with a problem. But I didn't want you to worry."

"I didn't. I worried it was something else, instead, and then I just kind of assumed, because..."

"Because the assumption made was a logical leap in your case, which made it easy to accept."

"...yeah. That."

There comes a sigh over the phone. One of ache. Danny listens to the silence that follows. For several minutes. He soaks up the emotions that Vlad is trying very hard to control. He can almost feel them, himself. For a moment, he wonders if the halfa hung up, and he takes the device away from his ear to look at the screen. The screen shows that the call is still active. Danny thinks Vlad just needed a few breaths. He presses the phone back to his ear.

"It's not a simple issue to solve. Plasmius prefers things its way, as I prefer mine, and at the moment, we're still in disagreement over... You."

"Me?" Danny asks, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"It's been sentient for quite some time, and is less than thrilled with me over the fact that I sent you home. Gargoyles are fussy and territorial creatures, and ghosts have a tendency to cling to things that were of great importance in life. Put them together, and you have Plasmius."

"Is that why you've been staying away?"

"Yes. As far as Plasmius is concerned, a piece of its nest is missing. And consider yourself lucky, because it doesn't seem to like anyone, at the moment. I've had to steer clear of people in general."

Danny...doesn't know how to feel about that. It certainly stirs some things up inside. It tells him that, maybe, just maybe... There's a tenth of an iota of a margin of a chance. He mentally strains to make the calculation. He knows his luck. Maybe he should just put it on the back burner and let it simmer for a while. He wants to ask more, but he's afraid of pushing too hard. On such a sensitive matter, he has enough sense to know not to try his luck.

He's not ignoring his feelings. No. Far from it. He knows what he feels. He knows what he wants. But he also knows how old he is. And, at the very least, that would be an awkward position for Vlad to be in. If it's meant to be, it'll happen. If it doesn't, then he'll adjust. It wouldn't be the first time he's been turned away.

"Sorry," Vlad says gently, "That's probably a bit much for you to process."

Danny stiffens. How can he respond to that? He wants to say that it's fine, that he's not bothered by it. But that will just make the whole conversation even more uncomfortable.

"Daniel?"

"Yeah, I'm here... So, when do you think it'll be safe to be around others, again?"

"With any luck, soon. But I can't say for certain when."

"Oh... Okay." Danny buries the disappointment.

"Put your sister on the phone."

It was a call and conversation that needed to happen. Those words exchanged were months overdue. And Danny learned a lot. All of it fairly important. But above all else? The most crucial thing? It was the end of the conversation that proved the most important.

"Put your sister on the phone" is really code for "Duck and Cover!"

It was going so well! It was a clunky, but otherwise solid conversation that the younger halfa really benefited from, even if Vlad made a point to skip over certain parts. And Danny did feel a lot better. He even went down to the kitchen to eat after he passed the phone back to Jasmine. He inhaled a bowl of his favorite cereal, scarfed two oranges and tore through three ham and cheese sandwiches. He was about to have a second bowl of cereal when his sister came into the kitchen and handed the phone back.

He spent an hour holding it away from his ear while Vlad verbally tore him a new one over his report card.

Chapter Text

Danny thought nothing of the one year mark from the day of his accident. The concept of the anniversary of his partial death was, at best, unconsidered. At worst, thoroughly unwelcome. He ignored the flurry of days going by, in favor of working to correct his grades so as to avoid another course of summer school. Like any sensible teen, living or dead, he'd hated not having the summer to goof off. And so those days leading up to his deathly anniversary were quite busy. Right up until the night before the clock was due to turn over.

He ate dinner, made jokes, helped clean up, soaked up the family movie and laughed some more. Jasmine made him stand on the bathroom scale, was pleased to see that his weight was within an acceptable range, and sent him to bed. He curled up, content and comfortable, and went out like a light...

He woke up freezing.

Danny's eyes shuddered open to see his alarm clock, and he was highly displeased that he was awake a whole thirty minutes early. For all of one second. No sooner had he laid his eyes on the time than did he notice that he was shivering. He struggles upright, straining the muscles in his arms to push himself up and watches cold crystals coat his skin in record time.

"What the..." He fights the clattering of his teeth and inspects his left palm, just in time to watch the ice coat his hand all the way to his fingertips.

"Oh no." His heart beats hard in his chest as he stiffly moves towards the edge of the bed. His limbs fight him every millimeter of the way. He gets there, and falls. Freezing legs tangling in the blankets, he lands with a shout.

"Come on! Move!" He feels robotic, having to limit himself to the simplest movements. And even those are growing more difficult with each passing moment. It takes him five minutes just to get to his feet, arms wrapped around himself in the world's most useless attempt to warm up. Ice coats his toes and climbs up his legs as he does, and a high pitched exhale of air rips out of him as the cold climbs higher, to his stomach and chest. Putting one foot in front of the other proves painful. Bending his limbs accordingly emits the sound of glass cracking. And each new crack hurts worse than the last.

Just as he reaches his door, it opens, revealing a groggy Jasmine. And Jasmine wakes up pretty quickly once she sees her brother.

"Oh my god! Danny!" She reaches for him in panic, only for him to pull away, groaning as a new crack announces, bone deep.

"Don't...touch m-my skin! Just..." Just those words exhaust him, "I need...get m-me to the p-portal!" It hurts, but he gets it out.

"Well, maybe I should call Vl-"

"-No!"

"Danny, look at you! You're turning into an icicle!"

"NO! H-he has a f-f-fire core! I'll-ll o-only hurt h-him! J-just get m-me t-to the portal!"

"But-"

"-NOW!"

It's a battle to get him down two flights of stairs. With his entire body freezing solid, he can't feel those gaps within anymore. Otherwise, he'd float himself down at the very least. By the time they're opening the portal bay doors, he's lost most of his sensation. All that's left is the blinding pain. And the only thing keeping him from screaming in agony was, ironically, the ice itself.

The ugly swirling vortex of green greets them, illuminating their bodies and for a brief moment, the halfa feels relief.

"You can't fly like this! How will you get through?"

"J-just...give...sh-shove."

Jasmine nods in understanding, however terrified and worried she might be, and gives him a full body push into the portal.

It's a gamble, just asking to be thrown through and hope he doesn't fall. But it pays off.

Danny finds himself adrift in the Ghost Zone, its arid purple hues and floating nonsensical materials his only guide. Jazz has given him just enough of a shove that he can drift forward without stopping. So he gathers up what little strength remains and gives a light kick towards the path he wants to go. Something snaps inside, hot pain radiating through the cold. He'd scream if his jaw wasn't frozen shut.

'I just hope I can steer myself in the right direction.'

Having pushed himself out of bed and forced himself upright and down several stairs, all of that effort drained him. Danny's eyes threaten to drift shut the whole way, but he keeps them open. He's tired. He's freezing. He's in unrivalled agony. He suspects that both of his legs are broken. And all of his toes. Possibly even shattered inside. Pure death, in all its finality, freedom and release from this frigid torture seems like an excellent idea. He'd truly welcome it, just to end the pain. It almost seems possible, were it not for the fact that he's awake and aware of what's wrong with him.

"I'm trying to prepare you for the inevitable epiphany that's coming your way. Because once it crosses your path, you'll be begging for an end that will never come."

'I hate it when adults are right,' Danny thinks, eyes searching the Zoneline for those frozen peaks.

...just when it begins to feel as if several hours have passed, that lazing trail of wafting cold catches his senses. He follows it as best as he can until a familiar island of ice and snow comes into view. The halfa's addled consciousness slips away just as he thanks whatever fate, deity or burst of luck that got him there and his eyes all but slam shut.

Danny impacts the fluffy terrain rather gently. A small burst of flakes and crystals flurry about before crowding around him and settling silently.

Frostbite has been waiting. The scans and imaging he took so many months ago allowed him to make calculations. He expected a planned arrival. One that was well-thought out and intentional. Not unannounced and accidental.

The detailed render that Frostbite has been watching, a live simulation of the growth of Danny's core, has been blaring alarms at him for days. When it started, he began watching the Ghost Zone's horizon, if one could even call it that, waiting for the boy to return on Vlad's hip. But the pair never came. The hours he spent eyeing the zoneline grew anxious and worried. The snowbeast became restless with every second, and he was beginning to wonder if he would need to go to the living realm of his own accord.

He wouldn't have to.

What he did have to do was interfere with young beasts full of pride and eager to defend their home.

They all heard the impact, however faint it was. Every ear turned towards its direction, to the outer edge of the Far Frozen border. Frostbite ran for it when he heard it, as did several others with spears. Their youth proves difficult to keep up with, and though he shouts orders to remain calm and essentially ask questions before they stab, his only hope will be to find the crash zone before them.

Nearly half an hour is spent just sifting and stabbing through the snowbound foliage. But Frostbite does find a slight dip in the snow. A depression. Barely noticeable as the loosened snow had settled back down rather well. It's good timing, he realizes, as he digs down through the cold and finds a frozen corpse. Even too his own touch, his own preferences, even to his own nature as a beast of the Far Frozen, he finds the small body far too cold for comfort. Scooping the halfa into his hold as best as he can spurs him back to the settlement. The unnatural, beyond supernatural chill of Danny's body has him shuddering.

He carts the boy past the village square, past every hut and cave and ice wall. As cold as Danny's body is, if his calculations are correct, he's not cold enough. There's enough of a temperature difference between the atmosphere and the halfa's body that the process has halted. He just needs to be properly submerged. Past the training grounds, there's a lake. The surface has been frozen for thousands of years. There's very few who even know that it exists. That water runs beneath the surface. But he knows. And he knows where the weak spots are. He finds one, out in the lake's center, and carefully grasps the frozen body in one arm while he lashes out with the other, clawing at ice and permafrost as hard and as fast as he can.

He doesn't realize he's drawing an audience, nor does he care. The pups and juveniles gather at the lake's outer edge, but never step onto the ice. Were it not so serious of a matter, he might be going slower, slow enough to realize how mad he must appear to have gone.

The surface crackles and breaks after a few moments, forming a jagged opening.

"With any luck, this will be cold enough."

With greater care than he's ever known himself to be capable of, Frostbite lowers the frozen body into the frigid black waters. The temperature is nearly unbearable to him, nearly urging him to pull away. His fur freezes at its touch, chunks of ice forming and weighing him down. But he doesn't stop. He gingerly submerges the boy until all that graces the surface is a frozen face coated in unforgiving crystal. He hesitates there, staring at the strangely hued flesh patterned in snowflakes.

"It's almost over, Snowdrift." and he lets go.

Chapter Text

His only warning is a flash of light that fades into the black depths.

And then...the lake groans.

Frostbite backs away from the gaping maw he tore into the ice as the water beneath begins to glow in a vibrant shade of blue. Water that has not moved in thousands of years rumbles and swirls beneath its frozen cap. It flicks at the underside of the cap's surface, irritating his hearing.

The island gives a threatening shudder, alarming the onlookers that have gathered at the lake's edge. Frostbite pays them no mind. If they remain there, at a distance, they'll be fine. And even he needs to put some distance between himself and the epicenter he carved.

The water changes color, shifting from its blue to the purest white. Reminiscent of fresh snow. The shaking then ceases. Just as he finds a stable moment to rise and make a run for it, as he's become that afraid of whatever is happening, the water settles down. The glow fades.

The cold shocks him awake. Below any temperature he knows, his skin prickles as it floods his senses.

He feels his bones vibrate as the halo appears and splits in half slowly.

Ice coats his skin in a smooth veneer, trapping the chill inside and easily taking over the pain of his legs.

His spine shifts in an odd way.

His legs proceed to fuzz and tingle.

He hears a sickening, deep cracking as the bones inside move, rearranging themselves as the halo passes over them.

The sensation in his toes twists in a foreign way, but movement returns.

His joints loosen. They work.

Panic sets in.

He scrambles in the water as the last of his halfa light passes over his face. Ice creeps up around his neck, over his face, over his ears.

It's all a myriad of strange feelings. Fuzzy and buzzy and prickly and somehow welcome. Even through the panic of being underwater, it feels...right. It feels orderly. Like everything is in place. That said, he wants out of the wet dark.

Silence falls just as quickly and harshly as the noise had begun. Frostbite's core pulses in unsure panic. He hangs off to the side by a few feet, prepared to either give aid, intervene, or run.

A few bubbles of air surface in the quiet.

And then...Danny comes thrashing out of the water, clambering at the edges of the opening for purchase. At least, he thinks it's the boy.

It wears his clothing, its hair is still ghostly white, though it seems to have gotten longer. On his back, just between his shoulder blades, a pair of cold spines jut out, sharp and ugly. What was once tanned skin now glints and shimmers like ice. Tinted blue, crystalline in structure. It, or, he, struggles to get a firm grasp and climb out of the water, shrieking in an unnatural pitch. Frostbite's eyes drift over to his hands, and it's no wonder the poor creature can't get a firm hold to get out. The hands that scratch and scrape and slip across the cap are just as unnatural, both lacking thumbs and the little fingers. What exists, he guesses to be the index, middle, and ring fingers, are slightly elongated and sharpened to a point. No finger pads to grip or gain traction. Just weapons perfectly designed to disembowel.

The shrieking grows louder as the creature fails at every attempt, slipping back into the black water with a splash and a snarl. It just wants out, nothing more. It's lucky that it's not even facing him, or he might instinctively misconstrue it as an attack.

Through the cold, bitter and unforgiving, the scent he's come to recognize as the boy slowly drifts over to him. It's strange, twisted by the form he's taken and rendered sour by fear and frustration. Finally, the youth swings a hand out and downward, puncturing the ice cap and gaining the means to drag himself out of the water. With eagerness, Danny does, pulling himself out along the ice until he's as far away as he can physically manage before collapsing face-down onto the frozen surface. The sharp spines on his back recede back into his body.

Frostbite approaches carefully, not wanting to startle him. Now fully out of the water, he sees two things, one of which that troubles him.

A tail. Long and thin, with two pairs of spines and ending in a demonesque point, equally crystalline as the boy's skin, lays across the icecap. If standing, he imagines it would easily touch the ground. But that's not the problem. He can already think of several ways to hide the tail.

The problem detail is the youth's legs. They're normal, until Frostbite's eyes reach his ankles. There, they morph, thoroughly digitigrade and not too different from the back legs of a fawn. But they're entirely of ice, and they easily add another foot and a half to his height. Hiding a tail is one thing, hiding digitigrade limbs of ice is quite another, unless his human form remains unchanged. Which is important, but first it needs to be ascertained as to whether or not the poor pup can even stand.

"Snowdrift?" Frostbite calls softly.

Danny barely registers the call. His tail flicks once. The snowbeast finally throws caution to the wind and goes to him. As gently as he can, with his fur weighing several additional pounds from being frozen, he manages to get the boy sitting up. His face is obscured by a frozen mask. Only eyes glowing in a strange and cold blue are visible. The snowbeast ignores it.

"Can you get to your feet? Can you stand?" The yeti takes weapons-grade hands into his own to guide him up.

A soft clicking trill emanates. Danny manages to get himself off of the ice cap, relying very heavily on Frostbite for support. He gets vertical, on shaking legs that he's never walked on before. A little niggle in the back of his brain alerts him to balance and his tail curls up at the very end, adjusting his weight. He hobbles a little, worried whines and lilts slipping out as he tries to find his center of gravity again. He finds a slight crouch helps, curving his spine and pulling his hands free from Frostbite's and taking his arms inward. Close to his torso. Careful. Precise. Deliberate.

Frostbite sighs and a small smile forms.

"You're an ice imp. Very rare, Snowdrift."

Danny looks down at the frozen lake where a faint reflections stares back at him.

'Huh... I like it,' Danny thinks. He wants to say it out loud. But the mask is a flush fit. His jaw won't move. Somehow, he's not worried.

"However, the question remains; how does this affect your human form?"

Danny jerks his head up at the yeti. Suddenly aware of himself, aware of his body and the differences, even while they all feel right. A shuddering whine slips out as he looks down at his hands. Lacking two fingers on each, and factoring in the new bend of his legs, he realizes the problem.

"The only way to know is to turn back. But I suggest doing that back in the med lab. Not out here. Your human skin is still human. You might hurt yourself at these temps."

Danny's frame seems to slump at that. Almost a pout.

"Can you walk?"

Danny looks down at his legs, tilting his head in consideration. Something dawns on him while he feels for the muscles and bones beneath; Frostbite can almost see the light bulb above his head.

Danny takes a careful step with his right leg, swaying his tail left to match the transfer of weight. His stance is firm, so he takes another step and his tail sways in the opposite direction. The concept of the rhythm sinks in. He glances up at the yeti before making his way back to the lake's edge. The walking feels...new? As long as he shifts his tail the right way, he'll stay upright. What does it look like? Him walking with his arms tucked in and his spine arched? Tail swaying side to side with each step?

'I need a mirror.'

The crowd they've unintentionally gathered backs away at the sight of Danny and several spears burst from within the ranks, pointing towards him. Danny startles and backs up behind Frostbite with a worried clicking.

"Oh, come now. The pup's been through enough," Frostbite swats a spear away and a path clears.

Chapter Text

Danny's final form took shape relatively quickly. About as quick as the Inexorable.

I knew I wanted something ice based, I knew I wanted something more instinctive and primal, more wild. Once the design worked itself out, I knew I was stuck with it. This is it. No suit.

And trying to label his final form was difficult. There were many pre-existing mythological creatures that were close, but not quite there. Calling him an imp is the best I could do.

.

His legs are a very malleable ice, so they do bend and curve slightly. I debated giving him tiny little hoof prints. I never settled on a decision.

.

I figure, when nervous, he might wrap his tail around his leg, or maybe fidget with it in his hands. It has a good weight to it to counterbalance his ghost form. Very dextrous, he can wrap it around just about anything.

He might even play with it.

.

It can be very sharp if he tenses it up just right. It's also VERY sensitive to touch. That will play a part later, don't worry. 😉

His spines only really show during moments of extreme rage, so they don't appear often.

.

There were also a lot of rough sketches that were never completed.

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Naptime...

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Here's the world's ugliest reference sheet ever.

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And, finally, the big one.

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Bonus, my one attempt at Frostbite so far.

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So! I know the final design is way out of left field from cannon. But I wanted my ice imp/sprite/raptor? I was getting a raptor in there somewhere. He can stand upright, but for walking, raptor movements make more sense for him, physically. And while I really wanted to isolate audio for the sounds he makes, I just couldn't. I could change the sounds to something I could link to, but I got really attached to my original idea and I just can't bring myself to change it. So, sadly and very unhappily, I'm leaving what you hear up to your own imaginations. In this form, he's still fully with it, mentally. It's just that traditional verbal communication is out. So he communicates in other ways. And I might carry over some of the wild characteristics into his human form. I don't know. What do you think?

Chapter Text

Frostbite gets Danny to the med lab without further incident, which is a blessing considering no one in the village knew how to respond to his new form. Danny felt the stares in his core, prickling and scratching at its shielding with his emotions. He's always been the odd one out. It's not new. Unable to speak, he can't say anything to calm them. Not that he imagined there were any words that would. He stuck close to Frostbite, keeping his sounds to a minimum and his impact on the snow slight. He'll need to relearn the sensations in his bones before he can fly, again. But he can worry about that later. Not now, when so many yeti give questioning looks and clutch their spears a little too tightly.

Frostbite had ignored the looks in favor of getting him into the cave and seated on the table.

Danny's tail drapes across the cold metal surface easily, wiggling his spine in a strange way. Not uncomfortable, just new. Feeling the table under it... It's an extension of his spine. But it feels like just another limb. Another part. It is, that's the point. But his brain is having a hard time with it, physically feeling something beneath and behind him when he's not looking at it.

"You can change back, now. It's much warmer in here."

Danny lets the buzz come to him again and feels an absurd amount of relief when his skin softens and the mask is gone. Crystalline flesh melts away to human and he breaths a sigh of near pleasure. A new rattle passes through his spine at the feeling...and he jumps off the table with a shout.

"Are you kidding me?!" he snaps his head around to look.

Frostbite smirks. "It'll be an adjustment, but I expected that."

Danny glares and snatches his tail, colored black like his left fingers, pulling it forward and holding it up towards the yeti.

"How the fuck am I supposed to hide this?! Humans don't have tai- ta- Humans don't have these!"

"Language, pup. There are a few methods. You could keep it in a state of flux between intangible and invisibl-"

"-And spend the next four years torturing myself and falling asleep on my feet because I'm draining my core?"

"You could use an enchantme-"

"-I can't do magic!"

"Or," Frostbite bites, frustrated with Danny's tone, "you could wrap it around your leg and tuck it in under your clothing."

"Tuck it in?! Really?!"

"It would be the easiest in your case. Though it will take a while for you to get used to cloth rubbing against it, it may be your best option."

His tail sways side to side in anger and his pupils thin to glare at the yeti.

"Tuck. It. In." It seems so...undignified? Is he actually feeling offended at the concept? Or is it just frustration with the situation, plus the fact that he can't just let it hang out like a cat because it'll give him away? He feels a spine brush against a leg of the table and shudders in disgust at the contact.

The cold air seeps in, irritating him further. Not because it's cold, but because it's there at all. The breeze from his lashing tail bounces back over it and his lip curls back in a snarl. The noise from outside, words of discomfort and distrust towards his ghostly mutation, judgements rendered without consideration for his suddenly enhanced hearing, pour in past his drums in an unwelcome flash-flood.

Frostbite looks at him in concern, sensing his core vibrating dangerously. Danny's temper roils to the surface and the fern on his arm lights up a vibrant blue. His sclera darken while cyan illuminates and his pupils turn a hot white. His fingers curl into his palms and he opens his throat.

...The shriek cracks the walls and rattles the entire island. Frostbite barely manages to turn away and cover his ears so they don't rupture. Outside, the villagers panic and scatter. The lake groans again. The echo tumbles through the violet zoneline. Drifting doors in its path are blown off course and sent tumbling further into the void.

The violent, unearthly shriek fades. Frostbite looks back. The fern's light has died and while human eyes have returned to normal, they're welling up with tears. Danny slumps to the floor, leaning against a cold metal leg and his tail lays limp across the icey floor. There's no strength in him to actually heave and cry. He just sits there, eyes unfocused, tears streaming down his face, hands twitching sporadically in his lap.

The yeti huffs slightly, but bites back any frustration he might have had, in favor of recognizing the obvious. The boy is young. He's still human, thus hormonal. And, a teenager. His whole world has been upended for a year, now, with very few people in existence to find comfort from. And fewer still who understand what's new, what's changed, what's coming his way. Frostbite just hopes that, aside from the vessel spell's manifestation, the banshee-esque wail is the last of it.

Danny processes very little from there on out. He's vaguely, very distantly aware that he's being lifted up off the floor and carried. "Let's get you home" comes through groggy and faint. He feels fur under his touch and gently grasps it in an attempt to ground himself. Underneath it all, he hears a soft hum from the yeti's chest, thrumming in a steady beat. That's really all that comes through for a long time. Just a steady and consistent pulse to pacify him. Calm him.

His eyes are rather cloudy when Frostbite finally deposits him onto a familiar bed. The water works have dried up by then. The snowbeast is careful when draping a fluffy star print blanket over him, taking extra care to avoid brushing his tail with it too much. It's mid-day, the afternoon sun is blaring through the window uninvited. There's no drapes to draw for darkness, but an old dingy curtain rod does sit at the top of the frame. Frostbite takes another blanket that's fallen onto the floor and hangs it over the rod, cutting off most of the sunlight. The room darkens rather nicely.

He's just neatening the makeshift drapery when he hears a door open behind him. Alerted, he turns around.

Leaning against the doorframe with arms folded is a human. A redhead, slightly taller than the child he's just tucked in. Her eyes are a strange bluish green, but they're clear as crystal. Focused. Aware. Her scent rings a few bells.

"You're awfully gutsy. My parents left less than fifteen minutes ago. They tend to shoot first and not ask questions."

"Well. Perhaps I'm just lucky," Frostbite replies, and then gives a slight bow, "You must be dear Snowdrift's older sibling."

"Jasmine."

"I trust you are the one that set him adrift to my realm?"

"I pushed him. He steered."

"Every contribution, no matter how small, is still counted."

Jasmine glares. "You should go. Before mom and dad come back. I told them and the school he was sick. I've been keeping them away from his room all day and I need a break."

"Mm." Frostbite examines the apparent, semi-lifeless corpse on the bed. "He'll need his rest. It's been quite a day for him."

"I can tell. Go."

He gives her another bow and passes through the ceiling with ease.

"Okay. What happened?" The redhead asks as she sits down on the edge of the bed.

A huge, shaky and shuddering breath escapes Danny's frame. "Oh... My core finished growing... I turn into some sort of ice raptor... Frostbite called it an imp... I have a tail, now..." He doesn't even pick his head up to look at her. He just stares out at nothing.

"What was that last part?" she asks in confusion.

"I have a tail, now."

Jasmine's eyes narrow. "What?"

Danny's eyes drift shut as he takes in another breath, fighting back the urge to cry again. "I. Have. A. Tail. Now. Please, don't make me say it, again."

"O-okay, but-"

"Don't."

Jasmine swallows and sits quietly for a few minutes, trying to process the information. Her leg begins bouncing, her mind flurrying around the last byte of data and trying to cope with it.

Vlad has not been having a good day. He woke up hot and overheated, and feeling like he'd been hit by a truck. From the sound of Plasmius in his head, he was feeling it, too. Moving an arm and reaching for his nightstand takes an entire hour. The muscles inside are enflamed in temperature, wreaking havoc and hell on his nerves. Full body neuropathy. Not exactly what he'd been expecting to wake up to.

"Will you stop moving already?!"

"I need..." Vlad sighs heavily, straining, "I need to check...ugh..."

"I don't need to know how hot it is. It's fucking unbearable."

"Numbers, you cheap Notre Dame menace. I need... Hard... Numbers... Fuck!"

The thermometer he keeps in the top drawer is just inches away. He's almost there! He can see the drawer after he spends fifteen minutes turning his head to the right to look. It's so close!

"Why? It won't change the fact that this-self feels like shit."

"Because," Vlad huffs, "If this core is too hot, then this-self needs to cool down... Fuck, I must be cooked. I'm talking like you."

"Same body, whelp."

Vlad groans. He stops trying to reach for the thermometer. There's no point. If he's running as hot as he thinks he is, he'll just max it out, and that won't help at all.

"You could at least try to be more pleasant."

"Being an embodiment of partial existential denial hardly warrants the traditional pleasantries. Especially when it's this-self this is stuck with."

"And yet...fighting and arguing won't change the situation."

"...misery loves company."

"Oh, fuck you."

There's a tired, heat-exhausted laugh that Vlad barely hears. He almost misses it through the pain. But it does come through. He'd roll his eyes, but that would take effort. Instead, he chooses to lay there and stare at his ceiling. He's in utter agony and without the strength to fight it.

Vlad's head pounds for several hours. He's spent about half of the day completely horizontal when a whisp of red smoke cuts through his throat, frigid, gritty and sharp. He just manages to crane his head towards his door when it frosts over and opens, revealing fractal cold scattering across the wood and carpet and a nine foot snowbeast that raises a brow at the sight of him. Thoroughly heat-sick and not appearing to be improving anytime soon.

"Ah. Just as I suspected. Your core is also-"

"-Matured? Finalized? Finished? Ultimately decided to be a pain in the arse? All of the above? Yes. What do you want?" Vlad sighs and looks back up at his ceiling. It's a lovely ceiling. All dark and gray and stone.

"You're full of shit," Plasmius snarls in his head.

"The boy's core has also matured. I think he could have handled it better, but, considering the circumstances, it could have been a lot worse."

"Daniel has taken everything thrown to him in stride with a grace even I can't hope to match. He's surprisingly...resiliant." Vlad says softly.

Frostbite gives him a look. Eyes colored with anxiety, "The Far Frozen is cracked in multiple places, my lab is structurally unsound, and the boy is to blame."

Vlad blinks. "He cracked the island?"

Frostbite comes over to the bed and lays the back of his ice coated hand across the halfa's forehead. "He is bitter, he is angry, he is overwhelmed, he is fueled by an endless supply of spectral energy, and he has developed a new power. I'm sure even you can see the danger of such a combination."

The cold is both a relief and a stress; Vlad flinches away at the touch.

"I've gotten him home. You'll want to check on the pup at some point, but he'll be fine. How are the two of you doing?"

Vlad inwardly snarls at the question. It's nice that someone else is capable of concern for him. It's certainly been a long time since anyone asked. But the recognition that it's not just him laying in his bed, even though he would argue that it is, and thus addressing the inquiry to both him and the pest in his head, just urks him.

"I'm fine, thank you. Just let my brain overcook and hallucinate in peace, please."

''You're no fun."

''You are not fine. Your core is continuing to rise in temperature, but far too slowly. You need to increase your temperature a bit more before you can return to normal.''

The halfa glares. ''Have you lost your mind?''

''No,'' Frostbite replies calmly, ''the boy had to freeze solid. Logic dictates that you will have to burn.''

''...what?''

The yeti phases a hand into Vlad's chest in search of his core energy, and finds it with relative ease, ''Spontaneous combustion is usually the quickest method, nearly instantaneous, but it's my understanding that human bodies are not prone to reaching such temperatures often, and generally require an external source of ignition."

''What?'' Vlad finds a sudden small burst of energy and attempts to sit upright, only to be pushed back down.

''And since your outer shell is otherwise incombustible, it's best to start the fire from inside.''

''Just what do you think you're doing?!'' the halfa tries to sit up again, only to be pushed flat a second time.

An annoyed huff slips out. ''I'm drawing out any remaining cold to superheat your core. Consider it a rapid non-nuclear meltdown. This will hurt, but it will be quick.''

Vlad doesn't hear much beyond that. Not the words of comfort the beast provides, nor his own rushed ramblings of refusal and preferance to just suffer slowly into the night.

Just his own screaming.

Chapter Text

Vlad takes three days to recover from his meltdown. The process itself had been quick, as Frostbite said it would be. His body had gone molten and his skin cracked on the surface. The bedding and his clothes were both quite ruined, thoroughly reduced to a fine ash. There was some minor damage to the four posters, but nothing severe enough to warrant serious repair or outright replacement. Frostbite had stayed through the whole thing, even assisting in sharing some cold energy to cool Vlad down afterwards.

Several hours are lost in the shower, scrubbing the ash from his skin. Whether the water was hot or cold, soap or no soap, it was a battle. But he managed to get clean, and he redressed into fresh clothing blessedly devoid of brimstone and sulphur.

Once he'd reached a more appropriate temperature, as appropriate as possible considering his condition, Vlad finally glanced at the mirror on his dresser. He found one little change. A small one. An annoying one, however minor.

"Well. That's going to be a challenge," he huffed, "I hate working with enchantments."

Everything was normal, save for a faint overheated hue to his skin that was steadily fading...and Plasmius' horns jutting from his head. Colored black instead of his oxygen-deprived ghostly side, he suspects they'll change color when he changes forms. It's not impossible to deal with, just tiresome.

They spend the next four days in the library sifting through the collection of tomes Vlad has hoarded over the years. Frostbite huffs words of distrust and discomfort at the presence of certain titles, some simply because Vlad, of all people, has them. Others because they still exist or because he knows where they came from and can guess just how the halfa got them.

Vlad ignores it all in favor of digging out a concealment spell, of which there are several. Each one with a different purpose. Magic is not simple. Not universal. One concealment spell does not work on everything. Each one has to be tailored to what needs to be hidden.

They do eventually find one, and with some toggling, wordplay and a few minor...accidents, they manage to narrow the concealment to just his horns. Frostbite locks the enchantment into a ring, allowing Vlad to either hide or reveal his horns at his own discretion. Put simply, wear the ring to conceal, remove it to reveal. It'll spare him the frustration of having to memorize the incantation.

When he finally looks at his reflection again after so many days, in the bathroom mirror and wearing the plain black ring on his right thumb, Vlad sighs in relief. Now, he can go outside. Now, he can go out in public. Now, he can feel just a little normal. Just a pinch.

"This-self lies to itself far too much."

"Stuff it. I'm allowed a little white lie to preserve what remains of my sanity, every now and again."

Plasmius snarls and glowers in a corner.

Vlad sighs. "If for nothing else, I'd like to avoid startling Daniel for the moment. ...please?"

"...for the boy, then."

Danny decides, after taking a few days to process his...to process the changes, that there's really no point in hiding the nonsense from his friends anymore. He genuinely tried to keep it under wraps. But they noticed him in school the next day. He was fidgeting and fussing and shifting around all over the place in his seat.

Initially, they thought it was just anxiety. They were approaching the end of the school year soon. They knew his grades had dropped, and that they were climbing back up. And end of the year meant tests galore. But the behavior stopped whenever he stood up or laid on his front at home, which seemed to be his new preferred position. He was far more jumpy than usual, too. At one point, during lunch, Tucker bumped into him trying to get to the table and Danny yelped, jumped out of his seat and stormed off. He came back later when lunch was almost over and his food had been seized by jocks looking to start a fight, and meekly apologized to Tucker, promising it wasn't his fault. That there was just a lot going on.

From there, Sam suspected the absolute worst. An ugly picture painted itself in her head, and when she pried at Danny for answers, he promised it was nothing like what she was imagining and that he would explain it when he was ready.

One week after his death anniversary, he had enough of the odd looks and called them over to his house. Jasmine watched him fret and worry at the house, bundling movies into his arms, setting up in the living room and then running upstairs to check that the lock on his door still worked. When he started throwing his body weight at it to test durability and timing in case his parents felt the need to bust it down, she grabbed him by the ear and hauled him down the stairs.

"Maybe you should do this somewhere else," Jasmine suggested, "Maybe at the old factory? Mom and dad checked that place for activity already, so they haven't gone back."

The light bulb that went off in his head had practically burst from a power surge. He gave her a hug and bolted out the door, leaving her dizzy and frazzled by the wake of his vortex.

...Danny caught up with his friends about halfway to the factory. By the time he reached them, he had calmed down significantly.

"I thought we were going to your place," Sam said in a confused tone.

"Changed my mind. Way too much security," Danny replied.

Tucker blinked. "Oookay, where to, then?"

"The old factory. It's more...open."

"Open? Half of the roof caved in two years ago. It's open, alright," the goth quipped.

Danny has to physically seize his throat muscles to stop himself from chittering in agreement. He doesn't want them hearing his sounds just yet. But he does smile. "One man's trash is another man's skylight!"

It's easily worth the slap to the back of the head.

The factory is hardly even reminiscent of a factory, anymore. It's empty, the machinery and components were removed and its rooms hollowed out over forty years ago. It may as well be a giant warehouse. With the exception of half of the roof being demoted to flooring, it's still fairly solid.

Tucker kicks a stray piece of metal across the room. "So, you're finally gonna tell us why you've been so nuts, but you brought us to to an abandoned building to do it."

Danny winces at the scraping sound of the scrap running across the floor. It's just a little too much for his ears. Maybe if he were about one hundred feet away, it wouldn't hurt.

"Yeah, well, can't really do this at home. Not safely, anyway. Um..." He looks at them.

They stare back, quizzically. Unsure of where the conversation is headed. Danny wants to start with a lead up. But he figures, clobbering one over the head with the hard facts has worked for him and Vlad pretty well. So far.

"Look, whatever you do, don't freak out."

Sam raises a brow. "Okay..."

"And, don't run away. Please? I promise, I'm not gonna do anything, no one's gonna get hurt, don't panic, don't scream, don't flip, and no pictures or videos. I haven't even asked Vlad about doing this, so, I'm gonna be in enough trouble, as it is."

He doesn't give them time to process anything. He just dips down into his skeleton and lets his instincts do the rest. The cold he keeps inside rushes to the surface of his skin just as the room lights up. Sam and Tucker turn away at the flash. When they look back...

It's hard to recognize him right away. Danny can sense the ambient discomfort and curls his fingers inward to keep them hidden. He manages to stand upright by curling his tail in a half circle on the floor and stiffening the muscles slightly. It's...awkward. He hasn't changed since his fit in the Far Frozen. He hasn't wanted to. He's comfortable in it, the cold, when on the surface, feels like home. But...

"Dude... What are you?" Tucker approaches first, tilting his head slightly in confusion. There's a faint blue aura surrounding Danny's form that Tucker suspects will be more visible in the dark. Danny is also a lot taller, now, so his eyes flow down to examine his legs. "This is gonna sound weird, but, can I...?"

Danny shrugs, not sure what he's asking for. He watches his friend get down on one knee and reach a hand towards his right leg. The tip of Danny's tail gives a nervous twitch.

Without a magnifying lense, Tucker knows he can't see much. But as Danny shifts slightly, altering his weight distribution, he can actually see the ice flex. Almost akin to a fiber mesh, but no air gets through. If he squints hard enough, he can barely see the tiny hexagonal structures of crystal inside. He flicks a finger against the surface and receives a light ting. The sound vibrates through the limb in a weird way, making Danny jerk away slightly.

"Sorry!" Tucker says quickly, "I was just curious! But..." he stands back up, "This is both really weird and really cool at the same time."

"How do you even walk on those?" Sam asks.

Danny visibly perks up. He crouches down like he did in the Far Frozen and lets his tail raise according to what comes naturally to him. He tucks his arms in close, again, because it just feels right. And he starts to walk around. Against the floor, his steps sound like knocking on hollow wood. But it doesn't take anything away from the fact that Tucker is just fascinated by the whole thing. Danny's not sure how to interpret his friend's reaction. It's a good thing he didn't run. But given the nature of the change, he's not exactly ready to decide that everything is fine.

Sam watches on, arms folded and watching his every step. Her face is devoid of reaction or feeling while Tucker starts happily babbling that he has an ice raptor for a friend. Danny, very slowly, very nervously approaches her. Coming to a stop, his tail lowers so he can stand up a little straighter.

"How did this..." she motions towards his whole form, "How'd this happen, exactly?"

Danny changes back. Conversation requires speech. He curls his tail up behind him to keep it off the splintery floor, unintentionally keeping it hidden.

"Um... Do you remember the accident?"

Sam shrugs. "Only that there was an accident. You and Jazz haven't exactly been forthcoming about it."

Danny winces, but takes the stab to heart. "Yeah, uh..." he takes a breath, "Okay. Mom and dad spent, like, three years building a ghost portal, and when they turned it on, it didn't work. I wanted to look at it, it's the only mildly interesting thing they've ever built, so I went inside of it, and, well..."

"Well...?" Sam snarls.

"...well, I found out why it wasn't working."

"They built something that didn't work and it didn't blow up? I gotta hear this one," Tucker joked and sat down on the ground like a kindergartner, bright eyed and eager to learn.

"Dad put in an extra power switch. Which I found while I was in it, and, zap."

Sam raises a brow. "Just... Zap? That's it?"

Danny gives a shaky chuckle. "More like zap, coma, nightmare, coin toss and wake up in Wisconsin with a total stranger that was in college with mom and dad and find out I died halfway and so did he because mom and dad built something else that failed years ago. Uh, that one did explode, by the way."

"Wait, back up," Tucker pauses for a moment, "you died?"

"Only halfway!" Danny answers quickly.

"And how does that work?" Sam asks calmly, but her face is beginning to morph into disbelief, and, faintly, like she's fighting back tears.

Danny gives an exhausted eye roll. "It's very, very annoying. Basically, the time I spent in the coma meant that when I woke up, everything came down on me, kind of all at once. My powers, my ghost form, my core, accidental blizzard... It's a lot. But I just got the whole 'ice raptor' part last week."

"So, why have you been jumping ten feet in the air every day?" Tucker inquires.

"Oh... That. Yeah. That's because of this," he gives a half turn to reveal his black tail, with all of its spines, "I've been keeping it tucked in under my clothes. But it's been a pain in the ass ever since I got it."

That seems to snap Sam out of her funk. She avoids a squeal, but eagerly goes for him, and turns Danny around fully to see. "Now that's cool!" She fusses at the back of Danny's hoodie to see how far up his spine it goes. Danny lets her, glaring off into space. But when her fingers brush against just the edges of the upper pair of spines, he jumps with a shout and pulls away.

"Don't do that! It's sensitive!"

Tucker laughs. At least it all makes some amount of morbid sense, now.

"So," Sam wonders allowed, eyes still locked on the black appendage that's swaying back and forth in agitation, "What about Vlad? I mean, I'm assuming he's the 'total stranger from Wisconsin,' right?"

Danny nods and backs away a little when he feels her start to drift closer.

"Does he have a tail, too?" Tucker asks, fighting back a laugh when Danny has to keep backing up and dodging Sam's curious hands.

"No, he's different."

"What is he?"

"Um..." Danny dodges another grab for his tail while a faint hue of pink comes to his cheeks, "He's gonna be mad enough, already. I don't really think he'd want me to tell you."

The pink darkens to a red and catches Sam's attention.

"You're blushing! Is there something else you're not telling us?" she folds her arms up and glares at him, though there's very little malice in it.

"No!"

"You're gonna tell us, eventually," Tucker comments.

Danny's tail coils around his leg, "Not voluntarily, I'm not!"

Chapter Text

I figured out how to embed a YouTube link! And, boy, I fucking hate it, but I GOT IT!

Feel free to go full screen on the video, it'll be easier to see!

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.

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If anyone remembers, from chapter 24, I didn't do much, but...

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He can still tunnel. I take a sketchbook to work and scribble between patients. It's a little office, and as long as nobody's waiting and my work is done for the moment, it doesn't really bother my boss. She's very sweet.

I will try to get the actual chapter up either Friday or Saturday. I promise, this is not all you're getting this week. 💖💖💖💖💖

Chapter Text

There's a dull ache running through his whole mouth. Pounding and unwelcome. Relentless. So he compensated. Sam and Tucker came over to find Danny had cut one of the decorative wooden posts off the headboard of his bed and was gnawing on it while doing his homework.

"Aw. No tail?" the goth pouts.

Danny turns the hunk of wood in his mouth, "Tucked in," poking his leg once with a finger, "Don't let it out at home."

''Dude, what's with the chew toy?'' Tucker asks, concerned and mortified at the same time.

''My teeth hurt. I know it's weird, but this really hel-owch!'' Danny threw the post down and started fussing at his gums. Sam dumps her bookbag on the floor and rushes over. He really can't fight her when she shoves his hands out of the way because she immediately sees the problem.

''You mean it helps until you get a sliver, right?'' It's taking all of her willpower to not laugh. Tucker bites his tongue and moves to Danny's computer chair. They came over to do homework together, so he started breaking out his assignments for the day.

It's a charming picture, seeing his best friend sitting on the bed with his mouth propped open while Sam uses her long nails to her advantage. It takes a moment, but she does pluck the shred of wood from his flesh.

''Well, if you really need to gnaw on something, I can get you a chew toy that won't chew you,'' the goth says with a light chuckle, ''and by the way, you've got fangs growing in!''

''What?!'' Danny flies off the bed, literally, straight into the bathroom to look in the mirror.

''Not bad,'' he says happily, examining the new growth of his canines that wasn't there last night. He returns to his room to find Sam has pulled out both his and her homework, and Tucker is already four questions ahead. Settling down on his comforters, he starts to reach for the wooden post as he's grabbing his homework. But Sam swipes it away.

''No way, Danny. I am not pulling another sliver out of your mouth. I'll order you a chewigem, okay?'' she looks at the post and sees the significant damage, dents, dings, teeth shaped depressions and missing chunks of wood....

''I'll order three.''

The next morning, Sam runs up to Danny on the way to school and hands him what appears to be a blue, dog tag shaped chunk of rubber on a necklace cord. But it's thick and doesn't bend easily. Danny puts it on and puts the gem in his mouth. The pressure on his jaw as he bites down is an enormous relief and he even sighs happily.

''Feel better? And you won't get a sliver from this.''

Danny nods and grinds the gem back and forth, bringing all sorts of relief. The pain had increased dramatically since yesterday, so it was nice.

''I have two more for you. They're not really meant for fangs, so I figured you would wind up chewing through them,'' Sam chuckles at the intended pun.

Had it not been for the chewigem in his mouth, the pun would have made Danny glare at the goth. It was an awful joke. But in that moment, he didn't care. However, when Sam reached for his bag to put the other two gems into a side pocket, he jerked away and growled. Sam took a step back as she was faced with blackened sclera and bright green eyes, wild and warning.

''I just wanted to put them in your bag for later,'' she cautiously reached forward for a side pouch, maintaining eye contact the whole time. He's never looked at her like that before, never looked wide eyed and alert, never looked so dangerous. She almost expected foam to start forming at his mouth. It's a reminder of how different he is, now. How altered his mind is and how easily he can slip into primal behavior.

Danny watches her, growling lowly, the sound foreign and unearthly, from deep in his chest. His eyes seem to get brighter and wilder. For a brief moment, what with the pearly white teeth and his ghostly irises, the goth is genuinely frightened. But she manages to tuck the chewigems away without loosing her hands. The zipper squeaks, she lets go, and Danny backs away, clutching and shaking his head vigorously.

''Shit! Sam, I'm sorry! I didn't mea-''

''-No, it's okay!'' Sam hesitantly reaches for his face, watching his eyes carefully. There's a flicker of green, then to icey blue, and then they go back to his human cyan. Her hand touches his cheek out of sympathy, and he does his level best to not whine because it hurts that badly. There's a slight twitch in his eyelids, which he can't help. Sam picked up on it and let go.

''Let me know if you go through those. I got the geo tag, so it should last at least a little while.''

The day granted Danny some mercy because there was no quiz or anything from Mr. Lancer, just reviewing and studying for the next one. Which meant the classroom was on a noise scale of seven out of ten. The tag was proving to be rather sturdy, and having some sort of pain relief was the only reason he hadn't lost his mind at the sound level of the room.

He was taking in information slowly, which was more than could be said for the other students. A few jocks were fawning over Princess Paulina and some of the cheerleaders. But he was still managing to study. The notes were crawling into his memory little by little as his teeth worked over the rubber tag. Pressing his teeth into the tag, applying pressure, grinding, feeling the slight textures of its surface as numbers drag on and on, ascending slowly into his brain, he's just starting to understand his work when...

"Mr. Fenton?"

Danny pauses, and hesitantly looks up. He isn't sure what would draw Lancer's attention to him. He's doing his work, and actually getting through it for a change.

"Mr. Fenton, what is in your mouth?"

Danny presses his teeth into the gem harder, just in case.

"It's helping me focus." Not a total lie, but by no means is it the complete truth. It's helping him by taking his mind off the pain, primarily. But his teacher doesn't need to know that.

"Are you a dog, Mr. Fenton?" Lancer folds his arms and glares down at the boy.

Something inside of Danny is riled by the question. He feels challenged. Attacked. With the tag locked firmly between his teeth, he returns a wild expression. Eyes wide and almost glowing, baring his teeth as if to say, 'try me.' But what comes out of his mouth?

"It's helping me focus. Here, look," he jerks an arm up sharply and hands his paper up to the man. So he can see the progress. So he can see that Danny isn't distracting himself. So he can see that Danny isn't just sitting there and accomplishing absolutely nothing. The room quiets down a little, and the halfa can feel people watching.

"I can see that you're working. But your chewing might become a distraction to others."

In response, Danny growls, a low warning, one without living origin, but not so low that Lancer didn't hear it. But he didn't recognize the sound. Unfortunate, really, for if he had, he might have some sense of self preservation.

"I'm working. They aren't," he jabs a thumb back to the cheerleaders, "Why don't you go bug them?" Danny doesn't know where it comes from, doesn't know where the will to challenge his teacher is creeping out of. But he can feel himself winding up. He can feel it in his bones. He's itching for a fight. But who will lash out first? Lancer's left eye twitches a little at the confrontation. At being called out. Because that's what Danny has just done.

"Give me the chew toy, Mr. Fenton."

Danny reaches for the tag, and for a moment the man thinks he's going to hand it over. But Danny moves it to the other side of his mouth and bites down on it again.

"Daniel...I will have you suspended, young man."

Danny folds his arms and grinds his teeth even harder against the textured surface in defiance. He doesn't have anything more to say. At least, not in words.

What comes next comes in a flash. Danny registers a loud clack and a LOT of oral pain. And some yelling. The relief on his jaw is gone. There's a pain in his arm that he tries pulling away from. But it does him little good and the next thing he knows, he's being seated somewhere else. In a hard plastic chair as opposed to a desk. He slouches and a wince takes over. He reaches down towards his chest and breathes a sigh of thanks. He still has the tag...he wants another one. Both sides hurt. Putting the chunk of rubber in his mouth with one hand, he reaches down for his bag with the other. It's not there. What is there is the dull gray carpet of the principal's office. There's words being spoken, but his mind has narrowed down to himself and the ache of his mouth. He gets up from his seat and starts for the door.

"SIT DOWN, MR. FENTON!"

Danny blinks. The tunnel vision is widening. He turns around and sees Principal Ishiyama glaring daggers at him. Shuffling back over to his seat, the halfa sits down. From there, he just keeps quiet. He hears the beeping. Eleven times. A phone. Great. Just what he needed.

The morsel of compromise Vlad gained from Plasmius had a cascading effect he hadn't planned on. Though, he had to admit, it really was for the better. Plasmius seemed to settle down significantly at the first agreement. From there, Vlad has begun to drift into his mindscape regularly to negotiate further. He's yeilding results. He's no longer getting knocked or kicked out of his own head. Two years of screaming, growling, snarling, arguing and bickering and it was all finally coming to an end.

Vlad is seated on a pillow in the library, the ring off and placed on its own miniature cushion, and actively conversing with his other half when his phone rings. The number is foreign to him, but it bears a Minnesota area code. He doesn't usually get too many calls, much less crap-calls. Unintentionally, it renders his usual pleasantries void as he flips the phone open to answer it.

''Who are you and how did you get this number?''

Through a fumbling voice and several stutters, he manages to garner that it's a school calling him. When he presses further, he finds that the call is justified.

''He tried to bite a teacher?!''

Plasmius falls silent in his head while a hurried explanation is prattled into his ear. Vlad finds the sudden lack of noise disturbing.

''Alright,'' he sighs, ''Keep him in the main office. I'll be there shortly."

When he snaps the phone shut, he pinches between his eyes to ease a brand new tension headache setting in. He tries to ponder over what could cause such a response. Why the boy would choose such a reaction in the first place, or what would possess him to think that biting a teacher would be the best course of action to begin with.

''Damn it, Daniel.''

''He's not one for lashing out in such a manner.''

Vlad huffs and puts the ring back on, shuddering when he feels the magic flow into him. He gets to his feet, thoroughly annoyed.

''You had better behave yourself. I'm not convinced you're ready to be around him, but I don't have a choice on this one. And I really don't need your nonsense on top of this.''

Vlad physically feels the calm that eminates from within, as though Plasmius has taken his own seat before a fire. In quiet obediance. It's not a sensation he'll ever get used to. The halfa gets himself presentable as quickly as he can. Using the portal, he's able to traverse the Ghost Zone in about fifteen minutes. His previous record had been thirty. But with his core now fully grown, he's finding he's significantly faster. He has to slow himself down upon reaching the Fenton portal.

The hunk of rubber the youth is actively gnawing on when Vlad steps into the office and sees him sitting just outside the door tells him all he needs to know. And recounting what little information and conversation he's had, he breathes a nervous, shuddering sigh.

"It's a fucking miracle no-one is dead."

"It would appear to me, Mr. Lancer, that Daniel is only mildly at fault, here," Vlad begins.

"His chewing could have been a disturbance to the class. When I asked him to hand the chew toy over, he refused." He folds his arms and puffs out his chest a little, trying to intimidate the other man.

Vlad is unimpressed. "It could have been, yes. But from where I'm standing, the only one being distracted here was you."

"And if it had become a problem for the rest of the class?"

Vlad chooses to remain controlled, even if the man is getting on his nerves.

"Mr. Lancer, through your own admission, the class as a whole was otherwise preoccupied and erring on the side of chaotic. You zeroed in on the only student actually attempting to complete the assignment. What I see here is a failure to maintain order and discipline. You frequently allow a select group of children to practically run wild, and I am very well aware of the breaks you give to your football teams," he stops to breath. To calm both himself and the literal demon living inside of him.

The teacher opens his mouth to protest and Vlad holds up a hand, "I'm not finished. There was a time when Daniel could not even change classes without having to look over his shoulder. Even now, every step he takes through this over-engineered prison is careful and calculated. He took longer routes to avoid problem children, I imagine that, now, he'll use them to avoid being seen by certain teachers. He was going to the back of the lunch line to avoid wearing whatever was on his tray. Now, he might skip lunch all together, just to avoid being pulled aside. He was skipping gym class because it's easier to take the failing grade than suffer the consequences and ridicule of participation. Now, he's going to expect every single adult here to be breathing down his neck whether he's working or not. Frankly, you should consider yourself lucky that he only tried to bite. Had he intended real harm, this conversation would be taking place in the hospital."

"Or the morgue," echoes through his head.

"He was che-"

"-So what?! I'd let him do his schoolwork hanging out of the window like a baboon if I thought it would keep him out of trouble!"

"You're favoring the boy because you, of all people, are his guardian. Just because you're well-off doesn't mean I should be any less hard on him." And the man knows he's struck a nerve because Vlad's lip twitches, trying to curl back into a snarl.

And Vlad, for his part, does not appreciate the dig at his status.

"That's right. I know who you are, and I don't care."

It only strengthens Vlad's resolve. And pisses Plasmius off further.

"I'm favoring him because someone needs to. Someone needs to give him a break. He's done nothing but work himself to the bone to keep his grades up and somehow he's still punished for it. This ridiculousness is why his parents' contacts were replaced with mine," not true, he really doesn't know why, "I know what Daniel is enduring to get his education. His parents don't. Do I approve of him nearly ripping off your fingers? No. Do I approve of him blatantly defying authority? No. Do I think he could have handled this better? Yes. But in this instance, Lancer, you, as the teacher, interfered unnecessarily because something bothered you. You are the adult. You could have chosen to ignore it. You could have done better."

Silence.

It's the best thing Vlad has heard since the phone call. There's some realization dawning on the other's face. Slowly, of course. But it was there. The older halfa has never seen an epiphany take so long.

"I think it would be best if I took Daniel home. Please assemble the homework that was to be assigned from his remaining classes, I'll see that it gets done," he pauses at the look of disdain, "Assemble a week's worth, actually. I'm keeping him home. I don't think you're capable of handling him, right now."

How he managed to get the boy out of the school without incident, considering how wild he's become, he'll never know. He'll never know how the boy recognized an extended arm as direction, as a silent order to leave. They'd walked to the house. And Vlad had allowed the boy to trail behind him to cater to the primal impulses, and the desire to not be the one being hunted. It went against the man's instinct, having to intentionally put himself in a predator's path. He wanted to run. Every fiber of his being was pulled taught the whole walk home and screaming to get away. But if he had, there's a chance he wouldn't have made it. Not in one piece, anyway.

Vlad quietly hangs his coat up on the rack. Danny keeps his eyes trained on him, teeth grinding hard against the tag despite having torn the rubber. It still has some life in it, if only an hour or two, provided he's not too rough. Good thing Sam got him extras. Vlad takes Danny's bag and says nothing, dropping it by the door. He half expected to be pounced by the boy after being apart for so long.

Now, though, as he's treading through the Fenton home as carefully and as quietly as he can, he feels as though he's just a breath away from being attacked. Even Plasmius is nervously lingering in silence.

The younger halfa lingers by the door and watches. Press, grind, press, grind, chew, chew, chew. There's a faint rumble from his stomach, but he's not aware of it. Glancing around, almost suspicious of his environment. Vlad minds every step he takes, going even as far as to intangibly walk right out of his shoes to make less noise as he pads into the kitchen. Hoping for a wall to hide behind, and hoping that if he's out of sight, the teen might settle down.

Danny almost prowls, moving slow and low in a manner the man's never observed before. He seems to study the whole room, examining each corner and quirk with intense focus. It takes several unnerving minutes, but eventually his eyes fall onto the couch. Scented faintly of fabric refresher and ectoplasm, it looks comfortable, too... It's not what his wild mind considers the scent of home, per se, but it'll do. He curls up on the cushions and falls asleep instantly.

Strung out on adrenaline and suddenly having no need for it, Vlad huffs a choked laugh. He hasn't spoken a word or even made a sound since picking Danny up from the school, out of fear of provoking him. Plasmius all but collapses in his head on the library floor, just as wound up as his human counterpart had been. A flood of something akin to relief, but not quite there, overtakes him. He slumps into a chair at the kitchen table, folds his arms, lays his head down and crashes. Hard.

Vlad startles awake to a hand on his shoulder. Jerking upright, he looks up to see Jasmine.

"Miss Fenton. I didn't hear you come in, I'm sorry," he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

She gives a concerned tilt of her head. "I just got home."

The man gives a brief sigh and nods in understanding.

"Where are your parents?"

"They went away for the week. Ghost hunting convention or something. Don't worry, they restocked the kitchen before they left."

Vlad takes a breath, thankful. "Where is Daniel?"

"He's actually asleep...on the couch."

'Thank the Ancients,' he thinks, utterly terrified that he'd just gone to sleep with a feral half ghost in the house. What if he'd heard something and woken up? And felt inclined to hunt it down?

"I'm going to guess you brought him home early. Did something happen?"

Vlad knows there's no way around this discussion. Not that he has the energy to try avoiding it.

"Daniel is teething."

The redhead blinks in confusion. "What?"

"All ghosts develop fangs. Mine came in years ago while in the hospital," he motions for her to sit down at the table and she does, "Human symptoms include fussiness, swollen gums and gum pain, and a slightly increased temperature, among other things. For ghosts, gum pain and extremely heightened irritability, almost dangerously so, and temporary cognitive impairment. His core is focusing so much energy into reshaping his teeth that it's taking away from his mind. At the end of the day, he'll be completely exhausted. Any exertion of energy outside of this process will drain him hard and fast."

"How long will this take?" she asks quietly.

"For a normal ghost, it would take about a month. For me, about a week. With any luck, Daniel will take the same amount of time. He needs to be kept out of school until then. I'm told I was difficult with the nurses," he peers through the kitchen doorway to examine the collapsed halfa on the couch, "Daniel is dangerous like this. He's more wild than I would've ever expected, which could just be from the fire of youth. But it's unwise to mix clueless children and narrow-minded teachers in with this."

"So, when I asked if something happened..."

"He tried to compensate and deal with it himself, and nearly ripped off a teacher's fingers."

Jasmine stares with wide eyes at the older halfa. "And you want to keep him here?! With me?! What do I do if he becomes too much to handle?! What do I do if mom and dad come home early?!"

All very real concerns, he knows this. There's a great amount of risk in just leaving the boy alone with his friends and sister. They don't know how to handle a teething ghost, they've never had to. Much less a teething halfa.

"I'm not going to leave him here! I'm not an idiot! I'd like to just stay in town and keep him in Polter Heights for the week, but I wasn't sure if you would let me," Vlad says.

"No! Please! Take him!" Jazz nearly yells, "If mom and dad find out-"

"-I know. I'll let him rest for the moment. He'll go back with me later tonight." It has the intended affect; Jasmine's concern, or rather, her fear, settles down.

She takes a calming breath, "How did you even get here if you were out of state?"

"I flew. I have a portal of my own. They're connected. In a way. I can get anywhere in the world where there's another doorway, especially here. Speaking of which... Why does the school have my phone number?"

The redhead stiffens and he glares at her.

"I just thought it would be better. For Danny. Just in case anything ever went wrong. Mom and dad are much better, now, but there's some things they just don't understand. Ducking fistfights in the hallways is one of them. ...I guess I should have asked, first."

"Yes, you should have," he replies, and earns a wince, "That said, the initiative was well taken. Just don't give it out, again.''

It eases the vast bulk of the tension.

...Jasmine ends up cooking a light dinner for the two of them since Danny continues to sleep. Initially, she'd stressed over him skipping a meal and wanted to get food into him.

''They're your fingers,'' Vlad had told her.

It was enough to keep her from shaking him awake.

They lingered in the kitchen for a while afterwards. When the first yawn creeped up on her, Vlad called for a car. Danny had burned through enough energy between attempting to bite a teacher and stalking Vlad the whole walk home that he was still asleep when the halfa deemed it time to relocate him. By some miracle, Danny slept through it all. From being lifted off the couch to being tucked into bed.

Vlad hasn't needed to use the house much since the summer program, and never used it prior to even hearing of the accident on the evening news. It was an angry purchase made in a somewhat drunken haze. When he realized he'd bought it, he simply shrugged it off and continued to pay the taxes on it, thinking it might come in handy some day.

He'd never expected to actually use it. Much less, use it to contain a feral ghost.

After turning the lights out in Danny's room, Vlad retreats to his own for the night. He curls up under the blankets, too tired to change out of his clothing. When his head hits the pillow, his eyes slide shut with ease. It wasn't a long day. But the current dose of adrenaline has finally run out...

...there's a faint pattering in the back of his dreamscape that doesn't belong. It wakes him up. Pulling him out of the relatively calm conversation he's having with his other side, Vlad opens his eyes to peer into the dark. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes and unsure of why he's awake. Looking around yields no information, other than that it's still dark outside. Glancing down at his watch reveals it's a little after three a.m. and he sighs in frustration.

''Why the hell am I up?''

A soft, rapid succession of steps out in the hallway catches his attention.

Something is in the house with them.

As quietly as he can, the halfa dislodges himself from the plush bedding and pads his way across the bedroom to the door. He nudges it open as slow as possible. It all goes against his better judgement. There's a voice screaming at him to just go back to bed and ignore it. Go to sleep. Stay away. But it's beaten into submission by the need to know what is in the house. What has the guts to enter his territory. Or who. Poking his head out cautiously reveals a dark corridor.

Across the way, Danny's door hangs slightly ajar. Which is not how he left it. He goes to the door, and is just about to reach for the knob when a growling mass impacts him and knocks him to the floor. He throws an arm up to knock his attacker off, only to shout in surprised agony when the flesh becomes lodged in a snarling mouth.

Vlad is met with vibrant green eyes aglow in the dark. Pupils thinned to a hair and blackened sclera glare back without recognition. Even in the dark, Vlad can see enough to know who it is.

Danny continues growling lowly, wet warmth runs down under the older halfa's arm, and the stench of salted iron fills the air.

"You little shit."

Teeth sink further into his arm in response, making him wince more.

"Daniel," his tone warning, "let go."

A strange chitter resounds and the wild halfa, from the depths in his core. It's new to Vlad. It's not a sound he's ever associated with the boy. The muscles in his arm are screaming and seizing at the assault, and the vibration from those foreign noises isn't helping. His nerves misfire and his fingers jerk and twitch, tugging on fraying tendons and causing more pain.

"Alright, fine."

The dark of the hallway is turned to a blinding, bright pink. A charge of electricity, and distinctly not what Vlad wanted to use but had no choice, sends Danny backwards with a yelp. The hall darkens. The boy crouches low on the floor, whining and shifting his lower jaw around. Vlad manages to get to his feet and looks on, watching him fuss at his cheeks and click a slightly swollen tongue. The whines fluctuate while Vlad flexes the muscles in his arm to urge his healing abilities to kick in.

He's sufficiently singed the perimeter of the wounds black, but he's also cauterized them. The blood flow has stopped. Which is a good thing.

Danny settles on the floor like a schoolchild, continuing to poke and prod at the sides of his face with that strange whining. Vlad suspects it's all numb, now. He heaves a sigh as the tension fades. The anxious, wild energy fizzles out, down to an odd ripple here and there. The feeling of danger has passed, and the halfa feels safe enough to approach.

Vlad goes to him and sits down on the floor next to him. The youngling halfa proceeds to crawl into his lap, startling him. And Vlad knows he's not in his right mind. But some basic traits to Danny's personality are still present, even if a little warped by his state. Point of proof, he proceeds to pull at Vlad's arm gently. His eyes, still blackened and glowing green, still feline, examine the damaged flesh. A clicking, low in his throat and muddled slightly by inflammation from the charge he took, tumbles out. A few minutes pass and he looks up at Vlad with a saddened expression.

"Yes, that's from you," he replies softly.

It seems to sink in. Wild as he is, Vlad can tell he's sorry.

Danny leans his head down towards the wounds, and briefly Vlad thinks he's going to take another chomp at the limb. Except, a cold tongue, coated in frost, runs over the openings with strange grace, further easing the ache. When the wounds are fully coated, and a thin layer of ice glimmers under the eerie green glow of his eyes, Danny lets go. He looks back up at him and taps at a cheek smeared with blood, eyes hopeful.

"No," Vlad answers, "Absolutely not. What you need is a TENS unit."

The smaller halfa pouts in response, climbing out of his lap and walking back down to his room.

Vlad waits until the door shuts before rising to his feet. He goes back to his own room, into the bathroom and digs a first aid kit out from under the sink. He cleans the wounds carefully, wipes the bloody trails off with warm water. All the while, the ice remains. The edges are dabbed with Neosporin, just to be safe, and he wraps his arm with gauze. As tight as he can. The pressure from the bandage feels rather nice, and he even squeezes at the area, just until a fleck of pain comes.

It makes him pause. Makes him think. Makes him wonder. Makes his mind wander. Absentmindedly rubbing at the bandage, eyes unfocused. A tiny spark flickers to life inside.

"Interesting."
'Interesting.'

Vlad lets Danny chew on the tags through the day. He curls up on his side on the couch, quietly gnawing on the rubber and lazing the day away, but not really sleeping like he needs to. He doesn't get up for food or water, has no desire to. Even though his stomach growls at him once or twice, it goes unnoticed, and Vlad doesn't force him to eat.

The next morning, the TENS unit arrives. With some prompting, Vlad manages to get him sitting upright long enough to apply the pads. Danny fusses at the weird feeling of the gel sticking to his cheeks. He tries to pry them off, only for his hands to be swatted away when he reached for them.

"You want help, this is help. Leave them alone."

Once the unit was turned on, Danny calmed right down. He visibly relaxed, falling into warm arms with clouded eyes. The black finally left his sclera, his eyes finally dilated, and the green faded back to its usual cyan. As though he's been drugged, all the cords pulled taught by the pain released. Vlad lays him down on the couch once more, and his eyelids fall shut like lead weights.

A throb deep in his arm draws Vlad's hand to it to rub at the gauze. There's still a touch of cold underneath from the ice. Not a terrible feeling, just different.

But, there's peace in the valley, at last.

"Wait until he wakes up and finds out he has a week's worth of homework."

The halfa groans. "He'll take the whole arm."

Chapter Text

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Nerve stimming/testing. Different parts of the tail have different responses.

And please enjoy my terrible rendition of a GameBoy.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

Chapter Text

Waking up to a tail cramping is a miserable sensation.

A pulse of twisted pain jerks Danny awake with a frenzied start. Wound tight around his thigh and seizing, and potentially cutting off circulation to the rest of the limb, Danny scrambles upright and reaches behind himself desperately. He manages to grab his tail right before where it connects to his spine and pulls it free with intangibility. Blood begins flowing down his leg again while his tail kinks, cricks, cracks and snaps in multiple places. Unfurling it slowly causes more popping and he whines at the pain. It occurs to him, as he begins using his hands to massage the appendage...he's never gotten a cramp in his tail before.

"How long was I out?"

Working the muscles a few inches at a time, starting from the tip of his tail and working his way up, Danny looks around. He'd recognize his room in Polter Heights even in blackout conditions. But he doesn't remember how he got here. He vaguely recalls a classroom at stupid volume. And the ache in his jaw, which now held nothing compared to the pain in his tail. Licking his lips to wet them, dry as they are, he feels his tongue grace against two sharp points.

'Oh, yeah. Fangs.' He should probably take a peek in a mirror at some point. However, licking at his teeth to get a better feeling of them dredges up rotting iron and he bites back a slight gag.

"Ugh. Fucking yuck."

He climbs off the bed and goes into the bathroom just off his room. He flicks the light on and promptly turns on the sink. He scoops the water into his mouth and rinses as best as he can.

Spitting the water out, he checks his teeth in the mirror. "Nope, didn't cut my gums. Huh."

There's a piece of off colored, slimy, rotten something caught between his right fang and the first premolar that's just fouling his taste buds. He pries it out and lets it run down the drain. It seems to help with the bloody taste in his mouth.

"Better. Now. How the fuck did I... Wait..."

Danny barely remembers to shut the sink off before bolting down the stairs. The left turn he makes at the base of the stairs and into the kitchen is a sharp one; he nearly loses his footing. Nearly. In his eagerness, he only registers a silhouette at the counter. But it's enough.

"VLAD!" he tackles the older halfa to the floor with frightening speed and strength, and without regard for what his haste. Vlad's head hits the floor rather sharply and he gives a pained grunt.

"Yeah, that's the reaction I expected. Ow," he rubs a hand at the back of his neck. Because invisible is not intangible, his horns took the brunt of the fall, snapping his head forward slightly. There's a dull headache from the impact, but it'll pass. In a few minutes. Vlad finally opens his eyes to look up at the boy.

"Hi."

"You are an absolute terror," he grits.

Danny laughs, very light hearted and genuinely amused. The older halfa decides it's not a bad sound. The menace within him concurs.

Vlad manages to nudge him off so he can get to his feet. As soon as he's vertical, standing upright and ignoring a faint dizzying whirl in his head, Danny's arms wrap around him. As tight as they can, resting his forehead on a warm chest and just content to soak up the heat of Vlad's core.

It stuns the man. In fact, it outright paralyzes him. For one, the physical interaction is foreign. He's held Danny before, yes. Whining, crying, sniveling, sniffling, barely coping with new and sudden changes. He's carried him freshly drained from training, carried him weakened from misinterpreted rejection. Vlad has held his hands, ruffled his hair, coddled, cradled and nurtured. But to his own cognitive memory, as far back as he can go, he himself has never been on the receiving of any embrace. His experience with touch is minimal. The state's systems were unkind to him, its workers and homes even less so. He's spent the vast bulk of his life keeping people as far from him as he can, as a result. It's very strange to him, having anyone voluntarily interact with him, and without ill intent.

For another, Danny has grown since Vlad last saw him. He hasn't had the time to notice the difference, too focused on tiptoeing around a feral youngling halfa to actually notice the halfa himself. Danny no longer strains to reach past his waist. Now, he's just tall enough to rest his forehead over a heart that barely beats. And a sense of regret spawns. Not from him, but from deep within as he nervously returns the hug. He hears quiet chitters and whines as Plasmius deflates in recognition of its own behavior.

Initially bent on being the one to have the final say and give orders, in two years, it never stopped long enough to clue in to the cautious actions and responses Vlad preferred. It had been so wrapped up in recovering a lost piece of its nest that it didn't stop to wonder why the nest was incomplete in the first place. And there were two reasons.

One, Plasmius' very manifestation was ugly and violent. It had come screaming out of the ether, claws and fangs out and tearing at the very fabric of Vlad's mind for a place of its own. Thrashing about like a child without discipline and thoroughly uninterested in sharing a space with that which it spawned from. All it has ever done is fight and argue.

A beast of seething anger and denial with a mind of its own is a monster that most could never hope to control. Had things played out any differently, Plasmius would've been an outright danger to the boy.

Two, out of fear of causing mental and emotional anguish, Vlad resisted filing for custody.

Running him through the legal process would have forced Danny to choose between someone he barely knew at the time and flawed parents he's known all his life. Comfort with a stranger or agony with a familiar. It would have put Danny in the spotlight and put him through utter hell. No matter the decision, no matter which way he might have chosen, in that set up, someone would have been hurt. Danny is already far too delicate, and the very idea that he'd be forced to make a decision and then live with the knowledge that someone would be broken by it, well... Whatever the amount of pain caused, Danny's own would easily double. Vlad relinquished control and sent him home because he didn't want to put him in that kind of position. It even charred his heart further, having to remove Danny from an environment in which he thrived and send him back to a parental wreckage, all because the alternative path would have been far worse.

If it had come down to it, and something had happened that would have made it absolutely necessary, then, and only then, would he have taken such measures.

What would, what could and what should or shouldn't be...Vlad saw the lines in the sand and did not move. Plasmius didn't, and Vlad has spent two years holding it back by the eternal chain that binds them.

There's a quiet little rumble inside. Of defeat. Slouching low and pouting.

"You're warm," is mumbled into his sternum.

Vlad laughs. "Considering my core runs at one thousand degrees these days, I should certainly hope so."

"Mm."

Something shifts and wraps around the older halfa's thighs. It confuses him and he stops focusing on sharing his energy.

"What the..." He manages a glance down at his side. It takes him a moment to process what he sees. The grip is tightened, along with the boy's arms as he's set on keeping as close as possible.

"Daniel," he calls softly, "when did you get a tail?"

The teenager stiffens in his hold and his tail unwraps itself. He pulls away, putting a few feet between them and clutching the appendage in his hands with visible discomfort. Self-conscious? Or afraid? It's difficult to decide if it's one or the other. Danny fidgets a bit, fussing his fingers about the black flesh in a nervous response.

"Last year," he answers. He releases his grasp and starts wringing his fingers, while his tail wraps around his left wrist. Another reflex.

"I'm not judging, I promise. But," he leans forward a little, glancing down at the accessory before looking back up to its owner, "may I have a look?"

Danny is mortified. He's spent so much time and effort keeping it from view and out of the way that he never thought about Vlad finding out. It's not that he doesn't trust Vlad. Logically, he knows, the man was bound to find out at some point, anyway. But ever since he got his tail, he's been having a hard time.

The youth digs down for that brave face everyone says is needed once in a while. He looks up at the other halfa...and just can't do it. Instead, his tail disappears, turning invisible, and he looks away.

A tiny voice inside kicks up a fuss. 'Talk to him.'

Danny gulps.

"Jazz stares at it," he nearly whispers, "and at me. A lot. I feel like I'm some sort of exhibit at the zoo," his voice rises just a little, "I like having it. I can always tell what the temp is outside. And how humid it is. It's pretty strong, too. It's useful. I guess. Jazz just doesn't know what to do with it."

Jasmine still hasn't fully adjusted to him having such an anatomical change, and after a whole year of feeling like he's on display, he doubts she ever will. He started tucking it in at home to keep his parents from finding out, but now he keeps it hidden because her eyes are always on it. And on him. Sam and Tucker don't seem to be bothered by it. They make the odd joke or two here and there, but mostly don't pay it any mind. Like seeing someone wearing glasses. It's become normal to them. While that's a pretty hefty consolation, the discomfort from being the exotic center of attention seems to outweigh the ease he feels when he's with his friends. No one else even knows he has a tail. He's already aware of the freak of nature that he is. His own sister, however unintentionally, reminds him of it whenever he forgets himself, just as he's forgotten himself here.

He likes his other form. He like his tail. He likes what he sees in his reflections. Yet, for some reason...

Between the two of them, it's Plasmius that picks up on it, first.

"Take off the ring.''

Vlad blinks. 'What?'

''The ring, idiot. Take it off,'' Plasmius snarls.

The halfa looks down at the black metal band around his thumb.

'I don't see how-"

"-Think. When was the last time this-self looked in the mirror or went outside without the ring on?"

He's kept the ring on because it allows him to be seen in public. He can go out without drawing attention. Get fresh air. Go to a store. See a movie, if he so chose. All things that he does still do, however rare, even in his reclusiveness. And though he's loathe to admit it, there's just a pinch of not fully accepting his form mixed in there, as well. Concealment magic is a wonderful thing and it allows him to appear human at all times. But it's an option, he realizes, that Danny doesn't have. The youngling has had to traipse through his world looking as human as he possibly can while being constantly aware that one false move will give him away.

Perhaps, revealing that he's also hiding a significant change may garner favor. And possibly foster some sense of unity. He doesn't even realize he's removing the ring until he's already looking at it on the table, glinting in the kitchen light.

The atmosphere of the room changes.

The rattling anxiety is gone. Where it was once a warbling array of blue negativity and turquoise insecurity, fascination and curiosity colored in golds and and pinks bombards him. Danny's cyan irises are alight to match and the tight clutch of invisibility on his wrist is lost, allowing his tail to be seen as it releases from a scrawny wrist to wag behind him like an overzealous retriever.

"Be careful, they're very sharp."

Danny finds that, the question, "May I look?" turns out to be incomplete. "May I look?" actually means "Can you please sit on the kitchen table while I poke and prod and study because this is the most fascinating thing ever!"

Vlad is gentle with his touch. Resurrecting the softness he'd used to dredge Danny back up into the waking world two years ago, he's careful to not apply too much pressure with his hands. Danny restrains his whines of boredom in favor of just letting Vlad's inner scientist come out.

And, fair is fair.

Vlad let him touch and fuss and fawn over his horns for a good half hour. Feeling the hardened bone and accidentally pricking a thumb on the end of one, marveling at how they jutted out from his skull, wondering about the added weight, asking if they affected his sleep at night. Even asking what would happen if one were cracked or broken. It was only right to plop himself on the kitchen table in return and allow his tail to be fidgeted with.

But where as Vlad's horns are largely without nerves or blood flow, thus lacking significant sensation, Danny's tail is practically one very long, very exposed nerve. A slight touch in certain spots makes it twitch in a random direction, to varying degrees. Like a cat. The flesh, as black as the boy's left fingers, is soft. Just as human skin. Perfectly smooth, without a single blemish. Pressing with his fingers alerts him to bone. Several bones. Small bones. He can barely find where one piece ends and another begins.

'I want an X-Ray.'

"You said you have a decent amount of strength with this?" Because he can't feel much within the structure apart from bone. And he wants to feel the spines next. Really, he wants to know as much as possible.

Danny jerks a little at a prod, "Yeah, why?"

"How much strength?"

Another poke makes Danny's spine tingle in an awkward way. Vlad watches as the tail pulls free from his grasp and slowly wraps itself around both of his wrists. The show of dexterity is so mesmerizing that it's all he can focus on. Until his whole body is yanked forward, onto the table, arms pulled taught in front of him, and he's laying on his chest next to the youth and the edge of the table is digging painfully into his hips. It stuns him enough that he looks up at the teen.

Danny glares down at him, "plenty," and his tail unfurls from the other's wrists. Its a small show of strength. Truth be told, Danny hasn't really desired to find out what his limits are. He finds out as he goes, just what he can do with such an appendage, but has yet to really put it to the test. But he gets the feeling that he could probably drag Vlad by his wrists down a road without breaking a sweat, because that little exertion felt like nothing. Something he makes a note of for later. Who knows if he'll need it.

"Well," Vlad stands and straightens himself out, "that is certainly..."

'Not what I was expecting.'
"Not what I was expecting."

The article flicks lightly against the table's surface, tapping audibly. Almost rhythmically. Even though the younger halfa is doing his best to not appear agitated, Vlad is not stupid. Vlad has a cat. He's seen this type of lashing before. But, like any cat owner, there are moments of apparent chosen Darwinism. Vlad sits back down behind him, and Danny reluctantly curls his tail backward, giving it back up for observation.

Without touching, "You mentioned you can detect the temperature, as well? How accurate?"

Danny gives a tiny smirk that Vlad doesn't see, he's a little proud of himself, "I'm usually on the nose. I do it through the spines. I found out pretty quickly. There was one night that was really bad, and I was under my usual nest. I found out that if I let just the last two spines out, I can cool off and keep cool, no matter how hot it is under the blankets."

"Really, now?" Vlad cradles that section of tail in his palm, "That's certainly more useful than cooking off my own blood alcohol content."

He moves his hand further up to just under the first pair, "what about the other two?"

The youth shrugs. "Unless it's cramped up, nothing. Honestly, sometimes, it's like I can't feel the first set."

That makes Vlad raise a brow. He gently presses against the appendage in different spots. Where the end of it would jerk and twitch constantly, this far up the spine, it almost seems dead. Danny doesn't even fuss at the contact. It's almost as though he doesn't notice. Which Vlad finds mildly concerning.

"There's definitely a lack of response, but if the nerves were really pinched off or damaged, you wouldn't feel anything anywhere else, either. So, clearly, something is working."

Danny gives a half hearted nod. The logic seems sound.

"It's possible the nerves need a different type of stimulation. May I try something?"

The boy looks back at him, "Sure. Don't feel much that high up, anyway."

Vlad nods and starts working his fingers over the surface of the appendage slowly. He's trying to work the thin layer of muscles that he knows are there. By moving them around, even manually, he's hoping to trigger something. Anything. Any reaction at all. Danny sits in a calm silence.

Nothing happens, so he variates the pressure applied. Even presses harder. But, to no avail.

''This doesn't make any sense. You move it, which implies sensation, yet you have none. Hm.''

Danny lets him think aloud. He's never tried to do much with his tail. Once he was stuck with it, he never devoted much time to studying it. He's been too busy trying to keep it hidden at home and too fixated on choosing what clothes would hide it best or how tight he could tolerate it wrapped around his leg before his toes started to tingle. Learning exactly how his tail works fell pretty low on the list of priorities, as a result.

Suddenly, a jolt catches his attention and his spine straightens.

''You felt that. Good."

Danny twists around to look, ''What was that?!''

Another small charge snaps him about face, his spine practically as straight as a rod. HIs tail doesn't lash or twitch, but Vlad considers it a decent reaction.

''That was a moderate charge. I'm trying to stimulate your nerves electrically. I don't have the propper stim equipment on hand, and the TENS unit doesn't emit this high of a charge. So I'm doing it myself. I'm not thrilled that it's taking this much, but at least it's working.''

A third jolt comes, a little higher, by an inch at most. It frizzles its way up into Danny's spine, and...

'Oh,' the teen thinks, 'That's different.'

''Just tell me if it starts to hurt, alright?''

''...okay."

Vlad makes his way up, little by little. By increments of half an inch. The charges work their way along the same path as the third one had. Weaving through the same network of nerves. It doesn't hurt, at all. Far from it. The closer they get, the more concentrated they seem. The more he feels.

Three inches from human vertebrae and their path twists downard. As if a pressure point, pure concentrated energy stimulates...a little too well.

...a little too...nicely.

It actually feels...

Vlad is alerted by a full body tremor and Danny suddenly slapping a hand over his own mouth to keep quiet.

''If this hurts, just say so, and I'll stop.''

Danny shakes his head. His skin colors a faint pink that is quickly reddening. Vlad doesn't notice.

''Alright, then.''

Another jolt half an inch up has Danny biting down on his tongue, his palm glued to his mouth.

That one felt really good. It really did feel like some sort pressure point was being triggered. In a good way. So good that he realizes he's developing a rather significant problem.

He feels warm hands shift a smidgen further, feels them move along his skin as if it were an arm or a leg, clear and precise. He can pinpoint exactly where along his extended spine those hands sit, and makes a decision.

Just when he senses a fresh buildup of energy approaching,

''SHOW AND TELL'S OVER!'' and he bolts from the table, out of the kitchen, and runs up the stairs.

Leaving Vlad at the table in a confused silence.

''What did I do?''

"Just how dense are you?"

"What?"

"...nevermind."

Chapter Text

He needs to kill this now.

Danny bursts into his room and slams the door shut, locks it with shaking hands and darts into the bathroom. He locks that door, too. The back of his mind knows that traditional physical locks are pointless when considering their abilities. But he doesn't hear or pay attention to it. He just needs to put distance between himself and Vlad. And Vlad is not like his parents. He won't just burst in without reason.

Danny yanks his shirt off, dumps it on the floor and clambers into the tub. Shoes and jeans still on, he doesn't care. He cranks the shower knob and waits until it's as hot as it can go...and bites back a shout when the water contacts his lower back. It warms until it's scalding his skin, turning it a vibrant red. His tail spasms and jerks in random directions to get away from the heat. It plays hell on his instincts, intentionally causing pain to himself. He'd absolutely prefer to handle this issue the way nature intended. Just not in Vlad's house, and certainly not while Vlad is home.

But despite the searing pain, the driving force behind this impromptu half clothed shower refuses to wane. As much as he wants it to. Biting his tongue to avoid making sound, a shaking, reddened hand turns the water to cold. His screaming muscles ease and relax. The cooler stream soothes the burn and his tail settles down. The scald fades as he heals. He slumps onto the floor of the bathtub, on his side, allowing his body to recover from the burn. All the while, his problem persists.

Laying there, he thinks. Long and...just long. About how to handle himself. He's not exactly quiet when he has a moment to do this sort of thing. He needs the ability to keep his mouth shut. Normally, he has a roll of duct tape that he keeps under his bed to cover holes in his ceiling, and it frequently pulls double duty. It hurts to remove; he always splits a lip open. However, it works. That said, he doesn't have access to tape right now. And for him, he gets the best results if he uses both hands.

'What am I supposed to use to...'

Danny rights himself, into a more adequate position. Leaning against the back of the tub, cold water still raining down on him, soaking his jeans and shoes through, a red tint covers his cheeks. The fact that he needs to do this and do it now, he's going to do it here, and how he's going to do it...

The dexterity of his tail has come into question many times, but has come under observation very little. Sam and Tucker wondered and inquired repeatedly about what else it could be used for, other than holding his balance in ghost form. He'd made a point of refusing any experiments Tucker drew up, content to just take his time and learn as he went. After all, he has forever to learn, quite literally. But this is the first time he'll by trying something with it. A whole year of just wrapping it around his leg and now he wants to put it to use.

The idea seems absurd. If it works, and he likes it, he can do this hands free, whenever he wants. Danny nervously undoes the zipper, still aware of Vlad's presence in the house, and...

Oh. That's...

'Not a terrible thought.'

He's never allowed his mind to stray this far, before. Always trying to keep it in control, even as he admits to having and accepting certain thoughts and ideas. Eager to try this particular thought out, and at the same time desperate to deal with the situation as quickly as possible, he quickly reaches in and takes his member in hand. Gently pulling it free from the confines of drenched clothing, he ignores the precum smearing along the inside of his boxers. Pays no mind to the stray drops that streak on the denim.

His breath hitches ever so slightly at the sensation of his own touch and rough wet fabric rubbing against his shaft. But he bites his tongue before he can make any further audible sound. His tail, having fallen over the edge of the basin and fully recovered from its burns, gives a nervous twitch to match his own uncertainty. The flushed red hue about his face seems to spread and warmth trickles down his spine, directly into his groin and then out as another thick drop of pre that falls all too effortlessly. Stroking slowly, as carefully as he can to avoid ending things too soon, he strays a thumb up to the tip to gather the healthy amount of precum and coats his entire shaft. The water raining down on him eases the path rather nicely.

When Danny thinks he's slick enough, he lets go and grabs his tail, shudders at the contact, and quickly coils it around his cock before he can have even a glimmer of a second thought. The muscles within the appendage flex and jerk in protest and 'This is the best idea I've ever had!' careens through his brain at breakneck speed. The bind is easily tight enough to get results, turning his member an even darker shade of red than he's ever had, yet loose enough to buck upwards and have his tail do all of the work.

Thick globs of pre weep free from his slit, sluggishly dripping down and slicking up the way even more. He has to bite down on a knuckle to prevent his voice from slipping out, though he has every reason to let it out. His teeth gnaw into his right index and a fang breaks the skin as he ruts in and out of the grasp of his tail. His spine tenses as he braces his weight against the back of the tub to avoid slipping down. The pattering water of the shower head adds a strange rhythm and a welcome touch, striking the angry head of his cock just right.

The shower also muffles the sound of him bucking into a slippery coil, and adds the necessary white noise for his brain to wander that much further. His head drops against the edge of the tub while his finger remains trapped in his jaw, his eyes drift shut, and his mind decides it's no longer his tail wrapped so tightly around his cock, but a hand. Larger, warmer, alternating between tanned and teal. Claws and no claws. Soft vulgar words pour into his eardrums, but really, it's his neocortex and thalamus whispering those vile, sweet nothings that get him to cant his hips upward more.

Filthy promises and praises, words even he would never use, but wouldn't mind hearing from him...

His mind erases the bathroom as a whole and places him in a warm lap he'd give his left arm to crawl into. Danny can practically feel the broader chest behind him. Maybe a few stray charges of energy to surprise and stun would tangle through his limbs, just to keep him too weak to fight if he wanted...

Though it's a lot, it should be more than enough to shove him over the edge, he wants more.

Danny breaks the fantasy to look back down at the absolutely glorious appendage he's never been so grateful for in the entire year he's had it as he uses one hand to keep the opposing index in his mouth, and blood drips down his torso has his eyes fall on the end of his tail. Wrapping around himself as he had, he gave himself four loops to work with, and yet was left with so much more. He wants to reach down and touch. To prod at his slit and push in just the end of his finger, in the way he's always loved to do. But he knows that if he opens his mouth now, the sounds he'll unleash will never be lived down. So he curls the end of his tail down, stiffens the muscles and digs in.

It does the trick.

Overstimulated in a whole new way, the shower beating down on him, the pain in his finger, skin burned and healed and overheated, the touch of his tail wrapped around an aching cock and just a little shallow stimulation of his urethra, it's finally enough. His spine arcs off the back of tub and he sees white and catches a glimpse of his brain all at once. Cum bursts out around his tail tip. His nerves short out, causing him to thrust up into his tail in short, pathetic bursts, forcing the tip shallowly in and out of his urethral passage with the seizing coils working to milk him dry. His cortex offers a few more vulgarities in a smooth baritone that he'd kill to hear for real before the extension of his spine can't do it anymore.

He collapses, dead weight, as his tail unfurls from his spent cock, falling hard onto the floor of the bathtub. It jerks sporadically, matching the twitching of his quickly softening member.

...Danny doesn't know how he retains consciousness. But he does. He manages to get to his feet, legs wobbling like a newborn foal and a full tremor shaking his frame. He barely manages to turn the water off before staggering out into his room to put on dry clothing. Jeans that are drenched beyond reason are apparently difficult to remove. So he walks right out of them, phasing out of them, his boxers and his socks and sneakers. He goes to his dresser and pulls out a pair of black sweatpants and a blue t-shirt, gets them on as quick as he can.

Wringing the excess water out of what he'd been wearing proved difficult, but not impossible, and he's able to deposit his clothes into a hamper. He knows Vlad's going to ask. But he doesn't care. He's just had the best climax of his life. He can handle whatever the older halfa asks. Instead of going back downstairs, though, he realizes he's a little tired. Just a little, and he flops onto his bed like a rock.

There's a gentle knock on his door a few minutes later. Danny gives a half hearted grunt of acknowledgement and it opens. He doesn't roll over to look. He doesn't exactly need to.

"You showered."

"I needed it," he utters.

"You were in there a while."

"Don't preach to me about wasting water," Danny retorts softly, "Only Sam gets to do that, and I hate it when she does."

"You changed clothes," the man observes.

"I was in the same clothing for a week."

"You're barefoot."

"Shoes got wet."

"Why did your shoes get wet?"

"I showered."

"Why were you wearing sneakers in the shower?"

"I forgot."

"You forg-" Vlad looks in the direction of the bathroom, "I don't smell any soap or shampoo."

"Didn't need it," Danny grunts.

"You're being a little snippy."

"I'm sixteen."

"What aren't you telling me?" Vlad presses.

"Nothing. Stim worked, I can feel. Happy?"

"Did I hurt you?"

Unprepared for that question, Danny curls into a nervous ball.

"Daniel?"

"No, you didn't," he gets out, intent on not showing his face.

Vlad's eyes travel lower. "Are you sure? You're red from ear to tail."

Danny quickly snatches the pillow he's resting his head on and pulls it over his head to cover his ears. At the same time, his tail tucks in between his legs to hide from view, as much as possible. The reaction earns a raised brow from Vlad.

"Leave it alone, human."

"I wasn't asking you," Vlad bites softly, "Daniel, please don't spare my feelings. If I caused you pain, I need to know."

From under the pillow, "You didn't hurt me, okay?! I'm fine! The stim trick worked, I can feel it! I just needed a shower!"

"Don't push it."

"Shut it. Daniel, are you alright?"

Danny tenses. Because his first desire is to scream at the man. His second is to confess. His third is to drop hints instead, since it seems his object of sudden obsession has the capacity of a walnut. Especially when considering all of the little details. But as much as he really favors one and three, he opts for number four; deflective truth.

"I'm fine," he grits out, "it didn't... It doesn't hurt, I'm just really, really tired."

'Why enunciate 'hurt?' And you slept for a week! How could you possibly be exhausted?!'

A low snicker resonates through his skull. Vlad ignores it.

"Well, whatever has you in a funk, I'm afraid I actually have some rather upsetting news for you."

One side of the pillow lifts ever so slightly, revealing an ear to hear better. "What?"

"Fair warning, if I really didn't hurt you before, it'll certainly hurt now."

"What is it?" Danny growls.

"Well, as much as it pains me to say it, you have a week's worth of homework to do, it all needs to be turned in tomorrow, it's 3:38 in the afternoon, your parents are due back from their trip around 5:30, and your sister would like you home by 5."

...Vlad barely dodges the pillow that goes flying by his head. And despite what Danny might take away from the situation, it's the time constraint that prompts Vlad to help the boy cheat his way through the stack. Not his temper. Just this once. Vlad informs him as such when he finally coaxes him out of his bed and down the stairs.

Vlad leads him to many of the answers far more quickly, though on some questions he does force the teen to think. Danny seems to catch on rather well on his own, however, and they complete the pile with a few minutes to spare. The pencil in Danny's hand rolls across the table and he sits up with a stretch just as Vlad's phone rings.

"That'll be your sister hounding me to get you home. Go put your shoes on."

"But they're still wet!" Danny whines.

"You should have thought of that before you decided to shower on one brain cell. Go," Vlad points out to the foyer and flips the phone open.

Danny groans but does as he's told.

Chapter Text

Allowing his mind to run wild in the heat of arousal, while extremely pleasurable, also has the upside of forcing Danny to face reality.

He's drawn to Vlad. Almost irresistibly so. He wants Vlad to stay. He wants Vlad in the picture for as long as existence will allow. Logically, he knows he's a bit young to be thinking so far ahead. But putting Frostbite's words up for reanalysis drags his mind out of the gutter, and himself out of bed on several nights to wander the town in thought. Just like tonight.

As he pushes the blankets aside and pulls on the star-printed hoodie he's slowly been growing into, he quietly descends the stairs with his steps nearly a series of whispers and phases through the front door. Snow and blessed cold greet him the moment he's outside. Both welcoming, both almost silent. The pavement is just as frigid and wet beneath bare feet as the first inch of dust slowly begins to accumulate. He barely makes a sound turning down the walk. A desirable lack of effect, since it's after midnight.

It's a lot to come to terms with, knowing he wants someone to be there indefinitely. Danny's eyes peer out into the dark, glowing in a strange blend of cyan and green. He examines everything around him as he walks. The buildings and signs, the park benches and manicured grass, the roads and sidewalks. Listening to the world offers a car engine here and there, some late night chatter and pets running around in the dawning of their witching hour.

...it'll all be gone, one day. No more shops and corner stores, the benches will fall apart and decay, the grass will grow wild, trees will engulf everything he can lay his eyes on. He knows it really only takes about five years for nature to move back in to where man once was. It'll be decades before that happens, of course. Maybe even centuries. Humans linger where they like for eons. The city will continue to grow over time. But only until there's no more need. Real estate will run out. Facades of brick and concrete will crumble. Water will dry up. Land will crack and shed into the wind.

Danny's heart flutters and he stares as the world around him just seems to rapidly wither away. Everything falls over, turning to dust and dirt and blowing away. Even the animals are stripped from the earth with horrific screams, petrified to bone and erasing from the land.

When he finally blinks, it's dark out. The street lights loom over him, and the pavement is solid beneath his feet. An overwhelming sense of loneliness washes over him. Grips him by his core and it doesn't want to let go. He longs for consistency. For things to never change. Just as one spends their formative years near a place they visit every day and it always stays the same, until they have to leave for a while. And when they come back and find everything has changed? That's the feeling he wants to avoid. But, the irony is that change is the only thing that can be relied upon. The fact that everything will change and shift and never be the same way twice, is the only consistency that's granted to humans.

Danny lives a thousand years in a minute.

And it isn't the first time.

The visions variate each time, but the end result is always the same. Nothing remains. Be it flooded with water, frozen over or dry as a desert, no life lingers, and he's alone. It's all driven by his anxiety. His own mind. Deep down, Danny knows this. He knows he's letting his mind run rampant. But it forces him to acknowledge that he's not a lone wolf. As much as he would like to play the tough guy routine, he knows better, and he isn't qualified. He doesn't want to be alone. Having been home for two years now, surrounded by family and friends and questionable classmates, difficult teachers that might supposedly mean well, he's never been more alone before. Because he can no longer relate. To any of them.

The coma, the accident, his injuries, those are relatable. There's support groups and therapy for those. His very existence, however, which is locked in place and will outlast time itself...

''You and I are unique. There are no other beings like us. This condition, Daniel, is permanent. Under normal circumstances, ghosts do eventually fade. But...''

''We're not normal.''

"...no."

Danny slowly makes his way through the streets, really just walking in one large circle, repeating those words in his head. Over, and over, and over again.

He stirs his thoughts around in a toxic soup of anxiety and dread for a few days, becoming silent and unresponsive. Thoroughly uninterested in the world around him. However, he makes sure to eat. Partially because he knows he needs the nutrients and has a habit of falling off his feed rather hard, but predominantly because he doesn't want anyone else to know that something is wrong with him. They wouldn't understand it. They wouldn't be able grasp his situation. The comforts humans give at the bitter end of the day only extend up to death. Nothing beyond death can be offered. There are promises of various heavens and paradise, but Danny has always felt that such promises are made for the singular purpose of easing the last hours. And since he'll never experience that final moment so many have both dreaded and welcomed, what is he supposed to tell himself?

"Accept it and move on?" It's what comes to mind first, and he absolutely fucking hates it.

"Life is full of disappointments?" No shit, Sherlock.

"That's the way the cookie crumbles?" Danny has the urge to punch someone.

It's an ugly crisis to have, and Vlad had warned him it was coming. Danny just didn't think it would hit him so early.

It all comes to a head the day before his birthday. He hadn't really been paying attention to the calendar in his dismal stupor, but he knew he had a birthday coming. Even so, the knock on the door confuses him, not expecting any visitors. Sam and Tucker have planned a day for him that will get him and his brooding out of the house. He doesn't really want to go, but his hyper-awareness of the clock ticking away tells him he should. Make the memories now, while he still can. The grey cloud over his head darkens a little more. Thinking it to be them, he reaches for the doorknob.

He opens the door to find Vlad on the other side of it, holding two items wrapped in a simple paper.

Danny blinks at the sight. Once, twice, thrice...

"Oh yeah. Seventeen. I forgot."

"I didn't," Vlad quips, and passes the gifts to the teen.

Danny takes them with some hesitation, not really ready to face the date just yet. Unsure of himself, he places them on the couch. Vlad enters and gives the space a cursory glance. Low level inspection. It's still in order, though a few picture frames are tilted and the rack of blueprints is only slightly messy. He'll excuse the minor disarray. His eyes then fall on Danny, who is staring at the gifts. He's shedding ugly blue waves of depression and a red streak of anger, here and there.

Otherwise unmoving, and distinctly, rather unnaturally quiet. Not the usual slouch of rejection, the ice core inside burns bright and frigid, Vlad senses that it's much more deeply rooted in the mind.

"Daniel?" he calls softly.

Danny gulps and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Can we go for a walk?"

Vlad tilts his head and a faint chitter echoes in his head.

"I don't see why not, are you alright?"

Something inside of Danny screams, 'Don't. Lie.'

He finally looks to the older halfa, "Not really."

They go outside and slowly meander down the sidewalk, starting on the same path Danny's been using for a while. Vlad stays at his side, silent. They turn a corner and continue with Vlad letting him lead. The elder resists speaking, trying to give the youngling time to find his words. The energy pouring off of the youth is an ugly shade of blue, growing thicker and more smothering. But Vlad tolerates it.

They cross over to a park, quiet and unoccupied. They seem to be the only two people crazy enough to be wandering about outside during a December afternoon in Minnesota. Danny drags a finger against the edge of a bench, casting a thin layer of frost all along the path he traces.

"You're stalling." It slips out before Vlad can stop himself.

But Danny takes it in stride.

"How do you deal with it?"

Vlad's eyes narrow. "Deal with what?"

"The whole 'eternal life/stuck here forever/doomed to watch it all fall down' part of things? I mean, the whole point behind life is it's temporary. Enjoy what you have while you have it. Leave the world better than when you found it. That sort of crap. But what's the point if it goes on forever? What's the point in doing anything or trying for something if there's no end? No deadline? How do you deal with having no point in life?"

'Oh boy.'

"Rather early for this, isn't it?"

'Far too early. I thought I still had a few years.'

Vlad takes a deep breath, weighing his words. He steps closer to the younger halfa, and takes his hand.

"When I consider our state, I am reminded of a story," he leads the teen into a series of steps, with rhythm.

A slight shade of pink crosses Danny's face and the blue waves of depression falter. He looks up at the man.

"Two beings are conversing. One is mortal, the other, eternal. The eternal one has amassed a bounty of knowledge studying the mortal world, and has observed that, despite having all that could ever be required in life, this particular mortal he communes with constantly wants more. And the eternal one simply can't understand it. He demands to know why. Why, what more could such a short-lived being possibly need? What does this apparent insatiable greed lead to? What is the purpose behind it? What is the mortal's purpose? Why does he keep going? Why do any mortals keep going?"

"This is sounding familiar," Danny voices.

"Hush. This is important. The mortal determines, having already figured out his own role in existence, that the eternal is really asking what its own purpose is."

"I know this from somewhere," Danny muses, as he's led into a turn while Vlad holds their hands high.

"The mortal explains that though he knows his time is limited, and that, in time, his name will be lost, he keeps going. To observe as much as he can. But the eternal will never fail. He will stand by, throughout all of time, learning. Watching. Witnessing all the failures and plights of man, all that shall fall, all that shall rise, and change and temper and grow. The eternal questions the mortal if that is truly its purpose, to be nothing more than a witness."

It clicks in Danny's head, however solemnly. "...'We create our own purpose, now go make yours...'"

Vlad nods.

"But... That's not really an answer, though."

"Yes, it is. The actual point of our existence? The reason we are to live this way? Never age? Never whither away to a plume of dust? Never know the feeling of pleading for our lives in that final, heart-wrenching hour? Simply put, there is no point."

The dance he's wound the teen into halts and Danny looks up at him, eyes void of emotion.

"Realistically, our living forever serves no benefit. But, the point of existence and one's purpose in life are two different things. The fact that the eternal will roam the world forever has no reason behind it. No bearing. But what you do with that eternity, that's something else, entirely. Personally, to me, to be a chronicler to all that shall be, to hold and maintain a record of everything, even once there's nothing left, to be able to say that something has indeed happened, to be able to say 'I remember...' That, in its own right, is a gift."

"How..." Danny pauses, "just how is that a gift?"

Vlad smiles. "Nothing is ever truly gone until it is forgotten. It's why we keep the toys we don't play with, anymore. Why we reread books we've outgrown, and why we keep photos on the wall, even after those faces are gone. And my task, I think, is to chronicle two journeys."

Danny gives a confused tilt of his head.

"One is the journey of man itself, in all of its splendor and failure, and the other...is yours."

The younger halfa blinks. "Why me?"

"Well, there are two reasons. One, because if I don't, and you forget, you'll never forgive yourself. If you woke up today, and couldn't remember the names and faces of your friends, but could still remember that they were of great importance to you, how would you feel?"

Danny pulls his hand free and his eyes drift away. It's a hell of a question to be asked, and a situation he would've never imagined himself enduring. Because it would be torture. To know that he should know something, and know that that something is so important, but he just can't remember? No matter how much he wanted to? No matter how much he pleaded for the memory to come back and pulled at his hair and beat his head into the nearest hard surface? And he can picture himself doing just that, calling out to the world for the answers he's lost and not getting them, and caving in his own skull over and over on an endless cycle.

"I think I'd break," he answers quietly.

Vlad nods. "Exactly."

"What's the other reason?"

"Your sister might respawn from the ether and come after me."

Danny thinks about it, "Yeah, I guess that's a good reason."

Vlad chuckles. "Do you feel better, now?"

The youth shrugs. "I guess? I don't know. It all still seems like one big load of shit."

Vlad winces at the crass language, "You'll understand, eventually. In time, you'll also decide what you wish to do with your eternity. Now, can we please go back? I may have a fire core, but my skin is still capable of becoming frostbitten."

Danny gives a slight nod and they start back towards his house.

"So... Does this mean you're not going to leave?"

"Daniel, even if i wanted to, where would I go?"

"Well, they say Mars is lovely at this time of year."

It pulls a laugh out of the man, one that, Danny finds, calms his heart and warms him up inside. Just a little. He packs the sound away in his mind for later use.

"No. I don't intend to leave," Vlad answers, "Did you want me to le-"

"-NO! No! I just...wanted to be sure," Danny makes a point of putting a few steps in ahead of him.

An odd behavior, Vlad thinks, with the awkward movement and the blushing and dodging of questions. It's a simple question, to him. What could possibly warrant such a reaction?

"Okay. This has gone on long enough."

Vlad blinks once in surprise, but before he can voice any confusion, unforgiving talons sink into his shoulders.

"We need to talk."

Chapter Text

The quiet *paff* behind him confuses Danny. He's set to ignore it, except that, quite promptly, no steps follow it. And there's a distinct lack of heartbeat. He turns around in confusion, to find Vlad on his back in the snow, silent as a rock.

"Vlad!"

Danny rushes to him. Dropping to his knees, Danny cradles his head gently with one hand and feels for a pulse with the other. Before slapping himself in the forehead because, duh, they're both dead and don't actually need their hearts to beat. And calling an ambulance is completely out because the EMT's will just declare Vlad dead, and, thank-you, but they both know already. Danny looks around, frantic, looking for someone that can help...before he slaps himself again, because anyone that comes to help is just going to call an ambulance and they're both aware that they're dead, already!

The absurdity and the inconvenience of it all is just ridiculous.

"Damn it!" Danny huffs a breath of air and proceeds to haul Vlad up off the ground, pulling an arm over his shoulder to help before turning them both invisible and lifts off the ground carefully and, shockingly, rather easily. His own strength surprises him. He's never once considered being able to carry the other halfa, let alone across across town, and in the air. But he supposes it's a good thing.

Danny carts the unconscious halfa all the way back to his house, puffing curses and obscenities towards their condition the whole way.

He tumbles to the library floor like a lead weight. The carpet, though plush, is flat and does nothing to cushion his fall. But he stands up quickly, fangs bared and temper flared.

'Are you out of your mind?! In broad daylight?! In front of Daniel?! Do you have any idea what that's going to look like?!' He can only imagine the look on the teen's face, seeing him laid out across the sidewalk.

But Plasmius has taken a very human stance, one arm crossed over its torso and is rubbing at its forehead as if it were suffering a headache. It throws Vlad off guard, seeing it in such a position. Plasmius has always glowered and loomed and perched, has only occasionally sat before the fire like a mildly civilized neanderthal. Never has it looked so...normal.

"Of all the entities to spawn within, you have got to be the dumbest, densest, most dimwitted, possibly most impotent twit in existence."

Vlad's left eye twitches. 'You dragged me in here, when I'm outside, in the middle of the day, in public, in front of Daniel...to insult me?'

"I dragged you in here because your obliviousness has gotten too painful to tolerate. It was never endearing to begin with. I have listened to you wonder and question certain behaviors for too long and I just can't stand it, anymore."

Vlad blinks, '...what?'

Plasmius snarls lowly, "The boy."

'What about him?'

The gargoyle begins circling him. "I would ask what it's like in that tiny mind of yours, but I'm already in it. So, I'll ask something else."

Vlad turns with each of the gargoyle's steps, keeping it in full view at all times. An instinct rooted in deep mistrust, even with the progress they've made.

"Tell me," the monster hunches down slightly to take advantage of its height and loom, "If a dog were to hump your leg, would you even notice?"

Vlad's lip curls back in mild disgust, 'What kind of a question is that?!'

"A valid one. You see, you have something of a conundrum. You've had it for at least a year."

'...what do yo-'

"-You have a rather bright eyed, beautiful young thing practically foaming at the mouth and all but attached to your hip, nearly of age and ready to just fall into your lap. And if you're not careful, he'll likely fall into someone else's lap."

Vlad feels his heart seize in his chest, feels it in real time, and is unsure of how to handle it.

Plasmius glares down at him as he circles, "You haven't noticed because you've been too busy coddling him. Any other minimally living being worth the blood in their veins would have. Now, while you have been too wrapped up in your own mess, I have had ample time to put plenty of consideration into the matter. And I have decided that I would very much prefer it if the only one he presents to is us."

Vlad's eyes drift astray to the side and cloud, mulling the words over. He stops following the gargoyle's movements. To him, the concept itself is genuinely, entirely new. Solely devoting his efforts to simply getting the youth through his formative years as a halfa, he never stopped to consider what those changes would mean. What might come with them. And, credit where it's due, Frostbite did warn him. But he'd been too fixated on Danny's age and being offended at the suggestion to think any further at the time.

All that said, the idea itself, now in the present, does not seem without merit. It would be nice, he supposes, to have someone in the manor indefinitely. Someone to look after, to curl up with, and argue and bicker. A hand to hold, a shoulder to lean on. But...

'With Daniel... That's...'

Plasmius grins. The shackle connecting them begins to glow, bright and vibrant. The chain shortens by a few links as he leans in behind his human counterpart, to his ear...

"Consider him a prize, if you'd like. A reward for enduring so much. An amenable restitution for the pain and suffering. In simpler terms, you'd be stealing him from the banes of our existence. To flaunt, to have and to hold..."

'To keep...'

"To claim in every way..."

'...he's still a child.'

"And, chronologically, when compared to this-self, he always will be. ...he will need a sure hand to keep his temper in line."

'He's a biter, which will be problematic with his fuze.'

"And that bite never fully faded. He is...half feral, at random, for unknown intervals of time, which is always fun to temper and rein in."

'I doubt his mind could cope with anything you might suggest,' Vlad says quietly, fully aware of what Plasmius is leading to.

"Oh, come now," Plasmius straightens and comes around to face him directly, and there's a strange poison in the smile on its face as it reaches a clawed hand forward and gently tilts Vlad's chin up.

.

"We both know how this works. This mind may be irreparably cleaved in twain, but many of our thoughts and ideas remain the same. And you may think of him as something innocent and fragile, but I'm telling you that deflowering him will merely be a delicious formality. He'll be stuck in the body of a hormonal adolescent, after all..."

'And the fire of youth must be knotted to be tamed.'
"And the fire of youth must be knotted to be tamed."

Plasmius gives a toothy grin.

'What if he chooses someone else?' Vlad asks warily.

Plasmius throws its head back in roaring laughter. "And suffer the agony of burying mortal lovers left and right? Please," it wipes a tear from its eye, "While he is remarkably durable, we both sincerely doubt he has the wherewithal to withstand centennial funerals. Thus, he does not have the luxury of choice".

Vlad's fangs drop and his hands curl into fists, 'I will not make him a prisoner in my house,' his eyes redden into a glare, 'He is too delicate, too special, and, if that is your attitude towards him, then he is too good for something like you.'

The gargoyle chuckles. "We don't need to hold him prisoner. His very existence is doing that for us."

Vlad winces. 'So long as you realize he's not property.'

The fireplace turns red, bathing them and the room in a horrid glow and a hand lashes out. Gripping Vlad's jaw as tight as he can...

"Perhaps I'm not being clear...if he winds up in anyone else's bed, beneath anyone else, presenting himself to anyone else, human or otherwise, living or dead, I will pull you in and bury you so far down in the mindscape that you'll never find your way out. Do not fuck this up. Understand?"

Vlad gives a nervous nod.

"We do not want to own him. Owning him would mean restraining him. And such a creature should never be held captive. No. What I want... What we want..."

'Is to be the one to ruin him.'
"Is to be the one to ruin him."

Vlad decides he's getting really tired of that smile. Plasmius lets him pull away.

'Are we finished?'

''Not quite..."

Danny seats Vlad on the couch as gently as he can, taking great care to avoid causing him any injury. He takes a moment to move the gifts he'd brought to the table, preferring to push them aside and open them later. He then manages to lay Vlad down on the cushions. Personally, Danny always found the couch much more comfortable when stretched out rather than sitting on it. He figures it'll be more comfortable for Vlad, too.

He fusses until there's nothing left to fuss at. Making sure to provide a decent pillow, pushing silver strands of hair out of the way, phasing off his coat and hanging it up, turning off lights to prevent an instant headache upon waking. Danny paces and fidgets with his fingers. He lets his tail hang free and sway behind him. It brushes against the coffee table in his pacing, but he's slowly becoming used to the contact.

"Okay. I've got Vlad in my house. Mom and Dad don't know he's here. Mom and Dad are out. They're gonna be out until two o'clock in the morning. I have no clue what I'm doing, I have no clue what's wrong, and there's nobody I can talk to. I could talk to Frostbite, but that means flying, and I still can't fly in my ghost form. Wait... How long has it been since I last flew? I mean, other than today? When was the last time I went ghost and just flew?"

His stomach rumbles at him, but it goes unnoticed.

"And I can't talk to Frostbite anyway, because I cracked the Far Frozen the last time I was there! Damn it, what the hell am I supposed to do?!"

''I want to meet him.''

Vlad blinks, 'You...what?'

''You heard me.''

Vlad chokes on a laugh of disbelief. 'Why?!' he gestures to the room around them, 'You have access to all of my memories! Why would you wan-why would you need to meet him?!'

A scowl forms on the gargoyle's face. ''One, my view through a neuron is typically dingy at best. Two, they are your memories. I would prefer to have my own. Being stuck in here, all I tend to be graced with is sound and a few flashing images of the world around you. Three, the mindscape is not exactly what one would refer to as picturesque. Especially yours.'

Vlad rolls his eyes.

''And four...'' the scowl melts away to something predatory, ''call me whatever term you wish, but I'd like to personally see just what it is we'll be bedding in relatively short order.''

The implications have Vlad's mind reeling and whirling, painting pictures of normally deathstruck skin turned heated and hued in red. Hands tangle in silken sheets with pleas for mercy echoing faintly in the background. Possibly even trapped between two bodies. He turns his back towards the monster, unwilling to let his true nature be seen.

''And let's not forget about the first present.''

Vlad stiffens. The mate to his journal. His writings on the younger halfa. All of his observations. All of his scans and readings, right from the beginning, Frostbite's imaging, every change they've undergone as a result of their state, and crude drawings of the final change still to come... All neatly compiled into one unit, for easy reading.

''As soon as he lays his eyes on the pages of the vessel spell, well, I expect he'll be a bit wary of it for a while. But once it sinks in... I get the feeling he'll be dying to try it. It was in your plans to divulge the truth of that matter before the spell manifests, was it not?"

Vlad gulps but refuses to turn around, even folding his arms and proceeding to gnaw on his thumbnail. Footsteps approach him from behind. He feels the monster lean in towards his ear again and he tenses up even further.

"Or, have you never considered having a playmate?"

'I... My needs tend to break what I touch. My partners never last the night.'

"Oh... Too much for the humans, are we?"

'...'

"As I said. No one needs to be held prisoner. The nature of our existence does that for us," a clawed hand gently lands on his shoulder, "We won't break him. Not unless he asks for it."

It earns a shudder from the human half, and the gargoyle smirks.

"You may go."

A groan catches Danny's attention. He's alerted out of his incessant pacing and is at Vlad's side again, helping him sit up.

Vlad avoids opening his eyes right away, instead he rubs at the back of his head. Concrete covered in snow is still concrete.

Danny looks on for a moment, and then reacts. He's never struck anyone before. But he backhands the man just as he starts to look around and the room echoes with the crack. Vlad is knocked backed down, head landing on the welcome cushioning of the pillow and blinking up at the ceiling.

"Did you just hit me?"

"Yes! For scaring me!" Danny bites, before helping him sit up again, "What the fuck happened?!"

The older halfa shakes his head to ward off the pain. Which proves a mistake as dizziness and nausea wash over him in one fell swoop.

"I was... in counsel. With Plasmius. Ugh. I think you just gave us a concussion."

"Scare me again and I'll give you another one! Do you realize I couldn't even call for help?! I couldn't call an ambulance and I couldn't knock on someone's door!"

"I know, I'm sorry," Vlad looks towards the coffee table, "You didn't open your gifts, yet?"

"No, I didn't open my gifts, yet! I had to drag your dead weight halfway across town! And I didn't know what was wrong with you, and I can't exactly call anyone for help, so I've spent the last few hours going nuts!"

"I get it, I'm sorry," Vlad winces at the volume.

Danny sighs and stands up, "I'm gonna go make something to eat. We can do gifts after," and he stomps off to the kitchen.

"See? I told you. In certain aspects, he's not as fragile as you think."

"Oh, shut up. You've caused enough problems for today."

Chapter Text

The second gift is given first. A weighted blanket, colored in a deep blue. Danny falls in love with it right away, even if he struggles to convey his feelings. Vlad can see the look on his face, so he takes the stuttering without concern.

The other gift, much smaller and significantly lighter in weight, Vlad clutches in his hands for a moment and stares at it. Wrapped in the paper, it's not clear to Danny what it is. But Vlad knows better. And he bites back a nervous sigh as he passes it to the teen.

Danny takes it with care, feeling the contours of the item beneath his fingertips before tearing the paper open.

A black book cover greets him, plain and unmarked. Metal book corners glinting silver reflect in the light. The cover itself is made from a strange material that gives off a faint ethereal glow. He turns the book over once, looking at the back cover and spine for any sort of information. Finding nothing to indicate its contents forces Danny to open it up to the first several pages.

His eyes are bombarded with dates and numbers, labeled as oxygen saturation, blood pressure, beats per minute and rate of respiration. Times are recorded, neat and orderly, akin to a ledger, but reading like a hospital chart. There are small notes scribbled at random in the margins, with lines drawn between them and specific dates.

Ice core, needed boost. BPM now acceptable.

Left hand moved.

Reflexes good today.

No movement today.

Tried turning up the heat, he became distressed.

He turns the page and finds more of the same. Page after page, chart after chart, day after day.

"What is all of this?" Danny looks up at Vlad in confusion.

Vlad's eyes seem to cloud over and he motions for the youth to come over and sit next to him. Danny does, though thoroughly confused. When he's seated, the older halfa gently takes the book.

"When I was enduring my changes, I kept a journal on myself," he turns the pages slowly, moving through numbers, "Every adjustment, every new power, every jab of pain. I wrote all of it down. It was the only way in which I could find reason when there was so little of it to be had. I recorded everything, all the way back to my days in the hospital. I had no visitors, so there was plenty of time to devote to self-study."

Danny winces at 'no visitors.' Vlad notices.

"When you... When I brought you ho-... When I had you transferred to my home in Wisconsin, I started with a common notepad to track everything. It wasn't until after you woke that I moved everything into this. The first quarter of this book is set during your coma," he traces a finger along the edge of a page, "I made notes whenever I saw movement. Whether it was a finger, a hand, your eyelids, sometimes you turned your head on the pillow... I considered any movement to be good movement. So I made note of it."

There's a faint air of nostalgia emanating from him. Danny is unsure of how to interpret it. He doesn't see one being comatose as something to be nostalgic about.

Vlad skips a chunk of pages, clearly knowing the contents, and comes to a page featuring a rough, cartoonish, but proportionally accurate drawing of his ward. Danny tilts his head, examining it. He's been drawn with his left arm extended and a faint squiggly line running the length of the limb. Next to that, a larger, more crisp drawing of the lichtenburg they know to be permanently seared into his skin.

"When you finally came out of it, I was... Well, deep down, I was overjoyed to have you awake. To me, it meant the care I was giving you had worked. That I had done it right and succeeded. There's really no word in the english language to describe how I felt when you woke. Even if you had initially woken up screaming," Vlad swallows, "And then I realized what you were in for. I realized what was coming. All of the emotion and distress, the frustration and anger, the bitterness and headaches, the stress of our state. All piled onto a fourteen year old boy. Which meant that anything positive I felt was pushed aside to focus on getting you through it all. Even now, when you're so close to the end of it, I haven't taken the time to process any of it."

Danny leans against him, resting his head on a warm shoulder, looking on as the pages turned one at a time. Both of them reading at their own paces.

He flew for the first time, today! I was not expecting him to be in the air so soon! It took me three years to-

He's freezing things wherever he rests. I worry about the integrity of my furniture at times, but at least there's no bliz-

Half of the state is buried under ten feet of snow today, and all he did was sneeze at forty-nine thousa-

I didn't account for the portal. I didn't think he'd be so terrified of it, so I wasn't expec-

He gets on with Skulker better than I expected, and Skulker seems to be able to handle him. A good thing, too, as he's frequently too-

Frostbite has given me some useful advice, and some warnings. For one, I need to add raw meat to his di-

"You've been through a lot," Vlad says softly, "More than anyone ever should have to go through. And nearly all of it completely unrelatable. I never really got along with anyone I met, and your parents' distinct lack of remorse and visitation ensured that there was no drive to try. I felt that the world didn't need my presence, so I never really fought with trying to fit back into it. My experiences with it all have made me unable to imagine having what you have with your friends and your sister, and consequently, the agony of trying to go back to normal. And for that, I'm sorry I've been unable to help you. I know my answers today held no comfort."

Danny breathes slow and even, trying to control his emotions. Vlad takes a deep breath.

"That, of course, brings me to this," he pushes another bulk of pages over to what appears to be the final entry, "I promised you that I would tell you of this before you suffered through it."

Vessel Spell reads at the top of the page and is underlined in a dark ink, making Danny sit up. The writing only seems to take up one page. Vlad passes him the book.

"Read. What's in my journal was copied verbatim from the original texts. I've summarized the vast bulk of the original writings down to just this for you. I figured you wouldn't need all of the fanciful chatter. I certainly didn't. But I'll try to answer whatever questions I'm sure you're bound to have."

Danny looks at him in some surprise before Vlad stands and goes into the kitchen. "Your parents are uncultured heathens, but they do have coffee, and I need some. Read."

Danny blinks in his direction before looking back down at the book.

Vessel Spell

Where gender, to the living, is the defining factor to procreation, it simply defines the outer shell of spectral entities.

Procreation among stage two (S2) biologicals, or, spectral life forms, is quite rare. Yet all entities posses the ability. Most are of age upon death, and so the spell is already present upon manifestation. There have been some documented cases, though very few, of beings forming before becoming of age. The age at which S2 bodies must reach to gain the spell seems to variate. Consensus and history show either the year of eighteen or the year of twenty-one. Which age an individual entity must reach is of random determination. And so it is best to monitor for symptoms when approaching one's date of birth.

The manifestation of the spell builds the required organs for giving birth. Regardless of the entity's starting gender-

Danny feels like his eyes are going to pop out of his head and run into oncoming traffic. And the crudely drawn depictions scattering the pages aren't helping.

"Vlaaaad?"

"He didn't get very far at all."

'No, he didn't.'

"Yes, Daniel?"

"Does this part mean what I think it means?"

"Which part?"

"Um...the 'manifestation of the spell builds the required organs for giving birth' part. Is that... Is that serious?"

There's some clattering and clinking from the kitchen and the older halfa re-enters the living room with a steaming mug.

"Yes. The spell, in manifesting, literally grows the organs."

"...this sounds like it might be kind of painful."

Vlad sighs. "It takes about a week to complete, from start to finish, and, yes. It's an absolutely agonizing process. Quite literally because your insides are being rearranged to make room for new parts. It's like forcing extra pieces into a complete puzzle."

Danny physically winces at the description.

"It's absolutely grueling. First thing you'll feel will be akin to cramping, which will steadily get worse over just a few hours. Fever will set in by the next morning. You'll develop an atrocious headache as a result that will make shoving your skull into a wood-chipper seem rather appealing. And, unfortunately, that's just the first twenty-four hours, which will be the easiest."

Danny swallows. "What about the rest of the week?"

"The rest of week will feel like you're already in the wood-chipper along with about 20 boxes of rusted nails, glass, acid and salt. You'll likely crash afterwards and sleep for a week like I did. After that, you'll be perfectly fine. But that's why I want you under my roof when it happens. It might be easier to ride it out with someone there. There will be lots of screaming and cursing, and I tried to disembowel myself when I went through it. I can't trust that you won't try the same."

"And this is happening, whether I want it to or not?"

Vlad gives him a sorrowful look.

Danny gulps again. He's beginning to feel anxious and unsure of the whole thing.

"I'll be there for you when it happens. Don't worry."

Danny gives a faint, jittery nod of thanks. "So... What about female ghosts? Wouldn't they already... Wouldn't they have these parts already?"

Vlad shakes his head. "No. Ghosts are simply shells of their former selves. While there are exceptions, they usually take the overall shape they had in life. That shape does not include what was once within."

Danny wants to nod like he understands, but he doesn't. "But isn't what's inside part of what decides the shape?"

"Think of it this way. Take a box, put a ball in it and close the box. What shape is the ball?"

Danny shrugs out of reflex. "It's a ball. It's round."

"But does the ball being round control the shape of the box?"

"No. Why would it?"

"Exactly. The ball is the inner workings of the ghost, specifically while alive, and the box is the shell. The ghost itself. The ghost does not require the ball to be round or cubic, inflated or flat."

"But... That doesn't make any sense..."

Vlad shrugs. "Makes sense to me."

"Okay, fine. Forget the ball/box thing. Does this mean that... That I would..."

Vlad nods.

"And...you have..."

Another nod.

"So... This means I would have a... What is it called?"

Vlad sits down next to him. "It's called a uterus, Daniel," he takes the book and points to the drawings, "When the spell manifests, it builds a cervix, a uterus, the fallopian tubes and the ovaries."

"But, what about my....stuff?"

Biting back a chuckle takes Herculean effort.

"You'd still have it," the older halfa replies gently, "as you do now. But all of this would be inside. Which is why the spell has two parts: manifestation and activation. Manifestation, the spell grows the necessary organs. Activation, the spell makes the organs accessible. Activating the spell...well...that's when..." Vlad rubs at the back of his neck, "that part's kind of hard to explain."

Danny, red in the face and already barely believing what he's hearing, glares.

"Try me. I'm already being told I'm gonna have girl parts in addition to my junk. So, please. Try me."

"Uh, well..."

Danny folds his arms. "Well?"

"Well, activating the spell would...it would alter part of your external structure."

"Alter it how?"

Vlad sighs, "Activate the spell, and, your junk, as you so eloquently call it, would change to that of a female."

Danny blinks and the color drains from his face. "...what?"

"Oh, it would only be temporary," he taps his figure against a drawing, "Unless, of course, you became pregnant-"

"-What?!"

"-in which case, the spell would have to remain active until you gave birth."

Danny's eyes look like they're ready to fall out of their sockets at any moment.

Plasmius is sitting in a tense silence, afraid of Danny's reaction. Vlad is doing everything he can to not laugh. But in his defense, he's just told a seventeen year old male that he can become pregnant. There's a certain level of absurdity that comes with their existence, Vlad doesn't consider this as part of it. Clearly, by the pale face, dinner-plate eyes and dumbfounded and horrified expression, Danny does.

"I can get pregnant."

Vlad stands and nods, "Not yet, but once the spell manifests, you could. Yes. If you so chose to. As can I."

"I can get pregnant."

Vlad gives another nod, eyes narrowing in confusion. "Yes, but not yet. Did you not hear me?"

"I can get pregnant."

"I believe we've broken the boy."

"I think you're right," the halfa replies softly, "Daniel?"

"I can get pregnant."

"You better fix him or he'll be sitting there all night."

"I know. Daniel?" Vlad sets his mug down and goes to him, waving a hand in front of his face.

"I can get pregnant."

"Broken record."

"Cheap record."

Chapter Text

The very idea of it...

The thought that he could have children...

Never once has Danny ever put thought into having a family. Much less, being the one on the hook for the nine months of grunt work. The want was never there. The desire to have that kind of craziness in his life... If the feeling had existed even briefly, even if it were within his subconscious, his childhood ensured that whatever spark may have flickered was snuffed out with extreme prejudice. Not wanting to carry on the Fenton tradition of going crazy and leaving your relatives behind seems like a solid reason, now that he's thinking about it.

His aunt had disappeared into the woods, away from family and society. Done with her husband, done with her sister's choice of a husband, and done with the apparent genetic insanity. Roughing it in the forest had done his aunt well. And despite all of the improvements made at home, Danny had begun to notice, in the last year or so, how often his parents were leaving the house. Leaving him and Jasmine alone. It felt like they were eager to leave. And Danny had wondered if their leaving was a response to Vlad's warning. If they were leaving under the guise of "If we're not here to fuck it up, then we can't fuck it up." It would certainly make sense. To him, anyway.

But as a result of their behaviors, the idea of having children is spawning several new anxieties...

What if he turns out just like his parents?

What if Vlad turns out like his parents?

What if they both turn out like his parents?

What if they have a family, and they decide they can't take it?

What if they aren't meant for it?

Worst of all, he and Vlad are the only half-ghosts in existence. Is their species even compatible with normal ghosts? Not knowing the answer, wouldn't it be unfair to their child, being born an eternal being and unable to share the joy of a family with anyone else? All because of the accident of their birth?

All around, it seems more and more like a bad idea. The fears and anxieties and possibilities and potential impossibilities just seem to make it more and more pointless. It just stresses Danny out. Ultimately, Danny wraps the journal in an old t-shirt for protection and buries it in the bottom of his closet. It's not the healthiest solution. He finds himself laying awake at night for several hours, staring in the direction of where he knows he's put it. It bothers him. He doesn't want to deal with it.

Danny rolls over after a while, every night, crying out his frustration and stress into his pillow before dreaming nightmares of leaving theoretical offspring behind while he loses his mind or goes galavanting off to who knows where. He dreams himself into his parents' shoes, reliving memories from a parody of their perspective.

He knows he should talk to someone. He just doesn't know who. After a few weeks of wallowing in his own insecurities, which followed the last two, almost three years of headache-inducing anxiety, the decision is made for him.

He crawls into bed one night, and drifts off to sleep a little too easily. Slipping and falling... Down... Down... Down.

The sensation of something looming over him comes with frightening clarity and his eyes snap open abruptly. To face, not his ceiling or the stars scattered about it, but a mask cast entirely of ice. And a pair of blue and white voids for eyes. Long strands of white drape downward while a few frayed ends faintly brush his cheek. And for a moment, he thinks he's gone ghost and looking in a mirror.

"Well, that's it," he breathes, "I've officially gone insane."

The imp floating above him in silence tilts its head before reaching an icy tallon down and taps at his chest. A string of light begins to glow, seemingly already there. A thread, thin and bright, is tied around the imp's finger. Danny follows its path with his eyes to find the other end is tied to his own.

Holding his hand up to look, there seems to be no knot. It simply exists, aglow in a strange shade of blue.

Danny looks up at the creature floating above him, "Please don't tell me I'm gonna spend the next four years arguing with you in the world's most one sided conversation."

It shakes its head silently and turns, floating off in the direction of the hallway. Danny sighs, grateful, until he feels a tug on his finger.

"What the..." He sits up to look and feels another pull on his hand.

"Okay, I'm coming," he takes his time detangling himself from his blankets.

Looking around, he realizes it's not his room in Amity Park, but his room in Wisconsin. And it appeared normal, on the surface. When he went past his door, he found familiar stone lining the walls. Ice coats the floor and snow is piled along the way, shoved up against the stone. He follows the path and finds a familiar turn, into the foyer he misses so much. At least, it looks like the foyer in Wisconsin. But there's a few changes.

First and foremost, it's at least three times the size of what he knows the foyer to be. Second, it's all in that supernatural blue the thread on his finger glows in. And third, there's sculptures of ice scattered about, capturing his most significant moments in time. Save for a few from his childhood, they predominantly cover time after the accident.

Danny skirts around himself in a hospital bed. Avoids himself in the bed Vlad had provided. He tiptoes around himself waking up and flatly ignores his first meal in the kitchen with Vlad and his sister. There's his first flight suspended in the air, his first wobbling steps after waking, the first time he transformed, his conversation with Dash on the park bench, the day he reunited with his friends at Polter Heights, the one year anniversary of his death that had him falling out of his bed and fighting for movement... There's no apparent order to the array.

The imp is circling one in particular, however. Danny approaches with caution as an overwhelming and familiar sense of bitterness clutches his heart. His mother, seated on a couch, while he sits on the floor holding onto a pillow.

"I still hate that moment," he voices softly, "She tried to get out of it."

The creature chitters at him before flying over to another sculpture. Danny follows, to see himself curled up on his bed while his father knocks on his door, holding a bowl in his hand.

"Kind of feels like he tried harder than mom did in that moment."

The imp leads him over to the stairwell, and he ascends it slowly.

"Is there a point to this?" He asks.

A strange keen echoes from up ahead and he sighs, following the sound. Where he expects to turn down another hall, there's actually a door in the way. He recognizes it as the front door to his house. When he pushes it open, he's surrounded by more ice sculptures. Each one depicting an unhappy memory. The first time he was punched in kindergarten. The spelling test he got an 'F' on because the teacher was convinced he'd allowed another student to copy off of him. Every single time he was shoved into a locker by a bully. Every single day he came home with a bruise from a bully and was grounded for getting into a fight. Hundreds of ice carvings featuring him waking up suddenly and violently to an explosion in the basement or his bedroom door being kicked in. Dozens more of him in bed and ducking from a misfire. In the back, the portal. With him and his hand on a panel, mid shock.

Each and every birthday. From as far back as he could remember, up until his sixteenth. More than half of those sculptures simply depicted him sitting at a table with the word 'LATE' carved into the would-be wood. The others showed him holding gifts he really didn't want, and a jagged etching of what he had asked for scratched over his heart.

4 years old: a book about dinosaurs, but there's some sort of home-built radar equipment in his hands.

5 years old: the same book of dinosaurs, but a miniature blaster in his hands.

6 years old: 'LATE' is gouged into the table's surface. The gift is blurry, as is the etching over his heart.

7 years old: Treasure Planet on VHS, but he's holding a book on paranormal research.

8 years old: 'LATE.' He asked for a CD player and headphones. He got clothing.

9 years old: 'LATE,' but a telescope, as depicted on his chest, and a telescope is being handed to him by his aunt.

10 years old: 'LATE' is gouged into the table, and his actual birthday is over his heart. There is no gift.

11 years old: 'LATE,' and 'Gave up asking' is carved over whatever the desired gift was..

12 years old: 'LATE,' but Jasmine is handing him a CD player and headphones. There's nothing etched over his heart.

13 years old: 'LATE.' His chest is blank, anyway.

14 years old: 'LATE.' His chest is blank, anyway.

15 and 16 years old? Two separate sculptures of him and a large, ugly 'X' drawn over his heart. Nothing else.

Above, the moment he transformed into what he knows his ghost form to be hangs midair. Above everything.

Danny bites his tongue to stifle the tears, "Okay, look," he calls out, "Is there actually a reason you're dredging up all of this wondrous joy? Because I stuffed this shit away for a reason."

The imp appears in front of him, standing as straight as its legs will allow. It crosses its arms as it towers over him.

"I don't know what point you're trying to make. This whole room is full of my worst memories. I mean," he looks around, "No kid should ever have to go through this stuff."

The creature perks up a little and unfolds one arm, motioning for Danny to continue.

"No kid should..."

And then it clicks.

"I wouldn't want any kid to go through this. This is fucking insane. No kid should ever go through what I did. Which means the only way to be sure they don't is to make sure they don't. This won't happen again because I won't let it. Even if it all falls apart and Vlad leaves, or fucks up, or decides he can't take it, I will. I can't repeat my parents' mistakes. I won't repeat their mistakes."

The imp excitedly scoops him up and spins him around, trilling all too happily. Danny laughs in the whirl, before being put down.

"But... What about..."

His ice based counterpart tilts its head.

"What if they can't have a family of their own?"

A slow clicking emanates.

"I can be the best parent in the world and give them everything they could ever need. But Vlad and I are it for half-ghosts. I don't want to watch them struggle to have a family if they can't."

The ghost pauses for a moment, tapping its knuckles together before it gets an idea. In front of Danny, it proceeds to sculpt a coin out of ice. It then passes the token to him eagerly.

"That's nice, but Vlad and I are a fluke."

In response, it holds up two talons, as if counting.

"Except," he eyes the two presented appendages, "a fluke only happens once... That's why it's called a fluke... It's not supposed to happen...again..."

Another motion for him to keep going.

"This could happen again? Like, again again?"

When the only response he gets is a simple shoulder shrug, his face lights up.

"This could happen again," he smiles, "This can happen again!"

The imp nods quickly.

"This will happen again! It might not be now, it might not be for another fifty or a hundred or a thousand years, but we won't be the only ones!"

Overjoyed, he flips the coin in his hand. Once, twice, thrice, again and again and again, before throwing his arms around his counterpart and holding on for dear life.

A soft chitter slips out and the embrace is returned. The thread around their fingers glows even brighter before Danny feels it start to pull back in to his chest. They separate to look at the thread that is shortening with haste.

"Thanks."

A hand of talons ruffles his hair and the teen watches as the imp's body slowly begins to fade.

"Hey, before you go, why can't I fly as a ghost? I haven't really had the time, I know, but even when I do and I try, I can't get off the ground."

It visibly slumps before it clicks a hoof against the floor twice and the stone turns clear, like glass. Beneath it, an oversized chain is connected to an equally absurdly sized anchor. The creature waves an arm out towards the whole room and all of its memories, then turns to him and taps on its own chest, and then taps on his, over his heart. Just once.

"Oh. Yeah, that would probably do it."

The imp promptly kicks him in the shin, earning a shout.

"I deserve that, yup," he rubs at his leg.

His other half gives an indignant huff before fading into the thread that binds them, and the thread withdraws back into his chest. Danny straightens with a smile as the room whites out. He's feeling lighter, already.

Danny tells Vlad about the experience the next day, but leaves out a few parts. Specifically, his micro-crisis of having children and the coin tossing. He decides Vlad doesn't need to hear about that stuff. While those parts are pretty major, just like shifting dirty dishes out of the way, Danny chooses to set them aside for later. He's not burying them. He just feels that its too soon to approach at least half of that pile.

Meanwhile, Vlad glares at him from across the kitchen table.

Danny swallows nervously.

"You didn't tell me you were struggling to fly," he grits.

The teen gulps again, "I didn't really know how or when to bring it up. And I figured I'd ask it since I was talking to it."

"And?" The man drums his fingers against his own bicep.

"Well, it turns out that burying bad memories instead of facing them and repeatedly wallowing in bitterness, anxiety, dread, hate and anger and refusing to just accept what's happened and what you are is actually bad for you."

Vlad's left eye twitches as his head fills with laughter like an echo-chamber.

Chapter Text

The fact that Danny has a far better relationship with his ghost half is cause for jealousy. Vlad huffs at the knowledge whenever he thinks about it. Because it's incredibly unfair.

"Why can't you behave like his half?!"

"Because I'm not his half. I'm your half."

"That's not an acceptable answer."

"Oh well."

It only succeeds in highlighting the time taken by Plasmius' temperamental behavior, leaving Vlad rather distraught. How much Danny has grown in that time, apparently even suffering the loss of flight because he was literally weighing himself down with his own unprocessed emotions. And then, through one simple conversation, he'd processed it all and regained his rights to the air.

Missing out on such significant moments in Danny's life, two whole birthdays, though he did remember the seventeenth, achieving his final form and gaining a new ability... It's a lot for Vlad to come to terms with. And he does, albeit slowly. Over the course of the next several months, by falling into his mindscape every night and pacing incessantly. Back and forth and back and forth.

Plasmius, for its own part, recognized it was in trouble, and made a point to sit quietly. It's unexpected, but Vlad finds that he rather likes having that little portion of power over it. The gargoyle's wings droop low to the carpeted floor while it hangs its head in some form of shame.

The shackle around their ankles boasts a chain that is drastically shorter now, short enough that it jangles across the carpet with each step. There was definitely enough length to pace, easily thirty feet worth. They have grown closer, despite Vlad's jealousy over the differences between himself and Danny. And after some time, he decides it's actually a good thing that the youth doesn't have to endure the absurdity and downright inconvenience that is Plasmius.

With that acceptance came a better tolerance for one another. A good improvement, too. But he doubts the chain will get any shorter. This is as good as it's going to get. They'll never be fully woven together ever again. What they've gained... This controlled distance... It's enough. On this, they both agree.

Strangely, Vlad also feels that they should actually remain this way; they should remain split in two.

Even if Plasmius is a sentient manifestation of his own denials, and it's a constant strain to keep a literal inner demon in check, he's gotten used to simply having someone to talk to. And now that Plasmius is finally falling in line, he can take the time to assess what lies ahead.

Though blatantly hesitant to admit it aloud and utterly terrified of using his words, it's now clear to Vlad that Danny is beginning to want more than the connection they already have. He hadn't initially expected to be looking at Danny as a potential partner down the road. Plasmius has already stated, in plain English, that it's more than comfortable with the idea, and is, in fact, quite eager for more. The younger halfa is an integral part of their nest. Having never before favored the concept of becoming attached, to anyone, Vlad has never taken the time to think of himself in any sort of romantic situation. With a quiet rumble of approval from his other half, he supposes he'd better start.

...and the floodgates ripped right off of their hinges.

The dreams started suddenly. With vicious fury and ferocity, and thoroughly marinating his brain in all the hormones he had been suppressing. The ideas that flurry about, in and out of the waking world, are shameless and sinful. They have him waking in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. The inner demon within has officially gone non-verbal, too busy breathing and snarling in unison with its human counterpart.

A new and strange need he's never known takes hold. The need for something to claim. To mark as his own. To hold down and entrap. Never one to court lust, how best to process the demands of his body is lost on him. He wants wrists to pin and skin to bleed. For a while, he can picture the plain of flesh he wants to ruin. Can almost feel the thinner bony wrists in his palms. But he hesitates to imagine the face. It feels wrong to him, wanting to picture something so young beneath him. Even if he understands that the body he wants to take apart will always be young.

And then, in between all of that, Vlad realizes, in short little bursts at a rime, that he doesn't actually know the younger halfa very well. He has some understanding of preferred foods, the home environment, movie preferences and his altered state of existence, but how well does he really know him? What does he know outside of the manor? Favorite candies? Holidays? Hobbies? Favorite places to go? ...what... What gets him going? What kind of play does he need? What does he do on his own? What does he look like when he's...

Sometimes Plasmius has to give the chain a tug to snap him out of it.

Again, they're just short little moments. They're brief little dawnings that don't linger for long as Plasmius takes those inklings and files them away for later. Because it also knows how little they actually know the youth. There's a mutual agreement in the subconscious to learn more when they meet again, which allows Vlad the freedom to keep drowning in his physical want. Despite present limitations and lack of information, they both still want the nest complete.

Vlad finds a moment to wonder, after so many months of having to wash and rewash his night clothes and linens, if this is how teenagers feel. The images painted for him are almost always blurry, but in varying hues of red, and heated to the point of risking spontaneous combustion. There's some sound, breathy sighs and high pitched whining. Every now and then, a plea for release tortures his eardrums.

His hands are beginning to ache like the world's filthiest tendonitis. Even when he claws his way out of a dream, he only wakes to rut against the mattress as he imagines a smaller and willing body beneath him. Chomping on his pillows, whether in search of something to sink his fangs into or a means to stifle himself, he's not sure. But he tears the fabric with said fangs and winds the fine silk in his teeth. Worst of all, he's left unsatisfied every time. Unsatisfied, alone, out of his mind and feeling like a caged animal. The lack of control in his muscles as he claws at every surface he touches and rends curtains and tapestries to tatters...

If he thought he was insane before, well... Where's the candle he can't hold to his state, now?

Plasmius says nothing in response. Utters no words. Not even a morsel of a syllable. It only purrs.

By November, Vlad has stripped his bed of the expensive materials he's grown accustomed to, thoroughly tired of replacing them. He pads it with cheaper, common fabrics. These seem more durable than the others, and it takes him far longer to tear things apart. It just takes some getting used to. The silks and Egyptian cottons were mutilated to the point of no return. Now, it's fleece and fake sherpa. His skin had itched to Hell and back at the contact when he first changed the fabrics out, but he got over it.

As December loomed around the corner, he made up Danny's room, hoping to have a warm and comforting environment. In the event that eighteen is the magic number, he wanted to be prepared. He won't know until he calls, of course, and Danny will stay for a full week regardless. But the carefully arranged room doesn't last. The moment he'd entered, the youth's scent, of ice and pine and fading hints of vanilla, wafted over Vlad. Thoroughly entangled among the blankets, Vlad tore the star-printed comforter off the bed after just six hours, bundled it up in his arms and brought it up to his own quarters.

His mind is gone for several hours on the last day of November, fussing and fretting and hoarding and nesting. Caught between two instincts, one to provide comfort and the other to grab on and never let go...

It is, perhaps, the cruelest game of tug-of-war known to man or ghost.

He hopes he'll settle back down once he has the younger halfa back in his home. Even if it's only temporary.

Chapter Text

Let's see...last art dump was...8 chapters ago! I'm overdue!

So...

This little killer was a rough Danny demo. I considered giving him one more upgrade. But I decided afterwards to not go for it. I like the idea that spawned here, but this was just too easy in that he actually looks threatening. I prefer the look I stuck with, which is the very deceptive "I'm dainty, I'm pretty, I'm small and if you see me it's already too late" look.

I took a moment to play with the ice skin map, too.

Hey, what if he slips on his diet?

I also still like the idea of his tail blushing with him.

And then I went through a little brain blast that may or may not come to fruition...

What if, and I know I'm reaching here, what if his legs were stuck the way they look in his ghost form?

And then I went, "no, that's too difficult to explain..." and then gave him short shorts because i figured with his legs that way, he'd be super sensitive to fabric touching them if it went down far enough.

Buuuuut, I haven't exactly thrown it out, yet... I'm still kind of tossing it around, still trying to decide how it would work.

Maybe a little spoiler...

And if you haven't seen it, here's a tiny AU of a grumpy Danny as a reaper because dad made me sit through a lot of Dead Like Me several years ago. Like, this piece is practically ancient.

Chapter Text

Eventually, he ends up having to dig the book back out.

Only very roughly aware of the nature of the spell and what it could mean for the future, Danny tore into his closet. He's just slightly embarrassed that it took falling into his own head to get himself over what is, in all seriousness, a major hurdle. Even if he doesn't presently think it is.

And yet, he never actually finished reading the page. He's taken most of the year, far longer than he'd like to admit, to come to a point where the idea of finishing it didn't make him so nervous he'd be in danger of tossing whatever he's eaten. Sure, he's clear on the potential parental headache matters. While that's pretty big, it's just one thing.

For the rest, he knows he really should finish reading. So, on a late afternoon, after shoving clothing and shoes and random books out of the way until he finds what he's looking for, he settles in his room with the door locked. With part of his closet scattered all over his floor. And a cup of chamomile tea. Pushing his pillows up against the headboard proves comforting as he lays the book out in his lap.

Opening it, his eyes skim the various numbers and writings in Vlad's handwriting. Swirling about the pages with a strange grace, calligraphic in nature, it seems to calm him. Even ground him. Some parts sink in. Several notes he spotted on the first flip-through stand out again. But for the most part, he pays them no mind as he turns the pages. Turning, turning, page after page, from one signature* to the next, Danny follows the ink until he finds the last entry. He takes a moment to get in a few sips of tea for the one or two frayed nerves left. And then begins to read, from the top.

Vessel Spell

Where gender, to the living, is the defining factor to procreation, it simply defines the outer shell of spectral entities.

Procreation among stage two (S2) biologicals, or, spectral life forms, is quite rare. Yet all entities posses the ability. Most are of age upon death, and so the spell is already present upon manifestation. There have been some documented cases, though very few, of beings forming before becoming of age. The age at which S2 bodies must reach to gain the spell seems to variate. Consensus and history show either the year of eighteen or the year of twenty-one. Which age an individual entity must reach is of random determination. And so it is best to monitor for symptoms when approaching one's date of birth.

The manifestation of the spell builds the required organs for giving birth. Regardless of the entity's starting gender, biology is a powerful force to contend with. Even though so few S2 biologicals make use of what is considered a real gift, life and creation insist upon a pathway.

Symptoms of Manifestation:

·Extreme Cramping - begins within hours of reaching chronological maturity, but can sometimes occur a few hours before hand.

·High Fever - typically triple the biological's average core temperature.

·Hyperthermia - in the extreme, as a result of high fever, not to be confused with hypothermia.

·Dehydration - by fault of fever.

·Internal Dystonia - uncontrolled and painful muscle movements, or spasms, most commonly surrounding the location of organ growth.

Symptoms last for an average of six to eight days before disappearing suddenly. Their severity frequently forbids proper rest, and so it is not uncommon to sleep for an additional seven to ten days. After recovery, all will return to pre-existing baseline.

Activation of the spell is, by some mercy, rudimentary, if not crude. The image of the spell itself is a simple isosceles triangle, and one touch is all that's needed to wake it. Triggering is done by drawing a half circle in either direction. When the tip of the triangle is pointed upwards, this is the male position. Rotation in either direction, counter or clockwise, and the tip will point downwards, the female position, granting access to the reproductive organs.

Danny has to squint to read it all, as Vlad had so greatly insisted it fit onto one page that he's written it rather small. However, the point has been made, and Danny understands what he's in for. All he has to do now is wait. But, given that his copy is heavily abridged and overly condensed, even crammed into one page, he's left with a few questions. It's bound to be incomplete, given that it's in shorthand, he realizes, as he examines the scribbled drawings. So he wonders...

Will it hurt to activate?

Just how temporary is it?

Apart from the obvious possibility Vlad presented to him, how else will the parts differ from a human female?

What would...what will that even feel like? What will it feel like to walk around with everything different down there? What will it feel like to not fill out his underwear? What will it feel like to sit down? What will- Oh. Wait a minute...

Danny quickly sets his tea down and bundles the journal back up in its shirt before making quick work of reassembling his closet.

Face turning red with embarrassment as he shoves his closet door shut, "No way in hell am I spending nine months sitting down to piss. No fucking way."

'You say that, but if you decide you want one...'

"Yeah? Fuck you."

...but the idea is not without...merit? Would it really be so bad to be pregnant?

Danny shakes his head.

But the questions keep coming back to him, even as he leaves his room to put as much physical distance between himself and the book as he possibly can. Darting down the stairs, right past his sister and out the door. His brain runs rampant with them on repeat despite his declaration of refusal. And there's the strange sensation of a piece of his mind just quietly chuckling in a small corner, somewhere.

That bothers him. Though, only just a little.

"I could ask Sam or Jazz, but how do you even ask that?" he mutters, kicking at a pebble, "I mean, really. 'Hey guys, guess what, I can change out my dick for girl stuff whenever I want. So what's it like to sit down with nothing between your legs?'"

It seems so ridiculous to him, yet so logical given the purpose. And yes, he knows, Jurassic Park has it right. Life finds a way. He just never expected that rule to extend to the afterlife, too. ...it might be worth asking, just for the looks of horror on their faces.

"Wait..." Danny stops and looks up, paying no mind that he's just walking his block in circles, "If I change my stuff and I leave it for a while, does that mean I'm gonna do that thing every month... What do girls call it?"

He stumbles over his words, trying to find the right one from his vocabulary. So frazzled is he that he never completes the sentence. For a brief moment, the correct assembly of letters is there. But his brain doesn't recognize it and throws it away.

"Guess I should just ask Vlad." Like everything else in his life, at this point.

He supposes he'll manage if whatever girls call it comes to pass. Hell, he'll have to. He just hopes to every deity from time forgotten to present that it doesn't.

He paces around his block for another hour to burn off more of his energy. When he gets back home, back into his living room, Jasmine is on the phone waiting.

"He just walked in, hang on," holding the phone away from her ear and covering the microphone with her hand, "Where were you?!"

Danny jumps a little. "I needed ai-"

"-Go pack! Vlad has a car on the way for you! It'll be here in ten minutes!"

Danny blinks.

"You're spending two weeks with him, remember? For your birthday? Which is tomorrow? And Vlad says to pack some sort of journal, too. He says you'll know what he means."

"Oh. Oh! Shit!" Danny bolts up the stairs. He knew it had been a while, he just forgot his birthday was coming.

He scrambles throughout his room with all the grace of an overly eager newborn foal. He packs clothing, his CD player and headphones, his toothbrush and a hairbrush he'll likely never use. The journal, he has to carry in his arm as he comes down the stairs. Looking down at his feet yields that he's actually wearing his sneakers for a change.

"Huh." He usually forgets them when he goes on a walk.

Jasmine catches him at the door and fusses at him. Straightening a few fly-away strands, tugging at the zipper on his duffle bag to make sure it's shut, and gently tugging his hood up over his head.

"Okay. I told mom and dad, they know you're gonna be gone for a few weeks," she brushes another black strand out of his face, earning an annoyed grunt.

"Do they know where? Or why?" He finds himself asking.

"Danny, even I don't know why. It's not like you and Vlad have been forthcoming over this stuff. You've both done a pretty good job of cutting me out."

"...oh." He keeps forgetting just how much of the picture his sister doesn't have. He actually feels a little guilty.

"As for where..." Jasmine pauses, "...I lied. I told them that the whole year has been rough for you and that you needed a break from everybody. As far as they're concerned, you're visiting Aunt Alicia. And she doesn't have a phone, so it's not like they can check.

Danny swallows. "Do they... Do they know it's my birthday tomorrow?"

"You didn't even know it's your birthday tomorrow."

Danny grumbles. Fair point, he supposes.

"Also, Vlad wanted me to ask you if you were having any stomach pain or cramping?"

Danny shakes his head. Calmly, distinctly unworried, "Not yet, no."

There's a scowl on her face that's incredibly faint. But he sees it. And hears her foot tapping against the floor as her eyes fall on the black book in his arm. She wants answers, he can tell. And she's more than earned the right to know.

Danny decides right then and there. Regardless of what happens in the next week, when he gets home, whether Vlad likes it or not, he's giving his sister the journal to read. He's letting her in on it all.

"Alright. Fine. I'll let him know." She forces the words out just in time. A car horn honks from the street outside.

Chapter Text

Getting out of the house isn't new. But getting out of Minnesota, out from under the weight of the quiet anxiety of being discovered is nice.

And there's also a certain amount of anticipation mixed in. Eager to see Vlad again, eager to go home because that's what the manor is to him, and eager to just throw himself onto a pile of pillows in the library and not move. Assuming, of course, that nothing happens this year. The desire to nest relies rather heavily on not doubling over in pain the moment the clock strikes midnight.

He wants to stay awake for the whole ride. He wants to see the mansion slowly peer over the hill as the car draws closer. He wants to push the doors open himself, and go running into the foyer. He wants to run straight into a fire core. But the quiet lull of the tires going down the highway and the odd little bump here and there from running over a pebble or stray pieces of old rubber slowly drag Danny down.

An unusual lullaby to fall asleep to, but pacing an entire block seems to have drained him more than he expected. Or maybe it's just the night creeping up on him.

Either way, after just an hour and a half, he can't fight the sudden exhaustion anymore. He lays down across the back seat and drifts off.

He dreams of falling into a familiar scape, the mimic of his room. It doesn't bother him in the slightest. He simply curls up there, too. A little rush of warmth seeps in. But he's tired enough that he doesn't pay it any mind.

The only reason Vlad is patient is because he has to be. He has no choice. It's not like he can force the car to get to the manor any faster. That's not to say that he isn't impatient, but really, all he can do is wait. And from within, as he paces back and forth in the foyer, Plasmius does the same.

''I hate this,'' it growls lowly.

''And I don't?'' Vlad says out loud, ''I want him here just as much as you do.''

''Why didn't we just go get him ourselves?''

''...had to prepare."
''...had to prepare.''

Vlad peers out the window for the tenth time, just to see nothing outfront. He glares down at his watch and huffs. There's no more preperations to be done. If this is the year the spell manifests, Danny's room is ready. If it's not, then Danny's room is ready, and they can just try to enjoy being under the same roof again for a while.

''I wish there was a way to tell,'' the gargoyle rumbles, ''To know for sure.''

Vlad sighs again and resumes pacing. He wishes there was a way, too. Sadly, it's purely down to chance. It's only made more agonizing by the fact that Plasmius wants out. Plasmius wants to meet the boy. And, technically, even Vlad still hasn't been properly introduced, either. Danny's form has matured. Changed. Into something new. Something Frostbite couldn't, or, to be more accurate, wouldn't describe. The most Vlad could actually pull from the beast, inbetween sifting through enchantments and accidentally starting small fires, was a faintly uttered, ''He is a child of Winter."

Which irritated Vlad to no end and only served to piss Plasmius off, because how is that helpful as a description? Neither of them, neither half knows what to expect. Factoring in that strangely and highly articulated tail, Vlad can only build off of what he already knows, and the image isn't really all that different than what he saw almost four years ago.

Dredging up whatever thoughts and ideas he's concocted on what to expect seems to give him the drive he needs to keep stalking his own foyer. Before he realizes it, the sun has fallen and the Wisconsin skyline is nothing but stars and snowdrifts.

...his ghost sense triggers, slicing through his throat in a red wisp of smoke. Alerted, elated, delighted, Vlad pulls the main doors open, and within minutes, sees a black Mercedes pull into the courtyard. He half expected Danny to come barreling out of the car immediately. So he waited. When the rear right passenger door doesn't open, though, and he doesn't see any movement behind the tinted glass, something rolls upside down and backwards in his gut. Nervous, he approaches the car as calmly as he can and pulls the door open, hoping to find the younger halfa has just decided to take a nap. Instead, he's hit with an unbearable wall of heat.

Danny lays across the back seats, yes. But not in rest. His skin has reddened to an ugly hue. His hair, naturally unkempt, is matted and plastered to the side of his face, drenched in sweat. Condensation in the extreme clogs the view of the opposite door's window. Breathing labored, straining for cooler air, and legs pulled fetal and close to his chest. And the journal is laying in the footwell, open, but face down and folding the pages irreparably.

Vlad goes for him instantly. As he gathers the overheated body into his arms, Danny cries out. Loudly. In what he can only surmise as agony, fangs bared with every pained breath. Plasmius roars and claws at the walls of their scape in an attempt to come to aid. And Vlad has to let him, even as the temper tantrum spawns a headache. Danny fusses in his arms. Danny fusses badly enough that Vlad has to stop and lay him down in the snow. He takes the opportunity to go back to the car for the journal and duffle bag and sends the driver on his way, with a hefty tip.

It's when the car has just left his property and he's holding Danny's belongings, looking down at Danny crying in the snow that he realizes he only has two hands.

''I need help,'' he whispers into the night.

His head throbs as a new hole is torn in his mind with angry claws.

''If I let you out...will you do what I tell you?'' the words are out before he knows what he's saying, and by the time he does, it's dead quiet in his head. There's no more scratching at the walls, no more pounding on the shelves or books being thrown around. No more roaring or whining, no more sounds of protest.

''...what?''

''If I let you out, will you do what I tell you? Without argument? Without pitching a fit or being a problem?''

''...wh-...now?''

''My hands are full, it's ten degrees outside, the snow under him is melting, and I can't carry him if he's squirming! Yes, now!'' Vlad barks.

''I... I... We... But... He's... ...now?''

Vlad sets the duffle on the ground, puts the journal on top. A few flakes of snow won't hurt it. He then stands up straight. As straight as he can. Never having done this before, nor uttered the spell he wrote, and not even sure it would work, he reaches a cautious hand up to his chest and phases it through. He dips his fingers into his core to feel for linked metal, and the sensation is not a good one. A burning, stabbing pain, as energy crackles at his fingertips. He chants, low and quiet, in hushes and sighs.

"What are you-!"

Inside, Vlad can only imagine what it looks like; a portal tearing open in the mindscape for him to slip through. He can feel Plasmius startle as a hand reaches through and snatches the chain connect to its ankle.

"Relax. It's not permanent."

"Wait a minute! You can't jus-"

Vlad pulls as hard as he can. The night flashes alight in pink electricity. It strikes in thunderous chords as glowing metal is thrown out across the blanketed courtyard. Vlad falls to his hands and knees, breathing hard into the frigid air. His right ankle itches and aches with familiar compression, but he ignores it. Peering up in search of the other end, his eyes follow luminescent links the size of his fist...until he sees a teal stained ankle.

...the wings are ugly. To him, anyway.

He wants to marvel that the spell worked. But there's no time. Vlad forces himself to his feet just as Plasmius comes to. It manages to push itself up to its knees and opens its eyes.

The cold seeps in, but is unremarkable. Instead, Plasmius lays its vision on a shuddering mass crying into the snow. The sound is carried with a scent of blighted flowers, wilted and rotten, on a hazy mist of warmth that is indeed melting the snow beneath. Instinctively, it reaches forward, though unsure of whether to coddle or cuddle or comfort. But when its hand makes contact with the overheated body, Danny whines at the touch and Plasmius retracts. Backing away by several feet and cowering low to the ground on all fours. Acting as if it's just broken something.

Vlad sighs, "Just pick him up," and throws Danny's duffle over his shoulder.

The hesitation, he decides, as the gargoyle gathers the weeping mass into its arms, is a good thing. It's evidence that his other side is capable of more than just rage and hate. It's evidence that there's some humanity in there. In both of them. A faint little glimmer of hope, if one will. Vlad had written himself off years ago, given his history with basic human interaction. To be nothing more than a monstrosity was an easy idea to adjust to and he had readily welcomed it. But the leap, though blessedly simple and absolutely divine in its logic, never fully sat right with him.

Plasmius stands, clutching a bundle of snivels and whines and cries of pain. Radiating awful heat and sweltering further against a fire core. That bundle, clad in simple fabrics and overdressed for the emanating temp despite the Wisconsin weather, looks incredibly small in the arms of a nine foot demon. And said demon is thoroughly frozen in place, unable to move out fear of hurting it further.

Vlad ushers them inside and winces as the chain goes from dragging in snow to scraping across granite. Danny wriggles and jerks the whole way, but Plasmius' sheer size and bulk proves beneficial. Despite all the fussing and feverish kicks to get away, push away, force away, he can't.

Plasmius follows with little choice; the chain is only thirty feet long.

Getting Danny to his room and into his bed is easy. Getting him to lay still and calm will be another matter. Plasmius deposits him on the bed like its handling glass.

The jostling movement made by laying Danny down earns a new wave of cries, prompting the gargoyle to back away the moment there was no need to hold him any longer. He slinks down until he's against a wall like a scolded pup. Even Vlad winces.

"Who am I kidding? I'm not going to be able manage him like this," he grits, and looks behind him towards his other half, "And you're not going to very useful, either. Fuck. Um..."

There's no pain killer he can give. There's nothing in human medicine strong enough. A sedative? Yes. But it's meaningless if the pain breaks through.

"And I can't use the sedative as an epidural, It's not... Not strong enough..."

A light bulb just about bursts in his head and he whips around long enough to pull his other half to its feet.

"Here," he hauls Plasmius over, "hold him down."

"Wha-"

"-Hold him down. Don't let him move. I need him to stay on his side."

The frightened monster does as it's told, and holds the youngling halfa in position. It watches as Vlad phases a hand directly into the shuddering back.

"What are you doing?"

"The sedative is just that. A sedative. But he won't sleep for long if he's hurting too much. And I can't use it as an epidural. But, if I disrupt the pain at the source, he'll sleep like a rock."

"I don't understand." Not locked within the confines of Vlad's mindscape, the demon isn't privy to its human half's thought process.

"It worked for his core, it worked for his teeth, it should work here. Just don't panic if he stops breathing."

"You're going to charge his spinal cord."

Vlad carefully slips his fingers into the fibrous material, "Well... Charge, shock, partially fry... It's all semantics, really. Either way, he won't feel it. And..."

Danny's body unfurls suddenly. His spine arcs into a half circle. Beneath Plasmius' hold, limbs jerk violently. The gargoyle even catches a glimpse of cyan irises rolling back. The sight burns into its mind just in time for Vlad to retract his hand.

Danny goes still and Plasmius pulls away. They both watch for a moment. Listening to be sure. There's no more crying. No more whining. No more sniveling. All that's left is a quiet, overcooking body taking in air and exhaling a little too loudly.

Vlad sighs in relief. "There. See? All better."

...the scent of burnt wood and old books wafts in lazily. Gently. Sound trickles through, a strange beeping noise that he thinks he's heard before. Maybe. The file is buried in a pit of old data. He tries digging it out, going through all the noises he's ever heard. Then comes warmth. Deeper than skin, deeper than bone. Creeping up on him from somewhere inside, he thinks he should know where, and venting outwards through his flesh. As a foreign dampness that seems to accumulate on his forehead the most.

It's wet and thick and just ick and he strains for the commands to the muscles in his arm. To reach up and wipe it away should not be so difficult. And it's a byte of information he's used countless times, in every gym class and in every run for his life through the halls of his school. But it seems his arm just isn't moving. Everything feels like it weighs fifty pounds...

...no, not... ...not everything...

His legs feel like they don't exist. Through the overheated haze, he's a little concerned about that. There's a distant fuzziness. From the middle of his spine down. He can't even feel his tail. It's weird. Almost uncomfortable. The same sensation fizzles through his arms and chest and to the top of his skull, it's just not as severe. But it's enough to make everything feel off.

Faintly, he gets a flash. A brief image of his other side, lying useless in a growing pool of water. Something makes a noise. A clicking whine. He echoes the sound in equal sentiment. It takes almost no energy to force his eyes open. But it feels like it takes everything.

The room is dark. A canopy of stars on a deep blue backdrop comes into blurry view. A cool softness wipes across his forehead, refreshing and sweet. He feels his skin prickle strangely at the cold. Somewhere in his head, he knows the wet should freeze. But it doesn't. Something else to worry about.

Somethi- Someone leans into his line of sight. He blinks, even if it seems like it takes forever, but the room doesn't clear at all. Stull muddled. Still cloudy.

"Vlad...?"

A warm hand brushes against his cheek, "I'm here. Don't force yourself."

Danny swallows. "Why can't I... Can't fe-feel... What's wrong...?"

"I shocked your spinal cord," Vlad answers softly, "That's why everything is numb. What do you remember?"

Danny struggles to think. "Just... Walking and... You called, there was a car, I... I got really tired... I think I... ...that's..."

Vlad nods. "Your fever set in on the way here." And he says it in a tone that makes Danny think he feels guilty.

"I'm sorry. I should have brought you here a day earlier. It would've been easier."

The youngling blinks again, "Oh... Okay..."

"I also gave you a sedative to help you sleep." There's the sound of a drawer opening.

"What time is it?" The younger halfa asks, and then winces when his voice cracks.

"It's a little after eleven in the morning. December third."

"So..."

Plastic pops in the background, "Almost two days."

"...oh. ...wow." It seems a little ridiculous to be out for so long. He knows it was far longer when he was comatose, but, still.

Danny thinks he feels his arm being moved, but he's not really sure. Everything feels so far away. Something flicks against plastic.

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you a double dose before the first one wears off. Trust me. You don't want to be awake for this."

"But...I just woke...up..." Danny manages to turn his head just in time to watch a needle sink into his arm.

"Believe me, I know," Vlad grumbles, "I had hoped you'd be out longer."

"But I... I... ... I..."

Danny's vision speckles black until there's nothing left to see and he sinks. Down...into his mindscape...dropping onto a floor with no horizon that's covered with water. He lazily turns onto his side to face the only company he knows he has in such a place.

The imp lays there next to him, soaking and weak. The blue thread linking their fingers together, glowing as bright as it did the first time they met, floats in the water.

"You, too, huh?"

Plasmius looms over Vlad's shoulder and watches the light in Danny's eyes dim. His eyelids fall shut in microseconds.

Vlad removes the syringe and puts the cap back on.

"Was that really necessary?"

"You did not exist when my spell manifested," Vlad dumps the syringe into a small trash can, "Trust me. It was necessary. And he was almost forming complete sentences. So I'll need to stun his spinal cord again in about six hours."

Plasmius looks away before shifting around to the foot of the bed. It settles on the floor in a pout as low as it can. Of course, given its height, hiding is not an option. Vlad observes the behavior with mild curiosity.

"I'd argue that you're a little old to be having a temper tantrum. But you've only been sentient for a little over three years."

"This is not how I wanted to meet him."

"It's not my idea of a decent introduction, either."

"...I do not want to see him like that ever again."

"Mm," Vlad lays Danny's journal out on the bed and begins to write, "Could've been worse. He was a vegetable when I met him."

Plasmius turns an ear towards its human half, "What?"

"He was comatose. Theoretically dead to the world and hooked up to a vent. I didn't get to actually talk to him for almost two months."

Plasmius grunts. "Please tell me you are not trying to give comfort."

"Hardly," Vlad closes the journal, "merely citing common ground."

"There is absolutely nothing in common between the two scenarios," it snarls.

"There's more than you think. As I said, I had to do that for his core, too."

The scoff he receives isn't worth its weight in air. The halfa says nothing to it. He stands up, holding the book close and moves for the door. He only gets about halfway down the hall before the chain goes taught around the doorway. The other end yanks backwards in response and Vlad falls. He narrowly avoids faceplanting his own floor.

He groans just the same.

"It's gonna be a long week."

Chapter Text

Vlad has made a serious miscalculation.

In unleashing his inner demon into the real world, even if there's a thirty foot chain binding them, he failed to factor in its history. Specifically, he failed to account for Plasmius' long standing ill temperament towards anyone other than Danny. Though there's a mutual agreement in place between them, Vlad is finding that it's not really applying to the present situation.

Plasmius' sheer size means it has to crouch to avoid contacting doorframes, forcing it down to floors instead of proper seating. This frequently has the gargoyle underfoot in the kitchen, creating tension at every turn and stretch for something on a high shelf. The chain wraps around the island whenever Vlad cooks, which doesn't help. The length of the chain allows them some distance from each-other, but they're forced to be in the same room together. Plasmius had actually hoped for a little more freedom upon being let out. Said hope was quickly dashed on the first night.

The clanking and scraping of metal against every material in the manor is grating on their nerves. It's a horrible sound that scrapes against their eardrums, giving them both a headache and riling them up. Fangs bared with every step and identical pairs of reddened sclera glaring at one another.

Day two, they figure out that their pain receptors are still connected. Vlad nicked himself with a knife and Plasmius yelped, and when he gave himself a paper cut in the library, both of them hissed. Plasmius walked into a door frame once, and Vlad's forehead ached for an hour. ...Vlad suspects that one was retaliatory.

By day three, they're openly snarling at each-other whenever they aren't sitting in with Danny.

Vlad even has to limit his trips to the bathroom, fraying his nerves even further.

On day four, they spend most of their day in the library. And they fight. Over who gets to read a book, over the philosophy and logic of another book, over who gets to sit on the couch versus the floor, who gets the throw pillow, Vlad swats Plasmius' hands away from particularly ancient and delicate texts, and then, because he's still partially human and has certain dietary needs, Vlad tries to leave at one point to go eat. Plasmius decides it can tolerate a little ache and gives the chain an unnecessarily hard yank. His human half falls to the floor like a lead weight.

Vlad skips dinner that night, preferring to starve a little rather than lose a tooth.

Day five...the gloves are off.

It's something small. Something menial.

Vlad has been noticing throughout the last several days, that wherever Plasmius sits, be it floor or furniture on rare occasion, the gargoyle has been scratching shapes into various surfaces. In furniture, it means expensive leather or fabric is torn. On stone or brick or wood, plastic, canvas or tile. There's little claw scribblets popping up all over the manor. Trying to be the better half, trying to be the patient half, Vlad has been biting his tongue. But then, he catches Plasmius actively sharpening his claws on the wall of his study.

Biting back the boiling blood, "Would you like a scratching post?"

Plasmius pauses. "...what?"

"Well, since you seem so heavily invested in defacing my home, I thought you'd appreciate something of your own to ruin."

"...I am not a cat."

"Are you sure?" the human asks, "You don't tolerate being touched, you hiss, spit and snarl on a regular basis, you've successfully clawed the back of the couch to tatters, you're always underfoot, you're overly territorial, and you have a major attitude problem."

The demon stalks up to its counterpart, rumbling low in warning. "I am not some sort of minuscule house pet acquired out of someone's petty refusal to acknowledge their loneliness and fragility."

Vlad scoffs as he cranes his head back slightly to look up at the hulking beast. "All you have to do is throw up on my carpet and shit in a box."

"Such activities are undignified and beneath me."

"Doubtful. You're on the floor a lot."

The punch is worth it. On that, they both agree. Vlad stumbles backwards and lands on the coffee table. The wood shifts a little, but holds firm. Plasmius' jaw burns with pain as it watches the other slowly push himself up. A silver shroud of hair hangs and obscures his face.

Plasmius watches the lightly tanned complexion suddenly blacken. His nails grow and sharpen. But it's the sound of bones popping and twisting that really catch the demon's attention. The fabric of Vlad's shirt tears in the back as an unholy growl rattles from within Vlad's chest. Equally charred and black, two wings tear free in sporadic and jerky movements. They twitch and furl at random while the nerves inside grow and sting their way to life. The phantom sensations prattle through Plasmius' own wings until a harsh breath is exhaled.

The last several days that have been creeping up on the halfa drip into a vat that's steadily been filling for years...and everything spills over. The headaches and situational absurdity, the anger and hatred still running unchecked, the unrivaled anxiety and barely acknowledged lust, all of the unprocessed trauma and pain and hurt, all piled up in dark corners throughout his mind... His emotions become directed towards a single idea. An individual person bearing a name that anyone in or understanding of his position would deem fit to curse. The halfa's eyes finally open and all he sees is his own sooted skin.

He stares at a hand in disbelief, ''Jack... What have you done to me?''

The demon's eyes narrow in confusion, ''I don't think I hit you that hard.''

The lunge comes after a split second of warning. A glare in red with pupils of sickly toxic yellow.

''WHAT DID YOU DO?!""

They spend the rest of the day bleeding. Both of them. Everywhere. On everything. They scratch and claw and bite, gnashing fangs and spewing foul words that might force the dead from their graves to charge at them with soap. Fabric and flesh are torn and rended. Bursts of pink and red energy burn skin and stone. They fight themselves into exhaustion. One fighting a mind that's broken, the other fighting a person not even there. It throws Plasmius for a loop, being screamed at as though it's someone else. The wounds grow in number and depth, and the pain doubles and squares. Just as the night begins to fall, they both finally collapse onto the floor of the foyer with a grisly slip-and-splat, into pools of their own and eachother's blood.

Day six, they continue to sleep where they fell, allowing them to heal.

When the sun rises on the seventh morning, Plasmius wakes first. It growls in discomfort as its joints crack in a boisterous cacophony of dissaproval. Its garb is torn in countless places with dried iron stains. But the injuries are gone. As if they were never there. It looks over at its human half, who only lays two feet away, and heaves a sigh of relief. The black of rage is gone from Vlad's skin, as are his wings. His shirt hangs on by meer threads, revealing two parallel scars where the wings once jutted. They're the only new scars on his body, and well healed.

And then the gargoyle sees the mess. The stone floor, the library door, the carpet on the first several stairs, the walls. Deep gouges in groups of four and paired with gruesome red.

''Fuck.'' It gives a hard kick as Vlad's side, waking him instantly, ''Get up, whelp. We've got work to do.''

Vlad groans loudly and rolls to lay on his back. ''What happened?'' Every inch of his body aches. From head to toe. He tries to take a few deep breaths and promptly chokes on the stench of salted copper.

''You happened,'' Plasmius rises to its feet, however unsteadily, ''We need to clean this up before the boy wakes.''

''Clean what up?'' Vlad lolls his head to the side and looks around, ''Holy shit. ...I really need a therapist.''

''I concur. Now get up.''

Chapter Text

Everything is....hazy. There, but distant. Sensation crawls in slowly.

The plush comforter greets Danny's fingertips first. Soft, high thread-count, gentle against his skin. Moving his hand is tricky. Like working through fuzzy fluffy syrup. His nerves crackle to life at a snail's pace. He can almost feel the electricity sluggishly dragging its way to his spinal cord. Akin to sludge. When it finally reaches, the rest comes in a bit faster. There's a foreign scraping sound in the background that catches his attention and he struggles to push himself up. Everything feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. Like dead weight.

A portion of his brain snickers at the accidental pun.

But he does get himself to sit upright. Aside from the syrupy feeling, he feels relaxed. Rested, even. For the first time in a while. It's kind of nice, actually. He pushes the blanket aside to find that he's in a loose red T-shirt and black leggings cut to capri length, and his tail has been unwound from his leg.

A mild surprise, but not one to worry about.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, then pauses. He's not really sure how long it's been, and he'd prefer to not fall to the floor the minute he stands up. With a huff, he scoots himself over until the poster is within reach and grabs onto it. Carefully, he shifts off the bed, feet to the floor, grasping the post firmly.

Vlad would be thrilled to realize he remembered. And learned.

It's a little awkward at first. His legs are definitely still waking up. The sensation of feeling like an anchor is gradually leaving his body, mostly. Save for his tail, which always acts as a counterweight. He wobbles a little when he puts more weight on his limbs, tail nervously twitching, so he holds onto the post. Curling his toes into the carpet seems to help him wake the rest of the extremities. He lets go of the poster a few minutes later. He's still a tad unsteady and decides to just stand in place for a moment.

"Okay...where...?" Looking around, he recognizes the room instantly. A faint little jab in his stomach reminds him why, and he feels his face heat up a little.

"Right. Um..." Danny cautiously lifts his shirt to look at his stomach. On the surface, everything looks the same. Though he knows better, he hesitates to touch. He knows what the spell looks like. He's got the general gist of what it's supposed to do. But he's not really sure if he's ready to iron out the finer details. There's a lump in his throat that's formed at the concept of seeing and feeling the difference. ...for his own sanity, Danny decides now isn't the time and pulls his shirt back down. Even as his mind promptly floods with ideas and conversations that seem like an excellent use of his time. The images rile him a little.

But now is not the time to experiment.

Danny takes a few steps around the room to ground himself and distract, intently focusing on the feel of the carpet under his feet. How the woven material itches slightly at his skin. How it sounds when he shuffles his walk. Back and forth, slowly regaining control.

By the time he's sure of his movements, everything feels right again. That scraping sound is still going in the background, and there's voices paired with it. Which he can hear now that he's both awake and vertical. One sounds like Vlad, and the other sounds like... It sounds like Vlad, so much like his inflections and language. It's just lower.

It has him curious. As far as he knows, and he knows so little, Vlad has no relatives. And then the voices go silent as he nudges his door open.

As he cautiously slinks down the hall, he feels the temperature change and detects hints of char and wood. With an essence of brimstone. There's a faintly sweet scent underneath that he doesn't recognize. When he turns the bend to the foyer, fading salt and muck clogs his sinuses. Another step and he finds it muddled with what he can only guess is bleach and pine-sol. The blended concoction is caustic to his nasal passage; a high pitched whine escapes as he pinches at his nose and covers it with both hands for relief. It takes a few minutes of fussing and sniffing and pinching before he adjusts.

The fact that the foyer has been cleaned so harshly is upsetting. The typical smells of firewood and old paper are what he favors the most. He wonders what happened to warrant such sterilization. A crouching walk puts him closer to the chemicals that have altered the space and he wanders out slowly. Walking on his toes and curling his tail into a near perfect "U" allows Danny to lean forward and examine the stonework without falling over.

He comes upon multiple chips and scratches in the granite itself. All at varying angles and depths. In one scarring, a tint of rust seems to stain the material. His pupils thin to feline slits and he sniffs the air again. Buried beneath the acrid mixture, Danny picks up the tiniest hint, the barest minimum of copper. Peering out into the empty room casts visions of claws and snarling and bursts of vibrant lights. He can hear fabric tearing, can just barely make out two pairs of wings in a flurry, black and teal an-

-A door opens behind Danny and he startles; the vision fades. He turns around, maintaining his low stance.

Vlad wasn't expecting Danny to be up. He wasn't even expecting him to be awake. The hope had been there, as he had enabled the youth to sleep through the worst of the spell's manifestation. But given how susceptible he'd been to the process, so much so that the fever set in before the cramping, his expectations were quite low.

So to hear the second heartbeat in the distance kick up was of mild interest. Hearing the door open was curious. There was a rather high pitched squeak or keening that he's unfamiliar with, and it alerted both of them. Plasmius had frozen in place and stared in the direction of the sound.

There were no footsteps to listen for, which frustrated both halves. All that could be detected following that strange little noise was a heartbeat that's progressively getting closer. Vlad strains his ears to follow it, Plasmius sniffs for a scent at the library door.

It's an unusual contrast between them, Vlad finds. With them split apart in this manner, they each react differently. The difference between humanoid and beast, one could suppose. But he suspects that once they're in one piece, whatever reactions had in the future will be a blend of the two.

Plasmius silently looks back at its human part, hovering by the door. Clearly eager to see, but nervous at the same time. Vlad's own stomach flips uncomfortably, rolling in butterfly acid and he swallows the anxious bile back down. Because Danny hasn't called out to him, hasn't pushed doors open in searching and isn't even wandering the manor, they're both unsure of what to expect.

There's a feeling, deep in the pits of both of their cores and vibrating the chain binding them, of an animal on the other side of the door.

A creature they've never met, never seen.

A slight sense of real danger creeping up and equally whimpering behind them.

Plasmius' eyes fall on the handle and fixate on its surface. But the gargoyle doesn't reach for it. Too unsure. Too nervous. Too afraid. Not of how it will respond to the younger halfa's presence, as it's responding already, albeit in a rather cowardly manner. It's afraid of how the youth will respond to it. And Vlad can feel that discomfort, can see the wibbly wobbling waves of jumbled colors pouring off of the gargoyle. It's almost suffocating.

But, there's only one way they'll know. Vlad huffs a shuddering sigh and turns the knob.

Vlad steps out into ominous silence. For a moment, it almost seems as if Danny doesn't recognize him. Hunkering low to the floor with sooted sclera and ectoplasmic eyes paints a display of a deer caught in headlights.

He's vaguely familiar with the teen's more primal behaviors. He's encountered them twice, and he decides that what he's met only scratches the surface. Stalking, growling and biting are basic mannerisms in comparison to what he sees now.

Danny tilts his head slightly and his nostrils flare as he takes in more scent. His mouth is just ajar, just enough for Vlad to see his tongue shift. The elder blinks in confusion at the action before mentally slapping himself. He'd forgotten about the thermoreceptors. When he takes another step forward, the chain instantly scrapes the floor. Danny jerks in surprise and his eyes fall on the glowing metal. His tail shifts behind him, ruffled by the bind. Crawling along the stonework by hands and feet, circling, green eyes seem to hyperfocus on the links.

The movements are both feline esque and not. Fluid and graceful, like flowing water. Calculated even. A low clicking rumble trickles out to match the studying glare.

Vlad shifts his stance to both maintain a healthy distance and equally consider the youth.

Despite Danny's human facade, the older halfa is forced to wonder just how much actual humanity is left. The youth has the ability to become a predator that has yet to be recognized. He shifts between the two mental states with frightening ease and can maintain his baseline cognition. The human portions of his mind are not damaged by the change.

Behind him, Vlad hears Plasmius shift its footing. He feels the heat of its body approach and hears his own heart skip a beat when Danny's eyes peer up. His tail stiffens and he freezes at the sight of the hulking beast.

"Uh, I wouldn't," the human half utters quietly.

"He's just a child," the demon replies stepping around him.

"That is not a child."

Danny remains still, but Vlad observes two black spines erupt between his shoulder blades, tearing two holes through the shirt.

"That is a challenge."

The gargoyle stops and looks at the boy. It takes another step closer, and Danny backs up slightly. Which saddens Plasmius.

"That's not a challenge. That's a fear response. Here," it crouches down and extends an open hand towards him.

Danny's eyes fluctuates in response, fluttering between green and cyan back and forth as he looks at the offered extremity. He Inches forward, unsure and sniffing at it. The scent is the same, which piques interest.

Vlad swallows as the changing of color slows and the toxic ecto-glare finally fades away to the natural cyan. Danny leans into the open hand with a soft trill as he turns his focus onto Plasmius' face. The skin tone is right, all things considered. Warmed from within, stone in feeling, but soft. Why there's two of them is beyond him. But everything matches otherwise.

Recognition seeps in and the black staining his sclera clears.

"There you are, pet."

Danny pulls away, pupils dilating back to human. Scrambling back several feet as the spines on his back recede. Blinking and rubbing at his eyes to clear his head and vision, fussing to get himself back to a normal state.

Vlad sighs in relief as the tension finally shatters away and Plasmius stands up. It approaches again, this time with less concern over how the youth will respond. And it's here that the human half of the pair observes something else. His own tendencies, to be polite and proper, seem to have leeched into the gargoyle. It tucks one arm behind its back and offers its hand again.

"Are you well, little невеста?"

Danny looks up, alerted, with clear eyes. The offered hand still lingers, attached to what he can only assume was the cause of the last several years' worth of headaches and heartache. He recognizes the form easily. It's definitely Vlad. Definitely Plasmius. But it's a lot taller than he remembers it being. Broader shoulders, longer nails, longer fangs and...wings? Cyan irises dart all over the place, taking in as much information as they possibly can before falling back onto the assist being offered.

"Um..."

There's more to look at, Danny realizes. He nervously places his own pale hand into the other and mentally gawks at the difference in size. Standing up, color rushes to his face in a vibrant pink, the warmth rattling his skin. The flush trails down the back of his neck, down his arms, he can even feel his tail heating up. Somewhere in his brain, he remembers that cold showers are a thing of the past.

"I..."

He tries to form a sentence as he looks up. Or a word. Or a sound, or something. A single sylable might suffice. But his mouth glues itself shut. There's a lot more to look at. More to see, more to...to cuddle with... More to...

"You're not making a very good first impression, pet. Have you nothing to say?"

"...I think I'm fucked."

Chapter Text

I had to go back through my gallary to resurrect some pieces to pad this chapter. So, hopefully people like.

First up...

This was originally supposed to be for when Danny's form hit its final stage. There was supposed to be this big fit of trying to stand on those spindly legs with him cussing up a storm. ''Whose fucking idea was this?!'' sort of thing. But it sat in my gallary in the sketch stage for kind of a while as I got distracted with other stuff. I don't like to throw my sketches away, so often what happens is the sketch remains in the file, on like layer 1 or 2 and it can be seen in the playback.

But it's been a while since I actaully did any art for his ghost form, so I finished it!

Next...

Ever since I designed Danny's alternative form, I've wanted to put it and his canon form side by side, just to see the difference. I mean, I know the difference, but I wanted them in the same picture. So this was a fun way to go about it. I don't yet know if there will be a moment when Danny gets to peek through a window to see what his other life would have been like or meet his other self, but it's still a fun idea to kick around.

And I wanted the comparison so badly, so I just went for it. I know I got lazy on Phantom's boots. Leave me alone.

I lumped this one in even though it's already been put in a chapter as an afterthought, because I wanted this little collection to stay together.

Yo! Shout-out to SugarWeasel!!!!

"Not on the carpet!''

Oops. Too late.

I gotta say, the leg idea is really growing on me! I'm not sure exactly how to introduce it, but I'm really starting to want it. And I'm thinking that this form, with the legs, is a temporary stage. Like a season or something. ...maybe a mating/rut season? I'll chew on it. It would certainly be an interesting role reversal, having Danny as the overly protective, possessive territorial half.

Could make for some interesting moments!

Less communicative, far more dangerous. More predatory, wild hunter, need to provide, maybe even patrol the mansion's borders every night? I don't know. But it's just getting more and more appealing as an idea.

Had to redo it in his ghost form. I couldn't help myself. Somehow I think he'd actually be a little less dangerous in his ghost form when he's like this.

Just a little reminder that he's drastically set apart from humans...

...and is still dangerous, even in his human skin.

As for how this is going to go down, well... Just remember that Plasmius is made up of all the urges, instincts and behaviors Vlad has unsuccessfully tried to bury. And they're still connected, even if they think independently.

Vlad losing his mind, while an obvious outcome, was actually not my plan. To be honest, the ending just kind of happened. It was not my goal to have them rip each-other apart and then scrub down the manor. I kind of lost control, there.

But it allowed me to explore the potential of a Primal Plasmius, as I had with Danny. But where Primal Phantom is in Danny's ghost form, a Primal Plasmius would be in Vlad's human form. I mean, he was already kinda primed for it anyway with the horns. I don't know how often I'll use this form, or if I'll use it again. I was considering using it one more time for the eventual extracurricular activities, but I'm not really sure yet.

*shrugs* We'll see.

This next one, I wanted to finish a while ago. I just kind of pushed it aside until I had it in me to finish it.

There was supposed to be a little moment in the story, early on, where Danny was still kind of processing the accident. It would have been a moment of tears and anger and bitterness. But I decided to leave it out so that he could focus on his powers instead. There was already enough hurt/comfort and angst going, I didn't think there was really a need to add that kind of moment to the mix.

And, perhaps the only time I ever planned anything enough to put it to screen, a rough pallette draft.

Plus an early battle damage concept.

So, three pieces resurrected, two dredged out of the pit, and the rest are fresh!

Chapter Text

They're so similar. And yet...

So different.

As Danny sits at the kitchen island, he marvels at the reflections and contrasts.

Their mannerisms are identical. How they move. How they tilt their heads. The way their hands gesture in conversation. The lilt of their voices, though Plasmius' is deeper, are equally soothing. A low baritone that he could fall asleep to if he wanted. In some sense, to some degree, they're carbon copies.

But the words they use, how they speak and think... the mirror shatters into a thousand pieces.

They're griping at each-other, snarling and huffing. That much he can tell. It's a combination of English, Russian and unearthly noises. What they're fighting over, Danny's not really sure. But he can guess, even with the language barrier.

There's basic food prep involved. And only one plate is out. Considering it's his first day vertical and conscious in just over a week, he figures the plate is probably for him.

A knife is being yanked back and forth in the process. Who's to cut and who's to cook. It might be a little more entertaining if not for the fact that Danny's stomach gives a particularly unpleasant growl. Almost painful. The noise goes unnoticed by the bickering pair.

So, as quietly as he can, Danny slides off of the stool he's sitting on and goes to the fridge. He opens it and immediately bends down for the crisper drawers. He knows there's always produce stored there. Rifling through his choices, apples or tomatoes or cucumbers, he finds himself favoring a tomato. Easier on the fangs.

The sound behind him stops at some point, and it takes Danny to pause and listen before he realizes just how silent the kitchen has gotten. The floor no longer buzzes beneath his feet with the lower reverberations of Plasmius' chords. The younger halfa stands, nightshade fruit in hand and turns. Just as his eyes level on both human and gargoyle, the human looks away, snatching the knife out of the gargoyle's hand.

Vlad seems a little tense, his motions to cut being executed rather stifly.

Plasmius seems far less shameless, head tilting in interest.

Danny doesn't know what to do with that. Other than blush slightly.

...he catches them looking throughout the day. Whether he's stretching, laying on the floor by a fireplace, lounging on a couch or nesting among a hoard of pillows in a corner of the library. There's an inkling of being on display. Like he's caught in a sniper's crosshairs. He's being examined. He's being studied. He knows it. He feels it in his bones. The stronger it gets, the more obvious they are, the more Danny focuses on the feeling, the redder he gets. It's not an unpleasant sensation, per se, just...new? He's never been ogled before. But it's nice to have those curious looks returned for a change, especially when he counts all the times he looked at Vlad in such a manner.

But, once again, the differences between Vlad and Plasmius stand strong and clear. Vlad doesn't want to be caught looking at him, Plasmius doesn't care. They both want to look. But where one shows blaring interest, the other shows apparent shame.

The implications of the stares also prove difficult for the youth, pushing his mind down roads that just seem to get more and more appealing as the day goes by. By lunchtime, he's considering trying another shower again. And there's another contrast between each end of that infernal chain that's playing hell on Danny's hormones.

For some reason, Vlad is overly hesitant to even brush elbows in passing. Plasmius has absolutely no trouble reaching out to touch. Plus, Plasmius is warm. It runs significantly hotter than Vlad does. The sheer difference in temperature between them has Danny's brain boiling. Fleeting contact and firm touches scatter themselves across the hours, solely for the purpose of adding to his insanity. This, Danny would swear to. But he doesn't give in.

He shouldn't even want the touch. He shouldn't want to feel his skin sear and steam and burn. Worse, he shouldn't want the touch to come from...

His mind halts sometime in the late afternoon.

Vlad and Plasmius. One and the same, two sides of the same coin, but the coin is forged from two metals. Having them separate is hard to wrap his head around. They go together. They're supposed to be the same entity. But it's the Plasmius half of that entity that Danny is currently favoring. Which he supposes makes sense. It's the Plasmius half that's honest with him. It's the Plasmius half that doesn't shy away. Plasmius doesn't radiate shame. Plasmius doesn't hesitate.

But Danny, despite wanting to just fall into that thermal embrace even if the temp might be bad for him, just can't. It was the idea of Vlad that he became attached to. Not a piece of Vlad. And while that piece is open and even eager to respond to him, eager to hold him in every possible meaning of the word, it just feels wrong. He's not sure how or why. It just does.

They're settled in the library, several hours after a distinctly quiet dinner and Vlad has rolled over on the couch. Danny is sifting through a shelf of books on ice based ghosts when he hears the chain jingle. At first, he doesn't think anything of it. Until a heated shadow casts itself over him.

"You are proving to be a frustrating case."

Danny blinks and turns around. "I'm sorry?"

"Well," Plasmius straightens, "most younglings at your age were already falling into foreign sheets at least a year ago."

Danny feels his face heat up, "I just turned eighteen a week ago! And I didn't even get to celebrate! I had to sleep through it! Cut me some slack!"

"Oh, please. A mere number counted by the passage of seasons has never prevented the youth from misguided attempts of procreation."

Danny holds a book to his chest and pushes past the beast. "If you're trying to sweet talk me into doing something we shouldn't, you could at least do it without sounding like a historian barfing on an encyclopedia."

"Your own choice of words is certainly colorful. Hardly eloquent, but...well arranged," its gaze travels down the other's form.

Danny rolls his eyes to mask a rush of heat in his body.

"And who says we shouldn't?" The gargoyle replies, and the teen can hear the smile, "you are of age, after all."

"Again, I just turned eighteen. Don't get me wrong, the attention is flattering. But, it's almost as if you were waiting for me to become legal."

"At the human's insistence, yes. He wanted me to wait. The very thought of doing anything untoward before then upset him."

"And did you ever think that, maybe, there's a reason for that?"

"Oh, I know the reason," Plasmius approaches him, "I'm well aware of the reason. But, mayhaps, you are not aware of the inner workings of the arrangements made prior to your coming of age."

Danny finds himself backed into a shelf.

He's touting hollow protests to cope. Because he knows what's down the road. He knows what turns he wants to take, he just doesn't know when. And the idea of cheating, of fooling around a little early, before they're in one piece again is starting to sound like a really, really good idea. The blood in his body is actively settling nice and low. If it's just a game to see how long Plasmius can tempt him before he caves, even accounting for the moral discrepancies of messing around with only half of Vlad, would loosing really be so bad?

Plasmius towers over him, red eyes falling on the book that appears to be clutched as a makeshift shield.

"What arrangements?" The youth asks.

"Oh, a myriad of simple things, really. Control of our temper, how long and how often he lets me out, who gets to lead for the day, who gets control of what parts of our mindscape," it reaches for the book held tight to the smaller chest, "when we get to play with you..."

Danny fights back a shudder as the hardcover is taken from him, without any resistance.

"How we play with you was a days-long discussion, and an absolutely miserable one, at that. You see, he's rather protective of you. Almost to a fault, and there were certain ideas I had in mind for you that are ultimately off the table unless you suggest them. There was also a rather heated argument over who would get to play with you first, and under what conditions, and then," the book is tossed aside, "there was the coup de grâce."

"And that one is?"

Plasmius stands tall, almost proudly, "Who gets your womb first."

Danny's core spins in overtime to cool him down as much as possible, he worries, for naught.

"Now, that one was a coin toss."

...the concept of asking who won makes his knees begin to shake. Though he can guess, he really doesn't want to. As if on cue and detecting the inevitable hormonal collapse to the floor, a warm hand is extended for him to take.

"I won't ruin you just yet. Part of that deal includes his supervision."

Danny gulps again.

"But, a little experimentation never hurts. What say you, little невеста?"

Chapter Text

"If he already knows, then... I guess..." and then it hits him suddenly...

'They flipped a coin for my...on me. They actually flipped a fucking coin... Like a game. Like I'm a freaking prize.'

'Be mad later,' echoes through his head.

'What?!' "Why?" Danny asks softly as he looks away.

Plasmius raises a brow as it can see that the question is not directed towards it.

'Disclosure. We know now and not later.'

'That's...true... I guess...' "But..."

'We both know the shower is a waste of time.'

'...play now...'

'Get mad later.'
'Get mad later.'

It's strange to feel it nod in his head. Stranger still to hear it talk. Especially when it rarely speaks, and no more than a few words at a time, more so when he considers the fact that it has no mouth for conveyance. But to hear it speak, say more than two words, speak in a full sentence, try to give him an order, and then for them to speak in unison, well... It's given its own two cents before, but never like this. So Danny just reminds himself that they have to share the same head. They can work it out later.

"Maybe..." Danny looks up and places a shaking hand into the gargoyle's, "Maybe a little bit won't hurt."

Plasmius pulls him in just as his knees start to buckle. It guides him down carefully, mindful of the addled state it put him in. The onslaught of excitement has weakened him somewhat, making it easier for Plasmius to bring him down to the floor and into his lap. Facing the book shelf, backs turned towards the couch Danny is hyper aware of Vlad snoozing away on.

It's actually...mildly thrilling, having him right there, so close by.

'Need to keep my voice down!'

And at the same time, his stomach flips a little awkwardly because whatever it is that'll happen, he'll only be doing it with half of Vlad.

Plasmius lets him ease into a comfortable position, having him lean against his torso to stay upright. The veritable wall of burning core energy seeps into Danny's back and he shudders at the feeling. His own core finally starts to spin smoothly and release a steady flow of cooling air into his bones. Which is honestly a good thing when he considers how nice the position is. How nice it is to be surrounded by the warmth.

Yes, Danny runs cold. If he took his temperature, the number the thermometer would produce would be considered hypothermic by human standards. And though he's fine in his own skin, fine with the cold and barely even notices it, he's constantly aware of the difference between himself and everything around him. And sometimes, he wants to warm up. So as far as he's concerned, having a nearly nine foot space heater is a major plus.

"Comfortable?" the gargoyle asks.

Danny swallows and gives a tiny nod. He doesn't know what to expect, though his imagination can certainly run wild with ideas.

"Good. Now," warm fingers stroke his cheek bones, "Just feel."

...Danny thought the gargoyle might just go right for it. Which he really wouldn't have minded when he considers how hot under the collar he's gotten just from the conversation. And now that it's all he can focus on, he can feel how hard he's gotten. But Plasmius doesn't just dive into the deep end, so to speak.

Those warm appendages grace his face gently. Slowly. Pulling the tension from his jaw and soothing him. Small circles, light pressure, light contact. Ghosting his flushed skin. The difference in their flesh is made clear. Danny, cold and supple but reasonably dead. Plasmius, magma warm, polished granite and somehow living.

Steam should hiss as the touches drift down. But his surface temperature has climbed just enough to prevent it.

Plasmius traces the lines of his throat, forcing him to tilt his head back slightly. Easing over his trachea, dragging nails past his carotid and jugular and working its thumbs into the nape of his neck. The sensations begin to crackle sporadically, in minor little bursts of pink and red sparks. Reflexively, Danny jerks at the touch. It's a mild surprise that hints at the potential for a different kind of play. The kind he's been craving for a while. And so desperate is he to have that fantasy lived that he doesn't pull away from the contact.

He can control how his body jerks only just so much. But he makes a decision to not protest. He chooses not to worry.

The pops of energy audibly snap like static. Plasmius runs its hands down his bare arms, shedding electricity as it goes and Danny sighs and clicks and startles with each sharp burst. It's only his arms. But as the gargoyle pulls his hands back and traps his fingers in a teal stained hold, it feels like a full-body sensation. It tingles and rings his nerves in strange ways, each one blessedly welcome.

A low and rumbling purr rattles Danny's skull while he leans into the gargoyle's torso. His hands are released and the warmed stone of Plasmius' hands travels back up his arms and then down to nudge their way under his shirt. Danny jerks backwards, into that warm chest as the jolts scatter across his own torso. Zapping nerves and bones and then an entire palm runs over his left nipple with a charge much higher than the rest. His spine arches at the power and his jaw hangs open in a silent cry to the ceiling above. It's a reaction that catches the demon's attention.

"Tell me, my little невеста," it whispers into his ear, "how do you play?"

The hand on his chest strays upwards and wraps around his neck. The other proceeds to fidget incessantly with the waistband of his leggings. Not dipping in, not dipping down, not progressing. Just lingering there to taunt him.

"What gets you there? What do you need to be undone?"

"I..."

"Well?"

"I don't..." To discuss something so personal, just spew it out into the open air... Danny feels his vocal chords seize at the idea.

"What parts of you draw your voice out?" Plasmius tilts his head to the side and nips at a faintly pointed cherry red earlobe. Breaking the skin easily, it licks at a lazy drop of blood thick like molasses, just as the wound heals over. It earns the beast a shudder, but little else.

Huffing a small sigh, "I want music, little невеста. Let me hear you."

It sounds frustrated with him. Thrilled that he's so responsive, but annoyed that he's biting his tongue. Danny supposes he can understand that, coming from Plasmius' point of view. But his mind reels backwards at the idea of making that kind of noise with Vlad right there. Supposedly, the man knows. Supposedly, Vlad even agreed to Plasmius getting the first serving. But he can't be sure. He can't trust his luck. What if the beast is lying to him? What if Vlad really doesn't know? Or didn't actually agree?

It's not like Danny was there for what could be entirely imaginary conversations. The last thing he wants to do is start a fight between them.

As such, even though he wants to let it out, he can't bring himself to. And he indicates as best as he can by shaking his head. He even finds the strength to lift a shaking hand and gesture behind them. To the couch.

"Oh, is that what you're worried about?"

Danny gulps and nods.To which, Plasmius gives an ominous chuckle. The hand on his neck slides over his mouth while the hand at his waistband strays those last few blessed inches southward and into his pants. And, for a moment, Danny is torn between practically celebrating at the incoming touch and cursing the demon for disregarding his concerns. That is, until heat, pure and stone and fired to life by the curse of their state of being wraps around him and pulls him free.

Danny's hips buck before he can stop himself, rutting into the searing grip. He can feel Plasmius' hand becoming drenched with his production and it eases his movements. His cold to Plasmius' warmth, the thermal shock pains as much the movements please. After spending several minutes being shocked electrically, working himself in and out of the gargoyle's grasp almost seems ideal. ...almost.

The sound of flesh and slick is all the gargoyle hears at first. Eventually, though muffled slightly by its hand, nasal huffs of air morph to short whines. Then to long whines. Then they begin to climb in volume. Plasmius holds him as sweat begins to form on his brow. And it listens while nipping harmlessly at the shell of his reddened ear.

But it quickly becomes apparent that something is wrong. Minutes pass as the youth chases the sensations for release. But the excited mewls shrivel to pathetic whimpers and tears streak freely from his eyes.

"Either you have remarkable endurance, which I doubt, or there's something else you need."

In an attempt to assist, based on how he'd responded to the wind-up, Plasmius gathers a charge in its palm and releases it.

"Mph!" Pale fingers claw at the demon's arm, tearing the fabric of the sleeve in obvious protest and drawing ectoplasmic blood.

The gouging wounds hurt enough that Plasmius stops the jolts. The smaller body in its hold slumps like a rock. The palm covering Danny's mouth pulls away, allowing him to breathe properly. Plasmius strokes him gently and roughly, alternates between fast and slow, base to tip and back, firm and soft. But nothing works.

"What is it you need, pet?" It takes one of Danny's shaking hands and guides it, "Show me."

So frustrated and so tired of getting nowhere, and so unbelievably sore, he just caves in to his needs. He presses a single finger into his urethra, gentle, shallow. His head slams into the chest behind him, his eyes roll back and everything goes white.

...the world drawls its way back in slowly. Quiet, faint conversation trickles in over the crackling of the fire place. Flickering light crosses over his eyelids. Woven strands rub against the pads of his fingers and there's a gathering of warmth beneath his head.

He's drained. Tender in certain places. His skin still prickles with phantom shocks. But, he's also rested and well spent.

"Is that the only means by which you can find release?"

Danny's eyes snap open and he bolts upright, taking his head off of Plasmius' warm leg to find himself under a knitted blanket. His clothing feels different, looking down reveals an oversized white t-shirt and loose pair of black sweatpants. Which means Vlad woke up.

'Can I die of embarrassment now?'

'Can you die?'

"I asked you a question."

Turning his eyes up to the beast, blushing pink because he still uses oxygen, Danny blinks before looking away in shame.

"It's the only thing that works," he mutters.

"What else have you tried?"

Danny shrugs. "What else is there?"

"Oh, dear pet," Danny finds himself pulled into a warm embrace, "there's plenty to try! Some of it in the state you exist in now! And so much more if you should put your spell to use!"

Danny squeaks in the hold, nervous of the contact. Stiffening like a log and content to not move, lest he be tempted into a second round before he's ready.

The chain jingles lightly as Vlad comes into view holding two glasses of cold water. Danny sees him and looks away as quickly as he can, unwilling to make eye contact while red in the face. One glass appears in front of his nose and he hesitates.

"Half dead or not," Vlad says, "dehydration is still a possibility."

Danny takes the glass and pulls free from the gargoyle's hold to drink it. Actively choosing to not make eye contact with either one of them. Plasmius, because it felt fucking great and now he wants more despite the bumpy start, and Vlad, because he was right there and woke up.

Vlad watches him drink, wanting to make sure he gets as much fluid into the youth as he can.

When he's through the contents, Vlad takes the glass away and hands him the other. The younger halfa gulps it down as quick as he can and hands it back. Just as Vlad wraps his fingers around it, that little fit he's been meaning to have bubbles to the surface. He waits until the dishware is put down before he swings his fist out and connects with the man's shin, dropping him to the floor like the dead weight they are.

"What was that for?!" Vlad barks. He peels the leg of his pants up to see a bruise the size of the boy's fist. Plasmius rubs at its own leg with quiet growls of equal displeasure.

"For flipping a coin on me."

"You would rather we be at each-other's throats?" the demon snips.

Danny sighs and rubs at his forehead. "I'd rather you talk to me and not trick me. Everyone seems really big on talking, lately. Between you two and me and...whatever my thing is, just ask me, first. Okay? Be honest with me."

The gargoyle purrs and looks back to its human half, "Well, If we're going to go down that road..."

Danny's eyes narrow in confusion and he looks at each of them, "...what?"

"...I was never asleep."

"You-!" Danny lunges for him, nails growing long and sharp and skin red from head to tail tip. Vlad jumps back in surprise. Having the sense to share as little pain as possible is a powerful instinct and Plasmius grabs him from behind to hold him back. Danny screeches and snarls in its hold, fangs bared in a meager attempt to mask his shame. His tail flicks against the carpet, tapping muffled thumps into the floor while he tries to pry himself free of the bulkier arms wrapped around his midsection.

Vlad, breathing in relief, briefly glances at his other half and gives a small nod of thanks.

"You need a leash," Plasmius muses.

Danny's nails sink into its wrists as he looks back at it, "Then you don't need your hands."

"So, voyeurism is out, then?" asks the demon.

"Yeah. Take part or take a hike. I'm not a puppy in a window," Danny bites.

Chapter Text

As mad as he was over being tricked, Danny took it in reasonable stride and settled down after a few hours. They wound up having a late night snack that was absurdly tense. Vlad sat in an uncomfortable silence, as though he was expecting Danny to lash out at any moment. Danny said nothing in response. He's already said his piece, he just expects both of them to behave themselves. With little more than a few breaths of air and some glances with the right expression, he backs them into a corner for proverbial grounding.

It's not that he didn't enjoy the interaction, he genuinely did, but it was still uncomfortable enough of a sensation at the end that he wants some space. Trying to enjoy himself without waking Vlad was one thing. That was the thrill. The thrill of trying not to get caught. That's what got him going. The stunt they actually pulled...

Again, he's said what he needed to say.

Between the two of them, there was plenty of guilt and worry to share. But who expressed what was what really interested Danny. They both expressed those feelings. But Vlad seemed to display a greater amount of guilt. Plasmius was practically ill with worry. It sat on the floor facing the fridge with a distinctly stiff posture and was even gnawing on its own claws to cope.

Torn between feeling justified in his response and feeling his own guilt for putting the beast in such a state, despite knowing he shouldn't, an early turn-in was what felt best after all of that. Danny retreated to his room following their awkward meal and proceeded to nest under the blankets. Away from them. Away from his own unnecessary guilt. He falls asleep surprisingly easily.

When he opens his bedroom door the next morning, it's to Vlad holding a tray with a fork and a plate of pancakes that look...burnt.

"Oookay, what's this for?"

"An apology. Plasmius wanted to cook."

Danny raises a brow at him. "The nine foot ghost gargoyle that came screaming out of the ether for the purpose of pissing you off and making you face your own emotional suppression so that it could get into my pants a week after my eighteenth birthday actually felt guilty enough to bash its head into your kitchen ceiling voluntarily?"

Vlad winces. "In not so many words, we're sorry, and eat your damn breakfast."

Danny laughs and takes the tray. He settles on the edge of his bed with the tray and begins to eat. The pancakes are a little on the dark side, but still perfectly edible.

Vlad leans against the door frame.

"You can come in and sit," Danny says between bites.

Vlad gives a half smirk. "I would, but there's a nine foot wus at the other end of the hall and this chain only goes so far."

"You could invite him in."

"...it still thinks you're upset."

"I'm mostly over it, at this point," but Vlad hears the hard chomp against the fork.

"Well, good luck convincing it."

Danny sighs and takes another bite. "Maybe you two need to go out for a bit. Walk around. Air things out."

"Go out where, exactly? We can't just meander into town like this, Daniel. Do you have any idea how that would look? 'Hi! How are you? Oh, that? That's just an angry animatronic possessed by a demon that's grown attached to the barely legal, meat eating carnivore kid hiding his tail in his jeans. Me? I'm just along for the ride!' Really, Daniel, it's highly impractical."

Danny has stopped eating and is glaring at him with a tired expression.

"Okay, one, I'm not a kid anymore. I haven't been a kid in four years. Two, I didn't say to go out into town. You own an ass-load of land with no humans on it, you can walk around outside. Three, if we're really going to progress into any kind of relationship, and I'm fully expecting to get caught in some form of threesome at some point-"

"-Daniel!"

"-but the two of you really need to work this shit out."

Vlad buries his face in his hands to hide the pink tint coming to his face. "Must you speak with the subtlety of a train wreck?"

Danny looks at him, watching the hue staining his tanned skin slowly darken, "There's nothing wrong with how I talk."

'It's not a bad color for him.'
'It's not a bad color for him.'

Vlad grumbles incoherently and peers at the younger halfa between his fingers. "You're a handful. You understand this, yes?"

"And you aren't? You're dragging a thirty foot chain with a nine foot sky-rat on the other end!"

Vlad scowls at him.

"All I'm saying is take him for a walk. He went from cooped up in your head with no where to go to being cooped up in your house with you chained to his ankle. He could probably use the fresh air, and it might even calm him down."

Vlad's left eye twitches. "It, Daniel, is the physical embodiment of everything I've failed to suppress. Not a dog."

Danny stands with the tray and pushes past him. Storming down the hall as Vlad follows after him, "He has a mind of his own, and just because one of you is miserable doesn't mean we all have to be. Get him outside! I'll even go with you and we'll make a day of it!"

He steps around Plasmius sitting on the floor, brooding against a wall. The interaction has piqued its interest, though, enough that it went from burying its head in its arms to looking up and listening.

"Daniel, I really don't think-"

-Danny stops and turns, "Alright, I'll make this simple. Do you want me here more often?"

Vlad halts in his tracks. Plasmius peers up at the youth in worry.

"Yes." Vlad finally answers, though rather begrudgingly. As if he knew the question was coming, but wasn't ready to face it just yet. Which the younger halfa thinks is a little funny, considering they already flipped a coin on his uterus. He suspects they were hoping everything would just fall into place and work out and they wouldn't need to use their words.

'They're both idiots.'
'They're both idiots.'

The boy's heart skips a little in his chest as he feels the phantom within circling his subconscious. "Do you want me here for longer periods at a time?"

Plasmius remains silent, but the chain begins to glow.

"I... I would li-... ...yes."

It sounds like he's straining to answer.

"Do you eventually want me here indefinitely?"

"...yes."

Danny's heart flutters. He didn't think a few simple questions would set him off. But his core spins in overtime and excitement, and the imp inside that's usually so quiet is twirling in an aerial display he could sell tickets to. It's a challenge, but he does maintain his composure.

"Then take him outside and get him some air. It'll be good for both of you. Again, I'll go with you."

Vlad pinches the bridge of his nose. "Again, physical manifestation of emotional suppression and partial existential denial. Not a dog."

From behind him...

"Woof?"

December in Wisconsin.

Danny never cared much for the cold growing up. When he died, the cold became integral to his body functioning. His veins and arteries have barely any flow, the blood inside thickened by his hypothermic state. Allowing his body to trap the bitter thermal energy inside so he can go out in warmer temperatures for varied lengths of time. However, it leaves him more susceptible to heat stroke than humans, so he's had little choice but to embrace winter's bite.

And how could he not? Seeing the landscape bathed in a perfect white blanket, blessedly silent, devoid of human life and left only to the animals, winter is really a sight to behold. Having been born and raised within the confines of a city, he's never been afforded the opportunity to see unblemished land. It's a chance to see existence at its purest. Danny's eyes run rampant over the sparkling crystals, and he almost feels as if the whole display was made entirely for him.

Being dead and still having to walk among the living with no end in sight, no time limit, no fear of death, it has a way of sucking the magic right out of creation. And for at least two years now, Danny was feeling as if there was nothing more the world could offer him. That there was nothing left of interest to see. Existing outside the boundaries of mortality, there's no rush. No thrill. No burning need to hurry up and do something. No more desperation, no more impatience.

But with the cold of the living world, with all of its ice and snow and frozen crystal fields, the land locked in sleep, he feels alive for the first time in a while.

"It's fucking freezing out here," Vlad mutters as he shoves his hands into his pockets.

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

"Isn't your core made of fire?" Danny asks.

Vlad snarls through chattering teeth. "It is, but in true self destructive fashion, I stomped on a lot of anger in addition to everything else."

Danny looks at him confused. "...what does that mean?"

Vlad pulls the fur collar up over his hair to trap as much heat as possible. "It means that when I let Plasmius out, it took most of the heat my core generates."

Danny bites his lip to avoid laughing. "Kind of gives new meaning to being hot blooded, doesn't it?"

The elder halfa rolls his eyes, then looks behind him. Twenty feet back, Plasmius is digging at the snow. Internally grumbling as the chain has partially sunk into the white fluff of cold, he approaches with mild curiosity.

"What are you doing?"

Plasmius huffs into the cold air. "There is meat here and it's buried."

Vlad's eyes widen in surprise. "You're hungry?!"

The gargoyle growls and keeps digging. "Yet another point by which I can argue just how dense you can be. Having a form of my own comes with many benefits. Among other things, it means I can touch and scent and interact with the world around me. But it also means that so long as this hex of yours is in place, my form comes with a stomach to hunger. I just haven't desired food until now."

"...oh," the human says softly. He almost feels a little guilty. A little. Almost. Admittedly, the decision to bring Plasmius out into the physical world had been rushed and made with no forethought. He certainly never imagined that it would need the same sustenance he so required.

"The various concoctions you forge in your kitchen are not without appeal, but it's meat I'm smelling in this instance, and it's meat I want."

"It's probably some other predator's kill. Leave it be."

"I'm hungry."

Vlad looks out across the horizon. He sees the edge of a forest. His ears listen for the wind ghosting over the blanketed landscape. Hearing deeper, under the snow, numerous critters well into snoozing the season away. He hears the faint crunch of snow, hears it wedge between two toes. Multiple steps follow suit, mimicking the sound in perfect accuracy.

"Well, if you're really that hungry, there's deer in the woods. If you can catch one, I think you'll find a fresh kill far more pleasing, rather than half rotted seconds."

Plasmius stops digging and looks at him. The idea is not without merit when he thinks it over. However...

"I said I was hungry. I didn't say I wanted an entire buck. And what makes you think I'm going to degrade myself over the possibility of a failed hunt?"

Vlad smirks. "Easy. You're hungry."

Plasmius' lip curls back into a snarl.

"And, Daniel hasn't had meat in at least a week. If you're so serious about keeping him, it would show the feral side of him that you can provide."

The demon's wings droop to the snow in defeat.

"Fine," it stands up, "But I'm eating you if I miss."

Vlad laughs. "You're certainly welcome to try."

"Alright, where's the pup?"

Chapter Text

Pancakes are carbs. He needs more than carbs.

The old adage that carbs will run right through you and leave you hungry an hour later applies even to half-death, it seems. Danny's stomach growls at him rather painfully within moments of Vlad walking away. At least it waited, because he doubts he'd be able to handle being fussed over by both of them. Not that the idea isn't warm and fuzzy and charming, but the older halfa pre-crisis was already a lot to handle.

To add the post-crisis nine foot winged beast to the mix, one can only handle so much coddling at once, no matter how cozy it makes him feel inside.

Outside among the wilderness, in the deep of winter, there's very little to eat. ...unless one knows where to look. And his ears pick up movement beyond the trees. Heavy and slow with powerful huffs of air.

...he's never been inclined to hunt for food before. But there's this strange new sensation in his head. The feeling of stepping aside to allow someone else to take over. Yet, not a feeling of loosing control. Instead, more like someone wants to show him how it's done.

Danny kicks his shoes off and crouches down to the ground to slink his way across the terrain. He feels the niggling urge to dive and tunnel like he did in the Far Frozen. But the snow isn't deep enough. Oh well. They'll make do.

The land gradually slopes downward closer to the treeline. It allows for a whispering descent through the air, gliding just above the snow. The brush and fallen branches have made a natural haven on the outskirts of the forest, cutting an evergreen border through the middle of an otherwise barren field. Danny touches the ground carefully, keeping just enough air in his leg bones to avoid compressing the snow beneath him. He shucks his sweater off and slowly, he crawls into the greenery. He doesn't have to go far. Selectively keeping parts of his body intangible, he hunkers down within the vegetation and peers out into the foliage.

His tail flicks within the brush behind him. Sporadically, without rhythm.

Inside, he hears a clicking of approval and echoes the sentiment, allowing it to rattle free from his own throat. It even feels as if there's a hand on his shoulder, holding him steady. Telling him to wait. He does so without argument.

It takes a few minutes, but soft hoof-steps steadily draw closer. Thumping faintly against the ground below as the snow swallows the sound. Ice forms at the ends of Danny's fingers, growing into curled talons that promptly itch to be used.

'Not yet.'

Danny's exhales are smooth and even. He flicks his tail in the brush to further expel excess energy. To keep calm and keep still. His muscles rattle inside, twisting and winding up in anticipation. His heart beats just a little harder. His mind slows to a crawl as he focuses on those incoming steps.

Were he human, he wouldn't be anywhere near this patient. Hell, were he human, and thus, had a clock ticking down on his life cycle, he'd be anxious. Fidgety. Fussy. Sweating. He might even scare his food away. But when you literally have all the time in the world and then some, patience is not so scarce anymore.

Once again, another bright side to his state; the art of patience.

Good things come to those who wait...

Something feels like he's being pat on the head for coming to that understanding.

Finally, food. A full rack breaches, pushes through the branches. Its points are sharp and shimmering in the beams of light that pierce the forest.

Danny feels himself wiggle the lower end of his spine to prime himself.

'Not yet.'

A deep exhale of warm air floats up into the trees, followed by a snort and he spots an ear twitching. His claws sink further into the soil for traction.

'Almost...'

A powerful hoof crunches rotting foliage as it steps into a clearing. Into better view. Danny braces a bare foot against the forest floor and another phantom touch comes to his left shoulder. A reminder to keep still.

'Hold it...'

A brown pelt thickened for the weather enters into view and its head cranes upwards, looking around.

'Little more...'

It turns in its steps, exposing its sid-

"-NOW!"

The various little springs that make up his frame uncoil and release. Sharply, swiftly, suddenly. He launches forward, eyes thinned to slits, fangs and claws out.

"He can't have gone far," Plasmius muses as it looks out across the land, "I doubt he'll wander too much."

Vlad grunts. "It's not how far he'll wander that bothers me. It's that he wandered at all. Unleashing a supernatural predator into the living wilderness was not part of the plan."

"You worry too much," Plasmius chuckles, "He's far too pliant for a predator."

Vlad glares. "Remind me, where have you been for the last four years?"

"Oh, please. He's practically a kitten."

There's a snappy comeback on the tip of his tongue with a sharp retort to follow, but just as he opens his mouth to speak, a strangled bellow escapes from the forest. Disturbing the seasonal quiet and catching their attention, they both stop to look. A full buck comes barreling out of the greenery, kicking and bucking as hard as it can while blood trails across the plain. The source of its agony? Four fresh, ugly gashes in its side. The run is haphazard and panicked, almost uncoordinated.

Flesh hangs in grueling ribbon work and flutters in the breeze. Its ribs are exposed and flex with every labored breath, pushing more blood to the surface with each passing moment.

Vlad quirks a brow and briefly glances at his demonic half.

The buck missteps, staggers and faceplants into the snow about two hundred feet out, heaving hoarse breaths into the frigid air. From the vegetation, Danny lazily floats out into the light, parallel to the ground. Tail swaying and twitching behind him, blood splashed across his hands and shirt. He reaches the animal and his tail lashes out, wrapping around its throat and proceeds to squeeze.

The buck flails in his hold. Kicking, twisting and grunting loudly to get free. Danny shifts with it and continues cinching his tail until he feels something shift in his grip. Several bones give a sickening pop that rolls over the hillside. Then, he just hovers there for a moment. Staring down at the silent creature with an expression Vlad doesn't recognize.

And for the first time, Plasmius feels unsettled.

Vlad can practically hear its stomach twist and roil. He looks up at the gargoyle and extends an open hand out towards the bloodshed...

"Well? Aren't you going to go pet your kitten?"

Plasmius swallows. Audibly gulps, in actuality. "...I seem to be at something of a loss. I cannot decide if I am further smitten with him, mildly terrified, or both."

Vlad smirks. "Welcome to my world."

Danny unfurls his tail and plops down in the snow before the deer. He snaps a piece of its rack off and proceeds to cut into the flesh.

"Also, the concept of food is very suddenly unattractive." It almost wants to ask if such a change of feeling is common.

Vlad could make another joke. He could give a witty reply. There's several he could choose from. But he can sense that such responses are not what Plasmius needs. He thinks carefully before speaking again.

"We've already made the decision to pursue him. You've already gotten a feel for him. You've even gotten your own wounds by him."

The beast looks down at its tattered sleeves that are stained green.

"This," he motions towards the felled hunt, "this is what I was talking about in the manor. He's a delight and a threat at the same time. Keeping him means keeping every part of him. The good, the bad, the emotional, the temperamental, and the gore. You cannot just choose to misinterpret his various behaviors because it makes you feel better or paints a prettier picture. What you called a fear response could not have been further from the truth."

They watch the younger halfa chew at a piece of meat.

"By the same token, he'll be taking on the two of us. Split and whole, with all of our bickering, of which he'll likely only get half of, most of the time. Along with my reclusiveness, my unresolved bitterness towards his parents, my insecurities, my trauma, my fits, my occasional binges with alcohol, your insecurities, your fits, your unresolved bitterness towards his parents, your-"

"-alright! I get it! What's your point?!"

Vlad glares again. "My point is that he's willing to take us as he sees us. Whether we are as one cohesive unit or thirty feet apart. Which means we need to take him as we see him. You may be a manifestation of my own denials, but you think for yourself. At times, you literally think for yourself. I will not have you dismissing any part of him. Those pieces that make you uncomfortable are crucial to making the rest of him. You take him in every aspect, or you don't take him at all. Are we clear?"

Plasmius seems to soften and gives a silent nod.

"Good. Now, let's see if we can talk him into sharing."

Chapter Text

It's a little awkward at first, sitting down to a dead deer and a teenager with blood painting his face and hands. It's a grisly sight. One that makes both human and gargoyle rather uncomfortable.

And Danny, gnawing on a severed piece of rib with wild eyes and fangs scraping into the bone, pays them no mind. Either he's too fixated on ingesting proper nutrition, or he's completely aware of their presence and simply isn't bothered. Whichever it might be, he ignores them completely. Even as Plasmius takes the makeshift antler knife and proceeds to cut pieces of its own.

Shedding his gloves and pushing his coat sleeves up, the older halfa marvels at the focus that seems to have overtaken the youth. Stripping flesh from bone, one bite at a time. He audibly snaps his teeth over the pieces and pulls, with the faintest little growls emanating from his chest. In method, not unlike a wild dog. Audibly, not of the natural world.

Plasmius has the sense to break his concentration, passing him several hunks of meat to gnaw on before proceeding to eat. Gathering heat from his core and pulling it up to his mouth allows Vlad to eat with only mild discomfort. The meat goes from raw to gamey to just right, just in time for him to swallow. It's a bit bland, unfortunately. It's not like he was expecting to be eating outdoors, or he might have brought some salt with him.

They use the snow to wash excess blood off their pieces between nibbling, and to wash their hands when they get too red for comfort. The traits that Vlad developed, to eat carefully and calmly, have blessedly manifested in Plasmius, as well. They're both managing to avoid smearing blood where they don't want it. A rare occurrence. Vlad doubts it'll happen again.

As they eat, Vlad notices the thrum of their cores shift. He hadn't meant to listen. Not intentionally, in the beginning. He'd wanted to focus on civilized eating as opposed to Danny's apparent prehistoric manners. But the steady vibrating hum and whirring within, a sound that he's always been aware of, is coming in differently.

In listening, and feeling, he realizes that their cores have been suffering from the split. Where Vlad would traditionally expect the food to begin proceeding with digestion, his core instead lashes out for the freshly swallowed bits. A hissing sound, akin to cold water striking a burning surface, announces with each piece. His core swallows them whole. Fuel to the fire. And he can hear that Plasmius' is doing the same.

His core has never once required literal food to burn. It cooks off well enough. It's interesting. He'll have to start another journal.

...they eat slowly, for about an hour. Between the three of them, they put away a fair amount of the deer. By no means do they eat all of it. However, there are numerous scavenger animals in the area. It won't go to waste.

Clarity seeps in and Danny's eyes revert to normal. He finishes the last few shreds on a piece of bone with a light chirp and sets it aside. He rises to his feet and stretches, shaking his tail out to release tension. Vlad manages to look without making it obvious.

"You should wash your hands," he utters quietly, setting his final piece down.

Danny doesn't respond. He holds his stretch just a little longer, popping a few vertebrae back into place. His tail jerks and kinks at the feeling before settling. Easing his arms down, frost manifests all along his fingers and trails up his arms. It hardens into a smooth sheen, trapping the red splatter within until it cracks and shatters. His arms are clear, devoid of any evidence of his meal. He repeats the process with his face and achieves the same result.

The older halfa isn't sure if he should be impressed or annoyed. Though he'll acknowledge that it's a cute trick. ...the shirt is a complete write-off, though.

Plasmius seems quite unimpressed. It holds its arms up and red and pink fire bursts forth. The fabric of its sleeves remains intact while the blood burns and cooks off, producing a smell that makes Vlad extremely nauseous. He covers his mouth and nose with a disgusted groan and looks away. The fact that he's smearing blood on his face in doing so bothers him very little, in comparison to the demon's means of sanitation.

The fire fizzles out just as quickly as it had ignited and Plasmius gives a pleased purr.

Vlad swears it's a contest, and he's feeling just sick enough that he doesn't really care who wins. On the upside, his core ensured that nothing actually made it to his stomach. So he's only resisting the urge to dry-heave as opposed to actually returning his meal. ...he'll eat properly later.

If Danny saw the display, he doesn't show it. Instead he lifts off the ground and floats his way back towards the forest. Most likely to walk his meal off.

It takes a few minutes for Vlad's stomach to settle. Plasmius waits, and he's incredibly grateful for it. Getting his bearings allows him to first scrub with the snow and then produce a fire just long enough to sterilize, the scrubbing removing the vast bulk of the blood.

"Shall we give chase?" The gargoyle asks, and nods towards the woods.

"If we must." He pulls his sleeves down and puts his gloves back on. He's running a bit warmer now, enough that he considers taking the gloves back off again almost immediately. But he thinks against it and turns his eyes up to the trees.

Tracks start at the edge of the greenery. Indicating Danny touched down on the ground before entering. Barefooted, with toe shaped dents in the snow, Vlad grunts in minor annoyance. He hadn't noticed that the youth had kicked his shoes off. Which means they're out on the landscape somewhere.

"He's a bloody menace," the human half mutters.

They follow a path along those imprints, stepping over fallen branches and dodging others. The brush is thick, completely natural and untamed. Plasmius swats at leaves and twigs, rips a few limbs down in frustration and then snarls when he feels the claws on his wings hook on vegetation.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

Vlad, having lived in such a world his whole life, is used to nature and its tendency to grab on to his clothing and hair. Understanding that Plasmius is not of the natural world and has never walked it before, he can't fault the beast for its gnashing.

"Try putting yourself in a state of flux, between solid and intangible."

The gargoyle doesn't grace him with a response. But it does quiet down behind him after a few minutes.

The forest opens and closes. Sways and slopes. It dips, turns, slants and drops. Numerous little pockets of space dot their way beneath the canopy. Snow coats the floor, but it's been depressed beneath the weight of several animals. There's traces of wolves and bears. Deer and hare, the odd coyote or two. Their steps leave Plasmius curious. Hunching over slightly to see their shapes and details. It sniffs at the air to catalog each scent.

The trees offer their own essence. Rich, earthen pine sweetened with sap, cleansing the air and soothing the fading burn of the presence of other animals. Even the rotted leaves and bark strewn beneath the snow give off a natural musk that's equally new and soothing. As it lags behind its human counterpart, Plasmius soaks it all in slowly. It can faintly hear smaller creatures sleeping under the ground, which only adds to the canvas.

A sense of calm washes over it. Ease, simple, silent. Joy. Peace.

Truly foreign emotions to endure. They're not unwelcome, but just as new as the slumbering world around it. The roots of its formation are charred to brimstone. Befouled and soured by the array of feelings its other half tried to bury. Those feelings, those hormonal shifts, mental shutdowns and incessant inklings that gave it life? They're all Plasmius has ever known. It knows humor, yes. It's capable of laughter and recognizing entertainment. But its senses have otherwise been dulled. Conversing with the living world can be a herculean task when the shades and shadows of misery are all one's ever felt.

But out here, in the color, in the clear, in the light, the gray of its birth withers some.

...the human prints stop. Suddenly. Not at a wall, or a pond or a tree. In the middle of the clearing. Vlad raises a brow.

"Odd."

The right foot print is normal. But the left is not. Not human, not normal, not... Vlad squints. No, it's...there's a print there. It's just smaller, significantly so, and... ...round?

"What the hell?"

The tracks are strange to him. Distinctly hoof shaped, not cloven, and they eventually disappear from the ground after a few steps taken in a wider stride. As if taking off in flight. Effectively killing the trail. Vlad looks around. There's nothing new to hear, no new noises or crunching snow to follow. But within the brush, peering through the dark, a pair of bright blue and white eyes glow and glare.

No irises to see, no pupils to distinguish. Just a supernatural glow that freezes his heart.

"...Daniel?"

The blanket of white that coats the ground echoes steady impacts behind him and Vlad feels the heat of his other half approach.

"Have you found him?"

Raising an arm to stop the demon from getting any closer, "Shush. I think so... but I'm not sure. Daniel?"

The luminous gleam in the dark shrubbery remains.

Plasmius leans over his shoulder in uncertainty, "Little невеста?"

They're careful to avoid sudden movements.

Vlad, remembering how well it worked for Plasmius, kneels and offers a hand out.

"Come on," he calls out softly, "It's alright."

He doesn't really know what he's drawing out. He only knows that it can only be Danny. Nothing in living nature can make such small prints, and Danny is the only variable left in the equation.

The vegetation rustles and crinkles...and then begins to part.

Chapter Text

"Little невеста?"

Danny is at something of a loss and is feeling significantly cornered. Watching them both stare into the brush, at him, though he's well hidden...

This moment is overdue. Deep down and upon the surface, Danny knows this. He never meant to hide his form from them. Never meant to spin an air of secrecy or mystery. It just sort of happened that way. There hasn't been a good time, until now, to show himself. There hasn't been an opportunity to just go out and fly together. Ever. The last time he flew with Vlad, the only time he flew with Vlad, he didn't look like this.

When his form changed in the Far Frozen, the reaction had been largely uniform. Frostbite had been curious and even thrilled, to a certain extent. But the villagers had been terrified of him.

When he presented himself to his friends, they weren't bothered by it in the slightest. Tucker had shown the same surprise and fascination as Frostbite. He has yet to show his sister. The concept of showing Jasmine renders him so nervous that he's saving her for last.

But Vlad, and Plasmius, by extension, are due. They've earned it. And in order to proceed any further in this thing that they have, he can't keep himself hidden anymore.

It's not shame. It was never about shame. He's always liked his form.

But having had an entire village respond with fear and spears, and then cracking their island when he couldn't contain his frustration anymore, has a way of scaring him into being cautious.

"Come on, it's alright."

'Now or never.'
'Now or never.'

Worst case scenario, he has a few fun memories and his dreamscape.

He's too nervous to trust himself to walk. So he puts one hoof out, into the snow and light, and gently kicks off the ground. Gently pushing past the bushes, into the air in a silent glide and tail loosely swaying behind him.

He proceeds to circle them slowly, allowing stray beams of light catch his skin. Go big or go home, after all.

...Plasmius reaches for him first, its face stricken bare of the foul denials that birthed it and instead emoting curiosity, fascination and amazement. And wanting, first and foremost, to feel the crystalline flesh. It decides to try for a hand, eyeing long talons sculpted solely for imparting death.

Danny visibly hesitates to reciprocate. Aware of the nature of his hands, he worries about causing potentially irreparable harm. He stares at the outstretched appendage for a moment before drifting just a little closer.

As carefully as he can, Danny unfurls his fingers and offers his hand forward. Taking care to keep their sharp points angled towards himself and refraining from shaking.

Plasmius, overzealous as a starstruck child and far too much in awe, doesn't pay attention. As it takes Danny's frozen hand into its own, its palm is pricked open. Super-heated ectoplasm weeps from the wound and hisses when it contacts the frozen digits. But so quickly comes the puncture that it doesn't feel the pain.

Even if it did, the beast is far too focused on the talons themselves to care.

They're solid and flex at the same time, and unforgivably cold. They move with a strange finesse that's equivalent to their beauty. Their lethality holds no ill will towards the rest of the youth, but instead compliments him.

Plasmius, gently clutching his talons, gazes up at his face. The mask obscures all facial features, hiding emotions and expressions away behind a shimmering barrier that stares back with empty eyes. The raven colored hair he came to know hangs longer, white, and flows as if it were submerged in water.

A hidden homage neither of them are privy to.

Danny quietly chitters at him before pulling his hand free. He drifts away, the tip of his tail brushing against soot colored strands and the demon shudders.

...there's a small modicum of pain in Vlad's left hand, but it goes largely unnoticed. A mere prick of the palm is hardly of any importance when his eyes have been too busy soaking in the strangely primal design of Danny's form. And with so much to look at and study, his voice is just as lost.

The pure sheen of frozen skin curves and sharpens. Flexes with each movement. Danny's tail seems just as fluid in ice as it does in flesh. Vlad reaches a hand out for it and misses as Danny swerves around him. A fluttering tone not unlike the ring of small metal wind chimes echoes into the forest. It's reminiscent of laughter in its inflection.

And Vlad should feel frustrated at having missed, yet he doesn't. He reaches again, wanting to feel the tail's external structure because the spines look sharper than before and he wants to find out. The younger halfa simply turns in flight again, chiming laughter trailing with him.

Vlad gives up on the tail.

There's a sharp point to the younger's elbows that sparks interest. The crystalline mask, devoid of traditional orifices and flush to the skin underneath, somehow lets sound through and he wants a closer look. Danny's legs, digitigrade and oddly bent, seem too thin and impossible to stand on. But tracks in the snow indicate otherwise. Briefly, Vlad catches a glimpse of those hooves. He just barely makes out the details before loosing sight and the scientist within him jumps up and down in a tantrum.

Danny seems more interested in amusing himself. Twirling and flitting about, his tail just ghosting their shoulders in a way that would be absolutely irritating at any other moment. But in this instance, with the spinning and turning and looping, neither end of the chain is even remotely annoyed. Both simply can't help but focus on what equates to a display of grace.

The sounds he makes, the amused chimes and chitters, they all suddenly make sense to Vlad. Having been on the receiving end of more feral behavior, it all falls into place.

While he is troubled, to the degree of his ghost half gaining sentience and some morbid sense of wit, he is ultimately a gargoyle at heart. That is to say, he looms and watches. And defends when necessary.

In contrast, this creature that shimmers in the sun, that's free as a bird, playful and lighter than air, is also a hunter. A killer. One of a kind, on both sides of the veil. He already knew him to be a danger to the living. Their lunch was certainly proof enough. But seeing this side of the boy just further ingrains it, sets it into marble and gold. Vlad decides he won't envy anything that crosses the youth's path. Ancients help the poor soul that does.

Further, to picture something so delicate, so timid, so precious and unique as Daniel tearing a human apart, shattering bones and severing limbs... It would be messy. But he wagers it would be a grand and frightening show. Alluring, even.

And he'd flow in his movements just as smoothly and easily as the blood that would be drawn.

On a particularly steep flit, Vlad finally catches a hold of Danny's hand. He humors the boy in one more spin to earn more chimes of laughter before he slows to a stop.

Danny seems to calm and hovers, sensing a change in the mood. For the hand Vlad took, he curls his talons inward towards his palm to keep the points away and avoid causing harm. Resting knuckles down in the older halfa's open palm, he lets Vlad reach up to him.

Gloved fingers faintly nudge at his jaw, tilting his head into the light.

Danny lowers and rights himself, planting his hooves on the ground awkwardly as he shifts his tail to gain balance. When he stands as straight as he can, he finds himself looking down at Vlad. His legs put him a whole head taller than the elder halfa, which is new to him. Inside, something purrs.

'Interesting.'
'Interesting.'

They both decide to set it aside for later. Vlad is looking up at him with a mix of captivation and kinship and something else. Something Danny knows there's many names for. It spins many threads to life, new ideas that he has to pile away in addition to everything else.

White light projects, forcing Vlad to turn his head away. When it fades, and he faces the younger halfa again, he's shorter. Smaller. Human. But he understands, only to a point. The creature within can only be masked so much and has a habit of still managing to bleed through its living shell. Manifesting a tail, eyes that thin in response to light, fangs that don't retract, and ears that come to a point. Realistically, there isn't much actual humanity left.

In response to the silence, having expected the man to say something, anything, Danny's eyes drift downward. Along with his self-esteem.

"It's not what... It isn't really..." he sighs, "I don't know if... I know... I don't think 'imp' is right. I... It's not normal."

Nervous, fluttering squiggles of blue and orange and yellow bounce Vlad's vision. Strange awkward blends of lines and splatters that have very little rhyme and reason, make up the array of emotions practically pelting him in the face.

"...'normal' is rather passé, at this point."

Danny winces, and Plasmius swats him in the back of the head.

Vlad glares over his shoulder and rubs at his skull, "What I mean i-"

"-I know what you meant," the teen says quietly, "I just figured you'd have a little more to say than...that."

A hand comes under his chin, urging him to look up. Danny resists at first, sternly keeping his head down so he can assemble his thoughts better. But it's an insistent nudge.

"Daniel, look at me."

Slowly, questioning his judgement, the boy picks his head up. Hesitantly raising his eyes to meet him, afraid of whatever else might be said.

Vlad focuses, deep into those cyan rings like he's been hypnotized.

"I'm not very good with attachment. My few attempts at even basic companionship, well, you've met two of them. The rest did not end with anything so spectacular as altering my genetic code. They ended poorly, nonetheless. So, when it comes to communicating my feelings, I've not had much practice."

A glimmer of pity sparks in the youth's eyes.

The elder halfa cups Danny's face with both hands, gently running his thumbs over his cheeks, "But, please, forgive me when I say, I can't describe what you are. I can't put words to your shape. I can't tell you what you want to hear, because the languages that we have are all insufficient."

Ice crackles and scrapes along the grains of thermal shielding. Vlad hears it.

"You probably have some ideas assembled of what you'd like me to say, and I'm not going to use any those locutions because they're not enough."

'You could try,' Danny thinks, but doesn't speak, for fear of being considered self-centered. Especially as he understands what Vlad is saying. It's plain English, fanciful yet basic. But he still feels... Incomplete? Cheated? Jilted? He feels like Vlad could try a little harder, put more effort into it, just say what Danny wants to hear, and where the hell did this insecurity and need to be praised come from?!

Mentally, he shakes it off and the creature within does the same, both of them hating both of those sensations. They're faulty, flawed, inaccurate, incorrect, erroneous, and just plain wrong. For the simple reason that Vlad is trying to communicate. In his own way.

"To appease your obvious doubt, I will, however, tell you this..." his eyes darken, first from blue to a bruising purple, then to an ominously pulsing red, yellow streaks glitching to shape thinning pupils...

"You will complete your schooling in full. College included. I won't deprive you of your education. But once you've graduated, you are moving in to my home."

Danny blinks in surprise and blood rushes to heat his face.

Vlad quirks a brow at the silence, "Am I clear?"

Plasmius then looms over them, glaring red down at him in frightening unison.

"Well, little невеста?"

Danny's heart jerks in his chest and proceeds to work far harder than it should. He gulps in response.

"I think I got it, yeah."

Chapter Text

It's a hell of a declaration to swallow...or, rather, was it an order? Danny leans more towards it being an order, given the hard tone upon delivery. But it has the added benefit of settling his concerns. Vlad can't yet find the words to express himself, but has the wherewithall to admit it aloud. Frankly, given their history of actually opening their mouths to communicate, what he got was certainly more than what he should have.

Far better, too, than the uglier alternative of just standing there in a dumb silence.

They spend the next few days simply enjoying their presence together. Just taking ease and basic pleasure in the fact that they're under the same roof. Their cores waver to a steady drawl in time with one another. Vlad cooks, lets Plasmius help where it can. Unsure if it's to test the waters of a domestic life or satiate the needs to feed and provide, and they don't really care to find the answer.

And Danny makes no effort to fight the attention. If anything, he relishes in it. It's something of a luxury, not having to scrounge the kitchen for something half cocked in concept in a poor attempt to obtain basic nourishment. Further more, if the bilingual bickering pouring out of the kitchen doorway was anything to go by, there wasn't a point in resisting, anyway.

So Danny read through ancient texts, slept, ate and repeated. Finding solace and knowledge in the calm, rejuvination in rest, and more than adequate nutrition in the meals.

With no teachers to justify himself to, no parents to dodge, no mother-henning sister to cower under, and no homework to try his patience, he could almost hibernate. Seriously. Just roll over into a pile of blankets and pillows and sleep through the next K-T event. Plasmius' purring and gentle strokes through his hair make it incredibly tempting.

But then he'd miss the bounty of sweet, savory and soulful aromas from a distant Slavic land. Vlad's cooking, the halfa decides, is grounds enough to move in. Even if they never fell into bed together, that little black plastic box packed with yellowing index cards and tucked away behind a vintage cocoa tin would be more than enough.

All things considered, including his guts rearranging themselves, it's probably the best birthday and vacation he's ever had.

Danny spends his last night in the manor lounging among a hoard of silks, pillows and comforters piled by the couch in the library. With Plasmius draped across the cushions, its warm nails gently raking through his hair, sapping any and all tension and anxiety right out of him. Soothing chords hummed their way into his dreamscape, with Vlad settled next to the pile and studying his tail. Well fed, soft touches, a crackling fireplace, the odd scratching of pencil against paper now and again...

If this is the shape his eternity takes, Danny decides he'll welcome it with open arms.

...when it's time to go home the next morning, there's resistance. There always is, but now he has the temper and the strength to back it up. Both halves endured whining, fussing, swatting claws and even biting when it came time to dislodge the boy from his nest. But they manage to pull him free.

Begrudgingly, the youth packed the few belongings he'd removed from his bag in silence. When he finished, clutching his journal close his chest, Danny eats the breakfast Vlad pushes towards him in the kitchen and then goes outside to wait for the car.

He doesn't say anything. Just stands on the steps with his head hanging low with cold wind swirling around him.

Vlad lingers by the door with the warmth of Plasmius radiating behind him.

''It's just a temporary seperation,'' he says softly, ''Just for a little while. One more time.''

''...I know.''

''And...there is an added benefit.''

Danny's eyes narrow and he looks up at the older halfa.

''It gives us time to really find our boundaries and learn about each-other.''

Danny blinks.

''If you really think about it, what do we really know? Apart from the obvious?''

Danny turns his eyes back into the snow to stare blankly, and realizes that the man is right. Aside from what first brought Danny here in the first place, and some experimenting, both in the kitchen and in play, they've never taken the time to actually get to know one another.

''I would also like to offer one piece of advice. For while you're away.''

The car, the same black Mercedes from two weeks ago, pulls up. Danny ignores it to look at the man in interest, and a smirk crosses Vlad's face.

''When you finally decide to test things out, you'll want to make sure you're alone.''

''Why?''

Nudging him down the steps with a hand on his shoulder, ''Because once you start, you won't want to stop.''

A pink streak colors the boy's face as the other opens the door for him.

''And speaking from experience, while it's definitely worth it, it's not the sort of thing that can be done quietly.''

''...okay.''

The car rounds the courtyard just as the chain at the halfa's ankle scrapes against the stone of the staircase.

Despite wanting to go with him, despite Plasmius looming behind its human half to watch the car pull away and then walking out and pawing at the tire tracks in the snow, Vlad held fast. The chain flickered in the white, in time with the thrum of their cores. The cold held nothing against drooping wings and shuddering whines, and Vlad knew better in that moment than to mock it for its behavior.

They're after the same thing, there's no sense in squabbling. But he does give a blunt truth.

''If we want to court him, we're going to do it right. Carefully, and at a controlled distance. Too much at once, and we'll scare him away.''

The glare and pout given in turn told him that although the matter was not to its liking, the beast is not going to argue. It shakes the slush from its claws, instead.

''When do we see him again?''

''I figured we'd give it a few months before we really start persuing him. Let him finish high school and catch his breath, first.''

Plasmius grunts. ''I think I've had enough for a while,'' it stands and gives a kick to the chain.

Vlad nods and reaches into his chest for his core, ''Just don't drag me under in broad daylight ever again.''

''I make no promises.''

It's well into the afternoon by the time Danny finally steps into his living room. He takes a deep breath to center himself, detects the smell of rotting ectoplasm in the carpet, and groans in annoyance. There's further vexation to be found in the basement, clattering and shouting while the lights in the room flicker. Electricity buzzes in the wiring in a way that just rubs against his inner ears all wrong while tools are being dropped.

Footsteps click against the floor in the kitchen, and when he looks to the doorway, Jasmine stands, looking slightly ruffled, drying her hands with a dish towel.

''I almost didn't expect you to come back this time.''

Suddenly, an explosion shakes the house, hard enough that his sister uses a hand to steady the rack of blueprints so she won't have to clean them up later.

''I almost didn't.''

Jasmine swallows, awkwardly detecting only a grain of sarcasm in his voice. Her eyes fall on the journal. ''So...how'd it go?''

Danny clutches the tome a little tighter to his chest, feeling somewhat exposed, but remembering the pledge he made to himself before he left. There's a lot of information in his hands. Some of it, she's already painfully familiar with. But certain pieces, while he's not thrilled with the idea of her knowing, would help her understand his situation a little bit better. He didn't consult Vlad about telling her, and while part of him thinks he should have, sometimes it's just better to ask for forgiveness later.

''Do you still want answers?''

Jasmine stares in surprise for a moment. ''It would be nice, yes. Are you actually willing to share?''

He nods, averting his eyes and curling his fingers around the journal even more, "Upstairs, though."

He learns very quickly just how desperate she's been for answers. Jasmine bolts up the stairs, right past him, so quickly it makes him a little dizzy. He's not used to humans moving that quickly. The dish towel she'd been using was dumped rather unceramoniously onto the coffee table. He decides right there that he'll let the book do most of the talking. It'll be far easier to get across just what the hell has been going on with him.

Ascending the stairs reveals she's waiting at his bedroom door, likely intent on making use of the newer lock. He doubts it to be necessary, given that their parents are otherwise preoccupied with whatever just detonated in the basement. But, safety first. So, he lets her push his door open and go in ahead of him. He locks it behind her, briefly giving the knob a careful turn to make sure it's properly engaged.

When he turns back to face her, and finally looks at her, she's seated on his bed. Back straight, shoulders squared, hands folded neatly in her lap as she glares impatiently. The silence is uncomfortable at best, making him feel like he's the fingernail being scraped on the chalkboard.

"Well?" She finally asks, as if suspecting he'll back out, which, don't get him wrong, he's seriously considering. But he knows better.

So, in a dumb silence, too unsure of his own voice, he passes the black journal over. Jasmine takes it with a raised brow and opens it. Danny sits down next to her so he can read with her. On the inside of the cover, which he'd never noticed before, she finds the handwriting that they both know so well.

Pediatric Study of Ecto-Exposure and Side Effects

Case Subject: Daniel Nightingale Fenton

Age: 14 Years, 4 Months and 3 Days

Date of Expiration: March 4, 2004

Cause of Death: Electrocution

Jasmine feels it's a rather cold and clinical start. Practically heartless. Until she begins to read through the pages.

Just as it had for her brother, though she's unaware of his own experience, the swirling calligraphic scrawl of the fountain pen distracts and informs all at once. The charted ledger, the collection of values and their purposes, astounds and abounds, with numerous little clusters of words pack tightly in the margins. Those notes that Vlad had shown nostalgia over seem to warm her some. There's many to read. Some are more jagged than others, giving the sensation of being frustrated, painting her a picture of someone far more understanding than she'd initially taken the time to realize.

Danny eventually looks away and proceeds to fidget with his fingers. He can feel her energy and how it shifts and changes, just as his core would. He can feel her breathing alter and settle, can sense her eyes moving through the pages, one by one. Her lack of sound and her nonexistent attempts to speak or ask any questions disturb him. As if he weren't nervous enough.

He listens to the paper rustling and turning as the minutes pass by. He resists the urge to look over and see where she is in the reading. He doesn't want to break her concentration. He could be easily mistaken for simply waiting to be yelled at with how he slouches in the quiet and makes a point of keeping his eyes down.

The clock rolls over in quarters. That's the only thing he observes. Fifteen minutes, thirty, fourty-five, an hour and more... All the while, the basement continues to holler and clatter beneath them. There's a few more explosions, though they're significantly less powered and barely rattle the house at all. It all just makes him think of getting out. Of getting as far away from it as he can. Just vanishing and never coming home. In good time, of course. There's an ending in sight.

Finally, Jasmine finds the final entry. And he knows she does, because she voices as such.

"This is...different." Her tone lilts in surprise and mild discomfort while his face proceeds to redden. But he doesn't look.

"Are you sure he isn't pulling your leg?" She squeaks after a few more minutes.

Danny shrugs. "He hasn't lied to me yet."

She doesn't sound even remotely satisfied. "It's just... you do know what this means, right? If it's real?"

Danny sighs. "I know."

"This means you could..."

"I know."

"And...just... you could... and whenever you want, too. This is..."

"I know."

"This is something a lot of people would kill to have."

"I know."

"...it certainly explains a lot! Uh... oh, boy..."

Danny finally looks up at her.

Jasmine rapidly shakes her head. "Yeah, I'll be honest. I have absolutely no idea what to do with all of this."

"How do you think I feel?"

She closes the book and hands it to him. "You realize this means that Vlad could do that, too."

Danny blinks. Something suddenly stands at attention within. Alert. With interest. Something clicks in his brain. Like a button, or...maybe it's a switch...?

"Yeah, I know," the words come forth and release, but he doesn't really hear them. His brain is too busy adjusting.

Jasmine abruptly rises to her feet. "Okay! Well, thank you for finally telling me, I think I'm just gonna go downstairs and rewash all of the dishes and pretend that my little brother can't get pregnant."

Danny winces because that hurt, a little. "There's something else."

"Please, no."

"It doesn't have to do with any of that. It-well, at least not yet, anyway. Um," he waits until her face relaxes, "I'm gonna be moving out. After college."

The overloaded stupor he's put her in dissipates suddenly. "What?"

Danny gets up and goes to his closet to bury the journal again. "I'm moving out after college."

He begins wrapping it in old shirts while her voice catches in her throat.

"You're- You're mov- Ou- Whe- You-! Where are you going?!"

Packing the bundle of cloth and text into a box, "Do you really wanna know?"

"Don't tell me you're moving in with Vlad!" Her voice cracks, but she still manages to sound horrified.

Danny piles a bunch of books and shoes onto the box, "Okay, I won't tell you."

"Are you kidding me?! Danny, yo-"

"-Look, it's not like I can really go anywhere else. I'm not gonna age anymore, so, realistically, I can only stay in one place for just so long, and I don't want to spend an eternity hopping from one town to the next. I don't want to have to constantly upend my life every thirty or fourty years."

Her energy shifts again, wilting in the air. Smelling like rain on a dying garden. "Danny..."

He stands up and turns to her. "And Vlad's home is pretty well removed from everything, so I'll be safe there. Okay?"

He hears the sniffle before she realizes she's going to cry.

"I'm not just gonna dissappear forever, if that's what you're worried about. But I can't just stay here indefinitely."

A memory echoes in her head, rumbling to the surface and thoroughly unwelcome...

"He will outlive you and your children, your grandchildren, their children, and so forth. Once he's done growing, he's done aging. Time will become irrelevant."

"I'll still visit! Maybe twice a month or something, but I'm going to need someplace that I can go to and not have to worry about mom and dad or someone else with an itchy trigger finger."

"...he may even sever his ties with human society in a few decades..."

"Danny..." she raises a hand to stop him from speaking. So she can catch her breath and sort her thoughts.

"I severed most of my ties with relative ease. I maintain some for financial reasons. But I didn't have anyone in my life that cared enough to look in on me. So, there was no one to miss me. It's quite apparent that Daniel does have people who care about him, or you wouldn't be here. And watching his friends and family grow old around him may break him."

"Stop," she whispers, "j-just...just shut up."

Danny feels taken aback by the order. The overwhelming scent of fading life is smothering. Almost as much as her heart pounding in her chest. Maybe he's overwhelmed her again, he thinks. Maybe it's all too much for her. But if he stops himself now, he'll never talk again. So he lets her have a moment.

Jasmine huffs and breathes carefully, using several different exercises to gather herself and regain control. It takes a few minutes, forcing her brother to stand in an incredibly uncomfortable silence. Circulating the air in her lungs to bring calm and ease her mind. A gray settles down around her as the essence of rain permeates her entire body, erasing the hints of her perfume and shampoo and her natural fragrance of the spring flowers and freshly cut grass.

"Is that it?" she asks, her tone soured like vinegar.

"Almost, um... W-we're gonna start dating."

"...what?"

'How can vinegar get sour?!'

'You'd be surprised.'

"We're gonna start dating...?"

He'll give her credit, she doesn't start lecturing him. She doesn't holler, doesn't even raise her voice. In fact, she says nothing at all. She does, however, storm out and slam his door behind her, go to her room, put a pillow over her face and then scream.

The outcomes were numerous in possibilities, many high in probability. A few of them even resulting in bodily harm. If he wagered his imagination in the extreme. But, when weighed against all of those potential consequences, when all was finally said and done, and all of the dirty laundry was aired, he reaches a different conclusion altogether.

"She took that better than I thought she would."

She doesn't come out of her room for the rest of the day. Which could be cause for concern, if it weren't for the fact that he just flipped, inverted and overturned the entire contents of her brain. So he scrounges up his own dinner, a can of spaghetti-o's and a glass of milk, and turns on the television to drown out the noises from the basement.

When he's finished his meal, he opts to retire early. Shutting himself in his room, he strips down to his boxers and a plain black t-shirt shirt before flopping into bed. Unwinding his tail from his leg brings a sense of relief; the muscles have been pulled taught all day. So it's nice to just stretch out and relax. He nestles in under the blankets, rolls onto his side to get comfortable...and finds himself facing his closet.

His core thrums quietly in his chest as his eyes gloss over the contents and drift down to that pile of shoes and books. Like there's a monster underneath, waiting to just leap out at any moment. He wonders if it would be in poor taste to give it a try. Just for a minute. Just out of curiosity. Just long enough to look, find out what it would be like. Vlad can do the same thing, so, what's it like? What does it feel like? What does it look like?

And he's not an idiot. He's a hormonal teenager, he always will be, but he has a computer in his room. He already knows what it looks like. But what would it look like on him?

How would it feel to have... The last time he asked himself this question, he didn't have the ability to find out. Now, he does. Now, he can. Now, he... He...

"...it's not the sort of thing that can be done quietly.''

The blush that manifests goes all the way to his tail, which flicks under the blankets in interest. He's already used to keeping himself quiet, and there's still plenty of noise coming from the basement. So really, what is there to worry about?

Danny doesn't really pry himself out from under his blankets, but rather, he practically slithers out and goes for the pile. Shifting things around as quietly as he possibly can means moving things one at a time, riling his nerves further and making him anxious. He doesn't want to drop anything or he might alert his sister. He needs to be quiet. He needs to be careful.

Shoe, shoe, shirt, shoe, book, book, shirt, shoe, book, shoe, shirt, shirt, book, shoe, 'Why the fuck do I have so many shoes?!' shirt, shirt, book, shirt, shoe, shir-bingo.

He pulls the bundled text free, strips it of its own shirts and settles back into bed. Attempting to flip to the page, he overestimates in his eagerness and finds blank paper, and he has to move backwards. His heart is beating hard in his chest, almost at a normal rate while he scans the final entry.

Activation of the spell is, by some mercy, rudimentary, if not crude. The image of the spell itself is a simple isosceles triangle, and one touch is all that's needed to wake it. Triggering is done by drawing a half circle in either direction. When the tip of the triangle is pointed upwards, this is the male position. Rotation in either direction, counter or clockwise, and the tip will point downwards, the female position, granting access t-

Shoving the book aside, he sits up, leans against the headboard and lifts up his shirt. Gulping, with a shaking hand, he gently taps just above his naval where Frostbite had four years ago. The room lights up in that strange ecto-blue that practically burned a memory into his retinas after their conversation. Glowing bright and new was that same triangle he'd seen the yeti chieftain show. And where his finger had touched, the tip of the triangle rested. Pointed upwards. And all he has to do is rotate it. He's already further into this mess than he thought he'd be, and much sooner, so, why stop now?

He touches the top of the triangle before he can stop himself and proceeds to draw a half circle, as per the instructions he'll eventually come to decide that Vlad really should have known better than to leave him with. He finishes, leaving the spell pointed downwards.

As soon as he lets go, it goes from that cool blue to a hot white and every red cell in his living shell charges south. Engulfing his entire frame in a fever, he feels a rush as everything rearranges. His skin crackles to life, cherry red and singing as if Plasmius' hands were all over him again. His eyes roll into the back of his skull while his head drops against the headboard with a slight thud. Choking on his own voice, his vision abruptly turns white as his pelvis shudders against the mattress. His loins twist and ache and burn until his legs spasm and collapse. When the fire finally burns out, he's aware of three things:

One, he's officially in what qualifies for tachycardia for him and he doesn't care.

Two, his boxers are soaked.

Three, he feels empty.

His muscles are moving differently. Seizing and almost panicking, desperate to clamp down on something. Anything. Anything to fill the screaming void.

It takes a lot of effort to right himself and sit back up. His whole body continues to shake as he grabs at the waistband of his underwear and slides them off. Because it really feels like he's been carved open, morbid curiosity dictates he needs to see if that's the case. And if it is, can he make the feeling go away?

Nervously spreading his legs, he realizes he doesn't have a mirror to help him. He has to rely on his own sight and touch.

Looking down at himself, his heart leaps into his throat. The blue light of the active spell somehow makes it more surreal, but clarity remains as he feels every fiber in his pelvis continue to convulse in a new way. ...Danny's had access to the internet since he was in middle school. Plus, he's peeked at several medical textbooks in the past. He knows what he's looking at. It's just really difficult to process, seeing that part of himself replaced with female parts.

Drifting a shaking right hand down to feel, just over the surface of his skin, he finds that, in addition to being wet, it's much warmer than the rest of him. Which makes sense. His fingers dip into his folds and they slip right past, the path sloppy and slick and easy and he finds his clit suddenly and the contact makes him jump. He pulls back enough to part himself properly, holding his labia open with his fingers. It feels strange to expose himself in such a manner. But it allows him to put his left hand to use and explore.

Ghosting his touch over his clit with a shudder, he slips down further to feel...and without intending to, dips his fingers in. They slip in so easily, three at once, into a practically waterlogged oven, that his breath hitches sharply. It's ridiculously wet inside, far wetter than he thinks it should be, but this is new to him, what does he know, and... Can...

'Can I fit more?' It certainly seems loose enough.

Testing the waters, testing his tolerance, he twists his hand and after kinking his elbow awkwardly, his pinky slips in. The sensation is unusual, feeling pressure and pleasure and at the same time, not enough.

"Fuck." He's this far in... He's seen the videos... He shifts his thumb into line with the rest of his fingers, it's starting to feel rather snug, but he has to try.

He presses onward. Inward. Has to press a little more. It's still a pretty cramped space for as loose as it is, 'Maybe I should stop, I don't think it's gonna wo-'

"Agh!"

Somewhere in his brain, something or someone is yelling at him, telling him that was just a little too loud.

Wet up to his left wrist, gloriously oversensitive, he ruts his hips slightly, up into his hand to rub harder while his fangs sink into his tongue to at least try to keep quiet.

Remembering the hoard of videos he's seen, he decides to work the tips of his right fingers in circles while he thrusts his left hand the few centimeters he can.

"Ohmygod!" his spine bows away from the headboard, he curls forward, head hanging low and his toes curl into the sheets.

Air struggles to stay in his lungs while his legs stiffen, but he can't stop. Circling even harder, faster, varying the pressure and angle of his hand. Pinching his clit between his fingers, jerking his fist any which way he can, squelching wet noises fill the void of his room. His eyelids flutter unevenly as he tries to breath and catch a glimpse of the contents of his skull at the same time, heart pounding, wheezing for oxygen, roughly canting his hips into his right hand, onto his left. The journal falls off the bed and onto the floor, landing on a sweater that mercifully muffles the impact. Not that he notices.

Danny's movements become erratic as more warmth twists just right in his lower back. He chases that sensation, even as his arms start to hurt, even as the tendons and cords inside burn and his elbows threatens to lock. He works himself more, faster, desperately, more pressure, pound harder, target fixation on running for that cliff so he can take a flying leap off of it and to hell with the fall.

His calves seize and cramp just as everything floods in a warm rush his addled mind can only compare to Plasmius' touch, and that's enough. Whiting out his vision with one final punch, slumping like a rag doll, his legs give way and throb where they lay.

...it takes him a few minutes to catch his breath.

Heaving for air through the fire in his chest from an overworked heart, trying to ground himself once more, he pulls his hands free without any resistance. When he looks at them, they're both covered in clear slick strung across his fingers, his left with a mix of clear and white, shimmering in the light of the spell, and he's struck with a sudden urge. He's unsure if he should, if it's just him, or is it something that girls actually do? But he brings them forward and cautiously inhales the scent.

It's not what he knows his spend to be. The scent is softer on his sinuses. Mellow. Sweeter, even. Without thinking, he licks, and finds the taste matches the scent, though the whiter concentrations have a sharper tang that seems familiar. It's also much thinner than what he normally produces. It clings to his flesh like slime, but without the unappealing factor of dying his skin for weeks on end. Continuing to lick, he cleans his hands as thoroughly as he can, and it comes off so easily it's frightening.

It felt amazing. He knows he's barely nicked the surface of the fun he could have, if his internet history is anything to go by. It tastes sweet, it's easy to clean up, he'll need to wash up, but he won't need to rub his skin raw with tissues and create an obvious pileup in his waste basket. Best of all, he seems to produce enough that he can toss the half empty bottle of lotion in his nightstand out. Just trigger the spell, collect, and switch back.

All in all, it's far from objectionable. Sure, he still feels a little hollowed out, but it's greatly redu-...oh.

Oh.

"So...Vlad can do this, too, huh?"

He tilts his mostly clean appendages in the blue light to critique his work and goes over the list of pros again. And deep within the darker recesses of his mind, something stirs awake, and the creature inside purrs, so strongly that his chest rumbles. Because a new concept is born right then and there.

A new thought, a new idea, one of utter filth in its design, bursts through the gates of his mindscape to where the imp can reach it.

See it.

Study it.

Approve it.

"Yeah. We can work with this."
'Yeah. We can work with this.'

Chapter Text

Oh, fuck it. Y'all are getting an art dump this week. I'm working on the chapter, I promise. But I'm prepping for the flea market on Saturday, and I'm the genius that saw a pile of 4,000 Pokemon cards for 70 bucks and went "Yeah! Let's pack those into little plastic playing card boxes as bundles! Fifty. Cards. Each. With my completely unmedicated A.D.H.D. girlfriend in the same room at the same time, for three days."

I love her, don't get me wrong. But if any of y'all have ever dealt with an unmedicated A.D.H.D. patient, you know what I mean.

Besides...

I also have visual/very-carefully-drawn smut for ya!

Butyou'regettingthecleanstufffirstokaywhowantsartdoodles?!

So, just a few past imp concepts, maybe in centuries past that were eliminated by the Far Frozen yeti. They don't have names, they just kind of showed up. If people want to name them, I'm open to suggestions. ❤️

Next, my little...okay, not so little imp mid nap, mid stretch.

Another stretch...

Pencil drawing of the imp boy...

Wouldn't be complete if this wasn't in the mix, of course.

Sizing for this chart was a freaking nightmare. And it's still off, I know. I kind of threw ConceptDan in there for fun, really.

Next was a real challenge. Trying to get the color of the outline changing was hard. And then to get the ice across part of his face without having that hard outline was such a headache. But definitely worth it, I think.

This one is also just a concept. I've always liked the look of tarot cards. Now, while most tarot readers are genuinely full of it, I do believe there are a few out there that are gifted. I wanted this bright glowing lineart with a starmap, and then choosing color was actually really hard because the map is an overlay. And once you chuck an overlay onto a color, that color changes. It could work really well, or it could come out as 1970's baby puke green. It's a crapshoot. But I think I got it.

...haven't thought about what I'm doing with this one yet...

Aaaaaaand I'm out of "clean" art that's done...

Time for filth, I guess! Admit it, you were wondering when or if I was gonna go down that road. And I do, in my own way.

We'll call this one "Training."

"Free Time"

This wasn't originally intended for the last chapter, I could've put it there. Coulda, shoulda, oops, didn't. But I'm putting it here now.

"More Free Time?"

"Alternative Tail Time!"

Uh... "Red?"

"A Study in Pink?"

"Alternative Alternative Tail Time?" Yeah, I'm literally making these labels up as I cobble this chapter together. I do not have a future in advertising, I know.

I don't have a label for this one. Didn't think that far. I was too focused on finishing it to name it.

Officially, this was the first sheet I did. A short little collection all in one, an art dump within an art dump. I think I really like the yellow collar with the bell on the fifth one. The collar says "DO NOT PET." ...I had to Google some ideas for collars because collars are just not my thing personally. So I don't look at them really.

And finally, last but certainly not least...

Shout out to nick(nickelincarnate), this was not originally part of the plan, but considering Danny seems to flipflop between predator and prey a lot in this A.U. and Vlad and Plasmius only flipped a coin in regards to who got Danny first, and failed to flip for which one was actually getting bent over first...

"Vlad Season."

And as an added bonus, a special sneak peak at an incomplete piece...

Soooo... I think that does it! I still have other pieces that are still in progress, of course, at least 4 more. That number will most likely grow. But, there we go! One of the larger art dumps, if not the largest! I'd really like to have the next chapter done and posted by the 9th, and I'll try. I still have a lot of cards to pack.

There is one more thing, though. Actually, 3 more.

If you like them, great. If you hate them, that's fine too. But I went back to re-figure out how to embed YouTube links, still hate the process, because I wanted them included.

Chapter Text

Words are such interesting things.

Intangible, invisible unless written, impossible to contain. Akin to a force of nature, some things just can't be chained or controlled. In the right assembly, in any assembly, words can do many things, both good and bad.

They can hurt. They can heal. They can inspire. They can bring laughter to the point of tears.

A plain and unassuming arrangement of lines and dots on a piece of paper can free a man or execute him. They can classify animals. Label groups of people, and even draw border lines. Context and inflection can alter interpretation and delivery. And thus, the sway of their phrasing. But above all, such simple little scribbles, whether written, spoken, or imagined, can also drive one to madness.

Madness.

Now, there's a funny little arrangement. To the illiterate, a few splotches of ink. Colored water that stains. Nothing more. But to the well-learned, a frightful little collection of letters. Either swirling or jagged, its power is nearly limitless in its applications.

But here, now, in this poorly lit room, as it smothers a core of ice with unbearable heat, its use is far more primitive. It is a symptom of realization and acceptance. As a child chases its mother's footsteps, so too does it follow behind a particular clutter of letters. And these, uttered internally and aloud. In unison. In approval.

"Yeah. We can work with this."
'Yeah. We can work with this.'

...how dangerous an array, staining the mind two-fold.

The moment they were conveyed, inside and out, with the activity preceding it, something in Danny just kind of...snapped.

And now he's mad with a craving. A need. A lusting that's feral and ugly in its strength. He tried stomping on it for a few weeks, and for a brief moment, it seemed like he would succeed. Until the plea came.

'Stop holding us back.'

And then he caved.

...his teeth have sunk into the meat of his right arm to keep quiet. Blood is welling to the surface, cooler than human, slower than living. Thickened by his deathly temperature. His spine protests to the position, a strange twist on the balasana pose, in that he's bleeding onto his sheets. His denim-clad knees dig into his mattress with each violent twitch of his hips. His tail is wrapped around his cock, coils tight and cinching, but made easy to pass through by his own production.

He's been forced to shuck his t-shirt aside. Too hot. Thick droplets of white ooze freely from his slit, despite the vice grip he's made on himself. The muscles seize and flutter repeatedly, pulling in all the wrong ways and if he weren't so lost in himself, he'd feel the pain.

Eyes wide, glaring cyan in the dim, charcoal staining their whites, he's not focused on anything in particular. He doesn't care that his nose is just millimeters from his sheets, or that it occasionally brushes the fabric if he pushes forward hard enough. He growls low all the same, in a chord no human can emit.

His computer screen casts a dull glow over his form, no longer required for the current task at hand. A colorful search history exposes the source of this latest bout of false copulation. The sparks that lit this particular fire. There's no videos presently open. Nothing to see or hear or read. Just a vast sea of desperate attempts to give him better clarity of what he wants. Numerous search results that yielded nothing. Or worse, disappointment.

Somewhere in the heat, a vision supplies what he craves. It's almost as if it's been gifted to him. To them. Driving them both insane with only one body to expell the energy. But they embrace it. So they don't see the claustrophobic distance of the sheets.

They see a head of silver hair tangled and splayed across a wooden surface. Black horns accented in a strange hue of red. Large pale hands brace against the wood on either side of it as Danny's body jerks forward. They hear a sound that's distant. Muttered in between breaths as the body shifts and he thrusts into the hold of his tail again.

There's a phantom sensation of pressing against warm thighs that are shuddering under the onslaught. He...they can feel them quivering. Threatening to give out. They shift a little, attempting to spread further so they can accommodate him. Give him more room to move. In response, he wraps his arm around a torso clad in only a white shirt. And a firm pillow is clutched close to help the sensation along. The ghostly touch of plastic buttons that aren't really there bite into his skin.

He ruts more wildly into his tail, stimulating sounds of choked gasps. The sweet musk of reproduction is nearly there. Nearly in the room with him. But it's just not there enough. The weight of a ribcage struggling for air presses into him and his nails sink into the pillow. And he's moving as fast as he can. As hard as he can. Pounding into it. But no one can quite reach the cliff.

Another noise echoes into his ears. A frustrated whine. Not his own, he knows what he sounds like. It strangles free from the body he's holding onto, and that shaking, shuddering, spasmodic mass gives a loud huff. A hand reaches up and grabs onto the scruff of his neck and pulls, trying to force him down.

And though it's slightly muddled, it's somehow familiar...

"God damn it, it opens, Daniel! Do it right!"

His jaw clamps harder on his arm with an over eager snarl and he shoves forward into his tail one last time. The coils jerk and tighten in just the right way and his eyes roll back. He hears a high pitched cry, and then hears a body collapse against wood. Phantom legs strain and tremble against his own, streaks of white trail down the inside of tanned legs, just as it all fades.

There's more. He knows there's more. There's always more. But he's been cut off from the feed, and frankly, he's had enough. His back hurts from bowing too much, his legs hurt from tensing too much, and his arm ices over to seal the self-inflicted wounds. He'll have to scrap the sheet. He doesn't care.

Danny manages to lift himself up onto wobbling arms and uses his discarded shirt to cover his mess. Flopping like a cheap doll being tossed onto the bed, he barely gets a blanket pulled up over himself. His eyes drift shut as the charcoal clears. He falls into his head rather easily, onto a nest of blankets and pillows lined in frost.

The imp chitters and crawls in next to him, curling its tail around his leg. He sighs softly, returning the gesture by wrapping his own tail around its arm.

Finish high school, go to college, graduate, move out of his house, move into Vlad's manor. This is the plan.

He can't voice any of this, of course. Certainly not to his family, definitely not to his friends yet, and if he even starts to pronounce any word beginning with the letter "V," his sister's nails start rapping against whatever surface will offend his hearing the most.

The remaining months at Casper High mercifully blow right by. Though he's of the impression of walking on eggshells whenever he's around his sister, Danny somehow gets through it.

When graduation was just days away, he started hoping that Vlad would be there. To be fair, they hadn't actually discussed him being there for the ceremony. He knew his parents would be, not that he cared. At this point in his life, while they still occasionally try, he's essentially done with them and their nonsense. Danny also quickly decides that based on how his sister is handling everything, it's probably for the better if he doesn't show up. Even though it would be a lot of fun to see them at each-other's throats, it's much more likely he'll jump the man. Which is not how he wants to end the school year. No matter how appealing the idea is.

And for her part, as the ceremony drew closer, Jasmine became more agitated. Tensing tighter than a bowstring, a grenade without its pin. Every dinner screamed with danger and yanked at every feral fiber of his being, her riled mother wolf snapping at his unclassified creature within, with both of them taking some minor offense to her attitude. Realistically, there are far worse arrangements that could have been made, that could have been acted upon years ago. Really, the way he warned her was the nicest way.

But her temper, flaring as it is, with her eyes burning holes into his back on a regular basis, it's a wonder she hasn't blown her top. The very palpable tension between them seems to go right over their parents' heads, too, which suits them just fine in this instance.

Following an overheated ceremony, the college pamphlet is in Danny's hands before he even leaves the school. He doesn't know what he's going to do, doesn't have any specific courses in mind. Amity Park Community College is rather low on the totem pole, largely offering the most basic courses. A few stand out as something unique, but there's very little to work with, otherwise. He's tempted to ask Jasmine for advice, but the slightly tinted cheeks and blue glare of death suggest his inquiries would be better directed towards a rabid squirrel.

He takes a few days to settle following graduation. A few nights to self-entertain, too, and dredge up the memory of that vision because he's just finished high school and he's entitled to some extracurricular activities.

'Nice joke, Vlad.'

And maybe, in the heat of the moment, of several moments, be they in the shower or his room, he replays that vision over and over because it's just that appealing to him.

Over several weeks, they came to an easy understanding. An agreement between him and the imp circling the chandelier in his head.

He'll bend for Plasmius. Readily. Eagerly. It wouldn't even have to ask. As far as Danny's concerned, it could pin him down in the middle of breakfast and he wouldn't fight it. And at some point down the line, he knows it's coming. So, yes, he'll happily drool over the practically pre-determined idea of getting plowed. He's even planning on falling down the rabbit hole of ways to explore himself. And the creature inside is fine with that.

But they both want Vlad. In any way they can have him, so long as he's beneath them. They have a score to settle, after all. Ideally...

'Him first.'
'Him first.'

Finish high school, go to college, graduate, move out of his house, move into Vlad's manor, lock the door, and move into Vlad if they can.

"When?"

"Soon," Vlad answers, shoving a book onto a shelf.

"How soon?"

Vlad sighs. "He just graduated a month ago. Let him have at least a little bit of his summer first."

"...how much?

The groan the resonates through the library is frustrated and felt from the depths of his core, "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

He's trying to be patient. Trying be a good little half-dead demon bastard and wait. Patience is not without its challenges. But Plasmius has been pacing the mindscape incessantly since the day they sent the boy home. Echoes of its footsteps have been pinging against his inner ears. Sometimes lulling him to sleep as white noise because they're so consistent. But for the most part, his nerves have been getting jangled this way and that since the pacing started.

"I want my little невеста."

"As do I!" Vlad snaps, "But I don't want interrupt his education! If we're really do this, then I want a wife who can think!"

"..."

"I don't think that's an unfair requirement."

"No, I suppose not."

"Thank you!"

"On the other hand, he's had all this time alone. Without a playmate."

Vlad nods slowly, eyeing the shelf but not really reading the spines that line them.

"Just himself. And his own hands."

Vlad feels his heart jerk in anticipation and his blood shifts a little.

"What do you suppose he did first?" the beast purrs.

"I... I don't know. There's so many options... So...many..."

So many colorful pictures to paint. So many different shades of red to use, and some of them not even in existence yet.

"What did you do the first time?"

Vlad struggles to think. That part of his life is an unholy blur. A flurry of sweat and lust he still can't navigate. His fingertips crackle with the phantom memories of tangled fabric and wet heat. Which is deliberate. The gargoyle is intent on riling him up to break him faster. A conniving plan, one that even he would use if necessary.

"Well?"

"I don't remember. I did a lot, honestly."

"Call him. We both know it's time."

Vlad's shoulders slump in defeat even as blood rolls south. "I don't want to rush him."

"We did not attend the ceremony. He'll be fine. Call him and then we can reminisce."

The knife collides with the glass cutting board violently. Scratchy and high pitched, stabbing his ear drums while he tries to read through the pamphlet. He's going to college, he has to. He doesn't really have much of a choice. He suspects Vlad won't take him until he's sure his education is complete. A stance he can understand, but damn it, he hates waiting.

A particularly brutal screech of metal on glass distracts him.

'Maybe I shouldn't have told her after all.'

The carrot in its path doesn't have the sentience to plead for mercy on his behalf. He really wishes it did.

There's a fire in Jasmine's eyes, rendering her glare so brightly blue that he almost likens it to ice. Not an unfair comparison when he thinks about it.

"Keep looking at me like that and your face is gonna freeze," he mutters quietly.

The knife scrapes against the glass deliberately, making him physically wince in pain. Because offending her isn't going to help his case, he stiffens his jaw before his next piece breaks free.

Suddenly, her phone rings.

Jasmine pauses in her prep work, taking a moment to consider whether or not she should answer it.

'It's giving me a headache.'
'It's giving me a headache.'

She slams the knife down on the table and digs it out of her pocket. Looking at the little screen on the front of it doesn't change her expression.

"Ah. The Wisconsin Cradle Robber. It's for you," and she slams the phone down on top of the pamphlet.

Danny rolls his eyes to mask the spark of joy in his chest and answers.

"Congratulations. You got promoted."

Vlad's voice audibly stumbles, "I- I... what?"

Jasmine glares at him and he quickly vacates the kitchen. "You got promoted. From billionaire and savior to cradle robber."

"...I'm not so sure that's a step up, Daniel."

Danny smirks. "So, what's up?"

"You've graduated high school, Plasmius hasn't shut up since the day you left, and we're both bored. Where do you want to go tonight?"

Danny pauses to process the sentence, his expression twisting into mild horror. "...you suck at this."

"Daniel, I'm an eternally thirty-year-old recluse with no social skills, nothing but time on my hands and a hormonal sky-rat living in my head. What do you expect?"

Danny winces, but he smiles, too. "Well, when you put it like that, not much."

"Where would you like to go?"

Moving over to the stairs and sitting down, "How are you in movie theaters?"

"Really? You want me in an enclosed box with pounding speakers and a bunch of sniveling blatherskites?"

Danny blinks, "What the fuck is- Y'know what, nevermind. Yes. I think."

There's a barely audible, strained attempt to hold back a sigh.

"Alright, which movie?"

"Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull," Danny replies eagerly. He could sneak into a theater, but it wouldn't be any fun on his own. So he's been keeping from walking down the same street as the theater to avoid the temptation.

"Oh, gods. Another one?"

"Please?"

"Daniel..."

"You can choose where we go for dinner, and next time we'll swap!"

"...oh, alright. Fine. I'll be there in an hour. Try not to dress like a little street urchin. The fewer holes, the better."

"Funny, guys usually ask for more."

The sigh Vlad held in practically screams through the microphone and he hangs up, leaving Danny to snicker. He goes back into the kitchen against his better judgement and gives Jasmine her phone. He settles back into his chair and opens the pamphlet again.

"When is he picking you up?" She growls.

Danny resists the urge to sigh as he looks at the clock above the kitchen doorway. "In about an hour."

Turning her eyes back down to the produce, "And where are you going, exactly?"

'Interrogation.'

'Fantastic.'

"We're gonna go see a movie."

"Where are you going to see a movie?"

Danny swallows. "In a movie theater."

"...fine."

"And then we're gonna go out for dinner."

"Where?"

Danny closes his eyes for a minute because he really doesn't want to scream at her, "I don't know. He's choosing."

The cutting board is picked up and the morsels of carrot are scraped into a pot.

"So, public theater and, knowing Vlad's preferences, a public restaurant. Fine. You can go."

Danny folds the pamphlet and stands, heading for the living room, "Wasn't asking for your permission."

Just as he approaches the doorway, air whistles past his ear as something thuds into wood...and the knife that was just mutilating root vegetables juts out of the door frame. He stops, staring at the implement in newfound terror. He looks back at her slowly, almost expecting another blade to land right between his eyes. Or worse, a lot lower.

But she's already turned her back and is stirring a pot on the stove. Her movements are calm and calculated, she's at ease with herself. She's even humming a slight tune.

"Ya know, it's not like he's gonna take advantage of me."

'Not yet, anyway.'

'Shut up.'

The spoon beats against the rim of the pot harder than necessary.

"...what makes you so sure he won't?" she asks quietly.

"What makes you think he will?"

"Well, to a certain degree, he's developmentally constipated, socially inept, he's a billionaire, and he's an eternal, ageless entity largely unbound by the laws of physics and no cell can hold him. What's actually stopping him?"

Phantom rumbles within, tail lashing violently. It stomps a hoof against the floor of the foyer while Danny refuses to let his spines tear through the back of his shirt.

"Oh, that's easy. You," Danny answers, and walks away, "You, and the fact that they flipped a fucking coin on me," he mutters.

He doesn't say anything else for risk of being heard. Instead, he goes up to his room and changes. Pulling on his least ratty pair of black skinny jeans and a gray t-shirt. It's as good as he's going to get. He grabs his star-print hoodie for comfort and ties it around his waist. It fits like a glove now, where before it was incredibly loose and swallowed him whole. He won't need it. But he likes having the fabric there for him to touch.

When he's done, he fusses at his hair, pinning a few strands back with a blue barrette he snags from the bathroom and goes back downstairs. Opting to pass the time as smoothly as he can, he turns on the television.

So late in the day, there's really nothing of interest to him. He gets bored with the news and doesn't enjoy much of the older reruns. Ultimately, he settles for M.A.S.H. because it's at least mildly amusing. The shallow adult jokes seem to ring with the imp within, and who is he to deny it?

By some rare, bizarre luck, he's caught a double. Two episodes back-to-back. He doesn't watch the clock, too busy entertaining both sides of himself and jerks in surprise when smoke slips free from his throat. And then someone knocks on the door. He rushes to turn off the television and fumbles with the remote. Just as his finger touches the power button, Jasmine storms right past the screen...and something glints in her hand.

'She wouldn't.'

"She would. Uh, Jazz?" He gets to his feet just as she rips the front door open hard enough to rattle the hinges and lashes a hand out.

"Ah, Miss Fenton. How nic-"

"-Give me one good reason why I shouldn't repaint this doorway right now."

Vlad swallows around the edge of the knife.

"Uh, well, I was intending to eat tonight."

She presses the blade a little harder. "Not good enough."

"Jazz, please," Danny begs. He wants to pull her away, he has the strength to do so. But he might injure her in the process. He might injure Vlad, too.

"Jasmine, dear, sweetheart, I've always recognized your rather rabid mother hen syndrome," he gulps when the edge just pierces the first layer of flesh over his esophagus, "and I imagine it's what has allowed you to raise Daniel all these years, and I applaud you for your labors. But, personally, I haven't actually done anything yet."

"What do you mean, 'personally?'"

"Uh, well... I..."

Danny heaves a breath. "He hasn't done anything, Jazz. Just, please, put the knife down."

The redhead breathes evenly, considering them both. It takes a moment, but she pulls away.

Vlad gulps again and rubs at his throat. "Thank-you. Now. What in the names of all the Ancients has gotten into you, young lady?"

Jasmine stands firm and points the knife at him, "Do not patronize me. I know everything."

Vlad looks at Danny. "Everything?"

The teen fidgets and struggles to meet his eyes, but he does. "I gave her the journal," he says quietly.

"...I see," he answers, tone low and distinctly disapproving. Though, he knows it was bound to happen eventually. He can't really be mad at the boy. Not too much, anyway. He just wishes they discussed it first.

"Is there anything you'd like to add?" The man asks lightly, trying to defuse the situation.

Jasmine holds the knife steady, "Put a ring on him first."

"Well, technically, it's a little late for that," the younger halfa mutters.

"What?!"

"Daniel!"

Chapter Text

"Daniel, that movie was terrible."

Danny slouches in the theater seat, face contorted with equal displeasure.

"You don't have to tell me twice."

Vlad stands up, "Well, I'm going to. Daniel, that movie was terrible."

Danny groans before rising to his feet. It could've been a lot better. It really could've been.

"Even our bodies would've ceased to exist upon such an explosion. The difference is our cores would have reconstructed our shells."

The teen pouts as they walk out of the theater.

"And the graphics were atrocious and overabundant."

"Okay, I get it. I've lost my movie picking privileges."

"I didn't say that," Vlad responds lightly, "but I am picking the next three. With any luck I'll be able to reorient your preferences."

"Oh, come on. I like that series!"

Vlad huffs as they make their way outside, "I did too, until they released that equestrian excrement."

Danny snickers at the wordplay. Leave it to Vlad, of all people, to call something horseshit without swearing. It's an interesting talent. One that he doesn't mind. He's actually curious to hear what other ways Vlad can call something like it is and still come off prim and proper. His stomach growls at him as they wander down the sidewalk.

...they eat at a local diner. A little hole-in-the-wall that offers classic comfort food and lightens the mood, as if there was anything else to lighten. And Danny makes notes.

Vlad likes his eggs sunny side up. And his potatoes must have onions fried with them. Probably the result of his grandmother's recipes. His root beer must come from a glass bottle, it must be branded IBC, or he won't touch it with an undead pole. And the clacking of billiard balls hurts his ears. Danny suspects most sounds will hurt. Given the years spent alone, he's probably not used to anything more than the noises he produces himself.

Danny has a little habit. When he's anxious, he scrapes his nails against his jeans to cope. The more anxious he is, the harder he scrapes. He'll need to pick a different technique.

But he's not the only one studying. Vlad pays very close attention.

Danny needs toasted rye bread to dip into his over-easy eggs. And he carefully eats so that there's enough yolk for all of it. If there's any yolk leftover, the better. His potatoes are covered in Tabasco sauce, and he's eating them despite having clearly used too much; he's sniffling up a storm and has amassed quite the pile of used napkins to manage. Further, he's something of a drink goblin.

Where Vlad was content with just a bottled soft drink, Danny needed coffee, water and chocolate milk. All three, and all in different stages of consumption. The coffee half finished, the chocolate milk only a quarter full, and the water nearly two thirds empty. One to stimulate, one to hydrate, and one for fun.

He'll need to figure out what else the youth will drink that can be placed about the manor at room temperature. The image portrayed then makes him chuckle in amusement. To have various little bottles of juices, teas and water scattered about the halls, on shelves and behind vases, between the stone rails on the stairwell, maybe even up on the ledges of the particularly tall windows...

"What's funny?" Danny asks in between masochistic bites.

"Oh...nothing. Merely an old joke."

Danny didn't press.

...when Vlad brings him home, they push the door open to find Jasmine standing in the living room. Waiting. With her arms folded and the same knife in her hand.

"You're just not going to accept this, are you?" Vlad asks.

"I let you leave the house with him, didn't I?"

Danny sighs, "Jazz, you're my sister, and I love you, but this is getting really annoying."

The redhead ignores him in favor of going to him and tugging at his shirt collar. Tilting his head awkwardly this way and that, examining his skin for signs of anything untoward. Even spinning him around to look at the nape of his neck

"Uh... Is this a bad time to tell yo-"

The older halfa carefully steps on his foot to silence him. At the same time, something contacts the back of his head, but from within.

As if in unison, and he hears it by way of three voices, as an auditory hallucination, SHUT UP.

He wanted to point out that their healing factor would've erased any evidence of play. That her fussing and fretting and long nails scratching at his flesh as she pulls at his shirt would all be for naught. Of course, it wouldn't stop her. It might actually result in bars on his windows, which wouldn't stop him.

But one digresses.

Jasmine calms when she can't find anything. She spares a glare towards the other halfa before straightening and holding the knife close. And she takes a moment to consider them.

Her colors are...odd. Vlad blinks to try focusing his eyes. Yellow warbles. Nervous. Black jagged strikes. Hate. Red sludge at her feet. Anger. A few splotches of blue. Mild depression. There's a toxic green aura underneath that coats her frame. Terror. Fear. She's afraid of something.

It's a lot all at once. A wave of nausea washes over him and drenches through to bone, and Plasmius stumbles in the mindscape. Vlad resists the urge to follow suit. Which is a challenge when he's never been sick from the inside out. His body threatens to tilt and he keeps himself firmly upright.

"My opinions are moot when all the two of you have to do is wait for me to croak. So I won't bother. I just hope you two know what you're doing."

...their second outing goes much better. Vlad opts for a drive-in theater. They manage to avoid disaster; Danny passed by an old poster.

"What's 'Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead?'"

Vlad turned green and ripped it off the wall, "Mercifully, technically before your time, and utter garbage not even deserving of the landfill."

He crumpled it into a ball and turned it to ash before Danny could ask anything else.

And as if poking at their absurd situation, The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor was the choice. It was better than Danny's first choice, but not by much. Vlad actually looked a little let down when they came from the theater.

Danny opted for the same diner again since Vlad seemed to like the potatoes. It perked him up.

Jasmine once again stopped them in the living room when Danny came home and inspected him, but this time there was no exchange.

And that's the way it goes. Movie, critique, dinner, inspection. Once a week, the older halfa would arrive, Danny never asks how he gets there, and they go out and simply enjoy each-other's company.

Each time, Jasmine fussed just a little less. It gave her some facsimile of control over a situation that she had no control over. It made her feel better. Which is the only reason Danny continued to put up with it. Vlad didn't see much point in tolerating the behavior. Nor did Plasmius. The gargoyle quietly muttered and paced in its own right, internally manifesting its human half's own displeasure with the situation. Vlad could almost feel the steps it stalked, as if he himself were pacing.

The summer dragged on. Day by day, week by week, date by date.

The younger halfa observed very quickly that Vlad preferred to refer to it as courting rather than dating. Slowly, over time, his words altered so that Vlad wouldn't wince at the modern terminology.

He hates large crowds. Danny already assumed this, once again based on the fact that the man has been living alone for decades. And if the diner or theater is particularly full, Danny doesn't mind skipping one or the other. He doesn't take it to heart if the night is cut short by one activity.

The height of summer creeps up on them in time, and Vlad learns that Danny can take the heat, if he has to. He doesn't like to. There needs to be a breeze if he's going to be outside for extended periods of time. Sometimes he can bring ice to the surface of his skin, and the older halfa has spotted frost creeping up the back of his neck once or twice. But if they're outside in public, surrounded by people, Danny doesn't take the chance.

He starts tracking the weather patterns and temperatures so he can move their nights around.

Halfway through July, on a thursday evening, they're settled on a blanket for a picnic in the park. The picnic, an idea which the youth practically beamed at because the heat was making the diner too stuffy. They're nibbling on frozen fruits and meat, nursing boring old water when Vlad catches him staring in a different direction. He follows his line of sight to see what's got his attention.

They aren't the only ones in the park. There's a few couples out and about, and one family with a child that's running around with its mother. Laughter and conversation fills the open air, soft and lightweight. Everyone's just enjoying the day outside. But Danny's eyes are following the mother running after her offspring. Bright cyan irises intent and focused, almost glowing.

He wants to ask about it. What is he seeing? Why is he watching? What is it about the activity that's captured his attention? Is it the noise being made or the source itself that's grabbed him? Danny's eyes stay on them for several minutes, heart beating evenly and core thrumming quietly. When he finally looks back at Vlad, only glancing at him briefly before looking down at the plate of fruit, his eyes clear.

''Is something wrong?'' the older halfa finally asks.

The teen shakes his head and doesn't utter a word. He goes back to eating. A strange glint of light crosses his irises, barely noticable and lightning quick. His pupils thin for a moment, then return to normal.

Plasmius chitters in curiosity. They don't pry.

It doesn't happen again. They continue dining in the park for the remainder of the summer, but much later in the day. Late enough that there aren't any young children darting around. It's not deliberate, it's just cooler in the evenings. It's better for Danny's health. But it niggles at their mind. Leaves them both thinking.

The water beats against Danny's back and his skin hisses at the touch. Too hot. HIs tail flicks erratically in the searing onslaught, sometimes hitting the wall or the edge of the tub. He leans against the tile, trying desperately to clear his head. He's only slightly masochistic. Intentional self harm was never a concept he took to.

The water is set as hot as it can go. As unforgiving as it can be. His flesh is red and raw. His nerves sting with each drop that touches him. But he doesn't move. If he does, he might...

It hurts. If he turns towards the water, it'll hurt more.

He'd just wanted a shower. Just to clean up. To ease any tension he had in his muscles. Relax. His body had other ideas.

He finds himself riled so easily these days.

Falling back into old habits, he grabs his tail and wraps it around himself despite the burning water. The scolding didn't do anything to stop him the first time, and clearly it isn't any different now. With some mild frustration, he turns the water down just enough. Just to where the temperature is uncomfortable, but relatively harmless. It allows him to put his mind back on himself.

Sluggishly rutting into the coils gives instant pleasure. His blood sings at the movement. He's tired, sore from the water, and he wants to take his time for once. It takes a few thrusts to coat himself properly with precum. His path softens and slides so smoothly. So easily. His tail's muscles flutter, creating random variations of pressure. It's nice.

The imp within purrs loudly, the sound echoing in his skull and soothing. Approval.

His eyes fall shut and color splashes across the field of dark. Warbling, wilting and twisting into shape, until sound eventually joins.

"God damn it, it opens, Daniel! Do it right!"

"What does that even mean?" He utters between breaths, working himself in and out of his coiled tail. That same loud cry that he hears every time reaches his ears. Which is about where the vision cuts off, normally, robbing him of the answers. But this time, it doesn't end there. This time, there's new phantom touches that follow.

He feels like he's shoved his cock straight into lava. Hot and burning and somehow tight.

Precum drips down onto the tub floor, but he doesn't notice.

That same body he hears collapse against a desk groans. A low, gut-punched groan, and the pressure that isn't really there tightens. But he keeps moving. He drags himself back until he's almost out of his coils, and then plows forward as hard as he can. Something shudders and rattles and shakes against his thighs in response. Someone is struggling for air and it isn't him.

A ghostly hand wraps around his wrist as the tile seems to fade away to wood. He feels prompted to move, but hesitates.

"...all the way. ...please. There's still...there's still room, Daniel. Please."

He jerks, drawing a shout of surprise, and then picks up the pace. His hearing is bombarded with a myriad of sourceless music. Numerous pleas for less speed, less strength, and maybe wood scrapes against a floor as it's forced forward by the movement. His nails dig into the tiled walls and scratch the material with ease and he doesn't stop. He can't.

The phantom touch on his wrist is gone and Danny faintly sees tanned fingers grip the edge of a desk for dear life. Chasing the vision, the dream, its colors and sounds, echoes of reddened flesh and the imaginary scents of it all, his body tenses suddenly. His nerves and twist around his lower spine just right. His eyes slam shut as he tumbles over the edge.

The running water clears the tile of his activity and gently soothes his calf muscles. His tail unfurls and falls. And one last image is granted to him.

The spell. Blue. Vibrant. Glowing. Pointed down.

And full.

Which is...

"Interesting."

'It's not a terrible idea.'
'It's not a terrible idea.'

"When?" he asks.

'Soon.'

"But...how?" he voices, "I'm not... I'm not really... I need to be...more.''

'We'll need to make an adjustment.'

''What kind of adjustment?" Danny asks quietly.

'Let me handle it.'

"It can't be permanent, or I'll never be able to leave the house. I need the option. I need control.''

'...do you trust me?'

''I don't have a reason not to, but if you're asking... I'm not going to like it, am I?'' he huffs overheated breaths into the air to keep his mind focused on the conversation.

'You'll like it. But there is a catch.'

''What it is?''

'You have to share.'

Danny blinks and his eyes start to glow. "Share what?''

'Everything.'

The ashen skin on his left fingers pulses in a strange way. Not a throb, not pain. Just a feeling. Like a buzz. A vibration beneath the surface. It snakes up his arm, following the path of the lichtenberg, turning it black as its point of origin.

'I want to feel it. Just as you would.'

Danny grunts uncomfortably as the pulsing weaves its way up to his shoulder, to his neck.

'All of it. All of him. Every touch, every movement, every sound, every breath.'

He exhales sharply when it reaches his core and bleeds through his skin. Cold. The coldest he's felt since the Far Frozen Lake. As if his core were on the surface of his chest. It snatches a firm hold on him. Shocking him.

'Share your shell, I'll share my strength, and we'll have him.'

''And it won't be permanent?'' Danny asks through grit teeth.

'You'll have full control.'

"...deal."

The feeling crawls up his jaw and seeps into his eyes, and his skeleton shudders in a new way as a ring of black flashes negative light into the space.

'Consider this a trial run.'

Chapter Text

So, this week's chapter is a little different, and don't worry, I'm working on the next chapter.

I'm gonna just shove the pretty stuff forward first.

Let me just...

Hang on...

Here we go!

Just gonna let you guys chew on this, i haven't hashed out his proper ghost form yet. He's a troublemaker, though!

Don't know about you, but I'm totally getting the "Are you questioning my methods?" look in that eyebrow raise.

Okay, I admit it. Danny, in this form, has a sliiiiiiightly reduced capacity. Slightly. He's more instinctive in his half primal form. He doesn't communicate traditionally. He makes a lot of different little sounds and chirps and screeches. He can speak, but it's really difficult for him to both form the sentence and verbalize it. He can recognize the environment around him, he can recognize scents and sounds and people.

However, in this form, there's basically two pilots in the driver's seat of his mind. Danny and Phantom work in tandem. Move in sync. What this means for his reduced capacity is, if Vlad changes forms, whether in front of him or not, Danny can't recognize that it's still Vlad. It smells like Vlad, sounds like Vlad, walks like Vlad, but because it doesn't look like the Vlad he wants, he just can't make that last leap.

"If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it must be a bear."

...BRIDEZILLA!!!

Okay, I'm done. I drew that stuff, like, last week.

Now for the reason this chapter is so different. I swear, I was working on the next chapter earlier, and then my brain left-fielded to this. So you're getting this.

This is strictly a what-if scenario that was interesting to explore. I promise I'm not doing this for the story.

The what-if being, what if, after a certain amount of time, some ghosts start losing older memories? Our brains can only hold so much information and will literally delete a byte if we're not using it. And, fun fact, the more times you recollect a memory, the foggier it gets.

Simple explanation by Google, "Each time a memory is retrieved, the brain's neural pathways associated with that memory are activated and can be modified, potentially leading to the inclusion of new information or the exclusion of original details."

So, yes, we can actually damage memories by rehashing them. It's weird, but interesting.

But it led to me thinking along the lines of a ghost version of not-quite-but-basically Alzheimer's.

And the scenario presented to me, that I really try to avoid kicking around because it just makes me wanna cry, was of Danny losing memories of his past. He would remember only up to a certain point and no further. Maybe he loses his memories gradually, or maybe he hibernates once in a while for a solid year or something, and during that process he loses them. Either way, it's painful. But, if you remember, I did have Jasmine explore this emotional nightmare, and I had Vlad present this concern to Danny in the story. Here's the snippets...

---

From Ch. 11 - Life's a Coin Toss

"Stop," she whispers, "j-just...just shut up." She doesn't want to imagine any of it. But now all the redhead can think about is her brother waking up one day and wondering where everyone has gone. Because there's a possibility that day will come. She's seeing walls of photos, of places and people and memories that both have been and will be, and there may come a time when he forgets it all and stares at the walls in confusion. She hiccups into another tissue as she sees him standing in an overgrown field, alone, with only traces of a city poking through grass and trees. The fields brown and die, ice over, melt, grow, brown, die, ice over, again and again, over and over until the sun burns out. And he's left in the dark. Alone.

---

From Ch. 52 - Crisis

"...if you woke up today, and couldn't remember the names and faces of your friends, but could still remember that they were of great importance to you, how would you feel?"

Danny pulls his hand free and his eyes drift away. It's a hell of a question to be asked, and a situation he would've never imagined himself enduring. Because it would be torture. To know that he should know something, and know that that something is so important, but he just can't remember? No matter how much he wanted to? No matter how much he pleaded for the memory to come back and pulled at his hair and beat his head into the nearest hard surface? And he can picture himself doing just that, calling out to the world for the answers he's lost and not getting them, and caving in his own skull over and over on an endless cycle.

"I think I'd break," he answers quietly.

And if anyone really paid attention, there was a long, dragged out Justice League Unlimited bit in there, too. Honestly, I'm surprised nobody called me out on it.

---

Again, I'm not actually going to do this. One, because it would be really painful for me, and I cry enough. Two, because I've watched relatives degrade over time with Alzheimer's. It's not pretty. And three, I think I put you guys through more than enough as it is and you probably wouldn't forgive me.

But there's another emotional component to it for me. Covid left me with a lot of Brain Fog. I lost a lot. And it didn't matter if the memories were important or insignificant. I've lost entire conversations, entire hours. Family movie nights. I go to bed at night and it's like a part of my brain resets, and a huge chunk of the day before is gone when I wake up. And I misplace stuff CONSTANTLY. I set something down, take two steps and the memory is gonzo.

Now, I have some OTC supplements that I can take to make sure that I operate at a solid baseline and don't lose any more memories. But everything I lost is gone. It hasn't come back. Apparently, I crocheted a blanket for an elderly member of my church as a gift, and she absolutely loved it. This woman was incredibly important to me. Well, she passed away last year, and we went to the wake. Her kids were there, and I'm already holding myself together by a thread as it is when her son asked about the blanket. I couldn't remember. I still can't. He said it was blue. I don't remember. He said she used it up until the day she died. I gave her a booklet of some of my artwork because she liked my stuff. I don't remember doing that either. So not only was I crying because this really important person in my life rightfully croaked in her 90's, I mean, she was 5 when Pearl Harbor was attacked, but now I'm crying because I did these things for her because I cared about her and I don't remember doing them! And now I'm crying more because I just couldn't believe/accept that I couldn't remember!

So, yeah. Waaaay too much of an emotional roller-coaster to put myself on and do that to Danny.

But it led to me messing around a little more, and I came up with a new piece of music. Feel free to just take the link directly to YouTube, I know archive doesn't operate the smoothest with hosting YouTube links.

Again, one more time, this was strictly exploration of the concept.

So... thoughts?

Chapter Text

It's not a normal transformation. Not normal at all.

His whole frame burns and snaps unpleasantly as the mesh of his bones stretches in the path of the halo. Pulling in all directions. Growing. From his skull to his fingers, down his vertebrae that wriggle and tilt in all the wrong ways. His legs crick awkwardly and his kneecaps thicken, pushing on muscles and pressing on nerves. Clamping his jaw to stifle the sounds he so desperately wants to release is an even bigger mistake.

To cope, his core spews cold air into the expanding marrow, marginally dulling the pain as frost forces its way through each layer of flesh. All the way to the surface of his skin, freeze and thaw and freeze and thaw. And the still-running water from the shower isn't cold enough, eagerly playing its own hell on his skin.

He still braces against the walls of the shower stall, even as his fingers shift with the rest of him. His nails grow, too, darkening to the familiar char of his left fingers. They reach an almost unnatural point, solid and dangerous.

And then his ankles snap.

Consistent phantom pains in his limbs have been echoing over the years from his first change. Were it not for the constant memories of walking with broken bones, he'd give in to the demand to scream. He holds his voice fast, though the crippled support brings him down as the negative halfa veil slowly drags over his legs.

Collapsing into the tub that's quickly becoming too small, with a distinct thud, he narrowly avoids cracking his head against the rim. The curvature of the utility does him no favors, forcing him to curl onto his side despite his skin stretching to match his entire skeleton reshaping itself. He lays as still as he can to both let it all finish as smoothly as possible, and stay conscious. The latter is a tall order, but the potential repercussions of passing out far outweigh the benefits. But it's so tempting to just shut his eyes. Just for a moment.

He holds himself steady until it becomes too cramped there. When space runs thin, he uncurls legs that taper off to that familiar single footing, carefully draping them over the edge of the basin. The last of the thick black halo fizzles out at head and hoof. And he needs a moment to breath. To rest. To just settle and...wait for the pain to fizzle...out...and...

''...th...water... ...turn... ...''

Something whispers softly in his ears, soothing his concerns, dulling his senses further. Silencing him.

'Just sleep.'

''...o...kay..."

He caves at the command a little too easily. But given that his physiology was just torn and pulled and ripped in a myriad of directions, the water just rolls over the rim of the tub without a fit. Without a care. It trickles and dribbles. It slowly consumes the mat beneath and weighs the plush fibers down. It claws its way across the surface quickly. It wells into a puddle, then a pool, and then a small lake that licks the threshhold strip beneath the door. Years of explosions racking the frame of the house have pulled the floor down ever so slightly.

Just a dip.

Just a little.

Just a smirk.

It's still years away from a smile. Decades from a grin and further from a scream. Provided proper lab safety is exercised.

But the path is clear enough that the water just rolls over the strip and proceeds to soak into the hallway carpet.

...it takes a little while. Twenty minutes or so. But, suddenly, the carpet squishes cold and clammy against her toes.

And Jasmine squeaks.

Jumping back a little, startled by the temperature difference, she looks down at the floor.

''What the... ugh. Danny!'' she raps her knuckles against the door, ''Danny, turn off the water!''

She can still hear it flowing, can still hear the shower running full blast. And there's a steady stream running over the porcelain of the tub that she recognizes easily. It's not the first time he's overfilled the basin, but it's definitely been a few years since the last time.

She knocks again. ''Danny? Are you even listening to me?!''

Something in her stomach swivels awkwardly, ''Danny?''

Something is clearly wrong. Her first thought is to call for help. Her second thought is remembering that her brother has a tail, and calling her parents for help will create more chaos than she's prepared to cope with.

''Damn it,'' she huffs, and throws a leg forward with every little bit of strength she has. While not much, certainly nothing compared to her father, and though the locking mechanism on the doorknob is new, the doorframe is old. The wood splinters apart, spewing fibers across the linoleum.

She blanches upon seeing him. Out cold, with no clear cause. She doesn't understand the changes that have taken hold, doesn't care enough in the moment to learn. She turns the water off first. However, the challenge becomes apparent. In her haste to just fix the problem, nurse, nurture and question later, she hadn't paid any attention to his size.

Just lifting one arm, the new weight of his altered build becomes alarmingly clear. He's much heavier now. Not like the skinny, scrawny little welp she's used to.

She needs help. She can't ask her parents and she doesn't want Vlad anywhere near her brother if she can help it, at the moment.

Heaving sigh born in exhaustion, she digs her phone out of her pocket and dials. And waits.

No answer.

"Okay, Sam's out."

Dialing again, a different number, yields the same dead end.

"Okay, no Tucker. Great. I guess I'm on my own," shoving the phone back in her pocket and rolling up her sleeves, "Nasty Burger stockroom, don't fail me now!"

The ceiling that greets them is without stars.

Light blue and bare and...

'Not mine.'
'Not mine.'

A small hand waves in front of his face, scented of cheap soap and the fading essence of wildflowers.

''Finally! You're awake! How do you feel?!''

The sound of speech is familiar. The lilt is...fe...female...? Is that right?

Twitching his nose confirms it.

Blink. Focus. Shifting for comfort, he pushes himself upright, only to have a blanket thrown at his face.

''Hang on! Please! Jus-''

He pushes the fabric away.

''Danny, STOP!''

That strange sound accompanies another rush of fabric against his skin. He looks around for it, doesn't see it right away.

''Danny!''

Below?

Looking down, he meets a blue eyed gaze that he knows...somehow.

A hand grabs onto his jaw and tilts his head side to side while the ocean stare locks hard onto his pupils.

''Okay, good,'' touch fusses at his hair, prodding at his skull, ''No blood. Good. I didn't think you hit your head, but I needed to be sure.''

Thumbs press against his face, near his mouth, and he retracts with a light, unnatural shriek.

'Hurt!'
'Hurt!'

''Well, excuse me, but your fangs aren't supposed to be that long!''

The poking and fretting is ringing more and more bells, erupting into a chorus in a primal and narrowed mind. It takes some more muttering and tilts and awkward grabbing at his hands and turning them over repeatedly before it all clicks into place.

His jaw shifts and his brain twinges a little, struggling to find the right word. A throb in the prefrontal cortex* floods into Broca's area* and his tongue twists awkwardly to match the articulation.

''J... Jazz?''

He moves to stand, trying to get his footing on the floor, only to be pushed backwards and have another blanket thrown at him.

''Will you stop trying to leave?! For god's sake, Danny, you don't even have any clothes on!''

He looks down at himself and feels the plush comforter at his fingertips.

''...clothe...s...''

''Yes! Clothes! Duh! What's the matter with you?!''

Jasmine looks at him again. And this time, she really looks.

His hair hangs slightly longer on the one side. His skin maintains that deathly palor, but only down to just above his knees, where everything blackens. He pulls his legs close while he looks around, with ashen sclera and vibrant cyan peering around the room in mild confusion. Like he's trying to recognize everything around him, like he should, because he should. She's been aware of his fangs for some time now, but now they hang over his lower lip and come to a fatal point, too long to be tucked in with the rest of his teeth. His nostrils flare as he scents and tilts his head oddly, this way and that, studying the environment, but clearly not feeling threatened.

Where his ankles should be, his legs bend off again and narrow, into exaggerated hooves that look impossible to stand on when she thinks about what little surface area they have. His tail pokes out from under the blankets she's thrown on him, laying across her bed, and the spines twitch slightly. All of him has grown so much. In height and in bulk. So his tail has, too. It weighs a dip down into the mattress, which seems so ridiculous because of how thin it still is. It all just makes her picture some random, wild animal standing in the middle of a mall. He's so... So...

Out of place.

The thought settles down on the metaphorical couch, next to Vlad's accursed words. Her heart darkens a little, trying to swallow the epiphany she's been trying to ruthlessly beat into submission. It makes her uncomfortable. It really does. The discomfort, the anxiety it spaws and lords over her...

''I guess there are worse places you could go...'' she utters softly. And, really, there are. It could be a lot worse. There's a vast array of places and people he could wind up in and with. That doesn't mean it doesn't burn to think about, though. But even she knows, the sooner she faces it, the sooner she can accept it.

''Let's see if I can find something that'll fit you."

She dives into her closet. She's a small woman. She knows it. But she knows she needs to cover her brother with something.

''Looks like you're getting my favorite night shirt,'' she pulls out a red t-shirt. There's no logo on it at all. No maker's mark of any kind. And she cut the tags out years ago. It had been a gift from her aunt, the same year Danny got his telescope. But it was massive on her then, and still is now. But looking at it, if she cuts the collar off, it might fit him. She takes a pair of scissors out of her nightstand and makes the necessary adjustment.

''Okay, that takes care of the top, but... What the heck am I supposed to do for pants?''

Behind her, Danny fusses at the blanket again, tugging and pulling at it until it's gathered into a pile, mercifully, where it matters most, leaving his legs exposed from halfway up his thighs and down. He shifts around just a little, trying to get comfortable without getting yelled at.

''You need shorts. Great. Just...'' she huffs, and her eyes suddenly brighten, "Shorts! Hang on," she throws the shirt at him, ''Put that on!''

Even though a sharp twinge rambles in her back, she digs deeper into her closet, "I tried online shopping and they sent me the wrong size!"

She drops half of her clothes the floor in her search, but her efforts and muscle strain pay off. She unburies a pair of black shorts.

"I could fit two of me in these, so, they should be just right for you!"

She turns back to him, he's managed to pull the red t-shirt on, and it fits him almost perfectly. It's a little long, but otherwise, the sleeves are the right length and the collar isn't too close to his neck. The fact that he had the wherewithall to hear her order and follow it is just a bonus, really. And she realizes she's actually quite lucky in that fact. He could have thrown the shirt back. Or just set it aside. Or worse, gotten up and left the room entirely.

"At least some of you is still in there... Oh, right. Here. Put these on."

Chapter Text

Jasmine has her hands full trying to keep her brother upright. The moment he was dressed, he was on his fee- er, hooves, trying to walk. He's an absolute terror just trying to leave her room. Her lamp is broken, her chair tipped over, her desk is pushed several feet out of place and her nightstand and all that it contained is all over her floor. And then, once out of her room, came a new challenge. One completely unintended.

The hallway is narrow enough for her father, too narrow for someone that's just doubled in weight and grown two and a half feet.

Factor in the tail, and multiple photo frames fall from the walls in rapid succession.

When he reached the first steps of the stairway, he halted in his tracks. Already unsteady enough and wound up by his state, he'd stared at the stairs for several minutes and chittered awkwardly. Already frazzled by the entire situation, and suddenly grateful that Vlad was in their life and willing to take him off her hands, Jasmine decided to be a brat. Just once.

She gave him a push.

Danny tumbled down the flight rather ungracefully, screeching in protest. When he landed at the bottom, he turned his head to her and hissed at her. From there, he started trying to get up again.

From stumbling around her room to stumbling around the house, just trying to get his footing. Everything is new and still the same all at once. It's his body. His bones. His tail. But his mind tunnels and the lights dim inside. So he has to rely more on instinct. They have to rely on instinct.

The whiny, loud, red haired creature...

'Packmate.'
'Packmate.'

It...she screeches at him whenever he falls. It's not like he enjoys the stumbles, either. He falls a lot. Though his body is the same, it's so much more. His weight distribution is off. He has to relearn how to move his tail. Where and when to sway so that he can maintain balance and not fall over. Several hours are lost to it.

Danny even tries maneuvering around the coffee table, only to faceplant the carpet. His head hurts.

'Get up.'
'Get up.'

The red creature throws something square and blue down where he fell. When he falls again, His head doesn't hurt so much. That strange blue thing is soft under him. When he realizes he's in less pain, he lays there with it for a few minutes. He chirps lightly, enjoying the plush comfort.

And then something knocks behind him.

"We didn't mean to miss your call, we were just busy!"

Jasmine waves Tucker off, "It's fine. I managed."

"Do you still need help?"

"Uh..." she pauses to think, "How much do you guys actually know about what's going on with Danny?"

Sam and Tucker look at eachother for a moment.

"You mean, other than the fact that he's half dead and has a tail?" the goth clarifies.

Jasmine grunts. "Okay, you know enough. He's taller now. Like, a lot taller, and, uh, he's... He's just... He's a lot... He's just more. There's more of him."

"Well, he was already pretty tall in his other form," Sam voices, "How much taller are we talking?"

"He's bigger, too."

"Okay, how much bigger?"

"Well..." Jasmine bites her lip and pulls the door open further to let them in.

They enter just as Danny is rising to his hooves. This time, he hangs his tail lower so that he can lean forward. He tries his purchase and shifts his weight to turn, finding the movements far easier to control. Dancing around the coffee table makes it an even tighter fit than the hallway, but he finally gets himself standing for more than a few seconds. It's a little awkward, being so large in a space so small. He turns around fully to face the new voices.

"Uh..." Sam swallows, "okaaaay. Wow."

"That's a lotta Danny."

The halfa leans forward, eyes wide and bright, sniffing at them. Catching whiffs of ozone, Irish Spring, and dry grass from him, and an overwhelming wall of lavender with hints of soil off of her.

The scents seem right. They conceptually match the lifeforms in front of him. There's no cause for suspicion or hint of danger. They're familiar, but in the moment, irrelevant.

"He's a bit more... Primitive? Prehistoric? Primal?" Jasmine approaches and offers out her wrist for him to refocus, and he follows, "I'm really not sure what to call it."

"Well, whatever you call it, Vlad is gonna lose," Tucker quipped.

The goth rolls her eyes and glares at him. "Really?"

The techie throws his arms up in defense, "Hey, I'm just saying that this," he motions to all of their friend, "this is built to win. Okay? This is a midnight jockey ride Vlad hasn't even seen the horse for, yet."

Sam buries her face in her hands and groans. "I didn't need that."

"So, how long is he supposed to stay like this?"

Jasmine grunts as Danny lifts off the floor and floats over to the few crooked frames hanging on the walls.

"I honestly have no idea. I'm pretty sure it's temporary, given that his other form was."

"I hope it is, or this is gonna be one hell of a bombshell. With everybody. Your parents, the police, the college dean, every scientist from here t-"

"-Tuck, I know. Believe me, I know. It's just one more reason for him to move out."

"That's not even your biggest problem," Sam cuts in, "What the hell do we feed him until then? I mean, it's not like there's a book or a how-2 video or a 'Caring for an eight-foot demon Danny' magazine."

The redhead tilts her head. "Well..."

"...you're kidding. There's a book for that? For this?!" Tucker jerks his arm up to point at the halfa chittering at the pictures.

"Maybe. If you can find a ghost yeti."

Tucker's arm slumps to his side, "Yeah, that figures."

"So... We're kind of up a creek, here..." the goth hums.

"With no paddles, a hole in the boat, malaria and an alligator on our tail," the redhead replies.

They stand and stare at him for a while.

Jasmine doesn't know what to see, other than her brother, just upgraded and dangerous.

Sam is torn between seeing a freak of nature and a strange thing of unnatural beauty.

Tucker sees him for what he is. All of those things, and more. Superior strength. Potentially immeasurable power. But not in the traditional sense. More like a brand new shiny train engine barreling down the tracks full speed, but with someone tied up and screaming at the other end.

"On the upside, at least there's only two of them," the techie muses.

"Well..."

"What?"

"There is one small caveat." Jasmine says.

"Which is?"

"They can reproduce."

Sam's eyes narrow in confusion, "Big deal. So can we. I mean, they're both still half human, so that's kind of expected. Right?"

"Well, yeah, except that if the wrong jockey gets on the horse, it's not going anywhere, in this case."

"...uh..."

"Okay. Athena came out of Zeus's head, Dionysus came from Zeus's thigh, and Loki had Odin's horse."

"...nope, still nothing," Tucker says.

"Male seahorses do most of the work?"

"..."

"..."

"Pipefish? Sea Dragons?"

"...well, if you're looking to become a naturalist, then-"

"-Oh, for God's sake! They can reproduce! With each-other! They have the parts! They both have a uterus! Meaning that whatever we do and whatever we hope for and no matter how much we duck and cover, there's eventually gonna be more of them and I told them to at least wait for the wedding, but I'm not convinced they're gonna make it that far and I don't wanna be an auntie yet and I don't want an older brother even if he's an in-law and I don't even know how we're gonna explain this to mom and dad! Why is this so fucking hard to grasp?!"

"..."

"..."

"Well?! Say something!"

"...twenty bucks says Vlad gets pegged, first."

Sounds ripple by through the minutes as he's studying the faces on the walls. It's a lot of noise, really. A lot of yelling. He peers down at them once, sees the red haired thing pulling on her own hair. Odd. But not too odd. Everyone else is calm. Collected. Muted, even. Which is fine.

The environment is crowded. The ceiling is too low. The stairs are too close. Their path is too narrow. The voices are jumbled. Incomplete. Though, the longer he hears, the more it starts to seep in. Little rolls of air over bone, fluttering in throats, shifts in mood and more. ...it's becoming easier to understand. Like a strange fog had wrapped itself around the mind, but is clearing itself away. It's just taking its sweet time about it.

Clarity trots around the edges as his eyes flick from one voice to another. He notices more detail. Catches more movements. Clothing rustles in time. Hearts beat in misaligned succession. The space is alive, however foreign the concept may be, but, again...incomplete. He looks around for one more. One more voice. One more brushing of fabric. One more color of hair. It's not there. He doesn't even know who he's looking for. Just that he's looking for someone. Someone that has all of those things.

Slowly, he drifts down to the floor. Trying to track something that's not even there, he sniffs at the air and bends down to glare at the ground. Stalking around warbling life forms and sedentary furniture, the carpeting silences his steps.

He thinks he bumps something. But whatever it was, it didn't seem to protest. He turns around, far smoother and faster than his first attempt around the table, and leans in towards the sounds.

"What is he doing?" Sam speaks softly to avoid startling him.

Danny's eyes flicker as he's mere inches from her face. His nostrils flare and he pulls back slightly.

Jasmine follows the behavior.

He repeats the same process with Tucker, as unnerving as the humans find it to be, then sniffs at her. But his face sours some.

"Maybe he's looking for Vlad?" The geek suggests, and the halfa's eyes brighten.

"...V... V... V... Vl..." his tongue twists in his mouth trying to form the sounds. Uncomfortably, almost enough to hurt. He visibly fusses over the letters, erratically tilting his head to accomodate the locution. A bit like watching a cat struggle over a piece of hair in its mouth. He backs away and stomps a hoof against the floor in frustration and his tail lashes dangerously.

'Let me talk! I know how!'
'I can't talk! I don't know how!

"Is he having a stroke?"

"No, it just seems harder for him to verbally communicate, at the moment. He's barely gotten a word out since this particular change." Jasmine reaches for him despite his lip curling back at the hindrance. She carefully takes his larger hands into hers to calm him down.

"Hey, don't force it. It'll come."

His temper wavers and fizzles. His tail gradually sways less. He stops trying to speak.

"Both of you, go upstairs and grab the blanket off my bed. Just throw it over the banister and stay out of sight."

She waits out their steps, holds his hands until she hears the fabric hit the floor next to her.

Picking it up as quick as she can, "I am going to wrap this around you, and you're gonna try to change back."

There's no more sounds from him. No more chattering or clicking. No more fuss. Jasmine swings the blanket around him and he remains still to let her. He settles under the plush weight and soaks up the warmth. It takes him a moment or three. But his bones tingle inside, cold air displaces, and a black ring appears and splits over him. It's much faster than the first time and he falls to the floor in surprise.

"Oh, thank fucking God! That was a nightmare!" Danny barks, breathing heavily, "It was fine at first, but then I felt like we were beating my head against two different walls at once!"

"Uh...we?"

Danny groans as his head begins to throb, "Part of my ghost side is sentient. And before you freak, Vlad's got it way worse than we do. You could kickstart your career on Vlad."

'Oh. Great. The millionaire my brother's gonna marry, and my brother, both have schizophrenia.'

She'll hold her concerns for later.

"At least you're okay. That's what's important."

Danny rubs at the back of his head, "We gotta work on that if we're gonna share."

'Sorry!'

"It's fine, I'm not upset. But I think we need to split the steering up a bit," Danny winces at the headache and realizes he's being stared at, "...what?"

Jasmine grumbles, "You need help."

Chapter Text

Physically, Danny's hybridized body makes no more appearances in the house. Neither does his original ghost form, which he was incredibly grateful to keep. He likes it just a little too much to let it go. But, the house is too small. Too narrow in some spots, too low and/or cramped in others. The average two story dwelling for homo-sapiens was never designed, considered or intended for supernatural half-dead demonspawn. Most of all, the stairs are not built for his leg structure. So, he packs his other forms away and explores them elsewhere. Somewhere outside the house.

Which suits Jasmine just fine. She's under far less anxiety that way. Though she wonders where he goes at night, she's had enough of the half-ghost nonsense that she's less than inclined to ask. As long as he's smart about it and doesn't get hurt, she doesn't care.

What does continue, however, is the myriad of little noises he makes. The squeaks. The chitters and clicks. The purring. The odd rumbles and snarls. All the sounds that he initially did his best to keep under wraps are now practically unrestrained. In addition, he begins communing with his ghost regularly. Sometimes loudly, sometimes under his breath, but usually like it's right there next to him. Like a person. And he'll have full conversations with it. ...well, as full as they can be, considering neither she nor his friends can hear it.

Talk about one-sided...

It doesn't bother them too much, it's just weird. ...they consider it a small mercy that he doesn't talk in his sleep.

But Danny continues. As himself. As a friend, as a brother, as a college student drowning in his assignments, as a chosen companion to another, and as a half dead freak of nature. All at his best. The alterations have made him a tad quirky, but no less lovable to those around him.

They're prepping a stew in the kitchen when the first real sign of something rears its head. Something strange and wild. Just like he could be, but it slips out of a human shape. Whatever it is, wherever it comes from, whichever side birthed it, it spawns there in the kitchen one evening, just a few weeks later.

There's a small radio on the table to fill the air. Jasmine hums along to the tune. Tchaikovsky something-or-other. Danny doesn't recognize it. But it's calming. The room is light and free, in rare form. He's chopping at meat and his sister is pulling the crock-pot out of the cabinet when a thought awakens.

He stares at the flesh on the board, raw and soft and red, and wonders...

"Do you think Vlad gets hungry?"

Jasmine sets the appliance on the counter and turns to look at him in confusion.

"Well, yeah. You both still have to eat, so, why wouldn't he?"

The knife in his hand hovers above a piece to be cut, "I wonder if he's hungry right now..."

His stomach rumbles at him.

"No, I think it's just you."

He gives a quiet hum and goes back to cutting, albeit more slowly than before. His eyes cloud over as he works. There's a haze setting in within his mind. The creature inside begins to wander the halls, with no set destination. No goals. It just putters about without rhyme or reason.

They wonder why they feel this way. Why are they suddenly curious about something so insignificant? Why do they care? ...why does it bother them that they're asking? It feels like the answer is a simple one. It feels like they should already know. It feels like...

'We're missing something.'
'We're missing something.'

Danny mutters incoherently as he nudges the meat into the pot. He's merely rolling air over his teeth. Making simple little sounds that don't have purpose. Akin to a toddler trying its letters for the first time. Bumbling his way through the alphabet, quite out of order...

"Be-... No-... H-... Ca-... Le-... May-... G-..."

...he's testing the shapes and sounds across his tongue, hoping for an answer to their question...

"Th-... Ja-... Wh-... Do-... Pl-... Yo-..."

Jasmine eyes him, mildly disturbed by the noises.

"Re-... Ea-... Ki-... Un-..."

"Hopefully you'll clear up in that head of yours once you've got some food in you."

"So-... Ar-... Vl-... O-..."

The redhead rolls her eyes.

"Fo-... Foo-..." Danny blinks, "...food..."

"Danny...?"

"Food..."

'...hunt...?'

'...provide.'

His eyes light up.

Jasmine yelps as he blows by her, nearly knocking her over. She barely maintains her footing as he bolts out the front door, leaving it open and letting the cooler air into the house.

"Danny!" She darts after him, not sure if she wants to grab him by his pointed ears or by his tail...

But he's gone.

There's no sign of him. Frantically looking around, the streets are nearly empty and no pedestrian pacing the walk matches her brother or his erratic behavior. And no one seems alerted to the sudden disappearance of a local. No one seems to have witnessed him leave. No one noticed a thing.

"Which means he flew, and he's invisible," she leans against the doorframe in exhaustion, "I am so tired of this ghost shit."

It's so simple! Why didn't it click before?!

Danny flies low and level over foreign terrain, at an unforgiving speed no living creature can reach. He's not familiar with much outside of his little town, but somehow, he knows where he's going. There's something guiding him. A call. A supernatural lure. The stumbles of speech felt like he was jumping out for something and unable to reach. Now he's on the line and doesn't want to let go.

Chasing after the completion of a task he didn't even know he needed to complete until just moments ago, he feels like they're in agreement on something. Not that they ever really fight, but this, this needs to be done. The idea he's never had before pounds at his brain and he's compelled to follow.

He needs to hunt. They need to provide.

...he passes over a varied landscape as the sun falls. Small towns. Hole-in-the-wall shops. Ghost towns. Abandoned buildings, some little more than heaps of rotting lumber. What he seeks, there's no trail to follow. It's all instinct, all over again.

He changes forms just as he passes over the state border. The sun is long gone by the time he turns away from the roads and slows down to drift over a field. There isn't much around. Just dying patchworks of grass and autumn leaves and plenty of trees. And a full moon to throw a margin of light. He hangs lower, almost ghosting brown blades of flora, and follows his nose.

The scents of numerous animals float by. Many of them edible, but none strike him right. Rabbits and hares, squirrels and pheasants, even woodchucks. But he wants something heavier. Something more. Something that'll go farther. Last longer. It takes a few hours, but he finds what he's after.

An entire herd of deer resting in brush that skirts a familiar tree line.

This time, he doesn't crouch for the hunt. He doesn't feel the need to. He hovers in the night, as quiet as he can and studies the group. His stomach growls at him, reminding him that he has yet to eat. But this isn't for him. Not for either of them.

'Need to provide.'
'Need to provide.'

One buck stands out. It's a little further afield, nearly out of the brush. It's rack is less of a show than others. It's young. Healthy.

'Perfect.'
'Perfect.'

He lunges for it without anymore thought.

Claws turned outward sink into warm flesh with no effort. Muscle and sinew tear beneath his fingers. Bones crack and crush. The animal belts out into the cool air in surprise as the force of Danny's impact sends them both tumbling across the field in a deathly roll. It kicks and cries to get free, jerking its head about as the herd scrambles to their hooves and runs away.

A snarl rises from Danny's throat as his tail tangles in its rear legs, kinking the bones within until pain radiates up his spine. Their roll loses energy and comes to a bloody stop. Iron streaks the ground in a grisly trail.

The buck keeps thrashing, and with his tail caught around its limbs, Danny does the next best thing he can think of. He slams a hand down on its neck and holds it, barely dodging its antlers in the process, sinks his teeth into its throat and pulls. Blood and tissue fill his mouth. He doesn't blink. The prey beneath him gargles around its own life-force, struggling to breath as torn arteries pour down its esophagus.

The ground beneath them rumbles with the startling of soon-to-be hibernating creatures. The herd, in the distance, shudders and scatters in fear, in uncoordinated circles.

Something snaps in his tail as the buck flails. His claws sink into its hide in response and he goes back in for another bite. Hot blood paints his face and hands, some gets in his eyes. Again, he doesn't blink.

His fangs practically slide into something tough and fibrous. Almost chewy. But it holds, and he pulls.

The grass warms beneath him and shimmers in the moonlight. At the same time, his prey gives another strained gargle, louder than the first. Its kicks slow. It lays its shaking body and head down on the earth, and jerks sporadically.

Danny struggles to get free, one leg trapped under the weight of the dying creature. He growls as he turns over, claws at the dirt and crawls free. Rising to his hooves, his heart sings with the success of the hunt. That strange something that had lured him out to the middle of nowhere starts to settle down.

His tail flops to the ground with a heavy thud while he regains his breath. The pain seeps in with the clarity gradually.

"...fuck."
'...fuck.'

They'll worry about it later.

He gathers the buck up, pulling it over his shoulders, and proceeds to walk. There's landmarks in the black to follow. Familiar dips and rises of land. The fading scent of pollen. Ragweed that will soon emerge. He knows where he's going, even if he doesn't. His eyes glint in the night in searching. He listens for what will be his guide.

A change in the land beneath his hooves.

Soil to sediment.

Sediment to pavement.

Pavement to cobblestone...

Cobblestone...

...to granite.

He can make out an outline of steps just fine. And they're right. The right span, the right height, the right number. He's not built for climbing human architecture in this body. It's far too awkward to be reasonable. But he manages to do so, finding this stairwell far less confined than the one at home. When he reaches the landing, he lays his kill down quietly.

Something bubbles up in his chest, a flutter of pride. A touch of contentment. And...something else. He's... They're...

...happy.

It's a strange array of feelings to process. He's never even felt pride before. But here, now, that's what he's feeling. Pride, content, happy. Maybe even a little joyful...

His tail tries to twitch to match his mood, only to tug on the break, earning a loud yelp.

"I can't believe you broke your tail! What were you even doing?!"

Jasmine wraps the bandages firmly around the center of the appendage to hold several dowels in place, treating them like splints. The break will heal, his body will mend it and restore it to its original state in a few days. But it's best to be safe. The pressure of the makeshift bracing will help.

"I don't know, it just happened!" He doesn't turn to look her in the eye, lest she detect the waver in his voice. He knows what he did. They know what they did. They know why. The memory is clear and thriling. The mantra is short, simple, loud, but dissipating...

Hunt.

Provide.

Her hand jerks with the wrapping, tugging on the injury.

"Maybe it's a good thing you're moving in with Vlad, after all," the redhead muses.

"So you'll stop putting a knife to his throat?" he asks.

Jasmine shrugs. "We'll see."

He rolls his eyes, but sits there on the table, wincing and pouting.

Holy fuck, does his tail hurt.

Chapter Text

The first time Vlad got up to find a freshly killed buck on his doorstep, he was startled. Mortified even. He nearly jumped out of his skin. When the terror passed, and he observed the wounds, it came to him relatively quickly that he could probably suspect Daniel had left it for him. Which, while...sweet of him, Vlad strains to feel anything beyond that because it's hell to clean drying blood from marble. In the moment, the frustration and elbow grease of scrubbing far outweighed the gesture. But he does succeed.

"But why did he just leave it there? Why didn't he announce himself?"

The question is valid and makes him worry a little. He doesn't dwell on it. He has a kill to prepare.

He broke the animal down as best as he could. Threw out what wasn't edible, and dumped the rest outside at a fair distance from the manor if he didn't know what to do with it. The wild population would be well fed. And so would he. Never one for hunting before, he had to buy books for decent recipes. Those books also offered tips for proper butchering and even gave suggestions and notes on things that hadn't occured to him. When he realized how much he'd actually wasted, he started looking for craftsmen nearby who were willing to take the bones and pelt if it happened again.

Yet, even with incomplete or improper disposal, he was happy to be rid of the mess.

The next time they went out together, he considered asking the youth about it. Why he did it. Why he left it, why did he not show himself. But Danny didn't say anything. Danny didn't even look off kilter. As if it hadn't happened. It left both Vlad and Plasmius quite thoroughly confused. They chose not to ask about it.

But he had to admit, mess and all, game meat was really far more suitable for his palate. For an entire month, he ate like a prince. It's one thing to live like one and quite another to eat like it. His recipe box was bursting with concoctions and ideas. HIs knives were dulling some, but their use meant nutrition. Proper nutrition. He was just starting to figure out how to blend his grandmother's slavic traditions with the meat when he realized he was running out.

It took him a month, it would've taken longer if he hadn't wasted so much of the animal the first time around, but, irregardless, he was running out.

Just when he was considering taking up hunting for his food, the morning he pulled the last pack of ground meat from his freezer, he stepped outside...and found a doe on his steps. Along with a fresh blanket of snow everywhere that was not in the forecast and tiny prints actively fading in fresh fluff.

Vlad leaned against the doorframe for several minutes, just staring at the deer on his stoop.

''Well,'' he sighed, ''at least I don't have to freeze.''

Plasmius chuckled from within, but said nothing.

He was more efficient about the use of the animal this time.

...the next month, there's a pair of small hares on the steps. Laid out neatly. Along with a few twigs. When he picks them up and sniffs at them, he realizes they're rosemary. Which doesn't grow in Wisconsin.

''You've gotta be kidding me.''

''He's resourceful, I'll give him that.''

The hares get him several meals despite their size.

And then the pheasants show up a month after that.

''Alright, this is getting ridiculous."

Vlad stuffs the pheasants in the freezer, stomps up to his room and rips his dresser open. He changes into the warmest sweater and fleece lined pants he can find, grabs his coat, and changes forms. The intent, to touch down in the least intimidating form as possible, human, and by consequence, have as little sharp bits of metal pointed at him as he can.

His way of meaning well.

It's been a long time since his last trip to the Far Frozen. But this matter warrants a visit. It warrants the trip and the abhorrent freeze he'll put his body through because he's getting the feeling that he's in over his head.

It shouldn't be too difficult to get himself above water, but he has no tomes for imps. He has no reading material to understand what he's in for. And the Far Frozen is the oldest point in the Ghost Zone that he can safely access.

He follows his typical path for a while. Dodging doors and stairs and rubble. And rubble. And more rubble, and...

"What the hell?"

There should be outposts along his path. An ancient temple. The stained glass door is missing, the one that Danny had been drawn to. And in its place is a trail of glass shards leading off to nowhere. Bones. Pieces of gravestones and wrought iron twisted and mangled. Stray cuts of fabric and crystal float where they shouldn't. Shreds of wood fibers from other doors nearly tangle in his hair. And heaps of realm and land, all in tatters.

All off course.

Mercifully, he picks up the cold draft to follow. Without landmarks, his sense of direction in the drifting void is useless. He manages to find his way to the island safely. There's no armed guard to shove spears in his face when he touches down.

He changes over without a sound and slowly makes his way through the snow.

It's a bit of a trudge. It takes quite a bit of effort. Despite his long standing residence in Wisconsin, Vlad doesn't make a habit of outdoor treks, and so he's not used to tromping through half of his height in condensed fluff and permafrost. The heat in his body helps some, easing the path slightly. One step at a time. But he makes it to the village, where several inhabitants take notice of his presence. A few give mild glares, but he's had worse.

He starts to step onto the level ground, and nearly slips on the icy walk, but a large hand stops him from breaking his nose.

"If I'd known you were coming, I would have instructed you to just land at the square."

Vlad huffs and looks up at Frostbite. He must look ridiculous, sweating and red in the face from the effort of stomping his way over the mildly treacherous landscape.

"I'm here because I need to know what I'm getting into.''

''In regards to the boy, I take it?" Frostbite straightens.

Vlad nods.

The snowbeast leads him into the village, past a few guards that eye Vlad with suspicion. They don't like most outsiders, they never have. And he understands that the last outsider that came to their home cracked the island. In fact, Frostbite walks him over what appears to be a brand new bridge. Casting his eyes out over the inhabited terrain shows that the crack is actually a full split. And several bridges, in actuality, have been erected to help the villagers manage.

And it clicks.

''Daniel did this?!'' he asks.

Frostbite chuckles. ''Yes, he's a frightful little thing. Or at least he was. I've not seen him in quite some time. Poor thing probably thinks we're all mad at him.''

A few voices shout across the village, ''We are!''

The halfa winces.

The yeti pays the micro-unrests no mind.

"You said he cracked the island, but I didn't think he rewrote the Zonescape."

''As I said. A frightful little thing. But, not to worry. The damage has been accommodated."

Vlad swallows, "Yes, but..." He glances at the clean split running clear through the frozen land one more time, "This is not at all what I was expecting."

"He'll need a firm hand on him."

"Or a leash, as I already suggested."

"Not now," the halfa grits under his breath.

The chieftain looks back at the man, ''Tell me, has he grown any? He was barely past your waist when I saw him last.''

Vlad smirks. ''He's grown.''

''What of that foul mouth of his? Have you washed it out, yet?''

Trudging through the snow and keeping to Frostbite's tracks, he laughs and shoves his hands into his coat pockets.

''Not yet. I doubt it would do me much good, and he'd likely eat my hand if I tried.''

The belt of laughter lightens the tension of the village air. They make their way into the medlab and Frostbite sculpts a bench out of ice for Vlad to sit on. Shuddering significantly less at the cave temps, he does.

''I nee-''

''-You need to know what the courting behaviors are for imps,'' the yeti cuts him off.

Vlad pauses, then wraps his arms around himself and nods, "How did you know?"

"He's at that age, and his instincts are no longer fueled by human needs. He's also young and quite bold."

Vlad grunts in acknowledgment.

''Imps are very rare creatures. The last ones we bore witness to were eliminated centuries ago.''

''Why?''

''They were corrupted,'' the beast answers quietly, ''Not by natural forces, fear not. That's a story for another time. But... It simply became a matter of survival. It was us...or them.''

''So there's nothing, then,'' Vlad mutters disgruntled, ''Just what I needed. More guess work.''

''I didn't say that,'' Frostbite leans back against the edge of a table and crosses his arms, ''I just said they're rare. I studied them plenty when their existence was prosperous.''

''Then what am I getting myself into?'' Vlad bites. He came for a reason, with a set goal in mind, and it's freezing and he wants to leave as soon as possible.

''Well, courting is really quite primitive for them. It starts with food provision.''

Vlad's eyes flicker, ''He's been leaving animals on my steps and I don't think he's aware he's doing it. I'm not...unhappy, per se, but I know how to feed myself and blood stains granite after a while.''

Frostbite chuckles, but a flash of relief crosses his features. ''That's good. That's... It's perfectly normal behavior.''

''What else?''

''Well, for imps, the next step would be to build a nest. They like silk and down, primarily, but they'll raid camps and huts for anything soft. We lost a few tapestries to one when I was a pup. They're also incredibly territorial and protective of their mates, and will fight for dominance over land and breeding rights if they have to.''

Vlad hums in understanding.

''After that, vocalizations to draw in their chosen companion, and then intercourse.''

''...that's it?'' Vlad balks in disbelief, ''Really?!''

Frostbite grunts in affirmation, ''For normal imps, yes.''

Vlad stands up, ''I came all the way out here and froze half to death for that?''

Frostbite smiles. A large, toothy grin that just rubs all the fibers of the halfa's being the wrong way before it devolves into a laugh. One that's sprinkled with amusement, but sings of danger.

''There's more,'' he utters in quiet horror.

''Sit,'' Frostbite orders softly, and Vlad does, ''This information may be lined in gold, but it's set in plaster. Not stone.''

''...What?''

''Listen to me very carefully... In normal imps, this all applies. I cannot say for certain what will apply in Snowdrift's case. The two of you break the bough simply by existing, as it is.''

Vlad gulps.

''In regards to your cases, I am learning as we go. I have plenty of documentation on spectral behavior and life cycles, and I personally own the only known texts regarding imps. But don't think for a minute that Snowdrift is going to follow the rules.''

''...okay.''

''Once human elements are tossed in, it becomes a little different. Add in the aspects of your partial deaths, and you have an unclassified creature unintended for any state of existence. I am versed in human behaviors, as well as imp and gargoyle. You've made studying relatively easy, but you're only one subject. And Ancients help us when more little gargoyles start running around.''

"...why did he say when?"

Vlad swallows around a lump in his throat.

''Now, with that in mind, I can tell you that you shouldn't be looking at any anatomical surprises when it finally happens. The only one to worry about that sort of thing will be him, should you two rotate,'' he sees the rekindled horror on Vlad's face, ''Yes, I'm aware of every detail on your body. For you, taking everything should be rather straightforward. I will warn you that he'll most likely bite to mark his territory, and that's if he doesn't bite during intercourse. He'll probably scent you rather frequently. Just as a means of connecting.''

The pink of the cold turns cherry at his remarks and floods upwards. Heat gathers in his horns, and he can feel it, which more than likely means Frostbite can see it. But he's listening. And he's not liking where the yeti's words are going.

''Why are you talking as if I'm the one that's going to...''

Frostbite raises a brow at him, which just confuses Vlad even further.

''Really?''

''What?'' Vlad asks. He motions for the beast to continue.

Frostbite levels a strange glare, and in a low tone the halfa doesn't recognize, ''Stand up.''

Vlad looks at him nervously, ''Why?''

''Because I said so. Get up.''

He hesitantly rises to his feet. Plasmius rumbles with an air of distrust.

''Do you trust me?'' the beast asks calmly.

''Yes,'' Vlad answers quickly.

A large, icy hand rests on his shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. It calms him a little.

''Good.''

Claws twist into his hair and before he can stop it, Vlad finds himself face down on the table Frostbite had been leaning against, and his hands are twisted behind his back. Trapped in the grasp of a single hand, while the other has wrapped his hair around it and is pressing his face to the ice-cold surface.

He blinks in surprise, and then kicks furiously behind him.

''What the hell?! Let go of me!'' he fights as hard as he can, but finds his strength evenly matched by the snowbeast despite his best efforts, ''What are you doing?! Let m-''

Soft fur and fabric presses against his back side, prompting him to freeze. His blush darkens even more. There's nothing else pressing against him. Nothing firm. Nothing threatening. But the implications run wild in his brain, right past the library doors and giggle their way through the halls. Jovial little beads of color that sink their talons into his hormones and drag them kicking and screaming into a conga line.

''You may think you're dominant, and perhaps, with humans, you probably are. You're still half alive, for better or worse. There's bound to be a few human traits left in you," the beast leans down, crowding cold fur against him, "But I get the feeling that when it comes to the boy, you're a pushover. And from where I'm standing, this is all I've done, and you smell like you're almost ready to beg.''

Vlad hears what's akin to something being swatted, and realizes Plasmius is trying to chase the dots of light away.

"Loathe as I am to admit it, the abominable heap is correct. You're much softer with him around."

The halfa mentally snarls at the demon. Though, it's born more out of embarrassment than disagreement.

''Under the right conditions, you'll bend. Even I will, if the moment is right. So, I'll say it one more time... Taking everything should be straightforward. He'll bite. He might bite more than once. He's just marking his territory.''

The firm hold keeping him planted on the table and precariously perched on the edge of madness releases. Shaking, he straightens up.

''Now. Come with me.''

He's woozy from the rush. Of heat, of hormones, and decades of an unscratched itch, despite his best attempts and late night tantrums. He's woozy enough that he follows blindly. They turn at a fork in the ice cave, where an actual, solid metal door stands. Not the sort of construct he'd expect to find in a place like this. Frostbite opens it and leads him in, and shuts it behind them as quietly as possible.

He proceeds to a counter with a set of cabinets and rifles through them. He pulls out a light blue tunic that beasts of the Far Frozen have no business or benefit in having. It's far smaller than anything they'd need. And cut to human proportions. It's passed to Vlad, who eyes it suspiciously in his hands. It's made of a fine, very soft material that slides across his palms easily.

And it feels brand new.

''This looks like it was made recently,'' he voices, more suspicion welling up in his chest.

''It was. For you. It was sewn after the pup's transformation.''

Vlad blinks. ''Okay. One, where did you get my measurements, and two, you knew this was coming and planned for it, and you didn't tell me?!''

''If you'll recall,'' the yeti bites, ''I scanned you when you first brought the boy here. As for the other matter, yes. I knew it was coming, planned for it, and didn't tell you. There was no sense in trying to tell you that you were going to be pinned at some point. Especially with your mental state at the time. All I had to do was wait. Now, to ensure that you can handle the rest of what's coming your way, I need to perform a proper exam. As difficult as you can be, I don't wish to see you injured in such a manner.''

Vlad gawks at him, ''Why would I be injured?! What else are you not telling me?!''

''Imps are not humans. They do not copulate in the same sense that humans do. While he may engage in typical intercourse, it's not the same. There's normal imps, and then there's the boy. Normal imps rut. I need to be sure you can handle a rut.''

If Vlad was still cold before, he's not cold anymore. His skin burns red in every layer, beneath every inch of his plush winter clothing, rushing down from horn to toe.

"But you said he might not follow the normal behaviors."

"Is that a risk you're willing to take?"

The halfa winces.

''That's what I thought. Undress and put that on. When you're done, I suggest you let that pesky monstrosity of yours out before the exam.''

''Wh-''

''-Because from what you've described, unlike you, it's position will not be so interchangeable, and you are really trying my patience today," the beast snarls at him.

Now, Vlad's offended. But he bites his tongue because he just wants to get this over with. He stomps over to the counter and sheds his coat first. Then the sweater and his shirt. And because he has absolutely no desire to be exposed to the cold air longer than necessary, he snatches the tunic up, intent on putting it on before he looses his trousers and... Wait...

''What kind of exam, exactly?''

Frostbite considers him for minute. He studies the features on his face and the hue of his skin. The anxiety and distrust that's plain as day all over his frame, shuddering in the gale of the absurdity of his predicament, and struggling for the limelight with his full body blush. ...at least he's warmed up a little.

"Gynecological. What else?"

Vlad's mouth goes dry. As the Mojave. His heart ceases all activity and his brain trips over itself. At the same time, fire and blood prickle at his loins from the inside out.

"...w... ...uh... ...yo-... ...what?"

Instead of repeating himself, the beast grasps both of his shoulders and spins him around to face the middle of the room.

A table stands ready. The table. The table he never once considered needing to get on. When his eyes fall on the leg braces, his brain fritzes at the sight.

''You can either let me help you, or you can tuck tail, run, and trust to luck, which I strongly advise against. Your luck has been terrible as of late. The exam is invasive, however beneficial. But, it is ultimately your decision. I won't force it on you.''

Vlad gulps. He knows his luck is terrible. He's just been given one more chance to back out. But he knows better. He can hear Danny in his head, and the words that come forth sound about right for the situation.

''You could've at least bought me dinner, first.''

There's a light chuckle behind him. He may be removed from the living realm, but it's a colloquialism the beast understands.

"You're still willing, then?"

Vlad gives a shaky nod.

"Use your words."

"...yes."

A drawer opens and a faint, dull thud hits the countertop. The halfa glances back and sees a white bottle. He's not an idiot. He knows what it is. A new wave of blood rushes through to his skin.

''You won't need that,'' he says quietly, thoroughly embarrassed.

Frostbite doesn't even blink. ''I've heard that before. I'll be the judge.''

Vlad pulls the tunic on and sheds the rest of his clothing without anymore argument. Remembering his earlier instructions, he phases a hand into his chest and grasps at the chain he knows is there. And pulls. This time, Plasmius doesn't land gracelessly in a heap on the ground. It's prepared for the incantation and lands rather nicely.

Crouched low on all fours like a stone carving on the roof of a medieval church. Just as nature intended. Teal wings unfurl as it rises to its feet.

Vlad backs away to let them interact.

Frostbite eyes the pink chain that scrapes against the icy floor. He follows its path towards the looming demon, clearly making mental notes. Studying. When he finally looks at the monster, it leans forward and sniffs at the air surrounding the yeti. It huffs in disapproval. Frostbite isn't bothered.

Instead, he grabs a warm shoulder and spins the creature around to look at its wings.

Plasmius inwardly gawks at the action, the touch cold and unexpected. It's used to instilling varying degrees of terror in its host. To be handled so easily, turned on its heal and have a wing pulled outward for examination... What should be offense is actually astonishment.

Frigid touches prod gently at the surface of the limb, feeling the flesh draped over heated bone. Frostbite fusses at the single claw, feels the single talon that curls inward. He follows the outlines of bones beneath the teal expanse.

"Forgive me, I don't get to examine winged creatures very often."

His own claw nicks the warm skin by mistake, and Plasmius yelps. It sharply pulls away and turns, shifting its wings behind it.

"I am not a tes-AGH!"

"-And full fangs, as well!" Frostbite grips its jaw in one hand and uses the other to press a digit against a canine, "But no venom, I suspect. Most likely the fault of your human side. Which is probably for the pup's own good."

Vlad blinks, "Venom?"

"Yes. It's a little known quirk among gargoyles. And not one they use often," Frostbite tilts Plasmius' head to the side and pries at its lower jaw, "It's typically reserved for mating. Your kind bonds for eternity, you know. It's a powerful serum, it puts the incubi to shame."

Plasmius wrenches free from the snowbeast's grasp and licks at its fangs out of reflex. It glares at him in the process.

"Well. That certainly explains a lot," he turns towards the human half, "Alright then," he motions, "up you go."

Vlad gives an indignant groan, but does as he's told. Sitting on the edge of the table, Frostbite hands him a sheet, which he lays over his lap.

There's a malicious little snicker by the cabinets that prompts him to curl his lip back in a snarl.

The gargoyle rumbles quietly in response.

And the human half growls. If it weren't for the fact that their pain receptors are connected, he'd strangle the monster.

"Sit on the edge and lean back."

Vlad situates himself so that he feels like he's going to fall of the table, just as he knows he needs to be. It's his first time being put through such an assessment, but he's educated. He's soaked up as much knowledge as he could over the years, across any and all subjects since he had so little to do with himself. He understands the basics. And he thinks no less of any woman for the discomfort. The tunic is comfortable, but he's aware of the exposure. He's aware of himself and where everything in the room is. He knows where Frostbite is, as he pulls on a pair of gloves, and he's monitoring the nine foot sky-rat that leans a little too comfortably against the counter.

It's almost sensory overload as he flicks his eyes around to place every object. Every shape. Every color. Every scratch in the ice and every crease in the sheet on his lap and he wonders how women do it.

And then it occurs to him that his spell hasn't been activated yet. His hand starts downward, only for the yeti to come over and grab his wrist to stop him.

"Not yet. Lean back," Frostbite repeats.

Vlad is confused, but the command is followed without protest.

"Good. Arms up. Here."

Vlad blinks and turns his head to look where the yeti points. There's a plate with a loop of black fabric running through it. Which he didn't notice before.

"It's much easier if the patient is tied down first, before the spell is activated. Perfectly sound bodies are usually whipped into heat madness when it's been a while. To attempt any examination on one in such a condition while unrestrained will result in severe injury of both parties. And I sense it's been years since you've triggered yours."

Vlad audibly swallows, and hears a knowing grunt.

Now, he's torn. Between doing as he's told, running for the hills, punching Frostbite's teeth out, or just curling up in a corner to laugh until he cries. Because of course he'd find the one entity that's capable of studying him, eager to learn, happy to supply answers, and has absolutely no filter when it comes to a subject most human societies only discuss behind closed doors, and who else in the world besides him has to face this sort of ludicrousness?!

Ultimately, he caves to the order.

The straps are solid, but far from abrasive. Which he hates. Fewer distractions. He then allows his legs to be restrained, the padding offering plenty of physical comfort, but nothing for his mind. The glowing shackle on his ankle digs into his leg a little. He supposes that's something.

However uncomfortable the position is, he knows the chieftain means no harm. He knows he won't be wounded once in such a position. Not intentionally, anyway. Furthermore, he's barely more than a newborn among ghosts. He doesn't know much beyond what he's figured out for himself in terms of self-care, and there's no one in the living realm to help him. And the only one on the other side of the veil that will, out of the goodness of his frozen heart, i-

-A large hand gently rests against his stomach, forcing the man out of his own head to look up at the snowbeast.

"I will tell you this now, while your mind is still in a state of clarity. Once this is done, you'll need to leave the spell active for at least eight weeks."

"Okay... Why?"

The yeti shifts his jaw a little, carefully considering his words, "To be as inactive with this sort of magic as you have been, for as long as you have been, you're bound to be in need of... retraining."

Plasmius chuckles from its place by the counter.

Vlad glances at it and looks back to the yeti in confusion, "What do you mean, retraining?"

"Well, if you would prefer it in laymen's terms, you're most likely tighter than a nun's chuff."

Plasmius erupts in laughter, unable to contain itself. The anxiety and dread spawned from the whole situation goes up in smoke, leaving Vlad with a horrid concoction of hormones, affrontment, embarrassment, and horror.

"And you think you're gonna fix that with your hands?! You're out of your mind!"

"Would you rather I use something else?"

Vlad's mouth gapes, "Wh-NO!"

"Then stop whining. It could always be worse."

"Worse?! I came out here for a few simple answers and now I'm tied down to a fucking table and you're about shove your hand up my vag, which according to the laws of nature, I'm not even supposed to have! How could this possibly be any worse?!"

"It could be me doing it," Plasmius answers.

"...okay, fine. It could be worse." 'Goddamn it, Jack!'

His head thunks against the table as he does his best to refrain from outright screaming. It was supposed to be a short trip. Fly out here, ask a few questions, fly back in time for dinner. Nothing more! But his luck, being what it is, as the yeti so kindly pointed out, set his plan on fire and is actively dancing on its ashes.

The fabric of the tunic shifts out from underneath the sheet to expose his naval, "Once the spell is active, I'll start by-"

"-Don't tell me, just do it!" Vlad snaps, "I don't need an explanation, I don't need narration, I don't need a conversation, don't ask me about my hobbies, don't ask me how often I get off, don't even make jokes to lighten the mood! Just do what you have to do and get it over with!"

Frostbite's teeth grind in his mouth and he wakes the spell, "Hopefully, you'll be more pleasant as a wanton slut in heat madness."

Vlad feels his claw move across his skin before he can deliver a retort, and a warm fog soaks into his brain. He can feel everything in it turn cloudy. Muddy. His eyes roll back and his body seizes in the restraints, but he still manages to cling to a few neurons, and stiffens when the first touch comes.

The bottle isn't needed. Because years doesn't quite cover it. Yes, it's been years. When the spell first manifested, he practically ran wild with exploration. Anything he could do on his own, he did. Hours were lost. Once, he lost a few days. But the appeal wore off a few months later. Sure, it was enjoyable, and it granted him the types of play his original body couldn't. But there was also an understanding of what it was all for. How it was ultimately meant to be used. It took some time to process it, but when that realization slapped him across the face, the fire of play was snuffed out. Because he wouldn't be able to use it. He's met a few specters of interest in his time, but none were worth putting himself through the 9 months of ensuing grunt work. No one drew his attention that way.

Now, he has the potential to put it to use. He's been informed that if things play out correctly, it will be used. He will be used. Which is not unwelcome as an idea, the more he thinks it over. Would it really be so bad?

Suddenly, there's pressure. He groans, then clamps his jaw shut.

"Не давите так сильно!"

Frostbite's ears flick to the words and it makes him pause for a minute. "What?"

"I said, don't press so hard!"

The yeti grumbles at the wherewithall still present and presses more, anyway, twisting his hand around in the process. Vlad nearly chokes in the effort to hold his voice. His nerves sing at the touch. At every curl of the beast's fingers. His arms and legs uselessly tug at the restraints as he tries to breath as evenly as possible. Everything in his pelvis flutters and spasms. Though the touch is cold, it's well met against his heated insides, offering a strange and pleasurable contrast that prods at his nerves. He's torn between loving it and hating it. Loving how good it feels, hating that he's enjoying it in this scenario.

Plasmius approaches quietly, as quietly as it can, for the chain still scrapes across the floor. It comes around behind the table and leans against the top, peering down at its other half. And though there isn't much to see from this side, he's not interested in the inner workings just yet. Instead, it pays mind to the thrashing. The heaving breaths. The color staining Vlad's skin. The way his spine arches. Not a bad sight, it decides. In fact, Plasmius finds it easy to transfer the view to someone else in its mind. It's a view the demon would very much prefer on the younger halfa, rather than its mewling counterpart. It fidgets with a few silver strands, just a few, of the tresses draped over the edge of the table.

Between glimpses of his brain, Vlad notices. He feels the quarter-hearted tugs on his scalp and faintly sees the demon's outline in his vision. His jaw opens to yell at it, to order it away, but the words are stolen by a finger pressing at his cervix, and panic fills him. He snaps his head up.

"DON'T!"

Frostbite stops and looks up at him in surprise. His face is colored with the heat of his state, but his eyes are crystal clear.

"I'm not going to breach it. Relax. I'm just checking to make sure everything is healthy and has enough give."

Vlad swallows and breathes. Frostbite waits until he's settled down.

"Does the boy know?"

"No, I..." the fog moves back in as the exam continues, "I left it o-... lef-...Ah!"

"We wanted to surprise him. In the moment, preferably," Plasmius answers with a smirk.

"Well, while I can understand that, and it would certainly be an enjoyable surprise, I find that lying by omission is not the best way to officiate a relationship, no matter how good it feels."

He never should've agreed to this! He's losing his mind as the hand inside twists and turns, grinding knuckles up against his g-spot. If only he would press a little harder. Repeatedly, if possible. It's a lot. It's only two of the snowbeast's fingers. But he feels like he's maxed out for space. So full. So sweetly. So right. So nicely, and yet, not enough. He hears Plasmius snicker and his face slowly contorts from pleasure to frustration.

"I think he'll be fine," the gargoyle replies, watching its human half whimper and whine.

A particularly delicious twist of the wrist earns a wanton cry, casting diamonds and sparks in Vlad's eyes. But it doesn't yield the result he's desperately craving. The yeti pulls his fingers free with only some resistance, then removes his gloves and throws them away.

''That should be enough. The rest I need can be ascertained from a few scans. I'll be right back."

Plasmius waits until he leaves before looking back down at his other half.

''You've gotta be fucking kidding me,'' Vlad groans. Laying there, shuddering, feeling only slightly humiliated, but more so unsatisfied, he jerks his wrists in a feeble attempt to break free.

''All of that...'' '...for nothing!'

Hellfire warmth trickles in past the cold air and something brushes against his thigh. The table creaks through his shaking breaths, alerting him that something is off. He whines and picks his head up...and comes face-to-face with Plasmius. Hovering over him, bracing its hands on either side of Vlad's hips. And every alarm bell screams within, competing to drown out his need.

''This is a great look for you,'' it grins.

''What are you doing?'' he asks nervously.

A dry snicker dampens with malevolence and Plasmius raises a hand. Holding it up in view, it wiggles its fingers...and bright pink sparks snap inbetween movements.

''...you wouldn't.''

''I would," it pulls the black loop of fabric around its middle finger free and rolls its sleeve up.

''I just got fisted by a glorified fucking yeti and I didn't even get anything out of it! Don't you think I've been through enough, today?!'' Vlad snarls, but the blush running from his horns to his toes still won't fade away.

''Not yet, you haven't. And, please. Two fingers hardly counts as fisting.''

''His hands are huge!'' He should protest more, but he's gotten nowhere, still needs to get there, and his hands are literally tied. The idea is a little uncomfortable, especially as it's coming from his ghost half, but it's not without merit.

''He's a yeti. What did you expect? Besides, I could use the practice,'' it proceeds to nudge the sheet up.

''Practice for what?!''

The sheet is pushed until it's bunched up at his waist.

"For our little невеста, of course! I'd hate to leave him dissatisfied. Wouldn't you?"

"..."

"Or I could just...leave you like this."

"...I am going to kill you."

Plasmius smiles, toothy and cheshire, "One can only hope. Now...будь хорошей кобылой и откройся."

"I am not a ma-"

-Plasmius slams its other hand down, inches from his head, and leans in for a better angle. Leering at his counterpart, red sclera burning bright, "You babble and snivel and whine and do anything you can to distract yourself from this mess you've become. You've dragged this out far longer than you needed to, danced around it like every other problem in your life, and you could've stopped it at any time," two fingers slip in with no resistance and the human's lungs hitch, "But the fact is that you're soaked. You're soaked, you're desperate, you look ready to climb into the first lap offered to you and you must think it so unbecoming to be like this. Yet, you haven't refused my assistance. So, let's hear it, hm? Use your words."

"...help me."

"Was that so hard?" it asks.

"Yes," the human grits, and then jerks when he feels the demon's fingers move.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. Besides, if I hurt you, I'll suffer for it, as well."

"That doesn't make me feel any better about this!" In any other instance, under any other circumstance, it might have been decent consolation. But at this moment, it just feels more like a hollow promise.

"Now, if I recall correctly," it feels around, curling its fingers at different depths, "it should be..."

Vlad's spine jolts off the table in surprise.

"There it is," red focuses on cloudy blue, "Let's see how much it takes."

Vlad opens his mouth to dissent, but the world goes white.

The restraints don't let him get away. Though they allow his body to contort some, they hold him in place to just lay there and take. His spine curves and stiffens, his mouth locked open in a silent scream. His head slams against the back of the table, horns and potential headache be damned. The cold of the environment is forgotten, lost to the sharp fire engulfing his loins. His walls flutter. A wet heat rapidly flows forth, easily conducting the charge and spreading it from his folds to his cervix. Everything convulses and jerks until it all snaps. Hot slick gushes and drenches the fingers inside of him, and then it all stops. Vlad collapses, gasping for air.

Plasmius straightens enough to brush its free hand against his forehead.

Vlad struggles to look at it. The strength to simply turn his head barely exists. It takes a moment to lift the weight of his skull up. When he does, he finds himself face-to-face with the demon. And the demon smiles.

"Better?"

"...again."

Everything turns white again, and then, eventually, it goes dark.

It's all a blur. It was during his eighth orgasm that he'd passed out. When he woke again, Plasmius was gone. Cast back into his mindscape, nesting amongst a hoard of books torn down from their shelves and humming to itself.

He doesn't know how he makes it home. Haphazardly, Vlad managed to get dressed. His coat isn't even zipped up and his clothing is rumpled as he stumbles through the portal like a newborn foal. Gravity drops him to the floor in a heap. Plasmius grunts unhappily at the pain, but says nothing.

Laying there on the cold stone, Vlad lets his muscles relax. Lets the aching work its way out. He lays there for an hour before attempting to stand up again. It still takes quite a bit of effort. He pulls himself up by grabbing onto the leg of a table. Everything under his skin twitches awkwardly as he rights himself. Just when he's leaning against the table, and being so grateful for having the foresight to bolt it to the floor, he feels a rush of warmth soak in to his trousers.

"Fuck."

He didn't realize he was still so wet.

"That's the last time I ask him for advice."

It takes him another hour to make it to his bedroom, where he drags himself into bed and crashes. For several days. When he finally dislodges from his blankets, frustrated with the situation and further spent, it's only because he has to. He needs to eat. Running mad with hormones doesn't change the fact that he's starving. The recuperation soothed his limbs. Everything has stopped hurting. Which means he can now focus on a new problem.

Having the spell active means his pelvis has shifted to accomodate it. Which means none of his jeans fit properly. Neither do his slacks, nor any of his night clothes. He fidgets with every garment he tries and fails to find comfort each time. He gets so annoyed that everything he tries gets dumped on the floor, leaving his room a mess.

"What about a skirt?" Plasmius supplies.

"I'm not talking to you," Vlad snarls back.

And then he realized that he doesn't have any sanity left to lose.

"Not like I'm going out in public, anyway."

He doesn't actually own such an article of clothing. So he makes one. There's plenty of sewing patterns available online. He cuts down a set of curtains he'd originally shoved under the bed to make it, finally getting his money's worth out of them. And he only pricks himself with a needle twice. When it's done, as ridiculous as he feels for wearing it, he had to admit that it doesn't physically bother him nearly as much as everything else he's tried to put on.

"I hate it, but it'll do."

"See? I don't just cause trouble. I have good ideas."

"I'm not talking to you."

Chapter Text

It takes him several more days to adjust to his pelvis being rearranged. Constant fidgeting, incessant fussing and neurotic twists and turns in his seat and stance would drive a normal person mad within hours. It's a good thing he's not normal.

The skirt comes with its benefits. The pattern he chose flows and flutters easily. It doesn't bunch up behind his knees when he walks, which he's observed some skirts do, regardless of the weight or build of the woman. It's loose. It breathes. He doesn't feel like he's suffocating when he wears it.

...it has its downsides.

His tailbone juts differently. It curves his spine more to tolerate the way his pelvis has moved, however faint the curvature is. Which means the garment is ever-so-slightly higher in the back than in the front. Not by much, mind you, just an inch or two. But as someone who's had long term access to custom clothing carefully, delicately cut and sewn to his form, he can't help but notice. And it drives him crazy.

He also has to figure out how to bend over in it. Which seems ridiculous, especially when he's not looking to be among the general public just yet. But he's all too aware of the differences in his body, and the last thing he wants to do is expose himself in such a manner.

He puts off his nights out with Daniel because of it. The call for cancelation is awkward, but he's just not ready to go back out until he's gotten his hands on some decent pairs of everything. Jeans, slacks, leggings, jeggings, the whole lot. It's nothing in expense. But it's an order that will take time.

He has to promise the other halfa that he hasn't done anything wrong. He hasn't done anything to upset him. He's just going through "something that's difficult to put into words." He lays the blame on Plasmius to make it seem more plausible, ignores the tantrum it throws in response, and then feels guilty for lying. All in one sentence. But it buys him the desired understanding. They agree to let him have the month to sort it out. Which will also give his new clothing order the necessary amount of time.

"You can't hide it from him forever."

"I know," he'd grumbled, and he's not planning to.

He just needs to hide it long enough to figure himself out.

The next time Vlad arrives at the Fenton household, there's still a faint tint to his cheeks. Ever so faint. Almost invisible to the naked eye.

He knows it's there. He knows his behavior seems strange to Jasmine when she lets him into the house. She raises a brow at the way he almost jerks into the living space. He won't look her in the eye, taking extra care to keep his own cast anywhere else but her prying glare.

Danny studies him as he slowly descends the stairwell.

That essence of the blush, he would normally waive. But something wriggles his nose. The scents that he's used to are there. Firewood and old books laced with ozone, topped with mountain air. However, there's something else underneath. Hiding beneath the layers. It's almost sweet. He gets a glimmer of honey coated lilacs and fireflies on a summer night. It's familiar. Really familiar. It makes his mouth water. But he doesn't understand why.

His posture seems unusual as well, as if he's trying to stand as straight as possible. Danny blinks at him while he communes with his sister. His overall appearance is unchanged. At least, on the surface. He speaks softly, avoids moving too much, and stiffens his movements when he has to take steps into the kitchen.

Something's off. It's bothering him.

He can't help but mentally question the oddities. When they leave and make their way to the diner on foot, his walk is just as stiff as every other motion he's made since his arrival. Like he's trying to keep his legs as straight as he's trying to keep his back. To any passerby, he just appears imposing. Stiff upper lip and all that. But the younger halfa knows better. They know better. It pokes and prods at his brain, inside and out, human and ghost, to watch him. His steps, his turns, his spine, his sway, everything is wrong. And it's all layered with that strange, mellow sweet undertone of his scent.

Worse, walking to the diner is far slower than driving, and all Danny can zero in on is Vlad's every step. But getting there, sitting down, and ordering? It doesn't help. It just makes him crazier because Vlad won't stop moving! They get to their table, a booth near the back of the diner, and Vlad immediately starts shifting around in his seat. Non stop. He turns in his place left and right. Slants and curves his spine as indiscreetly as he can. Tugs at his clothing more times than Danny can count, and even bundles up his coat and shoves it behind himself for some reason. All within the first ten minutes.

The pattern varies when their drinks arrive, but doesn't reduce in capacity. His face gives away very few clues to the whatever the problem is, and is decidedly calm for all the physical activity on display. When their food is finally placed in front of them, the variance of activity drops. Needing to maintain focus to eat in the uncomfortable silence leaves him with very little opportunity to wriggle about. But it doesn't stop him from trying to recenter himself every thirty seconds.

"Are you okay?" Danny finally asks, and then winces because his voice sounds distressed.

Vlad jerks a little, but doesn't look up. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You went from walking like an ironing board to squirming in your seat like a cheap hooker wondering if the money's real."

The man quirks a brow.

"That's a new one."

"Colorful. I'm fine."

"You've barely said anything."

Vlad's fork jabs into his plate slightly harder than necessary. He thought he was actually hiding it pretty well. No one else in the diner has noticed him. But then again, the boy isn't any random stranger sitting ten feet away.

"And you smell weird, too. You... you almost smell like..."

Every muscle in Vlad's body tightens. "Like... ...what?"

Danny shakes his head, "I don't know. I can't figure it out. You're just off, okay? And you're never off. Not like this."

Vlad swallows, and though he tries to fight it, tries to self-regulate his temperature so it won't happen, that barely-there pink on his face darkens.

"You'll have to tell him eventually."

"Your ideas get me into far more trouble than they're worth, as of late," he grumbles.

"And the sooner you stop dancing around your problems, the sooner I'll behave."

"Don't make me promises we know you have no intent of keeping," he looks up at the boy, who has stopped eating and is actively glaring at him. But there's a blend of annoyance and concern behind his eyes, just the same.

"You gonna let me in on any of that?" the youth asks.

Vlad shifts in his seat once again, and gives an audible grunt when he still can't seem to get comfortable.

"I'm fine. I promise, it's not anything serious. It's just..."

Danny peers at him through the dingy yellow lighting of the diner, and motions for him to continue.

"Not here. Okay? We'll talk after."

Some relief crosses his face, "After what?"

Vlad waives him off, "Just, after. But I'm going to need a drink first."

Danny nods and his face visibly softens.

"Wait, can we even get drunk?"

Vlad gives a short laugh and takes a sip of his coffee, "I can, if I have something strong enough, drink fast enough or doctor the alcohol. I don't know about you. ...I can also cook off the alcohol content in my blood at a moment's notice."

The other halfa's face lights up, smothering the array of discontentment and confusion he's been feeling for the last hour.

"Okay, that's cool."

Despite how awkward he's feeling, Vlad can't help but smile. There's that little spark in the youth's eyes that he hasn't seen in a long time. That little burst of childish curiousity and rambunctious energy that once lit up his home. He didn't even know he'd been missing it until now.

'Maybe I can have that, again...'

Instead of going back to the Fenton residence, they return to Polter Heights. The walk was made with haste, with Vlad hoping to gain the pot-valiance necessary to explain why they had to pause their outings. Vlad nudges the door open and immediately heads for the china cabinet. There, in the bottom cupboard, he pulls out a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

They move into the kitchen and he drapes his coat over the back of a chair at the table. A quick whuff of dust billows out from underneath the article, reminding Danny that it's been a while since he's been in the house. He's always known it to be here, he just hasn't given it much thought. It's only right that some memories barge their way to the front of the line. The lunches and dinners shared among them and his friends. The movies they watched echo in the background of his mind, sending Frankenstein's monster chasing after the Mummy before they fall into the Black Lagoon.

There's numerous conversations prattling on through the haze. Lessons and jokes and juvenile banter. Sob stories, scientific theories, mental somersaults in psychology trying to understand the fault of Frankenstein himself. All at once, he understands what nostalgia actually is.

As frustrating and enraging as that year had been, it could have been far worse. When he considers his fortunes in the past, he's made out like a bandit when all is said and done.

"Sit."

The command is easy to follow. He does so in silence as the alcohol is poured.

"So... Wha-"

Vlad holds up a hand to make him pause while he chugs the contents of his glass down. The burn on his throat is a lot, but nothing he hasn't dealt with before. He swallows until there's nothing left and sets the glass down roughly on the table. The burn in his esophagus melds into a familiar warmth. One of dubious courage and clouded judgement. He coughs to soothe his throat, pours another one and practically inhales it. His goal, to get as drunk as he can, as fast as possible.

"I paid Frostbite a visit."

Danny's curiosity perks up, but his shoulders scrunch a little and he sips at the fire-water in his glass. The burn isn't unpleasant. Just new. It's not bad, really.

"He's not mad at you. ...a few of the villagers are, given the damage, but he's gotten over it. I think he might welcome you if you ever decide to go back."

Danny hums softly and his muscles loosen up. Not by much, though. It's nice to know that he's been forgiven, but he doubts the villagers would actually want him anywhere near their island. He's certainly not inclined to try, simply by the way they reacted to him. He doesn't think he needs another hoard of spears pointed at him. He already feels singled out enough, thank-you.

"So, why did you go?"

"I needed answers only he would have."

Danny looks at him from his place at the table, "Answers about what?"

"You."

"...me?" Danny takes a small sip of his scotch.

Vlad nods and gulps his second drink, "Well, we're going to be living together and we'll most likely fucking like rabbits."

Danny's mouth gapes at the use of language. The man isn't wrong, it's definitely Danny's intent to render the deal between demon and human null and void. But while he's known Vlad to speak bluntly and honestly, he's never known him to have all the subtlety of a pool table falling out of a tree.

"You're an imp. Imps have different instincts than other ghosts. Different needs. Different behaviors and habits."

Danny feels a little uncomfortable at the statement, finding it uttered in a tone both clinical and inconvenienced. Vlad takes another swig.

"By the same token, I'm a gargoyle. My needs are different, as well. But I know what to expect with myself. I know how I function. I have my books and my own observations. Anything you ask, I can answer. There's plenty of gargoyles in the Ghost Zone. You, however, are a rarity among the dead. Rare enough that there wasn't anything available to read on you. At least not within reach."

The teen hums in response. It makes sense to him. He still feels like Vlad is sounding a little too cold about it, but again, that could just be the scotch. And the man is a scientist at heart. The distant and objective attitude is par for the course in a mind constantly seeking enlightenment in a cultural and sociological wasteland.

"невеста means bride. And though I've put very little thought into the concept of marriage... I don't think I'd mind. Just understand that I won't wear a dress when we go down that road."

Danny takes a bigger gulp to hide the interest on his face, the image painted for them bringing about a low purr of approval from within that he strains to stifle. Phantom gathers the thought in its talons and stashes it away for later.

"But, I wanted to be prepared. And, as I said, my questions were beyond any tome I presently own, and you're young enough that you're not going to be able to offer explanations to the questions I was asking. So, I... I had to go to a fucking yeti for answers."

"...did you get what you needed?" The younger halfa pushes his glass towards the man for a refill.

Vlad physically halts in his chair at the question. Clearly thinking it over, trying to find the right words. He eventually consumes the last of his drink and refills both of their glasses.

"...along with a handful of insults, and then some," he finally grits out.

Danny's nose twitches. That strange and sweet undertone he's been trying to pin is suddenly becoming more prevalent. It's warm. The room is warm. Or is it just him? He looks at the glass as it's pushed back to him. It feels a little stuffy. A little too much. Some sounds are starting to falter and lilt awkwardly in his ears.

'We're drunk.'
'We're drunk.'

They agree that they should nudge the glass away...after a few more nips.

"What does this have to do with you being so off-kilter?"

"I paid Frostbite a visit," the elder halfa repeats, voice dipping in warning.

"...and?"

"Frostbite is something of a researcher, himself. He likes to study other spectral oddities. He's also the village doctor, if you'll recall."

The youth gulps more of his drink down, "Yeah, I remember."

"Frostbite is the only spirit old enough, educated enough and safe enough," he pauses to growl slightly, "to help me with the things I need."

The teen grunts, "Is there a point here?"

"Frostbite is an asshole," the words roll over each-other in minor slurring.

The faint tilt of the room urges Danny to finally push his half empty glass aside, but he goes for one more swig, "What did he do?"

Vlad grips his drink in a tight fist, "...son a bitch gave me a pelvic exam."

Danny chokes on his scotch. He proceeds with sputtering and pounding his fist into his chest to clear it out. The burn spreads down into a lung and he coughs to compensate. It doesn't help. It takes him a minute to hack the fire out.

"So now I'm stuck sitting down with nothing for at least another month because I was 'tighter than a nun's chuff,' as he so eloquently put it."

"Wait, so," the teen clears his throat, "that's why you've been..."

"I didn't exactly make a habit of self-care. The appeal wore out after a while, so it's been quite a few years since the last time. I honestly didn't know it would be such an issue."

Danny blinks at him in surprise. The burning in his lungs fizzles out slowly, but the labor of clearing his passages has left him a little red in the face. It masks the sudden fluctuations in his mind as it finally clicks. The reason why the soft sweetness was so familiar. He kicks himself for not realizing it sooner because he knows that smell. He's known for a few years now. But unlike Vlad, he does make a habit of finding release. He's just never caught it all tangled up in Vlad's essence before. As if that's a reasonable excuse to not pick up on it. And it's not. Not to him.

Now that he knows, now that he's done being an idiot, well... The idea is very appealing. It always was, but it was never anything more than that. An idea. A blip of neurons. A fantasy. Maybe even a vision that's been keeping him entertained for far longer than it had any right to. Now, it's not just an idea. It's not just his neurons blinking away in his brain. It's not just a distant fantasy. Now...it's sitting right here with him. Right next to him. In potential eyesight. In arm's reach. From so far away on a world unexplored to being so...so close. Close enough that he can...

Maybe it's the booze.

Maybe it's the fact that he's an apparent lightweight.

Maybe it's the combination of time and having the hallucinogenic pornography on repeat piled onto a final recognition of the scent that's been driving him nuts all night.

Maybe it's all of the above.

Whatever the cause, whatever to blame and whatever the reason, he doesn't stop himself from leaning in his seat towards the other halfa. Who cues in to the sudden proximity a little too late.

Pleading cyan irises surround in soot to meet the ocean's gaze and the words slip out. Completely unrestrained. But the moment they break free, he decides he's fine with his inhibitions passing out at Phantom's hooves.

"Can I see?"

Chapter Text

Every function in Vlad's body screeches to a stop. His blood, his heart, his brain, everything. Completely caught off guard by the inquiry. He stares back into cyan and ash, unable to look away. They're bright and pleading. Glowing, even. He's seen them glow many times before, it's nothing new. But this time seems different.

Danny's pupils are blown. Clearly craving, yet somehow nonthreatening. There's a sudden overabundance of curiosity in his glare and a swarming of purple and pink bubbling in his aura.

Cooler fingers gently lay themselves on his leg, a thumb lightly ghosts his thigh to entice. Vlad gulps.

He doesn't want to fight it. He knows he really should. He should worry that it could get out of hand. He doesn't want to trigger something he'll be unable to get out of. There's the potential of setting off other instincts, if they're even there. And if they are, and he sets them off, he could be stuck in this particular situation for a lot longer.

Plus, getting knocked up by a college student, regardless of how close he is to graduation, is not exactly the best way to begin a long term relationship. If it comes to that, and Jasmine were to find out, he knows she'd have the heart to wait for him carry to term before committing any medical atrocities against his equipment. Which, not surprisingly, is of little comfort.

And then there's always the fear of the parents getting involved. Of discovering what they are. Add a child to that mix, and it'll be at least sixty years before they're left alone again because he knows how bad that'll look.

But those concerns are dulled and muted by the alcohol. They're sufficiently smothered and snuffed out by the whirling haze of his state. And were it anyone else staring him down like a wild animal and giving a hopeful nudge to his leg, he most likely would've ripped their throat out.

Maybe it's the hormones flooding his system.

Maybe it's the fact that he's achieved his goal of getting drunk a little too quickly.

Maybe it's the combination of the hypnotic stare, the implications of the hand on his leg, and the fact that he hasn't done anything with someone else in decades.

Maybe it's all of the above.

Whatever the cause, whatever to blame and whatever the reason, he caves. Selfishly, he thinks, but he gives in. He takes the hand that's been taunting his thigh as all of those maybes and twenty years of celibacy and a month of unchecked urges wins out against everything else. Fuck it all, he's an adult, he can do what he wants.

"Not in the kitchen."

He guides the other up out of his chair and into the living room. Not up the stairs. He's afraid he might reconsider this whole thing in the time it takes to get to his bedroom. Danny follows without argument, tail cinching around his leg beneath his jeans in anticipation.

Vlad turns to face him and takes his other hand. He holds them close, soaking up the chill of the cooler flesh and strokes his thumbs over his knuckles. It makes Danny pause. To watch what seems like a nervous motion, and then look up.

The color of the older halfa's face has darkened in his state. Danny expects he looks about the same, and can even feel the rush of blood to his cheeks before it backtracks and heads south. He takes a step forward, urging the man back towards the couch. Vlad takes the hint and pulls him along, laying down across the cushions and settling the younger halfa between his legs.

It's a little surreal to him, to be in this position. He's attempted to take several partners over the years, and even when just seeking one-night stands, they always fell through. They all panicked and fled. Putting him in a position of power had always been their intent. And normally, that's what he prefers. But his needs have always been beyond what most people can take.

Now, here he lays, in the position of a blushing virgin, for a change, taking an abhorrently large risk with his choice of company, with no idea of how far things will go and only one way through. On the upside, there's no chance of this one running away.

Cold hands gently push his shirt up over his stomach, snapping him back into hazy reality. Danny's eyes continue to glow in the dark as he fixates on the expanse of flesh. Vlad takes a chance on the focus, reaches a hand down and taps to wake the spell.

Bright blue casts the younger halfa's face in a strange light and his pupils thin until there's barely a hair of black fire visible. His fingers itch with the need to see more. He hooks them into the waistband of Vlad's slacks, but he doesn't pull. He wants to. His curiosity isn't nearly sated. As much as he wants to, as much as he needs to see more, he doesn't have permission.

Vlad can sense the dilemma. It's written all over his face and in every twitch of his fingers.

"It's okay," he says softly. It's already halfway out of hand now, they may as well.

That seems to be enough. Danny phases the offending article of clothing right off of him, does the same to his boxers, and Vlad proceeds to kick his shoes and socks free using the same method. He achieves it just as a hand presses his hip down to keep still. The touch makes him jump a little, prompting nails to dig in and drive the unspoken order home. He settles back down against the cushions and drapes an arm over his eyes to relax himself.

His mind and his nerves, though both steel themselves, are not in sync and still have yet to be on the same page with each-other. He takes a breath, and lays there. Silently.

...ever so gently, keeping one hand on the man's hip to hold him steady, Danny's fingers begin to part his folds. He doesn't press or pull or dig in, he's not out to cause harm. He wants to see. To feel. He already knew that Vlad runs warmer than humans. He knows his surface temperature well. But here, he's so much hotter. Like a sauna, it's wet and soft. Slick quickly engulfs his fingers, warm and slippery and smelling so sweet. Cast in the glow of his eyes, he sees some muscles twitch and feels them pulse beneath his fingertips. Between his open fingers, like a jewel in a crown, Vlad's clit shines, coated wet and red.

Fluid weeps from his opening, priming for play and releasing even more of the pheromones that have set his mouth watering for most of the night. It flutters under his touch, practically begging for some sort of stimulus, and Danny's brain wanders down more dark corners. Wondering just how hot it is on the inside, how soft, how loose or how tight. He shifts his position so that he can get a better look. He hangs one leg off the couch and puts one sneaker to the floor for support and bends down, getting closer. It's awkward on his spine, not the most comfortable. But right now, he doesn't care.

What matters to him is soaking in the sight and committing as much of it to his memory as he can. He already knows what the structures are supposed to look like. But that was never the point. Just like when he tested the spell out his first time, it's about seeing what it all looks like on Vlad.

He leans in close and slows his breathing. The sweet scent, that summery night and and all of those fireflies, rushes his sinuses and clouds his mind. His brain marinates in the soup of hormones and lust as he finally shifts his fingers down, dipping them inside. The sheer heat that wraps around them and nearly burns his skin is almost enough right then and there. He's definitely filled out his jeans in all the excitement, he just hasn't been paying attention until now.

Vlad's breathing falters, but he doesn't stop him.

Danny clamps his jaw shut and inhales evenly to contain himself. The warmth inside is just as soft. And wet enough that he's tempted to see if his whole hand will slide in. It probably would, with only mild effort, given that Frostbite's work has already loosened everything so... so much...

His lip curls back in a snarl at the thought. He packs it away for later.

'Be mad later.'
'Be mad later.

Moving his fingers around, he curls them at random moments. Sometimes stimulating, sometimes just offering pressure. Sort of testing the waters, but primarily, he's fooling around. Vlad's hips jerk whenever he presses against a particular spot. It's definitely of interest, but he's not there, yet. The halfa slips his fingers back out and opens his labia again. Holding his hand steady, his eyes fall on Vlad's clitoris.

Danny has spent more time in the internet's depths than he'd ever care to divulge. He's done a lot of reading and watched hours worth of videos. There's a lot of things he wants to try. Picking one is shockingly difficult, but he does. He opens his mouth to feel the warmer air roll over his tongue. Calculating the temperature is easy. Finding the negative degree he'll need is a little more difficult. But he commands his saliva to freeze.

Meanwhile, the sudden lack of activity has Vlad blinking into his arm. Time and heated blood flow have begun to simmer off the edges of his drunkenness, allowing him a few brain cells to begin worrying with. He doesn't pull away, but he wonders what could have made the other stop. He props one hand at the edge of the cushion begins to lift up, careful to keep his pelvis from moving so that he doesn't give the the wrong idea. Just as cyan irises come into view, Danny moves in.

Frigid cold strikes his clit and Vlad shrieks. His legs snap together around Danny's head and he collapses against the couch. His spine arches as his fingers tangle in raven locks, unsure if he should push him away or urge him to work harder. He gasps for air while his toes curl into the fabric beneath them. Danny alters his movements and speed, giving a variance of kitten licks and hard, long swipes with his tongue, and finds he more heavily favors the sounds that are made when he's rough. He even taunts with the tips of his fangs, all while sucking as hard as he can.

"You miserable litt-AHH!"

Cold and hot and cold and hot and the ice of Danny's tongue drags hot slick over the surface of the organ. Freezing and thawing in rapid succession draws more of the sweet juices out and Vlad struggles to keep oxygen in his lungs. All of that thawing just adds more wetness to the mix, making his legs tremble and shudder at every twist and flick. Overstimulation at its finest. His hips start canting up into the cold appendage and Danny finally moves his hands and pushes his legs apart, but doesn't cease his ministrations. Without his fingers in place to keep Vlad open, he relies on more movements to keep going. Maintains the same level of suction, he turns and twists, pulling Vlad in different directions and the heaving breaths turn up in pitch.

Thrilled with himself, proud of his efforts, he can't help but purr.

"No! Don't-! Not that! Don- Don- nnNNNNN!"

His spine arcs off the sofa as the vibrations twist a thousand knots in his lower back and everything snaps. Fresh, hot fluid gushes free and Danny finally pulls away. Vlad collapses like a lead weight and desperate for air, leaving the younger halfa to stare as his muscles contract and spasm. Some arousal still clings to his lips and fangs, which Danny eagerly licks away.

He then leans back down for more, gathering as much juice on his tongue as he can and slurping it down. Occasionally, his tongue grazes Vlad's clit, drawing out sweet little yelps and more spasms. He licks and gulps until there's nothing but the aftershocks left. Straightening himself, the younger halfa sits up to admire his work.

Silver hair shimmers in the few beams of moonlight that grace the window. It's tangled and splayed out like a shattered halo. Vlad's complexion is cherry red from horn to toe. His chest heaves with the effort to regain control over his heart as it pounds in his chest. His shirt is wrinkled and shoved up near his diaphragm. His whole frame is wracked with random twitches. At the heart of it all, his vaginal walls are all a-twitter, open to the world and leaking more release.

Danny laps at the final droplets wetting his lips and, leaning forward, summons a buzz into his bones.

There's a weird shift of light that pierces the post-orgasmic haze and the couch shifts as if there's been weight added. Between breaths, he barely finds the energy to lift his head up and look. When he does, searing heat runs through him once more, cooking off the last of the alcohol and sending him right back to square one.

It's definitely Danny looming over him, staring him in the eye. That much, he can't deny. But a cool hand reaches out and gently wipes sweat from his brow, and he realizes it's much larger than before. There's more to the boy. More bulk. More muscle and an imposing build. His tail sways behind him. Longer. Thicker. Spines larger and sharper than they should be.

For a moment, Vlad worries, based on his size, that this is it. He's triggered a rut. But Danny is calm and collected. His eyes are clear, no longer bogged down by scotch. The sooted sclera remain, telling him that it's just part of this form. He reaches a shaking hand up and brushes a cheek, and Danny leans into it with a light trill. He nuzzles the open palm, shifting in his seat for comfort, and something hard presses against the older halfa's thigh.

He doesn't need to look down to know what it is. He's not an idiot. But from the feel of it, this new form of the boy grants him other benefits.

"You had better be proportional or I'm going El Niño on Frostbite's ass."

The comment earns a full snicker from the youth. He takes Vlad's hand and strokes a thumb over his knuckles. Danny sits there like that for a few minutes, letting the afterglow of his orgasm settle down. It's hardly strange behavior, but it's not what Vlad would have ever expected.

His pelvis flutters and wet warmth soaks his quivering walls. He can feel the pulsing. And he's suddenly craving for more. Despite the deal he'd arranged with Plasmius, who's been oddly quiet through the whole thing. He looks up at Danny just in time to see his nostrils flare. And the youth tilts his head.

Leaning in close, he takes in the other's scent. In addition to that warm summery night, and all of those little lightning bugs, Vlad's release has added a hint of strawberries to the mix. He wonders if he can add more. Cold crystal gathers on the tip of his tail. It coats the edges and fills out the dimensions, rendering the sharp edges smooth. When there's enough, his tail tip weighs a few extra pounds, but is nice and rounded. He's careful to avoid adding too much. He doesn't want it too big. He just wants enough to play with.

Vlad is so distracted by being scented that he doesn't notice when his legs are pushed apart. Danny switches his hold to gently grip his jaw, tilting his head forward so that he can get in even closer, and Vlad still isn't alerted. So he goes for it.

Ice, hard and cold, plunges into his body with enough force to push him into the armrest and Vlad shouts.

"What are you doing?! You can't jus-" the chill engulfs him from the inside and he gasps for air as patches of frost creep up his neck. His core spins faster in his chest to compensate and it melts away, but what presses against his cervix retains its shape anyway, and he's too full.

Scrambling for purchase, or trying to get away, he's not sure, "Tell me you didn't!" because if that part of the boy is that cold, then he needs to rethink everything.

He's allowed to shift backward to see. Almost immediately, he realizes he can separate himself from the younger halfa's hold.

"You really didn't... Then what did you..." his eyes run along the other's frame, where he follows the path of the appendage he's been intermittently studying for the last few years.

"Oh god..."

Cyan irises burn bright in their glare, and the tail jerks just enough to send sparks through his body.

"You are..." he takes a breath, "...you're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Danny chitters in response, clearly pleased with himself. He then pulls the man into an embrace and lays back across the couch. Vlad finds himself draped over his form. Holding him close and slotting their legs together like perfect puzzle pieces, the youth gives another experimental thrust of his tail. Vlad shudders and his forehead thumps into Danny's chest, mewling helplessly into his shirt. The next thing he knows, he's rubbing against a firm thigh and clinging to him for dear life as whatever construct the boy has made out of his tail rams against his cervix.

It's not the same as being taken the way he was both dreading and hoping for, nor is it as deep as he knows he can take. But for now, riding the embers of his first orgasm and strung out on the flames of the next one incoming, it's more than enough.

The angle changes, experimenting with his insides and messing with frazzled nerves. The appendage slips in and out of him easily, more than adequately lubricated by the mess he's been made into. He catches a passing glimpse of what the youth has been shoving into him. Overall, it's conical in shape, with a rounded tip to prevent harm. He thinks he sees ribbing, but he doesn't get to see it long enough before it's back inside of him again.

Somewhere in the pleasurable squall, as his loins begin to twist in his lower back for a second time, he's aware that he's the only one to have gotten anything out of this night so far. Don't get him wrong, having the focus shifted on his needs is really, really nice. But it's still unfair to his doting partner. Even if he doesn't realize it.

His spine doesn't know whether to arch or curl. His toes dig into the surface of the couch beneath them for purchase. He can't tell if he should be worried about things bruising as the onslaught gathers speed and strength. His nails curl into the fabric of Danny's shirt and he gives his hips a twist to complement a particular thrust, and the change in friction against his sore clit paints stars in his eyelids. He keeps the motion going until he can't take it anymore.

The pace picks up where he can't. Harder, faster, rougher, wider. He swears the construct is growing.

"Dan- Daniel..." he wheezes as claws twist into his scalp.

The thigh he's rubbing against presses into him harder, smearing his fluids everywhere.

The angle shifts once more and he comes undone. His walls seize around Danny's tail. His hips falter and shiver on Danny's thigh. His release weeps out around the sides of the freezing intrusion. It moves one last time, digging into his cervix with a hard shove. To be certain that he doesn't have anything left to give.

"Take it out!"

It wiggles around some more and he yelps.

"I can't! Daniel, please!" he cries into the chest beneath him, and his legs give a violent tremor, "I can't! Please! Stop!"

Danny purrs beneath him and a hand reaches through his hair to urge him to look up. Ocean and ice cross paths in the dark. The touch is gentle. It settles his nerves. Mellows his heart. Vlad leans into it, absorbing the cold to ease his overworked core. And then, Danny smirks.

Vlad's eyes widen, "NO, WAI-"

-The appendage wrenches free from his body all at once.

Orgasmic fluid blended with cold water spatters across the couch. Some hits the armrest he was just leaning against minutes ago, and as his eyes roll back into his skull, some even strikes the wall behind him.

His whole body gives out. The world simply blinks off.

...Danny lays there and holds Vlad close for two hours. Vlad doesn't move or twitch. His heart beats. A little. Not a lot.

Danny spends those hours casually licking his tail clean, as slow as he can, savoring his work. He works the ice down with each lick. It takes a while to get to the black flesh of his tail. He could let it all melt away. He thought about it. It would have been faster. But...

'Wasteful.'
'Wasteful.

It's a treat, after all.

Carting Vlad's limp corpse up to his room is easy. Great care is taken in every motion. From cradling him in his arms to pushing the blankets aside and laying him down in his bed. He carefully rests his head against the pillow, aware of his horns, and even neatens his hair out so it won't be tangled anymore than it already is come morning.

When he finally thinks it's enough, when he's sure he's tucked the other halfa into bed properly...

'What about us?'

He blinks as he realizes he's still hard. He hadn't thought to take care of them at all. He'd been too busy toying with the man.

'...we proofed the demo. Wanna try it?'

Chapter Text

Danny half expected his sister to be sitting up and waiting for him when he got home.

She wasn't.

He expected to be scolded right there by the door for the ungodly hour of return.

He wasn't.

He expected a lecture. A speech about letting her know when he was going to be out late. Or maybe a rant about them fooling around before they're even married.

But there wasn't one.

She was in bed when he came home. She was awake, but she didn't get up. She didn't bother him. She let him enter the house without recourse. Let him go into his room without poking her head out into the hallway to greet him. And she put headphones on when he started snarling into his own wrist; he heard the volume of her music increase.

When he gets up the next morning, around 10:30, she's seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee nestled in her hands. She doesn't look at him. Her facial expression is a dulled one. One of mournful acceptance and depression. She lets him pour himself a bowl of cereal and sit down across from her. He gets a few bites in before she speaks.

"You're graduating in two weeks."

Danny nods, "I know."

"You'll want to get packing, soon."

He takes another bite of his cereal, but chews more slowly.

"You're not gonna lose your shit and cry and throw a fit like last time?"

Jasmine sighs and sets her cup down on the table, "You were gone for six hours."

"And?"

She shrugs. "It's time. ...we'll need to tell mom and dad that you're moving out."

Danny continues on his cereal, chewing slowly to let his mind stew on her words.

"How do we do it?" He asks quietly.

"I was thinking... ...you don't like parties."

He shakes his head, "No. I don't."

"Well, how about over a dinner? We could go out. Make an evening of it. And in a public place, they'll be less likely to make a scene."

"...should we invite Vlad?"

Jasmine winces and sets her coffee cup down, "That's entirely up to you. ...in your shoes, I honestly don't know what I'd do. On the one hand, he'd offer some emotional support. On the other hand, if mom and dad do snap, it might not be good to have the cradle-robber right there in front of them. ...but it's up to you."

"...I think he'd wanna know. He'd probably wanna be there."

"Then invite him. I'll arrange it. Any preference on the restaurant?"

"No."

She grunts in acknowledgment.

The spoon clinks against the bowl and he sits there nervously. "So... Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"...wow."

Jasmine shrugs again, "You're both consenting adults and neither of you are bound by the laws of nature. I still would've preferred it if you'd waited until you're married before engaging in coitus, and even though I'm not really ready to be an aunt, I accept it."

Danny's mouth hangs open in shock. She takes another sip of her coffee.

"Geez, at least let me get him pregnant, first."

She blinks, "Wait, you guys didn't actual-"

"-No! Don't get me wrong, I wore him out pretty good, but that's it!" There's a sense of mortification in even hinting at their activities with her. It's not exactly suitable breakfast conversation.

Jasmine gawks, "And you're here?! Danny, you can't just- ...wow, you're an idiot."

"What?!"

Standing up, she turns to put her mug in the sink, and then leans back against the counter to face him, "Does the phrase 'love 'em and leave 'em' mean anything to you?!"

"Well, yeah, but we didn't actually get to that part."

"That doesn't matter! You still need to go back!"

"What for?! It's not like he told me to stay overnight!"

'He didn't get the chance.'

'Shut up!'

"Danny, unless you're explicitly told to be gone in the morning, it's kind of expected that you're gonna be there when he wakes up! I mean, regardless of whether or not you actually got to home base, would you want to wake up alone?!"

The halfa's eyes fog over at the question, half of his mind considering the question itself while the other half tries connecting wires he's never used before.

"Danny!"