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Kindred Spirits	By : RedelliaValentinos Category: +1 through F > Danny Phantom Views: 206 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom, I don't own any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from writing this story, I write this purely for the enjoyment of writing. It's just me and a keyboard and my wild brain.

Chapter List
- 20
- 21
- 22
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.
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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."
- 20
- 21
- 22
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Kindred Spirits