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Kindred Spirits Complete	By : RedelliaValentinos Category: +1 through F > Danny Phantom Views: 507 -:- 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
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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 about 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.
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Kindred Spirits Complete