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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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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.''
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- 50
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Kindred Spirits Complete