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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
- 54
- 55
- 56
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.
- 54
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- 56
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Kindred Spirits