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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
- 56
- 57
- 58
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.'
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Kindred Spirits