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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
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"Daniel, that movie was terrible."
Danny slouches in the theater seat, face contorted with equal displeasure.
"You don't have to tell me twice."
Vlad stands up, "Well, I'm going to. Daniel, that movie was terrible."
Danny groans before rising to his feet. It could've been a lot better. It really could've been.
"Even our bodies would've ceased to exist upon such an explosion. The difference is our cores would have reconstructed our shells."
The teen pouts as they walk out of the theater.
"And the graphics were atrocious and overabundant."
"Okay, I get it. I've lost my movie picking privileges."
"I didn't say that," Vlad responds lightly, "but I am picking the next three. With any luck I'll be able to reorient your preferences."
"Oh, come on. I like that series!"
Vlad huffs as they make their way outside, "I did too, until they released that equestrian excrement."
Danny snickers at the wordplay. Leave it to Vlad, of all people, to call something horseshit without swearing. It's an interesting talent. One that he doesn't mind. He's actually curious to hear what other ways Vlad can call something like it is and still come off prim and proper. His stomach growls at him as they wander down the sidewalk.
...they eat at a local diner. A little hole-in-the-wall that offers classic comfort food and lightens the mood, as if there was anything else to lighten. And Danny makes notes.
Vlad likes his eggs sunny side up. And his potatoes must have onions fried with them. Probably the result of his grandmother's recipes. His root beer must come from a glass bottle, it must be branded IBC, or he won't touch it with an undead pole. And the clacking of billiard balls hurts his ears. Danny suspects most sounds will hurt. Given the years spent alone, he's probably not used to anything more than the noises he produces himself.
Danny has a little habit. When he's anxious, he scrapes his nails against his jeans to cope. The more anxious he is, the harder he scrapes. He'll need to pick a different technique.
But he's not the only one studying. Vlad pays very close attention.
Danny needs toasted rye bread to dip into his over-easy eggs. And he carefully eats so that there's enough yolk for all of it. If there's any yolk leftover, the better. His potatoes are covered in Tabasco sauce, and he's eating them despite having clearly used too much; he's sniffling up a storm and has amassed quite the pile of used napkins to manage. Further, he's something of a drink goblin.
Where Vlad was content with just a bottled soft drink, Danny needed coffee, water and chocolate milk. All three, and all in different stages of consumption. The coffee half finished, the chocolate milk only a quarter full, and the water nearly two thirds empty. One to stimulate, one to hydrate, and one for fun.
He'll need to figure out what else the youth will drink that can be placed about the manor at room temperature. The image portrayed then makes him chuckle in amusement. To have various little bottles of juices, teas and water scattered about the halls, on shelves and behind vases, between the stone rails on the stairwell, maybe even up on the ledges of the particularly tall windows...
"What's funny?" Danny asks in between masochistic bites.
"Oh...nothing. Merely an old joke."
Danny didn't press.
...when Vlad brings him home, they push the door open to find Jasmine standing in the living room. Waiting. With her arms folded and the same knife in her hand.
"You're just not going to accept this, are you?" Vlad asks.
"I let you leave the house with him, didn't I?"
Danny sighs, "Jazz, you're my sister, and I love you, but this is getting really annoying."
The redhead ignores him in favor of going to him and tugging at his shirt collar. Tilting his head awkwardly this way and that, examining his skin for signs of anything untoward. Even spinning him around to look at the nape of his neck
"Uh... Is this a bad time to tell yo-"
The older halfa carefully steps on his foot to silence him. At the same time, something contacts the back of his head, but from within.
As if in unison, and he hears it by way of three voices, as an auditory hallucination, SHUT UP.
He wanted to point out that their healing factor would've erased any evidence of play. That her fussing and fretting and long nails scratching at his flesh as she pulls at his shirt would all be for naught. Of course, it wouldn't stop her. It might actually result in bars on his windows, which wouldn't stop him.
But one digresses.
Jasmine calms when she can't find anything. She spares a glare towards the other halfa before straightening and holding the knife close. And she takes a moment to consider them.
Her colors are...odd. Vlad blinks to try focusing his eyes. Yellow warbles. Nervous. Black jagged strikes. Hate. Red sludge at her feet. Anger. A few splotches of blue. Mild depression. There's a toxic green aura underneath that coats her frame. Terror. Fear. She's afraid of something.
It's a lot all at once. A wave of nausea washes over him and drenches through to bone, and Plasmius stumbles in the mindscape. Vlad resists the urge to follow suit. Which is a challenge when he's never been sick from the inside out. His body threatens to tilt and he keeps himself firmly upright.
"My opinions are moot when all the two of you have to do is wait for me to croak. So I won't bother. I just hope you two know what you're doing."
...their second outing goes much better. Vlad opts for a drive-in theater. They manage to avoid disaster; Danny passed by an old poster.
"What's 'Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead?'"
Vlad turned green and ripped it off the wall, "Mercifully, technically before your time, and utter garbage not even deserving of the landfill."
He crumpled it into a ball and turned it to ash before Danny could ask anything else.
And as if poking at their absurd situation, The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor was the choice. It was better than Danny's first choice, but not by much. Vlad actually looked a little let down when they came from the theater.
Danny opted for the same diner again since Vlad seemed to like the potatoes. It perked him up.
Jasmine once again stopped them in the living room when Danny came home and inspected him, but this time there was no exchange.
And that's the way it goes. Movie, critique, dinner, inspection. Once a week, the older halfa would arrive, Danny never asks how he gets there, and they go out and simply enjoy each-other's company.
Each time, Jasmine fussed just a little less. It gave her some facsimile of control over a situation that she had no control over. It made her feel better. Which is the only reason Danny continued to put up with it. Vlad didn't see much point in tolerating the behavior. Nor did Plasmius. The gargoyle quietly muttered and paced in its own right, internally manifesting its human half's own displeasure with the situation. Vlad could almost feel the steps it stalked, as if he himself were pacing.
The summer dragged on. Day by day, week by week, date by date.
The younger halfa observed very quickly that Vlad preferred to refer to it as courting rather than dating. Slowly, over time, his words altered so that Vlad wouldn't wince at the modern terminology.
He hates large crowds. Danny already assumed this, once again based on the fact that the man has been living alone for decades. And if the diner or theater is particularly full, Danny doesn't mind skipping one or the other. He doesn't take it to heart if the night is cut short by one activity.
The height of summer creeps up on them in time, and Vlad learns that Danny can take the heat, if he has to. He doesn't like to. There needs to be a breeze if he's going to be outside for extended periods of time. Sometimes he can bring ice to the surface of his skin, and the older halfa has spotted frost creeping up the back of his neck once or twice. But if they're outside in public, surrounded by people, Danny doesn't take the chance.
He starts tracking the weather patterns and temperatures so he can move their nights around.
Halfway through July, on a thursday evening, they're settled on a blanket for a picnic in the park. The picnic, an idea which the youth practically beamed at because the heat was making the diner too stuffy. They're nibbling on frozen fruits and meat, nursing boring old water when Vlad catches him staring in a different direction. He follows his line of sight to see what's got his attention.
They aren't the only ones in the park. There's a few couples out and about, and one family with a child that's running around with its mother. Laughter and conversation fills the open air, soft and lightweight. Everyone's just enjoying the day outside. But Danny's eyes are following the mother running after her offspring. Bright cyan irises intent and focused, almost glowing.
He wants to ask about it. What is he seeing? Why is he watching? What is it about the activity that's captured his attention? Is it the noise being made or the source itself that's grabbed him? Danny's eyes stay on them for several minutes, heart beating evenly and core thrumming quietly. When he finally looks back at Vlad, only glancing at him briefly before looking down at the plate of fruit, his eyes clear.
''Is something wrong?'' the older halfa finally asks.
The teen shakes his head and doesn't utter a word. He goes back to eating. A strange glint of light crosses his irises, barely noticable and lightning quick. His pupils thin for a moment, then return to normal.
Plasmius chitters in curiosity. They don't pry.
It doesn't happen again. They continue dining in the park for the remainder of the summer, but much later in the day. Late enough that there aren't any young children darting around. It's not deliberate, it's just cooler in the evenings. It's better for Danny's health. But it niggles at their mind. Leaves them both thinking.
-
The water beats against Danny's back and his skin hisses at the touch. Too hot. HIs tail flicks erratically in the searing onslaught, sometimes hitting the wall or the edge of the tub. He leans against the tile, trying desperately to clear his head. He's only slightly masochistic. Intentional self harm was never a concept he took to.
The water is set as hot as it can go. As unforgiving as it can be. His flesh is red and raw. His nerves sting with each drop that touches him. But he doesn't move. If he does, he might...
It hurts. If he turns towards the water, it'll hurt more.
He'd just wanted a shower. Just to clean up. To ease any tension he had in his muscles. Relax. His body had other ideas.
He finds himself riled so easily these days.
Falling back into old habits, he grabs his tail and wraps it around himself despite the burning water. The scolding didn't do anything to stop him the first time, and clearly it isn't any different now. With some mild frustration, he turns the water down just enough. Just to where the temperature is uncomfortable, but relatively harmless. It allows him to put his mind back on himself.
Sluggishly rutting into the coils gives instant pleasure. His blood sings at the movement. He's tired, sore from the water, and he wants to take his time for once. It takes a few thrusts to coat himself properly with precum. His path softens and slides so smoothly. So easily. His tail's muscles flutter, creating random variations of pressure. It's nice.
The imp within purrs loudly, the sound echoing in his skull and soothing. Approval.
His eyes fall shut and color splashes across the field of dark. Warbling, wilting and twisting into shape, until sound eventually joins.
"God damn it, it opens, Daniel! Do it right!"
"What does that even mean?" He utters between breaths, working himself in and out of his coiled tail. That same loud cry that he hears every time reaches his ears. Which is about where the vision cuts off, normally, robbing him of the answers. But this time, it doesn't end there. This time, there's new phantom touches that follow.
He feels like he's shoved his cock straight into lava. Hot and burning and somehow tight.
Precum drips down onto the tub floor, but he doesn't notice.
That same body he hears collapse against a desk groans. A low, gut-punched groan, and the pressure that isn't really there tightens. But he keeps moving. He drags himself back until he's almost out of his coils, and then plows forward as hard as he can. Something shudders and rattles and shakes against his thighs in response. Someone is struggling for air and it isn't him.
A ghostly hand wraps around his wrist as the tile seems to fade away to wood. He feels prompted to move, but hesitates.
"...all the way. ...please. There's still...there's still room, Daniel. Please."
He jerks, drawing a shout of surprise, and then picks up the pace. His hearing is bombarded with a myriad of sourceless music. Numerous pleas for less speed, less strength, and maybe wood scrapes against a floor as it's forced forward by the movement. His nails dig into the tiled walls and scratch the material with ease and he doesn't stop. He can't.
The phantom touch on his wrist is gone and Danny faintly sees tanned fingers grip the edge of a desk for dear life. Chasing the vision, the dream, its colors and sounds, echoes of reddened flesh and the imaginary scents of it all, his body tenses suddenly. His nerves and twist around his lower spine just right. His eyes slam shut as he tumbles over the edge.
The running water clears the tile of his activity and gently soothes his calf muscles. His tail unfurls and falls. And one last image is granted to him.
The spell. Blue. Vibrant. Glowing. Pointed down.
And full.
Which is...
"Interesting."
'It's not a terrible idea.'
'It's not a terrible idea.'
"When?" he asks.
'Soon.'
"But...how?" he voices, "I'm not... I'm not really... I need to be...more.''
'We'll need to make an adjustment.'
''What kind of adjustment?" Danny asks quietly.
'Let me handle it.'
"It can't be permanent, or I'll never be able to leave the house. I need the option. I need control.''
'...do you trust me?'
''I don't have a reason not to, but if you're asking... I'm not going to like it, am I?'' he huffs overheated breaths into the air to keep his mind focused on the conversation.
'You'll like it. But there is a catch.'
''What it is?''
'You have to share.'
Danny blinks and his eyes start to glow. "Share what?''
'Everything.'
The ashen skin on his left fingers pulses in a strange way. Not a throb, not pain. Just a feeling. Like a buzz. A vibration beneath the surface. It snakes up his arm, following the path of the lichtenberg, turning it black as its point of origin.
'I want to feel it. Just as you would.'
Danny grunts uncomfortably as the pulsing weaves its way up to his shoulder, to his neck.
'All of it. All of him. Every touch, every movement, every sound, every breath.'
He exhales sharply when it reaches his core and bleeds through his skin. Cold. The coldest he's felt since the Far Frozen Lake. As if his core were on the surface of his chest. It snatches a firm hold on him. Shocking him.
'Share your shell, I'll share my strength, and we'll have him.'
''And it won't be permanent?'' Danny asks through grit teeth.
'You'll have full control.'
"...deal."
The feeling crawls up his jaw and seeps into his eyes, and his skeleton shudders in a new way as a ring of black flashes negative light into the space.
'Consider this a trial run.'
- 58
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- 60
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Kindred Spirits