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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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- 61
It's not a normal transformation. Not normal at all.
His whole frame burns and snaps unpleasantly as the mesh of his bones stretches in the path of the halo. Pulling in all directions. Growing. From his skull to his fingers, down his vertebrae that wriggle and tilt in all the wrong ways. His legs crick awkwardly and his kneecaps thicken, pushing on muscles and pressing on nerves. Clamping his jaw to stifle the sounds he so desperately wants to release is an even bigger mistake.
To cope, his core spews cold air into the expanding marrow, marginally dulling the pain as frost forces its way through each layer of flesh. All the way to the surface of his skin, freeze and thaw and freeze and thaw. And the still-running water from the shower isn't cold enough, eagerly playing its own hell on his skin.
He still braces against the walls of the shower stall, even as his fingers shift with the rest of him. His nails grow, too, darkening to the familiar char of his left fingers. They reach an almost unnatural point, solid and dangerous.
And then his ankles snap.
Consistent phantom pains in his limbs have been echoing over the years from his first change. Were it not for the constant memories of walking with broken bones, he'd give in to the demand to scream. He holds his voice fast, though the crippled support brings him down as the negative halfa veil slowly drags over his legs.
Collapsing into the tub that's quickly becoming too small, with a distinct thud, he narrowly avoids cracking his head against the rim. The curvature of the utility does him no favors, forcing him to curl onto his side despite his skin stretching to match his entire skeleton reshaping itself. He lays as still as he can to both let it all finish as smoothly as possible, and stay conscious. The latter is a tall order, but the potential repercussions of passing out far outweigh the benefits. But it's so tempting to just shut his eyes. Just for a moment.
He holds himself steady until it becomes too cramped there. When space runs thin, he uncurls legs that taper off to that familiar single footing, carefully draping them over the edge of the basin. The last of the thick black halo fizzles out at head and hoof. And he needs a moment to breath. To rest. To just settle and...wait for the pain to fizzle...out...and...
''...th...water... ...turn... ...''
Something whispers softly in his ears, soothing his concerns, dulling his senses further. Silencing him.
'Just sleep.'
''...o...kay..."
He caves at the command a little too easily. But given that his physiology was just torn and pulled and ripped in a myriad of directions, the water just rolls over the rim of the tub without a fit. Without a care. It trickles and dribbles. It slowly consumes the mat beneath and weighs the plush fibers down. It claws its way across the surface quickly. It wells into a puddle, then a pool, and then a small lake that licks the threshhold strip beneath the door. Years of explosions racking the frame of the house have pulled the floor down ever so slightly.
Just a dip.
Just a little.
Just a smirk.
It's still years away from a smile. Decades from a grin and further from a scream. Provided proper lab safety is exercised.
But the path is clear enough that the water just rolls over the strip and proceeds to soak into the hallway carpet.
...it takes a little while. Twenty minutes or so. But, suddenly, the carpet squishes cold and clammy against her toes.
And Jasmine squeaks.
Jumping back a little, startled by the temperature difference, she looks down at the floor.
''What the... ugh. Danny!'' she raps her knuckles against the door, ''Danny, turn off the water!''
She can still hear it flowing, can still hear the shower running full blast. And there's a steady stream running over the porcelain of the tub that she recognizes easily. It's not the first time he's overfilled the basin, but it's definitely been a few years since the last time.
She knocks again. ''Danny? Are you even listening to me?!''
Something in her stomach swivels awkwardly, ''Danny?''
Something is clearly wrong. Her first thought is to call for help. Her second thought is remembering that her brother has a tail, and calling her parents for help will create more chaos than she's prepared to cope with.
''Damn it,'' she huffs, and throws a leg forward with every little bit of strength she has. While not much, certainly nothing compared to her father, and though the locking mechanism on the doorknob is new, the doorframe is old. The wood splinters apart, spewing fibers across the linoleum.
She blanches upon seeing him. Out cold, with no clear cause. She doesn't understand the changes that have taken hold, doesn't care enough in the moment to learn. She turns the water off first. However, the challenge becomes apparent. In her haste to just fix the problem, nurse, nurture and question later, she hadn't paid any attention to his size.
Just lifting one arm, the new weight of his altered build becomes alarmingly clear. He's much heavier now. Not like the skinny, scrawny little welp she's used to.
She needs help. She can't ask her parents and she doesn't want Vlad anywhere near her brother if she can help it, at the moment.
Heaving sigh born in exhaustion, she digs her phone out of her pocket and dials. And waits.
No answer.
"Okay, Sam's out."
Dialing again, a different number, yields the same dead end.
"Okay, no Tucker. Great. I guess I'm on my own," shoving the phone back in her pocket and rolling up her sleeves, "Nasty Burger stockroom, don't fail me now!"
-
The ceiling that greets them is without stars.
Light blue and bare and...
'Not mine.'
'Not mine.'
A small hand waves in front of his face, scented of cheap soap and the fading essence of wildflowers.
''Finally! You're awake! How do you feel?!''
The sound of speech is familiar. The lilt is...fe...female...? Is that right?
Twitching his nose confirms it.
Blink. Focus. Shifting for comfort, he pushes himself upright, only to have a blanket thrown at his face.
''Hang on! Please! Jus-''
He pushes the fabric away.
''Danny, STOP!''
That strange sound accompanies another rush of fabric against his skin. He looks around for it, doesn't see it right away.
''Danny!''
Below?
Looking down, he meets a blue eyed gaze that he knows...somehow.
A hand grabs onto his jaw and tilts his head side to side while the ocean stare locks hard onto his pupils.
''Okay, good,'' touch fusses at his hair, prodding at his skull, ''No blood. Good. I didn't think you hit your head, but I needed to be sure.''
Thumbs press against his face, near his mouth, and he retracts with a light, unnatural shriek.
'Hurt!'
'Hurt!'
''Well, excuse me, but your fangs aren't supposed to be that long!''
The poking and fretting is ringing more and more bells, erupting into a chorus in a primal and narrowed mind. It takes some more muttering and tilts and awkward grabbing at his hands and turning them over repeatedly before it all clicks into place.
His jaw shifts and his brain twinges a little, struggling to find the right word. A throb in the prefrontal cortex* floods into Broca's area* and his tongue twists awkwardly to match the articulation.
''J... Jazz?''
He moves to stand, trying to get his footing on the floor, only to be pushed backwards and have another blanket thrown at him.
''Will you stop trying to leave?! For god's sake, Danny, you don't even have any clothes on!''
He looks down at himself and feels the plush comforter at his fingertips.
''...clothe...s...''
''Yes! Clothes! Duh! What's the matter with you?!''
Jasmine looks at him again. And this time, she really looks.
His hair hangs slightly longer on the one side. His skin maintains that deathly palor, but only down to just above his knees, where everything blackens. He pulls his legs close while he looks around, with ashen sclera and vibrant cyan peering around the room in mild confusion. Like he's trying to recognize everything around him, like he should, because he should. She's been aware of his fangs for some time now, but now they hang over his lower lip and come to a fatal point, too long to be tucked in with the rest of his teeth. His nostrils flare as he scents and tilts his head oddly, this way and that, studying the environment, but clearly not feeling threatened.
Where his ankles should be, his legs bend off again and narrow, into exaggerated hooves that look impossible to stand on when she thinks about what little surface area they have. His tail pokes out from under the blankets she's thrown on him, laying across her bed, and the spines twitch slightly. All of him has grown so much. In height and in bulk. So his tail has, too. It weighs a dip down into the mattress, which seems so ridiculous because of how thin it still is. It all just makes her picture some random, wild animal standing in the middle of a mall. He's so... So...
Out of place.
The thought settles down on the metaphorical couch, next to Vlad's accursed words. Her heart darkens a little, trying to swallow the epiphany she's been trying to ruthlessly beat into submission. It makes her uncomfortable. It really does. The discomfort, the anxiety it spaws and lords over her...
''I guess there are worse places you could go...'' she utters softly. And, really, there are. It could be a lot worse. There's a vast array of places and people he could wind up in and with. That doesn't mean it doesn't burn to think about, though. But even she knows, the sooner she faces it, the sooner she can accept it.
''Let's see if I can find something that'll fit you."
She dives into her closet. She's a small woman. She knows it. But she knows she needs to cover her brother with something.
''Looks like you're getting my favorite night shirt,'' she pulls out a red t-shirt. There's no logo on it at all. No maker's mark of any kind. And she cut the tags out years ago. It had been a gift from her aunt, the same year Danny got his telescope. But it was massive on her then, and still is now. But looking at it, if she cuts the collar off, it might fit him. She takes a pair of scissors out of her nightstand and makes the necessary adjustment.
''Okay, that takes care of the top, but... What the heck am I supposed to do for pants?''
Behind her, Danny fusses at the blanket again, tugging and pulling at it until it's gathered into a pile, mercifully, where it matters most, leaving his legs exposed from halfway up his thighs and down. He shifts around just a little, trying to get comfortable without getting yelled at.
''You need shorts. Great. Just...'' she huffs, and her eyes suddenly brighten, "Shorts! Hang on," she throws the shirt at him, ''Put that on!''
Even though a sharp twinge rambles in her back, she digs deeper into her closet, "I tried online shopping and they sent me the wrong size!"
She drops half of her clothes the floor in her search, but her efforts and muscle strain pay off. She unburies a pair of black shorts.
"I could fit two of me in these, so, they should be just right for you!"
She turns back to him, he's managed to pull the red t-shirt on, and it fits him almost perfectly. It's a little long, but otherwise, the sleeves are the right length and the collar isn't too close to his neck. The fact that he had the wherewithall to hear her order and follow it is just a bonus, really. And she realizes she's actually quite lucky in that fact. He could have thrown the shirt back. Or just set it aside. Or worse, gotten up and left the room entirely.
"At least some of you is still in there... Oh, right. Here. Put these on."
- 59
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- 61
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Kindred Spirits