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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
- 63
- 64
- 65
It takes him several more days to adjust to his pelvis being rearranged. Constant fidgeting, incessant fussing and neurotic twists and turns in his seat and stance would drive a normal person mad within hours. It's a good thing he's not normal.
The skirt comes with its benefits. The pattern he chose flows and flutters easily. It doesn't bunch up behind his knees when he walks, which he's observed some skirts do, regardless of the weight or build of the woman. It's loose. It breathes. He doesn't feel like he's suffocating when he wears it.
...it has its downsides.
His tailbone juts differently. It curves his spine more to tolerate the way his pelvis has moved, however faint the curvature is. Which means the garment is ever-so-slightly higher in the back than in the front. Not by much, mind you, just an inch or two. But as someone who's had long term access to custom clothing carefully, delicately cut and sewn to his form, he can't help but notice. And it drives him crazy.
He also has to figure out how to bend over in it. Which seems ridiculous, especially when he's not looking to be among the general public just yet. But he's all too aware of the differences in his body, and the last thing he wants to do is expose himself in such a manner.
He puts off his nights out with Daniel because of it. The call for cancelation is awkward, but he's just not ready to go back out until he's gotten his hands on some decent pairs of everything. Jeans, slacks, leggings, jeggings, the whole lot. It's nothing in expense. But it's an order that will take time.
He has to promise the other halfa that he hasn't done anything wrong. He hasn't done anything to upset him. He's just going through "something that's difficult to put into words." He lays the blame on Plasmius to make it seem more plausible, ignores the tantrum it throws in response, and then feels guilty for lying. All in one sentence. But it buys him the desired understanding. They agree to let him have the month to sort it out. Which will also give his new clothing order the necessary amount of time.
"You can't hide it from him forever."
"I know," he'd grumbled, and he's not planning to.
He just needs to hide it long enough to figure himself out.
-
The next time Vlad arrives at the Fenton household, there's still a faint tint to his cheeks. Ever so faint. Almost invisible to the naked eye.
He knows it's there. He knows his behavior seems strange to Jasmine when she lets him into the house. She raises a brow at the way he almost jerks into the living space. He won't look her in the eye, taking extra care to keep his own cast anywhere else but her prying glare.
Danny studies him as he slowly descends the stairwell.
That essence of the blush, he would normally waive. But something wriggles his nose. The scents that he's used to are there. Firewood and old books laced with ozone, topped with mountain air. However, there's something else underneath. Hiding beneath the layers. It's almost sweet. He gets a glimmer of honey coated lilacs and fireflies on a summer night. It's familiar. Really familiar. It makes his mouth water. But he doesn't understand why.
His posture seems unusual as well, as if he's trying to stand as straight as possible. Danny blinks at him while he communes with his sister. His overall appearance is unchanged. At least, on the surface. He speaks softly, avoids moving too much, and stiffens his movements when he has to take steps into the kitchen.
Something's off. It's bothering him.
He can't help but mentally question the oddities. When they leave and make their way to the diner on foot, his walk is just as stiff as every other motion he's made since his arrival. Like he's trying to keep his legs as straight as he's trying to keep his back. To any passerby, he just appears imposing. Stiff upper lip and all that. But the younger halfa knows better. They know better. It pokes and prods at his brain, inside and out, human and ghost, to watch him. His steps, his turns, his spine, his sway, everything is wrong. And it's all layered with that strange, mellow sweet undertone of his scent.
Worse, walking to the diner is far slower than driving, and all Danny can zero in on is Vlad's every step. But getting there, sitting down, and ordering? It doesn't help. It just makes him crazier because Vlad won't stop moving! They get to their table, a booth near the back of the diner, and Vlad immediately starts shifting around in his seat. Non stop. He turns in his place left and right. Slants and curves his spine as indiscreetly as he can. Tugs at his clothing more times than Danny can count, and even bundles up his coat and shoves it behind himself for some reason. All within the first ten minutes.
The pattern varies when their drinks arrive, but doesn't reduce in capacity. His face gives away very few clues to the whatever the problem is, and is decidedly calm for all the physical activity on display. When their food is finally placed in front of them, the variance of activity drops. Needing to maintain focus to eat in the uncomfortable silence leaves him with very little opportunity to wriggle about. But it doesn't stop him from trying to recenter himself every thirty seconds.
"Are you okay?" Danny finally asks, and then winces because his voice sounds distressed.
Vlad jerks a little, but doesn't look up. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not. You went from walking like an ironing board to squirming in your seat like a cheap hooker wondering if the money's real."
The man quirks a brow.
"That's a new one."
"Colorful. I'm fine."
"You've barely said anything."
Vlad's fork jabs into his plate slightly harder than necessary. He thought he was actually hiding it pretty well. No one else in the diner has noticed him. But then again, the boy isn't any random stranger sitting ten feet away.
"And you smell weird, too. You... you almost smell like..."
Every muscle in Vlad's body tightens. "Like... ...what?"
Danny shakes his head, "I don't know. I can't figure it out. You're just off, okay? And you're never off. Not like this."
Vlad swallows, and though he tries to fight it, tries to self-regulate his temperature so it won't happen, that barely-there pink on his face darkens.
"You'll have to tell him eventually."
"Your ideas get me into far more trouble than they're worth, as of late," he grumbles.
"And the sooner you stop dancing around your problems, the sooner I'll behave."
"Don't make me promises we know you have no intent of keeping," he looks up at the boy, who has stopped eating and is actively glaring at him. But there's a blend of annoyance and concern behind his eyes, just the same.
"You gonna let me in on any of that?" the youth asks.
Vlad shifts in his seat once again, and gives an audible grunt when he still can't seem to get comfortable.
"I'm fine. I promise, it's not anything serious. It's just..."
Danny peers at him through the dingy yellow lighting of the diner, and motions for him to continue.
"Not here. Okay? We'll talk after."
Some relief crosses his face, "After what?"
Vlad waives him off, "Just, after. But I'm going to need a drink first."
Danny nods and his face visibly softens.
"Wait, can we even get drunk?"
Vlad gives a short laugh and takes a sip of his coffee, "I can, if I have something strong enough, drink fast enough or doctor the alcohol. I don't know about you. ...I can also cook off the alcohol content in my blood at a moment's notice."
The other halfa's face lights up, smothering the array of discontentment and confusion he's been feeling for the last hour.
"Okay, that's cool."
Despite how awkward he's feeling, Vlad can't help but smile. There's that little spark in the youth's eyes that he hasn't seen in a long time. That little burst of childish curiousity and rambunctious energy that once lit up his home. He didn't even know he'd been missing it until now.
'Maybe I can have that, again...'
-
Instead of going back to the Fenton residence, they return to Polter Heights. The walk was made with haste, with Vlad hoping to gain the pot-valiance necessary to explain why they had to pause their outings. Vlad nudges the door open and immediately heads for the china cabinet. There, in the bottom cupboard, he pulls out a bottle of scotch and two glasses.
They move into the kitchen and he drapes his coat over the back of a chair at the table. A quick whuff of dust billows out from underneath the article, reminding Danny that it's been a while since he's been in the house. He's always known it to be here, he just hasn't given it much thought. It's only right that some memories barge their way to the front of the line. The lunches and dinners shared among them and his friends. The movies they watched echo in the background of his mind, sending Frankenstein's monster chasing after the Mummy before they fall into the Black Lagoon.
There's numerous conversations prattling on through the haze. Lessons and jokes and juvenile banter. Sob stories, scientific theories, mental somersaults in psychology trying to understand the fault of Frankenstein himself. All at once, he understands what nostalgia actually is.
As frustrating and enraging as that year had been, it could have been far worse. When he considers his fortunes in the past, he's made out like a bandit when all is said and done.
"Sit."
The command is easy to follow. He does so in silence as the alcohol is poured.
"So... Wha-"
Vlad holds up a hand to make him pause while he chugs the contents of his glass down. The burn on his throat is a lot, but nothing he hasn't dealt with before. He swallows until there's nothing left and sets the glass down roughly on the table. The burn in his esophagus melds into a familiar warmth. One of dubious courage and clouded judgement. He coughs to soothe his throat, pours another one and practically inhales it. His goal, to get as drunk as he can, as fast as possible.
"I paid Frostbite a visit."
Danny's curiosity perks up, but his shoulders scrunch a little and he sips at the fire-water in his glass. The burn isn't unpleasant. Just new. It's not bad, really.
"He's not mad at you. ...a few of the villagers are, given the damage, but he's gotten over it. I think he might welcome you if you ever decide to go back."
Danny hums softly and his muscles loosen up. Not by much, though. It's nice to know that he's been forgiven, but he doubts the villagers would actually want him anywhere near their island. He's certainly not inclined to try, simply by the way they reacted to him. He doesn't think he needs another hoard of spears pointed at him. He already feels singled out enough, thank-you.
"So, why did you go?"
"I needed answers only he would have."
Danny looks at him from his place at the table, "Answers about what?"
"You."
"...me?" Danny takes a small sip of his scotch.
Vlad nods and gulps his second drink, "Well, we're going to be living together and we'll most likely fucking like rabbits."
Danny's mouth gapes at the use of language. The man isn't wrong, it's definitely Danny's intent to render the deal between demon and human null and void. But while he's known Vlad to speak bluntly and honestly, he's never known him to have all the subtlety of a pool table falling out of a tree.
"You're an imp. Imps have different instincts than other ghosts. Different needs. Different behaviors and habits."
Danny feels a little uncomfortable at the statement, finding it uttered in a tone both clinical and inconvenienced. Vlad takes another swig.
"By the same token, I'm a gargoyle. My needs are different, as well. But I know what to expect with myself. I know how I function. I have my books and my own observations. Anything you ask, I can answer. There's plenty of gargoyles in the Ghost Zone. You, however, are a rarity among the dead. Rare enough that there wasn't anything available to read on you. At least not within reach."
The teen hums in response. It makes sense to him. He still feels like Vlad is sounding a little too cold about it, but again, that could just be the scotch. And the man is a scientist at heart. The distant and objective attitude is par for the course in a mind constantly seeking enlightenment in a cultural and sociological wasteland.
"невеста means bride. And though I've put very little thought into the concept of marriage... I don't think I'd mind. Just understand that I won't wear a dress when we go down that road."
Danny takes a bigger gulp to hide the interest on his face, the image painted for them bringing about a low purr of approval from within that he strains to stifle. Phantom gathers the thought in its talons and stashes it away for later.
"But, I wanted to be prepared. And, as I said, my questions were beyond any tome I presently own, and you're young enough that you're not going to be able to offer explanations to the questions I was asking. So, I... I had to go to a fucking yeti for answers."
"...did you get what you needed?" The younger halfa pushes his glass towards the man for a refill.
Vlad physically halts in his chair at the question. Clearly thinking it over, trying to find the right words. He eventually consumes the last of his drink and refills both of their glasses.
"...along with a handful of insults, and then some," he finally grits out.
Danny's nose twitches. That strange and sweet undertone he's been trying to pin is suddenly becoming more prevalent. It's warm. The room is warm. Or is it just him? He looks at the glass as it's pushed back to him. It feels a little stuffy. A little too much. Some sounds are starting to falter and lilt awkwardly in his ears.
'We're drunk.'
'We're drunk.'
They agree that they should nudge the glass away...after a few more nips.
"What does this have to do with you being so off-kilter?"
"I paid Frostbite a visit," the elder halfa repeats, voice dipping in warning.
"...and?"
"Frostbite is something of a researcher, himself. He likes to study other spectral oddities. He's also the village doctor, if you'll recall."
The youth gulps more of his drink down, "Yeah, I remember."
"Frostbite is the only spirit old enough, educated enough and safe enough," he pauses to growl slightly, "to help me with the things I need."
The teen grunts, "Is there a point here?"
"Frostbite is an asshole," the words roll over each-other in minor slurring.
The faint tilt of the room urges Danny to finally push his half empty glass aside, but he goes for one more swig, "What did he do?"
Vlad grips his drink in a tight fist, "...son a bitch gave me a pelvic exam."
Danny chokes on his scotch. He proceeds with sputtering and pounding his fist into his chest to clear it out. The burn spreads down into a lung and he coughs to compensate. It doesn't help. It takes him a minute to hack the fire out.
"So now I'm stuck sitting down with nothing for at least another month because I was 'tighter than a nun's chuff,' as he so eloquently put it."
"Wait, so," the teen clears his throat, "that's why you've been..."
"I didn't exactly make a habit of self-care. The appeal wore out after a while, so it's been quite a few years since the last time. I honestly didn't know it would be such an issue."
Danny blinks at him in surprise. The burning in his lungs fizzles out slowly, but the labor of clearing his passages has left him a little red in the face. It masks the sudden fluctuations in his mind as it finally clicks. The reason why the soft sweetness was so familiar. He kicks himself for not realizing it sooner because he knows that smell. He's known for a few years now. But unlike Vlad, he does make a habit of finding release. He's just never caught it all tangled up in Vlad's essence before. As if that's a reasonable excuse to not pick up on it. And it's not. Not to him.
Now that he knows, now that he's done being an idiot, well... The idea is very appealing. It always was, but it was never anything more than that. An idea. A blip of neurons. A fantasy. Maybe even a vision that's been keeping him entertained for far longer than it had any right to. Now, it's not just an idea. It's not just his neurons blinking away in his brain. It's not just a distant fantasy. Now...it's sitting right here with him. Right next to him. In potential eyesight. In arm's reach. From so far away on a world unexplored to being so...so close. Close enough that he can...
Maybe it's the booze.
Maybe it's the fact that he's an apparent lightweight.
Maybe it's the combination of time and having the hallucinogenic pornography on repeat piled onto a final recognition of the scent that's been driving him nuts all night.
Maybe it's all of the above.
Whatever the cause, whatever to blame and whatever the reason, he doesn't stop himself from leaning in his seat towards the other halfa. Who cues in to the sudden proximity a little too late.
Pleading cyan irises surround in soot to meet the ocean's gaze and the words slip out. Completely unrestrained. But the moment they break free, he decides he's fine with his inhibitions passing out at Phantom's hooves.
"Can I see?"
- 63
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Kindred Spirits