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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
- 66
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- 68
Vlad rushes for home the moment Danny leaves, dressing quickly and taking to the air for as fast as he can fly.
Eager and terrified at the same time, his brain commits a quarter of itself to simply worrying about the questions he didn't ask Frostbite. And based on his last trip, one might pardon him if he's not exactly leaping to go back to the Far Frozen. Without anything on Daniel's species, Frostbite having successfully hoarded those texts for himself, he's truly in the dark this time. There is no guidebook. No rumors. No stories. From the sounds of their conversation, they're almost certainly extinct.
The questions he has replay and chase around the track in wild abandon...
How often do imps rut?
Do they rut only once?
Do they rut more frequently in their youth and taper off the older they get?
Is it even safe to put a child in their presence?
Do they nurture or abandon?
Can they nurture?
How do their typical pureblood behaviors coincide with a human form?
A cheap documentary would be great, Vlad thinks. He'll settle for an old wives' tale. Anything with a grain of truth or some semblance of logic. Just to appease his anxiety. He knows where the answers are. He knows who has them. But he's not looking to go back until he absolutely has to. Frankly, "winging it" has never done him much good, but it's never done serious harm, either. So that's what he settles on.
...when his home is finally peering over the horizon, the sun is at its highest point in the sky. It's a sight for sore eyes, no matter how upset he gets. It's always nice to see the stonework of his abode bathed in light.
Touching down on the steps, he looks up at the mansion and soaks it in. And he listens. He hears a car on the highway in the distance, but predominantly, it's nothing but nature coming in. Birds and insects. Billowing breaths and cloven hooves over the plains. Rabbits and hares digging at their warrens.
Soon, he realizes, there will be more sounds. Raucous and sharp in their pitch. They'll chase him for years. For nurture and nature, sustenance and wounds.
To wit: he pushes the doors open, stepping into the foyer to study his space. His literal barricade against any and all humans. The halls he's haunted for some twenty years have been his only true companions, with walls so hale and firm and unrelenting. No matter the tantrums or bottles he hurled. And he has a lot to be angry about. He's still angry. Still bitter. But now, now he has new feelings to explore.
He's going to be sharing his home for a long time. For as long as the stonework will stand, he'll keep masons employed. His accounts are abhorrently fat with the wealth he's ruthlessly accrued over the years, and continues to accrue. Money is still coming in. He's had no real need for it beyond the maintenance of his house and his personal needs. For just a little longer, those simple things are all he'll need to concern himself with.
Slowly making his way through the foyer, he makes mental notes for later. He has prized possessions he'll need to pack away. Rare pottery, cards and trophies. He'll need to lay down new carpets and rugs to soften the floor. Maybe some new tapestries for the walls to cover up the claw marks he and Plasmius left.
He proceeds through the various rooms of the manor, leaving his doors open at varying angles. He leaves a few lights on in some areas.
There's a future for stray cushions, excess pillows and blankets piled in random spots throughout the house. In corners of the library, corners in the foyer, random spots in the hallways, possibly by end tables near electrical outlets. The dining room and kitchen, he'll draw the line and make the exception.
There's going to be toys everywhere. Stuffed animals, too. Maddie will have numerous soft spots to curl up in. Crayons, markers and scribbled papers. He can sense the colorful fate of some of his walls.
He can see it all so clearly, how it'll all change. He can hear the noises that'll come with. All of the screaming and crying and laughter. It's possible a toy may be thrown now and then. Stomping up and down the stairs, falls and cuts and bruises. Senseless bickering and pointless arguments.
When he comes to the kitchen, he decides to experiment.
He empties his cabinets, bringing all of his plates, bowls and glasses out. He stacks some in the dish drainer by the sink as haphazardly as he can muster for having made so few messes himself. He scatters silverware along his counter and across the island, testing the waters of his mind. Some of the dishes are plopped in the sink at odd angles, the rest are strewn about the island. Ha pulls the chairs out, turning them as if someone has jumped off in a rush. As a final touch, he places a few pots on the stove.
It's all staged. All fake. For now. This is what he'll be bidding adieu. This solitary life, single, alone, quiet. The halls will no longer be empty. Until now, he didn't think they were. He was fine with all of the wasted space. He was fine with nothing. He was fine. ..he's not fine, anymore. No. He wants more, now. In reality, two weeks isn't long. But to him, he knows it'll feel like months, now that he's aware of how little he actually has.
Uttering strange words over his tongue, Vlad reaches into his chest and draws his other half out.
Plasmius straightens up as much as it can for its height. It studies the layout of the mess. Controlled in its arrangement and clear in its simulation. Calmly, it takes a glass from the table and lays it down on its side.
"It'll be different," the human says softly.
"Mm." The beast pushes a plate to the edge and considers the chaos.
Vlad nudges it off, and it shatters on the floor. He feels his eye twitch at the sight of the shards everywhere.
"Are we ready for it?" he asks.
The demon flicks the glass it just laid down and watches it roll. They both watch. Until it falls over the edge and scatters pieces across the floor.
"I think it is time," it answers.
"What about our deal?"
Plasmius smirks, "So long as you keep out of his womb until his turn rounds the bend, I'm willing to wait."
"How sporting of you."
"I want play time in the interim."
Vlad nods, "Of course."
"You expect him to rut soon?"
"With my luck? Please. No, I expect there to be a delay so I can be lured into a false sense of security and then he'll rut."
Plasmius grins, "Place a bet, then?"
Vlad clicks his tongue. "I give him three months."
"I give him one."
The human snorts.
"I won't wait forever."
"You won't. Just..." Vlad tilts his head and studies the mess he made. "Nineteen years, give or take a month or two."
The gargoyle's jaw drops, "I enjoy humor at the expense of others, but your concept of self amusement is absurdly barbaric and borders on cruel and unusual punishment!"
Vlad rolls his eyes. "Alright, there may be one way you could cash in early without disrupting the parental order."
"...I'm listening..."
''There's a spell that might let you have your way without burdening him.''
''...you don't sound confidant,'' it replies.
Vlad shrugs. ''Well, I haven't really tried it out. There hasn't really been a need to. I have the texts, I have the incantation. We would just need a subject to test it on.''
''...or, a жена.''
The human half eyes the beast. ''Promoting him already, are we?''
''Merely stating the inevitable. Why don't we test it on you?''
"Fuck no. Not with you out and about."
"Killjoy."
Vlad fights back the urge to smile and looks down at the shards on the floor.
''I'm not helping you clean that up,'' Plasmius says.
''Chores build character,'' the human answers, ''Besides, you broke the glass.''
''And he's expecting you to do the bending.''
Vlad's fingers curl into his fists, ''Excuse me?''
''You heard me... сгибать.''
-
There's a spring in Danny's steps as he walks home.
He's happy.
He's eager.
He's ready to leave it all behind him.
He goes down the block with that bounce in his heel and bright eyes scan the city. All of its imperfections, from shops long gone to active construction, and the houses of his tormentors. Though he's been made bitter by it all, he'll miss it. There's a tinge of sadness there, he'll acknowledge that.
He won't being laying roots down where he was born. It was never one of his goals to do so, but now that his departure is being finalized, the change is scaring him a little. One would think he'd welcome it. He's certainly been craving for it. Change is the only thing people can count on. He knows this. It's the only constant in life. It's also the one thing everyone can agree on hating.
Danny pushes the door open and stares into the living room. It's cozy in its size. Adequate for humans, a little small for him. There isn't enough room for him to stretch out. There's no safe place to run and fly and just be himself.
He doesn't even have a hunting ground.
Sure, there's plenty of deer that wander through the town during their mating seasons. They cause trouble wherever they go, with their sharp antlers scraping and jabbing. He's seen his fair share of people running from bucks misinterpreting their behaviors as a challenge. One good hunt from an apex predator would scare the population away and solve all of the town's problems.
However, Danny senses the town would not be so thrilled to find him in the park and bent over a buck with a hunk of raw rib meat in his mouth.
At best, he'd scare the citizens shitless. At worst, he would be chased down. By his parents, animal control and whatever police the local department could spare. It's a mildly amusing scenario. ...mildly.
Danny doesn't give the kitchen much thought. His conversations with his sister replay in his mind, but those chats at the table are all he'll really miss about it. Even if she was being difficult or defensive or overprotective, even when she kept yanking his chain well after her grace period had worn off, he still can't help but think of those minutes fondly.
The fits and tantrums and stomping. The knife thrown at his head... He rubs a finger in the permanent indent of the wood.
For all of her faults, she really does do it all because she loves him. Because it's for his own good. He thinks back to the last hours he spent in Vlad's manor. Their argument in the kitchen. Where he had glared at her for her choice of words.
It really was all for his benefit. He'd just been so angry at the idea of Summer School, in addition to a lifelong misuse and ignorant abuse of the words, that he felt nothing but pure hatred in that moment. Turning around and making his way up the stairs, he still remembers that feeling. It was cold. So cold. Too cold. Colder than he knew he could be.
His only outburst had been cast upon his breakfast plate then. But retracing the events of that day, he's suddenly grateful that he was so young. If he were to endure that sensation now, it's possible he might drag Hell to Earth.
Jasmine's door hangs open and her room is bathed in a faded golden glow. Her lamp hasn't been the same since his final transformation. He feels a slight twinge of guilt and makes a note of it for Christmas, and pokes his head into her doorway.
She's sitting on her bed with a textbook in her lap and her hair pulled into a bun.
He's going to miss it. Miss her. Her and all of her fussing.
He doesn't get to bond with her much.
"Hey, can you help me pack?"
She looks up at him, ''You still have a few weeks before you leave.''
''I know, I just want some help pairing stuff down. ...please?''
Jasmine considers him for a moment, sees him fidgeting with his fingers and lingering nervously by the door. She feels something tug at her. An instinct, well refined, well trained and one that's seen use before she should've ever had to use it, demands she comply.
''Okay,'' she says softly.
Maybe, it comes out just a little bit sadly, too. As she closes her book and gets up from her bed, she feels her heart kick her sternum a little too hard. He hasn't asked her for help in a long time. He hasn't asked for anything in a long time. He's made a few demands, she can count them on one hand. But, otherwise, he's drifted through his life rather quietly. Hiding behind his hair, the hood of his sweater, or other people. Content to just take what came his way and fade into the background.
As they start emptying his closet out, sorting things into piles for keeps, donations and trash, Jasmine begins to feel. She begins to acknowledge. The heartache and frustration of years spent being the caregiver her mother couldn't be creep up on her slowly. Inbetween the folding of clothes and crumpling of papers. Her efforts paid off, mind one, her brother is moving in with someone that will cherish him. He'll be marrying someone with money, but would just as easily take that someone with nothing. She'll be an aunt soon. Her brother will be safe and happy, and so will whatever kin he sires or spawns. His place is set in the world.
Yet, when Danny pulls the box of trinkets out from under his bed, she just feels...so...angry. So jealous. Dissatisfied. So resentful.
Her work gave him what he needed. Her efforts, insistance, corrections and control gave Danny some approximation of a childhood. She gave him the opportunity to run around and play, even if he didn't realize it at the time. But...
'What about me?'
She has her own mementos. But the memories are blurry and fading fast. Drowning in shouting and frantic words, trying to keep track of everything in her life. From holding on to her brother's hand at the carnival and telling her father to put the gods-forsaken blaster away because it's a just balloon game, to chasing after the city bus so that she can get to the store for laundry detergent. Hiding behind store shelves when there's a customer whose property has been damaged by her parents' antics and they want to take it out on her. Falling asleep at the library because she woke up too early to too many test fires and she's locked in for the night. Home sick with the flu and a pounding headache, and her parents keep showing off a new build.
Her life, swirling in chaos, day after day, performing damage control, for years. She's finally trying to live her own life now, and she's making something of herself. But she doesn't feel as if she's achieved anything. Instead, she feels robbed. Meanwhile, Danny gets to leave and start a family.
...there's a blanket in her hands that she's supposed to be folding up, but it's taken away. Someone is talking to her, their tone is hurried and anxious, but she can't hear them. Someone takes her hands and tries to get her to move and she collapses. They must come down with her, she figures, because she's pulled into a tight hold. Cold and soft, her ear presses to a quiet chest as her lungs heave and shudder.
Danny holds her as tight as he can and lets her cry into his shirt. He doesn't know exactly where it's all coming from, but he has a few ideas. He's not sure of what to say. Even Phantom is quiet, standing among the hoard of sculpted memories and peering up at nothing in particular. It's not the creature's first exposure to such raw emotion. But it's the first time that emotion stems from someone so close.
They sit there on his floor for the better part of an hour. Danny waits for her to calm down, cry herself out. The wind in her sails dies slowly as her shoulders roll less and less. He hangs on to her even after she's reduced to sniffles. He doesn't ask. He doesn't pry. He's just there for her. As she was there for him.
The sun is setting by the time they get back on their feet. They finish sorting his things and he packs what he's chosen, throws out the garbage, and takes the donations to a clothing bin. Afterwards, they curl up in front of the television with a bowl of popcorn between them. There's a cartoon Danny's been hooked on for a while, and they catch its opening credits.
Futurama, the Season 7 finale.
Fifteen minutes in, Jasmine finds herself bawling her eyes out all over again. Danny has to hold her through the rest of the episode.
-
жена (zhena) = wife
сгибать (sgibat') = bend
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Kindred Spirits