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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
- 68
- 69
- 70
There isn't much with him.
His backpack hangs off one shoulder. Leftover from high school, overstuffed with his clothes. His CD player is bundled up within the fabrics.
His duffle bag hangs in one hand. Tattered and worn, the dying remnants of his middle school days, his collection of trinkets is carefully wrapped in stray hand towels and a few ratty shirts his sister deemed beyond saving. And at the bottom of that bag, his telescope sleeps, snug and tucked into a fluffy star printed blanket.
The other hand holds firm around the handle of a small suitcase. There's a few books inside. His journal that Vlad had compiled for him, a model kit he never opened and a few small toys he still held dear from pre-school. The sets are long gone. Destroyed. Trampled into an early submission by ghost-hunting excitement. But he still has some of the figurines.
Standing there at the base of the stairs, Danny wonders how pathetic he looks. His whole life, or at least the parts that hold any significance, can all be carried at once. His worldly possessions so few, he wouldn't even be able to fill an apartment.
There's a wallet in his pocket. It holds no worn out gift cards and no half folded bank slips. He has three photos, of his parents, his sister, and his friends, so he can know where he came from, two dollars, a debit card for an account that's nearly dry, and his ID.
Danny learned long ago that wanting led to disappointment, and longing led to heartache. To hunger and crave were fine, so long as it was for food and nothing else. Any desires he had, he buried. Or else he was back to square one. The final result was a carefully engineered soul that lacked, but asked for nothing.
Want for nothing, long for nothing, ask for nothing, expect nothing. It's a cold mantra, one born in loneliness. But it got him through the bulk of his childhood.
Flashing back to waking up from his accident, his whole world turned upside down. Not just because of his state and new abilities, though those were definitely contributing factors. But he awoke, in shock, and everything he didn't know he needed was being met. Everything he had given up on, it was just there. Just ready. Waiting.
Attention. Affection. Nurture. Emotion. Basic nourishment.
He'd gone from scrounging at half rotted apples and no-one asking for him to being coddled and guided and held. Jasmine did what she could for him, all at the expense of herself and her needs and he doesn't envy her. Not in the slightest. He's grateful for it. All of it. And he hasn't actually thanked her, yet.
But the stark contrast of the two houses was astounding to him.
He suddenly feels a little stupid for finally processing his emotions so many years later. The initial trip home that had riddled him with anxiety and dread, those emotions dwindled over time. But he didn't really understand them. Until now.
It's okay to be angry. It's okay to want. To need. It's okay to call out for help.
It's not okay to bite one's tongue. It's not okay to just accept nothing. It's not okay to just cave to the hand life deals. To be so used to his cries going unanswered that he stops crying altogether.
And despite everything, he tried to do right by his parents. Even though they really didn't deserve it.
Jasmine said they arrived at the restaurant. Eventually. She didn't say when, but she and Vlad had stayed to meet them. Whatever happened, whatever was said, she didn't divulge. All he knew was what she told him when she finally came home and stopped by his room.
"Be gone before they get up."
And he was. He would've left either way, he just didn't want it to be on what's clearly poor terms. As bad as things had been, as scant and lackluster as their efforts were, he still wanted... It was still important to him that they know.
"Daniel, go home. We'll wait."
It was an order delivered soft and apologetically. For how gentle Vlad had given it, it didn't even feel like an order. But it was. And he listened. And he'd gone home. He waited up, but didn't dare to look at the clock. And when he finally went to sleep, he fell into his head, curled up with Phantom and cried.
He hadn't wanted to spend his last night feeling like he'd been forgotten about. Truthfully, he wanted his last night home to be lively and ugly. He wanted his parents to fight it. He wanted them to fight for him. Not much, just a little. Enough to show he still mattered, or at least mattered enough that they weren't afraid of fucking it up anymore. In a pipe dream, he wanted them to be happy for him.
But based on Jasmine's words, "Be gone before they get up," none of it was the case. No-one was happy. They didn't fight for him. Neither of them tried. In his final moments of consciousness, Danny actually wanted them to be screaming at Vlad. He even imagined it. He imagined jumbled words and insults, loud voices and fists flying. ...it wouldn't have meant much; look at where he's standing now. He's sure about this decision, has no intention of going back on it. There's no regret in this choice.
But he wanted... He still wanted something from his family. The fact that they didn't fight, they didn't scream, they didn't even show up on time, leaves him feeling somewhat rejected.
From here on out, living with Vlad, he won't need to worry about any of that. But the idea of living with Vlad doesn't seem to be helping with the sensation of just being written off.
-
Vlad's ghost sense had triggered minutes ago, prompting him to release Plasmius from the mindscape so that they could both be there for the boy.
Last night left a bad taste in his mouth, understandably so. He wonders how the boy held out so long. He doesn't wonder why, he knows full well why. He's rehashed that more than enough in his head, even Plasmius is sick of it. They've exercised caution through every step of this strange relationship of theirs. Now, it can finally pay off.
"Where is he?" the demon asks, eyes on the library door.
Vlad looks up in confusion, and they both step out into the foyer. They were expecting the younger halfa to just come right in. Having sensed his incoming presence already, they're both alarmed to find him nowhere in sight.
Instinctively, the human half goes to the door, hoping to spot the youth enter the grounds. Pulling the door open presents their companion at the base of the steps, face turned down towards the ground.
Approaching carefully, chain scraping against the stonework through their descent, closer inspection reveals cloudy eyes, slack shoulders and wet streaks down pale cheeks. There's no effort to the tears, no energy whatsoever. They're simply there, drifting lazily down his face as the world slowly spins. Vlad chances a hand to his chin to lift his head up, prepared to be lashed out at or pulled away from, considering the circumstances. But Danny doesn't respond. His eyes remain unfocused, brimming with years of hurt and neglect, and Plasmius makes the first move.
It pushes the bags free from his hands, pushes the straps from his shoulders and passes them to its counterpart. Vlad takes everything quickly, swinging the backpack onto one shoulder and ignoring the way the straps tighten on his larger frame. Plasmius has to bend to scoop the youth into his arms, and does. And Danny still utters no response.
Vlad leaves his bags in the foyer. They bring him into the library, where his last constructed nest still sits by the couch. That's where they lay him down; among the hoard of blankets and pillows. They have the sense to untangle his tail, intangibly pulling it free from the confines of his jeans and gently draping it over the edge of the nesting walls.
A burst of frost comes forth and lines the fabrics. But it doesn't stray beyond the borders. It's just enough for comfort.
Just enough to let him sleep.
For the first several days, all he does is sleep. Never moving from his pile, barely moving at all. The only sign of his half life is the occasional twitch of his tail and the odd rise-and-fall of his torso upon breathing deeper than usual.
Vlad lets him be, recognizing the crash for what it is. He's been emotionally overtaxed many times, himself. He does, however, rifle through one of his bags for a pair of shorts. He keeps the fireplace going constantly, and even though there's a layer of ice lining the bedding, he didn't want the youth to overheat.
Plasmius looms over him from the couch, fixated as a cat at a mouse's hole. Even without interaction, it purrs incessantly. Only abandoning its post when Vlad needed to get up for something, it's content to just be there. There's some concern in that behavior, but Vlad suspects it's largely about being lovestruck. He can't fault the beast for any of it. The understanding that Danny isn't leaving this time is prevalent in both of their minds. This time, it's permanent. Plasmius has all the time it could possibly need to collect on its deal. And longer still to just lounge and enjoy the boy's presence. There's nothing left to chase for, now. Nothing is missing. Everything is as it should be.
The nest is complete.
-
Danny is lured from his respite by the clink of a plate.
His eyes open slowly and he lifts his head up to peer over the wall of his makeshift bed. Placed some distance from where he rests is a small saucer. On it, a single strip of raw venison is draped, next to a...
'What is that?'
'What is that?'
His nostrils flare as he inhales to absorb the scent and place it. What he sees is clearly made from dough, and a strangely sweet, yet, fermented tartness is coiled within. Steam drifts off the foreign creation, indicating freshness and recent placement.
But it's not a pastry.
Danny continues to sniff at the air, chin resting on a pillow as he's faced with the agonizing choice of staying where he is or climbing out to investigate further. He's trying to decide if it's worth it or not. One strip of meat and a single mystery lump of dough hardly seems justified. ...and then his stomach growls at him, and he realizes he hasn't eaten in a while. Whether or not he wants to, he has to eat.
He caves to the need and his curiosity. Carefully, without damaging the structure of his snuggery, Danny crawls out onto the floor. Carpet brushes bare knees, catching him off guard. Looking down at himself reveals a change in clothing he didn't even remember happening. ...no harm has been done, so he moves on.
On his hands and knees, he goes to the plate, its distance ensuring that he's completely removed from the bedding.
The raw venison practically glides down his throat, which is extremely satisfying to both halves of him. The bundle of dough, he takes with both hands. Whatever it is, it's been folded and pinched shut, shaped into a half circle and pan-fried. There's a browning on the surface that's made it a bit crispy under his touch. Stuck to one corner, there's a small cut square of something that's been caramelized. It smells so different from what he's grown up with, and is in a shape that's never graced his meals before. He finally takes a bite.
He tastes fried onions and butter on the outside. He doesn't recognize the filling at all. Whatever it is, it's shredded. It's also sweet and faintly tart at the same time and somehow marries together into something warm and savory that makes him feel fuzzy and comfy inside. Danny takes his time and chews each bite thoroughly.
Just as he finishes, something moves out of the corner of his eye where the library door hangs open. Peering through the gap as he picks up the saucer, he sees another small plate that's been placed on the floor in the hall. Its contents are the same as what he's just eaten. Another strip of venison and another not-pastry.
Danny's eyes, clear and awake, narrow at the placement. But he gets up regardless and goes to it, and takes a few minutes to lean against the doorway and eat. The acid in his stomach from all of that rest dwindles with each bite and at the same time, his sour mood brightens. There's no time limit now. No deadline. This is it.
A soft clinking against stone catches his attention as he swallows the last bite.
To his right, just outside the kitchen door, on the floor. Another plate.
Now he knows he's being lured away from his nest.
"Alright," he huffs and goes to the third dish. Instead of eating right there, though, he carries the plate into the kitchen and sets it down at the island. He sees Vlad at the stove, back turned and busy flipping something in a pan that smells exactly like what he was just eating.
"Okay, what did you give me? The deer, I got. The pastry not-pastry thing... What is it?"
The older halfa chuckles. "Pierogi with капуста. Sauerkraut dumplings, basically. It's a Lemko thing."
Danny settles onto a chair and pulls his legs up close. Picking up the dumpling, he takes a bite, "What's Lemko?"
Vlad sets the larger plate of fresh pierogi on the island, "A people in the Carpathian Mountains. I went traveling when I was younger. I was trying to find a cure for my, well, for our condition. Obviously, there was nothing to find. But I didn't come back completely empty handed."
Danny turns in his seat to sit normally as the man joins him at the island.
"I came back with a full stomach, a box of recipes, a photo of my бабушка, and just a little sense of belonging."
Danny tilts his head in curiosity.
"American foster care is often culturally genocidal at best. At worst, it has wrought some significant mental, emotional and physical anguish upon my life. The few memories I have of my biological parents are neither insightful nor pleasant. I've taken numerous lashings in my time, not all of them verbal. Which was just one more reason to spare you from the system years ago."
Danny gives him a sad look.
"I was only in that village for a few days, what little remained of it and its elders; the ethnic cleansing by Operation "Vistula" ensured there weren't many indigenous people left. But, in those few days, I never felt more at home," he picks up a dumpling from the plate, "I like to think that...that little trip is ultimately what kept me from snapping. I can't tell you how many hours I've spent in the kitchen, perfecting my grandmother's recipes. Therapy in cooking, hm? Ultimately, I think I turned out okay."
Danny snorts. "You turned into a recluse with a castle and amassed millions of dollars by being a 'cold, heartless bastard,' I think is how you said it?"
"See? I'm just fine."
Danny smirks, "...what was her name?"
"Helena Aleksandra Vasilko."
"There's a mouthful," Danny quips.
"Mm. I'm told that she was a frightful woman and that she...lacked restraint, but that was probably due to her mixed bloodlines. Russians are rather stoic due to centuries of hardship and war. The Lemko rightfully cling to their traditions and have learned to be self-reliant over the decades. And...she was a redhead, which is exceptionally rare for that part of the world."
Danny shudders. They nibble away at the platter of dumplings over several minutes, sans silverware.
"You could've just woken me up normally, you know."
"I could have, yes. But this way was more fun. Like getting a stubborn dog to give up a seat."
"I'm a physical manifestation of a tear in the veil. Not a dog," Danny quips.
The older halfa belts out in laughter.
-
Living with each-other is not what was expected.
It's a strangely harmonic coexistence. Both with them, and between Danny and the natural world.
But, so far, for them, each compliments the other so well that they find the rhythm very quickly. Within days.
Danny is light at heart. Light hearted. Free. He flits about the halls easily, chittering and chirping with Maddie as if he can understand her. Whether down at her level or in the air, it doesn't matter. Truth be told, Vlad had never stopped to wonder if the two organisms could exist in the same environment. He probably should've asked. But it seems fine.
His vitality means that Danny offers a sense of uplift in the manor. A positive energy. And he can't help it. There's no more anxiety. No more fear. No more worry about being forgotten or going hungry. Everything that bogged his mind down in life is gone, now.
Watching the younger halfa bounding this way and that in halls that are more than tall enough to accomodate his various sizes, it's infectious. Vlad finds himself contracting that same happiness. Sure, all the various little noises mean that half of their locutions are heavily one-sided. But if that's the only catch to this little world of theirs, damn it, he'll take it. In spades.
In terms of the world around him, it's a safe haven where the younger halfa can just be. Open. Unlimited. If he were any more wild, it might qualify as a preserve. His deeply ingrained need to hunt is driven not only by hunger, but also by having someone to provide for and fuss over. At the same time, Danny is very much aware of the land's limitations. His morning routine, upon climbing out of his star-studded quarters, is to wait for Vlad to get up, greet him with either a hug or a nuzzle, depending on his form, and then go outside and track the fauna.
He catalogs the population that exists and counts every one. From chipmunks to bears, he studies what's where, where it all prefers to be, and how many are in each brood. He's careful in his decision of what to bring home. And he learns that though he can't consume an entire deer himself, he can freeze it in a block of ice and bury it beneath the ground. It means Vlad doesn't have to worry about feeding him breakfast.
Danny is in the fields for about four hours a day before coming home and showering off any mud and grime that he might pick up in the outdoors; he's left a few hoofprints here and there, but has done little else to offend Vlad's sensibilities. Vlad knows he'll be found afterwards, while he's seated at the kitchen island or in his study, and Danny will curl up somewhere close by with a random tome and Maddie.
The evenings prove far more lively.
Having sufficiently entertained his other side with the living world for the day, Danny himself is allowed to make an appearance, so to speak. He's much more talkative. Any subject will do. If he doesn't know what Vlad is on about, he'll learn. He takes in information rather well, Vlad finds. And helps with every task where he can. The nights usually end with them together on the library couch, and Danny quietly clicking away in a warm embrace.
Topping it all off is the fact that Danny's needs are so shockingly basic. Danny only seems to require a few nests of pillows and blankets, food, half of which he often just hunts himself, some conversation, Maddie's purrs, and Vlad's fire core space-heater effect. Give him that, all of that, and he has no issues.
And Vlad's needs seem just as minimal. He stopped acknowledging his longing for company and comradery ages ago. Now that he has those things, he's not willing to let them go. He feels whole, having someone to care for. He missed it when he sent the youth back to Amity Park. He really did. He now has a familiar voice to spew his woes with and a living, er, half-living weighted blanket that's happy to share core energy.
Vlad's only complaint is that, for some reason, that damn tail seems to wander a lot. Vlad has had to unravel that blasted appendage from his thigh or swat it away from the waistband of whatever he's wearing more times than he can count. And the most obnoxious part is that if he didn't know any better, he would swear that Danny isn't even aware it's happening.
At the stove, in the study, on the couch in the library, even when he's bending down for something in the fridge! Vlad has to slap the infernal accessory away or fight to uncoil it from a leg. Every time he looks to its owner, Danny's eyes are elsewhere and focused on whatever task is at hand. Between that and the physical contact that inches its way up his leg each time it grabs onto him, Vlad is starting to go a little crazy. It riles him up, but, strangely, Danny has yet to give chase.
...time is swallowed into the background. They mark the days off without actually reading the calendar as it passes. They relish in their freedom. Hunting, cooking, reading, cooking again, reading some more, and half human banter fill the hours.
They don't pay attention to the world around them.
More importantly, he doesn't pay attention.
- 68
- 69
- 70
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Kindred Spirits