#Danny curls around his neck and hisses at danger when it gets to close to Tim

[bluerosefox]

The Amazing Adventures of Timothy Drake and Little Baby Man Danny. AKA two feral raccoons loose in Gotham.

Guys.

Something stirred in my head.

Imagine

TINY! (A little bit feral) Tim, whose been taking pics of our Bat and Bird finds... drum roll please.

Little baby man Danny. Who jumped Tim for the Batbruger the kid had for a late night snack (look baby man Danny was hungry, he hadnt eaten in days at that point)

Imagine the chaos those two would get into.

[riversofmars]

Do you remember the funny plot with Twelve taking Clara away and Danny finding things suspicious on her return? I'd love if you could use this plot idea with River taking the Doctor away in the middle of her trips with the fam and then the fam getting suspicious on her return.

This was fun! Thank you for the prompt! Something light and easy in between writing my Whumptober pieces, just what I needed! Hope you like it!! <3

Rating: G

Word Count: 1500

Read below or on AO3

Interlude

“Doctor?“ Yaz looked around the jungle. She scanned their surroundings, utterly confused. Where had the Doctor got to? She was meant to be leading the way but Yaz had lost sight of her in the thicket.

“Where’s she gone?“ Ryan frowned, confused as well, and Graham added:

“I swear she was here a minute ago.“ They halted their progress and looked around, searching for their Time Lord friend. It wasn’t like her to walk too far ahead, particularly not when they were on an alien world that none of them had visited before. The Doctor had been very excited to take them, promising them the most beautiful flora and fauna. And indeed, the jungle was a marvel, with exotic flowers and huge insects beyond belief. They were, however, also keenly aware of the Doctor’s initial warning: a lot of the most beautiful things could end up being poisonous or dangerous. Therefore, having their experienced tour guide at hand was rather important. It made the Doctor’s sudden disappearance all the more worrying.

“Doctor?!“ Yaz called out loudly, and Ryan and Graham joined in. There was no answer.

“Did you hear that?“ Ryan asked suddenly, when there was a noise up ahead. A sort of shuffling sound, and huffs and groans. The Fam exchanged confused looks.

“Doctor?“ Graham called out again, and suddenly someone or something started ruffling the trees up ahead, so much so that some of them started bending and came down in front of their eyes.

“Oh no…“ Yaz breathed when the noise came closer quickly, almost like rolling thunder, and suddenly, a rhinoceros three times the size of its relatives from Earth charged out of the thicket and straight towards them.

“Quick, back to the TARDIS,“ Ryan yelled, and they started running, back the way they came.

Suddenly, Graham slammed into the Doctor.

“What are you guys running from?“ The Time Lord grinned, seemingly completely unfazed.

“Where have you been?“ Yaz exclaimed, shocked, and she looked back around to find the wild animal gaining on them.

“Right here,“ the Doctor answered cheerfully.

“If you had been, you would have noticed a giant rhino that’s charging after us,“ Yaz yelled, urging them all onward.

“Oh…“ The Doctor’s face fell as she spotted the rhinoceros as well and quickly turned on her heels. “To the TARDIS!!“

The Fam sprinted through the jungle. Luckily, the TARDIS was close by. They hadn’t exactly gotten far with their excursion before the Doctor had disappeared.

“Inside!“ The Doctor yelled as they reached the blue box, and they piled in, quickly slamming the door behind them. The Doctor hurried to the console and launched them into the time vortex. Despite the TARDIS being one of the safest places in the universe, waiting to see what would happen if a giant rhino charged into the door somehow didn’t sound like a good idea.

“That was close…“ Graham gave a sigh of relief as they all dropped onto the stairs, trying to catch their breaths.

“Why were you making such a racket, no wonder it came charging for us,“ the Doctor asked, breathing heavily as well.

“You disappeared,“ Yaz shot back accusingly.

“No I didn’t…“ The Doctor retorted quickly but received incredulous looks from her friends.

“Yes you did, one moment you were there, then you were gone…“ Ryan explained and Graham carried on:

“And then you were back again, what’s that about?“

“Nothing, I think you’re imagining…“ The Doctor tried to wave it off and returned her attention to the console.

“Where is your coat gone?“ Yaz asked when she noticed something was different about the Doctor. “Did you lose it during the chase?“ She frowned.

“What?“ The Doctor didn’t seem to know what to say.

“You were wearing your coat earlier, now you’re not!“ Yaz insisted and Graham and Ryan nodded. It was very rare for the Doctor to take her coat off at all so it was quite noticeable now, that they weren’t running for their lives anymore.

“Oh…“ The Doctor looked down at herself as if she had only just noticed she didn't have it on.

“And what has happened to your hair?“ Yaz carried on as she realised how much of a mess the Doctor’s hair was.

“And your neck, oh my God, Doctor, were you attacked?“ Ryan asked as he spotted red marks on her throat. He got to his feet, as did the others, suddenly very concerned.

“No, no, stop fussing, it’s all good, I…“ The Doctor tried to brush it off but the Fam cornered her.

“Hang on… is that a love bite?“ Yaz exclaimed, sounding scandalised upon closer observation as the Doctor tried her best to cover her neck. Only without her coat, she had no collar to put up. “Where did you disappear off to?“ She demanded to know again.

“And how?“ Ryan added. “It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, what…“

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,“ the Doctor huffed, trying to wiggle away from them. “Anyway, we best be off, places to go, things to do, we can’t very well leave the TARDIS with that massive rhino out there, so we should…“ She ducked under Ryan’s arm, making for the other side of the console. “Oh no… my sonic…“ She suddenly realised she was missing something very important as she stuck her hands into her trouser pockets.

“Did you lose it in the chase?“ Graham suggested.

“Or is it in your coat pocket?“ Yaz quipped as they all got rather amused with the Doctor’s embarrassed behaviour.

“Ah no, I…“ The Doctor stammered, turning her pockets inside out.

Suddenly there was an electric discharge fizzing in the air, and a woman appeared in the middle of the control room. She had an impressive head of world curls and was dressed in nothing but a silky dressing gown. She was also carrying the Doctor's coat and sonic screwdriver.

“Sorry love, you forgot this!“ The mystery woman announced with a winning smile that she flashed at the Doctor and gave a little wave towards the Fam.

“What the-!“ Ryan yelped, startled by the sudden arrival and lack of clothes.

“Who are you, how did you get in here?!“ Yaz exclaimed, shocked as well.

“Ah…“ The woman looked down at herself, realising what the main problem was, judging by the blushing faces all round.

“River!“ The Doctor seemed rather mortified herself.

“I thought you were by yourself!“ River countered with a shrug.

“Clearly not!“ The Doctor hissed but hurried towards her regardless, in pursuit of her missing items.

“Well, you left your coat and your sonic!“ River sighed, handing them over.

“I thought you said you didn’t go anywhere!“ Yaz piped up accusingly, and the Doctor gave a pitiful sigh.

“Must dash, till next time, Sweetie!“ River beamed and cheerfully kissed the Doctor’s cheek. Then, as quickly as she had come, she disappeared again with the help of the vortex manipulator on her wrist.

“Well, well, well…“ Graham spoke first, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He tried to stay serious but his grin betrayed him.

“And who, pray tell, was that?“ Yaz asked, mirroring Graham, as did Ryan.

“That, uh…“ The Doctor blushed scarlet. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter…“ She quickly pulled her coat on and pushed her sonic into her pocket.

“Has she got a vortex manipulator like Jack!“ Ryan carried on and Yaz jumped in as well:

“Is Jack a Time Lord and you never said and that’s him but a different regeneration?“

“What?! NO!“ The Doctor exclaimed, mortified at the very thought. “That’s River! Professor River Song! Jack?! Honestly?!“ She shook her head vehemently.

“So you like… time travelled away while we were following you through an alien jungle?“ Yaz asked, raising her eyebrows accusingly.

“She may have… popped in… and taken me away for a bit…“ The Doctor admitted in a small voice as she fiddled with the console.

“For what? A few minutes? Half an hour?“ Yaz carried on.

“Well, more like… a few hours… a day… time travel, you know, you never notice how time flies when you’re having fun…“ The Doctor gave a dismissive wave of her hand, trying to brush it off like it was nothing.

“You stopped off for a day’s worth of shagging in the middle of showing us a brand new planet?!“ Graham exclaimed.

“You try saying no when your wife turns up out of the blue and whisks you away!“ The Doctor shot back, trying to smooth the back of her hair.

“YOUR WIFE?!“ The Fam yelled in unison.

[pitch-pearl-void]

The Consort’s Circlet

Danny set the heel of his palms beneath the circlet and pushed upward at the same time he lowered his head. He made a low hissing noise when, instead of sliding cleanly off his head, the circlet glowed, burned, and squeezed his head all the tighter. The jewel nestled in the center of his forehead burned hotter than it had previously, becoming less like a warmed washcloth and more like a sun heated rock. He gasped in pain.

Princess Dorethea grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away. "Stop this, my lord!"

"You stop it," Danny snapped back, tearing his wrists free. He backed away from the ghost until his back crashed against a wall. His hand went to his hip, reaching for a blaster that wasn't there. Instead his hand grasped uselessly at the rope they had tied around his waist to pull his new tunic against his sides. He gritted his teeth, feeling his face flush. "And give me back my clothes. Guys don't wear tights anymore, you can't just dress me up whatever way you please."

Dorathea sniffed and smoothed her hands down her dress. "I assure you, in this kingdom men do wear 'tights,' as you put it. Are they uncomfortable, my lord?"

Mulishly, Danny muttered, "No..."

"Then stop whining!"

Danny stuck his tongue out. Dorathea bristled, teeth bared, and Danny quickly dropped into a fighting stance he had practiced and used against ghosts for a little over two years, legs bent at the knee, feet flat on the floor, his arms raised in front of his chest. Annoyingly, the tights were as easy to move in as the jumpsuit his parents had made him. He almost welcomed the incoming fight, but unfortunately, Dorathea calmed herself, once more smoothing her hands down her dress.

"This is getting us nowhere," she said, her eyes closed. "You are to shortly become my brother's consort--"

"As if!" Danny shouted, not for the first time. "I'm not marrying a ghost, damn it! Just because you spooks have some sort of ghost hunter fetish--"

"You do not have a choice in the matter!" For a moment, it looked as if Dorathea's eyes were changing, but the moment passed as she once again began petting her dress. "My brother has chosen you as his consort. It is an honor and you should treat it as such." Danny snorted and she glared at him. "This...barbaric behavior is most unbecoming, my lord."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I don't know what you expected after kidnapping someone. Especially someone who fights ghosts every day. I'm not in the habit of rolling over."

Dorathea sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead, brushing against her own circlet. A smaller one, Danny noted, and one without a garish, creepy eye-like stone in the center. Danny moved cautiously away from her, toward a window in the stonework.

"I told him this was a bad idea," she moaned, sounding as though she was speaking more to herself, "I told him humans had moved beyond our rules and would not obey simply because he commanded it. I especially warned him about you and your kin. Foolish. Humans who can fight ghosts are the most dangerous of them all, but the moment my brother saw you defeat the warriors he had sent to distract your town's defender, he would not be swayed. I have lost count of the number of times he has demanded to watch the recording I took of you in battle."

Danny shuddered, his skin crawling. "I had help. It wasn't just me. Phantom was there too." He rubbed at the circlet, wincing as the stone burned. "We work together most of the time. Why isn't he here? Why me?"

Not that Danny wanted Phantom trapped in this predicament in his stead--

He hissed in pain and pushed at the circlet to no avail. "Phantom defeated the Ghost King almost single-handedly. He's powerful, brave, funny--" Tears sprang to his eyes as it felt like the stone was trying to burn its way to his brain. "--Damn it! Look, I just do what my parents taught me! If you ghosts are really infatuated with power over beauty, why is Prince Asshole trying to force this crap on me instead of marrying, like, Ember or something?"

"You have defeated Miss Ember in the past," Dorathea pointed out. "Numerous times."

"Yeah, with help! Phantom's!"

"Yes, and you regularly compete with Phantom in what you apparently regard as..." She raised an eyebrow. "Sparring?"

Danny felt his cheeks warming and hoped it was in response to the circlet's burning touch and not the fluttering sensation in his stomach. "It's practice," he muttered. "He's helping me get better."

"It is flirting, my lord," Dorathea corrected, "borderline foreplay. If strength is such a huge factor in how we ghosts find each other attractive, then what do you suppose it means when Phantom challenges you in mock battle so that you might test his strength while he witnesses yours?"

Danny's face was definitely flushing now. He spluttered and saw Dorathea's expression soften into something more girlish and, dare he think it, affectionate, before Danny had to slap his hands over his face in a weak attempt to hide. "Don't tell me that," he whined. "Oh my god, he's been flirting?"

"For some years it would seem," Dorathea agreed, amused. She sighed. "Not that it matters, now, of course. He waited too long, and now my brother has snatched you from beneath his nose."

Danny pushed his hands upward, tugged at the burning circlet once more before he moved his hands into his hair, pushing his bangs off his sweating forehead. It felt like his scalp was on fire. "Just because you guys caught me," he growled, irritated as pain traveled down his neck and along his spine, "doesn't mean you can keep me. Just wait. I'll get out of here yet."

Dorathea looked at him sadly. "I'm afraid it is not that simple. Your circlet...it is..." Her voice trailed off and her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. More specifically, at his now visible forehead. "My lord, is your circlet burning?"

"Uh, yeah?" Danny taped a finger against the graceful, silver wires twining in a circle around his head, winced, and jerked his hand away. "It started a little while ago. I figured it was a 'ghost and human can't mix' thing."

Dorathea's eyes widened. "No," she said. "The circlet was made with a human in mind, it is perfectly safe, but it should not be activating. Not so soon."

"Oh wow." Danny braced his back against the wall again. He was almost to the window--Dorathea didn't seem concerned about that for whatever reason--but the fire was spreading from his spine to his limbs and the cool stones offered some small relief. "You guys are trying to kill me, aren't you?"

"Not kill," Dorathea huffed, sounding disgusted by the idea. "What use is claiming a human bride only to kill him? No, my lord, it is meant to bring you closer to my brother."

Danny squinted at her, suspicious. "Closer?"

"Emotionally. Like a true consort."

"That's never going to happen," Danny growled. Actually growled. He blinked and touched his throat where the rumbling noise was still coming from.

Danny's skin crawled with revulsion. He had met Aragon, briefly. When he had spoken to Danny it was as if he thought Danny was already his possession, a mute servant who would obey his command. He had sounded so smug. If Danny hadn't been so dazed and on the edge of unconsciousness from whatever warping portal they had used to transport him deep into the Ghost Zone, he would have decked the so-called prince just on principle. 

Dorathea smiled sadly. "And yet it is working already if the circlet is activating."

Danny swore violently. He tried to push the circlet off again, but it was hot. He barely felt it on his forehead anymore, but it burned his hands. He hissed, frustrated, and the noise sounded as beastial as the growl.

"It is strange, though," Dorathea said thoughtfully.

"What is?" Danny spat, his voice like gravel. 

"You only recently met my brother. In theory, the circlet should keep you bound to the castle until you learn to love him, at which point the circlet would activate and allow you to assume our second form yourself. It's responding far too soon."

Danny squinted an eye open to glare at her. "Your circlet thing must be broken then because the only thing I feel toward him is the desire to rip his damn throat out!" He shouted the last part, the words barely discernible over the growl shaking his chest. 

A roar.

Dorathea's eyes widened, her eyebrows shooting up in alarm. Danny was pleased to finally see her take his anger seriously, even if he was losing his humanity to do it. 

However, before he could feel too smug, Dora's lips curled into a smug smile of her own. "Would you now..." she whispered.

Alarm bells began clanging in the towers above them. Human and ghost rushed to the window, but Danny was closer and reached the sill before Dorathea. He searched the odd, cloud-filled skies for whatever had spooked the sentries until Dorathea slid beneath his arm and shoved her shoulder against his ribs, forcing him to retreat to the left side of the windowsill. 

"Not very lady-like," he grunted.

She sniffed. "As if you have grounds to criticize me."

A black shape shot past their window, cutting their bickering short. It flew farther up and then away from their tower. Danny sucked in a breath. A dragon. A gigantic black dragon. It roared, spewing bright blue flames, and Danny mentally amended, A gigantic black ghost dragon that breathes fire.

It didn't bother flapping its wings but it soared upward all the same, flashing a purple belly and a spiked tail at those below. Was it attacking the kingdom? It was flying the wrong way if it was.

"What kind of kingdom keeps a dragon as a pet?" Danny asked, incredulous.

Dorathea choked beside him.

"You dare challenge ME?" Aragon's voice boomed from above them. From the dragon's throat, specifically.

"Oh..." Danny said weakly. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Aragon is the--He turns into a dragon?!"

"There is a reason he has ruled our realm for so long," Dorathea agreed sadly. "In this form, his second form, he is much too powerful for anyone to challenge. Even me." She touched her necklace. "Though I too have a dragon form..."

Danny eyed her warily. He inched closer to the wall, allowing Dorathea more space at the window. "Makes sense," he said archly. "You being a dragon..."

She favored him with a cool glance. 

If she meant to reply--and Danny really hoped she did because he had a snarky quip lined up--the door to Danny's new room banged open. Two voices yelled out in sync, and Danny spun around, recognition already splitting his face into a grin. Sam and Tucker burst into the room. Sam, dressed as a knight, pointed her drawn sword at Dorathea while Tucker pulled back on a bow, an arrow primed and aimed at the princess as well. 

"Unhand our friend, you fiend!" Sam ordered. "And stop looking so cute while you're at it!"

"Yeah!" Tucker chorused. Then, "Wait..."

"Sam! Tucker!" Danny took a step toward them, but Dorathea suddenly grabbed his wrist. It was the first time she had touched him, and he gawked at her a couple seconds before trying to yank his arm away. "What are you doing, let--ow, ow, ow! Gees!"

For such a dainty-looking girl, her grip was hard enough to bruise.

Or break, Danny thought, wincing one eye shut. 

"Let him go!" Sam charged at them, sword raised.

Dorathea jerked on Danny's wrist, and he stumbled to the side, inbetween her and Sam. Dorathea's arm latched around his shoulders, pinning him to her chest. She raised a hand to his throat and five pinpricks dug into the skin around his windpipe. Danny swallowed. He couldn't see it, but he had a bad feeling Dorathea's hand had just grown some talons. 

Sam lowered her sword and held up her free hand. 

"Oh shit," Tucker said. 

Beside Danny's ear, Dorathea leaned in to whisper, "If those two are here then who do you think my brother is chasing outside?"

A cold sense of dread pooled in Danny's stomach. "What are you--"

"Think, my lord. These two humans couldn't have arrived here, in the Ghost Zone, without assistance. Not when my brother posted sentries at the gate, not when our kingdom is so well hidden. So who did Aragon change into a dragon to chase into the skies?"

Danny's eyes widened. He barely managed to breathe, "Phantom..." before the circlet began sending fire down his spine again. He cried out and tried to reach for his head, but Dorathea's arm obstructed his own and the hand at his throat warned him against struggling. 

"What are you doing to him?!" Tucker yelled. 

Dorathea ignored him and brought her lips to the cartilage of Danny's ear. "Phantom has come to rescue you, my lord. He is using himself as bait while these two free you from the castle."

"No," Danny groaned, the word more a guttural growl than spoken.

"Yes. See for yourself." 

Dorathea released Danny's neck and grabbed his chin instead, her claws digging into the sensitive skin of his face. She forced his head to turn toward the window, and Danny pried his eyes open despite the pain urging him to shut the world out. It was difficult to focus at first, but a bright green beam caught his eyes and stole every one of his thoughts. Small as Phantom was from this distance, his brilliant glow, the brightness of his white hair, stood out starkly against the angry gray-green clouds.

The sight of him made Danny's breath catch, his skin burn.

"My brother will destroy him," Dorathea continued, her tone cold, merciless. "He will burn his body to ash."

"No!"

"There is nothing you can do, locked in this tower." Dorathea taped a claw to his chin. "As so many before, your only duty now is to watch two men fight over you. Galling, isn't it? To feel so helpless while the one you love is slaughtered before your eyes."

"Sam!" Tucker cried. "His eyes--"

"I can see it, Tucker!" Sam snapped. 

Danny struggled in Dorathea's iron grip, but as before her strength kept him from breaking free. "Let go of me!" he snarled. His gaze never left the two ghosts battling in the sky above. Phantom was quicker, more agile, but a lucky strike from Aragon knocked him to the ground, and Danny growled, teeth clenched. 

"Phantom is no match for my brother," Dorathea continued. "He has defeated many enemies this way. Now that he has him on the ground, he will crush him, burn him. He will--"

Aragon pinned Phantom to the ground and reared back his head.

Phantom could feel his form condensing beneath Aragon's limb--never a good sign. Ghost bodies were incredibly adaptable, but Aragon had Phantom's core trapped beneath his oversized paw, and the bastard knew it. Phantom could see it in the way Aragon had pulled back his lips in a parody of a human smile.

"No!" Danny roared.

----------------

He means to kill me, Phantom thought somewhat frantically. 

It was such an extreme reaction to a little bit of trespassing, especially from a ruler of a kingdom. Those sorts usually encouraged trespassing so they could steal the unwary into their realm and never let them leave. Even Phantom's attack--such as it was--should have been more of a nuisance than something Aragon took personally. 

But Aragon was crushing Phantom beneath his foot. He was rearing back his head. Flames were gathering around his maw.

What had Phantom done? 

Phantom was the one who should be angry enough to kill, not Aragon. Aragon had stolen his friend, dang it. 

Phantom struggled uselessly beneath the dragon's paw. He couldn't even make a sarcastic comment with his chest crushed. He couldn't yell for help from Sam or Tucker either, of course, but priorities were priorities, and he wanted to go out having wounded Aragon's pride badly enough that the bastard would feel it for years.

At least Sam and Tucker made it into the castle...

Something crashed into Aragon. The prince, fully as big as Fenton Works, stumbled to the side, each step he took sending tremors through the ground, but none so much as the shake that shook the ground as a second set of clawed paws landed on either side of Phantom. 

Phantom turned onto his side and curled inward, pulling his knees to his chest as ribs and organs reformed into the familiar shape Phantom had learned via the portal accident. It wasn't agony, he didn't register any pain, but it was...discomforting. As soon as his lungs finished reshaping, Phantom gasped in a breath, expanding his chest in a sudden burst. His lungs inflated and shoved the other still forming organs and bones to slot into their proper alignment. 

He hated that feeling...

"What is the meaning of this?" Aragon shouted, outraged. "Why would you--"

The second dragon--Phantom was fairly sure it was a dragon--roared at Aragon, interrupting the prince in a rude manner Phantom would have highly approved of had he not screamed and clamped his hands over his suddenly ringing ears. He rolled onto his back and stared up--up--up--at the dragon above him. 

Like Aragon, its scales were predominately black, but unlike the prince the underbelly was a bright blue, and the black-scaled arms on either side of Phantom shone an iridescent blue, highlighted by Phantom's glow. It had poised its front arms, its chest, directly over Phantom, making it nearly impossible for Aragon to reach Phantom without crossing those bared teeth first. Phantom assumed it simply a coincidence of the way the dragon had landed after shoving Aragon aside, but then he saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head. A tail, tipped with black hair--fur?--wavered up and down, ready to strike a blow on their left side if Aragon tried to strike from the flank.

Even that could have been a coincidence had Phantom not seen the tip of a wing, its underside colored a bright blue, dip down before rising again, proving that the dragon's wings were outstretched, mantled over them like a bird protecting its kill.

Phantom tilted his head further back, scraping the crown of his skull along the dirt until he could see the dragon's head on the end of a long, sinuous neck as it swayed left to right, fangs bared at Aragon.

The new dragon growled, and a voice Phantom never expected to come from the dragon's throat yelled, "I won't let you hurt him!"

Phantom's jaw dropped. "Danny?" he croaked. He rolled onto his stomach, wincing only slightly, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. "Danny, you can't just turn into a dragon--it took me weeks just to get this form right! Do you realize how long it will take me to match a dragon?"

Humans were just so insistent on their shapes matching. Danny was never going to consider Phantom mate material if he couldn't become a dragon. Personally, Phantom didn't have a problem with it. If Danny wanted to be a dragon, so be it. Phantom would love him no matter what shape or size.

But would Danny accept Phantom? It was already hard enough convincing him to look past the ghost/human thing, how was Phantom going to convince a gorgeous, overly large and powerful dragon to give him a fair chance?

Maybe...if Phantom could get the shape right...it would take some time...and he couldn't attain the correct size immediately, but Phantom could replicate Danny's shape again--with his own coloring, of course--so that he became a dragon the size of a human. Then, if he could convince Danny to stay in the Ghost Zone, he could steadily grow until he matched Danny in size again. It would take a while...but if Danny wanted a dragon as a mate then, hell, Phantom would become a dragon.

... Oh.

Phantom floated onto his feet and glared at the prince who had stolen Danny from him. Aragon was already a dragon. He could be a humanoid ghost or a dragon at will, but there had to be a trick to it. After all, Danny had only become a dragon after being taken by Aragon. And now Aragon was a dragon, Danny was a dragon, and Phantom, who had spent two amazing years as Danny's friend with little hope of becoming more due to the whole "enemies" thing, was the one on the outside.

Phantom willed ecto-energy to his hands. "That is so not on." He floated up to Danny's draconic head and whispered, "You attack, I'll defend?" It was a strategy they had used before on difficult opponents, guarding one another's backs. Phantom was especially good at it. 

Aragon hadn't taken Danny to spite Phantom or to convince Danny to become his knight. He had taken Danny in order to make Danny his, uncaring about Danny's feelings on the matter. 

Danny growled. 

"I hope that means you agree," Phantom said. "I'm not sure how much control a human has over a ghost form like this. Can you even understand me...?"

Danny's large head swung over to Phantom and nudged against him. At first Phantom squawked, swaying, but then he braced himself against Danny's pushing and realized Danny was rubbing his cheek against him. Nuzzling? 

Phantom cancelled the ecto-energy in his hands and laid a hesitant palm against Danny's scaled hide. Even through the gloves of the jumpsuit Phantom had copied and inverted from Danny's hunter suit, he could feel the pebbled scales, the heat radiating from Danny, so much stronger and hotter than Danny's normal body heat. Phantom scratched his fingers over the scales and looked up at Danny's eye. 

There was a faint white-blue glow that hadn't been there before, an oval pupil expanding into a more familiar circle as Danny stared back at him, but it looked like Danny's eye--felt like Danny's eye. The same dusty blue iris, the same responding burn in Phantom's chest whenever he met that gaze. 

The eye half closed and Danny nudged Phantom a little harder. The growl softened into a soft rumble. Phantom grinned. He still wasn't sure if Danny understood him or not, but he seemed to recognize him at least. 

"No," Aragon hissed. Phantom and Danny swung their attention back to their enemy. Danny's growl sharpened, matched by a responding growl in Aragon. The dragon prince roared, "I will not be bested by him."

Phantom willed energy into his hands again. "Gee, Danny, what did you do to him?"

Aragon's burning red eyes shifted to him, ferocity and hatred clear in that gaze. 

"What did I do to him?" Phantom corrected, uncertain. 

Instead of answering, Danny lunged at Aragon. It was a foolish, bullheaded, very Danny-like thing of him to do, charge in without a thought like that, but Phantom sighed and flew after him. Phantom would fight as he always had, at Danny's side, following his lead. 

But hopefully this fight would end with Danny returning to his true human form. Dragon Danny was awe-inspiring to look at, but Phantom had gotten more than a little attached to the one that smiled...

[malthemagnifisent]

Plot: Leo returns to the hospital after resting for what he thought would have been long enough, after all he’s a doctor and the hospital is where he should be, so why is he still so afraid of an empty room?

Note: sorry I had to repost, I noticed a mistake and for some reason I couldn’t edit it, thanks a lot tumblr! ok I’ve never actually written a fanfic before so there is a good chance this might suck, so if it does please feel free to offer constructive criticism! I know I really need to improve, but I tried my best and what more can you do? P.S. It’s so hard to write two guys cause I say “he” or “his” way too much and I end up using names far more than I should

Tags: @aokamitahafu

Leo’s steps faltered as he exited the elevator, his eyes darted a few feet to his right and stopped on a patient room, the very same room that not too long ago he had been poisoned in, the same room he had broken down and kicked a bed when he thought he was going to die, the same room where he had cried and held onto Ethan, praying that it wouldn’t be the last human contact he would get.

He took in a faltering breath and almost turned around to flee right back into the elevator, but after a second he clenched his jaw, held his patient chart tightly against his chest and turned to walk down the hall, hoping to just get past the room as soon as possible.

A part of him understood why his chest was feeling tight and his hands were subtly shaking at his sides, but another bigger part was screaming at him that he was being stupid, that it had been weeks since he was confined in that room, shrouded with plastic and weighted down by fear.

His steps faltered right in front of the door and he peered into the room, ‘go inside’ his mind whispered, ‘you shouldn’t be so scared, it’s just a room and after all you survived, you lived, Danny and Bobby didn’t get that luxury’

He took a small step forward, his hand coming up to brush against the doorframe, that gentle touch was what did it, such a simple thing seemed to break him.

All at once he was stumbling back and hyperventilating, he couldn’t focus with the panic suddenly running through his head, screaming at him to move, because that room wasn’t safe, it wasn’t clean, it was filled with gas and oh God he couldn’t breath, that was where he had laid and cried, accepting death because it had already claimed Danny and Bobby, why wouldn’t he be next?

He didn’t even register the clattering of the chart he dropped, he didn’t fight his instincts and just turned and bolted down the hallway, racing towards the closest closet and barging inside, slamming the door behind him and immediately collapsing to the floor.

He let out a barely restrained sob, the sound tearing from his throat and filling the small room, he reached up and clapped a hand against his mouth, hoping to muffle the noise that was trying to escape.

His eyes burned as tears filled them and spilled over his cheeks, dripping down his hand and down towards the floor.

He rushed removing his hand for only a moment, to forcefully tear off his coat, the fabric suddenly feeling suffocating and the texture causing his skin to itch.

A fresh wave of panic washed over him when he realized that he was indeed itchy, that had been one of the symptoms hadn’t it? He vaguely remembered being unbearably itchy as he sat on the hospital bed, consumed by fear.

He whimpered and sat up straight, his hand coming down to scratch roughly at his neck, it was back, the itch was back and he couldn’t stop scratching.

He no longer even attempted to quiet the loud cries that were coming from his mouth, all he could focus on was the itch and the tight feeling in his lungs.

He leaned heavily against the wall and tried to breath, but all that came out was heavy wheezing and although the itch in his neck was fading he couldn’t stop scratching, his hands becoming wet from the years that still flowed down his face and now neck.

His nails dug harshly into his own skin as he cried, each breath he took seemed to burn his lungs and throat, a pain that had become so familiar.

His panic only increased when the door slid open a crack, light spilling across the floor “Leo is that you?” A slightly fearful voice asked.

It immediately clicked in Leo’s mind who was coming in, it was Ethan, but Leo knew he couldn’t, he couldn’t let Ethan come in, not if he was somehow infected again, not if he was a danger to people.

So he did what he knew was needed and reached over to slam the door back closed “don’t come in!” He tried to tell, but the hoarse feeling in his throat caused it to me more of a pathetic croak.

“What? Why? Leo what’s going on?” Ethan’s words were becoming panicked, the door handle rattling as he tried to enter the closet despite Leo’s warning.

Leo let out another broken sob and leaned heavily against the door, bracing himself against the floor to keep it closed, keeping Ethan away so he wasn’t in danger.

Because he couldn’t put Ethan at risk, he couldn’t let him be exposed to this, not when he knew what it was like, not when he was sure he was going to die.

“It’s happening again” he whimpered, “I’m sick again, I went in the room and I couldn’t breath, I have to be sick again” his voice cracked and he vaguely registered that his nails were once again scratching along the now sensitive skin of his neck “I won’t get you sick, I already got Danny and Bobby killed, I won’t let you die!” he sobbed.

Ethan’s voice left behind his frantic tone and lowered to softer concern “Leo, you’re not sick” he said, a sudden sadness leaking into his words “you're not sick, you’re just scared”

Leo shook his head and curled into himself “I am, I can’t stop itching, I can’t breath, Ethan I can’t breath!” He cried out, “those were the symptoms, I was itchy and I couldn’t breath when it happened!” He knew his voice was rising to a level that was inappropriate for a hospital, but he couldn’t seem to stop, he was scared and Ethan wasn’t leaving, he wasn’t getting help.

A moment of silence followed and for a moment Leo thought Ethan had left, gone to get help, to find someone who could quarantine Leo, he could once again wrap him in plastic and prod him with needles, but then Ethan’s voice floated through the door again and it was softer than Leo had ever heard it.

“Leo I promise that you aren’t sick, do you think I would ever lie to you about that? you’re just scared and I need you to let me in there” he said, in a gentle tone that Leo had only ever heard when they shared stolen moments alone.

Leo opened his mouth to protest, to say it wasn’t safe, that he must be sick, because if he wasn’t sick then he was just being stupid, he was just crying and hiding in a closet because he couldn’t handle walking past a room, but his words died when Ethan interrupted “if I wear a hazmat suit will you let me in?” He asked.

He paused for a moment before answering with a weak “yes” as he curled up into himself, trying to fight back even more tears, because he didn’t want Ethan to see him like this again, he didn’t want to be seen at all, but at the same time he didn’t want to be alone.

A few minutes passed before there was a gentle knock on the door “come in” he muttered weakly, scooting himself away from the door so it would open fully.

The light was briefly blocked out as Ethan entered the closet, the crinkling of plastic filling the small space, he had put on a hazmat suit and the bulky suit made more noise than Leo remembered.

Leo swallowed thickly and looked up at Ethan, his eyes burning again as more tears welled in his eyes, he quickly lifted his hand to scrub at them, hoping that Ethan wouldn’t say anything and instead would just sit with him.

His hope however was lost when Ethan felt along the wall and flicked on the closet light, something Leo had failed to do in his panicked state.

The light flared to life and Leo hissed, screwing his eyes shut and looking down, the bright light burning his eyes, which had already grown used to the dark closet.

“Leo what did you do?” Ethan’s shocked question was enough to get Leo to lift his head and stare up at him, wondering what Ethan could be referring to, was it the scattered bags that held syringes that Leo must have knocked carelessly from a shelf without noticing, was it the coat that lay a few feet away, tangled around the leg of a shelf.

But Ethan’s eyes didn’t even glance at those things, his gaze was fixed on Leo with a mild horror “let me see” he whispered, dropping to the ground beside Leo and reaching out.

Leo scotched back and shook his head “you shouldn’t touch me” he whispered, glad that he no longer needed to raise his voice to be heard “I might be sick again”

Ethan clenched his fists and suddenly reached up to yank the top from his suit, he ignored Leo’s cry of protested and just dropped the helmet to the floor “you’re not sick and even if you were I would be exposed now” he said before gesturing towards Leo’s neck “I need to clean those” he added.

Leo momentarily forgot his panic at Ethan removing his suit and blinked in confusion “what?” He asked, his hand coming up to brush over his neck, he pulled his fingers back when he felt a sudden sharp pain, he looked down and froze when he saw his hand was stained a coppery red, coated with a thin layer of his own blood.

He had been so caught up in his own panicked thoughts that he hadn’t realized when his nails had broken skin, when they had drawn blood and mixed with his tears.

A soft “oh” was all he managed to get out before the tears returned and he was curling in on himself again, silent sobs racking through his tired body.

Leo startles when a gentle touch brushed against his arm and he was being pulled against a strong chest, he felt Ethan’s fingers running something softly along his neck, whatever was being put on the scratches caused a slight burning sensation, but Leo found himself reveling in the feeling, because it wasn’t the itching from before.

He blinked as a few more tears fell from his eyes, the drops soaking into Ethan’s shirt, but he didn’t move away, he just continued to care for the injuries adorning Leo’s neck.

Leo swallowed thickly and slowly brought his arms up to wrap around Ethan’s body, holding onto him so tightly it must have been uncomfortable and yet still Ethan didn’t move or protest, he let Leo cling to him and cry against his chest even after he finished cleaning the cuts that Leo had caused himself.

They remained like that for a few minutes, neither of them speaking, Ethan with his hand resting on Leo’s back and Leo’s face resting against Ethan’s chest, his hands tangled in the back of Ethan’s short, fisting the fabric repeatedly.

After a few more moments of silence Leo opened his mouth to speak “I’m sorry” he whispered, still refusing to move his head from where it rested on Ethan’s body “I freaked out, it was so stupid and I’m sorry” he choked out.

A feeling of shame was curling around him as he spoke, his head was pounding like it always did after he cried and his neck ached, but he had to say this, he had to apologize, because he was sorry, he was sorry for crying and hiding in a closet, he was sorry that he couldn’t even walk into a room without panicking and thinking he was dying, he was sorry for so many things and he needed Ethan to know that.

But his apology was cut short when Ethan’s arms tightened around him and he was being pulled impossibly closer “Don’t apologize, please don’t apologize” he said, his lips suddenly pressed against Leo’s hair “Leo it’s ok, what you went through was traumatic, you almost-“

Ethan stopped mid sentence and shifted around in an attempt to situate Leo more comfortably “you almost died” he finished, choking out the word like it physically pained him to say.

“You’re not stupid for being scared, when you were still in the hospital recovering I got scared every time I went to check on you, scared that I would go in you’re room and you would be sick again and scared that you would die” Ethan was talking slowly, the confession coming out like he was ashamed of it.

“If I reacted that way when I went in the room, then I can’t imagine how you feel even being back in the hospital, let alone the room where it happened” he continued, all while brushing his hand softly along Leo’s back, hoping to bring some semblance of comfort to his terrified colleague.

Leo drew in a shaky breath and felt his lip tremble from another wave of oncoming tears, this time his cries were silent, muffled against Ethan’s body and quieted by Leo’s own guilt of crying.

He thought Ethan was finished talking, having offered all the comfort he could manage, but he was proven wrong when Ethan’s voice filled the small room once again “earlier when you were crying you said that you already got Danny and Bobby killed and that you wouldn’t let me die as well” he whispered, “did you mean that?”

Leo swallowed thickly and slowly nodded his head “It’s my fault, I should have figured it out sooner, if I had just realized what Travis was doing sooner, I could have stopped it”

Ethan sighed and shook his head and rocked Leo back and forth “that’s not true, if it was then I would be just as much at fault as you, I was treating the senator as well and I didn’t connect the dots to what Travis was doing” he murmured.

Leo furrowed his eyebrows and struggled to sit up straight, locking eyes with Ethan “but even after I did figure it out I was stupid-“

“No, no Leo stop, you are not to blame for anything that happened, you are a victim, nothing you could have done would have stopped Travis from doing what he did” Ethan’s words were frantic as he tried to reassure Leo.

Once again Leo felt the uncomfortable tightening in his chest and he took a long, deep breath to try and keep himself from descending into another spiral of panic “I think logically I know that, but a bigger part of me feels so responsible for what happened that I can’t stop thinking about it, I can’t get this guilt out of my head”

Ethan’s grip tightened around Leo and he leaned his head back “I hate that man for what he put you through, for what he did, I don’t know if I’ve ever hated someone as much as I despise Travis” he admitted, his fingers tangling into Leo’s soft black hair, “When I went to see him, to ask what was in the canister, I was standing over him and he was in so much pain, he begged me for more pain medication and I gave it to him, but for a moment, for a single moment I seriously considered walking away and letting him suffer”

Leo’s eyes widened a comical amount at the confession and he struggled to sit up, his face mere inches from Ethan’s “are you serious?” He asked, a look of shock painting his tear stained face.

Ethan closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Leo’s disappointed expression “I know it was unethical to even consider it, but Leo all I could think about was you and how scared you looked, how terrified you must have been just sitting in that room and wondering when you were going to die”

Leo lifted a shaky hand and placed it against Ethan’s cheek, his thumb brushing along the soft skin under Ethan’s eye “I hate him too you know, but we’re doctors Ethan, we can’t go around letting people suffer just because we don’t like them”

Ethan chuckled quietly and opened his eyes, turning his head to press a chaste kiss against Leo’s hand “I know that, but I was so angry at him that for a minute I forgot and I just wanted him to hurt”

Leo leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Ethan’s lips, savoring in the feeling of having Ethan close to him, of being held like this.

Ethan let out a quiet hum and smiled into the kiss “do you feel well enough to come out of the closet? I can drive you home” he suggested, a gentle smile adoring his face that he reserved for Leo’s eyes only.

Leo pushed himself away from Ethan and reached across the floor to grab his discarded coat “I’ll come out, but I’m not going home, it’s my first day back and I can’t just leave”

His protests were met with a thoroughly unimpressed look for Ethan “do you think I’m going to let you work after what just happened?” He asked, “no, not happening, I’m taking you home”

Leo opened his mouth to continue his futile protests, but was cut off with a sudden kiss “if you don’t want to be home alone then you can come to my place, but you are not staying here”

After a quiet moment of contemplation Leo just nodded and held out his hand for Ethan to help him up “ok, but I’m coming in tomorrow and I promise I won’t freak out”

Ethan stood up and took Leo’s hand in his own, helping the young doctor to his feet and pulling him closer to him “if you insist upon coming in tomorrow then I won’t stop you, but Leo no one will judge you if you decide to extend your break”

Leo smiled and rubbed his tired eyes “I know, but I need to get back to work soon, I can’t live in fear of the hospital my whole life”

Ethan nodded in understanding and reached out to open the still shut door of the closet “well whenever you’re ready is when you should come back, not a moment before” he told him gently.

They stood there for a moment longer before Ethan leaned down and gave Leo a last kiss, opening the door right after and ushering him out “come on let’s get going, so you want your place or mine?” He asked.

Leo smiled brightly and reached over to squeeze Ethan’s hand “your place please, your bed is bigger”

Ethan rolled his eyes, but nodded nonetheless “your wish is my command Rookie” he grinned, their steps leading them past the room that caused all this panic in the first place and into the elevator.

Leo looked at Ethan in surprise before letting out a bright laugh “you haven’t called me Rookie in months, I missed it” he said with a soft smile adoring his lips.

Ethan smiled along with him and looked down at Leo with the gentlest expression that had ever adorned his face “well I’ll have to bring it back into rotation if it makes you smile like that”

Once again Leo laughed as the doors of the elevator closed and their decent through the hospital began.

Note: alright for a first ever attempt at a fanfic I don’t think I did too bad, but like I said at the beginning feel free to offer criticism! 🥺

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Casablanca

Just a very short captivity drabble for Danny/Nate! I haven’t done much Danny stuff lately and I’ve had this kicking around in my Google Docs for a while! I wrote out the third part of the Rescue but it needs some more work, so... captivity drabble it is!

CW: Discussion of forced stitches/violence, blood, referenced/implied noncon, captivity, restrained

Tagging: @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @finder-of-rings, @whumpywhumper​ @special-spicy-chicken, @pumpkinthefangirl​

“H-hey.”

Too close, the whisper is too close. Still, Danny has learned to let even the softest noise shatter through his sleeping mind - it’s too dangerous not to wake up in time, you can’t make Abraham call you three times or that’s breaking a rule. 

He’s been drifting uneasily in and out of dreams, shifting around to try and take some pressure off his throbbing left shoulder. There are thick black threads sewn in an uneven line from above his collarbone down nearly to his bicep, surrounded by angry red skin. It's a reminder after the last defiance, the last rebellion.

Don’t worry puppy, Bram had murmured, petting into his hair and along his neck as the knife dug deeper and deeper and Danny tried so hard to be good, so Abraham would forgive him for breaking the gift he had brought back from his last supply run. 

It was the worst fucking thing Abraham had brought home to use on him so far. Danny had stared at it and thanked him for it, waited until Abraham was in the bathroom showering, and then taken it outside and smashed the fucking thing to bits with the axe.

 Abraham found him surrounded by chopped-up shreds of wires and plastic and metal and batteries, snarling at the wreckage he had made. 

Abraham hadn’t yelled. His expression had been calm. He moved without any particular speed as he came closer, the air colder with every step, and Danny had only laid the axe down next to the stump, turned, and dropped to his knees to wait for his punishment with his head held high and his eyes burning a bright and defiant blue.

It wasn't like Danny could run - where would he even go?

Abraham had told him that if he didn’t scream, he would only cut for a minute. Just sixty seconds and no longer.

So Danny kept his scream behind his teeth and let the tears blur his vision until he couldn’t see icy eyes so clearly any longer. Eventually the pain turned his world to gray and then to fog and finally to nothing at all. 

He had come back to consciousness to the sight of blood everywhere and the sound of Abraham's pure and purring delight as he got out thick black upholstery thread and a needle, Nate with shaking hands beside him as Abraham held a needle over a flame on the gas stove.

Don’t worry, sweet thing. Nate's going to make sure this scars nice and deep so you never, ever forget. Then Abraham had jammed a thumb into the wound he had made and said, softly, you can scream now, little Red.

The whole thing had been a lesson for Nate, too - he’d protested the punishment (“B-Bram, this is t-t-too much, you didn't w-warn him first, you h-h-had to know he wouldn’t w-w-want that”) and so he’d been forced to do the stitching afterward. He’d been right-handed before Abraham broke the bones so long ago, so he had to sew as best he could with his awkward left hand... after Abraham blindfolded him.

All Danny had been given for the pain was shot after shot after shot of the good whiskey Abraham kept in the cabinet and the cold of the fingers that gently petted through his hair, pressed into his jaw to force his mouth open for more. 

The whiskey wasn’t enough, but it left the world spinning around him, and eventually he’d passed out cold from that or the shock on the kitchen floor, his back stuck to the plastic of the tarp Abraham had laid him on to catch all the blood. Nate must have bargained something, because he’d been given the rest of the day on the mat to recover (and throw up, and be hungover) before he had to get up the next morning and do chores one-handed and with agony radiating out from his shoulder.

Whatever Nate had done… Abraham had given him a whole week where he barely touched him. Seven days, six nights. 

Danny chooses not to think about what Nate had to give away to earn that kind of break for him - it’s not worth it, because it’s probably the same things he gives away to earn a few days of peace for Nate.

There’s always a choice. There’s always a test, or a game. And Abraham always wins.

“Red? Wake up.”

Can’t let him call three times. Danny lets the dream - something soothing and largely formless except for the sense that he was climbing trees with his brother and he was a kid, just a kid, safe and easy - break like glass. 

He gives Ryan away again. 

He is always giving Ryan away, here, and praying that the next time won’t be the last, when Ryan is finally gone from his thoughts forever.

(you shouldn’t even dream about anyone but me)

“Please,” Danny whispers, not quite begging, without opening his eyes. “Please, please let me sleep a little more. I’m good, I’m good, let me sleep, please…” Danny curls up tighter, digging his fingernails into his own head to try and block the blow that he’s sure will follow the words. Puppies don’t get to decide, they wake up when their owners say. His scalp still aches from Abraham pulling on his hair last night when he moved too slowly, and that’s nothing compared to the bruises littering his hips and thighs. The plastic mat crinkles and shifts under him as he moves, trying to bury himself in the thin blankets, so that only a bit of wavy red even shows.

That makes his shoulder hurt again, and he hisses softly, wishing fewer parts of him ached all the time. He can’t remember the last time he moved without pain.

If I don’t open my eyes, it won’t keep happening, it won’t be real

A hand touches his shoulder, hesitantly, and he holds himself very, very still for it. He’s good, he doesn’t flinch or pull away. He’s so, so good. But then he thinks… Abraham never hesitates. His hand starts to relax away from his scalp, pulling back, and he cracks open eyes that feel nearly glued together to stare up between his fingers. 

“Hey, Red,” Nate says softly. The older man is still rumpled from sleep, too - he’s thrown on a sweater but it’s inside out and Danny can see the seams running down along the outside of his shoulders and arms. He’s wearing the thick warm flannel pants he’s allowed to wear, and Danny breathes out, jealous of how warm he must be.

His own fingertips, toes, the end of his nose - it all feels like ice.

“Wh… why’d you wake me up?” Danny asks, pulling his hand the rest of the way away, carefully rolling to push himself up using his right arm, holding his left close to his chest so his shoulder won’t move any more than it has to. “It’s…” His eyes go to the window, the pure and perfect darkness outside. It was cloudy all day, there isn’t even any starlight or moonlight to see by now. They might as well live in a tiny little pinpoint of light in a void. “Looks like the middle of the night.”

“I think it is, ah-... actually. You w-were making sounds in your sl, sleep. I didn’t want you to w-w-wake Bram up.” Nate glances back over his shoulder at the closed bedroom door. Danny’s eyes follow his and he shudders.

It’s freezing cold out here, like always, but he hadn’t tried to barter for the bed tonight. He… he couldn’t. Not tonight, not after earlier.

He’d rather be cold tonight.

“Thanks, thank you for that,” Danny says softly, with real feeling. He’s woken Abraham up before - and his reactions tended to range from irritated to furious depending on how much sleep he’d gotten beforehand. He sits up the rest of the way, getting his bare feet under him, feeling the chain attached to his ankle shift a little. 

It doesn’t quite make enough noise to matter. Danny’s an expert at maneuvering without the chain scraping by now. When Nate stands and offers him a hand, he takes it, pulling himself to his feet. Nate’s hand is warm, and dry - he’s never cold, not even in the middle of the night in winter.

“Your hair l-l-looks ridiculous,” Nate says, voice and flash of smile both soft as feathers in Danny’s mind. Nate reaches out, casual as anything, to ruffle Danny’s hair, smashed down on one side and sticking straight up on the other. He smooths it down, and Danny shivers a little at the way it feels so much different when Nate touches him.

He lets him do it for just a few seconds longer than absolutely necessary, and then Danny swats him away as best he can, rolling his eyes. They both pretend Danny’s face isn’t flushed a little red, burying some of the freckles and scars under the rush of blood. “Like yours looks any better, you jerk.”

Perfectly normal conversation between two perfectly normal men - as though one of them weren’t chained to the wall and the other hadn’t just spent the past several hours sleeping with and then next to the person who locked them up here in the first place. 

“No,” Nate says thinking, his eyes drifting back to the mop of wavy red - long, since it was towards the end of winter, and Abraham liked his hair longer when it was cold, so he could twist it around his fingers and pull on it. It fell past his ears, curling at the ends, and Nate reached back up to twist one wave into a curl. “Y-yours definitely looks beh… better.”

Danny became suddenly deeply and entirely aware of every inch of his own skin, and of the slight pull of his hair when Nate stretched the curl out straight. And very aware of Nate’s deep green eyes, the focus and consideration in them, the way they looked over Danny’s face without even batting an eye at how thoroughly the muzzle had ruined it.

If we weren’t here, if I wasn’t this… I think I would want you, anyway.

Danny never says the words, but he thinks them more and more, and he worries endlessly that Abraham knows he is thinking the words, knows but for some reason lets them rest in Danny, doesn’t beat or cut or burn them out of him.

Abraham knowing something like that and not hurting him over it more terrifying than any pain he could cause because of it… because it means either he’ll wait to use it against him in some new way he can’t predict, or… or it means feeling like this is something Abraham wants. That even Danny’s smallest, most private defiance is just part of Abraham’s plan.

“Did you want to watch a movie?” Danny asks, ignoring the pulsing ache in his shoulder, simply pushing it to the side of his brain where he puts all the pain when Abraham isn’t actively causing it. 

Nate smiles at him, pulling at the little scar on the corner of his mouth, and Danny fights the urge to lean down and kiss it, just there at the corner where it makes his smiles seem a little one-sided. “Y-Yeah. D’you w-w-want to have m, movie night? I want to l-look at your, um, your cut and put something it, so it d-d-doesn’t get infected. C-Casablanca?”

“You always want to watch Casablanca.”

“Of c-c-course I do.” Nate almost laughs, and just catches himself, looking nervously back at the closed bedroom door. “You s-say all the words.”

“So?”

“So...” Nate looks back at him, and for a second Danny doesn’t feel the chain on his ankle at all. “I like when you s-s-say all the w-words.”

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Jazz was struggling to process the weird things going on in her life. While she was far more interested in psychology than parapsychology, she /did/ offer a ghost a bit of therapy now and then and he seemed to be doing better for it. That was all the ghostly interaction she really needed. the giant hornet in school apparently disagrees with her on that. It truly amazed Jazz what the mind could conjure up during stressful events. For instance, it occurred to her right this very second how odd it had been to cool even slightly down from the argument days before over ghosts with her parents only for the ghost of the infamous Sydney Poindexter to show up in the library seeking comfort and a safe person to vent to. The topic of Sydney’s guilt had been hard to stay objective about, but between his clear and honest regret, his admitted decades of hell in a replica of Casper in the Infinite Realms (and wow, she shouldn’t be surprised that ghosts had a name for the world they manifest in but there she was) and the fact that Danny had befriended him led her to feel Sydney was, while not at all justified in what he’d done, not as bad a person as he’d been making himself out to be. When she asked questions he responded much more clearly than when he spoke unprompted, she’d noted, and so she’d asked right away if there was even one person he could remember who didn’t hurt him. The green and sepia bleeding into his form nearly vanished as his older brother, his little sister, and the school nurse came to mind. His brother hardly cared about the things that he was being bullied over, doing his best to keep Sydney looking toward the future and making amazing things to lift his spirits. Apparently, he was a genius like Tucker and Danny, a compliment that made Jazz smile at the time. His little sister didn’t know enough to really understand it all but she was unerringly sweet and a source of sunshine that he never ever mentioned at school. The nurse, however, had been the brightest of those three lights in the dark for him, as the nurse wasn’t family and had no pre-established reason to be nice to and patch up the gross, nerdy queer kid that everyone else had shown nothing but contempt for. She did it anyway though, and he’d aspired to be a nurse like her one day. This aspiration led to more bullying, of course, but Jazz suggested he try learning how to heal people up the same way that nurse had him, and a look of realization and hope crossed his face before he hugged her, waved, and flew off. That had been a very good ghostly encounter. The giant hornet casting a sinister green glow over the hallways as a long, slimy black tongue curled around her entire skull and sharp mandibles the size of said skull extended to their most open was distinctly not. Jazz would never look at bugs the same way again. Before she could even manage to get a scream out of her though, the whining charge of one of her parents’ weapons filled her ears and the hornet jerked back with a sound that could’ve been pain, could’ve been fury, and mixed the kind of clicking hissing one expects from a bug with a very human voice. There was a burn mark on its center dripping ectoplasm that smelled awful , and it turned big black eyes to the same ghost boy she’d seen before. But now Jazz knew he was dangerous because that was a Fenton Plasma Rifle in his hands and his eyes were torches, hair flicking between cloudy wisps and crackling flames. “ Did someone call for an exterminator? “ “Oh, you think you’re funny!” The fucking hornet said, starling Jazz into motion - backing away slowly so as to not draw its attention. It flew like a blur at the boy, stinger cutting a gash in his suit and up his arm that leaked a thick green fluid and the rest of it’s lower half crashed into him with enough force to slam the boy into a few lockers with a bang. “Swat this , big boy.” “ Buzz off ,” the boy growled and the lights flared up brighter around them. He swung the rifle at the bug and the green ectoplasm shone a blinding white as it fired, burning a hole straight through the hornet and drilling it through the wall between the school and its yard. The boy flew after it and Jazz took a deep breath. There were ghosts fighting in her school, one with her parents’ weaponry. That one had saved her though and Jazz also had Fenton weaponry on her. She rushed outside to help, determined to keep her savior from being skewered by a hornet. Jazz poked her head out from the hole that the boy had made and froze. He was smacked out of the air by one of the long hairy legs of the hornet and into a tree and his head cracked loudly against bark. As he slid down his body was enveloped in light that retreated inward to his center and left behind Black hair, tan skin, a nyan cat hoodie- “Danny?” Her whisper went unnoticed in the face of a green ray piercing the hornet’s left wing. Bleeding ectoplasm in three places, it curled in on itself into a mass of green goop that dove into the ground and everything was still. Danny looked around with bright green eyes as he clutched his head, before growling and punching the tree. He stood up slowly, closed his eyes and grew difficult to look at, to even see as the light within a foot of him grew intense like a halo. He let out a breath and slumped against Tucker when the other boy made it to him, checking him over. Jazz stepped back away from the hole and took deep, shaky breaths. My brother is a ghost. That thought played over and over in her head even as a teacher gently guided her to her feet (when had she sat down among the debris?) and to the nurse’s office. It was only when Danny appeared in the nurse’s office, wrapping her up tight in a hug and rambling a mile a minute to ask if she was ok in every way he possibly could that her brain shifted focus even slightly. “Well, I didn’t get stung. Just licked by a dad sized hornet and saved by a ghostly teenager.” She hugged Danny back just as tightly, and tears began to flow as his argument to their parents before he blacked out in the hospital bed came back to mind. If the portal accident had killed me, would you have comforted your child or attacked the ghost in your lab? Danny’s arms went slack for a moment but Jazz clung tight to him. “I just. I just need a moment. Please?” Instead of pulling away and cracking jokes about gross sibling feelings her blessed baby brother hugged her back again and nodded into her neck. “Of course, Jazz.” “I swear to every star that listens,” Danny said behind his bedroom door where Jazz really shouldn’t be listening in. “Next I see of that smart-mouthed, rancid piece of protoplasmic filth I’m going to turn him into a smear and burn him.” That certainly sounded more like Dad than Danny. “At least save me a little bit to beat up,” Sam’s voice called through the speakers of his newly upgraded laptop. “I just commissioned your Mom for a ghost fighting melee weapon and Sydney’s healing me up pretty fast.” So Sydney knew about all of this. “There’ll be some of Spectra left to beat up with that once the Peeler has finished its work.” What?! “Probably. Maybe. It’s made to weaken the target not kill them.” The scoff she heard was definitely Tucker and definitely in the room. “Yeah, you’ll leave a scrap of shadow that none of us can distinguish from our own shadows, that’s something Sam can beat up.” Shadows? “I think the ectoplasm is enhancing your emotional response.” “You’re right Tuck, if someone threatened Jazz’s life normally I wouldn’t try to shoot them into a pile of goo. I’d only beat them up with the gun.” Jazz would normally admonish such a violent reaction, and aloud she might if she was in there and not eavesdropping. But truly, if someone hurt Danny they’d find out what a 1st degree blackbelt can do to them. “I think Sam will be good to go either tomorrow or the day after.” Sydney’s voice crackled over the speakers like static. “I think your healing powers mesh better with living beings than mine can since you’re halfa human.” Danny sighed and Jazz moved back into her room, sitting down to process. She pulled out her notebook and set it on her desk, mechanical pencil already in hand. “Organize all my thoughts and maybe it’ll make sense. What information do I have?” Danny was in an accident involving the ghost portal and it changed him. Danny was vehemently against their parents’ anti ghost genocide plan The ghost boy she’d seen at school the other day was clearly the one that had attacked the hornet thing when it attacked her Danny had all the access to the Fenton Armory as she did with their porta pockets, which was effectively full access. Danny was too smart to give any unknown entity their only model of plasma rifle Danny had directed Sydney Poindexter of all people to her Sydney knew Danny on a personal level that he wasn’t willing to fully disclose to her. Sydney had called Danny half-human and Danny hadn’t corrected him, nor had Tucker nor Sam. Jazz saw the mystery ghost boy transform in a flash of light into her brother, who proceeded to hug her and act much the same he had since the portal accident. Her conclusion? Danny had died in the portal when it turned on, and now he was a ghost, fighting off ghost robots and giant bugs with their parents’ weaponry. Sam and Tucker knew about it, and he had befriended at least one ghost. This was, of course, the most ridiculous thought to cross Jasmine Dana Fenton’s mind in her entire life. But then, her parents had opened a portal to the afterlife and she’d just been attacked by a giant glowing green hornet. “Ok, Danny is a ghost. He didn’t tell me that, but for obvious reasons,” she muttered to herself. “That must be what he was going to tell Mom and Dad before and now he doesn’t have the courage to try again. Oh god Danny died. ” Jazz picked up Bearbert Einstein and hugged him close, deciding right then that she was going to hug Danny a lot more from now on. Just to make sure he was still there. That was a silly thought, but she needed to be sure.

[ladylynse]

Part 7 [FF | AO3] of Whirlwind: Jake should be used to ominous predictions by now. Randy should know better than to blindly follow McFist. Adrien should think twice before sneaking away. And Danny should’ve expected something like this when he got that phone call. (Secret Quartet crossover)

(previous | timeline post)

-|-

6:48 PM

Susan leaned against the rough brick of the building behind her, trying and failing to stop trembling.

She could still hear his voice in her head, screaming at her, commanding her, and she wasn’t convinced everything was imagined.

This all felt real enough, now that she was back on the ground, but while she’d been in the air….

She sucked in another deep breath and held it, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart. It was hard to hear anything above the blood pounding in her ears except the phantom voice in her head. She was on the ground again, she was herself again, but she wasn’t…. She couldn’t….

Susan pried the fingers of her right hand off her necklace. She’d been clutching it so tightly that angry red lines were carved into her palm. Part of her wanted to throw the necklace away and see if that broke his hold over her, but she couldn’t make her hands move, not even to simply touch the clasp.

What had she done?

She’d been angry. She’d been foolish. And now…. Now, she might endanger her family. That was the deal she’d made. She hadn’t…. She hadn’t been thinking. She knew better than to dabble in magic like this. There was no fix for the way she was, the fact that she didn’t have the powers that the rest of her family did, but—

But for a moment, when she’d realized it could be given to her, she’d wanted it more than anything else.

She should have never agreed.

How could she have agreed when her own son was the American Dragon? He was undeniably one of the heroes of the NYC. She couldn’t just ignore that fact. She couldn’t talk her way around it, like she had with Danny Phantom and the new Ninja hero. And she didn’t need to know who Chat Noir was to know that she shouldn’t have agreed to steal anything from him, either. It was easy to see all of that now, but in the moment when he’d asked her—

It hadn’t seemed like refusal would be a better option. It hadn’t seemed like an option at all. There had only been agreement. That she’d been able to argue as much as she had, to use his magic to unleash her birthright, her bloodright, when it should have remained forever locked away—

It shouldn’t have been something to consider.

She’d come to terms with being powerless.

She was happy.

So why had she—?

Susan reached up and fisted the hair on top of her head, trying to silence the last vestiges of Hawk Moth’s voice. She could still feel his anger—at her, at Chat Noir, at Phantom and the Ninja. He didn’t know about Jake yet, but subtle was one thing her son was not. The American Dragon would be here soon enough, ready to fight her, as he should. It was his duty to protect the magical creatures of this country, to keep their secret—

“What have I done?” Susan whispered. She knew how prestigious this event had been. She knew there would be cameras, that everything that had happened would be plastered on the evening’s news and the morning paper unless they could find a way to contain it. This wouldn’t be one voice that was easily dismissed, no seemingly wild claim made by a man who had cried wolf before.

She’d offered Rotwood the proof he so dearly wanted that dragons were very much real, and Phantom being back in the city would merely give him another opportunity to prove the existence of ghosts.

She had to get away. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here. That would put Jake in danger. That would put all of them in danger.

Distance might break the bond she’d forged with Hawk Moth. She had to try. She had to…to….

Her feet wouldn’t move.

They wouldn’t be fast enough, anyway. She wanted to fly, to feel the wind beneath her wings again, to feel what she’d been missing out on for so long, to keep putting all those lessons from childhood into practice, all those long hours of helping Jake and Haley and—

“No,” moaned Susan, closing her eyes and sliding down the wall so that she could curl into a ball. No one was around, no one had been there to see her change back, but it felt like the eyes of the world were on her. Staring. Demanding. Trying to call Dracona back out.

She couldn’t fight off Hawk Moth forever.

It was easier when she was like this, when she wasn’t transformed. It was…quieter. But she was still tied to him. She could almost feel the strings that bound her to him, the way he was ready to have her dance like a marionette, and she didn’t know how to cut herself free.

Susan wanted to scream, but all that came out was a sob.

-|-

6:59 PM

Adrien wasn’t having much luck. Well, no one had recognized him and started to gush over Adrien Agreste, which was a plus, but the Gabriel brand wasn’t as well known over here, and he kept his hood up. He was more likely to be spotted by Nathalie or the Gorilla than by a random fan. The fact that he wasn’t—so far, at least—was lucky.

The fact that he couldn’t hear anything definitive about the dragon was not.

As far as he could tell, it had soared overhead, rounded a corner, and never come back. Adrien had made his way towards that corner—it was the same building where he’d last seen the dragon—but while some people seemed to be waiting expectantly for the dragon to come back, most thought the show was over.

Because that’s all people thought this was.

A show.

Evidently, news of the regular attacks in Paris had not reached the media here—at least not in a form that anyone believed.

Adrien stayed well away from any authority figures, not wanting to give anyone reason to look at him twice. If the dragon came back, or if anything else interesting came up, he’d know soon enough. Most shouts might not be coherent above the general babble of the crowd, but he knew how word could spread.

Eventually, reluctant though he was to leave the relative safety of the crowds, he widened his search. While some people were still coming and crowding as close to the police tape as they could, others were trickling away. He trailed behind some people leaving who had only ever been curious bystanders, judging by their casual dress, and tried to look for the dragon without making it obvious that he was looking for anything.

“Stop,” Plagg finally whispered into his ear, catching something Adrien could not. “I can feel something.”

Adrien couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but he stepped off to the side and pulled out his phone. He held it up to his ear and said, “There’s nothing here.”

“You just don’t know what you’re looking for.”

He was looking for signs of a dragon, and those were conspicuously absent. No claw marks in the pavement, no one screaming or even running away from something, no glint of light off a fallen scale…. Not that he’d necessarily see anything on that front. It was dusk. Sooner rather than later, the streetlights would flick on, regardless of the light pollution that gave the clouds above a soft orangey glow.

Adrien was better off paying attention to Plagg’s nose—or whatever sense the kwami was using—than to his eyes.

“There’s someone here,” Plagg continued. “Nearby. And someone else, too, from that shop. Maybe a few of them. Higher up, maybe. It’s hard to tell. They’re farther away.” There was a pause. “There’s also a pizza place down the street, if you could get me some cheese—”

“I promise I’ll go back to the hotel after this,” Adrien interrupted. Though he wouldn’t mind getting something to eat, he doubted he had enough money on him for a slice of pizza. “Then we can both eat supper. Nathalie will have arranged something for me.”

He didn’t add that Nathalie must have noticed he was gone by now. His father wouldn’t have, being busy as he was, but Nathalie and the Gorilla—

Someone knocked into him, mumbled sorry, and kept walking. With Plagg’s claws suddenly digging into his neck, Adrien turned to get a better look at the retreating woman. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to recognize her as she’d walked by, but she wasn’t wearing a coat despite the rapidly cooling air, and he recognized her uniform. “She’s from the catering company.”

He expected Plagg to ask him to follow her to try to get some cheese. Instead, Plagg hissed, “Be careful.”

“But she’s from the catering company.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket, paused just long enough to confirm that the woman had walked out of a now-empty alley, and started to tail her.

“That’s no reason to follow her.”

It was…odd of Plagg to point that out. Plagg took more risks than Adrien would ever dare, and this was hardly foolhardy. If she happened to notice him, he could let her know who he was and ask after her well-being, pretend that he wanted—

“Stop it,” Plagg tried again, and Adrien hissed through his teeth as Plagg dug in his claws again. “You shouldn’t— Stop. This is a bad idea. We shouldn’t get mixed up in this.”

“We’re already mixed up in this,” Adrien murmured, “whether you like it or not. Hawk Moth is—”

“This isn’t just about Hawk Moth! That woman…. She’s…she’s with the dragons. And the others are close. I know they are. I can feel them. They aren’t…. Adrien, let her go.”

Adrien sighed, stopped to lean against a lamppost, and pulled out his phone just as the woman glanced over her shoulder at him. He kept his head down and she turned away, but he still couldn’t remember seeing her.

And she didn’t look remotely dragon-ish.

“The thing about dragons,” Plagg continued quietly, thankfully retracting his claws now that Adrien had stopped, “is that you can’t ordinarily pick them out of a crowd.”

“Plagg, they’re dragons.”

“And the thing that dragons don’t want humans to know is that they can also look like ordinary people.”

“What?”

“I don’t…. I didn’t want to get you into trouble by telling you this, but you need to know. I think that woman is a dragon. Something…something about her makes my fur stand up. And her allies are going to look just as human.”

“Wait, so those people in that electronics shop…?”

“I’d bet my last wheel of camembert on it.”

Perfect. Another thing Plagg didn’t do lightly. “So the dragon we saw might not even be an akuma. This might not be Hawk Moth after all. The Critic’s akuma—”

“I don’t know. The dragons…. They wouldn’t want this to happen. It’s too public. Something’s wrong. And, no, I don’t know how the Ninja fits into it.”

“What about the phantom?”

“I’m a good guy, I swear.”

Adrien jumped away from the voice, ducking as he did so, but even once he’d found his feet again and looked up and around, he couldn’t see anything. Plagg fell silent, though Adrien could still feel his claws digging into his neck. How had Phantom found him? How could he have known to come back here? To even look here, blocks from where he’d snatched Adrien away the first time?

And how had he managed to find Adrien, be so confident that he had found him, to talk to him when he wasn’t transformed?

It wasn’t comforting to know that Plagg couldn’t give him advance warning, either. Adrien doubted he’d have kept silent if he’d sensed Phantom’s presence. Plagg had said they all smelled different—or felt different, whatever he really meant, since Adrien wasn’t sure—but what if Phantom’s different had only ever been an absence? An absence Plagg couldn’t notice unless he was looking for it?

“Look, I’m sorry, really. Please don’t run or scream or anything.”

The voice was still coming from the direction of the lamppost, near where Adrien had been standing seconds before, and there was still no one in sight.

Phantom’s a ghost, Plagg had said. And Adrien knew Phantom could become invisible—that’s how he’d gotten the jump on him in the first place—but it was still unnerving. At least when he and Ladybug had fought Vanisher, she couldn’t fly or move through solid objects.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I swear.”

“I can’t even see you,” Adrien said quietly, “so why should I trust a word you say to me now?” He would’ve liked to feign ignorance, to pretend he had no idea what Phantom was talking about, but it was far too late for that. He’d reacted, getting ready to fight instead of just run, and he had no idea how long Phantom had been there, listening to him and Plagg, before deciding to jump in and join the conversation.

“I don’t expect you to trust me right away.” The voice was closer to him now. Quieter. “I just…. I don’t know where the cameras are here. I don’t want to be the one to give the rest of the world undeniable proof that ghosts exist, since my friend says no one believes the stories that come out of my hometown and he’d like to keep it that way. That’s why I’m staying invisible. Unless you want to duck into the alley, and then I can crouch behind the dumpster or something.”

Like he was going to let Phantom lure him into the alley—especially if Plagg was right about the lady from before being a dragon.

“C’mon, Chat Noir,” Phantom said, dropping his voice so much that Adrien could barely hear it above the traffic, “just hear me out, please. I screwed up. I’m sorry. I…. I shouldn’t have attacked you. My friend, he, um, knows about your ring, and what it lets you do. He panicked when he saw you. He’d gotten this prophecy from a couple of oracles and…. It’s a long story. Just, we messed up. We need to fix this. And we need your help. The Ninja says you seem to know what’s going on when it comes to these butterflies.”

“You know the Ninja?”

“Um. Kinda. Not well. We’ve only just met. I’m not from here. Neither is he, so he doesn’t know my friend, either.”

Adrien didn’t need Plagg to stick a single warning claw into his neck to know that he had to watch what he asked and how he asked it. “Who is your friend?” He already knew the answer. Plagg already knew the answer. But they needed to know what Phantom was going to tell them.

“He’s the American Dragon. Not, uh, the dragon that’s been terrorizing people, I promise. He wants to stop that. We both do. We’re just not sure how. The Ninja…. He said he saw what happened. The butterfly that caused her to change into a dragon.”

“He knows where the akuma’s hiding.” That was a relief. It would save Adrien precious time if he didn’t have to search for it and risk guessing incorrectly. It might still take him long enough to get it, of course, but—

“That’s what you call them? Akumas?”

“That’s how Hawk Moth changes people.” Even if Phantom wasn’t on his side, telling him that much wouldn’t put Adrien in any more danger than he was already. Whether or not Phantom was working with Hawk Moth and pretending otherwise, he already knew Adrien’s identity, and that was the more pressing issue. He already knew Adrien’s Miraculous was his ring, too. If he decided to steal it, Adrien wasn’t sure he could stop him.

“Will you help us stop him? Please? Call a truce for now, even if you don’t trust us more than you have to?”

He wanted to say no. He wanted to throw Phantom’s apology back in his face, to say that it wasn’t that simple to come back from practically trying to kill someone.

But he’d rather have Phantom as an ally than as an enemy, and it sounded like the Ninja was willing to work with him. Not that Adrien really knew the Ninja well enough to be trusting his judgement like this, but Ladybug wasn’t here, and Adrien could use the help.

Besides, from what Adrien now knew, Hawk Moth likely had recalled the Critic’s akuma and transferred its power to this one. Adrien wasn’t wholly sure if Hawk Moth could have a dormant akuma and an active one at the same time—Ladybug had never let another akuma go free without cleansing it—but he doubted the akuma would be as powerful as this one seemed to be if Hawk Moth was capable of that.

“I want to meet your friends before I agree to anything,” Adrien said, and Plagg let out a loud sigh.

“Then I want some camembert first. I’m hungry.”

Adrien didn’t need to see Phantom to guess his reaction; he wouldn’t have heard Plagg speak before unless he had been listening in on the conversation for a while. Adrien fixed a small smile on his face, though it was arguably more of a smirk than something suitably apologetic. “Yes, I should get some camembert for Plagg first.”

“That’s your…cat, right?”

“One of my best friends.” Adrien wasn’t about to explain what a kwami was to a ghost, especially one he didn’t completely trust.

“Right. Okay. Um. If you’ll let me, I’ll help you get it. I can make you invisible and intangible, too, as long as I’m touching you. That’ll probably be faster, especially with these crowds. We can even fly to wherever it is and then catch up with the Am Drag and the Ninja.”

Adrien frowned. “So in other words, trust you completely?”

“Oh. Right.” There was a pause, and then he felt an invisible hand pressing something into his own. “This is a Fenton Phone. It’ll let us communicate. Please actually wear it and, um, try not to break it. Then, when you’ve fed your cat, we can meet up and figure this out. Please?”

“I’ll call you when I’m ready,” Adrien said, curling his fingers around the strange earpiece. “If you want me to trust you, then you can trust me to do that and not try to follow me. Deal?”

“Deal,” Phantom agreed, but he didn’t sound happy about it. That was fine; Adrien didn’t particularly care if he was happy about it. He cared that Phantom didn’t learn more about him than he already had until he was ready to reciprocate.

Of course, Adrien wouldn’t know right away if Phantom stuck to their deal, not if Plagg couldn’t necessarily tell him, but he had to take risks if he was going to beat Hawk Moth this time, and this was a small enough place to start.

-|-

7:05 PM

“Yeah, that’s her,” Randy said as he passed Jake’s cell phone back to him. “That’s even the necklace she was wearing.”

Great.

Jake would’ve liked, just this once, for this all to be a big misunderstanding. For the new dragon to be someone else, as opposed to someone who knew everything about real dragons and therefore had more knowledge about how they flew than anyone who didn’t have a job or hobby related to flight. (Before he’d ever met Rotwood, he might’ve worried about people who actually believed in dragons, but he was fairly sure that no one who believed in dragons knew anything about them, at least not if they were reading the same books as Rotwood. He had far more reason to worry about ornithologists or biologists with niche interests or someone who otherwise devoted a lot of time to studying flying dinosaurs and the like.)

At least meeting up with Randy hadn’t been any trouble. He could look on the bright side, right? Just because that was the only bright side, didn’t mean he should ignore it entirely.

“I need to warn the others.” He didn’t know how he was going to break this news. His mom knew how important maintaining secrecy was for the magical world. He didn’t know what would have made her flaunt the existence of magic—the existence of dragons—so flagrantly. When she didn’t even want to tell his dad….

“Need help? If you show me more pictures, I can help you look for them in the crowd.”

Jake shook his head. “Nah, I can just phone Fu, and he’ll pass it on. Just….”

“It’s hard?” Randy guessed. Jake blinked, and Randy nodded. “Yeah, I know what it’s like to have someone you care about be stanked. It sucks.”

Jake frowned. He wasn’t sure what exactly stanked was, but— “That’s not what this is.”

“It’s pretty close. Except the dragon lady hasn’t tried to cause chaos, which is a point in your mom’s favour.”

Right. There was that, too. Chat Noir might not be the bad guy Jake had thought he was, but it was hard to misinterpret beware of the butterflies. And while exposure of the magical world, of the existence of dragons, was bad, it was not as bad as it arguably could be. There wasn’t mass panic and people getting hurt in the rush to get away. More reporters weren’t arriving by the minute to report on this story. No one—that he’d heard, at least—was doing what Rotwood would’ve done and loudly proclaimed that they had all seen a real, live dragon.

That was…odd.

Particularly for something that had warranted a prophecy from the twins and which apparently required outside help.

And, clearly, telling more people the truth about dragons.

At least Randy had taken it well. And he had some magical artefacts on him that he was clearly supposed to have. Jake was sure that would help his case when all of this was over and he got another earful from Gramps. He was definitely going to need to check out Norrisville in the future, though.

“Just…gimme a minute, okay?” Randy nodded, so Jake flipped his phone back open and dialled Fu’s number as he walked a short distance away. It didn’t really matter—there were too many people around for this conversation to be private—but pretending gave some semblance of comfort right now. The upside was, no one else who overheard it would understand enough for it to be dangerous.

“What’s going on, kid?”

“It’s Mom.” Jake didn’t know how to sugarcoat it. He didn’t know if he should. “The…the dragon on the news.”

He expected anything from denial to a joke to a demand for clarification, but he got silence instead.

“You still there?”

“Hold on a sec.” There was shuffling and static, the indistinct murmur of Fu’s voice, a roar of wind, and then, “We’ve got you on speaker. You wanna repeat that?”

“It’s Mom,” he said again. He knew Haley would have met up with the others by now, and he could imagine her reaction more easily than G’s; she’d be all wide eyes and slightly open-mouthed, might even gasp in denial, but Gramps wouldn’t react so openly. He’d go still, pressing his lips together and thinking hard before parting them.

“The magic skipped her generation,” Haley whispered. Jake could barely hear her. He might not have made it out if he hadn’t known she might say that. At least her saying it at all meant they were hunkered down safely on their end. They could speak more freely than he could.

“I know, but…. I got confirmation, okay? My…friend. Randy. He saw the whole thing. It was a butterfly.”

Silence on the other end of the line again. He wondered if he could have prevented this if he’d been able to be more specific when he’d talked to her earlier. If he’d had a chance to properly warn her, to tell her about Sara’s prophecy and the butterflies and not just about Chat Noir, would she still have been targeted? Had she even been targeted, or was it just random chance that she’d—?

Random would be better.

A target meant this Hawk Moth person Randy had told him about knew she was special. Knew about her connections to the dragons and to magic, if not that she’d been born into the magical world. Of course, even if Hawk Moth hadn’t known all that, there was no guarantee they still didn’t know all that, and—

“How do we stop her?”

“We need her necklace. That’s where it landed. But we’ll need to find her first. I don’t know where she is. I haven’t seen her, and the dragon’s gone.”

“I’ll call my contacts,” Fu said, “and put out the word to avoid this stretch of town.”

“Tell them to avoid Mom, too. Just in case. I…. She might not be thinking clearly.” If she was thinking clearly, she wouldn’t have done any of this. “Trixie and Spud are going to try to stop Rotwood, but he was coming here, too, and….” And did that really matter now? Now that there was footage from multiple news stations showing a dragon? The fact that some people thought it was a planned stunt was great, but not everyone was going to buy that. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You must continue to be cautious, young dragon,” Gramps said. “Haley and Fu will meet with you and your friends. I will continue to search for Susan on my own. Let me know whatever else you are able to discover immediately.”

“You trust your new friends, kid?” Fu asked.

“I….” They hadn’t questioned the fact that he’d mentioned Randy and not Danny, but clearly they hadn’t missed it. “Yeah. Randy’s cool. It’ll be fine. It’s just….” There were too many people around for Fu to talk freely if he came here. “You should stay with Gramps. All of you. It’s too crowded here.”

“I’m not staying behind,” Haley said immediately. “I can help. Let me help. No one’s going to suspect me! I’m too cute and innocent-looking.” There was a slight pause, but before he could spit out a denial, she added, “Please. This is Mom. I…I need to do this, Jake.”

How was he supposed to refuse her that?

“Fine.” He was going to regret this. He could regret it later. “Meet me at—” Jake broke off and looked around. Which was the least crowded place nearby? He gave her the street corner and then added, “But you should really stay with G, Fu. You’re gonna be a lot more help to us if you can be yourself.” Fu’s sense of smell wasn’t great, whatever he pretended, and having to act like a dog all night would be torturous for him. “Please?”

“Copy that. I’ll run interference and do what I can behind the scenes. But if you need anything, you call, capiche? I’ve been working on my bark. You don’t need to bench me for that.”

“Thanks, Fu. You guys take care of yourselves. Gramps—”

“You are the American Dragon, young one. I will not always question your judgement.”

Right. He’d just question it most of the time. Namely, whenever he assumed Jake was making the wrong call. “One more thing. The kid who came into the shop today? With the ring? He’s called Chat Noir. And he’s not working with this Hawk Moth person. The one with the butterflies. He’s on our side. Or he will be, if we can convince him we’re really supposed to be on his. I haven’t talked to him yet, but I trust that my friends made the right call on this. So if you see him, help out, okay? We were wrong. He’s not the bad guy.”

Jake heard some low muttering in Chinese that would have been a lot worse if Gramps hadn’t just said that he wasn’t always going to question Jake’s judgement.

“And this probably doesn’t matter too much considering the circumstances, but Danny kinda told Randy our family secret.”

Now there was yelling.

More consequences to deal with later.

“Yo, I’ve gotta split. I’ll see you when you get here, Haley!” He flipped his phone closed, silencing the thundering curses in a language he still barely understood. He tapped the Fenton Phone Randy had given him earlier as he walked back towards Randy and said, “Hey, Phantom, you got anything?”

“I found our cat friend. Gave him a Fenton Phone. Not sure if he’s wearing yet. He’ll call us when he’s ready to meet up.” There was a pause. “I promised not to follow him.”

“So you’re following him?”

“I thought about it,” Danny admitted, “but we need him, so no. Trust is a two-way street, and we really need to earn it.”

“Good call. I checked in with the others. Haley’s gonna join us. Haven’t heard from Trixie or Spud yet, so they’re probably still busy with Rotwood.”

“Think they’ll need help?”

“They’ll shout if they do. Until then, we’ve got bigger fish to fry. You heading back now or still scouting?”

“I’ll keep searching till we hear from Chat Noir.”

“Just be careful, Phantom. We don’t know what else this Hawk Moth has up their sleeve.”

Danny said something—acknowledgement or agreement—before signing off, and Jake reached Randy again and filled him in. He knew he was lucky to have friends helping with him with this. He knew he was lucky, even if it didn’t really seem like it right now, that Sara had given him the warnings she could. He knew he was very lucky that Chat Noir was even considering helping them after what they’d done.

But even if they found his mom and figured out a way to help her, even if Randy and Chat Noir swore not to say anything about the truth about dragons, he didn’t know how to fix the very obvious exposure of the magical world to everyone else. Even if people didn’t believe it right away, when it came out that this wasn’t a stunt…. They couldn’t just mindwipe the entire crowd and destroy everyone’s footage. There wasn’t an easy way to fix this.

He wasn’t even sure if it was something that could be fixed.

Protecting the magical world was one of the main things he was supposed to do, and he’d failed spectacularly.

The Dragon Council would take his powers away after this for sure, and Haley would be stuck with the responsibilities of the American Dragon whether or not she was ready, and—

And he didn’t know what the Dragon Council would do to his friends.

Or to everyone else who’d seen proof of magical creatures and now believed in them.

He’d never been told what happened when a dragon messed up this badly. He wasn’t even sure if anyone else ever had. All he knew was that, if he couldn’t fix this and the Dragon Council had to step in, the measures would be…extreme. It made his gut twist just thinking about it. If he couldn’t figure out how to contain this and it kept spiralling out of control—

He had to figure out how to fix this.

He had to.

For everyone else’s sake, not just his own.

(see more fics | next)

[jae-ha]

between silence and sound.  »「chapter two 」

Chapter Index (Ao3) // Chapter Index (tumblr)

.summary ––  [ Road trip // slight AU ] - Once Zack and Rachel leave the strange building behind, they realize, on long stretches of road and under diamond-bright stars, there are so many things to be discovered about one another.

.pairing ––  (slight?) ZackRay –– don’t like, don’t read, don’t comment. 

.chapter two » 「as dark things are meant to be loved.」

「 — sunday : 3 a.m. 」

The roadside hotel is a few steps above seedy yet several steps below refined. It smells strongly of some kind of floral detergent and the walls capture and absorb the muggy summer heat, giving the building an atmosphere akin to being inside a large beast’s mouth. The baseboards are laden with dents, the carpeting bears questionable green stains, and the light take a few tries before it turns on. When it does switch on, it does so with a hiss of circuits, illuminating the room for about ten minutes before fizzling out again.

Neither of them took kindly to the idea of sleeping in the car for the third night in a row, so when Rachel pointed out the sputtering neon sign advertising comfy beds and hot showers, Zack didn’t question it. He swerved into the parking lot and the two shambled their way into the establishment and up to the front desk.

It’s only because this hotel room is just a place to sleep and not to sightsee that neither Zack nor Rachel care about its miserable state. At the very most, the wrinkle-laden bedsheets appear newly washed, the bathroom is fully stocked, and the room smells fresh, clean even. Rachel especially desires to make good on the promise of a hot shower.

Zack knows this, and upon dropping the car keys on top of the chestnut-colored dresser and giving the room a judgmental once-over, he turns to her and says, “You go first.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t take all night.” He punctuates the statement by flopping down on the room’s solitary bed to begin digging through the bag they’ve brought with them. It’s filled with supplies, all of which is stolen: a wallet that contains cash and three credit cards, several rolls of bandages, a handful of snacks, an old cellphone, and a few other small trinkets picked up along the way.

Rachel lingers, processing everything slowly, before disappearing into the bathroom. The light there works miraculously better than the main room’s fixture.

She finds a stack of towels folded in a compartment beneath the sink and turns on the shower’s faucet. After a few moments she checks the temperature, ensuring that it isn’t freezing nor scalding before stepping inside. She keeps her shower brief, not knowing if a slipshod hotel like this has a limit on their hot water. Once the grime of three days on the road is washed away, she steps out, dries off, and pulls on an oversized T-shirt and shorts— the only other articles of clothing she’s brought aside from her floaty white sundress.

She dabs at her hair with a towel as she retreats from the bathroom.

“Zack, you can go ahead.”

He slinks past her in wordless response, body slumped with fatigue and eyes as faded as the overhead lights. Rachel assumes he was searching the supplies bag for the roll of bandages he stuffs into his pocket upon passing her.

After folding the damp towel and setting it aside on a stiff-looking armchair, Rachel also sets her eyes on the bag. She’s been meaning to work on the trip’s budget.

She takes a seat on the bed, tucks her legs beneath her, and lays a notebook, calculator, and pen from within the bag before her. The credit cards within the wallet have been taken from three different people, all victims of Zack’s new scythe. Even with the true owners dead and unable to put halts on the card’s use, Rachel prefers to use them sparingly as not to draw too much attention to the card companies. She also knows that the cards will have to be disposed of and replaced when they begin traversing states.

She calculates the amount they’ve spent thus far on their trip, punching numbers in on the calculator and scribbling down values as they come to her. The hotel has been their largest expense with food being a close second, then gas. She remembers an incident only a few days ago when the car ground to a halt in the middle of a side street, the tank finally giving way to emptiness. Zack swore a lot that day— somehow more than usual. He knew neither how to pump gas nor where the nearest station was. After several minutes of trying to get a stable connection on the old stolen cellphone, Rachel determined a gas station forty-five minutes away. The walk took two hours, and by the time they reached the station, purchased four portable containers of gas (Zack wanted to make sure it never happened again), and made it back to the slumbering side street, it was an hour after midnight. He still didn’t know how to pump gas, but Rachel figured that she could look up a video later if the old phone managed to stay alive. If all else failed, she was sure a stranger would be willing to help them, so long as she was the one who asked.

That memory gives way to others, and Rachel soon finds herself lost in thought. For no particular reason (at least, none that she can pinpoint), those thoughts are all centered around Zack.

It isn’t as if he had done anything differently today. He spent most of the day behind the steering wheel, either smiling like a demon as he sped through a light that was quickly fading to red or grinding his teeth in the face of a three-car pileup. Yes, most days on the road repeat themselves, but the nights are always different.

Nighttime means silence, and there are always unfinished stories sewn within the fabric of that silence.

The previous night, Zack eased the car into the parking lot of a liquor store, deciding that it would be the place they’d settle in for the night. Other nights, they were tucked into a shadowy corner of a truck stop or under the large tree of a grocery store parking lot. All were dark with some semblance of coziness, and since it was long past closing hours, the liquor store was no different.

Rachel curled up on the passenger’s seat and waited for oblivion to find her, as was custom on nights where the car took the place of a comfortable bed and the stars selfishly offered no light. And, just as routine would have it, her sleep was choppy, dreamless, and full of holes. Only forty-five minutes passed before some phantom force roused her awake again.

Her eyes fluttered open to the same night-colored parking lot, the hum of some slumberless insect, and Zack watching the window with a faraway gaze. Perhaps it was the sharp edges of broken glass on the asphalt, the obscenities spray-painted onto the side of the liquor store, or the clashing of distant yet fiery voices that made Rachel start to question the location they chose to settle in.

As she quietly untangled her body from its cocoon of blond hair and warmth, she could feel Zack’s eyes following her.

“Can’t sleep?”

His tone wasn’t one of concern nor comfort, but it danced along the serenity of the night as if it naturally belonged there. In fact, in that moment, Zack blended in perfectly with everything the darkness had to offer, and Rachel thought it might’ve been because he had learned to move with it. He’d spent so much time in environments like that that his limbs seemed to disappear and reappear when he wanted them to and his breathing vanished no matter how much Rachel stilled her own in an attempt to hear it.

If the moonlight was just a tad dimmer, she never would’ve known he was still in the car with her.

She lowered her gaze, noticing only then that he was holding one of the plastic water bottles from the supplies bag. He offered it to her, but she refused it with a small shake of her head.

“It’s dangerous here,” she said.

He scoffed and took a sip. “I’m more of a monster than anything you’ll find out there.” As he turned his face to the window again, the moonlight raced to emphasize the features that not even his bandages could cover up— the rigidity of his jawline, the sharp curve of his neck, the bulb of his Adam’s apple, and, of course, that golden eye that glittered as something strange and bewitchingly colorful on a body of dark shades and drab hues.

“Go back to sleep. I’m keeping watch.”

In the hotel room, as her memories poke and prod at her, it’s then that Rachel realizes why Zack is on her mind. It’s the monster in him that captures her interest.

Monster.

Cathy had said it, Danny had said it, even Zack himself had said it. They’ve carved that word into him, stained his bones with it, made it an irrefutable part of him. The concept of it all touches only the edges of Rachel’s understanding. At what threshold does a human disintegrate into less-than human? She’s asked Zack to explain why he chooses to encapsulate himself behind such an ugly word like that, but his answer is vague and foggy, leaving her with questions rather than contentment.

Perhaps they use that word because of his strange appearance, because of the bandages and what hides beneath them. She hasn’t known Zack for any extended period of time, but because everyone else who’s come into her life seems to bear death’s handprint, Zack is now the person she’s known the longest. Even then, she’s never seen underneath his bandages. At least, not the ones above his waist.

She can hypothesize what he looks like beneath them, but actually asking to see him, actually requesting that he let her in that far, to let her be so close that she can see and feel him as he is — without barriers and borders— seems as difficult as crossing a minefield.

The story behind them has piqued Rachel’s interest in the past. Not long ago he told her that the burns he covers up no longer hurt. Regardless of how widespread and severe they had once been, time had healed them as much as they could possibly be healed. With that in mind, Rachel concluded that those bandages were nothing more than his security blanket, despairingly used to hide his most hated flaw.

When she thinks of Zack, she doesn’t initially place him as insecure, but she notices how he dresses, covering every inch of his body behind baggy fabrics and zippers. She notices the way he disregards any concern she shows for him, the way he turns his nose up when she attempts to care for him, as if he’s unable to accept the concept of meaning something to someone.

He’s tightly rooted in the belief that hatred awaits him beneath every stranger’s gaze, and because it’s all an endless cycle, everyone is a stranger. He scoffs at laws and sneers at restraints, not allowing anything the world labels as ‘important’ or ‘sensical’ to sway the way he lives. But there’s a small part of her that feels that some part of him may actually be soft. Something still breathes gently, still exists tenderly, beneath the calloused shell that’s hardened over him. She’s caught a glimpse of it in the way he smiles at her sometimes, the way the corners of his lips rise effortlessly and his eyes twinkle with a light he hasn’t had since he was much, much smaller— when the world handled him delicately.

She’s so lost in these thoughts, so wrapped up in trying to understand what may never be understood that she doesn’t notice when the shoddy overhead light fizzles out or when the shower shuts off. But all at once her body becomes like glass when she feels a small weight press down on her head. She immediately realizes it’s a dish from the hotel’s decor and that Zack is the one who’s placed it there. Said dish —a stained-glass creation fixed out of blue and turquoise pieces— is a stark, colorful contrast to the beige carpet and dingy wallpaper that greeted them upon entrance.

She can feel his eyes on her, assessing her, waiting for a reaction. He’s done this before, sometimes with cups, other times with soda cans. She’s confused each time he does it, and the only reason her body freezes up during this particular instance is because if it falls, there isn’t money in the trip budget to replace it. Or rather, no money she’s willing to spend on replacing it.

Her outward appearance doesn’t change, save for the second-long pause of her hand in the midst of writing a calculation. Her eyes flitter over to him; he appears amused.

“Zack, what are you doing?”

“Trying to get a reaction outta you.”

Her eyebrows knit together. He said something similar the previous times, too. Typically he aims for irritation or anger, but Rachel’s features only respond with confusion.

“I can’t write like this.” She reaches up, removes the dish from her head and puts it in its rightful place on the nightstand before turning back to the trip’s budgeting notebook. Zack responds with a dissatisfied click of his tongue before collapsing onto the bed beside her, causing the springs to groan.

The flurry of his movements allows a curious scent to reach her nose. A kind of citrus? Lemon, maybe? No, it isn’t that distinct or sharp. It’s mellow, something simple and clean. Hotel soap, but not the one she had used. She looks over, observing him for the first time since he arrived beside her.

He’s dressed in usual attire, though his head isn’t nestled beneath his hoodie. His hair is fully exposed, revealing tiny beads of water from the shower he’s just gotten out of. With his body mostly turned away, he’s winding a roll of fresh bandages. She can see that he’s pretty much finished the entire process of wrapping himself already.

Her black pen scratches out the new string of numbers displayed on the calculator. She doesn’t plan to say anything about the bandages in spite of her curiosity, but the bed jolts and an odd noise between a wince and a gasp hits the air.

“Zack?”

He leans sideways, unintentionally allowing her to see him much clearer than before. Pinched between his fingers is something thin and scarlet that he inspects with an expression that can only be described as nonplussed.

Rachel blinks, a phantom look of surprise swims in her eyes. “One of your stitches… It came out.”

“Looks like it.”

The disbelief gradually leaves his face, smoothing over into that look of irritated curiosity he sometimes has. He’s still seated in such a way that Rachel can see his fingers delicately pull back the stitched skin to inspect the affected area. Her stitching is, in no way, poor or inadequate. On the contrary, something has caused it to come undone. Something powerful that’s led to the entire top stitch shearing and falling apart in small bits in Zack’s hand.

With a curse Zack retracts his hand from his stomach which is now spotted with fresh blood.

Before he can say or do anything more, Rachel nudges the budgeting supplies aside, grasps her black pouch, and removes a needle and thread from her sewing kit. She doesn’t feel complete without having one with her, so before they had traveled even ten miles, she requested to purchase a new one as well as a new black purse to hold it in.

“Zack,” she murmurs, “I’ll fix it.”

“Huh? Now?”

She nods, and because he hasn’t any good reason to say no, he turns around and lays down against the pile of pillows at the head of bed.

The bed is wide enough for her to crawl over and sit beside him, though his position forces him to look up at her rather than at eye-level. She can feel his gaze as she observes the only area he hadn’t had a chance to bandage— the crimson-colored gash carved lopsidedly into his torso. The first stitch is completely torn with a thin remnant of loose thread sitting in a bead of blood. The second stitch is weak, threatening to detach and take the other two with it if enough force is applied or if Zack moves too fast or too hard and accidentally pulls it out himself.

Now that the wound is open again — even if that opening is a small one — she rinses her hands in the water from one of the spare water bottles from the supplies bag.

“What happened?”

“When I was breaking out of that shitty jail, some officer fought me head-on. I guess he pulled it loose and I didn’t notice.” There’s a phantom smile on his face, indicating to Rachel that the officer came out the loser in their skirmish. A faint part of her wonders if that man is still alive, though she doubts it highly. Zack has never shown mercy before.

“I’m going to restitch all of them,” she says. Zack responds with a dissenting grunt which Rachel chalks up to him remembering all the discomfort he felt when she initially closed the wound. She doesn’t have cotton balls, so she uses squares of toilet paper to pat away the blood. The area surrounding the injury remains an irritated red.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not yet,” he grumbles, eyeing her wearily.

“I’ll be gentle.”

He grunts again and turns his eyes away.

The first time she brought her needle to him, there was a tinge of urgency. A fire ignited inside her with the same persistence of a flower fighting its way through the dirt to bloom at the surface.

‘I can’t let my god die.’ Those words spilled over her, driving every movement of her small, steady hands.

Things are different now. Zack is no longer the stumbling mess of blood and chaos he had once been, so she allows her eyes to longer for as long as she wishes on what Zack always strives so earnestly to hide. Blotches of discolored skin and trembling red veins ripple out from the wound. She had sewed the injury shut in four stitches, all aligned in a weaving ‘x’ formation. She intends to replicate her work from back then, but she’ll have to undo the sutures first.

“Don’t move,” she instructs him, knowing that the process takes a remarkably steady hand.

He retorts with a simple, “yeah, yeah.”

She knows he uses flippancy to mask his apprehension. His insecurity spills out in the form of tense muscles and averted eyes. Once again, he’s exposing his wounds to her, and once again he can’t bring himself to look at her directly.

Because the hotel light no longer works, she’s forced to lean in closely which probably unsettles him more. Regardless of his discomfort, she can’t keep her eyes from roving and her mind from wandering. According to Zack himself, he doesn’t remember much about the incident surrounding his burns. He’s wiped most of it from his mind, but the evidence of that man’s sin is Zack’s personal souvenir. On his body lingers light and dark: healthy, pale skin juxtaposed against dark, charred shades. He’s not completely ordinary, but not completely abnormal. An uncomfortable in-between.

It all causes a twinge to seize Rachel’s chest, but she isn’t sure if that feeling can be called sympathy. What she does know is that his scars fascinate her. The blemishes he insists on covering up intrigue her. She assumes that he’s been called a monster ever since childhood, but as he breathes fragilely against her touch, vulnerable and open for one of the few times in his life, Rachel is awestruck. He appears so beautiful to her now. There are no burns, only beauty. No scars, only strength.

So she presses her lips to the bottom stitch, intent on validating that beauty.

And he crumbles.

His breath catches in his throat; a shaking hand clenches the sheets. He becomes a whisper, precariously tottering between rejecting the emotion and allowing it to drown him. He stammers out a fragile protest, but Rachel allows it to evaporate into the air. She can’t see his eyes —it’s far too dark— but she knows he’s completely turned his face away, concealing it in the edges of a pillow.

She kisses the next stitch, then the next, enveloping herself in the feeling she had the first time she sewed him back together. Whatever she brought her needle to became hers, perfect and complete. Her father, her puppy, her white bird. But there’s something different about Zack. He appears to her as a fragmented wish. She sews broken things together due to her fascination with the concept of wholeness and purity. But Zack is neither of those things. He’s the most broken thing she’s ever come across and his shards are scattered so far that she isn’t sure that he will ever be whole again. Not only his body, but everything about him is damaged, shattered, and some times fragile, but she’s never seen him as anything less than strong.

Just as she arrives at the broken top stitch, a hand shoves her away. Zack props himself up, adjusting so they’re now eye-level.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His voice is a touch breathless, but mostly riled. Seeing him so close now, she can’t describe the expression he’s giving her, but it makes her heart shiver. His shoulders, all the way down to his hands, are still trembling as if something inside has awoken and is trying to split him open to escape.

Her eyes are glassy as she asks, “Does it hurt?”

He hesitates, and for a split second Rachel can see all of the ghosts he’s held deep inside almost spill out through his gaze.

“No.”

There’s a weak resolution, a dull fire, behind his murmur, and once again he can’t meet her eyes. His fist clenches, his body tightens, but he says nothing more before lying down again. With an exhale he buries the side of his face into a pillow, just as it had been before.

“Just… hurry up and fix the stitch, damn it…”

Rachel nods. She grabs her needle and gets to work.

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

For the sexting prompt: Derek has Stiles dad under Sherrif in his contacts, which is unfortunately too close to Stiles, and Stiles is just offended he didn't get a cute nickname. Like you've seen my dick and my phone name doesn't even have a heart near it

There’s no actual sexting in here but I hope you still like it! (also on ao3!)

Stiles was feeling a little left out.

Erica had Boyd in her phone as Love Of My Life while Boyd had her in his as My Sunshine. Kira had Allison in her phone as My Huntress while Allison had Kira in her phone under Vixen.

Jackson had Danny under Babe while Danny had his boyfriend under Prince Asshole which was extremely fitting. Even Peter and Chris Argent, who had apparently started dating, had cutesy nicknames for each other in their phones.

Stiles himself routinely switched between several nicknames for Derek. The list included, but certainly wasn't limited to, Sourwolf, Alpha, Superman, Der, the Bae, and even just D.

What did Derek have Stiles in his phone as? Something sweet and cute like Honey or Sweetie? Something more suggestive like Sexy or Gorgeous? Maybe something more traditional like Babe or Baby?

No. None of the above. Derek had Stiles in his phone as Stiles.

Derek had always been brusque and to the point, never one to mince words. And usually, Stiles admired that about his boyfriend but not this time.

He knew that it shouldn't bother him so much, that it was stupid and didn't actually mean anything, that he was being completely irrational. He knew that he shouldn't care about it but he did.

He wanted a dumb little nickname like the rest of his friends did. Or just some sort of emoji by his name, something like a little heart emoji or some other stupid little emoticon.

But he didn't. Which offended him a little bit. Derek had seen his dick for fuck's sake and he still didn't have a single heart by his name.

As much as he hated to admit it, it bothered him much more than it should have.

Especially since that meant his name was right next to his dad's in Derek's phone. And that made sexting rather dangerous.

Stiles was just waiting for the day that Derek accidentally sent the Sheriff a suggestive text message. Or god forbid a dick pic.

Feeling like a complete idiot, Stiles never brought it up to Derek. He was too embarrassed to broach the subject, preferring to wallow in his own patheticness. That is until the incident with Derek's phone.

He had been hanging out at the loft, sprawled out on Derek's unbelievably comfy bed as they watched the new season of Game of Thrones, when Derek's phone had rung. With a grunt as he sat up in bed, his clothing rumpled and his hair thoroughly disheveled, and mumbled, "You mind getting that, babe? It's probably Erica."

"Sure," Stiles chirped, rolling over to peck Derek on the lips before pushing himself and twisting to grab Derek's buzzing cell phone off his nightstand. As he turned back to Derek to hand him his phone, he caught a glimpse of the name on the screen, announcing who was calling: Catwoman.

He handed Derek his phone which the alpha immediately answered, standing and padding into the kitchen so he didn't disturb Stiles as he watched his show. The second Derek had his back to Stiles, tattoo visible through the thin cotton of his tank top, the younger man folded his arms over his chest like some sort of petulant child.

Why the hell did Erica get a special nickname on Derek's phone? Why the hell didn't he get a cool superhero's name in place of his own?

Did Derek like Erica better? That would be total bullshit! Stiles gave Derek all kinds of things that Erica didn't like homemade pierogies and orgasms. At least, she better not be giving Derek orgasms.

Derek returned a few minutes later, setting his phone down on the other nightstand before climbing into bed beside Stiles who was still pouting. Frowning down at his boyfriend, he asked, "What's wrong, babe?"

"Nothing," Stiles dismissed, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. Wincing, he shifted uncomfortably and murmured, "It's stupid. Just forget about it."

"Babe, c'mon," Derek pressed, curling an arm around the back of Stiles' waist. Leaning closer, he set his chin down on Stiles' shoulder, mumbling, "Talk to me."

"Do you like Erica better than me?" Stiles blurted, immediately wanting to smack himself in the face once the words left his mouth. God, he was an idiot! An irrational, jealous idiot who jumped to conclusions and got pissed at his boyfriend for no reason.

"Um, no..." Derek answered warily, Stiles feeling the motion of his jaw on his shoulder. He squeezed Stiles' hips, running his thumb over the jut of his hip bone. His confusion was audible as he questioned, "Why do you ask? Erica still trying to figure out who my favorite beta is?"

"No, I'm pretty sure she's already figured out you love 'em all the same," Stiles replied immediately, his voice full as he frowned down at his lap. Anger bubbling up again, he hissed, "But why does she have a cute name in your phone and I don't? I mean, we've been dating for six months and I don't even have a heart by my name, dude."

Derek was quiet for a few moments, as though mulling over his next words. Stiles tensed, waiting for Derek to rightfully accuse him of being a stupid, jealous idiot.

Oh god, he should have kept his big mouth shut for once. He was going to ruin everything he and Derek had over emojis.

But before he could squeak out an apology and beg for Derek's forgiveness, try to explain that he wasn't really that jealous of a person even though he kind of was, Derek pressed a kiss to his cheek. Huffing a deep laugh, Derek murmured against the mole dotted expanse of Stiles' cheek, "You're adorable."

Stiles whirled around to gape at Derek but the werewolf was busy grabbing his cell phone off his nightstand. He tapped on the screen a few times, clearly typing something, as Stiles stared incredulously at his back.

"How's this?" Derek ventured as he twisted back around to face Stiles, a blindingly bright smile on his face. He was holding his phone up so Stiles could read what he had written, the edit he had done to Stiles' contact information.

"Moon of My Life," Stiles read aloud, voice hushed by awe and disbelief. He flicked his eyes up to meet Derek's, incredulity etched into his features.

In a burst of movement, Stiles launched himself at Derek, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend's neck and hopping into his lap. He kissed Derek until they were both breathless, afterwards peppering light kisses over Derek's forehead and cheeks.

"You're such a dork," Stiles accused fondly between kisses, smiling so widely his cheeks hurt. Pressing one last kiss to the tip of Derek's nose, he proudly announced, "You didn't have to do that. I was just being an idiot."

"I know," Derek responded, reaching up to run his fingers through Stiles' hair. "But like you said, we've been together for six months, and you deserve more than just one heart by your name."

"I love you," Stiles breathed contentedly, resting his forehead against Derek's. Brushing a thumb over Derek's cheek, dark stubble rasping against the pad of his finger, "How bout we try for another six months, at least?"

"Sounds perfect, babe."

[shanastoryteller]

unfinished teen wolf hp au

i wrote this literally years ago and i’m never going to complete it, but i figured i’d post it here in case anyone was interested :)

A flick seems like too much- really, there is no point with the way the wrist had to bend to accommodate the second swish. He pulls out his wand, the grey tint of mountain ash turning near silver in the candlelight of the great hall, and performs the spell without the flick, "Aureus!" His quill obligingly turns into solid gold, and he turns it back to scratch out the last instruction in the book. McGonagall does this thing with her eyebrows when he screws around with the spells, and this is going to be awesome.

"That's a fifth year spell, you utter freak," his bag is pushed aside onto the floor so Jackson can slide in beside him. "Wait two more years."

Stiles grabs his bag to save it from the dirty, dirty floor and places it on his other side, "We can't all be Charms nerds like you. Speaking of, how'd your meeting with Flitwick go?"

Jackson's sneer turns into an almost smile, "He offered to teach me dueling in exchange for being his research assistant."

He hits him in the shoulder with his transfiguration book, which judging by Jackson's glare may be too heavy for that, "Shut up! That's amazing - there are seventh years who'd kill some small children to get that opportunity."

Jackson's smile dims back into a frown. He glances across at the other tables in the great hall, "I'm sure those rumors will start soon enough."

Stiles nudges the other boy so he looks back at him, "Well, I think it's great, and well earned. You've done our house proud."

He makes the face he does when he's pleased but doesn't want to show it and starts loading his plate with food. "Did you go to the tryouts yesterday? I didn't see you."

Stiles opens his book so he can get back to taking notes, "Why put myself through the second hand embarrassment? Besides, there's only one chaser spot open, and it's not like Ethan and Aiden are going to choose someone bad."

"They chose you," he points at Stiles with his fork.

He sticks his tongue out, "I'm a brilliant seeker, or at least I suck less than everyone else. Forget that, come with me to Gryffindor tryouts, that's going to be intense. And brutal. Danny lost all of his team except for Scott and Heather."

"All the easier to crush them," Jackson snorts.

Stiles copies down the spell to turn a raven into a writing desk, not sure when he'd ever feel the need to use it, but that's hardly the point. "Danny Mahealani is the nicest, friendliest person ever, except on the Quidditch field. He runs the Gryffindors way harder than twins do us."

Jackson rolls his eyes, "Literally the last thing I want to do is watch you and McCall panting after each other for three hours. We'll kill them in the first game, and every game after, and that's all that matters."

"Speaking of," he waves across the hall, and Scott's already scanning the table to catch sight of him. They exchange a few eyebrow waggles and suggestive hand gestures, the same system they developed when they were eight, and he starts to pack up his things. "I'm going to have dessert at the Gryffindor table, want to come?"

"No," he says, although he's looking a little too intently at his mashed potatoes, "I don't actually enjoy getting detention, you know."

Stiles hikes his bag over his shoulder, "Do you know that you don't have start a duel every time we sit with the Gryffindors?"

"Yes I do," Jackson scowls, "because one of those bastards will run their mouths about me, or you, and then I'll have beat some manners into them. They could at least pretend to be civilized and say those things behind our backs. House of muggleborns, they were never taught any honor."

"You don't actually have to do anything when they say something about me," Stiles points out, "and we're Slytherins, we don't have honor."

"I have honor," he stabs his chicken as if it's personally offended him.

Stiles is pretty sure that's the other boy's answer to both of his previous statements, and he makes a point of sighing dramatically as he drops his bag back onto the bench. "Don't move, I'll make Scott come over here."

~

"You missed the announcement."

Stiles looks up from his book, having to blink a few times before the red haired, blue clad blurred figure becomes recognizable as Lydia Martin. "What announcement? Also, what time is it?"

"Nearly nine, you also missed dinner, " she settles into the chair across for him and tugs a napkin wrapped sandwich from her bottomless purse (Jackson charmed it for her). "You know, you study an awful a lot for a Slytherin."

"Well you're wearing an awful lot of blue for a Slytherin, so that makes us even," he takes a vicious bite of the sandwich, and that's good, that's so good, he should remember to eat more often.

Lydia sniffs at his eating habits, "I'll have you know that I prize knowledge over all things, and am insulted by your insinuations."

"You value power over all things, and your intelligence and frankly terrifying skill in potions is simply a means to an ends, kind of like that badge on your chest."

She glares, "We haven't had a Minister of Magic from Slytherin in nearly two hundred years - I already have my gender against me, I wasn't about to add my house to the list. Besides, don't be the pot calling the kettle black, Stiles. You belong in Slytherin as much as I do Ravenclaw."

He slams his book shut, "Okay, I know this isn't why you came to see me. We've had this conversation at least five times, and you winding me up about my house nine times out of ten is because you want me to do something that's going to make my dad give me sad eyes. So let skip the part where we bitch at each other for ten minutes."

"What's the one time out of ten?" she wrinkles her nose.

"You're mad about something and you want to get snippy with someone who won't hold it against you."

Lydia huffs, but says, "I want you to go with me to the Forbidden Forest tonight."

"Why?" Stiles demands.

Lydia glances around the library before leaning in and saying, "I need potions ingredients."

"Can't you just buy them?" Stiles asks, "Or have Jackson buy them?"

She shifts in her seat before saying, "The ingredients I'd need in the amount I'd require would be . . . suspicious. I'd rather not."

"You do know my father is the Head Auror right? Maybe one of these days I'll report you for being insane and terrifying," Stiles starts packing his things up, before he pauses and curses, "It's the full moon tonight, have you lost your mind?"

"I need wolfsbane - and not only is it lethal if picked at any other time, but it's also useless! Stiles, please, Jackson and I are going with or without you, but I'd feel better if you were there."

"Why, so I can transfigure the monster trying to eat us into a dining table? Oh yes, I'm quite useful." He throws his bag over his shoulder, striding out of the library.

Lydia's quick on his heels, "Stiles, you know that Forest better than anyone - you used to play in it as a child! You sneak into it all the time, and when your mother was groundskeeper-"

Stiles whirls around, and Lydia barely manages to avoid running into him, "If you'll also remember, my mother died in that forest. It's dangerous, okay?"

"That doesn't stop you," she says, face pale but her chin still lifted, "Stiles, you are our best bet of getting in and out of there quickly without getting hurt or lost."

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, "You literally owe me so much I can't even describe it."

Lydia beams, darting forward to kiss his cheek, "Thanks Stiles!"

~

"Your dad is going to kill you," Scott hisses, glaring at a passing pair of Hufflepuffs, "No, no way."

Stiles glances down the hallway, "I know. But if I don't go, they'll just go on their own, and that's way more dangerous."

"Just tell a professor!" Stiles scoffs. "Okay, fine. Merlin, Stiles. Fine. What time are we leaving?"

Stiles shakes his head, "No, Scott, you can't come."

"If you think I'm letting you go without me, you're insane. Besides I'm the best at defense in our year."

"Erica's the best at defense in our year," Stiles says, although there's smile curling around the corner of his mouth.

Scott rolls his eyes, "Fine, I'm the second best. The point is you're my best friend and you're not allowed to do stupid, suicidal things without me."

Stiles beams, "Midnight, front steps, don't be late."

~

"You did not invite McCall," Jackson groans, slamming his chest drawer shut with more force than probably necessary. He then opens it again to check that he hasn't messed up his color coordinated piles. Stiles has been dealing with sharing a room with Jackson for two years, and it still takes such an effort not to laugh at him.

Stiles bounces down on Jackson's bed. Manasa is wrapped up the bedpost, and Stiles slides his hands down her, "Of course I didn't. He insisted. Besides, we all know you like him deep, deep down, in the cockles of your heart."

Jackson scowls, but doesn't argue. He closes his drawer gently this time, "Did you try to talk Lydia out of it?"

"Of course I tried," he says, "but I failed just as miserably as you apparently did. When have we ever been able to convince Lydia not to do something she wants to do? That's right, approximately never."

"One day," Jackson says, but not as if he actually believes it.

"Are you bringing Manasa?" The snakes has started to wind itself around Stiles's arm, "She could be useful."

"Absolutely not," he says, shoving Stiles's legs aside to reach under his bed, "one, she could get hurt, and two, if we get caught and they find out I brought my snake to school they'll make me send her home. Do you still have those boots I gave you for Christmas last year?"

"Uh," Stiles blink, "yeah, of course. They're like the prettiest things I own."

Jackson rolls his eyes, pulling out his own olive green pair from under the bed, "Dragonhide isn't meant to be pretty, you moron, it's meant to be practical. Make sure you wear them tonight."

"You like them because they're pretty though," Stiles says solemnly. The only thing that stops Jackson from dumping him on the floor is that Manasa is now quite comfortably wrapped around his torso.

~

"You didn't tell me you invited the Hufflepuffs!" Lydia cries.

"I didn't!" he glares, and not even Isaac has the decency to flinch, "You three, go back to the castle. This is dangerous enough as it is."

"All the more reason for you not go alone," Boyd says evenly. They're dressed like the rest of them, all in black. Erica blows Stiles a kiss, and he pretends not to blush.

"Scott!"

His best friend shrugs, mouth pulled in a sheepish grin, "They were waiting for me when I left the common room. I didn't really have a choice."

"Scott, did you really forget how to cast petrificus totalus? Seriously?"

"Against Erica?" Scott looks uneasily at the other third year, who wiggles her fingers and raises an eyebrow. "I thought we were close, man, I thought you cared about me. Apparently I was wrong if you expected me to duel Erica Reyes. Although I'm flattered you think I would have won."

"You wouldn't have," Erica says cheerfully, "So, are we going to get this show on the road? We're wasting moonlight."

Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose and side eyes Lydia. She shrugs, "They are all good in a scrape, and she's right - we are wasting moonlight."

He scowls, "All right, fine, but here's the rules - I go first, you don't wander off, and if I give an order like duck or run, you listen. I've known these woods my whole life, and this is the absolute worst time to be going in here. Let's see if we can get through this with everyone's limbs intact. Erica, I want you in back. Make sure you keep your ears open."

"Sir yes sir," she winks, and Stiles coughs. Lydia would gather him for potion ingredients if he said it aloud, but sometimes it's a lot harder to keep from stuttering around Erica than it's ever been around her.

Stiles grew up in these woods - long weeks where his father came home after he went to sleep and left before he woke up. His mother would take him onto well worn paths on clear, sunny days, and when he was older he darted into the less well known areas, slipped from his mother's guiding hands to the shadows.

This would almost be calming if not for the six people at his back, and oh lord, they're traipsing through the Forbidden Forrest in a group of seven, this keeps getting better and better. "Fox glove," he lifts a low hanging branch and ushers them through, "First on your list. Hurry."

"You really do know this place like the back of your hand," Boyd says, scanning the area as if he can actually see anything. The only lumos Stiles is allowing is while Lydia gathers the plants, and even that's making him twitchy. "Scott, you used to play here too right?"

Scott shrugs, "Yeah, but I don't know it as well as Stiles. My mom's a muggle, so usually the Stilinskis came over our place."

"Quiet!" Jackson snaps, "Something's coming."

The rest looks puzzled, but Stiles heard the lisp, knows how Jackson knows, and hisses, "All right, no sudden movements. Walk very slowly, and very quietly."

"Wouldn't it be better to run?" Isaac mutters, clenching his hands in the back of Scott's sweater so he doesn't lose his grip.

Stiles shakes his head, "Lots of things are attracted to elevated heartbeats. Let's not."

Jackson bolts, grabbing Lydia's hand and shouting, "Too late! Move!"

Stiles groans, but picks up the pace, "Lumos!" If their position was already given away, no point in trying to hide anymore. "Hogwarts is a half a kilometer due west!" Red eyes flash in the bushes and a deep growl nearly makes Stiles trip. They can't outrun what's chasing them, they're screwed, but he swallows until his mouth isn't so dry and shouts, "Just keep going, we can make it!" They can't actually, but no point telling them that. There's a snarl loud enough that it echoes, and then the wolf pounces, taking down both Scott and Isaac. He can't see blood, but judging from their cries, that doesn't mean anything. "Keep going!" he shouts to the others, flinging a stupefy powerful enough that his wand heats beneath his hands. The werewolf doesn't even flinch. Boyd and Erica come flying at the wolf. Erica's unrepentant sectasampra causes the wolf to howl, and Boyd's big for their age, but the way he tackles the wolf to the ground is still beyond impressive under all the terror. "No, get away!" Stupid, loyal thrice damned Hufflepuffs.

There's no way he can shoot a spell into that mess without hitting someone, and he's about ready to launch himself into the fray, consequences be damned, when Lydia's clear powerful voice echoes through the forest, "Serpensorcia!"

"Oh no," he breathes, and her and Jackson both are running back toward them. Jackson's voice is all soft hisses, and the snake is already darting in and clamping its jaws around the werewolf's hind leg.

Lydia stumbles, but he catches her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Don't just stand there!" she pants, summoning another snake with a flick of her wand, "Help me!"

Stiles swallows, but nods, pointing his wand at a pile of fallen branches and squashes down the fear before shouting, "Anguis!" causing wood to shift into scales, and half a dozen ten foot long snakes for Jackson to command.

"Impressive," she says, "I didn't know you could apply a single spell to multiple targets yet."

"Neither did I," he says weakly, grasping Lydia's waist to keep from falling. "What the hell are you two thinking? You could have made it back to the castle."

"For some inexplicable reason," she says, wincing as the werewolf becomes buried under a mountain of snakes, "Jackson didn't feel as if leaving his only friends to die were in his best interest."

"Are you two planning to help me, or just stand there and look pretty?" Jackson's words are still coming out a little mushy, the usual consequences of speaking parseltongue. The snakes have cornered the wolf, making it safe to go closer. "Eventually the werewolf is going to get free, and we do not want to be here when it does."

Stiles darts forward, running his hands over Scott and feeling them soak in blood. Lydia's wet gasp by Erica tells him that she's found the same. "We need to get them to the hospital wing."

"No," Jackson and Stiles say at the same time, sharing a glance before Stiles continues, "They'll be expelled and the Department of Dangerous Creatures will have hauled them off by morning, no not there."

"They're going to die!" Lydia sounds like she's about to cry.

Stiles takes a long breath before he turns around to face her. “That was an alpha, Lydia. As long as we can get them through the night, they’ll be good as new come morning, understand?”

She hesitates, but nods, “But how are we going to do that?”

“Do you both remember the fire spell we learned in charms last semester?” Jackson asks.

Lydia whimpers and Stiles takes a deep breath, “Good idea, Jackson. All right, we cauterize their wounds, get them to tomorrow morning, and we’ll figure out the rest later. Understand?”

There’s no answer, but instead the smell of searing flesh. Stiles has to take two deep breathes before he can start on Scott, closing his best friend’s wounds with fire.

~

Thank everything for Jackson's molicorpus charm, otherwise Stiles has no idea how they would have gotten them back to the castle. The rest are huddled in the Room of Requirement, and it's at least another two hours before dawn. He's in the owlry penning a letter a to his father.

Dad,

I'm fine, but something bad happened last night. I can't explain more, but I need to see you. Meet me in Hogsmead this Saturday. It's urgent.

Stay safe, love you,

Stiles

~

Stiles wakes up to Erica on one side of him and Scott on the other. He pulls up Scott’s shirt, and nearly slumps in relief at the clear, whole skin he sees, absent of burns and teeth marks. “Stiles?” Scott groans, blinking awake, “I’m alive?”

“You bet your furry werewolf ass you are,” Stiles grins.

Scott freezes, “I’m a werewolf?”

He shrugs, “Yeah, tough break. But look at it this way, it could be worse. You could be Jackson.”

Jackson throws one of the pillows at his head, and Stiles just continues beaming, because yes, a good chunk of their year just became wild creature of the night, but they’re also alive.

~

"What were you gathering potions ingredients for anyway?" Stiles asks the next day, thumbing through his herbology field guide while Jackson squints at their history text book and scowls.

"Keep a secret?" she asks. Both Stiles and Jackson look up to glare at her. "Fine, sorry, relax. I'm looking into becoming animagi."

"Are you kidding?" Jackson hisses, "And you were going to keep this from us?"

"You can't just whip up a potion and call it a done deal!" Stiles says, "It has a huge charm component, and the transformation itself is extremely advanced transfiguration."

Lydia studies her nails in the candlelight, "Wow, wonder where I ever would have found people advanced enough in charms and transfiguration to help me out." She flicks her gaze up to them and raises an eyebrow.

"Oh," Jackson says, and Stiles rubs the back of his head. "Well, no more secrets, okay?"

She flips her book around, and it's a step by step guide to becoming an animagi, "If we can manage it, this also means we can be with them on the full moon."

Stiles tugs the book closer to him, "Lydia, you think we can do this by mid fourth year?"

Jackson chokes, but Lydia grins, "I mean, we might lose a limb or two, but probably."

Jackson groans, and tries to convince himself he'll find some nice sane friends at some point.

~

"You did what?"

Stiles holds up his hand in front of him, glancing at the bustling Rosmerta. "Look, Dad, I know. But it was either go with them or they went alone, and I wasn't about to do that."

John rubs his hands over his face, "Merlin. If I'd gotten another call from the headmaster about - well, I didn't. I assume there's more to this than you feeling the need to confess your sins?"

Stiles nods, resisting the urge to take his dad's hand. "We didn't all get out the same way we entered. We got caught by an alpha werewolf."  John's hand is steel around Stiles's wrist. He shakes his head, "No, Dad, not me. But Scott, and three Hufflepuffs in our year are going to get extra fuzzy once a month."

"How did you get out of there alive?"

"Luck," Stiles says firmly, because he's been keeping Jackson's secret since he was eleven, and he's not about to give it up now. John's gone pale, "Dad, we can't let them get taken away from Hogwarts."

"You know the law, Stiles," John says, although he's tapping the table top too fast to be casual. "You can't hide this, it's too dangerous."

"If it's against the law for werewolves to attend Hogwarts," Stiles says, laying his hand over his father's, "then change the law."

John shakes his head, "Son, I'm Head Auror, not the Minister of Magic. I just can't change the law."

"Jackson's speaking to his father - Barrister Whittimore. He'll fight for this, he can push it through quickly. Dad, please, we can't do this without your support, and I know you have a friend in the Department of Dangerous Creatures," he implores.

His dad leans his chin against his palm, "You know, Deaton's actually pretty liberal. He's brought up the deregulation of werewolves in the past."

"See!" Stiles beams, "Dad, we can do this."

"Is this like the sorting hat again?" he asks.

Stiles frowns, "What do you mean?"

John leans forward to flick the silver and green badge on his son's chest. "Stiles, your greatest ambition is to be able to stuff more chocolate frogs in your mouth than Scott. Maybe I would have bought Ravenclaw, but Slytherin? Give me a break, kid."

He fiddles with his silverware, scraping his knife against his fork before he looks up, "Jackson is a rude, arrogant jerk. But he's also better at charms than any student who's walked these halls in the past fifty years, and he would walk through fire for Lydia and they haven't even kissed yet. He came back for us to help save us from the werewolf. But people look at him and see his house, and that's not fair! Scott's dad was in Gryffindor, and he's an asshole. Don't look at me like that, he's in your department, you know it's true. It's all so dumb, and I'm sick of it, your house tells you what you're like, not who you are!"

Stiles is breathing hard when he finishes, and his dad smiles and asks, "Maybe you are ambitious enough to be in Slytherin. All right, little badger, I'll support the bill when it goes up to the wizenmagont. But you know that even with Mr. Whittmore, this is going to take at least two years. They won't be able to stay in Hogwarts until it passes."

Stiles beams, "Don't worry, Jackson already came up with a plan for that. The law says that werewolves can't be admitted to Hogwarts or any other magical school, not that they can't attend it. When Scott, Erica, Isaac and Boyd were admitted to Hogwarts they were totally human, so they haven't gone against any law, and there's no law keeping them from staying there."

John stares, "You're sure-"

"The law's exact wording is in Hogwarts, A History and Jackson double checked all the regulations," he assured.

"Does Jackson plan to follow in his father's footsteps?" he asks, amused.

Stiles shrugs, "Not really, although don't tell Mr. Whittimore that. Jackson actually wants to take Flitwick's job as charms professor, although he'll get super offended and deny it if you bring it up to him."

"And you?" John grins, "What are you going to do?"

Stiles scratches his head, "I mean, Lydia said I could be her secretary when she takes over the free world, so there's always that."