#Danny is traumatized sure but he needs a reality check too

[purplerakath]

MiyagiDo Karate and Protagonist Morality

So when I watched the first two seasons this bothered me and then last weekend I watched everything else (thus far)... and this still bothered me. So here we are.

Spoilers for all five released seasons of Cobra Kai (although I'll mainly be talking about Demetri, Sam, Danny, and Hawk).

Before I get started...

As much as I'm criticizing the writing of these characters, I don't think the characters are bad, or hate the show. I just think more could be done with them, or in the case of Sam they could have started the ball rolling sooner and she could be a better character than she is.

Except Demetri, they really screwed the pooch on his writing.

Protagonist Morality

So I guess I should explain this term. Protagonist morality is where a show doesn't question the behavior of it's protagonists, assuming that whatever action they've taken is morally correct (for the setting). In a video game, you know all those unguarded chests full of stuff for you. The ones all across the countryside and in towns and often people's houses? The ones you can loot freely and nobody cares or is concerned with all the robbery you're doing?

That's protagonist morality. If the game labels you a thief and you get run out of public spaces for your actions, then the game is labeling your actions as maybe less than a paragon of virtue, and giving you reason to think about it. (Then you do it anyway because it's really nice loot.)

So what about the ACTUAL protagonists?

Johnny, Miguel, and Robby are questioned and judged by the narrative constantly. They generally do things right for them, but not universally seen as correct. And generally the narrative is about them moving forward and making less questionable calls.

The whole point of the start of S2 is that Johnny realizes "No Mercy" is a bad motto, because it just gets people hurt, and changes his teachings to match this bit of character growth. Characters backslide, Johnny and Robby both crash spectacularly at the start of Season 3. Each needs to dig themselves out of the hole their in all through Season 3 (Johnny) and 5 (Robby).

So the show never treats them as not needing growth, as the show is all about their growth.

Daniel

Danny is a hyper-judgmental asshole due to unresolved trauma from his youth and it's a problem. But also the show would be a lot less interesting if he worked through all of this in a timely fashion. Primarily the issue is his reaction to "Cobra Kai" just being back at all, and how he never once gets pushed to question if Cobra Kai in Johnny's hands changed.

Some of this is miscommunication, which is the cornerstone of the Unresolved sexual Karate Tension with Johnny. But his absolute refusal to see good in Cobra Kai had a direct hand in breaking up Sam and Miguel in Season 1 and Danny... came out of it believing he was right.

And when he goes out of his way to try and destroy the S1-2 era of Cobra Kai, the narrative never once actively punishes him for his prejudice. He's also never forced to face why he's like this. It's kind of shit but very much a plot lodestone.

Sam

Like her father, Sam often rushes to a moral judgement on bad info and never goes back. Even if she's wrong. So much of her Season 1 behavior is swept under a rug so that other characters (Kyler, Yaz, Miguel) can be her personal villain. And the worst being Season 2 with Tory.

Sam rushed to 'all Cobras are evil' while in a plot trying to fix her friendship with her best friend, she instigated things with Tory, and blamed Tory for all of it without having to think about why she's following her father so readily. Of course, with the end of Season 2 it didn't matter what her behavior was prior, she had every justification to treat Tory as her own personal satan.

Fortunately for me, and everyone else who likes Sam, most of the later seasons focus real hard on having her grow as a person. Maybe not facing all of her personal failings, but she does grow past them in respectable ways. And while her behavior toward Tory is... still bad, Tory is her personal anxiety attack she's allowed it now. (Unlike someone else.)

She also unpacks some of the prejudice she learned from her dad. Sneaking off behind his back to learn Eagle Fang and figure out before Father Dearest that balance is better than pigheaded arrogance of your own greatness. Leading to the Season 4 finale and her mixed styles.

Demetri Hawk

Before I rant about Demetri, I need to explain why Hawk's narrative, regardless of his failures, is better. Eli starts the show with a clearly defined failing (confidence and courage), focuses hard on overcoming it (through Cobra Kai Karate), and turns him into someone new.

That new person is a loud abrasive asshole, but it's a growth arc.

When Hawk behaves badly, it's treated as a start of darkness. As he grows to love having the power his weaker nerdy self lacked. His acts of vengeance make sense as the flexing of power he's never had before. To the point he becomes the sort of bully he feared. His reactions are all overreactions and that's good writing. You understand why he beats Kyler's flunky to a bloody pulp, it's cathartic but also framed as an act of pure violence and destruction. He needs to live in his anger, his violence, listening to the whispers Kreese offers.

Season 3 is Hawk struggling to choose between good and evil, and in the end he chooses good. Leading him on the path toward balance and being better than either side of him before. Honestly of every character in the show his path is the best defined.

Now Demetri

Demetri is a anxious pessimistic leech. He feels he'll fail before he starts, and therefore doesn't try. He rides the coattails of his friends as they become cool and popular and Hawk was right to call him out. But rather than investigate that, he becomes the target of Hawk's new villain arc, and rushes to the arms of MiyagoDo.

Where he proceeds to never actually face who he was, and just... get to be a cool martial artist with a hot girlfriend as the show sweeps his negative traits under a rug and never touches them.

The narrative never confronts how 'it's fine for me to reap the benefits of your hard work' (start of season 2) or 'I can humiliate my best friend by spilling all his secrets then hide behind my badass martial artist friends' (late season 2) were bad calls, because at the end of the season he just... gets to beat up Hawk to establish the full defeat of Johnny's Cobra Kai.

Directly into Season 3 where he's just as aggressive and antagonistic as Sam is, while neither is treated as being 'over the line' by the narrative. Which is all before Hawk breaks Demetri's arm, meaning he doesn't have the extant trauma reason Sam has.

By Season 5 Demetri is a pretty cool person, but as there's no actual focus on how he got there, it feels cheap. Which really sucks.

What I'd Write-

I don't want to rewrite the whole show, and that makes Danny hard to fix. As so much of him is that paranoia of Cobra Kai. Like- best I could ask for is him going to therapy and trying to work past it (and just being bad at it).

Sam the easy answer is Aisha not forgiving her (at least during S1-2). Where Sam tries to get Aisha back, but every time she either says something about Cobra Kai, or Miguel, or Tory and Aisha points out Sam hasn't given any of them a fair shot, and that Sam has no room to talk after dating Kyler and being Yaz's friend.

Bonus points if Sam also gets taken to task for her going after Tory when Tory was working. Because Amanda already got Tory fired once, but she felt bad about it.

Demetri has a similar route of 'best friend does not forget.' A simple 'why should I ever trust you again' after Moon's party would go a long way to rub Demetri's face in what he did, how he was as bad as everyone who made fun of Hawk's lip at school. How Demetri, for one brief moment, was worse than Kyler.

I want all the characters to either get the kind of care in how they change direction that Miguel has, and failing that being absolutely perfect like Devon (the only person to join Silver's Cobra Kai and not turn evil).

[karliahs]

hello! this is over 500 words, i hope you don't mind. i just like this whole part so much i couldn't cut it XD if it is a bother just cut from the end until it's 500. love you!

Tim had always noticed people, collected little details about them in his head whether he intended to or not, but he thinks his observations used to be about happier things, though it’s hard to remember exactly how he was, how he felt, before - it wasn’t the kind of thing he ever tried to memorise, the kind of thing he ever thought he could lose. Now he finds himself taking note of the coworker who comes back from their lunch break with faint puffy red marks around their eyes, or the older guy who checks his phone with something like dread in his eyes. Danny would have called it his older brother instincts (but what good did those instincts do him? ).

Tim blinks back to the present, realising he’s been pushing a napkin over the same spot of floor for a while now. Jon offers him a hand up, though he braces himself on the bar with his other hand before he does. Tim takes care not to let Jon take too much of his weight as he’s hauled back up.

“Ah, thank you. And apologies, again,” Jon murmurs, gesturing awkwardly at Tim’s lightly-beered clothes.

“Happens to everyone,” Tim says easily. Jon still looks lightly anguished, and Tim silently wishes this could have happened to someone else, someone with the confidence to laugh it off. “I’m always convinced I’m going to drop something when I go in the silent study bit of the library,” Tim offers.

“Ah...that worry hadn’t actually occurred to me,” Jon replies, solemn enough that Tim can’t really tell if he’s joking.

Tim finger-guns. “Any other anxieties I can stir up while you’re over here?”

“I’m quite capable of stoking my own neuroses, thank you.”

Jon glances over his shoulder at the tables the rest of the department are occupying, perhaps doing the same thing as Tim and trying to psyche himself up for some more hollow smalltalk. Tim notes that his jacket seems slightly large on him, but in a way that kind of works. The collar of his shirt is slightly out of place beneath it. There’s a lump forming in Tim’s throat, even though nothing is happening - nothing but standing close to someone, noticing the little signs that they’re real and alive entirely independent from him. He’s aware, as he always is, of the hollow pit in his stomach, pain ebbing and flowing but never gone, new flares thrown off from a familiar wound, now pulsing with a kind of loneliness. All this, just from standing close to someone and trying to make them feel better about a mistake that didn’t matter.

“I...might go out for a smoke,” Jon murmurs eventually.

And here’s where Tim could say sure, wave him off and go back to moping, buy everyone an obligatory round, flex his meaningless chat muscles and be home by half 9. “Mind if I join you?” he asks instead, and to his surprise Jon nods immediately, as if he’d been hoping Tim would say that.

They duck outside to find dark clouds have given way to an anticlimactic drizzle. They stay close to the pub, shielded from the rain by the slight overhang of the roof. Jon fumbles with a lighter and Tim finds his gaze drifting over the rain-slick streets. It’s been a while since he’s been...anywhere, really, other than work and his flat. Longer than he can remember since he was outside in the never-quite-dark of the city.

Despite himself, Tim finds himself admiring the buildings across the way, modern painted shop-fronts on the ground floor giving way to weathered brick and occasional stone carvings above. It was the first thing he’d loved about London, how you only had to look up to catch a glimpse of its history, and it almost wounds him all over again, that that love isn’t gone too. It would be easier if he was just one thing, all the way lost. It would be easier if he didn’t still love the world that killed Danny.

Jon lights his cigarette, and silently holds the lighter out to Tim. Tim shakes his head, and Jon doesn’t question him about why he’s come out here if he doesn’t smoke. Doesn’t press about the way Tim must be looking; he knows he’s never had much of a poker face. Danny tried to teach him poker, on a visit home from uni; Tim left for six weeks and came back to playing cards and strategy guides everywhere - his brother, who never sit still even in his own head -

“Where were you, before this?” Jon asks. Tim wouldn’t have pegged him for a smoker, but he looks immediately more relaxed with a cigarette in his hands. Nice hands, too. It would be easier, if he didn’t-

“Publishing,” Tim answers, before he can drift again. He wants to say more, to make sure this undemanding presence isn’t going to leave his side, but his throat is still tight. “You?”

Jon frowns, as if debating something to himself, then gives a tiny rueful smile. “Tesco.”

Tim grins. “Was it a haunted Tesco?”

“Only by customers,” Jon replies, dry as bone.

from: please leave a light on when you go

HELLO, this is 1000 years late and for that i apologise!! i absolutely do not mind that it is over 500 words. tbh i'd do these for whole fics if enough people were interested!

Tim had always noticed people, collected little details about them in his head whether he intended to or not, but he thinks his observations used to be about happier things, though it’s hard to remember exactly how he was, how he felt, before - it wasn’t the kind of thing he ever tried to memorise, the kind of thing he ever thought he could lose. Now he finds himself taking note of the coworker who comes back from their lunch break with faint puffy red marks around their eyes, or the older guy who checks his phone with something like dread in his eyes. Danny would have called it his older brother instincts (but what good did those instincts do him? ).

i think i've talked about my tim just genuinely loving people in general feelings in another one of these answers, but it continues to be true. makes sense to be for a character demonstrated to be both smart and gregarious. i also wanted to muse on how formative traumatic events both change us and don't - tim still cares about the people around him, but now he's unconciously looking for pain

i am not immune to older brother tim feelings...i am especially not immune to them being directed at jon...

Tim blinks back to the present, realising he’s been pushing a napkin over the same spot of floor for a while now. Jon offers him a hand up, though he braces himself on the bar with his other hand before he does. Tim takes care not to let Jon take too much of his weight as he’s hauled back up.

part of the reason pre-series jontim is so fun is thinking about what would draw these two together. one answer is that i imagine jon as someone who would want/need a particular kind of consideration from those he's friends with, and i imagine tim as someone who's very good about noticing what people need and working around it without it being a huge thing

i was surprised that dyspraxic jon is not already a tag! or even just 'dyspraxia' does not seem to be a tag. i've read a lot of good fic involving various mobility issues for jon and this is a hc that i think makes sense (and that i hope i portrayed sensitively)

apparently the only tims i write are just regularly dissociating. i have no justification for this except that grief is really good at displacing you from time and also it's a convenient narrative device for dipping in and out of internal monologue

“Ah, thank you. And apologies, again,” Jon murmurs, gesturing awkwardly at Tim’s lightly-beered clothes.

“Happens to everyone,” Tim says easily. Jon still looks lightly anguished, and Tim silently wishes this could have happened to someone else, someone with the confidence to laugh it off. “I’m always convinced I’m going to drop something when I go in the silent study bit of the library,” Tim offers.

“Ah...that worry hadn’t actually occurred to me,” Jon replies, solemn enough that Tim can’t really tell if he’s joking.

Tim finger-guns. “Any other anxieties I can stir up while you’re over here?”

“I’m quite capable of stoking my own neuroses, thank you.”

lifting tim's fear here directly from my uni days. quiet libraries...so good at making me feel like i'm about to start emitting 1000 noises (i now work in a library but it's not a quiet one so we're mostly good)

jon who is jokes in a v specific deadpan way that a lot of people don't get...a good headcanon

trying to inject the right amount of slightly awkward formality into jon's dialogue is hard but fun...that last sentence i think i thought about a lot even though it's a short/simple thought. gotta make it sound like a short/simple Jon thought

another reason they would like each other right off the bat - banter

Jon glances over his shoulder at the tables the rest of the department are occupying, perhaps doing the same thing as Tim and trying to psyche himself up for some more hollow smalltalk. Tim notes that his jacket seems slightly large on him, but in a way that kind of works. The collar of his shirt is slightly out of place beneath it. There’s a lump forming in Tim’s throat, even though nothing is happening - nothing but standing close to someone, noticing the little signs that they’re real and alive entirely independent from him. He’s aware, as he always is, of the hollow pit in his stomach, pain ebbing and flowing but never gone, new flares thrown off from a familiar wound, now pulsing with a kind of loneliness. All this, just from standing close to someone and trying to make them feel better about a mistake that didn’t matter.

jon in big jacket...as the kids say, hot jon rights

i've also talked about this in another one of these but man. the little details that make it feel real that someone is there close to you. when you are lonely the reality of other people right there just out of your reach suddenly drives home

"a mistake that didn't matter" tim is always thinking about the mistakes that did matter :(

“I...might go out for a smoke,” Jon murmurs eventually.

And here’s where Tim could say sure, wave him off and go back to moping, buy everyone an obligatory round, flex his meaningless chat muscles and be home by half 9. “Mind if I join you?” he asks instead, and to his surprise Jon nods immediately, as if he’d been hoping Tim would say that.

i think jon here is like i think i am enjoying talking to this person but on some level would be relieved to stop, so i will take a punt as to whether or not he is also a smoker and let fate decide. luckily for him tim is not a smoker but he does crave human connection

They duck outside to find dark clouds have given way to an anticlimactic drizzle. They stay close to the pub, shielded from the rain by the slight overhang of the roof. Jon fumbles with a lighter and Tim finds his gaze drifting over the rain-slick streets. It’s been a while since he’s been...anywhere, really, other than work and his flat. Longer than he can remember since he was outside in the never-quite-dark of the city.

Despite himself, Tim finds himself admiring the buildings across the way, modern painted shop-fronts on the ground floor giving way to weathered brick and occasional stone carvings above. It was the first thing he’d loved about London, how you only had to look up to catch a glimpse of its history, and it almost wounds him all over again, that that love isn’t gone too. It would be easier if he was just one thing, all the way lost. It would be easier if he didn’t still love the world that killed Danny.

mostly my reaction when i have had to be in london is some level of :/ but maybe i do think fondly of some of it. cities at night...the weird mash up and modern & ancient in uk buildings that i always took for granted until i didn't. also hello architechture-buff tim

rereading this it's just very obvious to me that i wrote this during lockdown...like oh imagine going to a place and seeing a person. magical. effervescent

i do love them huddling close to keep out of the rain here...thematically appropriate, it is sad battered people against the world time, and also circumstance bringing you literally close to someone and having that change/spark something

the last line distresses me, the person who wrote it. i don't know if i have much to add to it really. sometimes the most painful part of living through something is waking up the next day and finding that you are still alive and a real person capable of being touched by the world

tim blames both himself and the world for killing danny. sure hope that blame and hatred doesn't rise up and send him into a spiral of self-destruction some day. would be a real bummer if that happened and ultimately led to his death via clown murder explosion

Jon lights his cigarette, and silently holds the lighter out to Tim. Tim shakes his head, and Jon doesn’t question him about why he’s come out here if he doesn’t smoke. Doesn’t press about the way Tim must be looking; he knows he’s never had much of a poker face. Danny tried to teach him poker, on a visit home from uni; Tim left for six weeks and came back to playing cards and strategy guides everywhere - his brother, who never sit still even in his own head -

“Where were you, before this?” Jon asks. Tim wouldn’t have pegged him for a smoker, but he looks immediately more relaxed with a cigarette in his hands. Nice hands, too. It would be easier, if he didn’t-

“Publishing,” Tim answers, before he can drift again. He wants to say more, to make sure this undemanding presence isn’t going to leave his side, but his throat is still tight. “You?”

Jon frowns, as if debating something to himself, then gives a tiny rueful smile. “Tesco.”

Tim grins. “Was it a haunted Tesco?”

“Only by customers,” Jon replies, dry as bone.

thank you for choosing this passage because now i have noticed/will edit the last sentence in the first paragraph, which is missing a word and does not scan right (should be 'who could never sit still even in his own head')

'Nice hands, too. It would be easier, if he didn’t-' hot. jon. rights. also connecting the 'maybe it would be easier if i wasn't still alive and real and capable of feeling' thing to noticing, appreciating, wondering if he wants something with jon

jon has definitely not told anyone else at the institute that he was in customer service before this. proud of him for this brief moment of trust. also between this and martin having told tim about his CV, i think people just look at tim and are like yeah here are my career-related secrets

i also just love imagining jon in customer service. and as someone who did not work in customer service at the time of writing this fic but now does, i mostly do not view customers as hauntings (library patrons are mostly chill) - unless it is 10 minutes until we close, in which case they are the absolute bane of my existence

[hawkinsindiana]

i want to talk about it

ALMOST PARADISE: PART THREE - CHAPTER TWO OF ELEVEN (?)

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 2.8k

a/n: you asked for it! guess what - the anGST IS BACK!!!! i have also decided not to include gifs until we get to s3 content okay? okay. enjoy!

masterlist

You think about that night often, even though there have been plenty of others like it since. It was the breath of fresh air you so desperately needed. And while your relationship with Steve has made certain aspects of your life better, not all of them are so positively affected. 

The lump that forms in your throat every time you lie to your baby brother is especially difficult to swallow. You wonder if it will get any easier. Hopefully you won’t have to keep up the charade in front of the kids for much longer.

Especially now that Mike knows, that little shit. 

It had only been four days since Steve had suggested the idea of keeping the status of your relationship a secret. Four days. You still can’t believe it. 

The group was in the middle of a rather rousing round of Monopoly; Will had just sworn never to speak with Lucas again after a painful double mortgage incident. Steve, bankrupt from Max’s hotels and exhausted by their shenanigans, decided to leave a bit early. In traditional fashion, you made sure to see him out. 

Moments after the pair of you disappeared from the room, Dustin sent the Wheeler boy to grab extra sodas from the fridge in the garage. You’re lucky Mike closed the door when he entered; no one else heard him shout in surprise when he witnessed Steve give you a quick kiss goodbye. 

Your face flushed beet red in record time. Steve could’ve sworn his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. Mike has a habit of catching him in the act.

Thankfully it didn’t take much to convince Mike not to tell the others. He could tell how much it would mean to you to keep this quiet - a part of him understands why. It also helps that the boy would never want to disappoint you. Like all of the kids, they would hate to be the cause of grief in you. 

But keeping this from your brother is the toughest part. Mike knows first hand just how much Dustin wishes you two were together. It’s unfortunate he hasn’t figured it out himself yet; Mike thinks he probably never will.

But of course, now that’s the least of your worries. 

Billy Hargrove gets bored easily; it explains much of his behavior. When something, or someone, becomes a bit too dull for his taste, he feels the need to stir the pot. You are no exception. 

You’ve learned to ignore his posse’s comments in your direction when they walk by; Tommy’s sting a bit more than the rest. Normally, you’d love to fight back and embarrass him - it’s one of Steve’s favorite things about you. But now, Billy’s involvement makes you think twice before saying anything. After what happened at the Byers’, you never know what it could be that sets him off. 

Considering what happened last week, you’re certain something similar could occur again. 

Billy cornered you at your locker, spewing his usual comments. You were unnerved by his presence but able to keep your emotions in check as he leaned in closer; it was impossible not to catch the stench of cigarette smoke off his breath as he spoke. The hand he had broken months prior twinged in pain. 

In a moment of rage fueled by your silence, Billy fisted the collar of your sweater in his fingers. The fabric tightened against your neck as he said the damning line, “I could do it again, you know.”

The delicate knit of the yarn was stretched when he finally let you go. You threw that top into the dumpster as soon as you got home. You couldn’t bear to look at it anymore.

Steve wishes that you’d let him do something about Billy; you’re too frightened about what could happen if Steve confronted him. You would never risk letting your dream become a reality.

All that kept Billy from killing Steve that night was Max, had she not intervened. You’d thank her everyday if you could. 

Even though the little moments you do get to spend with Steve help calm your mind, your experiences from November still hang over both of your consciences. Steve just tries his hardest to make sure your conversations are Upside-Down free. He wishes you both could be normal teenagers again without these traumatic experiences haunting your every move. He misses not having to worry about that.

Looking for a way to blow off some steam and relax, you suggested a horror movie marathon to the kids. Since the final semester of your senior year began, you haven’t been able to spend as much time with them as you would like.

Max’s face lit up when you mentioned the idea; Dustin scowled. He hates scary movies. It seems ironic to you considering everything the group has been through. 

After sitting through Alien, the red-headed girl’s favorite, everyone decides to take a quick break before continuing. You and Steve are goofing off with Lucas and Max in the kitchen as the microwave’s working on the popcorn. Max just smiles as she watches you two interact. 

The pair of you are approaching almost three months of your relationship. In that time, your comfort with each other has grown exponentially. While you don’t express your feelings for each other in front of the kids, it becomes very apparent to Max how drastically different your dynamic is compared to when she first met you both. 

“I’m really glad you guys were able to sort things out,” She says before grabbing another bowl from the cabinet. 

“What are you talking about?” You ask, the smile on your face drooping slightly at her words, exchanging a quick glance with Steve before speaking again, “Sort out what?” 

Lucas continues before she can, leaning back against the counter, “Just... back when you guys were fighting. It must have been for something dumb if you got over it quick.”

That has Steve’s mind spinning for the rest of the night.

In your giddy excitement with one another, you both had completely forgotten about what happened between you two that week. It all seems like background noise compared to what followed.

But whatever it was that had you angry with him, it must not have been something dumb, he thinks. Not with the way you reacted.

The kids decide to move the activities over to the Wheelers’ after finishing The Shining - and you’re thankful they do. You and Steve don’t know how much more of Dustin’s unnecessary screams you could take.

“It’s not even that scary!” Will says as he opens the front door, turning back to your brother as the rest of the kids file outside. You throw Max’s coat to her before she forgets it.

“Did we watch the same movie?” Dustin answers as he pulls his backpack over his shoulder, his face stunned as he looks between you and Steve, “And he’s the one who looks like Danny Torrance!”

“Alright, alright,” Steve grabs the door from Will and he ushers them out, “Go on, get out of here.”

Mike runs back before it’s shut, looking over his shoulder to the others to make sure he wasn’t followed. His eyes peer through the crack as he steps onto the porch, a smug grin over his features as he lowers his voice, “If you two do anything weird in there-”

“Oho, that’s enough out of you,” Steve slams the door before Mike can continue, making an effort to lock it immediately after.

Your muffled laughter reaches his ears, turning to see where you’ve disappeared behind the couch to grab a pillow you’d thrown to try and silence your brother.

“You think his antics are funny, huh?” Steve asks, placing his hands on his hips as you pop back up, your eyes sparkling, “Clearly I enjoy them much more than you do.”

“He’s lucky we haven’t killed him yet.”

“Steven!”

“What?” 

You scoff lightly at him, tossing the pillow onto the couch before plopping yourself down, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” 

Steve’s expression flattens as you look away from him, gaze not focused on anything in particular. The thoughts he’s been having about the rough patch you two experienced begin to overwhelm him. The unanswered questions regarding your aggression towards him make him anxious - Steve can’t stand it when you’re unhappy with him. 

It comes out before he can stop himself.

“You know, uh, what Max and Lucas mentioned earlier? About us?” Steve’s words make your brow furrow, confused as to why he’d bring it up. That seems like something he’d want to keep in the past, “Yeah, why?”

“I mean-” Steve exhales before sitting down next to you, his knee grazing yours, “I was mad ‘cause I thought that you’d been the reason Nancy...”

He stops for a moment, shaking the memory from his mind. He has no desire to bring his previous relationship into this one, “I don’t know, I guess you never mentioned why you were angry.” 

He just shrugs after trailing off, eyes focused on the carpet; Steve’s not able to look directly at you while he admits it, “It just doesn’t make any sense to me, that’s all.”

Your jaw clenches as you remember the cause of your anger and how it transformed you. It seems so stupid now, that his behavior towards you meant that he’d rejected your feelings. Turns out, it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

You push those thoughts away; you’re not interested in furthering the conversation any more.

“It’s not important,” You state plainly, also not able to meet his gaze, “Lucas was right, it was dumb.”

Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you re-adjust on the cushion, “Let’s forget about it, yeah?”

Steve shakes his head - he’s quickly growing tired of you dodging his questions, “No, I want to talk about it. I want to know.”

“Why do you care so much? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Because I was an asshole to you and you just…” He trails off as he leans away, arm draping over the couch, “You just took it! You accepted it like nothing had ever changed, like nothing ever happened between us.”

You huff, back pressed against the arm rest, voice quiet, “Damn right nothing ever happened.”

You freeze, surprised at your own comment. You didn’t know that you were still holding onto aggression directed at his obliviousness to your true feelings. But Steve doesn’t catch on, he only grows more concerned at your response, “What the hell are you talking about?”

You take a deep breath, thankful that he didn’t seem to understand, effectively saving your ass from whatever this revelation could’ve caused. The room is silent as you move to the edge of the seat, “Like I said. We should forget about it.”

Steve scoffs, his fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose as you stand up, “I can’t believe you’re not going to tell me.” 

You don’t turn to look at him as you take a few steps, instead opting to push both hands through your hair as you answer, “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Maybe I do! What - is it so horrible that I want to know what made you mad at me?” He raises his voice and you turn towards him, desperately trying to calm your temper, “Steve-”

“So we’re keeping secrets now too, huh?” Steve says as he gets up too, arms crossed over his chest, “This whole thing’s under wraps anyways, why not bring that into the relationship? What a great idea. You’ve really outdone yourself this time, truly-”

“Oh my God, Steve-” You interrupt him, growing so impatient of him that you don’t even register what happens until it does, “Fine, you want to know?”

“Yes!”

“I thought that Nancy told you everything! Everything about how I felt.”

Your lip gets caught between your teeth as you cast your focus to the ceiling, hating how you can never seem to keep your emotions bottled up anymore - you used to be good at that.

“I must have been more obvious than I wanted because she had figured it out. That night at Tina’s party was when she finally felt confident enough to confront me about it. And I just…” You swallow the lump in your throat as you feel the tears start to burn behind your eyes. There was a reason you wanted to keep this away from him.

“I couldn’t take it anymore. I screamed at her, Steve. I just screamed at her,” Your tone softens as you remember the words that you spit at her, guilt flooding you all over again, “I was so sick and tired of watching her pull away from you when you deserved someone who actually cared about you and I was right there! The whole fucking time!” 

“I thought that she told you about how I felt,” You mutter, shoulders slumping with embarrassment and shame, “I thought she told you and you had decided to reject me.”

Steve used to think that seeing you bloodied and beaten by Billy was the saddest he’d ever seen you. But seeing the look on your face as you realize what you’ve said - he’s not sure which one is worse. And it’s all because of him. 

He should have listened to your protests; you were right.

Steve doesn’t know what to say. 

Even though it’s only been official for a short amount of time, getting to be with you has been an absolute joy. It’s been perfect knowing that the sparks are mutual. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it again if they weren’t. Steve can tell there’s something different about why being with you feels so amazing and terrifying at the same time.

But the idea that you’ve kept your feelings locked away and hidden from him longer than he thought? That brings about a pain in his chest that’s greater than he’s ever had before.

“How - um, how long had it been since…” He doesn’t know how to finish - he’s not entirely sure if he wants to. He’s not sure he wants to know.

One tear hits your cheek, then another, “A year.”

Even though it’s whispered, it’s enough to make him dizzy. He sinks back onto the couch, his head in his hands as the information overwhelms him. The entire time that Nancy was lying to him, you were right by his side. 

You heard everything. 

He can’t believe that you just swallowed it - all the times that he gushed about her to your patient soul, telling you the plans on how he was going to ask her to the junior prom, mentioning how he thought she was the one for him. He can’t take it.

You still can’t look at him, it would be too much. Instead, you opt to pick at the sleeves of your hoodie, waiting for Steve to finally address what you admitted.

You grow impatient yet again, emotion scratching your throat, “Please just… say something.” 

It seems like hours pass although it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. 

“I can’t do this,” The sound of Steve’s keys being pulled from his pocket catches your attention. Your eyes finally snap up and he’s already moving quickly to the exit, and you brush hair from your face before following him, “Where are you going?”

“I don’t-” He pauses as he pulls on the handle, briefly looking over his shoulder in your direction - still not able to directly catch sight of you, “I don’t know. I just need to think.”

The photos on the wall shake as he slams the door; you force your face into your palms. 

It’s ruined, you’re sure of it. He can’t even be in the same room as you anymore. Maybe you’re not as good at keeping secrets as you thought. 

Steve’s filled with regret as soon as his fingers leave the doorknob. What the hell is he thinking?

His mind quickly flashes back to the argument you two shared that night on the train tracks; he had forgotten all about it until now.

“You’re the one who caused this mess in the first place.”

His jaw clenches.

“This whole time, I knew you never liked her.”

His exhale stops short. 

“You feel so threatened by her that you had to do something about it!”

His stomach churns.

The thought of you interpreting those words as further evidence of his rejection completely fills him with regret.

And then Steve remembers how willing you were to separate from him - it hits him that you didn’t believe he’d ever see you as anything other than a friend. The very notion of him being aware of your feelings had you shutting yourself away from him completely.

He has to go back in. He can’t leave you to believe those things. And although he doesn’t think apologizing would be enough this time, he at least has to give it a shot. For your sake

Steve’s about to shove the door back open when it locks from the other side. You’ve accepted that he’s not coming back in. Why would he want to?

A shallow breath gets pushed through your lungs; it doesn’t help to calm you. At he sound of the engine of his car running, a whimper passes your lips. You’re certain you’ve lost him again.

—

taglist: @stevebabey / @mrsukai / @hannarudick / @crazycookiecrumbles / @hellisateenageheather / @alewifex / @l0ve-0f-my-life / @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 / @daddystevee / @thecaptainsgingersnap / @let-the-imaginationflow / @asianravenpuff / @im-a-stranger-thing​ / @mikariell95​ / @pilunb​ / @harringtherin​ / @royalestrellas​ / @ultrunning​ / @buggs177 / @poutfull​ / @yoheyyosup​ / @duchessdaisybat​ / @janieavalos / @sassisaluxury​ / @beththebubbly​ / @i-bitch-you-bitch​ / @captainstilinskis​ / @juliebean247​ / @im-nada / @whatabeautifulsurrender​ / @rexorangecouny​ / @pass-me-jeez-it / @ahoy-scoops-troop / @halefirewarrior​ / @jointhehunt67 / @peanutem / @ketchuplukehemmo​ / @m-a-r-i-n-t-p / @fangirl485 / @emmegirl827 / @lookalivesunshine-x​ / @elite4cekalyma​ / @marjoherbo​ / @just-my-fandom / @idumpyourgrass​ / @alafolieee​ / @mochminnie​ / @phantomalchemist​ / @dustyblueboo​ / @alonewolfsblog​ / @ggclarissa​ / @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​ / @bippityboppitybabe​ / @readinthegarden12​ / @bakugouishusbando / @stxtch72 / @random-girl-army / @wisdaemon

wow there are so many of you

if you wanna be added to the taglist (of if you’ve changed your url), just lemme know!

[lexosaurus]

Everything Was White: Part 10

Part [1] / [9]

Read on [ffn] [ao3]

---

Click.

“Danny Fenton Phantom was spotted today exiting from the Fenton Ghost Assault Vehicle at the Kaufman Health Center, a recovery center specializing in adolescent mental health and trauma—”

Click.

“—what I want to know is what the hell happened here? Okay? Because in this video I see a kid who can’t walk, who’s looking around like he’s terrified someone’s going to come get him, and you’re sitting here telling me that this is Danny Phantom? This kid? So what happened inside—”

Click.

“—was released from his inpatient stay at the Amity Park Psychiatric Center just this week. Though it is unclear at this time if we’ll see him soaring through the skies again anytime soon, sources say he is recovering quickly—”

Click.

“—no, Dave, I agree that something’s not right here. If you ask me, he’s gotta be a ticking time bomb—”

Click.

“—a ghost or a human? That’s the question we’ll be discussing tonight—”

Click.

“—while what happened during his time within the government’s hold is still unknown, one thing is for certain: Danny Phantom has a long way to go if he wants to get back to his former glory.”

Click.

The screen went black.

“You shouldn’t be watching stuff like that,” Jazz said from behind him.

Danny stared blankly at his lap, not even bothering to turn around and face Jazz’s disappointed gaze. His therapist had told him—had told his parents—that Danny should avoid the news for a while. In her office, Danny found it too easy to comply because he was only just beginning to jigsaw together the broken pieces of his life, so why the hell should he care about the news?

But now it was different. It was unavoidable. The media had been tipped off that Danny Phantom had returned to modern society—somewhat—and that he was attending a PHP program, and now any brief semblance of anonymity he had was gone.

Just like that.

“Twitter’s worse,” he muttered.

Jazz sighed and came around the sofa, sinking into the cushions next to Danny. Her hair was up in a messy bun with strands sticking out like gravity didn’t exist. She pulled the sleeves down on her oversized hoodie and wrapped her arms around her legs.

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Danny prepared himself for a Jazz-style lecture about teenage psychology and how he needed to listen to his therapist because she was the expert here, not him, but instead all she gave was a small “I know.”

His stomach turned, and in a moment of vulnerability, he uttered, “I think the worst part is...they’re right.”

“Danny—”

“No. They...I...I used to get this stuff all the time. When I was just Phantom.” He paused, waiting for Jazz to butt in, but she didn’t. “It was so much—so much easier to ignore. Back then. Because they were wrong. I—I knew they were wrong. I wasn’t...a ghost. I was a halfa. They were...they were looking at me like a full ghost, you know? And...the theories were wrong. They didn’t know…”

“Some of the things they said were pretty ridiculous, I remember that.”

“Right?” Danny twisted around to face Jazz. “It was obvious to us, but they didn’t know! They sounded crazy!”

Jazz looked at him with an uncertain gaze. “You realize that they still sound crazy, right? All the people talking about you?”

“No...you don’t get it. The theories are updated, and they know—they know I’m Phantom. Don’t you get it? Everything they’re saying...it’s all based in truth.”

Her expression turned pained. “Danny, stop.”

“But I’m right.” 

“Danny just—come on, think about it for a second! The public hasn’t seen you in months, everything they’re going off of is based on rumors!”

“They saw me this morning, didn’t they?” Danny gestured at the television.

Jazz scoffed. “And you’re really going to take their word over mine? Because of a five-second video of you going into a building?”

A headache was building in his skull. Jazz was trying to guilt him, wasn’t she? But he knew the truth.

The public didn’t need much more than the short video of him going from the GAV to the building, because there wasn’t much else to the legendary Danny Phantom anymore. Everything in that video...that’s all he was now.

Just a traumatized teen going to a health center.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Danny—”

“No, I’m—I’m...” He pressed his hand to his forehead. “I’m tired.”

“Me too.”

Her voice was so quiet, so defeated . Danny couldn’t remember a time where Jazz ever sounded like this.

He was selfish, wasn’t he? He had spent all this time so caught up in his problems and his anxieties that he never thought about what Jazz was going through. They had talked, but not really. 

A wave of guilt swept through Danny because he was such a selfish and awful brother who didn’t ever think to check in with his sister despite everything she had done for him and she deserved so much better than him.

His throat felt tight. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, cut it out,” she said, slapping his arm playfully.

He tensed and immediately felt his face heat up in embarrassment. He kept his eyes trained down to his lap, not wanting to see if Jazz noticed his reaction.

“It’s not your fault, Danny.”

Danny didn’t know what she was referring to. Even so, she was probably wrong. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“With what, spending quality time with my little brother?” 

“Sure.”

“Well...” She yawned. “See? I’m too tired to do any more homework. Guess I’m forced to chill here on the couch with you. Woe is me and all.”

He rolled his eyes. “The horror.”

“I know, you should pity me.”

“Maybe you should take a nap.”

“Why do that when they’re showing reruns of ‘The Bachelor’ on TV right now?” Jazz plucked the remote from Danny’s fingers.

“Oh god.” A grin began to creep on Danny’s lips. “I get back from—from being abducted by the government...and you want to torture me with trash television?”

“Yup!”

“Unbelievable.” 

Jazz shot him a playful smile. “Well, your options are either ‘The Bachelor’ or you could always find Dad and let him blather on about ghosts for three hours. Choice is yours!”

“And become the victim of his—his latest invention? You drive a hard bargain.”

The depressive fog was beginning to lift in the room, and it was as if Danny could see clearly for the first time. Here he was, joking around on the couch with Jazz, just like before. There was nothing holding him down. He didn’t need to stand up and walk anywhere, his chest was surprisingly calm for once, and his brain felt clear and calm.

This was what he’d always wanted, right? To sit here with his sister, watching mindless television and joking about whatever was on their minds.

This was what he’d dreamt of nearly every night in the Guys in White compound.

He was safe.

Right?

“Ugh, I don’t know why she got so far into the season,” Jazz said, her eyes glued onto the screen. “She was awful.”

Danny watched as a brunette on the screen threw her purse at another girl and stormed out of the scene cursing. “The producers probably...they made her stay.”

“Oh yeah, no doubt. She was crazy. There’s no way Kevin actually liked her.”

“I mean, it is reality TV. It’s not—not actually real.” 

Kind of like how this isn’t real, huh, Fentino? 

Danny gripped his shirt. No, his brain needed to shut up right now. This was real. He was safe and the government was nowhere near him and they couldn’t touch him because the courts had made sure of it. 

“Well, she was annoying either way. I know they like to keep someone on there every season to make drama but ugh, she was just the worst. Like, look!”

“This whole show is the worst though. I can’t...believe you’re make—making me watch this.”

“Well, there’s always those packets Lancer left you!” Jazz said in a singsong voice.

Danny couldn’t hide his disgust. He flopped back against the cushions. “Ugh, don’t even joke about that.”

She took one look at him and laughed, her voice light like a stone skipping over a pond. It was a bright and cheerful sound, one that reminded him of the time he tried to attempt duplication in front of Jazz, resulting in an extra arm sticking out of his torso. 

Danny stared mesmerized at his sister, watching as her smile widened across her face and her eyes squeezed shut, crinkling at the corners. He tried to recall if she’d laughed like this at all since his release from the government, but came up blank.

Sure, they’d had moments of sibling bonding since his release, but they were all held back by something. Whether it be the watchful eyes of nurses or Danny’s body perpetually in recovery mode, there was never a moment where they could truly relax and enjoy each other’s company.

But now he was safe.

Well…

His brain drifted back to the leaked video, and his mood instantly soured. His phone felt heavy in his pocket, and he resisted the temptation to take it out and scroll through Twitter.

He couldn’t even imagine what people were saying.

He was probably a joke to them now, wasn’t he? Amity Park’s hero, reduced to nothing more than a shell of his former self. To go from a confident teen who would soar through the skies, protecting citizens from all sorts of unsavory characters to a traumatized, disabled teen who couldn’t get through a day without hours of therapy and needed his mom’s help to get inside of a building was...well, if that didn’t make him a joke, what would?

Jazz’s attention was now back on the TV screen, and Danny tried to emulate her. After all, he was safe and comfortable and with his sister and there was nothing else to this moment, that was all there was to think about. 

But then something flashed in the corner of his vision, and for a moment he hoped that his eyes betrayed him because it looked like a white van but that was...it couldn’t be…

No…

But it was.

He glanced over to Jazz, but she was too transfixed on the screen to notice him, and he wouldn’t know how to get her attention anyway because his voice wasn’t working and he couldn’t even breathe now and he was going to die, wasn’t he? He was going to die.

They were coming back for him.

He was going to die.

The van slowed to a crawl, and he desperately tried to see inside of the tinted windows but he couldn’t and they wouldn’t roll down their windows either so who was in the van? Was it...was it…

But it had to be him, right? Who else would come back for him?

He tried to suck in a breath but couldn’t. His chest wasn’t working anymore. 

He blinked and the backs of his eyelids were green. Just like his cell floor and the splatters along his wall and his rib when he awoke to it in front of his face and oh god he was going to die, he was going to die, they were coming back for the rest of his core and his ectoplasm and he wasn’t going to survive another round of the compound he knew it he would rather die than do that but his core wouldn’t let him because it needed to protect him his stupid Obsession was going to force him to endure whatever they threw at him in order to protect him.

Unless they ended him first.

Which they were probably here to do.

He was shaking. He was distinctly aware that he was shaking and he hoped that Jazz hadn’t noticed him but she probably would have said something, wouldn’t she?

Oh god. She was going to have to go through it all again too. No...he couldn’t let her...he couldn’t let that happen.

He needed a plan.

But...there was no plan. He couldn’t do anything. The only thing he was capable of was sitting here like some helpless dog watching the van slowly drive by his house. All he could do was wait for it to stop at his driveway, for the agents to jump out of the doors and surround his house, for Operative O to step out with that signature smirk on his face as he held up the inhibitors in one hand and the fucking red bag in the other hand and say with his deep, arrogant tone, “You ready for round two, dog?”

But then, just when the van looked like it would stop, it sped up and turned the corner of their block.

Danny blinked, staring at the empty spot where the van was just seconds ago. 

Had it really...left?

He let out a shaky breath. And then another.

It left.

But it had been so close to stopping.

Oh god. Oh no. Oh no no no.

“Danny?”

The room was spinning. He needed air. The lights were so bright. When he looked up, the ceiling was white and he kept trying to tell himself that it was a wooden ceiling but the room was spinning and he couldn’t see correctly and the lights were too bright.

It was too late. His cover was blown. His hands flew up to his hair and he felt a comforting tug on his scalp.

Get a grip, get a grip…

“Oh my god, Danny! Hey, look at me!”

Danny shook his head. Or, he tried to. He didn’t know if he was able to or not, because he definitely couldn’t look at Jazz right now because he was going to be sick—

“Danny, what do you need?”

“I—”

What?

He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t think. Everything was frozen. He felt something wet on his face but he didn’t know what it was or where it came from and his chest was sparking to life and his ears were ringing and he didn’t know what to do. 

“Try to breathe.”

Right, he needed air.

He tried to push himself up but only succeeded in falling back onto the couch. 

“Hey, what are you—”

Hands invaded his vision, touching his arm, and he swatted them away.

He needed to get out. Escape.

Something grabbed his wrist, and he yanked his arm back to his chest, his eyes snapping onto Jazz’s face.

“Danny—”

“Van!” he gasped.

Jazz stilled. “Huh?”

“There was…” Danny looked back out the window, half expecting to see the white van back outside their house.

But there was nothing.

“...a van.”

Why had it left? What did they come here for in the first place if not to take him back to the compound?

It didn’t make sense.

“What are you talking about?”

“I…” He hugged his chest, looking desperately at Jazz’s confused face for even an ounce of understanding.

Why did the van leave?

“Do you need me to get Mom?”

“No!” He was breathless. He couldn’t explain what was going on because he didn’t even know what was happening. Why the Guys in White decided to patrol around their street. Why they decided to slow down in front of their house. 

Jazz tracked his gaze to the window where a black APC News van was stopping to park across the street.  “Danny, I know there are lots of news vans around here now, and I know it’s really stressful. But Mom and Dad tinted all the windows so they can’t see inside of the house, okay?”

Danny gritted his teeth. He wanted to yell out that it wasn’t the news, it was the Guys in White, but his voice wasn’t working and even if it was, Jazz would just call him paranoid and insist that the government wasn’t there to get him again, that he was safe, even though he knew that was a lie.

So instead, all he could force out was a tense “sorry.”

“I know this is hard, but we can get through this together, alright?”

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see her bright, trusting eyes. And, with a final shuddering breath, he felt the last of his adrenaline rush out of him.

Because maybe Jazz was right. After all, this was Jazz. She was always the smart sibling, the one who everyone could trust. She must have been right. It had to have been just a news van.

Maybe he really was unstable.

“Sorry. I’m fine.”

He was suddenly hyper aware of where he was, sitting on the living room couch with his sister, who was looking at him like he was a ticking time bomb—and maybe he was. Maybe that was all he was destined to be from now on.

Either way, it was embarrassing. 

“Sorry, I—I’m gonna go lie down for a bit.”

Jazz’s face almost looked relieved. Danny couldn’t blame her. 

“Sure, Danny. Do you need help getting upstairs?”

“No.” Danny glanced over to the stairlift, grimacing. He really couldn’t get his core back quick enough.

He began the arduous task of getting up to his bedroom, trying to remember the stupid grounding techniques that the PHP therapists were making them practice. “When you feel your brain trying to pull you into your trauma, remember your senses. Try to think of one thing for each of your five senses to bring you back to the present.”

It was stupid. He didn’t need grounding techniques because he wouldn’t even be in this situation if not for the Guys in White trying to ruin his life again.

One, touch. He could feel the loose ectoplasm beneath his fingers, the way his hands were sticky against the damp tile, the burning electricity they would use to punish him, the cold metal straps chaining him down to the examination table, the ecto-inhibitors weighing down on his neck, the way Operative O’s fingers trailed his chest just before the scalpel sliced through his skin, his flesh tearing off of his body all while he lay there, silently screaming, waiting for the pain to take him because he couldn’t do it anymore.

No, that’s wrong. You’re doing this wrong. 

But how could he come back to the present when the past refused to leave him alone?

Think, Fenturd. 

He closed his eyes and felt...his sweatpants. And…

Two, hearing. He could hear Operative O’s deep voice—

No.

—and the way it would echo around the tiled rooms, the sounds of nice black shoes hitting the pristine floors, the squeaking of Phantom’s damp hero suit as the operatives dragged him across the floor, the—

Stop. 

—machines whirring to life as they prepared to drain him of more ectoplasm every day, the scraping of tools against a metal table, the metal straps clicking into place each day, the slight squeak of the IV drop they would have to wheel into the experimentation room after Danny stopped being able to eat—

STOP.

His hand slammed the emergency brake, and the stairlift lurched to a halt. A wave of nausea swept over him, and he sat there at the top of the stairs, focusing on breathing if only to prevent hurling all over his dad’s stairlift. 

He needed to calm down. Ground himself. Be present in the moment. Do what the therapist told him to do.

He could hear his heartbeat. The TV Jazz was watching. The crickets outside.

He flipped the stairlift back on and continued forward.

Three, sight. He could see the controls for the lift. The red emergency brake. His hands. His human skin.

He ascended the last few stairs and, like a robot, rolled off the platform and pushed himself to his bedroom.

He could see his door. It was a wooden door, not like the metal door in the Guys in White facility. The metal door smeared with green ectoplasm—he got punished for that one—with a sickening pool of ectoplasm right in front of it from Danny’s attempts at eating the meals they would bring to him every evening. He could see the cameras in the corners of his cell, always pointing down towards him as a constant reminder that he was always being watched. He could see the granola bars on the other side of his cell mocking him, the tube Operative O would show off before he would shove it down Danny’s throat—for being an insolent, disrespectful creature, of course—the scalpel glistening under the bright lights, ectoplasm speckled on it like jewels.

He could see his bed. His window. His rug.

His nightstand, which he knew if he opened the drawers he would see pens, batteries, his phone charger, and a bottle of oxycodone.

Danny pulled himself onto his bed, pointedly turning his head to face his wall. He could see all the cracks in the wall. When he first got out of the hospital, he used to spend hours tracing the cracks. It was the only thing that would help distract him from all the pain.

He ran a hand along the rough surface, but to his disappointment, the magical distracting aura of the wall had vanished, leaving behind nothing but a broken surface.

Four, smell. Ectoplasm. Nothing but ectoplasm. Burnt battery acid with a hint of lime. Disgusting, revolting, inhuman. On his skin, in his hair, under his nails, everywhere. 

The smell of Clorox in the hallway, the distinct rotting of his cell, the red bag…

He covered his face with his hands. He was doing this exercise all wrong, he knew he was, but for some reason he needed to do it this way. He wanted to forget, but there was another part of him that almost needed to relive what happened as if to punish him for existing. It was an ugly, revolting part of him that he loathed right down to his core but it just wouldn’t shut up.  

He glanced over to his nightstand.

He needed to make a decision, didn’t he?

Five, taste.

---

“So, Danny. Your mom’s been worried about you,” the therapist said, scanning her clipboard. 

Danny prodded at the stress ball in his lap. The one in the hospital had been blue, but this one was green. It could have looked like a ball of ectoplasm if it weren’t so dull. 

“Oh?” He feigned surprise.

“She said you’ve been having trouble eating again.”

He hummed, neither confirming nor denying her statement. There was no point in really responding anyway. This was his personal therapist, the nice blonde lady he saw three times a week. She knew him better than anyone at this point. If he even thought about lying, she would call him out.

She tapped her clipboard with her pen. “She told me your father made hot dogs last night. Do you remember?”

Danny stared down at the white carpet. It was so clean, so fresh. If it weren’t for the small grey diamonds patterning the material, it would have looked nearly identical to the government floors.

This office was much brighter than the one she used in inpatient. Much cleaner, and the sofa was more comfortable too. Yet Danny couldn’t help but have a sudden urge to walk straight out the door.

If only he could.

“Danny?” she asked, her voice softening. 

He sighed, jabbing a finger into the stress ball. “My dad made hot dogs.”

“Right, and do you remember what happened after he made hot dogs?”

He wanted to forget. 

It was bad enough before, with the nurses and his parents constantly going over his meal plan and the stupid protein shakes. But now that everyone was at least vaguely aware that Danny may have had some stupid experience around food and that he may have accidentally brought that home with him and he might be failing to hide it from everyone close to him?

He did not want to get put on a meal plan again.

Maybe he could convince Tucker to pick up some Nasty Burger for them. If he ate it in front of his parents, surely that would get them off his back. That was a normal teen thing, right? He did that before everything changed. That sounded like a good plan.

Danny glanced up at the therapist, the suggestion ready to leave his lips, but faltered. She was looking at him expectantly. She’d asked him a question about dinner, hadn’t she?

“Uh…” Danny squinted at the stress ball, trying to remember the question. 

A part of his mind tried to recall what the Nasty Burger tasted like, but he couldn’t remember. It was good, he knew that much. He used to eat there all the time, but now he couldn’t remember.

What if he didn’t like their food anymore? What if it smelled wrong and he couldn’t eat it? The Nasty Burger was a normal teen thing, so if he couldn’t eat it then that would make him abnormal which was the exact thing he was trying to avoid with this plan.

This was a disaster. He knew he was going to fail at eating the Nasty Burger. Why did he think he could do this? He was too much of a mess of a person to even think of eating a burger.

Not a person, remember? You’re just a—

“I’m not,” Danny whispered. “Shut up.”

“Yeah?”

Danny dropped the stress ball into his lap. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, trying to fight off whatever game his brain was about to play, before groaning and burying his head into his hands.

“Take your time, Danny. Deep breaths.”

Right, he needed to breathe.

In...and out…

In...and out…

He was fine.

“Are you alright?”

Danny nodded, rocking back and forth in his chair ever so slightly. He was fine. He was fine. 

He allowed the silence in the therapist’s office to stretch a bit further, focusing on calming his racing heart and embracing the dark, silent parts of his mind. They were his safe havens, the parts of his brain that he could lock himself into to escape the ugly memories of the government facility.

His brain felt like swimming in a hurricane with no land in sight. But every once in a while, he managed to spot the eye in the storm, and sometimes he could even fight the riptides just long enough to swim to safety.

He was fine.

“It’s stupid anyway.”

“What is?”

“This. Me. Everything...dinner.”

“Why do you think it’s stupid?”

He shook his head. “The whole thing...it’s so dumb. I don’t…”

The therapist didn’t say anything. Vaguely, Danny could hear the click of her pen, but he couldn’t hear the familiar scratching of the pen on the clipboard. 

She must have been waiting for something, Danny realized. 

This was the perfect opportunity. Dinner last night had been a complete and utter disaster. He had already been on edge courtesy of the white van—which now he was almost positive he was such a paranoid idiot because it was probably just a news van—and then the next thing he knew he was curled up in the bathroom trying to fight off the smell of processed meat that was attacking his home. 

He could have told the therapist right then and there. She knew about the dissection, about the night he tried to escape, about the nights he’d spent locked in his dark, damp cell, shivering, desperately trying to cling to the memories of his family and friends because he knew—or he thought—that those memories were all he’d have left of them.

And suddenly, he wanted so badly to tell her because what was worse than being ripped open and torn apart? What could possibly be worse than being electrocuted and dragged away from his family? What could be worse than hearing gunshots and not knowing for weeks after if the Guys in White had actually shot and killed his family?

It was all so screwed up. He was so tired of the panic, of the pain, of the lapses in his memory and the freaking therapies and the chest pain that never seemed to go away. This was his life now and he was exhausted.

This was the only part of his captivity that he hadn’t told her. He could end all this secrecy right now. She could help him.

He looked up at her, and there she sat with her blonde, curly hair clipped back, revealing a patient smile paired with her signature soft, grey eyes. Her legs were crossed, and in her hands, she held her clipboard and pen. She was here, radiating kindness and a judgment-free environment where Danny was sure he could reveal exactly what the hell was going on without worrying about seeing that horrified face he saw from his mother or Jazz during family therapy.

She could help him. He just had to say it.

“I…” He took a shuddering breath, dropping his eyes back to his lap where the green stress ball still rested. “Um…”

Say it.

“I…”

Say it.

“In the...in the…”

SAY IT.

“...”

Why couldn’t he say it?

He glanced up again and she was still sitting as patient as before. She was waiting for him, because she trusted him to tell her what was wrong, and he wouldn’t say it.

Because he couldn’t.

Because he was weak. 

Because Operative O did train him, just like he had promised he would.

And worst of all, Danny had let him. He knew exactly what Operative O was trying to do, and he’d let it happen. He hadn’t tried to fight him off at all, and he hadn’t eaten the granola bars when asked. He could have easily avoided all of this, but he didn’t. Because he knew, and Operative O knew, that Danny deserved it.

“I don’t know.”

The therapist hummed in response. “Food can be just as powerful of a weapon as a knife. It can be used against us as a means for control. And then sometimes, we may take that trauma home with us. Do you feel like the Guys in White used food to control you?”

“Of course they did,” Danny snapped. What did she think the entire meal plan was for?

“Can you think of a time where they did this? It can be any time that jumps out to you.”

Danny frowned, rolling the stress ball around in his lap. If he outright refused to answer, then she would tell his parents and they would start crying again and would threaten to send him back to inpatient. And after yesterday, he was already on thin ice. 

So he would have to give an answer, even if it wasn’t the whole truth.

“They were mad that I had to use IVs,” he started. “So they tried to force feed me.”

“That must have been really scary.”

“Yeah…” His throat tightened, and his eyes started to burn.

“Can you tell me about it a little?”

No.

“Uhh…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “By that point, everything just hurt so much. I don’t really...I can’t…”

“What was hurting?”

He hugged his torso. “My back, mostly. My arm too. Ribs. That was before...before when they—with my chest, you know. I didn’t have that then. There was time in between my back and that.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.” He was starting to feel hazy. Things were blurring together, and he didn’t know if the tingles in his chest were a sign of his pain medication wearing off or if they were just a part of a distant memory.

“Did the smell of the hot dogs bring you back to that place?”

“Kinda. I don’t know. It shouldn’t have.”

“Why do you think that?”

Danny pressed a hand to his chest. The tingles were starting to get worse, and Danny tried to remember if he had taken his medication that morning. 

He had to have taken it. His mother controlled his medication, per doctor orders, and she always made him take it with breakfast.

But the tingles in his chest were starting to feel like fire licking at his skin, and even when he tried to smother the fire with his fingers, it only seemed to grow worse. 

It didn’t matter, he would get more medication soon. He just had to grit his teeth and bear it until then.

He was fine.

“Danny, what’s on your mind?”

Danny flinched, and once again, he was made aware that he was still sitting across from his therapist who seemed to have an unlimited supply of patience for his bullshit. 

He glanced up at the clock. They still had a half hour left of this session.

“Yeah.”

What were they talking about again?

---

The phone lit up, illuminating the dark room.

Danny wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting on his bed, staring out the window at the stars speckled against the sky. It was a clear night, a full moon. It would have been perfect for a flight if he could. If he didn’t have this chip in his neck.

He ignored the phone. Whoever was trying to contact him would have to wait. The night was too perfect, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gazed out at the stars.

It was so serene. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was outside, floating face up towards the Milky Way. But he wasn’t going to close his eyes and imagine that, because it wasn’t real. And he didn’t know when he would even get that opportunity again, if ever.

And besides, if he closed his eyes, how would he look up at the stars?

His phone went dim, leaving him once again submerged in the darkness of the night.

The stars were too far away. Maybe if he tried, he might be able to at least drag himself onto his roof.

But what if he couldn’t? Did he even want to try, knowing he was likely to fail? Would he be able to handle that kind of defeat?

It was no use. He would just have to ask his parents to take the chip out in the morning. Surely they had safety-proofed the lab by now, hadn’t they? If they were so worried about Danny being hurt? It must have been a top priority for them.

But then why hadn’t they done that during the two months Danny had been in and out of the hospitals? Why wait?

Unless…

Stop it. 

It was preposterous to think that his parents would lie to him about this. After all, what was the point of keeping Phantom locked up? They knew it was hurting him to be separated from his ghost core for so long. Surely they were going to take the chip out as soon as possible.

Right?

The phone lit up again, snapping Danny out of his thoughts. Whoever was trying to contact him this late could certainly wait till morning. If Danny hadn’t picked up the first time, then what made them think he was going to answer now?  

He snatched the stupid device off his nightstand, fully intending on shutting the damn thing off, but froze. There, displayed perfectly on the caller ID, was the name of someone he hadn’t thought about in months:

Vlad Masters

His blood ran cold. Vlad? Why him? Why now? As far as Danny knew, he’d kept his distance since the court case. Of course, Danny had known that he was the one financing the entire lawsuit—Danny wasn’t an idiot—but he assumed it was either Vlad’s attempt at either reconciling his own stupid guilt or, the more likely scenario, that it was Vlad’s way of making sure the Guys in White couldn’t keep their grimy little hands on Danny’s halfa biology. 

Either way, Danny assumed that Vlad would have enough tact to know to stay the hell away from him.

But Vlad was never one to uphold unspoken boundaries, now was he?

Danny’s finger lingered over the end call button just a moment too long.

Although his stay with the government had changed him, his poor decision-making skills and teenage impulsiveness had unfortunately survived these past few months.

Danny jabbed the answer button and whipped the phone up to his ear.

“What do you want, Plasmius?”

---

As always thank you so much to @imekitty for beta-ing this fic. If you like this fic, check out her fics on ffn, they are very angsty and brilliantly written!

Thanks for reading!

---

<previous / next>

[bettername2come]

What Will Be Left to Defend?

Spoilers for Infinity War. Also posted here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14554131

There were some moments Jessica really hated living in this city. For instance, moments where a giant alien spaceship appeared in the sky when she was supposed to be getting proof that some rich bastard was cheating on his wife while she was working late nights at Metro-General in the pediatric oncology unit. Jessica crouched on the roof, snapping photos of the cheating asshole and his secretary (God, could he be more cliché?) when the wind picked up, whipping her hair around her face. She heard an engine above her and tilted the camera upward, expecting to see a helicopter but instead spotting a giant, round spaceship spinning around like a Ferris wheel from hell.

Her finger automatically clicked on the shutter button. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed. She stood and jumped over the edge of the building landing hard but gracefully on the sidewalk below. People were just beginning to react, fleeing the sight as quickly as they could. Not that it would do much good. Traffic everywhere would be gridlocked. Kilgrave had barely been able to get them out of the city when the Battle of New York had happened and that was with mind control powers. She hadn’t wanted to leave then. That instinct to protect others fought against Kilgrave the moment when he said “Go, Jessica!” but she’d been unable to break free then.

She was free now and she was going to help as many people as she could, including the very limited number of people she truly cared about. She grabbed her phone, dialing Trish’s number, glad the alien invasion hadn’t affected cell service…yet.

Trish’s phone rang…and rang…eventually her voicemail picked up. “Hi, this is Trish. Leave a message at the beep.”

“Shit,” Jessica muttered. “Trish, it’s me. I know how we left things. I just – look, there’s a spaceship wreaking havoc on the city, it puts things in perspective. Just call me when you get this. Let me know you’re okay. Don’t do anything stupid. Please.”

Jessica hung up just in time to see a giant chunk of metal hurtling towards the ground, straight where a kid was huddled behind a bench, as if that would protect him from the chaos around him. She leapt through the air, snatching the boy from the sidewalk and rolling away with him, trying not to grip him too tightly as she did. The debris hit a fraction of a second after they had moved.

Jessica pulled away, checking the kid and seeing nothing obvious. “Are you okay?” The boy didn’t react, just continued staring at the spot where the metal had landed. “Hey, kid, are you hurt?”

He finally seemed to snap out of his reverie trance, shaking his head.

Jessica looked around, hoping there was some kind guardian within shouting distance who she could hand the kid off on. She did not want to get stuck with babysitting duty on top of all this, but she couldn’t exactly leave a traumatized kid alone in the street.

“Jacob!”

Jessica breathed a sigh of relief as the boy reached up and hugged the woman who came over, presumably his mother.

The woman glanced back and forth between Jessica, her son, and the hunk of metal laying where he had just been. She locked eyes with Jessica. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Jessica nodded, unsure of what to say as she watched them hurry off. Her phone rang. She reached for her pocket, hoping to see Trish’s name on the screen, only to be disappointed. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.”

“Well, I was thinking about getting the gang back together,” Danny said. “Seemed like a good time.”

Jessica glanced up at the sky as Iron Man flew past, chasing after some alien. “I was actually thinking this might be a little above our paygrade. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’m not much good in the sky.”

“I was thinking more like ground work. Let Stark and the spider guy handle the aliens, get as many people off the streets and underground as possible.”

“What, does Rand Enterprises have a secret underground bunker or something?”

Danny’s silence was deafening.

“I was kidding.”

“Colleen already called Claire. She’s supposed to be bringing in Luke. Figured people could use her medical help since the hospitals would be packed. Thought you and Luke would be good for search and rescue.”

“And your super fist?”

“Iron Fist. And if I could actually get within punching distance of an alien it would probably come in handy, but until then, I think money’s gonna have to be my best superpower.”

“Works for the other iron billionaire.”

“Yeah, I keep trying for a team up, but he won’t return my calls.”

Jessica rolled her eyes.

“Are you coming or not?”

Jessica surveyed the damage around her. It wasn’t that far to Danny’s building; she could be there in a couple of minutes if she ran. They could do more together than they could separately; they’d proven that last year. “Yeah. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hung up without another word and typed a quick text to Trish. Headed to Rand Enterprises. Danny’s setting up a shelter. Let me know you’re ok. She hit send and took off for Rand Enterprises.

*

The attack ended more quickly than Jessica would’ve expected. The Battle of New York had taken hours, but this time…she didn’t know what, it was different. She wasn’t sure if that meant the bad guys had accomplished their mission or been defeated. Or if they were watching, waiting for a chance to make another move. According to the news, Tony Stark was missing, which didn’t bode well for the aliens being done. Jessica stayed with Danny and the rest of their ragtag team. There were still warnings out to stay inside, underground if possible. Like hiding would make any difference if monsters from space tried to show their ugly faces again. Still, rescue crews had been checking the damaged areas and they were much less picky about getting help from the local vigilantes than the police were. The next morning she and the others were still trying to get things in some semblance of order around the city (better than last time at least), when she heard someone call her name.

“Jess!”

She turned her head quickly at the sound to see Trish sprinting towards her (faster than she should’ve been able to, but Jessica didn’t want to think about that right now). Jessica stood there frozen as Trish collided with her, wrapping Jessica in a (too tight) embrace.

“Oh, thank God, I was so worried, and my cell phone got smashed under rubble.” Trish pulled away. “I guess I was right. Figured Danny Rand was one of the only people you weren’t pissed at.”

“Yeah, well, he’s one of the only people left who haven’t betrayed me, so…”

The relief started to slip away from Trish’s face.

Jessica sighed. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she said honestly. “I tried to call.”

“You did?” Trish asked hopefully. She sounded so desperate for Jessica’s approval that Jess felt her resolve weaken just a little. Trish had been trying to protect her, right? Hadn’t Jessica killed to protect people she loved? Hadn’t she screwed up the lives of the people around her?

“I was angry. I still am. And I have every right to be. But there’s a difference between being angry and thinking what you did was wrong and wanting to see you dead. That’s what family means.”

Trish took in both sides of Jessica’s statement and nodded. She looked around the scene, where volunteers were still working. “Do you guys need some help?”

Jessica looked back to where Luke was clearing away rubble. “Not sure there’s much left to do here. Everyone who was injured has gotten to the hospital. Danny’s got a shelter set up in his building, but I don’t know – “ Jessica was cut off as she felt Trish grip her arm suddenly. She turned back to her. “Shit, Trish, what are you – “ She didn’t finish her sentence. Trish’s death grip on her arm had released, but not for the reason Jessica had expected. It was gone. Turning to ash before her very eyes.

“What is this?” Trish asked, staring at her rapidly-dissolving arm. She locked eyes with Jessica, who could only stare back in horror. “Jess?”

“No. No, no, no.” Jessica reached for Trish, only to have her sister crumble away beneath her fingers. She stared at the empty space as the ashes blew in the wind, scattering over her clothes and face (no, no, not again, not again).

Jessica heard a bloodcurdling scream in the distance that snapped her back to reality. She surveyed her surroundings and realized it wasn’t just Trish who had disappeared. All around her the streets were filled with people now blowing in the wind, confused loved ones left behind. What the hell? Was this their big plan? How? Why?

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she heard someone calling her name, before she was wrapped in a warm embrace. She hugged him back (God, why hadn’t she hugged Trish back?) before pulling away to get a look at him. “What’s going on? Are we under attack? Are we supposed to be fighting someone?” God, she wanted to punch someone right now. She looked up at the sky, just in case there was a ship within jumping distance, but no sign of the attackers were there, just clear blue skies.

“We don’t know,” Colleen spoke up, alerting Jessica to her presence for the first time. “I was talking to Claire, and then she just…”

“Luke too,” Danny whispered. He reached out his arm to bring Colleen in close to his side, as though she were about to slip away too. Which, for all they knew, she might.

“Trish,” Jessica murmured.

“We need to do something,” Danny said, his old eagerness kicking up. “We’ve got to move, find out who these guys are, what they did, how to defeat them. Jess, what should we do?”

“I – I don’t know.”