#malevolent chapter 129

[hyenasatanist]

[quigalchemist]

Reminiscing about when things were just a little spooky for the boys instead of constant pain and divorce. I'm fighting the urge to relisten to the whole thing from the beginning again 👀

[astridianmayfly]

Up and Vanished [1/?]

Chapter 1: The Vanishing of Will Byers Danny Fenton

0 minutes

12:00 am

Red eyes open lazily, squinting with a grin. His voice is all malevolence.

It̴̀'͠͠s̷̛͜ ̧̕͢t̕im͢e.

They nod in response, scattering.

Is is time, and They have a job to do.

2 minutes

12:02 am

It’s dark outside, but it’s been like that for awhile. Daylight savings really is a bitch. Maybe Danny didn’t have an issue with not being able to see; he never told Sam and Tucker all that much about the semantics of his ghostliness.

Somehow Tucker assumes that the whole “halfa” thing makes a person less susceptible to the elements.

It’s the dark that makes Tucker trip on his way out the back door, not the alcohol. He wasn’t really in a drinking mood tonight--at best, he’s a bit tipsy. Even if he’d been wasted, the freezing air was enough to shock anyone into sobriety. ‘Cept Danny maybe, who seemed to wear long sleeves exclusively to not raise any eyebrows and never complained of the cold. Tucker thinks it has something to do with that refrigerator power of his. 

And speaking of Danny, where did he go? On the back steps of the bar, Tucker scans the back lot. Nothing. He dials Danny. A buzzing sensation takes root at the back of his head, in tune with the ringing and ringing and ringing on the other line.

“Hey, you’ve reached Danny Fenton! Can’t take your call right now, but I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, byyyeee!!”

God, that same damn voicemail. Tucker helped him make it when they were twelve and Danny’d just gotten a cell, sitting on the floor of Danny’s space-decorated bedroom. Danny had yet to replace his prepubescent message with something a little more mature. 

Tucker’s been hearing it a little too often lately. 

He turns to meet Valerie back in the bar; it’s about time that they headed home. He looks up to the sky, where he can usually catch a glimpse of his best friend streaking across the stars like he belongs among them.

There is just blackness, blackness, blackness.

48 minutes

12:48 am

Here once more.

 He can’t say he is surprised.

“Here” is a bleeding red hellscape. To try and catalog the contents of this ...dimension would send a straightlace into a bout of paranoia. He does his best to remember the details for the next time he arrives.

When he walks the path, it has a distinct give. With every step, his foot sinks, like the ground is made of goo. Lifting his foot again, the substance dissolves. Glowing eyes narrow beneath the disgusting soil substance. The tufts of (what looks like) grass resemble vermillion cactus spines that poke and prod at his ankles. 

He exhales, unsure. Half-dead and wholly cursed. This must be his natural home.

Continuing along this path reveals dirt made of burnt poppy petals, cadmium stems like tense fingers point through the ground. Rusty mist sets to his left and right. 

There is nowhere else to look but up. Up in space there is only the ugly underside of roots that trail from the above. A reminder that he belongs six feet under. Even when he forces his lungs to fill and his heart to beat. 

A bone-crunching echoes across the Unworld, shocking him out of his stupor: It is Them.

Each time he wakes here, it is to watch Their arrival. He dreads the dreams.

They scuttle across the plateau, distant but distinct. They glide like snakes. They are only silhouettes. The extent of Their power is an unknown. 

He does not like variables.

This time, They hurry. Their pace is quick. 

He stares.

Squinting reveals a shape among Them, someone (or something) he has never seen before in the Unworld. They carry this new figure with both care and disregard--he knows they are a valuable hostage.

Before he can make further observations, there’s a flash of ectoplasmic green.

One of Them figure turns to face him, their face bearing a single eldritch bloody eye, horrifyingly incomprehensible--

--And Vladimir Masters wakes with a start, shivering, dripping in cold sweat. 

Well, he thinks, this could be a problem. 

50 minutes

12:50 am

Tucker hums to himself, pulling back his covers and flopping onto his bed. It was late for most, but it was an early night by Team Phantom’s standards. All-nighters weren’t foreign to Sam, Tucker, and of course Danny. Who had a super annoying tendency to never ask for help when his ghost sense woke him to a really bad Big Bad in vicinity. It was for that reason that Tucker had asked for a Fenton ghost tracking device--calibrated to recognize severe drops in temperature and surges of ectoplasmic energy. Danny agreed when Tucker mentioned it was for his own safety. Which, as a reckless teenager, Tucker couldn’t care less about-- it was so Tucker could show up in the event of an after-hours ghost attack. He knew Danny needed help, even when he didn’t want to admit it.

“I don’t want you guys getting hurt.” 

What a load of crap.

Tucker drags himself from his bed to turn off the light. He wishes that we was the genius protagonist of a Disney Channel original movie. Then he’d have a Rube Goldberg machine to do it for him. 

Diving into bed, Tucker thinks of the night’s events. It had gone pretty well! Ignoring the fact that Danny had flown off mysteriously, Tucker feels like he’d really hit it off with Valerie. She had stopped her shoot-and- ask-questions-never approach with Phantom and they’d formed a sort of truce. Sam was still mildly distrusting of her, but didn’t oppose Tucker and Danny inviting her… well, everywhere. And Tucker was glad for it--he really enjoyed her company. He knows Danny’s secret stands between the group really connecting. Tucker would never pressure his friend into an uncomfortable situation, but honestly? They all would make a great team.

For once, it feels like he isn’t the third wheel. He loves both Danny and Sam, but their constant pining and undefined relationship made it hard to be caught in the middle. With Valerie….

...it was just nice to have a friend, that’s all.

Tucker closes his eyes. There’s just something at the back of his head. A feeling. Like he’s forgotten something important.

52 minutes

12:52 am

Somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico, Sam Manson startles awake with the sense that something is irrevocably wrong. 

She slips out of what should be a cruise-ship cot but is instead a lavish four-poster bed. There were some benefits to her dad’s manic investing, after all. Although she’ll never be caught dead admitting it.

Unlocking her bedside balcony, she steps out onto in and inhales the lukewarm air. Sam doesn’t smoke, but feels like this moment calls for red lips dragging a cigarette. Ah, aesthetics. 

There’s nothing for miles out here; the blank ocean churns expectantly. When Sam looks at the sky, she thinks of Danny. She’s spent enough time with his dorky self to pinpoint exactly 32 constellations. Danny could do all 88. 

Black clouds cover the stars. Sam retreats inside, her stomach filling with dread she can’t explain.

102 minutes

1:42 am

Late-night kitchen escapades involve black coffee and pacing, lots of pacing. Maddie prides herself on her ability to function without much sleep. Those nights when their lab results demanded further analysis and passion kept her awake better than caffeine ever could.

Maddie is draped across a backwards facing chair, staring at the glowing microwave clock. 1:42 am. Danny has not returned. She looks to the darkened hallway. Up the stairs, Jack snores. At least one of them can sleep--Maddie’s skin is crawling with unease. Should she be angry? Should she be scared? 

If Danny were his do-gooder sister, Maddie would’ve called the cops the minute he missed the midnight mark. But Danny ...wasn't Jazz, and he never really seemed to give a you-know-what about the fact that he constantly disregarded his curfew (and every other rule). Being home by midnight was much more generous than most of Maddie’s friends allowed their seventeen year-olds. 

Maddie considers calling around. Danny was out with friends tonight-- Tucker and that Valerie girl he’d started to hang around with. Making a scene was the least of her concerns (she was known for parading around town in a turquoise jumpsuit), but Maddie didn’t want to wake her friends given the late hour.

She keeps pacing.

He’ll come home. He always does, eventually.

That wasn’t a good solution for the current predicament. Danny could be in serious trouble, and she would regret being passive. 

So, what to do?

She knows she can’t just wait here.

A flash of metal catches her eye. An ecto-weapon. 

Time to kill two birds with one stone. 

She shoulders the Fenton foamer, a thermos, and leaves the safety of her house. 

129 minutes

2:09 am

“What, no ‘I, Technus, master of all things cyber!’ speech today?”

Technus dodges the ectoblasts from the human easily. He’s one of the ghost child’s friends, the one who always has a PDA within arm’s length. Technus may start thinking of the boy as a convenience: his devices made for a cozy hideout when Technus was devising a plot for WORLD DOMINATION!

Technus scoffs as the child pulls out their go-to thermos. Avoiding the beam of light, he says, “Technus 3.0 does not announce his plans, or his power! Technus 3.0 prefers to operate, as they say, ‘under the radar!’” He allows his form to grow electric with energy as the child sends another ectoblast whizzing past his ear.

Technus sends volts charging towards the boy, who narrowly misses the attack. The bolt hits a nearby lamppost, which explodes into a shower of sparks and plunges the city block into darkness. 

PDA child is oblivious to the outage. Green smoke trailing from his wrist-shooter, he narrows his eyes. “Cut the crap, Technus, we know upgrades manifest in your physical form.“Tell me why you’re here—“He aims the device on his wrist at Technus—“or I’ll make you.”

What a strange demand. But Technus understands his caution. After all, Technus regularly threatens the power grid. 

“Truly, child, I don’t know why I’m here! I just am! I, Technus, am—“

The boy lowers his weapon to facepalm. “What does that even mean? You ghosts always have an agenda.”

Technus responds by taking advantage of his lack of defense, firing his own-made lightning. The shot lands, skimming the boy’s forearm. 

Yelping in pain, the PDA boy rears his offense, this time brandishing a thermos. “Not—a good enough excuse to be wreaking havoc, so it’s into the thermos for you,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

Something unseen grabs ahold of Technus’ mind for a moment. It grabs the corners of his mouth and pulls until Technus is grinning a painful smile. 

“Where’s the ghost child, kid?”

Before the PDA child has time to consider this, and Technus can rid his mind of the imposter, he is engulfed in a familiar burst of white. 

134 minutes

2:14 am

“Tucker?”

Mrs. Fenton catches sight of him after she caps her Technus-filled thermos. Where did she come from? 

Tucker panics. He has been caught literally red-handed-- armed with a wrist-ray and a Fenton thermos at two in the morning. 

He expects her to comment on his apparent thievery, but she doesn’t seem interested in dissecting his crimes. Mrs. F seems to be looking around Tucker, as if expecting another ghost. 

He looks at her face, and she is as white as a sheet.

“Danny isn’t with you?”

Tucker blanches. What? 

“He isn’t...he didn’t come home?”

Mrs. F puts a gloved hand over her mouth. 

Tucker is more insistent the second time. “Ms. Fenton, did Danny not come home?” 

Her eyes are shining when she slowly shakes her head. 

“No. Danny…Danny’s gone.”

--- minutes

Outside of Time

You hover in your tower, form shifting between young and old, old and young. Despite the changes to your figure, a somber expression remains.

You watch the scenes of the day unfold-- the events occurred, occurring, to occur. 

Everything is as it should be.