Chapter Text
Danny hurts.
Understatement of the year. Or rather his entire half life.
It wasn’t unusual to wake up sore. What, with the rouges he fights on the regular or the pranks it was more unusual to wake up fully rested.
Either way, Danny hurts.
Pain radiated through every limb, nerve, fiber of his being. His arms and legs felt too heavy and each twitch made his pine spike before they fell back into tingling. It was almost as if his foot had fallen asleep— but not just his foot— everything was that weird painfully numb sensation.
Breathing felt too sharp. Breathing felt like swallowing glass. His abdomen was searingly hot. Even attempting to move his arm made it jump from a nine to a hundred.
Awareness came to him in spurts. Very vague at first before being blinded by the sheer force of pain that engulfed him. Ancients— what did he get hit with? At least the cool air felt nice.
Cool air?
Confusion clouded his thoughts as he blearily forced his eyes open. He inhales sharply, the pain spiking as he looks up at an unfamiliar sky.
That wasn’t Amity Park’s skies. The stars don’t look like that. It’s soothing to see the sky. He could vaguely make out the constellations between the clouds. It makes his core happy— a gentle balm on the pain. It wasn’t a clear sky like he was used to; but he could still see the stars.
He was so close to them— on top of a building, he surmised from the lack of things in his peripheral and the solid base beneath him.
Was he dreaming again?
That would explain the lack of clarity. And mute panic. He frowned. It wouldn’t explain the pain.
Can you even feel pain like this in dreams? He groaned. No. No he couldn’t. Jazz didn’t beat that into his head with all the psycho babble rants she’s gone on to know you can’t feel pain in dreams. Especially not like this.
He exhaled slowly before holding his breath and forcing himself to move. A little trick he picked up years ago. He’s not quite sure if he came up with it on his own or if someone taught him. Jazz didn’t like it anyway. Always said it wasn’t healthy to just stop breathing because he’s scared or in pain. Whatever.
It still hurt like hell, but at least the burning of his lungs helped distract him from the way the pain intensified through his chest and stomach. He resisted the urge to feel annoyed at his bare back being exposed to the rough surface below him. That’ll probably bruise later.
Shit. Yeah, definitely not asleep. This felt worse than when he’d fought Pariah. Or any of the other ancients he’d had the misfortune of fighting. Or any of the training he’d been subjected to at a young age.
He doesn’t need to think about that. It’s behind him.
He settled into a half propped up position, blinking back the black spots in his vision as he took in further detail of his surroundings.
He was on the roof of what seemed to be a worn out building. Probably not the worst thing he could have landed on. He could see a city in the distance, covered by clouds and the ancients know what else. Danny was drawn to it, as loathe as he was to admit it. He didn’t quite like the gloomy conditions; but he’d manage. The was a feeling of warmth despite how dull the city looked.
Okay, so not likely the worst place to head to as soon as he can. He really shouldn’t stay in the open like this. He needs a plan. To take stock of the situation.
He’ll get right on that when he doesn’t feel like he’s been flayed like a fish.
Jazz always tells him it’s a bad thing waking up and feeling hurt. To expect it. A sign of self punishment or something dumb her psychology books tell her. He expects to get hurt because that’s what being the town hero involves. Even if that means rolling with the punches.
Speaking of; what did he get hit with? Why isn’t he in amity— where’s His mom— she’s likely the one who shot him—
His thoughts screeched to a halt as his breathing shallowed. His mom— his mom— Maddie—
Memories assaulted him, rushing back in like one of his old trainers whips rushing through his brain. A flurry of pain, knowledge and dread filled him.
She captured him.
Tortured him.
He could almost feel the cool sting of the blade before it started burning— it felt like someone was pouring magma through him. He could still feel her hands and tools prodding, scraping— inside of him. She’d only paralyzed him so he could feel very little bit of it. Not that she believed the pain.
“It’s just an act now that you've been caught, Phantom! How dare you try to steal my son away after you stole my husband from me!?”
She knew it was him, and she still did it. She just didn’t believe that he was still Danny. She'd seen him transform— She’d— she’d blamed him. For his dad—Jack's death. He’d lost both his parents one right after the other. His brain warred with the memories of his mom beaming down at him as she encouraged him and the memories of her teary eyes hidden behind a furious snarl.
His chest hurts. More than just his heart and core. It burns. His chest burns. He didn’t want to look. He really didn’t want to look. He's dissected a body before— oh ancients he going—
Danny closed his eyes, forcing a slow, shaking exhale out of his mouth.
He needs to quit being a baby. His Mother and his Trainers thought they had forced it out of him but he’d just gotten better at internalising it. Better at pushing it down to be disconnected to it.
Jazz said that wasn’t healthy either but he wouldn’t have survived any of this if he didn’t.
Does being half dead count as surviving?
He forced himself to look down at his abdomen, oh that hurts more. Clad in his torn jumpsuit from where his mom—Maddie had tortured him, demanding the release of Danny. And it had only gotten worse the more he begged her to believe him. She’d insisted that she’d cut Phantom out if she had to.
The front of his jumpsuit’s stylized D— the D that Sam had insisted on making for him was split. And if that wasn’t a good metaphor for his mind right now. Lancer would have complimented that comparison. Maybe enough to give him a C.
Looking down caused him to pull at the skin that had hastily tried pulling itself together in an attempt to heal. The y shaped incision looked all wonky and wrong. Parts were unevenly overlapped and scabbed. Others were oozing a mixture of pus, blood and ectoplasm.
Gross.
He’s going to need to try undoing it so it at least heals better. He’s also gonna need to get medical supplies. He’s going to need to hope he can get his hands on something meta grade otherwise any thread he uses is gonna end up dissolving way too soon.
The thought leads to a startling realization— he has no money. He doesn’t know where he is or how he got here. He carefully checks his pockets. He doesn’t have his phone so he can’t call Sam or Tuck—
Yelling—
They’re yelling. Sam and Tucker are yelling; trying to free him.
His mo—Maddie’s screaming at them too.
She raises the net gun and shoots them, trapping them both.
He needs to save them. He can’t let them die.
She grabs the bone saw and starts after them—
He’s weak— he can’t save them— he’s in so much pain— oh ancients he can’t do anything—
Despair wells up in him. His core thrums in panic, hurting him more than what his Mom has done to his body. He opens his mouth to plead as she raises it up—
He’s screaming. Everything around him is collapsing as green engulfs all. Correction; he’s wailing. Despair, grief and pain echoing around him. His wail swallows all of it.
The last thing he remembers is green.
He’s only seeing flashes, feeling brief intensities from the moments but there’s enough there to figure out what happened.
Oh ancients.
Danny is heaving out air like he’d been drowning; panic thrumming through him.
He didn’t! They can’t be—
He can’t contact anyone.
He killed them.
The GIW are probably already hunting him.
Jazz—
He can’t call her. Can’t apologize. He's the reason both of her parents are dead.
And she doesn’t even know it.
Besides, if he’s being hunted, it’s better she doesn’t know where he is. He can protect her if he isn’t there. She’ll survive longer if he doesn’t contact her.
(He is being hunted. It isn’t a question of if he’s being hunted--it’s a question of when he’ll be found.)
It’s just like it was the first time he left his family behind. His chest panged, the grief settling around him like a second skin.
Two families in ten years.
Gone. Left behind so he can continue surviving.
( If you can call being a half dead abomination surviving. )
Part of him wants to go home— even though that home no longer exists. It stopped being safe far too many years ago but it was home.
They were home. His siblings were his home.
And he keeps LOSING THEM.
Maybe he’s meant to be alone.
Maybe Dan was right in that regard. He’ll never be evil as long as he can help it; but alone? He doesn’t have that choice.
Dan was alone too. Alone and in pain. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be.
Tears stung at his eyes and he scrubbed at them furiously, the flow seemingly never ending as grief consumed him.
Why does he ruin everything?
If he’d never gone into that portal— none of this would have happened.
His life would’ve only been about keeping an eye out for his assassin mother and whoever that bat-beloved hero guy his father was from finding him. He’d long since figured out his Father was probably Batman— but still. More simple than doing that and hiding the fact he was a ghost from his adopted family.
He fucked it all up.
Arrogance once again seems to have imploded his stupid life.
Does that mean he’ll still end up like Dan? Alone, yeah… seems that way. Evil? Maybe…
Did Clockwork allow this to happen to teach him something yet again?
What even is the lesson this time?
The roar of an engine getting closer takes him out of his spiral, causing him to hiss in pain as he ducked down, flattening himself against the roof. He holds his breath until the sound of the motor bike disappears into the distance.
He can’t stay here. He can’t let himself get caught. He needs to come up with a plan.
Maddie Fenton was probably dead. Jack Fenton is dead. S-Sam and Tucker— probably the same.
He can’t stay where he can be found.
The GIW will be hunting him more intensely now that he’s tied to actual human deaths, it probably wouldn’t take them long to figure out he wasn’t dead— er deader. They’ll use that as a means of saying that had been his goal. To justify the Ecto-Acts. He needs to find a way to stop them.
Not for himself. He can’t let the Ecto-Acts stay. He’ll turn himself in for Maddie once he’d gotten them overturned.
Maybe she’s a ghost. Maybe they could handle the justice for her wrongful death in the realms.
Either way; he couldn’t let anyone that became liminal like Jazz or like half of Amity at this point, be in danger because he messed up.
He won’t let the world burn like Dan did.
He promised himself he wouldn’t let it happen.
Even if whatever terrible timeline this is he gets to live is some sort of lesson from the ancient of time.
It’s better to keep doing the right thing. It’s better to protect the greater good, even at the cost of himself. He’d promised. And he intends to keep his promises.
For now, to figure out where he was. He exhaled softly, glancing over his torn suit. And supplies. Hopefully wherever he is, has a hoodie he can steal. He probably can’t shift until he heals more anyway.
In a secluded domain of the Infinite Realms, floated the shifting form of Clockwork as he gazed at the fragile shifting of the timelines. He couldn’t maintain the boy, the man, the frail elder for too long before it swapped again. Anyone who’d known him well had long since moved on, become something more than they once were, but had they still been around, they would see the frazzled nerves of the Ancient being. A grandfather who had lost track of their charge.
This timeline had been an unlikely one. Multiple variables had shifted too many things to safely predict whether it would play out well for the safety of the realms. He’d have to keep the observers distracted while he let it play out in its contained state.
He couldn’t sense him anywhere. Before he’d been able to focus and pinpoint it on him but he’s unable to do that now.
“Leave it to young Danny to make things complicated.” Clockwork murmurs fondly, glancing back at the silver and green foreign object that was carefully placed on the back of a shelf behind other artifacts. “Wouldn’t you agree Dan? Your younger counterpart seems to have a knack for making improbable things happen.”
Of course all that awaits him is silence. He can imagine the young man that was trapped was probably sulking at the question. Childishly mimicking it. He can imagine the roll of his eyes, as if he were taking the comment personally.
It had happened once before. It may happen again. Time will see.
The caretaker of time turned back to pools of time that showed the ever changing tides of the timelines. “I suppose only time will tell how this one ends.”