tim has a broken and dislocated everything, he doesnt need to laugh rn but...
The light’s died down completely now, and with a considering look, Cassandra peers into the dark hollow of the thermos' inside. Wonders how exactly anything fits in there except a liquid as intended.
Ghosts, too, must be soup then if remarkably human.
She wonders if Tim will find it as funny as she does.
in hell is a warm place au, how did Danny react to crow dying?
actually thank you so MUCH for asking me this because it actually helped me figure out what Lark's reaction, finally, would be with Danny after too
but pretty much kicked dog
(or, tldr, that duffle bag of heads included someone familiar and important to Mr Suit and Tie)
“Goose.”
Danny blinks, twists the cigarette around to one corner of his mouth, and frowns at Lark through the blue haze of smoke and the flicker of strobing lights.
Around him, the people at the table twitter. Danny scowls half-heartedly, folding up his hand of cards at a playful tease of Oooh, someone's in trouble from the too warm body threaded lightly across his lap. The tips of Tesla's nails trace the outside of his bottom lip, the smear of gel rouge.
“C'mon, I'm not —” he starts, but maybe slurs, because he's elbow deep into his second bottle of tequila, the back of his hands tacky with lime and salt and lipstick.
But also doesn't get to finish because. Well. The gambling den is, in fact, Lark's pet project, so. What she says, goes. Even if that means she upends a whole table of black jack under the boom of the club's bass at a not so insignificant monetary loss.
Danny lets the smoke fall from his lips, the cards from his hands, and raises them high as his fair-weather friends immediately scatter with yelps at flung chips and glass.
The music doesn't stop. And neither does Lark.
A hand wraps up in the loose collar of his shirt, hauls him up from his seat. Danny… should probably be worried about this. It's kind of. Hard to be. He doesn't get to drink this hard or much too often, but today was special. Tesla even shared her favorite lip liner because—
“— fucking doing, you piece of shit?” Lark hisses, and nails him right in the stomach with the snap of a fist. “Answer your fucking phone!”
“Fuck!” Danny squeaks, folding. Ow. Today is a bad day to get disciplined for fuck all — “Lark, what the hell —”
He's dragged down onto her knee, and. Breathing is optional. He remembers that. Jesus Christ. Danny gasps, and just. Hits the floor when she lets go.
The music doesn't stop.
Lark's boot drives hard into his stomach once, twice, thrice, and Danny feels every inch of, of the grief like needled spikes to the back of his eyes.
A laugh escapes his lips, and the next kick splays him out on his back. Danny wheezes, desperate to hold on to it but — the warm haze dissipates entirely just like that.
“What, what, why would Bossman —”
“You were supposed to have been with her!” Boot, meet side, again. Fuck. “Why the fuck weren't you with Crow, you fucking drunk!”
Crow? This is about Crow? But he. She let him have the two days off; it's his —
“You were supposed to be with her!”
“I —”
Lark bends, her dark silhouette rushing up so fast, and all Danny can do is try to breath through the pain as she lifts him again by the now ruined front of his shirt.
“Crow is dead, Goose,” she spits low, just for him, and he.
Doesn't believe her.
Can't believe her.
“W-What?” he gasps, hands finding hers, fluttering in disbelief. “Lark, Crow can't be —”
“You were supposed to be with her,” Lark repeats, and shakes him. “Why the fuck weren't you with her?”
Crow isn't dead. She can't be.
Danny swallows and says Lark, t-this isn't funny, what the hell is going —
She drops him, his head banging back against the unforgiving concrete and —
“C-Crow let me off for —”
Lark hops back, then forward. Danny's head snaps sideways from the kick, under the crack of his nose. It hurts.
The music doesn't stop.
It's my birthday, Lark, did you forget?
he should have been there. so he gets harder on Finch (Stephanie) too. tries to stop drinking, and then goes thru withdrawal and rebounds worse than litu Danny ever would
he just... kind of forgot that everyone around him dies, and its always his fault...
poor thing just wanted a day off for his twenty fourth bday,,,
Mr fear au but it's Danny after a... "Session"(you know what I mean) and the aftermath of that. Do Jon do aftercare or not lol
He does! In his own way. Worst bedside manner ever, essentially; not a single gentle bone in his body, but he gets,,, better? Good thing Danny's rather.... uhhh, out of it most of the time anyway.
so have a little how it started vs. how its going :P
(wall of nonsense incoming, hope you enjoy these two individuals who should stay far away from each other <3)
how it started
(tldr Danny meets Scarecrow officially by helping him escape Killer Croc, who would have otherwise ripped Jon's face off. Crane then dragged him home because interesting.)
Danny thinks he might could get used to this.
Nothing hurts. And even that sort of thought, sort of awareness, is a slippery one to hold. That there's anything that could exist outside of this.
This being. Ah. Hm. Something —
He shakes his head just a little. Nothing hurts. Not the fingers in his hair, nor the suds dripping down past his eyes. Not the deep, raw bite marks up his arm, nor the.
The.
Hm.
“This is nice,” he murmurs, eyes slivers against the bright overhead light, and it really just is.
Be quiet says the hands over his head. Be still says the comb ran through his hair. Hold your breath says the water that rushes up over his ears.
“That's a funny thing to say,” Danny chuckles once the world is present again. He sniffs, and then lolls his head back a little against something soft — the light glimmers through beads of water. “Real funny.”
Absolutely filthy says the hands that bend out his arms, prod the creases of bruised elbow. You will need to be clean.
Danny hums. “I'll have you know,” he replies, “I took a real shower two weeks ago. That's pretty good.”
That. Gets everything tilted sideways. It doesn't hurt though, the hard grip on his hair, and it's only for a moment. Probably means something.
Be quiet.
“Okay, okay,” Danny relents, and kind of just. Ugh. Hands pull him back up from the water, and it does actually kinda hurt that time. It got in his nose. “Okay. H-Hold my breath. Got it.”
Why did you help me? Don't you know who I am?
Wrinkling his nose, Danny drops his head back fully this time. Glasses glint in the shadow of a thin face.
Mm. “‘Cos.” Danny smiles. Probably. “Strawman?”
It's on the tip of his tongue. So, so close. God, who knew that getting fear gassed right in the face could make everything featherlight.
Worth getting bit by a real alligator man. Danny snorts, curling up, and the water sloshes over his knees. At least it's not itchy.
Be still.
“Where are my clothes?” he asks muzzily, but can't be bothered to really be worried about it.
Trashed. You will be given more.
“That's nice.” Nothing hurts. “Hey… can I… y'know… You kinda promised...”
Later.
Easier than chasing the news. Last time Danny was clear on the other side of the city and missed out. And ended up short another forty bucks for something so lackluster compared to whatever fear toxin actually is.
What are you? A meta?
“Mhm,” Danny lies, and closes his eyes at the continued rough drag of a washcloth over skin. If he wasn't so terribly high this would be — “You?”
No.
“Huh.”
how its going
I couldn't exactly decide on the "how it's going" because none of this will probably actually show up in the actual fic really but. Here, two missing scenes, stolen moments, that are the gist if not 100% correct :9
and, really, im bad at lab rat stuff, but I see Jon sort of like... maintaining a clinical, scientific sort of mindset with Danny. Like a legit project, where he just... tweaks stuff, tests it on Danny, and then figures it will be so much WORSE on the average person based on the data he gets from Danny. Something like that anyway.
Danny never tells him he's a 'ghost' either, and he does have limits. It's all sort of ruined from the get out, but... yeah, lol.
so it's literally just Jon giving him fear toxin (gas, injections sometimes, etc) and watching for results. Some days are more professional then others though. *cough*
(Robbing banks is also not usually something Scarecrow does, but science requires money, and a jonesing Danny gets nosy and gets hit with the security ink lmao)
With a sigh, Danny braces his arms back over the rim of the metal tub. He's all too aware of the heat, the scalding sting of the hot water bearing down on the teasing weightlessness.
This variant is. Too slow for him to enjoy. Great for whatever the hell Jon has planned for it, but not. Exactly what Danny needs to chase away the biting gnaw of a deep set ache.
Danny drops his head back when the fingers in his hair fade away, squints up at a pinched frown.
“Gonna give yourself more wrinkles doin’ that,” he teases, and Jon scowls, tugs hard on a handful of wet hair. “Ow.”
The man leans in, glasses glinting in reflected light. “This is not going to come off easily,” he says, pressing hard at Danny’s stained jaw with one hand. “Why did you do that?”
“Better me than one of the goons,” Danny says easily, and flexes one arm, just catches the edge of dyed skin in the corner of his eye. “They got places to be. I don't.”
And it's not like he actually did it on purpose. He was just curious. Who gets to say they've seen thousands of dollars in cold hard cash before? Bank jobs aren't Jon's typical speed, but needs must, obviously.
That gets an unamused sneer, and Jon bends closer. Breathes over Danny's lips Don't do that again and then licks into Danny's mouth. Obediently, he opens up to the brief, hard kiss, and doesn't fight when it's taken away with another forceful yank of his hair.
“Y-Yeah alright,” Danny rasps, breathless, and closes his eyes against the rumble then spray of the shower head.
or, how its going, again
Danny truly thought he could sink no lower, but life's full of surprises like that, he guesses — to break new ground when he'd thought he'd long since hit rock bottom.
“That wasn't the deal, y'know,” he says softly, and for lack of a better alternative, presses the mouthpiece of the hose to his lips and takes a deep, slow inhale. The world goes a bit fuzzier, but not enough to chase away the gnawing guilt — Danny exhales a cloud of green, resigned. “Not that I have much of a choice.”
Jon hums, low and unsurprised. “No, you rather don't, do you,” he returns, and stops typing for a moment, the click of keys falling silent above Danny. The man knocks a sharp knee into the side of his head. “How does this variant compare to last quarter's?”
“Meh.” Crane brackets Danny in tighter with his legs, and he squirms, uncomfortable and too warm — which is the point. “C’mon, you only just gave me this like three hours ago.”
That gets an aggravated sigh, but he bows out his knees, and Danny goes limp with a sigh of his own. Another intake, then the breath released over his head.
“Don't do that,” Jon snaps, “it fogs up my glasses.”
Danny mumbles a mocking repeat of his words and carefully places aside the gas handle before shoving himself up and truly into the man’s lap. With a scowl, Jon leans around to one side, but Danny matches it, pressing closer, hands finding purchase on his thighs.
It stretches the leads dotted across his body to the very limits of their length, the pulsing count of Danny's heartbeat jumping with a beep on the computer behind him.
something about the glory always seemed to bore me
yo, something's wrong with this mirror.
something about the glory always seemed to bore me
Chapters: 1/8
Fandom: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Danny Fenton, Jason Todd, Boston Brand, Prince Aragon, Pandora, Captain Marvel, Vlad Masters, John Constantine, Detective Chimp, Zatanna Zatara, Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Various Character(s)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ghost King Danny Fenton, Overpowered Danny Fenton, BAMF Danny Fenton, Older Danny Fenton, Timeline What Timeline, Sobriety, Canon-Typical Violence ×Non-Graphic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Mild Language, Violent Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Summary:
With great responsibility comes great power, or so Danny's heard.
(Or, the one where Danny learns to live with himself, kicking and screaming the entire way.)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Fandom: Danny Phantom, Supernatural
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Kwan, Castiel, Dash Baxter, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Danny Fenton
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s05e04 The End, Hurt No Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Mild Language, Mild Gore, no beta we die like men
It stares at her hand, bright green eyes narrowed and bottom lip drawn between its teeth. Its very sharp teeth.
Tucker’s bit off yelp from earlier rings in her ears, his gasped Bad idea, Sam—right before the rip in the swirling green light had reached out and ate him up. Before it spit this out in his place.
Sam’s confidence falters, wavers for a second, and its pupils sharpen, turn to slits, iris leeching a horrible red. The silver glow of its fire-flicker hair brightens, throws the burnt out shell of the metal lab into monstrous contrast, and quicker than she can blink, it slaps a thin clawed hand in hers, grip bruising.
A blistering tingle washes over her, her hair rising. A bad idea. The Fenton’s are going to be so pissed, but Sam doesn’t think it’ll compare to the Foleys if she doesn’t get Tucker back, to the town itself once they hear that, that it’s happened again. She has to get Tucker back.
For his sake, for the Fenton’s sake.
Help me remember, it had said.
“Help me remember,” it repeats, the words curling oddly, and digs in its nails, draws blood. “Help me, and—”
“Help me get Tucker back,” Sam finishes, swallowing down her whimper, and.
It smiles, a hesitant imitation at life, and she hates how it softens the alien curve to its face, how it makes her think, It used to be someone and that’s all it wants to know.
To remember.
Lucky. Sam’s lucky. Ghosts far worst have slipped through the natural portals that randomly dot the town, have wanted worse. Done worse than melt a hole in the lab’s wall in apparent fright.
Should have just interned at Green Bay Conservation, she thinks, morosely, and smiles back with closed lips and sweat at her brow.
A few days after. After. Y’know. There's a crackle over the intercom, and the Principal says, Students, please report to the auditorium in ten minutes. Thank you.
Danny shares bewildered looks with Sam and Tucker, but Mr. Lancer is clearing his throat, and the rest of the class are getting up from their seats, packing up. They follow suit, pressing out into the hallway in some semblance of order. Class after class slowly fill the space as they all make their way to the gym, stand after stand filling with confused and worried looks alike. Their class ends up in the back of a row of bleachers, and Danny blinks out over the sea of students.
“Wonder what's up,” Tucker muses, eyes glued to his PDA. He taps the screen, types something. “Don't see anything on the news, but.”
Sam shrugs, and Danny echoes the gesture. “Nothing good, I think,” she says, and makes a sharp gesture at Paulina two rows over, separated from the bulk of their class but surrounded by solemn faced friends. Kwan and Starr are missing from this picture. “Her mascara is running.”
Dread kindles in Danny’s chest.
“Hello everyone,” comes the Principal after the last class has seated, but no one verbally answers. “I, unfortunately, don't have good news to have you all skipping class right now.” He clears his throat, and licks his lips. “It's with a heavy heart I must announce the passing of a fellow student. He was the darling of our football team, Dash Baxter.”
Danny flinches amid the cries of people around him. Tucker sits straighter beside him, but Sam. Sam just stares ahead, unblinking, lips pressed firmly together.
“Starr DeLisle and Kwan Sie were witness to his passing, and as such are not present today. Please give them the respect they deserve when they return,” he continues, grimacing at the room now full of crying teenagers. “Anyone who needs to go home, please talk to your teacher, and we'll make sure your parents pick you up. I'm sorry, everyone, I really am.”
Everyone disassembles right after that. There are people crying, and some blank faced but trailing after teachers. Danny feels lost amongst these people who actually care about Dash, who know him outside of the bully that he is. Knew, was.
“C’mon,” Sam suddenly says, grabbing hold of both him and Tucker. She leads them toward the underneath of the bleachers, where she then sneaks them out of a door.
They don't go home. Not until later, once the sun is beginning to go down, and Danny has eight different messages from his parents and Jazz. They skip the rest of the day at the park, spend it mainly just. Sitting. Together. Pressed close against the beat of the dwindling sun, the fall breeze.
“I don't remember going to bed last night,” Danny says. He must have been too tired, he'd even woken up in yesterday’s clothes.
“We know,” Tucker replies, eyes shut and head lolling back onto the bench.
Sam puts an arm over Danny’s shoulders, and he eases at the half hug. “Don't worry about it,” she murmurs.
Danny doesn't worry about it.
It seems to be the beginning of a trend, though. The years creep by, but so does the amount of people who seem to end up dead. Or missing. Or moved away, if they're lucky enough. Kwan. Starr. Julie from math. Jared from earth science. Jackie from homeroom. Chaim from World History. Lamel from Spanish. Mr. Lancer, last year. A mayor his parents knew, two years ago. People continue to drop like flies, every funeral closed casket, and before Danny knows it, it's the spring of his graduation year.
There's barely two handfuls left to his entire graduating class.
These years haven't been kind, not at all. Sam’s parents threaten to move, but she threatens to run away if they do, come straight back to Amity Park. Tucker’s parents actually do, but only a city over. Danny and Sam see him on the weekend as often as they can once she learns to drive and Jazz takes pity on them, and it's not the same, but then again… nothing seems to be. His own parents make noises a few times of uprooting, but never do. The portal is too important, so they just load Danny up with funny looking weapons, people and ghost orientated. Not that they've ever seen a ghost, just the remains of one or another. Something's been eating them, his parents think. Might even be behind people going missing, turning up dead.
No one believes them though, but.
Danny might. He just… just might.
“Sam,” he croaks, riddled with nerves. He hasn't been sleeping. He can't be sleeping. Jazz has gone missing. “Sam, Sam, I think—”
She presses a finger to her lips, and he quiets. “I know,” she says, but his eyes are suddenly fixed on her fingernail.
The paint is chipped, the underneath dark with something, with something.
“I don't remember going to bed last night,” he insists, but she's turned back to looking at the sky above them, blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Danny can't feel the cold seeping up from the hood of the car. “I don't—” I don't remember a lot of things, now.
“Tucker took care of it, don't worry about it,” Sam says, smiles, and it startles a laugh out of Danny when a particularly loud snore slips out from the car’s barely open back window.
It’s a new school, a fresh start. You’re so excited you can barely breathe, eyes darting from window pane to unfamiliar and new people walking ahead, beside, behind you.
Class is almost upon you, thought, so despite the restless energy bodily contained, you make it to class without talking to anyone. It’s English, but you’ve already forgotten the teacher’s name. The man is behind his desk, and you dother a moment before he notices you.
“Transfer student?” he asks, and you nod. The bell dings and who is maybe the last of the class darts in, a boy with dark hair. The man frowns at him, and the boy shoots the teacher a sheepish look before taking his seat. “On time for once, Mr. Fenton.”
“I haven’t been late once this semester, Mr. Lancer,” the boy cheeks, Fenton.
You blink, and mutter the name to yourself. Mr. Lancer. Right.
Something… sad, drifts across Mr. Lancer’s face, highlighting the lines on his face, but before you can think more on it, he’s standing. “Yes, that is true… well. Class, today will be the first day of a new student…” he starts, and drifts off, looks at you.
Oh! Straightening, you say, “My name is Chaim Blau, it’s nice to meet you!”
There are a smattering of Hellos in return, some friendly smiles in your direction.
“Yes, Mr. Blau will be joining us from here on out. Please make him welcome, and Mr. Blau take an open seat and we’ll begin.”
Seat. Empty seat. There’s a few scattered around, but Fenton has about one on every side of him. You hope no one is late, and head for the window seat in front of his. There are whispers, but you’re too giddy to care.
“Is this seat open?” you say, hands tight on your backpack’s straps.
Fenton brightens. “Yep, Tucker and Sam sit beside and behind me but this one is good.”
You sit with a relieved smile. “Thanks, I’m, um, y’know, Chaim,” you say, something of a rush with nerves.
“I’m Danny,” the boy says, and pointedly looks past your shoulder.
Mr. Lancer’s looking at you when you turn around in your seat. He’s got that strange look to his face again, eyes intense. Confused, you furrow your eyebrows, but then his face smooths over.
He clears his throat. “Alright class, we’re starting a new unit today…”
Class passes like a breeze, the second and third even more so. Danny isn’t in those periods, but you do share lunch. So, you’re looking for him when another student taps your shoulder.
“Hi, you’re the new student, right?” she asks, unsure. You nod, and her shoulders ease, just a little. “Oh, good, okay. I’m here to invite you to eat lunch with me and my friends.”
She points, and a table full of a mess of other students wave back. You grin back.
“Sure, I’ll sit with you guys, can my friend Danny come too?”
Her face immediately sours, not with distaste you think, but. Something like unease. “He always sits at that back table,” and she points this out too. You actually see Danny, and he spots you in turn. Waves. You don’t wave back. “He… He can’t sit with us.”
You frown. “Well, that’s not fair,” you say, and shift your tray in your hands. “He’s nice too.”
The girl grimaces. “It's… not that. Look, you’re new, and don’t know yet–” she starts, and then bites her lip. You feel like maybe she’s done this before. “Maybe you ought to learn the hard way,” she mutters, and walks off without so much as a by-your-leave.
Weird, and mean. You huff, glance briefly at the table full of now solemn fellow students, before making your way to Danny. His table is empty save you two, and it’s depressing.
“Anyone else coming?” you ask despite it.
Swallowing a mouthful of food, Danny shakes his head. “Tucker and Sam aren’t here, and my sister graduated last year, so it’s just me today.” Your indignation must show on your face because he adds, “Look, it’s alright. People think my parents are beyond strange and avoid me as a result. I don’t care for them anyway, so.”
“So,” you echo, a little sadly. This is totally unfair. “So. What do they do then?”
Danny narrows his eyes ar you, tentatively says, “Hunt ghosts. Or, well, try to prove they exist.”
Your spoonful of what you hope is applesauce bumps into the corner of your mouth. “What?” you squeak, surprised. “Ghosts?”
“Yeah,” he hedges, unsure. “That doesn't… freak you out, or something?”
“Well, no,” you admit, and scratch at your right ear. “It’s a divided debate whether they exist but… I believe there’s a way to communicate but we really shouldn’t. At least not start the conversation. If the dead have something to say, they’ll find a way.”
Danny blinks at you. “That sounds.. oddly specific.”
You shrug. “It’s a topic,” you say, maybe a touch defensive.
The other boy raises his hands in surrender, but the conversation is dropped. Lunch goes nicely after that, and sadly, you have to part ways with Danny again, sharing only but the one class you find. He puts his cell phone number in yours, a little envious of the smartphone you carry compared to his razor.
Tomorrow comes quickly, dawns bright and breezy. Mom sees you off at the entrance, and you dither, waiting for Danny. It’s ten minutes til, and still, he hasn’t shown up. You shift anxiously for a few more minutes before giving up, and make it to class right after the bell rings.
“Get lost, Mr. Blau?” Mr. Lancer asks, arching an eyebrow.
You nod, glumly, because you did turn down the wrong hall at first. Turning, you see your seat, and behind it, Danny, looking out of the window.
He doesn’t look at you until you sit down into your desk, bookbag thumping against its legs. Danny brightens. “Hey,” he starts, and at your disappointed look, pauses. “Um, did I do something to you…?”
“You left me hanging,” you grumble, and at his quizzical look, continues, “we were supposed to meet up at the front doors?”
He tilts his head. “Uh, sorry, I don't… have we met?”
Your insides run cold. “Um, yes?” you venture. “I just transfered yesterday…?”
Danny shakes his head. “You must have me mixed up with someone else, I was absent yesterday, so…”
So.
“This isn’t funny,” you say, and voice wavering. “I thought you wanted to be friends.”
“Oh, we can be friends? My name is Danny,” he says, and actually offers his hand.
“This isn’t funny!” you shout, and then just as quickly quell at a hand on your shoulder.
It’s Mr. Lancer. “Mr. Blau, step outside with me, okay?” he says, and you nod, stiffly, and refuse to even look at Danny.
The class is whispering, but your mind’s swimming as if through sludge. Your first friend. Stupid. Of course, prank the new kid…
The hallway is silent, long and empty, unfamiliar. You miss your old school, suddenly and irrationally. You’d hoped to leave behind the cruelty, but. Clearly you haven’t.
“Mr. Blau…”
“Why would he do that?” you demand, and the edges of your vision are going blurry. “I didn't… I didn’t do anything wrong…”
“Mr. Blau,” Mr Lancer repeats, stern, you quiet, cowed. The teachers at your last school didn’t care either. “Chaim. Mr. Fenton… requires patience, if you’re to be his friend.”
You wipe at your eyes, sniff. “Like… special needs?”
But Mr. Lancer is shaking his head. “No, he's… Oh, there’s never an easy way to say this,” he mumbles, and seems to deflate. “Mr. Fenton… Danny, he’s dead, Mr. Blau.”
Your heart stutters. “W-What?”
“He’s a ghost,” Mr. Lancer says, and the sadness is back on his face. “He died, but he doesn’t quite realize that, well. He’s no longer alive.”
Dread overtakes you. What that girl said to you yesterday echoes in your ears. “I, I can’t,” you say, and. “I can’t. ”
“I understand,” Mr. Lancer says, careful to keep any disappoint from his voice, but you hear it anyway. “You can sit beside Miss Keller from now on, she’s directly across from you.”
Your words haunt you all day after you change seats, make careful work of ignoring Danny’s curious looks. If the dead have something to say, they’ll find a way. Lunch is a quiet affair and eaten alone surrounded by people who don’t try to interact with you, sure the other kids are thinking, Told you so. Classes drag by, and the day ends.
“Mom,” you say, and she glances at you briefly, eyes mainly on the road. “Mom, there’s a dead kid at school. A ghost.”
She blinks. “You met him? Is he nice?”
Betrayal stings. “Why, why didn’t you tell me?” you demand, vision going hazy. “I, I looked so stupid trying to be his friend.”
The car takes a right. “Well, maybe he has something to say?” she offers, and you flinch. “Everyone deserves a friend, and everyone he knew is gone now. Tell me, how would you feel if no one wanted to be your friend because of what you are, hm?”
“But… But this isn’t the same—”
“Was he mean to you?”
Your silence is answer enough.
“He’s stuck, but adaptable, and he’ll eventually remember you. But. But. If it’s too much, no one will judge you,” she continues. “He won’t even remember it by tomorrow.”
But I’ll remember, you think.
“No one is forcing you, I’ll put my foot up someone’s butt if I have to,” she promises, and it startles a laugh out of you. Butt. “Ah, yes, teenage humor, never fails.”
“I love you, Mom,” you say, earnest.
She smiles. “And, I love you.”
The next day, you’re already in your seat when Danny arrives. It’s like the class is collectively holding their breath to see what you do, but all you do is smile at his wide eyed look.
“Oh, hey, new here?” he asks, and drops his backpack on his desk. Danny pauses after a moment, squints. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
You turn around in your seat, heart beating maybe a little fast. “Maybe, but I’m the new transfer student, Chaim,” you say, brightly.
Danny grins, the bewilderment fading from his face. “Oh, well, if no one’s said it yet, let me just say,” he starts, and then chirps grandly, ”Welcome to Casper High!”
