Fenton’s right there—in the corner of the hallway, crowded between a row of dented lockers and his two ever-present shadows—the same as every other morning.
He’s still here—alive.
Dash swipes Fenton’s arm into a vice grip—he’s real; flesh and bone and blood that rushes to the surface of his skin, blossoming into patchy, mottled bruises. The sight of it has his hackles lowering—the white, crescent bite of blunt fingernails. His shoulders sag with each relief-filled breath. His grip loses strength and nearly falls to his side at the sight of the marks left behind by every single finger on his trembling right hand. The chill that runs up his spine whenever Fenton gets too close dissipates just a little, just enough for the faint trembling to cease.
Fenton is here—alive.
He has nothing to do with the bones buried beneath the twisting tree that had sprouted from nothing deep within the woods that lined the edges of Amity Park. He has nothing to do with the swaying branches that grow flowers the colour of Danny’s clear blue eyes, nor the roots that glow a sinister green as they coil their way around the carefully buried remains of a boy who had once been their age, laid to rest with a model rocket wound beneath one arm and a hazmat suit—charred and faded—tucked beneath the skull.
The flowers had held no scent and the swaying branches had made no sound, but its silvery leaves had offered shelter from the rain. Its gnarled trunk blocked the biting wind and its roots coiled protectively around the remains from which it had sprouted. The ground around it flourished, with moss carpeting the base of its trunk, growing healthy and vibrant, with mushrooms that grew in bioluminescent clumps that chased the shadows with a haunting glow.
It was a foreboding oasis not meant to be disturbed—a place that he and Kwan hadn’t meant to stumble upon.
But none of that mattered now. Not when Dash now knew for certain that Danny still cowered in the corners of Casper High’s crowded corridors. Now that he knew that the half-smudged writing childishly scrawled onto the base of the model rocket couldn't have possibly spelt out the name of the boy he'd known since his first day of school.
Not with the irrefutable proof seared onto Fenton's pale, freezing flesh.
If you're game to write a cheese melt (Vlad & Dani father-daughter dynamic) ficlet, I'd love to read one. If not, that's cool :)
*vibrating with excitement* My friend. Your cheese melt art has been living rent free in my head for WEEKS. It's my sincerest pleasure to write a ficlet for this. I hope it's okay that it's an outsider POV, I just had an idea and my brain went brrrrrrr LOL
May I offer you a dysfunctional parent-teacher interview?
Parent-teacher interviews are always a nightmare, but there's one in particular that’s making Amity Middle School’s beloved Ms. Burnell sweat through her shirt. As the time slot nears, her gaze keeps flickering to the clock, her classroom door, back to her nervously interlaced fingers on the desktop.
It’s going to be fine. Perfectly fine.
“This one! Over here! Dad! This is my class!” The excited words, shouted in the syrupy sweet voice of a little girl, sets every nerve on edge, Ms. Burnell’s heart plummeting straight into the pit of her stomach.
Oh lord. Maybe it’s not going to be fine.
Her student comes bounding into the classroom, eyes bright and excited, oversized blue sweater sleeves slipping over her hands, even as she gestures emphatically for her father to follow. Black hair spills out of her ponytail, whipping across her face as she throws herself into a desk across from Ms. Burnell’s with a bright smile.
Her father, on the other hand…
The heel of his expensive Italian loafers strike against the linoleum as the man stops at the threshold of the classroom, cool gaze doing an assessing sweep of the space, expression crinkling in distaste as it does. He doesn’t say a single word, doesn’t make any move to actually step inside the classroom.
Ms. Burnell is the one who clears her throat, pushing to an awkward stand as she extends a hand out to the man.
“Hello, Mr. Masters. Thank you for making the time to come discuss your daughter’s education. I know you’re very busy.”
The man’s eyes slip to her outstretched palm, and for a motifying second, she doesn’t think he’s going to take it. When he finally does, he just gives a brief, cursory shake before swiping his palm off on his suit jacket and striding past her toward his daughter.
Ms. Burnell’s face is all kinds of warm, chest tight with embarassment as she fumbles back to her desk, trying to wrestle herself back into some kind of composure. Still, she barely looks up as she pulls out a folder with Danielle Masters scrawled across the tab.
“Dad! Dad! That one’s mine! Do you see it? Do you like it?” Danielle calls proudly, tugging on her father’s suit sleeve and pointing toward the paintings that are spread out beneath the windows to dry, paper wavy and crinkled.
“Oh, er. That’s actually a good place for us to start,” Ms. Burnell cuts in apologetically.
Mr. Masters gaze snaps from where he’d been examining his daughter’s project, over to her, brows dropped low.
“Why? Is there a problem with my daughter’s work?” The question is sharp, accusatory, and she’s pretty sure her soul shrivels up a little bit at the unguarded disdain in the man’s eyes.
Swallowing hard, sweat beading against the back of her neck, Ms. Burnell resists the urge to immediately take it back. Surely he can see the problem with the piece—isn’t going to make her say it?
It's too scary.
When his challenging gaze doesn’t waver, she forces the words out.
“Uhm. Well. It’s just. Not quite. Appropriate for a sixth grade class?” It pitches up into a question as she gestures vaguely toward Dani’s painting.
It’s a bit sloppy, the layers of paint caked upon each other, the lines hasty and uneven, but the scene itself is clear enough—a little, smiling, white-haired girl in the shadow of some kind of hulking creature, its skin blue, eyes red, sharp fangs bared as its cape flares out to take up the rest of the page.
Ms. Burnell almost set up an appointment for Danielle with the school counselor when she saw it, wondering if Dani felt like she was the little girl, trapped amongst nightmares and “monsters.” She decided against it for the time being, until she could speak with the girl’s father, but that’s proving rather unhelpful so far if the contemptuous way the man is looking at her is any indication.
“Did Danielle complete the assignment?” he asks finally.
“Uhm. Yes.”
“And adhere to the grading criteria?”
“Sh-she did,” Ms. Burnell answers reluctantly.
“Then I don’t see the problem,” he answers, finality in the words as his gaze turns to his daughter. He takes a much softer tone with her, brushing the disorderly strands of hair off her face, an absent domesticity in the way he straightens the ponytail gone lopsided. “I think you did a lovely job, dear.”
“Thank you! I used Alizarin Crimson,” she answers proudly, hair flopping right back into her eyes.
“Excellent choice.”
“Uhm. Well, there’s also the matter of Danielle’s conduct,” Ms. Burnell cuts in.
The man lets out an irritated sigh, arms crossing over his chest as he leans back against one of the desks, one ankle crossed over the other, unimpressed gaze finding Ms. Burnell once more.
“What?” he says, like it’s an inconvenience.
She swallows hard. “She’s been…uhm. Not getting along with some of the other girls.”
“That is so unfair, Mackenzie started it!” Danielle shouts abruptly, popping up to her knees on her chair, palms slapping down against the desktop.
“Well that’s not what Mack—”
The girl keeps going, cutting Ms. Burnell off.
“She said the only reason Eli agreed to play with me at recess was because Joshua dared him too, and I said nuh unh and she said yuh hunh, and I asked how she knew that, and she couldn’t even prove it, it was so obvious she was making it up!”
“Mackenzie told me that you said some pretty unkind words to her, Danielle.”
“Barely! I just said it was a bad look for her to be so jealous of me and just because she looks like she fished her outfit from the same trash bin she got her personality from isn’t any reason to be a jerk.”
Her father’s expression twists into a sharp smirk, amusement lighting his blue eyes, and Ms. Burnell thinks she’s starting to get a better sense of why Danielle is proving to be one of the most challenging students in her class this year.
“We treat people with kindness and respect in this classroom, Dani. Do you think what you said to Mackenzie was kind and respectful?”
“Well…” Dani’s gaze drops, expression pinching in thought, and Ms. Burnell thinks she might actually be getting through to her.
“It doesn’t sound as though this other girl was treating Danielle with kindness and respect,” Mr. Masters answers, the words coming out with a mocking turn, like he finds the concepts incidental at best.
“That’s true. She did start it,” Dani reasserts, turning her gaze up to her dad.
“I’ve spoken to Mackenzie about her part in everything,” Ms. Burnell answers tightly. “But we’re here to talk about Danielle’s conduct. That’s not the only incident of its kind that’s occurred this year and—”
“You know, it sounds to me as though Danielle’s doing just fine,” Mr. Masters says, pushing up to a proper stand, tugging the bottom of his sleeves and smoothing the dark, wrinkleless fabric.
“But—”
“Did she make this girl cry?”
“Well. No, but—”
“And how are my daughter’s academics?” he asks, gaze fixed on hers, sending a chill creeping down her spine.
“Fine, but—”
“Has she gotten into a physical altercation with anyone?”
“Not exactly, but—”
“Started any fires?” he asks, sarcasm and derision dripping from the words.
“No, she hasn’t started any fires.”
“Then I believe this meeting is finished. Thank you for your time, Ms…”
“Burnell,” she answers weakly.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Burnell. Danielle, are you ready to go?”
“Yup!” She pops up to an enthusiastic stand, rushing over to the windows to snatch up her painting, twisting it toward Ms. Burnell. “Can I take this home?”
She gives a heavy sigh, massaging her temples with her fingertips. “Sure, Dani. That's fine.”
“Thanks, Ms. B!” As the girl traipses after her dad, a bounce in her step, horrifying painting swinging at her side, Ms. Burnell can hear the girl still chattering away, even as they pass out of her classroom, voices growing distant. “Do you think I should have made Mackenzie cry?” she asks.
Ms. Burnell is glad she can’t hear the man’s response—she doesn’t even want to know his answer.
There weren’t a lot of things that could surprise the young halfa. When he was only a few months old, his father accidentally lost him in the Ghost Zone for over twenty-four hours (and they never found out how he managed the momentary rip in dimensions, nor how Danny got back to the Living Realm). He once had a cooler of pure ectoplasm – which was highly acidic – dropped over his head when he was two years old, and he was completely fine afterwards (okay, maybe there were a few ghostly side effects – but that was it!) The Lord of Time – who was a little shit, and an Ancient – was also his self-proclaimed godfather.
So, yeah. Not much could surprise Danny.
Danny had been privy to ghostly shenanigans since he was three years old, when his parents indirectly, kind-of-but-didn’t kill him.
However, he didn’t like to think of that, so he didn’t.
But waking up to something tapping on his window, and opening it, only to be attacked by a screech owl at three in the morning? That caught him off guard, he had to admit. So did the letter that the owl practically chucked at his head, which then promptly right soared through him, because he had turned intangible on instinct.
The owl looked affronted.
He bared his fangs at it and warily picked up the letter.
Might as well see what it was, right? Who knew – maybe one of his friends in the Ghost Zone was trying out a different ghostly theme? It wouldn’t be the first time, and he decided to humour them.
He blinked when he read over the letter.
-
To Mr. Daniel Nightingale Fenton
Third door to the left on the second floor of Fenton Works
13 Phantasm Drive
Amity Park,
Illinois
-
CASPER SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDY
Dear Mr. Fenton
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Casper School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
The term begins on September first. We await your owl by no later than July thirty-first.
He flinches, smooshing his face into his arms before lifting his head.
Green.
Danny blinks.
"Oh Great Expectations," Lancer sighs with relief. Knelt beside him in the blue grass, "How do you feel?"
"Uh…" he looks around, sitting up properly.
They're in the Zone, half the class, minus Tucker and Sam. Sprawled out in the grassy field.
"What happened?" He asks instead. He tries to remember, pain lancing through his head at the effort.
"Whereizit?!" Dash shouts sitting up with a jolt.
"Easy, easy," Lancer grabs Danny's shoulder to steady him. "You hit your head pretty hard."
"I did?" Danny blinks the spots from his vision, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand.
Somewhere further away, Paulina stares up at the drifting purple clouds. Muttered Spanish filling the air.
"What happened?" Danny asks, giving up trying to remember anything. He pushes himself to his feet. "Is everyone else okay?"
"Ah, you should stay sitting," Lancer says, reaching out to grab him. "Your head-"
"'M fine," Danny waves off, taking a step out of reach. He looks over the field.
Everyone is awake, and either getting to their feet to gather closer or staring in open shock at everything.
A brush of cold runs down his spine, making him gasp.
Danny pivots, striking a hard and fast punch to the center of the floating eyeball that had appeared behind him.
"Fenton?" Dash squeaks.
Danny shakes his hand out as he looks down at the bent over Observant.
"Why do I get the feeling this is your fault?" Danny asks them. He can feel the stares of the students, but he doesn't look back.
"Lor-" Danny grabs the front of his cloak to pull them upright.
"Skip the formalities, what did you do?"
"It has been- Ah- discussed that The King's Advisory Court needed to be…addressed." The Observant places wrinkled hands on Danny's and forces him to let go.
Danny hums.
"We have made the executive decision to assign members to-"
Danny punches them again, this time in the stomach. They double over with a wheezing gasp.
"So kidnapping humans to the Realms was your bright idea?"
"They are loyal to Lord Phantom," they gasp, glaring up at him
"You mean overzealous fans," Danny corrects, he leans over the Observant. "Send us home."
"No."
They vanish with a pop, smokey ectoplasm evaporating in their wake.
He glares at the spot they were before scrubbing a hand through his hair with a huff of a sigh.
"Mister Fenton?" Lancer asks tentatively.
Danny hums, shoving his hands in his pockets as he turns.
"What in the fuck was that?" Dash interrupts.
"Fenton stopped hiding," Wes says from his spot in the grass.
"Hiding?" Paulina repeats.
Wes rolls his eyes, getting to his feet and dusting off his shorts. "How about we make a plan of getting home and then we can play 20 questions."
Danny wrinkles his nose, "Or skip the 20 questions entirely, I can't remember shit."
Wes frowns, "What do you remember?"
"I know your names? I know where we are, but I can't remember anything from before," he shrugs.
A DP ficlet inspired by @wsoupofpain ‘s Substitute Blank AU which I am thinking about all the time, but specifically also her DannyMay piece found here. Also, there’s a playlist associated with the AU now, the decision that i have made.
-
Her fingers want to shake as she zips up the suit, but she doesn’t let them. Tucker is watching her suspiciously; she hadn’t wanted him to be here, but he wouldn’t let Danny go alone. She didn’t want Danny here either but the portal was in his basement, so she didn’t have a choice. She doesn’t want them here, but she’s glad they are, because Sam isn’t sure she has the strength to die alone.
Danny is poking at buttons, doing his best to remember how his parents turned the portal on. It’s complicated, and while she doesn’t know what is involved, she does know what comes next. It doesn’t turn on properly. Someone goes inside. Something comes out.
A deep breath. A hand on her Magen David. Responsibility and love and fear all mix inside her. The last few moments she may ever have, with friends who don’t remember her laugh and smile and bad jokes the way she remembers theirs. Her hand tightens on the points. She can be the one to protect them this time. She lets it go, and slides on the gloves.
She understands that she needs more to be able to keep this sustainable. She can’t keep fighting like this, with equipment she doesn’t understand and a body that can’t take a hit. She has to keep the town safe and she can’t bear to ask it of him, and something deep inside her aches for it. The power. The responsibility. She has always been fighting wars she cannot win; but with this she may have a chance.
Sam Manson has thought through every scenario. She is choosing this fully informed and aware of what comes next. Someone has to die inside the portal, and she has decided it will be her. Danny finishes setting the dials and she finishes tying her shoes. Tucker sets his phone down. Her world condenses so that it fits inside Danny’s basement.
There is only this - the hastily-made patch on Danny’s suit, an attempt to make it her own and not his; the bruises and scrapes the suit covers up, accidents and trophies of fighting ghosts with mortal flesh and bone; Daniel Fenton in front of her, alive wholly and completely, because she did not kill him and put the responsibility of the world on his shoulders. He asks her if she’s sure. She says no.
There is only this -
Her footsteps echoing as she steps into the portal.
The hum of the fluorescent lights above her.
Danny and Tucker watching, worried. She loves them.
Her hands want to shake as she reaches for the button.
Clockwork kept the growing smile to himself, trying not to give any reaction that he knew she was there. The young halfa crept closer, still invisible as if that would do any good. When she was but a metre away, Clockwork decided to break the silence.
“No, Danielle. They are not here yet.”
Danielle huffed as she dropped the invisibility and landed on the floor with a soft thud. “I thought I almost had you that time.” She mumbled to herself.
Clockwork chuckled again, his amusement making Danielle blush. “So, when are they gonna be here?” She asked, changing the subject.
The Ghost of Time turned from his screens and gestured towards the door as he started floating towards it. “Very shortly. We should go downstairs and prepare to greet them.”
The halfa’s eyes lit up with her body and she flew out the door and towards the stairs. Ever since they’d found a way to safely and permanently stabilise her, Danielle had been alternating between bouts of energy where she used her powers non-stop, and moments of continued wariness from the past. Today, it was the former, mostly due to the fact that she was excited to see her siblings.
Daniel and Jasmine didn’t visit as often as they would like. They tried to come every weekend, but with their busy lives it was more like every second weekend. Though Danielle was happy for every visit, glad that they were able to take the time regardless. She’d been a bit worried at first, that they would no longer see the need to involve themselves in her life after being taken in by Clockwork. She was ecstatic when he’d offered to be her guardian and give her a home, of course, but she didn’t want to be left behind by her siblings.
Those fears were quickly erased though, as both older children made it abundantly clear that even if she had a new home far from them and they weren’t able to see each other as much as they used to, they would still be family.
The two didn’t have to wait long at the front of their lair for the Spectre Speeder to come into view and Danielle was twirling in excitement by the time they came to a stop at the tower. The moment the doors opened, and their visitors stepped out, they were both being squeezed by their youngest sister.
“Hey Elliebean.” Danielle grinned, as she always did, at her brother’s nickname for her.
“How’ve you been Elle?” Jasmine asked, smiling at the girl.
“Great!” Danielle’s face lit up in excitement, “Ooh, ooh, yesterday, Clockwork took me to see the Eifel Tower getting made, and I tried an éclair. They’re really good.”
“Was the subject architecture or French pastries?” Daniel asked sarcastically.
Clockwork floated towards them with a chuckle, “Neither. French history. The éclair was a reward for answering all the questions correctly.”
Danielle didn’t attend a public school. They were still discussing whether or not she should or if she wanted to, but she still had a lot of gaps in her knowledge due to her lack of an education. Clockwork was filling in those gaps through their version of home schooling and once she was all caught up to what was expected of her age group, then she could decide how she wanted to further her education.
“Acing all your tests already.” Jazz sent her sister a proud look and held up her hand for a high five, “Nice job.”
As Danielle reciprocated with a giggle, Daniel came up to Clockwork and gave him a hug. “Hi Clockwork.”
“Hello Daniel.” Clockwork held the boy tightly, “How were your travels?”
Daniel shrugged as he left the hug, “Uneventful. Seriously, not even Walker bothered us.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s given up.” Jazz smiled with a shrug.
“Well that is cause to celebrate.” Clockwork gestured to Danielle, “And Danielle has the perfect thing she’s been wanting to show you two.”
At the reminder, Danielle’s face lit up, “Come on, I made cookies, you have to try them.” She dragged her laughing siblings inside, followed by a smiling Clockwork.
The Ghost of Time had never expected to have anything close to a family, but he thanked the Ancients every day for these kids.
I love the hc that Danny can't help but trigger this innate, subconscious fight or flight response in everyone he meets. I love it even more when it's the reason why he still gets bullied by Dash.
Truth be told, Dash grew up years ago. His mean streak had been a short-lived phase that left a bad taste in his mouth. The sudden influx of hormones brought on by the onset of puberty had apparently muddled his brain and left him emotionally stunted for the duration of his freshman year. He'd shoved nerds into lockers and stolen their lunch money. He sorely wishes he hadn't been so excruciatingly cliche.
But he'd somehow managed to unstick his head from his ass pretty quick and he hasn't laid a finger on anyone since - well, except for Fenton.
Fenton had always been the exception. Small and slouched, with a messy fringe that fell into his eyes. Danny Fenton always made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end whenever he walked past.
His arm would brush too close or his shoulder would bump into his in a crowded hallway and Dash's arm would lash out before he could even comprehend the accidental touch. Fenton would be pinned against a locker with Dash's forearm against his neck in the blink of an eye.
The funny thing is though, no one stops him. The other kids don't call him out and the teachers are always coincidentally absent.
Dash isn't a bully - at least not anymore. He helped Lester get his locker door open after a ghost attack left the damn thing jammed shut. He stays late after practice so the girls on the cheer team don't have to walk home when the sun starts dipping low. He holds doors open for the people walking behind him and even offers a polite smile. The other day he stopped to help some little kid struggling to tie their shoelaces.
He's trying to be better. His mom cried about how proud she was on his birthday last month and principal Ishiyama made a passing comment on how nice it was not seeing him in her office every week. He enjoys being nice to people. It's gratifying, and some kids have started coming up to him when they need help.
Once upon a time, Dash had been a chubby self-conscious kid who'd hit the gym as soon as his dad had gotten sick of his begging. Puberty had hit him like a truck and he'd started shaving a year before anyone else. Since then he'd bulked up and was far larger than the average high schooler. He'd been honing his reflexes for years and never drops the ball. He's the shield that everyone hides behind during ghost fights. He's big and strong and has damn good aim - which is better than nothing when going up against a ghost.
But there's something wrong with Fenton.
Danny makes sweat gather beneath his collar and Dash has to grind his teeth any time he walks past.
At least he's not the only one.
Kwan's hands are always clenched into fists when they walk past Fenton's locker, even if he's not there. It feels wrong to have your back to Fenton in the changing rooms and Lancer's the only teacher still handing Danny a detention slip - Dash suspects it's cause none of the other staff can stand to be alone with him for that long.
No one steps in when someone lashes out at the Fenton kid. No one says a word or runs towards the teacher's lounge when Dale has Danny by the arm, eyes wide and gripped so tight his knuckles turn white.
The hallway goes silent and the world steps back as Dash's team flank his sides while the front of Danny's shirt is bunched in his fist. His heart thuds against his ribs and pounds in his ears as Danny opens his mouth to make a sarcastic quip. Danny's always been a sarcastic, mouthy little shit, but Dash can't find it in himself to laugh, not while his body forms a physical barrier between Fenton and everyone else - not when Dash has him by the throat but he's the one feeling cornered and exposed. He has to dig his toes into the soles of his sneakers to resist running.
It's not normal.
Dash plays along, keeping his cool as he goes through the familiar routine. He spits out a pathetic insult that misses its mark and thumps Danny against his locker before dropping him to the ground.
It feels rehearsed, like he's stuck in a cycle he can't seem to break. It's one big act that Dash walks away from with adrenaline churning the contents of his stomach and sweat gathering in the palms of his hands. The hallway parts as Dash walks away. He spares a glance at Kwan, whose dark eyes are trained on the floor in front of him, his fists clenching at his sides, shaking under the fluorescent lights. Dash hides his own hands in his pockets. The one he had bunched in Danny's shirt trembles, his nerves vibrating with the sensation of pins and needles. It feels like static under his skin. He tries wiping it off on the inside of his jacket.
The entire student body of Casper high follows behind him.
Getting to know the Addams family is complete whiplash for Danny.
Growing up with ghosts being treated like parasites and vermin to being welcomed into a family where spirits are actually treated with respect and empathy is mindboggling. The Addamses even have a deep understanding of ghostly customs and compulsions, yet still treat them as individuals and not mindless, Obsession driven entities.
Speaking of Obsessions........ It's honestly surprising that Danny's Obsession hadn't gone berserk from the sheer amount of weaponry mounted on the walls. He's core remained comfortable even when he'd found out about Wednesday's collection of pet spiders, the family lion that guards the vault, even Pugsley's pair of red-bellied piranhas, and the drawers filled with poisons situated right next to the spice cabinet in the kitchen.
He once walked in on Wednesday trying to embalm her brother and his Obsession hadn't made so much as a peep.
(He later realises that it's because none of them actually intended to seriously harm one another. It's nothing but fun and games and they all have each other's best interests at heart).
But one afternoon, Danny is sitting at the kitchen table working his way through a mountain of overdue homework while Morticia sits at the other end stitching what looks like a onesie with too many arms.
He's got his nose inches away from the pages in front of him when Morticia lets out a soft hum. It's enough to break his concentration and he lifts his head. Bright red drips from her finger, running down the length of her bony knuckles. The world comes to a screeching halt and for the first time since stepping foot into the Addams' residence, Danny's Obsession flares to life.
His chest is suddenly too tight and he leaps from his chair. Grabbing the nearest rag, he flings himself across the table and presses it against Morticia's bleeding fingers with shaking hands. His laboured breathing echos around the room and it all comes crashing down.
His eyes zero in on his left hand and the imprints it leaves on Morticia's pale wrist. He comes back to himself all at once. Awareness and rational thought finally pierce through the forefront of his mind and has him jerking back. His chair is toppled on the ground with paper and pens scattered about. The table's been pushed askew and he's still holding Morticia's wrist.
Morticia is silent. Her eyebrows are raised but she's calm and composed. His eyes finally catch sight of her sewing, no longer laid gently in her lap but tossed to the ground and crumpled.
Danny flees before she can even rise from her chair.
He skips dinner and hides in his room. Embarrassment burns under his skin. He hadn't lost control like that since he first turned ghost - not since he'd made the harrowing discovery that he had an Obsession. Danny lies awake that night, invisible in his bed, ignoring the quiet knocking on his bedroom door.
He waits until everyone's finished their breakfast the next morning before finally making his way into the kitchen. He freezes at the sight of Morticia sitting in the empty room, in the same seat as before. The table has been pushed straight and his homework has been piled neatly on the kitchen counter. He almost runs for it, but Morticia offers him a smile and pulls out the chair next to her. On the table in front of the offered seat is a plate piled high with eggs, bacon and sausages. He slowly makes his way to the table and takes his seat. He eats with his head down and Morticia doesn't offer any conversation. The room is silent except for Danny's chewing and the soft rustle of fabric as Morticia continues her sewing. Danny's grateful for the quiet.
He's focused on shovelling down fork fulls of greasy potatoes when he catches a glint of something metallic in his periphery.
Morticia sits, poised and graceful, sewing something Danny thinks might be a hat. On her thumb, she wears a thimble.
He stills with his fork halfway to his mouth and carelessly looks up and meets her eyes. She smiles, the same way she always does, with blood-red lips and not a hint of teeth or a crinkle of her eye, but somehow it's gentle and reassuring. His neck flushes and he continues his breakfast in silence while Morticia continues her sewing. The air is comfortable and Danny feels his Obsession settle.
