Ok. So. We have post portal Chronic Pain!Danny right? Where dying and coming back to life repeatedly has long-term consequences. His body aches, his hearts kinda shit at being a heart, maybe he has seizures, whathaveyou. but the ambient ectoplasm and constant Going Ghost of life in Amity has kept the worst of the side effects to a minimum. But he can't stay in Amity forever (maybe he has to leave cuz of a reveal gone wrong, or the GiW, or for college. whatever the reason. He has to leave the "safety" of Amity Park) and winds up in Gotham. Now, Gotham has enough ambient ecto to survive, but not thrive.
So Danny is having a rough time. He can make his own ecto if he eats enough but he's broke so he's getting Normal Human calories, not Halfa calories. and he can't really Go Ghost because he's trying to lay low/be normal/retired whatever, so no help there.
Danny can also feed off of emotions-particularly fear- to make up the difference between what Amity and Gotham has nutrition wise.
Except. That's what ~Evil~ ghosts do, and regardless of his relationship with his parents, he has trauma around being considered Evil or bad or no good etc. So, he doesn't feed on any of the fear around him.
And now he's in pain. Constantly. All the time. I mean he's been in pain essentially consistently since the accident but this was different. His muscles were spasming. His joints were swollen. He couldn't sleep. He was always sleeping. constantly exhausted. He looked like shit essentially.
Which takes us to a random Tuesday in March. Danny is out (walking to/from work/school/a friends/etc) trudging along. When a rouge attack starts. Suddenly everyone is running, screaming, as cars go flying and buildings start crumbling.
The Bats arrive. They see a kid looking to be on the verge of death trapped. they try to block the attack to give him cover for an escape.
Danny is done. He wants to give up right there on the sidewalk. but then he hears a little girl cry out. She's blocked behind some rubble. He can't save her. He looks around. The bats haven't noticed her. The building's crumbling. By the time they see her it'll be too late.
Danny takes a ragged breath to fortify himself and makes a decision.
He lets the fear in and consumes it like he's a starving man at an all you can eat buffet.
The color returns to his cheeks. His breath comes easier. The shaking in his hands slows. His muscles stop their errant twitching. His eyes flash green and he's moving. Faster as he allows himself to consume more and more of the ambient terror. He moves the girl to a safer location. Steady's the building material so it's less likely to collapse on someone. He sees other civilians trapped and begins to move without thinking. Free from pain for the first time in months.
The fights over.
The dust settles.
Danny looks around and debates whether to stay for clean up or dip before anyone tries to talk to him. The guilt starting to settle in his bones even as the bruises he took heal before his very eyes. A reminder of what he is. A monster. A ghost. The thing that goes bump in the night.
"Thank you mister," comes the voice of a little girl, pulling him from his thought spiral. Danny looks around before seeing her next to him. The child he had saved at the start. She was alive. A few scrapes and a tare in her shirt, but otherwise fine as any child in Gotham could be. "My Mama told me to tell you Thank you Very much and that you are welcome for dinner anytime."
"Oh. um. It was nothing. I'm glad you're alright. That's more than enough thanks for me." Danny stuttered out. Had he ever been thanked before? vilified sure. Glorified and hit on yeah. but properly thanked? He didn't think he had been. The little girl gave him a hug before scampering off. "ummm. okay. ya. sure." Danny blinked after her for a moment before shrugging and making to continue his walk.
Unfortunately, the combination of his uncertainty and the girl thanking him meant that the local vigilantes had more than enough time to handle the villain and circle back to the crime scene. And Danny.
He felt them arrive before he saw them.
"Can we do this later?" he whined already knowing, and dreading, the answer.
victoria grew up being told she was an ‘ugly crier’. her mother meant well (in her own callous way), only saying so as to ‘save’ victoria from the embarrassment of vulnerability. it’s one of the many things that stick with victoria— something she carries within her, like reminding herself that she isn’t attractive when she’s upset will make her feel any better.
she is very careful not to cross that invisible line drawn for her so long ago; she keeps it in place unconsciously. tearing up is the limit. anything more than that would be putting too much of herself out in the open for others to judge, to ridicule, to think less of her for. if she needs to break down, it will be in the privacy of her bedroom when no one is around to see it— to see her.
suppressing her emotions in this way proves to have its own limitations. she can only swallow her feelings and push down the urge to find some kind of release so many times before it all comes pouring out of her without her permission. the first time this happens in front of cassie, it’s at the end of a hard and taxing day. they’re in cassie’s car, stuck in typical evening traffic, and victoria can’t stop thinking about one of her patients; a seven year old girl who had been brought in via ambulance after she’d passed out at school and barely regained consciousness. nothing had shown up in her labs or scans, her symptoms indicating that the problem was likely mental. stress, whitaker had suggested. what could stress out a little girl to the point of fainting in the middle of the day? the answer became obvious when her mother came barreling into the ED. self-important, harsh, and irritated that she had to leave work early to deal with what she referred to as ‘acting out’. she insisted on discharging her daughter against medical advice, sighting that she was only trying to get out of a math test. they couldn’t really stop her from doing so without concrete proof of illness (or of abuse).
the case hit a little too close to home. victoria felt it as she watched the poor girl shrink when her mother entered her room, as if masking her vulnerability would make the pain any less consuming. she feels it now, pressing against her chest like a physical weight, making it increasingly difficult to breathe as cars inch forward and lights linger on red. she tries to push it down, tries to swallow past the lump in her throat. it’s useless. she turns her head towards the window as headlights blur in and out of focus. she can’t help the need to hide what she knows is too ugly to be seen.
“vic? you okay?” cassie’s voice, muffled by the sudden rushing in victoria’s ears, but still notably concerned. victoria opens her mouth to reply, to lie, to hide. all that comes out is a strangled sound somewhere between a whimper and a sob. she doesn’t look at cassie— can’t stand to watch her expression tighten with annoyance or discomfort. her cheeks are streaked with salt as more choked noises escape her. victoria clamps a hand over her mouth to quiet her shame. it is useless.
fingers wrap around her wrist. when they tug, it’s with a firm gentleness that is entirely too forgiving. victoria isn’t deserving of it. she resists for a moment, shaking her head, but then another sob wracks through her and she loses the strength to fight. her palm is slick with her tears but cassie doesn’t seem to care. she leans over the center console as best as she can, takes in victoria’s despair; she frowns deeply and victoria is certain it’s because she is disgusted.
“i- i’m— sorry, m’sorry, this is stupid, i— i’m stupid,” victoria stumbles over her words as they stammer from her lips of their own accord. why is she like this? why can’t she control herself like she was raised to? what is wrong with her? her mind is a spiraling mess of garbled insecurities. a car honks in an adjacent lane, sirens echo in the distance, and it’s all too much and victoria is too fucking much– “please don’t— don’t look at me, i’m stupid, i’m st- stupid-“ as if a limit has been reached, cassie cuts victoria’s ramblings off, “hey, it’s okay. you’re okay, vic, you’re safe.” it must be a trap. victoria doesn’t deserve kindness, or forgiveness, or warmth. she doesn’t deserve cassie.
her inner turmoil must register in her crumpled expression and in her disjointed cries, because cassie’s frown deepens. “okay, baby, hang on. you’re okay, it’s okay, just hang in there,” cassie continues to mutter reassurance as she pulls off to the side of the crammed thoroughfare and shifts the gear into park. victoria flinches when cassie unbuckles, her heart rabbiting against her ribs— stupid, she berates herself, you’re being stupid.
“breathe, baby. can you do that? can you take a deep breath in?” the simple request is like a shining light breaking through murky darkness. victoria follows it with desperation. it takes a few attempts, but she finally manages to inhale, her lungs burning with the effort of expanding, “good, that’s it. now let it out, nice and slow,” victoria does, “there you go, good. just like that. breathe in,” it’s not as hard the second time, “let it out.” little by little, victoria comes back to herself. thumbs that are wholly too gentle and sweet wipe at the moisture beneath her eyes. “that’s good, vic.. you’re good. you’re okay.” it’s hard to believe her when victoria still feels like the world around her is unhinging its jaw, preparing to swallow her in her entirety. her vision has cleared enough that she can make out the worry that creases cassie’s forehead. guilt rises to join shame. they’ve both had a hard day; how selfish is she to burden her like this, when cassie was probably looking forward to a peaceful night in?
“..i’m sorry.” victoria has been made to feel small many times in her life, and at the hands of many people: overly critical tutors, prestigious professors, older classmates, her own mother. right now, it’s victoria who’s responsible. she leans away from cassie’s touch, pushing herself into the passenger side door. the handle digs into her spine but she doesn’t re-adjust. maybe if she shrinks herself just enough, cassie won’t see all the imperfections that are currently amplified by the glistening in her eyes. cassie doesn’t reach for her– doesn’t force victoria to be anything but what she is. she just keeps frowning, her hands pulling back into her lap. “sorry for what? for having a hard time? you don’t have to be sorry for that, vic.” and it’s so genuine that victoria almost believes it. almost. guilt and shame are still too prominent for anything else to take over. victoria brings a hand to her blotchy face and drags her wrist across her cheeks, and then her chin, “no, not– not that.” barely spoken above a murmur, but cassie hears it anyway. “okay. then what are you sorry for?” not overly critical or unfairly demanding. genuine. sweet. cassie.
victoria makes a choice, then. sniffling, exhausted, and immensely overwhelmed, she chooses openness. “for being so fucking much, like, all the time– for being.. being like this.” she’s sounded small plenty of times, certainly. victoria has never sounded so defeated. all the fight has been bled from her. cassie eyebrows stitch together the way they do when she’s trying to figure someone out. not to judge– never to judge. to understand. to heal. “first of all, you are not ‘too much’,” cassie huffs like even the idea is ridiculous, “and second of all, i don’t think i’ve ever seen you break down like this.” she leans forward and cranes her neck to try and meet victoria’s gaze, “but even if i had.. even if you fell apart every other day, i’d stay right by your side like i am now.”
a flicker of hope dares to blossom past the tangled weeds in victoria’s throbbing head. it expands, not unlike a deep breath, as cassie reaches over the center console to take her hand, lacing their fingers together. maybe this isn’t a trap. “can you look at me?” the urge to hide what she had been told was too ugly and too shameful to be seen melts away. the weight against her chest lightens. breaths come and go more easily. victoria looks up, tentative and unsure, like a rabbit being coaxed out of its burrow. she’s rewarded when cassie gives her hand a squeeze and smiles at her like she’s not at all disgusted. victoria dares to believe that she isn’t.
“do you want to talk about it when we get back to my place?” cassie has a way of asking hard questions; an assurance that she won’t be deterred by any particular answer. victoria thinks about it for a moment. breathes in and out steadily. feels the reassuring weight of cassie’s hand in her own. it’s the kind of weight that soothes instead of suffocates. “..tomorrow?” victoria whispers. there’s still a part of her that remains hidden, not yet ready to come out into the light. cassie nods, patient as ever. “whenever you’re ready, i’m here. okay?” as sweet and as safe as the morning sun, rising to forgive the night. to coax small animals from their burrows. to heal.
victoria focuses on the warmth radiating from cassie’s skin. lets it wash away her doubts. with cassie, there is nothing to be ashamed of. there’s no reason to hide. “..okay.”
( p.s , please send in pitt yuri asks so i can feed my brainworms :^]
i'm talkin mcvadi, barantos, mowalsh, nolevans, garsantos, literally i can get behind just about any pitt yuri ship .. )
