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AN: I've gone back and edited the story. I recommend y'all reread the story so no one gets confused. No major differences or anything, but still recommended.
It’s been two days, and Danny’s about to lose his goddamn mind.
He hasn’t been allowed to leave this sunflower envious couch for more than a few minutes at a time. The longest he was allowed off of it was to get a shower. Bobby wouldn’t even let him stand up and grab another book without freaking the fuck out. He was quite literally ready to say fuck it and bolt. But that would be stupid. Because this isn’t his timeline, nor is it his dimension, apparently.
Bobby’s the only person Danny can somewhat claim to know. If Danny were to leave now, he’d be starting all over again. No safe place to sleep, no legal access to food, no legal place for a shower. AND he’d have to travel on foot for who knows how long just to get his bags back.
“Stop your moping, idjit.” Bobby huffed, dropping down in his worn-out puke green armchair. Danny’s head flopped to the side, allowing him to stare impassively at Bobby as the man grabbed one of his notebooks and an old-looking journal.
Speaking of books, Danny’s read his way through most of the ones in the living room. And just like he predicted, most of the information in the books was old news. Well, mostly old news. There were a few beings and creatures he’d never heard of before that he was definitely going to research later, seeing as the information on them was sparse and not that clear.
He tried to dig through the kitchen’s books to see if they had anything interesting, but Bobby kicked him out and now refuses to let him back in. Said his brain needs a cool-down because there was no way Danny could have possibly learned anything at the rate he was going.
The man, having apparently become immune to annoying teenagers, hasn’t budged on his stance in the last hour, so Danny’s been left to, as the man said, mope.
Mope.
The great Danny Phantom.
Moping.
This was torture. Hell, even. Danny was going to pass on permanently, and he’s going to be stuck haunting Bobby’s house for the rest of his miserable existence. A rather short existence, seeing as the man sitting across from him was a hunter who definitely knew how to exorcise ghosts, but still, it would be miserable.
“Alright, kid, what’s your deal?” Bobby huffed, tossing his books to the side. Paper fluttered, and a pencil rolled off the desk, but the man didn’t seem to care.
Pushing himself up, Danny twisted and stared at him, “I’m a teenager, Mr. Bobby. You have left me with nothing but my mind to entertain me, and I’m forbidden from moving off the couch.”
Bobby was silent for a moment, just staring blankly back at him.
Sighing, Danny rubbed his face before continuing, “Teen. Ager. Bobby. Teenager. Who’s used to doing whatever I want, whenever I want, so long as I don’t end up killing myself or another human being. I have gone from one extreme to the other. If I’m not allowed to do something in the next ten minutes, I will die.”
“Drama queens,” Bobby grumbled, before slapping his knees and standing up. “Fine, you’ve been driving yourself up the walls, and I’m not going to willingly let you drive me insane. So, here’s what we’ll do.”
The man walked into the kitchen, snagged a random flannel shirt off one of the chairs, and chucked it at Danny. “Put that on, I’ve got a few errands I need done, you’re coming with me.”
“YES!” Danny cheered, sliding off the couch in his excitement. He landed on his side, pulling on his injuries. Silently hissing, Danny quickly sat up and pretended nothing happened.
Bobby didn’t look impressed.
Ignoring him, Danny pulled on the flannel (which was nice and would definitely keep him warm in the slightly chilly weather) and scrambled his way to stand next to the man.
The man sighed, pinching his nose for a moment, before pointing next to the door. “Your shoes, let me know if you need help putting them on,” he continued muttering under his breath as Danny practically sprinted to the other side of the room, “God give me patience. He’s just like those idjits. How did I even survive the first time?”
Once Danny managed to get his shoes on (no, Bobby, Danny doesn’t need help putting them on. Just because he’s been stabbed more than once doesn’t mean he can’t bend down to tie his shoes… ok, so maybe Danny might need a little help, he’s pretty sure he almost saw his own soul pulling that stitch. Anyway!) The two of them wandered out the door and over to an old green car, apparently named Patina.
Bobby refused to explain why he chose that name, but whatever.
Once settled (and buckled since Bobby glared at him until he’d done so), the two set off down the road. They sat in silence for a while, just listening to the crunch of tires on gravel and then smooth asphalt.
“I’m taking it, you’ll be needing the essentials then?” Bobby huffed, glancing at the review mirror, then back at the road.
“Well,” Danny started, wondering if he should bring it up now or wait.
“Well?” He asked, narrowing his eyes and watching Danny more closely.
Well, no time like the present, it seems. Clockwork better have kept his word. “I’ve got a few bags stashed in an old building. I’m not sure where exactly, considering I only managed to memorise the street signs and not the, you know, town’s name.”
“The town’s, Kid, do you even know where you are?” Bobby asked incredulously, whipping his head to look at Danny, then back at the road a few times.
“Somewhere in South Dakota,” danny deadpaned, crossing his arms in annoyance.
“South Da-, Kid. How the hell do you not know where you're at?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Danny huffed, sliding down his chair, “I should have asked the guy who tried to kidnap me, that’s my bad. How could I have possibly not remembered to do that?”
“Fuckin’ dramatic,” Bobby trailed off, shaking his head. “Whatever, you're in Sioux Falls, kid. Ring any bells?”
“Nope,” Danny chirped, “if it helps, I know we were on this road for a good ten minutes, after we turned off a road on the right, which we had been traveling on for approximately thirty minutes, and that was after the man tried to confuse me by taking a ridiculous amount of turns around town for like twenty minutes. Soooo,” Danny tilted his head, “what abandoned old building is in that direction?”
Bobby squinted to the left, thinking for a moment. “Forty minutes? You’d probably be looking for downtown 8th or 7th. Lots of buildings over there. You said you remember the street names?”
“Yeah, uh,” Danny tilted his head, “An old building on Northern Pacific Ave, right in the middle. It’s between 8th st and Broadway, I think.”
“Yeah, sounds bout right,” Bobby huffed, “right then. We’ll go get your bags first, since it’ll be on the way to our first stop.”
~
They sat in silence for a while, Danny mostly focused on watching the passing scenery, and Bobby focused on the road and not killing them. It took a while, but soon the car started slowing down, and Danny was able to recognise a few buildings.
“Yeah, it’s around here,” Danny said, leaning forward to get a better look around.
Two blocks down, a familiar building stood tall, its boarded windows and rusted door a welcoming sight after two days.
“Right, you stay here, I’ll get your stuff,” Bobby huffed, putting the car in park.
“Aw, come on, Bobby!” Danny whined, “Why can’t I just run in and get it myself?”
Bobby turned to slowly look at him, with one of the most judgmental looks Danny had ever seen. “Do you really need me to explain this to you, kid?”
Danny let the silence stretch for a long moment before heaving a deep sigh, “Fine. My bags are up on the second floor, in the corner of some janitorial closet on the west side. The door’s rusted shut, but there’s a metal panel that can be shoved to the side.”
“Right,” Bobby grumbled, shoving his door open and stepping out. “Stay here. Lock the doors. If someone’s acting shifty, stab them.” And with that, Bobby tossed a knife on his empty seat and closed the door.
Rolling his eyes, Danny reached over and pressed the lock button, the mechanism clicking loudly.
“Just stab them, yeah, right,” Danny grumbled, slouching down and watching Bobby disappear into the dark building. “This is mine now, he’s not getting it back.” Snatching the knife, Danny shoved it through his body and into the liminal space that was his core.
Infinite storage space; one of the perks of being dead.
Well, one of the only perks, really.
Sighing, Danny let his head slip to the side and rest against the glass, silently observing the quiet street around him. A few people were walking on the sidewalks, and only a car or two passed every few seconds, but other than that, the area was deserted.
Another minute or two passed before a loud whistle cut through the air. Flinching, Danny sat up and whipped his head around, looking for the source. It was coming from right next to him. Frowning, Danny fumbled with the latch before successfully opening the center console. Right there at the very top sat an old flip phone.
Glancing up, Danny waited to see if Bobby might show up.
No luck.
The phone whistled again, turning urgently as it buzzed.
Debating with himself, Danny slowly reached out and picked up the phone. The screen was cracked, but he could make out some of the name; Idj-- One.
Idj? Idj one? Who???
OH! Like Idjit! Bobby’s always calling one of his boys idjit, it’s probably one of them then. He should probably answer that. He doubted Bobby wanted to miss a call from one of them, and he should be back in a minute or two.
Flipping the phone open, Danny answered the call with the first thing to come to mind, “American Airlines, how may I help you?”
Wrote a quick ficlet for SuperPhantom (Supernatural/Danny Phantom) Week 2025, Day 7: Thermos.
This will eventually be crossposted to AO3 once I get my life organized (and think of a title), but for now, enjoy!
Summary: Dean and Sam receive a thermos in the mail from one Jasmine Fenton. The apparent contents? Her brother.
“A thermos? Who the hell would send us a thermos?” Dean sat at the table in the bunker, glaring at the offending thing sitting within arm’s reach in front of him as if it had personally wronged him.
When he’d found the package in their PO box—or, rather, in the lock box for parcels that went along with the block of PO boxes that was there—he hadn’t been entirely surprised that there had been no return address or that the package hadn’t been addressed to them by name. Anyone sending them stuff wouldn’t use their real names.
But it wasn’t like they made a habit of purchasing stuff online and burning the use of a credit card by doing so.
When Sam hadn’t fessed up, and with Cas and Jack too computer illiterate to handle something like online ordering, Dean had talked himself into it being a present. Maybe from Jody or someone else.
Now, seeing that the meticulous wrapping with entirely too much tape had revealed a thermos carefully packed in bubble wrap, Dean was back to suspicious. He could have seen Crowley doing something like this just to mess with them, but would Rowena? He didn’t know how she’d have gotten their mailing address, but she’d chalk it up to having her ways. She’d probably delight in the fact that he was considering her as a possibility at this very moment, whether or not she was behind it.
He’d blame Gabriel if he didn’t know the angel was dead. (For real this time. Probably.) This was definitely something he’d have done. Of course, Gabriel would be more likely to send them a neat package wrapped in brown paper and conspicuously ticking, but….
Did metal really gleam like that or was it a trick? The thermos was light enough to be empty—it hadn’t sloshed or rattled or anything when he’d picked it up—but there was an electronic display on the side that read 2% in bright green letters, and he wasn’t convinced that meant nothing.
He wasn’t keen on opening it and releasing something that might be inside, either.
If Cas weren’t out with Jack, he’d ask if the angel had any clue what was going on, but their choice was either waiting till they got back or—
“Hey,” Sam said as he fit pieces of the packaging back together, “there’s a note written on the inside of this wrapping.”
The wrapping in question had been Christmas wrapping paper adorned with multiple sizes of presents in a rainbow of colours, interspersed with Christmas trees.
Even though it was July.
There had been a scrap of white paper taped to the front with their address penned in a neat hand, and a cluster of stamps in the corner, which was weird in and of itself, because Dean would have assumed the sender would have gone to the post office and mailed it there, paying the exact cost of the shipment rather than guessing and slapping on more stamps than was probably necessary.
If Dean had to guess, he’d say the entire thing had been covered in enough packing tape to have suspended Sam from the wall without him falling.
“And?” prompted Dean. “Whose idea of a joke is this?”
Sam was frowning as he read. “Jasmine Fenton’s, apparently.”
“Who?” Dean was pretty good about remembering the people they’d saved, but Fenton didn’t ring a bell. If the thing had turned up at Bobby’s mailbox—Jody monitored that one for them—it would be a different story, since she might’ve been someone they’d saved before he’d started hunting with Sam again, but—
“Not someone we know,” murmured Sam. He slid the wrapping paper towards Dean. “Apparently, she got our address from a friend who’d been in contact with Charlie.”
Charlie.
That one still hurt.
All right, they all still hurt, just to varying degrees, but he couldn’t dwell on that if he was going to get his job done.
“Why the hell was Charlie giving out our mailing address?”
Sam nodded towards the paper, so Dean huffed and started to read.
Hi,
I know it’s weird for me to request something when you don’t know me, but I’m desperate, and trusting the people I’m around here won’t be enough to save my brother. None of us can save him. We’re too close to the situation, so they’ll be watching us, and I’m just hoping this gets through.
Our friend Tucker Foley knows your friend Charlie. Not their last name, maybe not even their real name, but they found out he was the one behind Fryer_Tuck’s posts years back. They probably know more about us than we realize, so talk to them if you want any of what I’m saying confirmed. They said to call you if it was important, but the number we had was out of service. This is a last ditch effort, I guess. A Hail Mary.
We were only supposed to contact you if we ran up against something we couldn’t handle ourselves, and now we have, so this is me contacting you and begging for your help. Please keep my little brother safe. I’m really hoping you haven’t moved since we got this address, but if you have, then to whoever’s reading this— Please help me. Please help us.
Dean looked up at Sam. “How the hell are we supposed to save a kid when we don’t even know where he is?”
“Keep reading,” Sam said. “It gets weirder.”
“When do our lives not get weirder?” muttered Dean, but he kept reading.
Danny and I weren’t home when the Guys in White raided our house. I don’t know the real name of their organization, but they’re government agents, off the book, who hunt ghosts.
“You seriously expect me to believe the frickin’ government is out here hunting ghosts and they just happened to miss absolutely everything else that was happening right under their noses?” groused Dean, but Sam just gave him a look, so Dean rolled his eyes and looked to see what else Jasmine had written.
They’ve got our parents. They’re questioning Vlad Masters and Danny’s best friends, Tucker and Sam Manson. I couldn’t talk to Sam’s parents, but I talked to Tucker’s (they’re going to mail this for me once I finish and get it wrapped) and they’re not getting any answers, just that their son was taken in for questioning. I’m going to try to get to my aunt’s in Arkansas, but they’ll probably find me. I can’t risk them finding Danny. If the Box Ghost hadn’t been raiding the warehouses by the docks again, they’d already have him.
Dean glanced up at Sam again. “You’re going to be able to figure out where these people live based on everything she’s written here, right?”
“I’m going to try. She’s given us enough names. I know I’ve heard about Vlad Masters before, so I should be able to find something on him if no one else.”
Dean frowned. “I don’t remember hearing anything about him.”
Sam smirked at him. “How often do you read the news except to skim for something that sounds like a hunt?”
Dean wasn’t going to dignify that with an answer.
He won’t know much when you release him. I didn’t have time to explain or tell him the plan. Just— Remember he’s human, too, okay? Listen to him before you do anything else.
“Release him?” Dean repeated. “Release him from where? And what the hell is her brother if he’s not human? If these so-called government agents were focused on ghosts, they’re not going to be looking for vamps or werewolves.”
Sam looked pointedly at the thermos.
“Djinn hide in caves, not frickin’ thermoses. There isn’t going to be a genie in that bottle.”
“Does any of this situation sound like djinn to you?”
Sam knew full well it didn’t, but Dean couldn’t think of any creature off the top of his head that could be believed to be part human and also could be seen as something that would be mistaken for a ghost. The whole dead versus alive, tangible vs intangible thing really made a difference on that front. And it wasn’t something someone could hide.
And the things that could be hidden typically couldn’t be shoved into a thermos.
Maybe the kid had been possessed and they’d somehow managed to capture a demon who’d smoked out? That didn’t really make sense—no demon would stay in a thermos even if some part of them had been closed inside—but he wasn’t coming up with anything better at the moment.
I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know where else he might be safe. I just know it isn’t here.
Please. Keep him safe. Help him. Try to talk him out of doing something stupid. The Guys in White won’t harm the rest of us. Well, maybe Vlad, but— But he needs to stay safe. Please.
If this is too much, if you can’t take this on right now, please just guard the thermos for me. Danny won’t be happy, but he won’t know how long it’s been until we tell him.
I’ll reach out again once it’s safe.
Thank you.
Jasmine Fenton
“So what do you think?” Sam asked as he looked up. “Open it up in the safe room or leave it closed?”
“Closed till we make some sense of this,” Dean said. “I wanna see if Cas has anything to say about it, too.”
“We don’t know how long they’ll be if—”
“It’s a glorified play date,” interrupted Dean. “Jack isn’t going to learn how to make friends if we’re the only ones he hangs out with. Let him practice not scaring kids while Cas does a grocery run and plays overprotective parent. No one who meets both of them is going to question it unless one of them says otherwise.”
Which they might, despite being encouraged to let people make their own assumptions, but Dean had decided this wasn’t a battle he wanted to fight.
And making friends had been Jack’s idea, one Dean hadn’t been entirely sure he’d be willing to follow through with let alone propose himself after what had happened last time, so not discouraging that was the first order of business.
If nothing else, Jack needed to practice lying.
Cas was markedly better than he’d once been, but he still wasn’t great.
“That’s my point. We don’t know how long it’s going to be.”
“Dude, it’s Jack and Cas. It’s not going to be long. Let the kid dip his toes in and figure some things out. They’ll be back before the beer’s warm.”
“You really have so little faith in them? If someone just thinks he’s an awkward kid—”
“I didn’t miss the rumour mill whenever we moved, Sammy,” interrupted Dean. “You’re fooling yourself if you think there aren’t already going to be stories out there about Jack. He needs to pretend they aren’t true. Getting some practice under his belt now might save his skin later.”
“And ours, you mean.”
“Sure. If that thing” —here Dean tilted his head towards the thermos— “doesn’t skin us first.”
“If Jasmine knew anything about us, she wouldn’t send us her brother if she thought he was something we’d have to hunt.”
“We don’t know what she knows about us. We didn’t know Charlie was telling anyone anything. But even if she did, doesn’t mean whatever Jasmine sent was her brother. It might just be something she thinks is her brother.”
“Or it might be his ghost. A new enough one that he hasn’t lost himself yet.”
Dean met Sam’s eyes.
That was what he’d been thinking and hadn’t wanted to say.
Ghosts couldn’t be saved. Not forever. Eventually, their death would catch up to them, and if they weren’t put down first, they might take an awful lot of people with them, depending on how twisted they became.
“If it’s really a kid, one who still seems to be himself, we shouldn’t do this when Jack’s here.” Sam reached out to pick up the thermos, and Dean didn’t stop him. He shook it; it didn’t make a sound. “Do you figure she put some of his hair in here or something to keep the ghost in place?”
They could just salt and burn it. That was safer than not opening it when—with their luck—it would get opened at a time that was remarkably inconvenient for everyone. They didn’t have to listen to some pleading letter written by an older sibling worried sick about her little brother.
Goddammit.
Dean reached forward and yanked the thermos out of Sam’s hands. “I’ll do the final prep on the dungeon. You research what you can on these guys.”
“Gimme half an hour.”
“You’ve got ten minutes. We just need the basics.”
And, though Dean wouldn’t admit it, Sam was right.
Cas might have some useful information on this, if these guys had ever pinged the celestial radar, but he might know nothing, too.
And it wasn’t worth waiting for something that might turn out to be nothing if it meant Jack might take a front row seat to seeing them put down a monster who had yet to show its teeth.
It was a lot harder to convince yourself that it was to protect everyone else until you learned—the hard way—the horror that waiting meant.
XXXXXXXXX
Danny was talking (well, complaining) before his vision had cleared from the blinding light of the thermos. “If this is your idea of practical joke, I swear I’m gonna ask Clock….”
Once the light faded and his eyes adjusted, it became painfully clear that Jazz was not the one who’d released him, even though he knew she’d been the one to catch him in a thermos.
It wasn’t Sam or Tucker, either.
It wasn’t even his parents or Valerie. That would’ve sucked, given that none of them knew his secret, but that would’ve at least made more sense than two guys he’d never seen before looking at him like they expected him to attack them. And at least if it had been his parents…. Well, he’d been planning to tell them anyway. He hadn’t gotten them to admit that not all ghosts were master manipulators or that they could feel pain, but he had gotten them to talk to him as Phantom without shooting him on sight—even when they weren’t fighting a common enemy.
That was progress.
“Uh.” It shouldn’t be taking this long for his brain to process all this. How long had it been? Too long. “You’re not Jazz.”
And he thought Tucker had a thing for stating the obvious.
Danny risked a quick glance around, gleaning enough of the symbols painted around the room to know that Sam might understand half of them, but he didn’t. About the only thing he really did recognize was the pentagram, just not the other symbols painted in it or the white stuff poured in a thick ring around it. For all he knew, it could be sugar or salt. At this point, that would make as much sense as anything else.
Danny blinked, refocused, and realized that while he’d been distracted, the shorter of the two men had pulled out a shotgun. Or maybe he’d had it the entire time. Point is, it was levelled at Danny now. (And, okay, fine, neither man was short, but one was markedly shorter than the other, even if they were both shorter than Danny’s dad.) Danny didn’t really expect a normal gun would hurt him when he was Phantom, but he held up his hands in what he hoped would be seen as a placating manner anyway. “You, um, really don’t need to shoot.”
Neither of them said anything.
The gun didn’t go away.
Okay.
He could do this.
He just had to think like Jazz.
Danny let himself drift down slowly until his boots hit the floor, and he tried not to think about the fact that the gun had followed his progress. That shouldn’t be too hard. He was already trying not to think about the stain on the concrete that he was pretty sure was blood. “Um, I’m Phantom. In case you didn’t know that. Where, uh, did you get that thermos?”
“Got it as a present,” said the one with the gun.
The taller man frowned at him. “Dean.” Disapproval laced his tone, which had to be saying something, since Danny doubted either of them were his biggest fans. He wasn’t even sure they knew who he was; neither had reacted to his name.
He’d already known, on some level, that this wasn’t Amity Park.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise that it wasn’t Elmerton, either.
“What? That’s not even a lie.”
The taller man rolled his eyes. “Danny?” he asked pointedly.
Huh.
Weird that he knew that when he hadn’t reacted to Phantom, but whatever. Maybe if the whole gift thing hadn’t been a lie, there’d been a note taped to the thermos or something. “Danny Phantom, yeah.”
The shorter man—Dean—snorted.
“Danny Fenton?” prompted the taller man.
Oh, crud.
Danny shook his head. “Danny Phantom. As in, a ghost. Which I’d kinda assumed you already knew, but if not, surprise, I guess? Ghosts are real.”
“Yeah, we know,” said Dean. “This ain’t our first rodeo.”
“Right. Well, um, you don’t need a gun because I’m not going to hurt you, so if you can just put that down so I can put my hands down—”
“Who are the Guys in White?”
“Huh?” The question had come from the taller man, and Danny really wished he knew why they were asking. These two didn’t look like they wanted to respond to some recruitment ad, but how did he know what the trainees looked like before they were actual trainees, let alone field agents? “They’re, like, secret government ghost hunters. Think Men in Black, except these guys are obsessed with keeping their suits spotless. Not that I’m complaining. It’s a lot easier to get away from them when they’re like that. Why, uh, are you asking?”
The two men exchanged a look, and then the smaller one looked at the floor—or probably something on the floor, but Danny had no idea what—and then he dropped the gun to a resting position.
Danny was not foolish enough to think that it wouldn’t be aimed in his direction in a heartbeat if he said something stupid, but for now, he thought he could drop his hands without risking the fact that those were special bullets coated in phase-proof foam or something. He didn’t plan to move elsewhere, though. That would probably not be great for his not-bullet-riddled self.
“I’m Dean. That’s Sammy—”
“Sam.”
“—and you’re Danny Fenton, so cut the Phantom crap and just explain why everyone thinks Danny Fenton’s still alive while the local ghost hunters and these Men in Black rip-offs are out for your head.”
Danny stared at them.
“Your enrollment records are current,” continued Sam. “No obituary. Possession of a corpse wouldn’t preserve it indefinitely, and you’ve healed from the damage you’ve taken, so you’re either playing with some pretty powerful magic—”
“Um.” Danny risked raising one hand and a corresponding finger. “I can guarantee you that whatever you’re thinking right now is wrong.”
“So enlighten us,” said Dean, and though he hadn’t raised the gun again, Danny felt like he was still looking into its barrel. His hand dropped back to his side.
Danny wasn’t a huge fan of spilling his secret to veritable strangers, but he was a huge fan of not getting shot, so…. “I, uh, didn’t actually die? Maybe briefly. I dunno. But I didn’t stay dead if I did? I just have ghost powers.”
“Ghost powers.” Dean’s voice was flat. “Meaning?”
“Exactly what it sounds like? I don’t know how else to describe it. I have powers like ghosts do. I can pass through stuff and turn invisible and fly, and it’s a lot easier when I’m in ghost mode.”
The two exchanged looks again. Either they’d been best friends for practically ever or they were siblings, Danny guessed. He and Jazz weren’t as good at the silent communication thing as he was with Tucker and Sam, but they’d gotten a lot better since she’d admitted to knowing his secret.
Danny bit his lip, and when neither of the other two spoke—probably waiting for him to dig his own grave by somehow saying the wrong thing—he asked, “What happened? Why ask about the Guys in White?” He hoped that would lead to the answer of why am I here? or where am I? without his asking it being so obvious. Knowing the names of the people who were liable to shoot him if he said the wrong thing was a little lower on the priority list than that, even if these two didn’t seem to think so.
“How many people know about your little secret?”
Danny frowned at Dean’s question. “Two more than before if you guys believe me, but why does that matter? Where’s everyone else?”
“Detained, probably, if it really is a government organization,” Sam said, studiously ignoring Dean’s glower. “There was a raid. As far as we know, your sister is safe.”
“You talked to Jazz?” They must have. “She said there was a raid?” In hindsight, that made a lot more sense than the whole ‘trapping him in a thermos’ thing being a practical joke or a mistake or payback for something he’d already forgotten doing, but— “What about Mom and Dad and my friends?”
In theory, Sam and Tucker should be farther away from whatever the situation was, since they hadn’t been with him at the time, and the Guys in White shouldn’t know how much they helped Phantom. But raid implied somewhere being stormed, and if these guys were trying to claim all the FentonWorks technology without paying for it this time….
“I’m still working on that,” admitted Sam, and Danny’s heart sunk to his toes. Sam and Tucker were caught up in it, too, then. Or, at least, they’d been caught up in it, even if they’d managed to get free since.
When had this happened? How long had he been in there?
“We and your friend Tucker knew someone in common,” started Sam. Knew, not know. That was not exactly a great start. “She apparently gave you a phone number and an address. Welcome to the address.”
Danny had a vague recollection of that, but— “That address was for a PO box, wasn’t it?”
“So welcome to the physical location of our residence,” snarked Dean. The gun was still lowered, but he didn’t look relaxed. “If this is your ghost mode, show us your human mode.”
“You mean being a regular person?” Human mode sounded creepy. Like he was playing at being human like Spectra always did. Or Johnny or Ember or someone else. “If you know who I am, then you probably already know what I look like, so why does it matter?”
Another look.
They were holding entire conversations with those looks.
“It matters if you aren’t still the boy you think you are,” Sam answered quietly. “If you have people who are fabricating your continued existence—”
Danny held up a hand again. Thankfully, that did not mean he got a gun barrel to the face. Maybe things were improving. “Okay, one, no, no one is making up the fact that Danny Fenton is still alive. I am. Even when I’m Phantom, I’m still me, y’know? Using my powers is easier as Phantom, but I can still do it as Fenton.”
Aaaaand now the gun was pointed at him again. Great. “So even when you’re impersonating a dead kid, you mean?”
He could risk intangibility or go straight to body contortions, but those were exhausting, and if these guys were the ones that Tucker’s friend had said could help if they ever needed it—
“At this point you’re just trying to antagonize me, aren’t you? Fine.” He let himself change back, smirking when they both started at the sudden light, but he’d give them this much: they didn’t drop their guard. It was probably best for him if he went back to acting casual. Danny stuck his hands into his pockets. “Now can you stop pointing a gun at me? Please?”
“Will you let me examine you?” asked Sam.
Danny made a face. “Which entails what, exactly?”
“Holy water, silver, iron, looking for a pulse, you name it,” drawled Dean. “The usual.”
Danny rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He walked towards Sam, crossing over the line of crystals on the floor without issue (he had started to wonder if they’d been tapping into the human equivalent of Desiree’s magic, but thankfully that didn’t seem to be the case), and he saw Sam glance at Dean again before the man offered him a flask and told him to take a drink. He was passed a few more objects and he apparently passed those tests without issue, and then Sam took his wrist to check for a pulse before eventually looking at Dean and nodding.
The gun only lowered after he’d done so.
“Now can you tell me what’s really going on?” pressed Danny. “Did the Guys in White raid FentonWorks? Are they still questioning Mom and Dad?”
“I wasn’t lying when I said I was still working on all of that,” Sam said. “I didn’t have time to do a lot of research before we freed you. Most of what we know came in Jasmine’s letter.”
“What letter?”
Sam produced it from his pocket, and Danny read it over hurriedly. Jazz was going to Aunt Alicia’s—or might already be there, assuming she’d made it. He wished Spittoon weren’t a dead spot so he could try her cell phone. He wished Aunt Alicia had a landline. He’d have to figure out some way to contact her. Unless the Guys in White would be monitoring that? He should probably take the battery out of his cell phone. It might be dead anyway, but—
“You want to fill us in?” Dean asked.
Jazz had mailed him here via Mr. and Mrs. Foley because she hadn’t known any other way to get him out of Amity Park without the Guys in White finding him. They had Jack and Maddie, Sam and Tucker, probably even Vlad unless he’d managed to talk his way out of it—
Were they only talking to Vlad because he was the mayor of Amity Park, or were they talking to him because they somehow knew—
Danny swallowed.
Tucker would be able to find out.
Danny didn’t have the skills for that.
These guys might be good, but if Tucker was friends with their friend and not them, then it was that friend who had skills as good as or better than Tucker’s.
“I don’t know that I can,” he whispered. “Can you at least find out if Vlad’s free? Vlad Masters, I mean? If they don’t have him— If they don’t have him, then he might even help.”
“Amity Park’s mayor hasn’t been seen for almost a week and a half,” Sam said quietly. “I’m assuming that was the day of the raid.”
They must know. The Guys in White wouldn’t keep Vlad otherwise. It would be too dangerous for them to kidnap someone so public, especially if they didn’t dare accuse him of being a ghost where anyone might overhear them. Given the mess that had happened Elliot, he wouldn’t blame them for being wary of throwing that one around, but still.
The Guys in White had Vlad.
They had to.
And if it was because they knew about Plasmius—
If it was because they knew about Plasmius, then there was a good chance that they already knew about Phantom—and that that was why Sam and Tucker had been questioned. It might even have been the real reason for the raid on his house and why his parents were probably also detained.
It also might mean Jazz had never made it to Aunt Alicia’s, even if her last ditch effort of getting him to safety had worked.
“I need to help them,” he murmured. “I need to free them. They could be getting tortured right now for all I know.” He looked up, meeting the eyes of the two men who were still, for all intents and purposes, strangers to him. “Please. Help me?”
the winchesters keep salting and burning Danny's belongings to try an banish his spirit and just end up with an increasingly pissed off teenager the more and more things they destroy
Bobby leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the kid slowly pick through and eat the food he had given him. Danny picked up his water, sniffed it, rolled his eyes, and took a pointed sip before setting it back down. (He's acting like he can smell the holy water, but Bobby's pretty sure the kid's just making faces to make faces.)
Bobby had been watching the boy closely ever since bringing him inside; he looked so familiar, too familiar, for his liking. He wanted to give John the benefit of the doubt; he really did. But did he know John enough to completely deny the possibility?
He didn't want to believe it, but something in his gut was screaming at him.
The kid's wrinkled nose reminded Bobby of Dean when he was disgusted at Sam's 'rabbit food'. He had brighter blue eyes than Sam, but the same shape. He had the same hair color as John. He even made the same damn face all three of them made when they were hurt but didn't want to make it a 'big deal'. It made Bobby's stomach turn unhappily.
He had to be wrong; he just had to be. The kid even said his parents, plural, had done this to him. He had to be just seeing things.
Danny leaned back and crossed his arms, frowning down at the table in front of him just like Dean had so many years ago. His annoyed huff and wandering eyes screamed Sam, and the interest in an open book turned to a page about Rakshasas, and the eventual eye roll and muttered correction was all John.
Turning away, Bobby stared out his kitchen window at his yard full of cars. Just what was he supposed to do now?
~
Danny flipped the page he was reading, rolling his eyes at the mistakes and untrue things listed. Rakshasas can turn into anything they want, except for the fact that they need to have seen the thing beforehand at some point in their very long lives (drawings and paintings actually count in this). And Brass is not the only metal alloy they're weak to, but it is the most accessible.
A green note popped into existence, blocking the entry for the next creature in the book. Sighing in relief, then rolling his eyes, Danny glanced at Mr. Bobby, then back at the book.
'As you've already figured out, this is not your original timeline. Not even the same dimension.'
Yeah, no shit, Clockwork. Danny figured that out pretty damn quickly (ok, well, not the dimension part, but still). Let’s see here: there wasn’t enough ectoplasm in the air, let alone enough to account for how much ectoplasm the accident released into the world. There were supernatural creatures out in broad daylight, which, good for them and whatnot, but definitely not something you’d see back in Illinois in 2005. The facts listed in the books were very outdated, almost 20 years old if his estimations were correct. Bobby seemed like the type of hunter to have all up-to-date resources; the fact that he doesn’t is very telling.
So yeah, not his timeline is believable. Dimension though…
'I've arranged for your things to be left alone until you can safely collect them.'
Thank the ancients, because Danny was not against fighting his mentor. He'd do it for less, too. The old clock knew it.
'I had to trade in a few favors and such to build you a new identity similar to your own in this world.'
New iden- yeah, ok, that actually makes sense, this was a new world after all. Different dimension and whatnot, not his timeline. So obviously he doesn’t, or well, didn’t exist.
'Granted, this was only possible because the Creator thought it would be interesting.'
Creator? what? Who?
“His only rule is that you are not to reveal his true identity until he permits you; this includes purposely leading others to where he is. Seeing as you are a powerful being from another dimension, his power and presence cannot be hidden from you.'
Yeah, sure, makes sense. Danny can do that. Not like he was planning to find the 'Creator' any time in the future or anything.
'This world is infested with creatures of all sorts, many you've encountered before, some you have not. Prepare yourself for anything, Phantom. I'll be watching.'
The moment Danny read the last word, the note disappeared just as fast as it had appeared. Rolling his eyes, Danny closed the book and leaned back with a huff.
Prepare himself? Sure, let him just Google everything about this world real quick, oh wait, he can't, because not only does he not have a phone or computer, but he doesn't even know his identity.
Traded in a few favors and such, and he doesn't even let Danny know what his identity is. Are his 'parents' even alive in this one? Does he have to worry about a couple of strangers tracking him down like back home? Why does his mentor have to be so annoying and up to something all the time?
'I'll be watching you' because apparently, Danny's new life will be Clockwork's new favorite soap opera. Not like that's new or anything, Danny's whole life is definitely a few Ancients' most entertaining show.
"You're done eating, kid?" Bobby asked, walking back into the room like he hadn't been watching Danny eat from the kitchen.
"Yeah, thanks," Danny agreed, leaning forward to help gather the dishes. Bobby huffed and waved him off, snagging the plate and cup before Danny had done more than move an inch.
Danny watched the man walk back into the kitchen, the sound of water running letting him know Bobby would be distracted. Waiting another second just to be sure, Danny turned back and looked at his body.
He was still covered in bruises, most of the blood had been wiped away, but he could still feel all the grime from the last who knows how many days. He couldn't let the bruises heal at an unnatural rate now that he was (hopefully, cause he had nowhere else to go at the moment) staying with Bobby. Which means he would have to force his energy to focus on his internal injuries.
Closing his eyes and leaning back against the couch, Danny focused on the humming crackling of his core. Ectoplasm was already spreading out from it, arking here and there, looking for the fastest path to its new task of healing. Mentally reaching out, Danny guided his energy to focus on his internal injuries.
First, the hole in his lung that he prayed Bobby hadn’t noticed, then the severed muscles in his back. He also moved some around his cracked ribs. They didn’t feel broken, but he knew from experience how easily they went from one to the other.
Based on how much energy the food had given him, that should be enough tasks to keep his ectoplasm busy before running out. Though, admittedly, there was a lot more than he was expecting. Probably from the Holy water Bobby had tried to sneakily give him. It was a lot more… effective? (definitely not the word he was looking for, but it’d do for now) Than the stuff his parents used to use.
He’d have to look into why that was. Later.
Right now, he needed to focus on other things.
For instance, now that he’s eaten and his ghost half isn’t starving anymore. The human half can start working on actually functioning like it's supposed to. You know, like start healing the bruises that covered like 90% of his body?
Although, based on everything that’s happened over the last… four? Days? Danny’s going to have to really focus on what his body needs. Like, actually eat consistently, and sleep when he needs to. Even more so if Bobby’s as observant as Danny thinks he is.
Ugh, gross.
Taking care of himself? Self-care? Jazz is going to be so thrilled.
Speaking of Jazz, he hopes she doesn't freak out too much once she finds out. Has she found out yet? Probably… It’s been like five or six days since he managed to grab his bags and get to the ghost zone.
…
Who knew getting randomly dropped into a different dimension for four days would be less stressful than if he had stayed in the ghost zone?
Weird.
Or was that sad?
Eh, whatever. His point is, he’s surprisingly less stressed than he should be, and he can’t tell if that’s good or not. Probably not.
Speaking of stressed, how was he going to convince Bobby to drive him a couple of hours over to the next town and grab his bags? The man looked like he was about to glue Danny to the couch if he so much as looked like he was about to get up again.
Bobby thinks he's a normal human teenager (ignoring that normal teenagers don't typically go on hunts or become hunters, but considering that he hasn’t said anything, maybe it isn’t that unusual), and normal teenagers would take a lot of time before they'd be ready to do such a trip with his injuries. (let alone get up and walk around like Danny's been determined to do, probably why Bobby's been so insistent that Danny just sit and wait. Yeah, that makes sense, actually.)
He'd have to think on it.
In the meantime, if he can sense the 'Creator' because he's from another dimension, does that mean the supernatural creatures in this world know something's wrong with him as well? Or can only this ‘Creator’? Does the ‘Creator’ even know what Danny is, or just that Danny’s considered powerful? Can other supernatural beings tell, given enough time?
If that's true, then he's got a bigger problem on his hands than he first thought. Maybe Bobby'll let him read his books; it's not like he'd be allowed to do much of anything else, really. Besides, Clockwork did tell him to prepare himself.
Danny groaned, blinking his eyes open. He felt like he was hit by the GAV, and then run over by it, went a round with Pariah, and then turned into Cujo's chew toy. Point being, he felt like shit.
Sitting up (which was a bad idea because his chest immediately started yelling at him), he was greeted with a very... normal living room. If normal included having spray-painted ritual circles on the ceiling, salt lining the windows and doorways, and four libraries' worth of books piled everywhere.
A loud clatter and then cursing echoed out from a room out of view, letting Danny know he wasn't alone, which was what finally kick-started his brain and reminded him of what exactly happened.
One moment, he's peacefully (read: passed out) floating through the realms and absorbing ectoplasm to recover, and the next, a portal opens up and dumps him in some random ass abandoned building.
The first day was spent just groaning miserably on the ground and sleeping. The second day was spent slowly getting familiar with the building and trying to figure out where he was.
He hadn't been quite that successful. Also, the ghost he met while exploring was real frucking weird. He wasn't sure exactly what happened, but he shot the dude after he lunged at him, and then the dude just straight up disappeared into a cloud of smoke. (That was the first clue he wasn't anywhere close to home. Ghosts do not do that.)
After two more days of just sitting there and recovering, Danny finally decided to find a place to get a shower (because he was very sick and tired of being covered in his own blood, thank you very much). He had only walked maybe two blocks before some random guy pulled him off the sidewalk and into his car. (Danny really needed to work on his situational awareness, because that had just been sad. But he supposed he could be forgiven just this once because of just how injured he was.)
He doubted anyone noticed, because it had been like two in the morning, but whatever. He was able to memorize the street names he had been on. (That way, if he ever made it back there, he'd be able to find his stuff... Hopefully... He was going to strangle Clockwork with his own timestaff if anyone touched a single thing of his. Because this was definitely the old coots' fault, he could just feel it in his bones.)
And after spending who knows how long in the passenger seat of the stranger's car, (he stayed for two reasons; one, the radio had been reporting on local news, which was his second clue he was nowhere close to home, because he was apparently somewhere in South Dakota? And two, because he's spotted no less than four supernatural creatures all within the first ten minutes of the 'kidnapping'.) Danny decided he was done humoring the situation, cut the tape, and got out.
And that is about when he was 'saved' by some dude who stood and acted a lot like his parents and their old hunter friends used to (Back when his parents actually had friends and weren't obsessed with ghosts... too much). He then promptly passed out after telling the dude he ripped his stitches.
Pushing himself up, Danny pulled his shirt and glanced down. He was met with fresh bandages. He also noted that his arms were still covered in bruises, which meant his whole body was basically black and blue. Great, just great. There was barely enough ectoplasm in the air to even notice its existence, let alone enough to absorb. Which meant he wasn't healing, and he wasn't going to until he could create his own.
Fun.
He had really been hoping he had just been staying in a dead (heh) zone, but the fact that he still couldn’t feel any ectoplasm after traveling so far away was evidence enough that he’d been wrong. Really wrong.
Fucking Clockwork. When in doubt, blame the old hourglass.
Pushing off the couch, Danny slowly made his way over to the kitchen. Poking his head inside, Danny glanced around. Books, books, and more books covered the table, accompanied by papers and notebooks. Phones marked with F.B.I. and other agencies hung on the wall.
Yeah, this guy was definitely a classic hunter. Occult books and all.
"What the hell are you doing up, kid?" a voice suddenly cut in from behind him. Tensing, Danny turned and faced the voice, relaxing only a smidgen when he recognised the guy from before.
"I woke up in an unfamiliar room. Was I not supposed to get up and investigate?" Danny asked, brow raised as he studied the man. He had blue eyes and graying brown hair. He was wearing a baseball cap indoors for some reason and had a gray and green flannel over an old band t-shirt paired with stained blue jeans. He was also holding a large med kit.
"Not with an injury like that, you idjit. You're gonna pull your stitches again," the man turned and pointed at the couch, waiting for Danny to sit back down.
Huffing, Danny carefully made his way back over and sat down. The yellow fabric was surprisingly soft, now that he was paying attention to it.
"What the hell happened? And why the hell haven't you gone to a doctor?" The guy, ok, seriously, Danny needed to come up with a nickname or something. Anyway, the man dragged a chair over and sat down, gesturing for Danny to take off his shirt.
Danny doubted anyone, hunter or not, would react well to his… unique existence, and its effect on him and his (non)life. So he had to come up with a hunter-friendly version of, “The overpopulated Government-sanctioned Ghost Busters themed Guys in Black ripoffs teamed up with my parents and tricked me into one of their traps by targeting my ghost friends, which led to them finding out who I was and chasing me for hours, before I finally lost them long enough to grab my go bags and dip.”
…
Yeah, even other Amity Parkers would have a hard time processing that, so the likelihood of this random hunter handling it well is… negative. Negative zero. There is no Hunter-friendly version to give this man.
Yeah, so he can’t tell the truth, so the next best thing?
A partial truth; Danny needed to stick as close to the truth as he could, because he doubted he’d remember whatever lie he could pull out of his ass in the next five seconds. He blames his memory problems on how he died(twice) and all the head trauma he’s been through(even if it heals almost right away).
"Parents," Danny huffed, yanking his shirt off, only to do a double-take when he realized it wasn't his shirt. It was a white t-shirt with some random logo on the front... You know what, it didn't matter.
"Parents? What the hell do you mean, parents?"
"I mean, my parents went nuts and attacked me out of nowhere. Can't go to the hospital because a teenager who looks like they’ve gone three rounds with a tank weilding a knife would just draw attention I don't need." Danny answered, folding the shirt and holding still when the man finally reached out to start unwrapping the bandages.
"Kid," Stranger-who-still-hasn't-introduced-himself-yet sighed, setting the bandages down. Looking down, Danny studied the wounds on his chest; the new stitches, while not doctor-level nice, were obviously done by someone who knew what they were doing. The wounds weren't red or showing signs of infection, yet, so that was good.
"You need more help than I can give," book-horder-extrordinaire leaned back. He obviously wanted to pull out his phone and call someone, but held back, a knowing look in his eyes.
"I'll be fine," Danny denied, turning his head to look at a stack of books on the desk to his right.
"Look," the man sighed, rubbing his face, "obviously you haven't bled out yet, so you don't have major internal bleedin' or something. But you've been stabbed multiple times, kid, practically gutted. You're basically guaranteed to get an infection. And getting one with those wounds? You would die."
Danny shrugged, "Not like that's the worst that could happen," which to a hunter? was true. There were things worse than death. Danny's lived it.
"That may be true, but you still gotta take care of yourself," the man gruffed, taking his hat off to scratch his head. "Alright, look," the man sighed, putting his hat back on and leaning forward. "I'll let you stay just long enough to get back on your feet. But the moment you start taking a turn for the worse, I'm dragging your ass to the hospital."
Danny tries to cut in, but the man continues, "And if it comes to that, I'll personally make sure your parents, if they decide to show up, can't get to you. Ok?"
And well, Danny can't really argue with that...
A nice place to stay? Medical supplies readily available? A dragons hoards worth of books picked out by an obviously experienced hunter? He’d be an idiot to turn this down.
Besides, it's not like Danny can get a normal infection, so the likelihood of the man dragging him to the hospital anytime soon was negligible. Also, it's not like his parents would actually show up, they notoriously never check their phones. And who's to say this isn’t a different timeline? Clockwork obviously had something to do with Danny’s situation, so it’s entirely possible Danny doesn’t even exist yet. (Danny’s choosing to ignore any other possibility because if it wasn’t Clockwork who did this? Well… He’ll deal with that when he has to.)
Danny could just refuse to give out his parents' phone numbers, too.
Sighing, Danny nodded his head, "Fine."
"Good," the man nodded, leaning forward to start cleaning Danny's wound, "name's Bobby."
Snorting, Danny smiled, "Name's Danny, nice to meet ya."
Bobby rolled his eyes, "Whatever, ya idjit."
"What cha researching?" Danny asked, forcing himself to focus on the books again, instead of watching Bobby clean his wounds. Bobby huffed, glanced to the side where Danny was looking, then back at Danny's abdomen.
"Ghouls and Gricks, my boys called and asked me to find some information for them. Gricks fitted the bill."
"Huh," Danny blinked. Weren't Gricks those weird, flesh-eating rock worm monsters? Mom always used to tell him about the one time she and Dad hunted one back when they were just college students. He's had to fight a few Grick ghosts, but never a living one. He wondered if they were just as annoying alive or not. Actually, he could literally just ask.
"Ain't those the stupid flesh-eating worms who live in caves and hunt in packs?" Danny asked, glancing down to watch as Bobby set down his stuff and grabbed new bandages.
"Stupid flesh, what? You've seen a Grick, Kid?" Bobby stopped, glancing up to stare at Danny like he was insane.
"Depends," Danny raised his brow, moving his arms to mimic a beak, "does your Gricks have four tentacles and a beak? and look like stone colored worms who like to ambush their prey in the dark and enclosed spaces?"
Bobby was silent for a moment before setting down the bandages again, slowly pulling out his phone and dialing a number, all while staring Danny dead in his eyes.
"Hey, Bobby, that was fast. What you got?" someone asked.
"You mind describing the monster again?" Bobby asked, pulling his phone away and putting it on speaker.
"Yeah, uh, SAMMY!" the man shouted, making Bobby roll his eyes. Danny reached out to grab the bandages, but Bobby signaled for him to wait, "Let them get some air, kid."
"Right," Danny huffed, leaning back and staring at the phone.
"What?" someone shouted back, muffled due to their apparent distance.
"Bobby needs the description again," dude one replied, the sound of shuffling filling the room for a moment before the phone cleared and 'Sammy' started talking.
"Only witness described it as the earth coming alive and dragging her husband off into the woods. Gave a weird and unclear description of what she saw. We took a look around, and some solid tracks lean towards it being a heavy-bodied... thing. No hoof or paw tracks, just a line of destruction all the way back to an unmarked cave opening. Lost the trail from there. We figured we'd gather more information before heading in and checking it out tonight."
"Does this sound anything like what she said?" Bobby cut in, holding the phone out toward Danny with a raised brow. Grumbling, Danny leaned forward and racked his brain for the full description of a Grick.
"Grick; six to eight feet long, 2-300 pounds, stone colored worm with four two-to-four-foot tentacles and a beak for a face. Lives in dark caves with their packs made up of as few as 3 upto as many as 12. Ambush hunters, who used to be scavengers, have evolved to eat and hunt living things over the past hundred years. Can move 30 feet in five seconds flat. Most commonly described by civilians as a huge ass snake eating a squid and popping out of the ground or falling from the sky. Sounds like someone strangled a pigeon after force-feeding it a squeak toy."
Bobby blinked at him, nodded his head, then focused back on the phone, which was also silent.
"I-Yes?" 'Sammy' agreed hesitantly, before continuing, "Bobby, who was that? What's going on?"
"Kid I found earlier, knows his stuff apparently. Book matches with his description, but I haven't found anything on weaknesses or whatnot."
Rolling his eyes with a huff, Danny leaned back against the couch and recited the facts and advice he could remember, "Don't fight them at night; they don't have eyes, but their ability to navigate in the dark is unprecedented. Bright light seems to disorient them. Keep them out in the open, and set up as many traps and sneak attacks as you can. They may look like stone, but they just have really thick skin. Hit them enough times in one spot or have them swallow a bomb should do it. Or use magic if you have it; they're very susceptible to it. Make sure you know exactly how many you're dealing with. Nothing sucks more than thinking you got them all and then getting dragged underground and chewed on."
It was silent for a moment as Danny studied the black spray-painted circle on the ceiling. A demon circle? Maybe? He didn’t really know what all the symbols meant, but he’s pretty sure the ones on the left side meant that whatever this circle was for wouldn’t be allowed to leave. Peacefully, at least. Forcefully? Most likely.
"What the hell, kid?" Voice number one cut in, drawing Danny's eyes back down.
"Hunting was the family business," Danny huffed, watching as Bobby frowned but stayed silent, having pulled a book over and onto his lap to flip through. A poorly drawn Grick stared back up at Danny from the page.
"Was?" Sammy asked.
"Can't be a family business without family," Danny rolled his eyes, pushing himself up and off the couch. "Shit, sit down! Got to go, boys. I'll call back later," Bobby snapped as he tossed the book to the side and stood up to stop him, freezing long enough to curse again and end the call.
Shuffling over to the kitchen, Danny took another glance around. Ignoring the books all over, the kitchen was rather nice. The fridge was covered in all sorts of magnets, and the oven had a gas stove top, which was cool.
"You really shouldn't be walking around, kid," Bobby huffed, carefully, but sternly grabbing Danny's shoulders and guiding him back to the couch.
"Right," rolling his eyes, Danny sat down and patiently waited for Bobby to stop fussing over his wounds.
"You gonna explain how the hell you know what a Grick is when they're as rare as a fucking unicorn?" Bobby asked, wrapping the bandages with precision.
His first instinct was to tell Bobby that Unicorns weren’t that rare if you knew where to look, before deciding that wasn’t a good idea. He then pondered how to explain his knowledge, before just deciding to hell with it. Clockwork hasn't stepped in yet, so it's fine.
"Parents worked with the government, a special branch that dealt with the supernatural. Got called all over the place for a while, before we settled in Illinois four years ago."
Bobby hummed, thinking on it for a moment before sighing. "Stay here, I'll go get you something to eat. Don't do anything to disturb those stitches, hear me?"
"Loud and clear," Danny smirked, giving the man a salute.
Bobby rolled his eyes and walked away, muttering about annoying kids and irresponsible adults.
Danny wasn't sure what exactly happened. One moment, he's living his life like usual, the next, he's dealing with grumpy hunters who think he's dying or something. That or their brother. Both, actually.
He blames Clockwork.
AO3.
Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, (to be written).
Bobby grumbled under his breath, glaring at the rusted engine someone had dropped off forever ago; he had just gotten around to fixing it. The darn thing was worth less than his old boots; the rocker arm axle was completely welded to the arms and valve springs, the heat gasket was fucked to hell and back, and the flywheel looked like it'd give 'im tetanus by breathing on it.
He'd be better off just stripping it for parts and scrapping the rest.
A sharp whistle cut through the air, dragging him out of his mind and back to reality. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled his phone and answered without glancing, "What do ya wan', ain't got time for this."
"Well, hello to you too, Bobby," Dean chirped, overly pleased for someone who got his ass handed to him after he had already asked for Bobby's advice and ignored it.
"What do ya want, boy? I told you two to stop calling me if you were bein' idjits." Bobby huffed, tossing his socket wrench onto the side table he had set up.
He'd have to see if he could pull the rest of the parts out later; the oil pan looked surprisingly usable. He doubted the oil pump was anything close to new, fucker looked bout fifteen years in the grave.
"Look, Sammy wanted me to call you back and see if you could find something for us. We're following a new trail, it's a weird one. Thought Vamps at first, but they're not acting like any we know. Humans, cows, anything with moving blood, they attack. Ripped to shreds. It leaves obvious bite marks. Police are claiming it's savage dogs, but that's not going to last long."
Bobby hummed, staying silent as Dean continued, "Dad's notes have a cave system marked in the area, and they line up with the attacks pretty much exactly. The only witness was hysterical, claiming the earth came alive and killed them."
Scratching his beard with a curious hum, Bobby glanced back at his house, mentally flipping through the many books he’s read over the years. What would leave a mess worse than a vampire with rabies, hunts or lives in caves, and looks like the earth?
"What kind of earth are we talkin' bout?" Bobby asked, taking his hat off and scratching his head. He paused for a moment before putting it back on as he continued, "If it's bugs and shit, then I'd say you're dealing with an unhinged ghoul, but it doesn't fit with the huge mess they're leaving.”
“If it's like plants and stuff, I'm going to have to dig some. If it's rocks," Bobby trailed off, glancing back at the engine and glaring.
"If it's rocks, it sounds a lot like a Grick, but those things are rare and usually eat the flesh off dead things, so it doesn't make sense with attacking the living. Have Sam look into those, just to be sure. I'll get digging, see if I can find anything else."
"Right, thanks, Bobby." Dean sighed, hanging up before Bobby could respond.
Rolling his eyes, Bobby tossed his phone down and grabbed one of his work towels. After wiping his hands and face clean, he took a moment to glance around. The cicadas had died down, and the wind had fallen still. His gut rolled uncomfortably, a gnawing feeling growing at the back of his mind. Nothing was out of place. Not even an ominous cloud in the clear blue sky.
Grumbling one last time, Bobby grabbed his phone and started making his way back up the dirt path. He might as well get to reading; it's not like he had anything better to do. Besides, if it is a Grick, then his boys were going to need all the help he could give.
It took a good three minutes to reach the front of his house, but just before he got to his porch, a shriek of tires filled the air. Soon followed by a slamming car door and angry yelling. Instantly, a small breeze rolled by, and the cicadas started singing again.
Pausing, Bobby slowly turned and watched as a boy stumbled away from an unfamiliar old truck, the driver (equally unfamiliar) practically falling out of the car to try and stop him. The kid stumbled again, losing the few precious seconds of a head start he had, the driver’s car door slamming closed, and the man straightening up and rushing around the side of the truck.
Reaching over and under his porch, Bobby grabbed one of his shotguns and walked over, studying the scene playing out just twenty feet from him.
"Get back here, you little shit!" the older man grunted, quickly latching his hands around the boy's arm and pulling him back. It gave Bobby a chance to see the cut silver Duct tape still clinging to the kid's wrists.
"Let go of me!" the boy shouted, stumbling from the pull, but instead of falling like most others would, he used the forced momentum to elbow the guy in the gut. The guy grunted but held on, glaring at the boy angrily. It didn't deter the boy at all, as he simply turned and stomped on the man's foot.
The man let go with a howl, reaching down instinctively to grab his foot and hop back. The kid took his new chance to scramble back, and coincidentally, toward Bobby. It gave Bobby a moment to finally get a clear look at the boy. He was caked in dried blood, dark bruises covered a majority of his exposed skin, and a nasty scar crawled up the left side of his face. He had a matching one trailing down his left arm.
Basically, the kid looked like shit.
"The hell is going on here?" Bobby cut in, holding his gun up but not pointed at them yet. He wasn't going to risk shooting the kid; it looked like he's been through more than Bobby's seen and lived. Which was really concerning, given who Bobby was and who he worked with.
"I'll tell ya what's going on here!" the man yelled, straightening up and pointing angrily at the boy, who stepped back and winced but continued to glare up at him.
"That there,” the man paused very briefly, eyes darting to the left in an obvious attempt to think up an excuse, “That. He. My son's been causing lots of trouble back home, so I thought I'd bring him out here and teach 'im a lesson!" The man nodded his head, looking almost proud of himself.
Bobby wasn’t impressed.
And neither was the boy, apparently. Because not even a split second after the man was done talking, the boy turned slightly to look at Bobby with the most deadpan face he could muster and barely raised his hand to gesture at the man. “Do you see the shit I have to deal with?” the boy asked, briefly glancing up at the sky before turning his head back to look at the man, though he shifted so both Bobby and the man were in eyesight.
Well, at least the kid wasn’t stupid enough to immediately assume Bobby was an allie, though in this case, he was.
"For fuck's sake," the boy growled under his breath, keeping most of his attention on the man, before speaking louder to try and explain the situation, "he ain't my dad, thought it'd be real cute just ganking a kid off the streets just cause nobody was around."
"Who are you even tryin' to fool? We don't even look related!" the kid huffed and narrowed his eyes, glaring at the man with a snarl. If looks could kill, the man would be dead six times over by now.
And the kid was right; the boy was pale as a corpse, had bright blue eyes, a small nose, and thick black hair. The man was tan, had thinning blond hair, a large bulbous nose, and brown eyes. You’d have to be insane to even assume the two were related.
The man glared at them, looking like he was ready to either attack or start yelling again.
"Alright, that's enough," Bobby huffed, raising the gun and pointing it at the man. "I'm giving you five seconds to get out of here before I call the cops." He really should just call them, but he had a few questionable things dropped off last week that he hadn't gotten the chance to move. The last thing he needed was for them to get serious and start watching him again.
The man growled, stepping forward to do something, so Bobby pointed the gun at the dirt road in front of him and pulled the trigger. The man stumbled back, eyes wide.
"Five," Bobby counted, casually reloading the gun and aiming back at the man calmly.
The man stumbled and lurched, quickly turning and running back to his truck, not even closing the door before the engine revved and the tires squealed and burned the ground as he took off.
They sat in silence for a moment before the boy snorted, drawing Bobby's attention.
"That's got to be one of the worst kidnappings I've ever experienced, 3/10."
"The hell are you going on about?" Bobby huffed, lifting a brow and turning the safety back on. "You say that like you've been kidnapped before."
"Oh, yeah." The kid blinked, slowly turning to casually look around the area. "I lost count after seventy."
“I? What?” Bobby asked, before stopping and taking a moment to really, really, look at the kid: overgrown hair, scars, too calm after a dangerous situation, worn-out clothes, a knife tucked into the side of his boot. The kid wasn't looking at Bobby, focused more on studying the area. His eyes focused on the long grass and dense leaf cover and the shady spots the old cars provided.
This wasn't a normal kid.
God, He hoped he was wrong about this.
"Got anyone to call, kid?" Bobby asked, hoping his theory was wrong just this once.
"Not unless you've got a way to call the dead." The boy joked, doing one final sweep of the area before studying Bobby, "You have the same stance my parents did, you a hunter?"
Well, shit.
What was with the world and dropping kid hunters at his doorstep?
"If I am?" Bobby asked, turning to start heading back to his house.
The kid was silent for a moment, making Bobby turn to glance back at him. The boy was looking down under his shirt, face pale, "Then I really hope you've got a stocked med kit." The boy glanced up, "I think I ripped my stitches."
And then the kid promptly collapsed to the ground.
"Shit," Bobby cursed, rushing over to check the kid.
