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starry-bi-sky · 19 days

Text

Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well:

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents.

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill.

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.)

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one.

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself.

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.)

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.)

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe.

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal.

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking.

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter.

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind.

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous.

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own.

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t.

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward.

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”)

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell.

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his.

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it.

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now.

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own.

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother.

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten.

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands.

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely.

It is a fast dream.

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods.

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him.

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal.

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train.

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.)

—---

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again.

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person.

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.)

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird.

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is.

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off.

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom.

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.)

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

-----------------

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #danyal al ghul au #amnesiac danyal al ghul au #songs in order of the album: the hartebeest / harpy hare / and the hound / neath the grove is a heart #musician danny has my heart and soul #yes this danyal IS an alternative danny from the other au. an au where things were a little better :) but still sucks #implied good mom talia al ghul #danyal is a momma's boy send tweet #dpxdc ficlet #dpxdc prompts #dp x dc au #dp x dc fanfic #danyal is sTILL five years older than damian in this au #no beta no edits we die like danny fenton #poc danny fentons #i didnt know where to end this :(( i was gonna go on but i blanked. i thought about going into his relationships with his rogues and so on.#but that felt too much like trying to just increase the word count rather than actually writing?? if that makes sense #ugh im gonna have forgotten to include things and im gonna be kicking myself later #morally ambiguous danny whoo! we love to see it #since this was just for fun it doesnt really go into it all that much other than like. it happens. and that danny realizes he's dangerous #phantom in a hazmat suit? nah phantom looking like an assassin >:].#danyal al ghul with damian and his mom: 🥰🌸✨#danyal al ghul with everyone else: 👹🔪#am i heavily implying that clockwork had smth to do with Danyal’s amnesia and appearance by the cabin? 👀 maybe #not enough danyal al ghul aus where him being an assassin actually. has some kind of affect on him

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seas-of-silver · 9 months

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Marinette wiped sweat off her sunburnt forehead and scratched at the mosquito bites dotting her arms before once again internally cursing herself for letting Chat drag her on this stupid camping trip. As much as she loved the wonders of nature, she was a city girl at heart! She would spend her hot evenings in her room with fans on, not hiking up a never-ending hill. She preferred doing her business in a toilet rather than a hole in the ground. She liked being in the safety and comfort of your home, and not in the wild with all these god. damn. mosquitos!

She slapped her arm. She missed.

'Come on, Marinette!' Chat chirped joyfully. 'We're almost there!'

She huffed, readjusting her backpack. He was much too excited for her right now.

It was his excitement in the first place that got her into this mess. She had just been watering her balcony garden one afternoon when she spotted Chat bounding across rooftops over to her like a puppy that hadn't seen its owner all day.

'Marinette!' he had cried out, eyes agleam and grin wide. 'I have the most awesome idea!'

He had bounced on the balls of his feet as he gushed all about his idea about going camping - he had heard tales from his friends and wanted desperately to experience the activity for himself, but didn't want to go alone. He had made it sound fun, she'd admit, and any hesitation she felt in that moment evaporated when she saw the look in his eyes. While they glittered with wonder and enthusiasm, his eyes pleaded with her, conveying a longing and vulnerability that had the words spill from her mouth before she realised she had made a decision.

'I'll go with you.'

Chat's mouth had softly dropped open in surprise before grinning impossibly wide and sweeping her up a hug, twirling her around as he thanked her a thousand times over.

'You won't regret this!' he had promised her, practically vibrating with glee.

She slapped her other arm as she trudged through the dirt behind him as they weaved between the trees. She missed again.

When he had talked of camping, she had imagined going to a camp-friendly park in Paris, setting up a tent and having a picnic - after all, that was the type of camping she and her family did when she was little, and nothing Chat said disagreed with that image. She should've questioned harder as Ladybug when he begged her for the Horse Miraculous for "a very important mission" he had to do. She saw right through his flimsy excuse, not that she let him know it, and gave him Kaalki's glasses with the provisos that he take very good care of the Miraculous and kwami, and that should there be an akuma in Paris that he return immediately - conditions he accepted easily.

She thought he was going to stay within the country - how was she supposed to know he'd take Marinette to Australia?! She wasn't prepared for Australia! There were crocodiles and snakes and spiders and-

Slap!

-mosquitoes in Australia! This was a country famous for its dangerous wildlife - just look at the dingos!

'Chat, when you say "a little longer"-' she began.

'We're just here!' he confirmed brightly as he turned to face her, before turning sheepish. 'Um, well, I had to make the booking under my name... so, uh...'

He looked behind him, and she followed his gaze to the kiosk at the front of what she supposed were the camping grounds. She looked at the sign, and couldn't decide if she found "Mystery Bay" a fun name for a bay or an ominous one. Suddenly, it made more sense as to why Chat suggested she pack swimmers, not that she could quite see the bay from where they stood... which reminded her of their current conundrum.

'Um, I'll put my sunglasses on and close my eyes,' she suggested. 'You detransform and guide me where we need to go. When you see an opportunity, transform back.'

'What about when I give my name to the counter?' he asked.

Marinette paused. 'I'll put my headphones on and play music, so I don't hear it, and after you've finished there, tap my shoulder and I'll take them out so I can hear you again.'

'Sounds good to me!' he agreed, and she got to work.

Soon, her headphones were in and playing a playlist of Nino's music, her sunglasses were on with her eyes screwed shut, and her hands were holding firmly onto his arm. Even so, she almost ruined the plan when she felt the magic wash over her as he detransformed, making her skin tingle. All at once, she was acutely aware of how vulnerable he was, and how much he trusted her. She held him a little closer.

The wait was agonising. The music did little to soothe her nerves... especially when she could continue to feel those pesky bugs making her skin itch. Eventually, he tapped her shoulder.

'Hey, Marinette,' he said as she removed her headphones, 'everything is sorted. Ready?'

'Su-' she cut herself off as she slapped her arm again, and tsked when she missed.

'Ah, you being bitten by the mozzies, eh?' the man behind the counter asked her in English. Assuming "mozzies" were mosquitoes, she nodded. 'Here - spray some Aeroguard on ya, but I recommend you get some for yourself the next time you go past Woolies.'

She cautiously opened her eyes, studiously ignoring Chat's form next to her as she looked at the object in the man's hand, some blue can... a bug spray? She cautiously sprayed it on her arm.

'Don't be shy,' the man encouraged kindly, 'just spray it on - you too, mate,' he added to Chat next to her.

She was relieved the man didn't use her companion's name. Wanting to avoid any more close calls, she sprayed herself all over before blindly handing the can to Chat, closing her eyes again as soon as she held his arm again, feeling the fabric of his shirt against her skin. Her heart was pounding...and they hadn't even started camping yet.

She heard the can stop spraying and the man wishing them a great stay, before Chat started leading her down a path.

'Did you...see me?' he asked quietly.

'No,' she confirmed, 'I'm just glad he didn't say your name after I took out my headphones.'

He gave a light chuckle and she felt him relax. 'Me too.'

After a moment of walking, they came to a stop.

'This looks like a good spot to set up,' he declared. 'There's a toilet over there behind us, so I'll go in there and transform, okay?'

'Okay.'

When she heard his footsteps fade away, she opened her eyes. The afternoon sun was filtering through the trees and ocean glistened with distant sounds of waves gently crashing against the shore. It was rustic and had an understated beauty.

'So!' Chat said as he jogged back to her, suited back up. 'What do you think?'

'It looks great, Kitty,' she told him, and his chest puffed up with praise. 'Ready to set up camp?'

'Ready!' he replied, tail swishing in delight.

They got camp set up... eventually. They had some missteps, and at one point Chat was completely entangled in the tent as they were setting it up, making them laugh at the ludicrous situation. Photos on baton and mobile alike captured silly moments, pretty landscapes and happy selfies. They got some funny looks from the other campers at Chat's attire, but Chat played it off as him losing a bet, and the weird looks turned into fond head shakes and warm smiles.

As the sun began set, Marinette opened the large insulated bag her parents helped her prep for the trip. After the kerfuffle that was Weredad, the superhero was a frequent visitor to the Dupain-Cheng household, even joining in on family game nights when he was able. Her parents treated him like any other friend of hers, and Chat, in turn, warmed up to them immensely. So, when they told her parents about the camping trip idea, her parents were all for it, and helped Chat organise and plan it, since he wanted to take the lead on it. It seemed that her parents knew them well enough to know neither of them would know how to start a fire to cook things, as the insulated bag was full of sandwich ingredients, an assortment of their favourite pastries and sweets, cutlery, water, and two thermoses with warm soup. They chatted as they ate, happily talking about everything and nothing as the sky burnt a brilliant orange.

Once their hunger was sated, they packed their belongings away into their tent and went to explore the nearby beach. Marinette slipped off her shoes and socks as she walked along the sand, with Chat commenting that he was glad his suit didn't let the sand wiggle in. Their lighthearted and jovial banter gradually transitioned into a gentle contentedness, conversations becoming more heartfelt, deep and meaningful.

Marinette wasn't quite sure when exactly it was when the sun set, only realising how dark it had become when Chat suggested they lay down to stargaze. She agreed to his suggestion, settling herself down on the sand as he did the same next to her. They would occasionally "stargaze" at home on her balcony, making up stories of what they might be able to see if it weren't for the light pollution hiding the stars from their view.

'Oh wow,' she gasped.

This was nothing like stargazing at home! There were stars! Real stars! Thousands and thousands and thousands of them twinkling brightly in the night sky like diamonds and glitter scattered beautifully on navy velvet. The sky was painted with deep blues and purples as the stars shined white and gold; colours she never associated with the sky after dark.

'Do you like it?'

Marinette turned her head to look at Chat, who was smiling warmly at her.

'Kitty, this- this is gorgeous!' she gushed, looking back up at the sparkling heavens. 'I... I have no words for how beautiful this is.'

'I'm glad you like it,' he said softly. 'I know that you came on this trip because I wanted you to, so I wanted to give you something, too. That's why I chose this place. Nat- uh, I heard from someone I know that she had gone camping here one time and was in awe of the view... well, that, and that apparently there's a cave somewhere here that if you throw rocks at it, the rocks will spark and it looks really cool?'

She couldn't help but laugh. Of course that would be a factor in Chat's decision-making.

'Well, I love it,' she told him, looking at him as she reached out and held his hand. 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome, Marinette.'

They lay there for a while; seconds, minutes, hours... she wasn't sure. Marinette was enraptured by the stunning view, discovering something new with every second that passed. She wanted to commit it all to memory - she was inspired and was being filled with so many ideas that she was desperate to retain until she could put them all on paper.

Eventually, she sat up and looked over at Chat, who gazed up at her with a languid smile.

'Wanna go throw rocks at that cave?'

He jumped up with a burst of energy. 'Totally!'

~/~

Ask game: Give me the first sentence and I'll write a short piece for it!

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