#also shoutout to everyone who thought Danny was too concussed for English. Nope! This is a Fundamentally Different English y'all.

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XIV)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here and this is part fourteen! Yes I messed it up this morning yes I had to wait all day to correct it it's all goooood

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Bart is a good egg who is having a Bad Time waiting for his friend :(

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny wakes up with a gasp.

He’s—where is he? Everything hurts. He can barely think. Danny groans, long and loud, and lifts up an aching hand to his temple.

His fingers come away green. Aw, fuck. What happened to him? What’s going on? Why is his hand…blurry? Is he concussed? Is something wrong with his eyes, or with his head??

(He hopes it’s not his head. It’s waaay easier to heal from one than the other.)

Danny tries to sit up, and— NOPE. Ow. Bad idea. Suuuuuch a bad idea. His arms and hands and his neck and his back are screaming at him, now that he’s awake enough to pay attention. Ughhhhhhhhhhh.

He lays back down. His eyes don’t—well, they don’t shut all the way, which part of his brain labels as very bad, actually, but the world does turn darker and greener as he tries to shut his eyes, and that’s close enough to closing his eyes that Danny can mostly zone out past the pain.

He licks his sore lips. They taste like copper. And battery acid. …And Pixie Sticks.

Ugh, ecto-blood. His own, he assumes.

Everything is blurry and everything kind of hurts and he doesn’t know how he got here or what’s going on. Danny tries to roll over, tries to get more comfortable, but something starts dragging on the inside of his arm, which means intravenous lines.

Ugggghhhh. He hopes it’s got pain meds at least.

Awake him can deal with this later. Danny zones out, his labored breathing evens.

He’s asleep before he knows it.

*

Danny wakes up next to quiet murmuring, and to weird sensation of something moving in his arm.

He yawns—and his jaw cracks apart farther than usual, with more clicking noises than his jaw usually makes. Weird. His arms come up, his eyes unblur…

The tugging sensation doesn’t go away. Danny sniffs blearily. Blinks.

Two white-coated humans(…?) in PPE pause at his bedside, a half-dissembled IV shared between them.

Danny stops breathing. He can’t—is he—

His eyes go to the ceiling. The floor. He doesn’t recognize the room he’s in. He doesn’t understand. Is this the Guys in White again? Is he— Did he never leave? Is he trapped? Danny doesn’t—he can’t—

—One of the white coats starts making worried noises, which. Danny’s never heard that before. It’s usually threats. They raise both their arms, and Danny flinches back—

…And so do they. Huh. Hm. Are the Guys hiring scaredy cats now? That would be a change of pace, if they were as scared of Danny as Danny is of them.

The second person clicks the new IV bag into place. Danny stops focusing on number one and starts focusing on number two.

They don’t make any overt tells either. The IV line is already in him, and the bag is… Well. It’s not red and Danny’s not in any pain, and it’s not green either. It’s just. Kinda opaque? Milky? The person doesn’t start cackling evilly or telling Danny how screwed he is, either. They both just sort of…tidy up?

The first one doesn’t get closer, either, but Danny can mostly tell that they’re scanning him visually. Their attention goes from his face, to Danny’s visible arm, to the puncture point in his elbow for the IV needle.

Danny also eyes his IV point. Well. It looks like a needle. Doesn’t hurt all that much.

Someone says something he doesn’t catch. But the tone isn’t…mean, or anything. If anything, it sounds quiet, and low, like they’re trying to keep him calm.

Danny doesn’t understand.

He moves as far out of the way of them as possible. It only has the effect of a few inches and it's so painfully slow. If that. He— he remembers. He’s supposed to be scared of— something. No, he knows it—

The labs. He’s supposed to be scared of the labs. The smell is rank there and there’s always screaming and Danny had been hurt there; really, really hurt.

He’s still hurt. He’s still in a lab. In a room. In some sort of too-small prison, and now his barely-sewn together lungs are trying too hard to keep air in his body and it’s not working, and—

Danny barely pays attention when the first doctor leaves. He sees the other back into the door and reach for the phone line, and he can’t stop breathing and he can’t calm down because that means that they’re calling for help and they’re going to hurt him all over again. Tie him down. Cut him open. Shock him, until he can’t breathe without screaming—

Someone new comes in. They look— rushed. Danny can see her actively tying up long black hair, threading a mask up over her face, pulling on one of those paper shifts the doctors wear. The only difference is that she doesn’t put boot covers on.

She has big, bright boots that go all the way up her legs. With his green vision, they look kind of…greyish? (Maybe they’re pink..?)

Either way. They look…ridiculous. Danny doesn’t exactly forget to be scared, but also…what the fuck.

The woman sees that Danny can see her. She waves.

Danny presses back against his— cot. Bed.

That doesn’t stop her. She pulls latex gloves from out of the paper slip she’s wearing and snaps them on, revealing a thin layer of something shiny underneath her elastic-bound sleeves. Once that’s on, she does a visible body checkup of herself: boots, gown, gloves, mask, hair.

…No hair net, though. Or goggles. The Docs in White always wanted to be fully covered when they saw their victims. Being able to see her eyes is a lot…friendlier.

She figures herself out. Straightens. Gives a double thumbs up.

…Danny's eyes roam around. There’s no one nearby. There's only a wall behind him. Is she looking at…him? Is that directed to him?

She doesn’t move immediately— and once she’s in, the second doctor leaves the room entirely.

…The new person takes over. She goes from monitor to monitor, getting closer, but with none of the focus on Danny, per se. She reads his stats, verbalizes them out loud, which, doesn’t sound like…English? But enough to confuse him? It’s kind of like trying to discern Esperanto when he's not thinking about how it's not English.

Ancients. The pounding in his head is getting worse. Maybe Danny has a concussion or something.

The woman doesn’t…get. Him. In fact, he seems to be the least interesting thing in the room to her. Her time is spent on reading the charts and the machines waiting around him, putting something into a…fridge? A Cabinet? In the corner of his room? And otherwise, she leaves him alone.

Until. She does get up and look at him, and all of Danny tenses up painfully. He can’t move. Something’s holding down his legs, his body’s stiff, and all of him is so tired that he genuinely can’t tell if his waist is tied down or if he’s just that exhausted.

He can hear his heart rate monitor kick up. He can’t move, not really. He tries to go intangible but his core just throbs with misery, and—

She mostly just pats his sheets. Not his person, even. Apparently the torture is being held off for now. “Eow eart wel?”

…Danny squints. That is almost English.

“Eom hebbjan yift,” she adds, leadingly, as if Danny is a friend she can tease and not a subject under threat of the knife. He doesn't like it. It hurts. Nothing is real and everyone hates him and all he wants to do is leave but his body is rejecting him and—

Something light and plastic thumps down onto the bed.

Danny blinks. He looks—down. (His neck makes him regret that.)

Is that a…is that a space shuttle? No, ‘cause Danny thinks he recognizes it. It’s Discovery? Isn’t it? That’s the one they just retired. He tries to grab it, but— ouch, oof, his fingers can’t even stretch, bad idea—

The woman gently guides the shuttle into his hand. It doesn’t even hurt. And.

It’s cold to the touch. The model is plastic, it shouldn’t be so cold, but the sensation is distinctly cool and kind of familiar.

…Oh. Danny struggles to flex his fingers around the thing.

It’s him.

Or. Well. The shuttle is his. It has his ectoplasm imbued all throughout it. He can even sort of feel the sensation of carefulplayingcareful he’d have felt while near it. The feeling is weak, and timid, but it’s still there.

So. Then. When did he get it? And…why? Why was it allowed to him? How did he get it?

Is this how they’re feeding him now? Instead of showering him with poorly filtered ectoplasm every time he gets rowdy, are they actually trying to feed his Obsession? For real?? That’s—that’s brand new behavior from the—

Danny blinks. Wait. That’s not it either. Because there’s an IV in him. So…they know he’s getting human food.

So. Uh.

Hm.

Danny doesn’t want to get his hopes up. But this…might not be the Guys in White.

Of course, they might not be better than the GIW either; it’s a total possibility that Danny’s getting suckered into some scheme where every gentle permission and soft voice is a debt he owes…some new reason to take…

His eyelids twitch as they try to shut. He’s so tired. Fear kept him mobile, but now…everything is so heavy.

The lady carefully shushes him, ever so gently. She pulls up his blanket for him. Pats it down.

Danny shivers. He’s so, so scared.

“Ræste þiht,” the woman whispers. The words sound fond. Danny’s so scared, but he’s so tired. His heart is beating so fast. “An freond becymþ hraðe.”

It’s reassuring.

Danny doesn’t want it to be.

He falls asleep the way the desperate do—clawing at the last traces of wakefulness, only to have his consciousness ripped from him.

#Diana: Hi friend! :) I'm glad you're awake! #Danny: *dialling 911 and failing* HELLO???? POLICE?? ANYONE?? HELP??? #HE'S UP AND HE'S PEOPLE! #also shoutout to everyone who thought Danny was too concussed for English. Nope! This is a Fundamentally Different English y'all. #health and hybrids #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom #tw gore #tw medical #tw body horror #dcu crossover