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lexosaurus · 5 months

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Twelve Hours: Chapter 2

Part 2 of 5 of my fic for Ecto Implosion, the DP reverse mini-bang (artists go first, writers go second).

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Characters: Danny Fenton, Harriet Chin, GIW (mentioned a lot) Tags: Identity Reveal, Flashbacks, Runaway Danny Fenton, Angst WC: 1937 Summary: When the GIW revealed Danny to the world, the only thing he could do was run. Run and run and run until he escaped to Chicago, trying desperately to disappear. Too bad it didn't work.

****

“I see you reacted to that,” Harriet said. Where Danny expected that greedy journalist spark behind her eyes that he’d grown used to over the years, there was none. Instead, she tilted her head, regarding him in earnest. “I take it you’ve seen this before.”

There was no use in lying. Not when he’d finally come so far as to agree to do this interview. “I’d love to sit here and say that I was the perfect therapy patient, that I never went digging up videos and posts about myself online. But I did. And I watched this interview and others just…I don’t even know. A lot.”

“And what was going through your mind back then when you would watch it?”

Danny didn’t even have to try to put himself back in his younger shoes to feel the spark of rage that shot through his chest. He just hoped that the long exhale that followed didn’t get picked up by the microphone. “I felt angry. And depressed. Yeah, like I wasn’t even human.”

“And yet, you kept watching it,” Harriet observed.

“It’s a cycle, you know?” Danny leaned back, looking up at the bright studio light. Behind it were the ceilings that Danny was sure were white, but looked more like a cream with the warm lights and red walls surrounding them. “I felt so alien. At the time, I mean. Just, so low. And here I had a video of the man who made my life a living hell for so long saying all these things that hurt me. Then I’d get paranoid, so I’d go reading the comments and watching more videos. I just had to hear everyone say why they thought I was a horrible monster, I guess. It was addictive. Sort of…” He almost stopped himself there. “Sort of like this weird self-harm cycle.”

“Did seeing that video today bring any of those emotions back?”

“I’d be lying if I said no.”

****

10:00:00

Danny touched down on the pavement and released his hold on his invisibility. The alley was humid, and with the dumpster next to him, it smelled revolting. A rat must have died in it.

But that was exactly the sort of problem he needed right now—one that ensured an empty alley. If anyone caught him triggering his detransformation, he’d be dead.

Bright rings flashed over his eyes, and he stepped away from the dumpster. He rolled his shoulders, sore from holding his arms in position during his long flight over. His hoodie was still scruffed, and his eyes were probably surrounded by deep circles, but—maybe with a sick sort of internal sarcasm—he realized that those attributes wouldn’t make him stand out so much here.

Of course, that didn’t keep the terror from freezing his legs in place.

No, this was his only option now, as counterintuitive as it seemed. Rural communities were too tight-knit, too interested in newcomers. And worse, they were full of anti-ghost sentiment. There was no way he could hide in a small community, no matter how hard he tried. It would only take one person, one old neighbor who watched too much anti-ghost news, to pick up their phone and turn him in.

But here in Chicago, it would be safer. He wasn’t Danny Fenton here; he was just…another kid, another runaway, another sore sight people quickly averted their gaze from.

He had everything he could need here. Places to hide, stores to grab things from with the help of his powers, and corners to sleep in. Even if someone recognized him, he could easily slip into the crowd and disappear.

He took a shuddering breath, unlocking the muscles in his calves. He would be okay. Everything would be okay.

Internally, that mantra sounded more pleading than not.

He threw his hoodie over his hair and walked toward the sidewalk. Maybe doing something with his hair wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Should he dye it, maybe? That’s what people did in the movies, right?

Though, how would he turn his black hair brown? He would probably have to bleach it first. Damn, Sam would be such a good resource to have right now.

He almost swiped his phone from his pocket to call her. Almost. But he resisted.

Now at the precipice of the alley, he peered out to the bustling street before him. It was full of people shuffling to and fro, cars zooming by in the street, voices and shouts dancing in the open air. Packed around him were skyrises, proudly showing off their clean windows and pristine bricks.

Danny had come here last summer, he realized. His parents had taken him to the Sears Tower. His dad had complained about the “normal people” clothes they were forcing him to wear (even though he still managed to defy the odds by sporting a Hawaiian T-shirt, much to Jazz’s chagrin).

Jazz and his mom had been so excited to see the top of the tower. Jazz even had her pink Polaroid on her—a birthday gift from their parents. She wanted to get a family photo of all of them with the skyline in the background.

Danny had complained, of course. As the younger sibling, it was his job to complain about the silly tower and his sister’s silly “fun” historical facts about it.

“Who cares how many windows it has, Jazz?” He remembered asking.

Jazz had cared, though. She’d cared enough to tell him. But…he couldn’t remember what it was she said. He might never get the chance to hear her talk about the dumb tower again.

A sting began knocking on the corners of his eyes, and he blinked, forcing it away. His parents weren’t here this time. Neither was Jazz, or Sam, or Tucker. He’d probably never see any of them again if the Guys in White had their way.

But no, surely the GIW wouldn’t chase him around forever, would they?

He thought back to the way they’d cornered him at school. All the officers and agents in the school’s main office surrounding him as soon as he stepped in. All the guns pointing at him. And then Operatives O and K stepped out from beside Principal Ishiyama’s desk, their sunglasses burning holes in his skull.

“Game over, Phantom,” Operative K had said.

Danny had taken a step back at that, locking eyes with Ishiyama who seemed unable to do anything but stare back at him in a mixture of disbelief and…fear.

Danny crouched down, his skull between his hands. “Stop thinking about that,” he hissed, curling his fingers to tug at his hair.

He wasn’t at the school anymore. He was in Chicago, alone, at the edge of some sidewalk in the Loop because he needed to blend into a crowd, and he needed to find some place that had food because he was so tired, so hungry, he was running and he was done and broken and—

“Jesus!” A pair of high-heeled boots stumbled over him, nearly sending his skull straight into the concrete.

He caught himself with his palms, his knees only barely scraping the ground. He hadn’t even felt the woman make contact with him. He must have been too caught up in his head.

That was dangerous. He would have to stop thinking so much.

“You okay?” a masculine voice asked.

Danny turned his head up, a polite response ready on his lips. But when he saw the tall man reaching out to the fur-coated woman, her handbag outstretched in his palm, the response died in Danny’s throat.

The woman accepted the purse with a breathy, “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Watch where you’re going. These addicts are everywhere these days,” the man said.

“Right, sorry,” the woman said, but she wasn’t talking to Danny either. Instead, she nodded to the man and continued on down the street.

Leaving Danny there, still on the sidewalk, his whole chest now emptied of any sort of feeling.

Because…right.

That was just it.

…

Right.

He surveyed the crowd, but no one gave him a second glance in return. And why would they, in his scruffy hoodie, stained jeans, pale face, and dirty fingers? He wasn’t one of them. He could never be one of them again.

He should have been upset. He had been distressed just moments ago, but not anymore. There was simply nothing left to feel other than blank, white, nothing.

Dragging his hand across the sidewalk, he picked himself back up, slowly, because he was tired and no one was stopping to help him anyway. Who cared how long he took? It wasn’t like he had anywhere to go!

Across the street, a billboard screen dissolved, changing the advert to a familiar metallic green background he’d become hideously acquainted with. On one side of the billboard was an artist's rendition of Phantom with dark, sickly gray skin, vicious eyebrows, and piercing green eyes. His mouth was missing, only adding to his menacing glare.

No, it was more than that. He didn’t just look angry, he looked downright dangerous.

As if to drive that point home, the advert circled and slashed face in red. Beside the Phantom imagery were the bold, green words reading, “ANTI-ECTO LAWS. Don’t let the ghosts haunt you, call the GIW.”

The slogan taunted him, just as it had been doing since the laws began passing. And what was once just a minor annoyance—just another thing to add to his growing list of bullshit to deal with—had festered into a scar on his whole existence. That stupid slogan had transformed into an entire media campaign featuring him as a monster with an impending future he could only dream of escaping. And he had to live with all that, all their mockery in his ear saying that no matter how far he flew, or how well he hid, he would never be free.

He turned away from the advert and began walking down the sidewalk. Countless people passed by him alone and in groups. Some bustled by dressed in suits with phones to their ear, and others laughed to each other, walking in the hurry of someone on vacation.

But if there was one commonality in the passersby, it was that everyone gave him a wide berth. Not because he was a stranger or even because he was Fenton Phantom, but because he was just one of those people. A social outcast, someone who—with hardly a touch—wouldn’t just sully their clothes, but their very souls.

He turned another corner, and another billboard—one in print instead of on a screen—glowered back at him. This one was like the other, with the silhouette of Phantom slashed out in red as if to tell the world, “We may not have him yet, but we will soon.”

“You won’t,” Danny said, not caring if anyone saw him talking to himself. He was just a homeless addict anyway, wasn’t he? One of the crazies? “You won’t get me.”

“You can’t make those kinds of promises to yourself,” the billboard seemed to say back to him, its deep, derisive voice nearly identical to Operative O’s.

“I can. I’m smarter than you and your whole stupid organization. You had me surrounded, and I still managed to escape from you. Nothing you try will get me.”

The billboard’s laugh reverberated around the street in a show of revolting arrogance. “We underestimated you, child, but we’re a branch of the federal government. We have the money to not make those mistakes twice.”

“You won’t get me,” Danny whispered.

“That’s not up to you to decide.”

****

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#danny phantom #ectoimplosion2023 #phicc #my writing #twelve hours #chapter two #the loop #guys in white #dp fanfic

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