Temporarily Gay Pt. 13
I don´t know why I cant keep writing crack. But nooo, I had to go and get all angsty. This chap its a big one fellas. We reached the 4.6k words for this one, go get something to drink, preferably vodka, cuz this is gonna be a hell ride.
Part 12 Masterlist Part 14
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The hotel room was silent, with Wally sitting on the edge of a stiff double bed and the image of his brother’s tear-streaked face burned onto the back of his eyelids. He could still feel the burning shame in his chest after Danny’s explosive accusations, each word replaying a hundred times in his head, and each time, his own voice grew louder and crueler, while Wes’s grew smaller, more shattered, hurt.
‘I raised you better than this.’
The words were like poison in his gut, burning and nauseating. He had tried so hard to be everything their parents weren’t. And in one single moment, he’d thrown it all away. He’d become just another person who’d abandoned Wes, only he’d done it while standing right in front of him.
He’d fucked up. Not just a little. Catastrophically.
Wes was trying. He was genuinely, painfully trying to be better, and from the looks of it, he had been succeeding. That is, until Wally stormed in. But Wally had been so consumed by the sting of betrayal, so high on his own hero complex, that he undoubtedly turned his back to his baby brother as if he was just another villain he had to deal with. He didn't just act irrational and harmful to a delicate situation, he did so hurting the kid he basically considered his own, and in the process, he shattered a traumatized kid who was just starting to feel safe. The weight of that dual failure was a crushing, suffocating truth. He hadn't saved anyone. He'd just become part of the problem he thought he was solving.
A low, frustrated sound escaped Roy, who was methodically disassembling and reassembling a piece of his gear on the cheap desk. He was trying to keep busy, shame filling him as he couldn't get the sound of Danny's yell out of his head. That was exactly what he had been trying to prevent. He wanted to save Danny from breaking, to get him to safety, give him options, an alternative—anything. But he had done exactly the opposite. He had cornered him and kicked him when he was down.
He kept spiraling in his thoughts, his leg bouncing rapidly, just barely retaining control of his speed so as not to burn a hole in the floor. He had to get up and start pacing, or he would lose his mind.
His hands were slightly shaking, his movements too sharp, too forceful. “We played that all wrong,” he grunted, not looking at anyone.
“That is the understatement of the century,” Tim replied, his voice clipped. He stood by the window, staring out at the Amity Park skyline. His posture was rigid, but the usual effortless confidence was gone, replaced by a brittle tension. “Our initial intelligence was sound, but our application was catastrophically flawed. We observed the data but failed to recognize the context. We saw a victim and a predator in a static image. We didn't account for the variable of time. For growth. For the possibility of atonement.”
“He’s a kid, Tim,” Victor rumbled from the corner, his large frame making the armchair he sat in look doll-sized. His voice was heavy, not with anger, but with a profound disappointment that was far worse. “They’re both kids. We didn’t just fail a mission parameter. We broke into their home and attacked them.”
Garfield, uncharacteristically still on the second bed, drew his knees to his chest. “He was so mad,” he murmured, his voice small. “Danny, he… I’ve never seen someone look that… defeated.”
The word hung in the air, a verdict they all shared.
Tim finally turned from the window, his face pale and voice barely over a whisper "The point is, our primary cover and local contact are now completely compromised. Any further presence here will be seen as harassment. We've lost our standing. The most logical course of action is to disengage. We return to Jump City, file our report on the GIW's incompetence from a distance, and cut our losses—"
“No.” The word was out of Wally’s mouth before he could even think. He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed but blazing with a desperate resolve. “Absolutely not. I'm not leaving my brother like this. I'm not leaving things with him thinking I see him as a monster. I can't.”
“Wally—” Tim began, his tone tense.
“He’s right,” Roy interrupted, slamming a screwdriver down on the table. “We can’t just bomb the site and run. It’s messy, but we have to try and clean it up. Or at least, you do, Walls.” He gestured at Wally with his hand. “That’s your brother. You don’t get to just walk away from that.”
Tim’s jaw tightened. It was expected, but he couldn’t help but think it was risky. For them? Yeah, it could potentially expose them. But it wasn't what worried him, it was Wally. He was a wreck right now, and the risk of further emotional collateral damage was high. But he also saw the determined set of Wally’s shoulders and the grim agreement on Roy’s face. There was no stopping this. So he sighed, a short, frustrated sound. “Fine. We stay for seventy-two more hours. But we give them complete space. No visits. No surveillance. We are ghosts here.” He looked pointedly at Wally. “If you make contact, it is on his terms. One wrong move and we leave. Understood?”
Wally nodded, a fragile light of hope cutting through the guilt and relief settling over his shoulders. He pulled out his phone and sat back down on the edge of the bed, his thumbs hovering over the screen, over Wes's contact. He spent the most part of that night drafting and deleting a dozen messages, each one feeling inadequate. Too dry, too condescending, too straight. Nothing worked and he was getting even more frustrated with himself.
The others called it a night hours before, but he couldn't sleep, not without trying to start mending things with Wes. He could see the sun rising through the window, hear the birds singing and the slowly increasing sound of people starting to walk the streets, ready to start a new day. Frustrated tears started to garter in his eyes. He spent the whole night trying and failing to send a message to his own brother. He took a deep breath and, finally, with shaky fingers, he typed.
Wally: Wes. I'm so sorry. I was wrong about everything and I’m incredibly sorry for that.. I'm still in town for a couple days. I don’t want to pressure you, this is your call, but if you're willing to talk, just me, I'm here. I love you.
He hit send before he could lose his nerve. The "Delivered" tag felt like a verdict. Now, all he could do was wait.
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The first thing Danny was aware of was the weight. A warm, solid pressure against his side, and the soft tickle of hair under his chin. The second thing was the silence. It wasn't the tense, buzzing quiet of the past few days, but a deep, exhausted stillness.
He opened his eyes, seeing the morning light filtering through the blinds. Wes was still there, asleep, curled against him. Danny didn't move. He remembered the shuddering sobs, the way Wes had simply collapsed into him. The feeling of damnation. Just the thought of all that happened last night was enough to make him want to fall back asleep and not wake up for another week at least, but the show must go on, or something like that.
Slowly, Danny shifted his arm. Wes stirred, blinking awake. Awareness returned, followed by a flush of embarrassment, and he started to pull away.
“Don’t,” Danny said, his voice rough with sleep.
Wes stilled, then slowly relaxed back against him. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Told you not to apologize.”
Wes sat up, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I feel stupid. I haven't cried like that since…” He trailed off, the ghost of a memory, Wally leaving for college when he was younger, came to his mind, but he decided to ignore it, he didn't want to think of Wally right now. “It's been a while” he finished, his voice steadier than he expected.
Danny noticed the pause, but also decided to ignore it, there were already too many emotions in the air, and he was starting to suffocate on those. So, with a new resolve to ignore his emotions, and by extension his problems, he got up. Careful to not push Wes off the couch he stood and clasped his hands while he turned to walk down to the kitchen.
Just like that, they fell into the familiar, unspoken rhythm of making breakfast together. Danny started the coffee and Wes got out two mugs, one with Phantom’s logo on it and a plain one, making Danny lift an eyebrow to that, but Wes ignored him with a light blush and passed the mugs to him. While they waited, Wes leaned against the counter and Danny scavenged the fridge for something to go with the crackers. Once it was done, Wes served the coffee and Danny put together a plate with some various items and a couple of packets of crackers.
“I feel like having some coffee” He announced, clapping his hands together once. “Maybe some crackers. We skipped dinner and I’m starving.”
They took their sparse breakfast to the living room. The silence, once again, was comfortable, they finally got a shared space after days of constantly being pushed away and smothered by the others respectively. But now, it was just the two of them having something to eat and some silence to finally process everything with clearer heads.
It was Wes who broke the quiet. “He didn’t even ask me,” he said, staring into his mug. “Wally. He just… saw that blog and decided he knew exactly who I was. The person I’ve been trying so hard not to be anymore.” His voice cracked. “He’s my brother. And he looked at me like I was a stranger.”
Danny listened, letting the words hang in the air. “They were wrong,” he said, his tone firm but calm. “What they did was rushed. Violent.” He sighed, looking down at his own mug. “But… I get why they did it. They saw a problem and went for the most direct solution. It’s what ‘heroes’ do,” he looked up, making air quotes and drawing a weak huff of laughter from Wes, “even when they’re stupid about it.”
At that moment, Wes's phone buzzed on the coffee table. He glanced at it, and his whole body went still. He picked it up, his thumb hovering over the screen, before silently turning it to show Danny.
That was… Not unexpected, but he also kinda didn't think it would happen. Maybe he was a bit too pessimistic, but it seemed that maybe Wes was going to be able to get an apology and mend things with his brother. Danny hoped so.
“Look,” Danny said softly. “He’s trying. At your call. That’s… that’s a big deal.” He met Wes’s gaze. “You don’t have to forgive him. But maybe… hear him out? Just you and him. You deserve to have your brother hear you, for real this time.”
Wes looked down at the phone, then back at Danny. The fear was still there, but so was a flicker of hope. He gave a single, slow nod, and then a more confident one. He didn't reply, but he didn't delete the message either. He held onto the phone like a lifeline.
Neither of them mentioned it again. They resumed their breakfast and kept to the calmness that was finally setting over them.
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Later that day, Danny grew restless. The lack of things to focus on , like pretending in front of a bunch of strangers, reminded him of the amount of things he normally worried about. There were no more excuses for postponing the inevitable. He had to go to do it eventually, but by the ancients he was gonna stall as long as he could. So he paced the length of the living room. He checked his phone for the tenth time in an hour. He took a shower and rearranged his clothes. He sat on the couch and put on the first thing that seemed slightly interesting, his knee jiggling uncontrollably the whole time.
“You good?” Wes asked from loveseat, lowering his book. He also needed a distraction, but right now the most distracting thing in the apartment was Danny.
“Fine,” Danny bit out, running a hand through his hair. He walked into the kitchen for a glass of water, but his hand was shaking so badly the glass slipped, shattering in the sink with a loud, violent crash.
Both of them flinched.
That was the final straw. Danny slumped against the counter, his head bowed.
Wes got up slowly. He moved with deliberate care, his hands in clear view. He found the broom and dustpan and swept up the glass, the soft scraping of the bristles being the only sound in the apartment, that and Danny’s low and controlled breaths. When he was done, he left the debris by the door and sat at the kitchen table, giving Danny some space and letting him collect himself.
Finally, frustration won and broke through, spilling out in a rush. “It’s my parents,” Danny whispered, his voice thick. “I haven’t checked on them in days. With all… this.” He gestured vaguely around the apartment. “I have to go over there. Make sure they haven’t blown up the house or themselves. Make sure they’re eating something that isn’t contaminated, or at least has some nutritional value. I don’t know, man…” He looked up, his expression utterly drained.
Wes stayed quiet, a silent pillar of support.
“And… I have to check the lab,” Danny continued, the words tumbling out now, fueled by a toxic mix of fear and duty. “I have to make sure they’re not working on something new. Something that could…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “I have to sabotage them, Wes. I tweak their blueprints. I corrupt their data. I make sure their inventions have critical flaws. I have to make sure they don’t ever build something that can actually catch me. That can… kill me. For good.”
The confession hung in the air, ugly and devastating. It was the truth, he had to constantly fight a secret war against his own family for the sake of his own sake, and he was tired of that. But he couldn't stop, not if he wanted to survive.
Wes didn't gasp, didn't look horrified, even if he felt unease at the prospect. He just listened, his expression grim but understanding. When Danny finally fell silent, Wes simply asked, “Okay. What do you need?”
Danny looked up, surprised by the lack of judgment. The simple, practical question was more grounding than any pity or platitude he could have expected. It was like fresh air after years of Jazz constantly pitying him, or Sam and Tucker’s constant probing whenever the subject of his parents came up.
“I need to go over there,” Danny said, his voice steadier now. “Tonight.”
The silence in the kitchen was heavy after Danny’s confession. Wes watched him for a long moment, seeing the tension coiled in his shoulders, the way he wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Okay," Wes said, his voice calm and steady, a deliberate contrast to Danny's frayed nerves. "Then we go."
Danny's head snapped up. "We?"
"Yeah. We." Wes stood up, his decision final. "I'm not letting you walk into that house alone. I'll wait outside. Be a lookout. Or... I don't know. Just be there. So you know you're not alone when you come back out."
The offer was more than Danny had ever allowed himself to have. Someone to just be there, even if he didn’t let himself share the burden. He never told Sam when he went to his parents because she worried and he didn't want to add more things for her to stress about; and Tucker was away for college, he wouldn’t be able to do anything from there if something happened, so why make it worse for him to have him worry and feel helpless. He could deal with all of that on his own, no need to be a burden for his friends, it was fine, really… But the emptiness he felt whenever he was back in that house always lingered…He hesitated for only a second before the weight of his loneliness and fear outweighed his stubborn self-reliance.
“Yeah,” Danny said, it was a quiet surrender. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
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The walk to Fenton Works was short, but every step felt like a mile. A cold knot of dread tightened in Danny’s stomach, a familiar companion on this particular journey. The late afternoon sun was dipping behind the rooftops, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to claw at the pavement.
“You know, it’s probably fine,” Danny said, his tone a little too light, a little too forced. He shoved his hands into his pockets to hide their slight tremor. “They’re probably just buried in some new blueprint. Lost track of time. Happens all the time.”
Wes didn’t reply immediately. He was watching Danny, really watching. He saw the way Danny’s jaw was clenched tight, the way his shoulders were creeping up towards his ears. He noticed how Danny’s eyes, usually so quick to dart around and assess his environment, were fixed straight ahead, as if looking at the neighboring houses would make his destination too real.
“I’m sure,” Wes said, his voice neutral.
“I mean, worst case scenario, the kitchen smells like burnt toast and ectoplasm again. Classic Tuesday.” Danny attempted a laugh, but it came out as a dry, nervous exhale. His knuckles were white where he gripped the fabric inside his pockets.
Wes saw it all. He’d cataloged these tells over the past week—the false cheer, the hyper-focus masking panic, the way he physically braced himself. This wasn't the same Danny who faced down a group of people who were pointing fingers at Wes and he decided to obliterate them with his words. This was someone walking towards his own personal gallows.
They turned the corner, and the house came into view. The towering, gothic structure loomed against the twilight sky, the flickering 'O' in the sign feeling like a malevolent wink. The house was dark, utterly silent. No mad scientist cackling, no blasts from the lab. Just a profound, waiting stillness.
Danny’s steps slowed almost imperceptibly. The casual act evaporated, leaving behind a stark, weary tension. "See? Deserted," he said, the bravado now completely gone, replaced by a hollow flatness. "I'll just be a minute. Gotta... check the lab. Quick in and out."
Wes nodded, his chest aching with a sudden, protective tightness. He took up a post across the street, leaning against a lamppost. "I'll be right here," he said, putting as much unwavering certainty into the words as he could.
Danny gave a tight, grateful nod that didn't match the look in his eyes, and slipped inside like a ghost.
Wes waited. The seconds stretched into minutes. The absolute quiet from the house was more unnerving than any ghostly wail. He strained his ears, listening for any sign of Danny. Some more minutes passed by and it seemed that all that nervousness was for nothing after all.
But then, it happened.
A low, subterranean WHUMP vibrated up through the soles of his feet. The pavement shuddered. It was followed instantly by the scream of twisting metal and the explosive cacophony of shattering glass. But worse, far worse, was the short, sharp cry of agony that was unmistakably Danny's.
Wes's blood turned to ice. He was across the street and shoving the unlocked front door open in a blind, panicked rush. "Danny?!" he yelled, his voice swallowed by the bizarre, cluttered geography of the living room.
A low, wet groan guided him to the kitchen. Wes skidded to a halt, and his heart simply stopped.
Danny was crawling on his hands and knees from the basement doorway, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. A glistening, crimson trail smeared the linoleum behind him. His clothes were shredded, and a vicious, sizzling burn cut across his side, weeping a faint, sickly green light that pulsed in time with his ragged breaths. Shards of metal and plastic were embedded in his arm and leg.
"Wes," Danny choked out, his voice a broken thing, his face a grotesque mask of pain, soot, and blood.
"Jesus Christ. Danny—" Wes dropped to his knees, the world narrowing to this single, horrifying point. He slid an arm under Danny's shoulders, trying to haul him up. The moment he put pressure on him, Danny screamed—a raw, guttural sound that tore through Wes—and went completely limp, a dead weight in his arms.
"W-we need to get you to a hospital," he said, his own voice tight and thin with a panic he could no longer control.
"No!" Danny's hand shot out, gripping Wes's forearm with a final, shocking burst of strength. His eyes, wide and glazed with pain, found Wes's. "No hospital. My biology... they'd know... I'd end up on a slab... I have supplies..." The strength left him as quickly as it came, his head lolling back against Wes's chest, his breathing a shallow, terrifying rattle.
Pure, unadulterated terror seized Wes, cold and suffocating. He was going to lose him. Right here, on this filthy, cold linoleum, in this house of horrors filled with already so many bad things that happened here. The thought wasn't a thought; it was a visceral certainty that hollowed him out. A broken sob escaped him, tears he didn't even feel starting to fall, dripping onto Danny's bloodied shirt. He clutched Danny closer, his body shaking, whispering a desperate, meaningless litany. "Hold on, just hold on, please, please..."
His mind, screaming and useless, latched onto one single, fraying thread. With shaking, blood-slicked fingers that refused to cooperate, he fumbled his phone from his pocket, his vision blurred as he mashed the speed dial.
It rang. Once. Twice.
"Wes?" Wally's voice was cautious, hopeful.
"Wally," Wes choked out, the word dissolving into a wet sob. "I need you. At Fenton Works. Now. It's Danny, he's hurt badly, he can't go to a hospital, and I can't—I can't move him. Please, you have to come, please—"
He didn't have to finish.
"Where are you? Exactly." Wally's voice was suddenly razor-sharp, all hesitation gone, replaced by a focus Wes had never heard from his brother.
"Kitchen. Fenton Works, 3rd avenue. Big ass sign outside. Please, hurry—"
"Stay on the line. We're coming." The sound of a van door slamming and an engine roaring to life was a promise and a threat.
Wes held the phone to his ear, but he heard nothing else. He just held Danny, rocking slightly, his tears falling freely now, mingling with the blood and ash. "They're coming," he whispered into Danny's hair. "Just hold on."
It felt like a lifetime, but it could only have been minutes before he heard the screech of tires, the slam of doors, and the thunder of footsteps.
Wally burst into the kitchen first, frantic worry that immediately morphed into pure, unadulterated shock. His eyes widened, taking in the blood, the unnatural green glow of the burn, the way Wes was curled around Danny's broken form, weeping inconsolably while whispering nonsense to an unconscious Danny.
For a split second, he swayed on his feet, a wave of vertigo making the grotesque scene swim before his eyes. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, buried under a wave of crisis-mode seriousness. If he wanted to help Danny he needed to keep clear headed. He can freak out later.
"Talk to me," Wally commanded, his voice low and steady as he dropped to his knees, his hands already moving to assess the situation.
"Explosion in the lab," Wes rattled off, his voice raw. "His parents' tech. No hospitals. He has supplies at my place."
Wally didn't question it, there was no time for that, so he just nodded, his jaw tight. "Roy, you're carrying him. Gently. Wes, lead the way. Tim—" He stood up and turned.
Tim was already there, having entered silently. His face was pale, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the scene with terrifying efficiency. His gaze sweeping through everything, cataloguing each detail he could see, the specific angle of Danny's leg, the depth of the lacerations, the wrong, sizzling green of the burn that definitely wasn't a normal electrical injury. Then, his eyes flickered around the room, taking in the high-frequency emitter sitting on the counter next to a jar of glowing green sludge, the disassembled futuristic sort of blaster beside the toaster. I was a dangerous, chaotic mess of a home that was also a laboratory. He paled further, but his movements were quick and precise. He was already yanking open drawers, shoving aside bizarre gadgets until he found a heavy-duty metal first-aid kit. He also snatched a clean-looking dish towel, soaking it in cold water from the sink.
Roy moved forward, his large frame suddenly seeming too big for the chaotic space. "Okay, kid, I've got you," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He reached for Danny.
A minute, primal panic flared in Wes's eyes. His arms tightened around Danny instinctively, a low, possessive sound escaping his throat. He was the only thing holding Danny together; letting go felt like a betrayal, like surrendering him to the void. He started hyperventilating, barely able to see through the blurriness in his vision and flinching hard at the hand approaching him.
Roy froze, his hands hovering in the air. The action, the raw, terrified protectiveness in Wes's gesture hit him harder than any of their shouted accusations. The guilt he'd been carrying since last night curdled into something sharper and more painful in his gut. He wasn't seeing him like a rescuer here; to Wes he was another threat. If the situation wasn`t so dire, he was sure he would be sick, but he needed to focus and get Danny out of here quickly. He met Wes's gaze and gave a slow, careful nod, his expression solemn but gentle. "I'll be real careful," he promised, his voice low. "I swear. I’m not going to hurt him, I just want to get him to safety”
The sincerity broke through Wes's panic. He took a shuddering breath and, with immense effort, loosened his grip, allowing Roy to gently, so gently, scoop Danny into his arms. Danny whimpered, a pitiful sound that made everyone flinch and Wes sob.
"Let's move!" Wally ordered, his voice cutting through the tension as he held the door open.
The group moved as one, a frantic, desperate convoy. Wes led the way, his body trembling with spent adrenaline and fear. Tim followed, the first-aid kit in one hand, the wet cloth in the other, his mind already racing ahead to triage and damage assessment. Wally kept a hand on Roy's back, a guide and a steadying presence. They bundled into the waiting van, where Victor had the engine running. Garfield slid the door shut as Roy laid Danny carefully across the back seat, his head once again cradled in Wes's lap.
As Victor pulled away from the curb, Tim was already popping the latches on the kit, his movements clinical and sure. Wally hovered, his usual kinetic energy trapped and useless, his hands clenching at his sides.
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This fic was supposed to be lighthearted. It was supposed to be crack. But no, me and my angsty ass got into psychological effects and trauma dealing and decided to used it here. Anyway, I almost made a different to subplot to add here, something dealing more with the GIW, but they were already assessed in a past part, and i could still add it making it make sense, but this was more in tune with the actual plot and also more gutting. I'll try to make 15 the last part cuz my OCD wont let me sleep otherwise.
