#pt 9

Danny turned to see Victor filling the doorway, already dressed. He offered a small, kind smile. “Need a hand?”

“Uh, sure,” Danny said, a little surprised. “You can man the griddle. I’ll mix the batter.”

Victor nodded and moved into the kitchen with a quiet efficiency. As they worked—Danny whisking, Victor patiently waiting for the griddle to heat—a comfortable silence settled between them. It was… nice. Normal.

“So,” Danny began, focusing on the batter to avoid any awkward eye contact. “You guys are here for work, right? Wally mentioned something about it. What exactly brings you to lovely, haunted Amity Park?”

Victor didn’t miss a beat. “Consulting gig. The city is reviewing its emergency response protocols. Our firm specializes in logistics and tech integration for crisis management. Wally and I are on the tech assessment side. Roy’s liaising with local enforcement. Garfield is on community outreach. Tim is auditing everything. It’s what he does.”

It was a perfect, boring, logical story. It should have been reassuring.

But Danny’s brain, a traitorous engine wired for survival, snagged on the words.

Crisis management. Tech assessment. Liaising with enforcement. Auditing.

The spatula stilled in his hand. The GIW were always trying to update their tech, always trying to get a tighter grip on the town’s emergency services. Auditing. Tim’s intense, observant gaze flashed in his mind. What was he auditing? The town’s spectral energy readings? The Fentons' public permits?

Stop it, he commanded himself, shaking his head slightly. You’re being paranoid. They’re Wally’s friends. They’re IT guys. Normal, boring IT guys.

He forced himself to pour the batter. The sizzle was normally a soothing sound. Now it sounded like static.

“That sounds… interesting,” Danny said, his voice thankfully steady.

“It has its moments,” Vic replied, expertly flipping a pancake. “Mostly it’s a lot of paperwork.”

Paperwork for a ghost containment order? The thought was irrational, insane, even and so stupid, it didn't even make sense, but it took root and began to spread like a weed. His heart started to beat a little faster. The calm of the morning was evaporating, replaced by the familiar, cold prickle of dread on the back of his neck. He felt exposed. Seen.

The others began to stir. Wally, Roy, and Garfield emerged, drawn by the smell of food. The kitchen was soon filled with the easy chaos of breakfast—Wally recounting a story, Garfield joking, Roy stealing slices of bacon from the plate. It was loud and warm and should have been comforting. But to Danny, every laugh felt a decibel too loud. Every casual question felt like a probe. He kept his head down, focusing on the stove.

Soon, Roy stretched. "Alright, boys. Time to hit the pavement. Let's go see what kind of 'unconventional disaster' gear this town's packing." Wally and Gar followed him out with waves and promises to bring back lunch, leaving the apartment significantly quieter. Danny cringed a bit, they definitely are gonna get flashed by FentonWorks and the stuff they have around town.

The silence that settled was different. It was punctuated by the soft, relentless click-click-click of Tim's keyboard from behind the closed study door. Each tap was a tiny, precise shock to Danny’s system. In the living room, Victor was on the couch, scrolling through reports on his tablet, his large frame still and focused. Wes was at the kitchen table, his own laptop open, but he wasn't typing. He was just staring at the screen with a deep frown on his face.

Danny busied himself cleaning the kitchen. He wiped down counters that were already clean. He rearranged the groceries in the fridge. Deep cleaned the cabinets and rearranged the grocery by use order. Heck. He even went and cleaned the never used oven. And when that wasn't enough, he went and started cleaning around the living room too. But the quiet was smothering. The same click-click-click from the study was drilling into his temple. Victor’s low murmur as he took a call sounded like the hum of a ghost shield powering up.

His mind began to spin, the paranoid thought from earlier roaring back to life.

They’re not IT guys. They’re hunters. They’re here for me. Tim’s in there building a case. Victor is coordinating with outside agents. Wally, Roy and Garfield are just  making sure to not let him hide nor escape around town. They’re all just waiting for the right moment.

He felt exposed. Raw. He was trapped in an apartment with two potential hunters, and his only ally was the guy who used to be his chief stalker, currently staring into space. The absurdity of it was almost enough to make him laugh, but it got stuck in his throat as a panicked gasp.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He snatched it like it was a lifeline.

Sam: Hey. You alive over there? How’s the fake domestic bliss?

A wave of sharp relief so potent it made him dizzy. Sam. Someone sane. Someone safe.

Danny: Not good. I’m losing it. Can you meet at the mall? I need out. Now.

He didn’t wait for a reply. He shoved the phone back in his pocket.

“I have to go,” he announced abruptly to the room, his voice sounding strained and too loud. He didn’t look at Victor or Wes. “I’ll meet Sam at the mall. I’ll be back.”

He was out the door before anyone could respond, the click of the latch behind him scaring him a bit.The lights in the hallway felt too bright and the sound of the fluorescent bulbs felt like static over his skin. And now he was weirdly aware of his teeth. God.

The walk to the mall turned out to be worse. Every rustle was a footstep. Every person behind him was a tail. He kept his head down, shoulders hunched, his senses screaming. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s just your stupid brain, he chanted, but the primal part of him was in full control. He felt utterly certain he was being followed. Like a shadow looming in the alleys or a lean silhouette dancing around people just barely avoiding his gaze. He is going crazy, all that ectoplasm and hits to the head are finally getting to him, there's no other explanation… Besides actually being followed.

He shook his head again, hard enough that it made him dizzy for a bit, then he took a deep breath and kept going, he was close, just a bit more and he’ll meet Sam, and she’s gonna tell him it was just justified trauma or something, and then they are gonna have smoothies and laugh at how absurd his life became. Yeah… It can work, he can do that. So he just kept his head down, shoulders hunched. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s just your stupid brain, he chanted, but the primal part of him was in full control. He still felt utterly certain he was being followed.

__________________________________________________________________

Sam spotted him the moment he shuffled into the food court. He was a portrait of distress, pale and drawn, his eyes wide and darting constantly, scanning the crowd like he was looking for an exit that wasn’t there. Her own heart gave a painful lurch. She waved him over and, without a word, took his ice-cold hand, leading him away from the food court. They walked in silence for a bit, Danny just trailing behind her and Sam focused on finding a quiet place. Then she found it, it was a hallway beside two clothes shops that seemed a bit dimly lit and definitely a service one instead of ones leading to restrooms.

Once there she stood for a second looking at Danny, noticing the change in scenery helped him relax a bit, but he still looked tight as a coil and looking everywhere but here. It wasn't out of nervousness, he wasn't avoiding her face, he was looking everywhere. That made her chest clench a bit, he was slightly trembling and sweating, keeping sight on the entrances and hiding her from view by standing in front of her. She hasn't seen him like this since they found out Vlad had put cameras in his house. Something’s wrong.

“Danny, what's going on? you’ve been acting weird all day”

It's like those words were all that was needed to break the dam. Words came out like a waterfall, fast and violent, one after one without even taking a moment to breath. She was getting worried with how frantic he was getting, but what he was saying, she couldn’t stop him. He wouldn’t listen, but even if he did, he needed to get all this out.

All those years of trauma, on top of all the shit he went through as Phantom, it was sad, it was tragic. She was angry, at Wes, at Danny's parents, at the ghost, at herself. Why should Danny have to go through all this? Why was here a stupid edgy kid making her best friend gruesomely die in front of her and he other best friend. Why did a weird lonely kid have to obsess so much over Danny mad made him so paranoid, and why did his God father do the same?

But, this wasn't about her, she could deal with all that when Danny wasn't falling apart infront of her, so obviously wanting and needing her help. Fuck everyone else, her boyfriend needed her and for the love of god, she going to help him.

So she listened, her stomach turning to lead, as he spilled a toxic mix of past trauma and present, irrational fear. His voice was raw, stripped bare, every word trembling with a vulnerability he usually kept locked down tight. And then he broke, he crumbled into her arms, his body wracked with silent, shuddering sobs, all she could do was just held on. She held him through the tempest, her hand a steady rhythm on his back, her cheek resting against his hair.

Slowly, the storm passed. The violent shaking subsided and his breath raspy, leaving behind a terrible stillness. He grew heavy against her, his breathing evening out into something too slow, too deep. He wasn’t crying anymore; he was just… gone. His head remained on her shoulder, his eyes open but blank, staring at the concrete wall without seeing it. He’d retreated somewhere deep inside, a mental fortress with the drawbridge pulled up.

“Danny?” she murmured, her voice soft but firm. She gave him a gentle squeeze. “Danny, I need you to come back to me.”

Nothing. Not a flicker.

She tried again, putting more force into her tone, an anchor line thrown into the depths. “Danny. Look at me. Breathe with me.” She took a loud, exaggerated breath in, held it, and let it out slowly.

For a heart-stopping moment, there was no response. Then, she felt a faint, hesitant expansion of his ribs against hers, a weak mimicry of her own breath. Once. Then again. Gradually, the terrifying vacancy in his blue eyes receded, replaced by a wave of crushing exhaustion and shame. He straightened up and took a step back.

“Sorry,” he whispered, the word a rough scrape against his throat.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, her own voice thick. She didn’t let go. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

They stood like that for a long time, in the quiet hum of the distant mall, until his breathing finally matched hers.

“Everything I said…” he began, his voice hollow, his gaze fixed on a crack in the floor. “The stalking, the fear… all of it. It’s true. I hate this situation. I hate that I let myself get backed into it.”

He took a shaky breath, the conflict a visible war on his face. “But…” He finally lifted his head to look at her, his expression so full of confused guilt it made her chest ache. “That’s not the whole truth anymore. Yesterday… making breakfast for everyone, talking about nebulae with Victor, even just bickering with Wes over the remote… It was nice. It felt… normal. And Wes, he was just… there. He wasn’t the monster from my memories. He was just a guy. An annoying, sometimes funny guy.”

He wrapped his arms around himself, a self-soothing gesture that made him look heartbreakingly young. “I’m starting to actually enjoy spending time with him, Sam. And it makes me feel so incredibly guilty. Because after everything he did, I should still despise him. I do despise what he did. But I don’t… I don’t think I despise him anymore. And that feels like a betrayal of everything I felt for years. It’s all just a tangled mess.”

The raw conflict in his voice was a testament to how hard he was trying to navigate a situation no one should ever be in. He wasn't just dealing with a lie; he was untangling years of trauma and fear, and the threads were getting impossibly knotted.

She didn't offer empty platitudes. She just squeezed his shoulder, a solid, grounding pressure. "It's not a betrayal, Danny. It's growth. It's you being a better person than the circumstances deserve. Feeling safe enough to even consider not hating him... that's a victory, not a crime."

He let out a shuddering breath, some of the tension in his shoulders easing at her words. He looked down, nodding slowly as if trying to convince himself. "Yeah. Maybe."

"Definitely," she affirmed. "Now come on. Let's get you a truly terrible mall smoothie. The kind with enough sugar to short-circuit your brain for a few minutes. My treat."

A weak, but genuine, smile touched his lips. "Deal."

They emerged from the hallway, the bright lights and noise of the food court a jarring contrast to their heavy conversation. Sam kept a casual hand on his arm, a steadying presence as they joined a line. The normalcy of the act—choosing a flavor, fumbling for cash—was its own kind of therapy. For a few minutes, Danny was just a guy getting a drink with his girlfriend, the weight on his shoulders momentarily lifted.

As they found a table, sipping the overly sweet concoctions, a more practical calm settled over Danny. The emotional storm had passed, leaving behind a clear-headed, if exhausted, resolve.

"I should head back," he said, his voice quieter but firmer than before. "I left pretty abruptly. I think I freaked Victor out. And Wes..." He trailed off, a new kind of worry in his eyes. "I should probably talk to him. Not... not everything. But something."

Sam nodded. "Good plan. Rip the band-aid off. Just remember, you hold all the cards here. You're doing him a favor."

"I know." He took a last long sip of his smoothie and stood up, squaring his shoulders. "Thanks, Sam. For... everything.

"Anytime, loser. Text me when you get home." She watched him walk away, his posture straighter than when he'd arrived. He was still carrying the weight, but now he was choosing where to take it.

_______________________________________________________

The walk back to the apartment was different. The paranoid whispers were still there, but they were quieter, easier to dismiss. He'd named his fear, spoken it aloud to someone he trusted, and in doing so, it had lost some of its power over him. He felt drained, yes, but also clearer. Lighter.

He pushed the door open to find Wes alone, pacing the living room like a caged animal. The other Titans were still gone. Wes's head snapped up at the sound, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated worry.

"Danny? What happened? Are you okay?" Wes asked, surging forward before stopping himself, his hands fluttering awkwardly at his sides.

He was worried, the silence after Danny’s flight felt heavy and accusatory. Wes stared at the blinking cursor on his screen, the words of his article a meaningless jumble. The cheerful, domestic scene from minutes ago had curdled, leaving behind the bitter aftertaste of his own anxiety. He’d seen the tension coiling in Danny’s shoulders, the forced focus on the batter bowl. He’d caused that. His past was a ghost haunting Danny’s present, and he was powerless to exorcise it.

Victor’s phone buzzed, a sharp, professional sound that shattered the quiet. The large man answered with a quiet “Stone.” He listened for a moment, his typically neutral expression hardening minutely around the eyes, his posture shifting from relaxed to mission-ready in an instant.

“Understood. On my way.” He hung up and turned to Wes. “Apologies. A work issue has come up that requires the full team’s immediate attention. I must go.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure, of course,” Wes stammered, thrown by the sudden, serious shift in atmosphere. Victor was out the door with a curt nod, leaving Wes utterly alone in the apartment. The worry for Danny now churned in his gut alongside a sickening wave of guilt. The fragile normalcy they’d built was crumbling, and he was certain it was his fault.

Time stretched, elastic and agonizing. Every creak of the building was the front door. Every minute felt like an hour. He was pacing a worn path in the living room rug when the lock finally clicked.

Danny came in.

He looked… wrecked. His clothes were rumpled like he’d been sleeping in them, his hair was a mess, and his face was pale and drawn. But it was his eyes that struck Wes the hardest—they were red-rimmed and hollow, holding a deep, exhausted kind of clarity, as if he’d cried himself empty. He moved slowly, each step seeming to cost him a tremendous effort, his whole body sagging with fatigue.

“Danny?” Wes was on his feet instantly, his heart hammering against his ribs. “What happened? Are you hurt?” He took a hesitant step forward, his hands half-reaching out before he aborted the gesture, unsure.

Danny didn’t flinch or snap. He just looked at Wes, his expression not scared or angry, just terribly, profoundly tired. “Yeah. ‘M okay,” he mumbled, the words slurred with exhaustion. “Just… had a thing. Needed to talk to Sam.”

Wes hovered uselessly. “Do you… need to sit down? Water? I, uh…” He felt clumsy, enormous, and entirely inadequate.

“We need to talk,” Danny said, his voice flat but clear, like the calm after a storm, serene but grim. Wes was not sure what to make of that, so he watched as Danny walked to the couch and sank into it, melting into the cushions as if his bones had dissolved. Wes followed, perching nervously on the edge of the coffee table facing him, his knees almost touching Danny’s.

Danny took a slow, deliberate breath, visibly gathering the frayed ends of himself. “I told Sam everything,” he began, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere past Wes’s shoulder. “About high school. About you following me everywhere. Taking pictures of me without me knowing. How I had to block my windows because I never knew if you were out there. How I was always, always looking over my shoulder, and it was because of you.”

Each word was a precise, clinical cut, and Wes felt them all. He dropped his gaze to the floor, hot shame burning his face and tightening his throat. “Danny, I’m—“

“I’m not done,” Danny said quietly, but with a firmness that brooked no interruption. He finally looked at Wes, and his eyes were clear and unbearably honest. “I told her how that messes with a person’s head. How it makes you feel crazy and vulnerable all the time. How this whole situation, this fake dating, living together thing, has been dragging all that shit back up to the surface.”

Wes could only nod, a jerky, miserable motion, his own eyes stinging.

“But,” Danny continued, and his voice softened, losing its edge. “I also told her that yesterday was… good. Really good. That planning our dumb backstory with you, cooking together, even putting together that stupid chore wheel… It was kinda fun. And that I…” He paused, searching for the right words. “I’m starting to enjoy being around you. Like, actually getting along with you.”

He held Wes’s gaze, his weary expression open. “I’m not saying we’re best friends or anything. You can’t undo years of… that… in a week. I’m still wary. I probably will be for a while. That feeling doesn’t just turn off. But I’m starting to trust you. Little by little. And I… I hope this,” he gestured vaguely between them, at the apartment they were slowly making a home, “this weird roommates-who-used-to-hate-each-other thing… I hope it can actually work out.”

The confession left him looking emotionally flayed, raw and tender, but also clearer-headed than Wes had ever seen him. The storm had passed, leaving behind a landscape that was battered, but clean.

Wes felt a painful lump form in his throat, and his vision blurred. It was more understanding than he had any right to expect. It was everything. “Thank you,” he choked out, his voice rough with emotion. “For telling me. And… I’m so sorry. For all of it. I’m going to be better. I promise.”

Danny gave a single, slow nod, and the faintest ghost of a tired, real smile touched his lips. “I know.”

The moment of fragile, hard-won peace was shattered by the sound of a key grating violently in the lock. The front door flew open to reveal the others returning as a single, unified front. Their faces were a mask of grim, thunderous determination, and every ounce of their fury was laser-focused on Wes.

The calm was obliterated in an instant.

_________________________________________________________

So- How you doing? Hating me so far? Lol. Can you tell I wrote all this on the floor of a clinic waiting room? I also forgot to ask in part 8 if you could tell I wrote Wes part listening to Psycho killer, lmao.

ANyway, the Bois are emotionally mature! Don't get at me with all those batfam fics where everyone suppresses their emotions, including Danny. He totally does it, but he also grew up with Jazz, who was all in making sure he was psychologically supported in his home, you can't just not get some of that after years exposed to it. H e doesn't do it until he can process it all, usually by saying it out loud to an empty room or one of his friends who would make sure he gets his head straight instead of just blaming himself. He is an extrovert like that.

But I yapped too much already, I'll have this posted on AO3 when I get back home. Peace ✌️