#teapot writes

The next day, Vlad settles himself onto the couch, crossing his legs and throwing one arm over the back, his hand resting on the cushion behind Danny’s head. Danny sits stiffly next to him, hands fidgeting in his lap. “Thank you for inviting us over, Richard,” Vlad says, “I’m looking forward to sorting out the unfortunate circumstances of last night.” 

Richard Grayson-Wayne nods, sitting on the couch across from them. He lounges easily, stretching out his legs till his feet are under the coffee table, and looks next to him where Damian sits with crossed arms while glaring out the window. “Please, I prefer Dick, never call me Richard, and it is our pleasure.” 

To match the casualty of his demeanor, Dick is wearing a dark blue hoodie and vibrant green sweatpants with purple socks, no shoes. If it wasn’t for the way that his brothers have been deferring to him and for the breath of his shoulders, he would not have seemed like the eldest sibling. He gives Vlad and Danny a bright smile. “Alfred makes the absolute best tea service.” 

“Thank you, Master Dick,” the butler says as he lays a tray of tea cups on the table alongside small finger snacks. “Mister Masters and Mister Fenton-Masters, this afternoon we have an earl grey tea paired with cucumber sandwiches and shortbread cookies. Cream and sugar are in their respective pots for you to add at your convenience. Please, do let me know if you need anything else.”

“Um, I prefer Danny, thank you,” Danny says. Absent-mindedly, he twists at the metal bracelet-cuff on his wrist. 

“Of course, Mister Danny.” Alfred gives a slight bow of his head before excusing himself from the room. 

It is an extremely nice sitting room, cozy with a big, unlit brick fireplace and dark hardwood floors. The brocade of the curtains compliments the pale blue of the walls and the couches are a well conditioned leather. Under their feet, the rug is thick with a soft pattern, colors that fit the room well without drawing too much attention. The wood frames of the windows and the facade of the ceiling moldings seem to be the same as the floors. Finally, the art on the walls must be of scenery around Gotham, Danny guesses, eyes trailing everywhere but people’s faces.

Without a doubt, Old Money style. Nothing like the gaudy modern decor that Vlad prefers. 

When you’re invited over by a family like the Waynes, you can’t say no (at least that is what Vlad said). Also, the ghost butler and ghost staff are hard to explain. Normally, they hire staff like they did for the gala, but this meeting was short notice. Vlad could give the ghost staff concentrated ecto-energy boosts to help them take forms that appear more physical and living… But every time they do that they risk showing up on the GIW sensors. 

Vlad’s fingers brush over the back of Danny’s neck, a reminder to stay focused. Danny takes a steadying breath, pushing forward the confidence an heir would exude. He suggested that they take this angle. He’s fine with this. 

“And you can just call me Tim.” Timothy says to Vlad. He’s sitting in an arm chair between the two couches, fireplace at his back. “Bruce apologizes for not being here himself. Even though he no longer heads the company, he is still very busy with our various partners, you know how it is.” 

On the scale of Vlad to Dick, Tim is dressed business casual. While they both wear suits– Vlad’s a classic black satin with silver buttons and Tim’s a dark burgundy –Tim’s jacket is draped over the chair arm, the tie in its pocket as his top two shirt buttons are undone. 

Vlad must have noticed too because he reaches up to adjust the knot of his tie, or maybe he’s pretending that he’s not touching the scar at his throat. His suit is as immaculate as always. “Yes, of course.”

Dick reaches over to ruffle Damian’s hair and the younger brother dodge out of the way, hands immediately raising into boxing fists. 

“I assure you, Bruce reprimanded both of us about last night’s fiasco,” Tim is saying. Danny’s gaze is locked on Damian’s fists. There are colorful bandaids peppered all over his hands. Dick must have been the one to do that.

Damian seems to notice and folds his hands in his lap, leveling a gaze right back at Danny. 

“Damian, isn’t there something you want to say to Danny?” Dick prompts after several beats of silence. 

“I…” Damian starts, “Apol-” he clenches his jaw and restarts. “I apologize… that I pushed you.” 

Dick nods encouragingly. “And to Mr. Masters?”

Damian’s attention remains locked on the coffee table between their couches, but this time his voice comes more easily. “I apologize for interrupting your gala.” 

“There, that wasn’t so hard,” Dick chuckles and this time he succeeds in ruffling Damian’s hair. 

“Yes, thank you, but I’m afraid that apologies can only go so far,” Vlad says. “I’m sure you’ve seen the press coverage so far?”

Dick’s sunny demeanor becomes more serious as his expression shifts to a frown. “They’re not painting a pretty picture of the boys at all.” 

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Vlad says.

“It seems that you have a plan, then, Masters.” The corners of Tim’s eyes seem to narrow in apprehension. 

“I wouldn’t say a plan, just a hope.” Vlad puts a hand to his chest in mock surprise. “An agreement that would be mutually beneficial to both of our companies’ PR.” 

Damian locks eyes with Danny, the muscle in his jaw is ticking. Maybe it’s from the forced apology, maybe he’s still stewing from last night, or maybe– like Danny –Damian is also getting tired of the adults talking over their heads. 

“He wants us to pretend to be friends,” Danny speaks up, maintaining eye contact with Damian. “Then maybe the press will get tired of us and move on.” 

“Tt,” Damian scoffs, shifting his gaze between Dick and Tim. “You can’t be serious.”

Tim taps his fingers on the arm chair. “Well, it could work. They’re not saying very nice things about you, Dami.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“No, maybe not right now. But you know that the PR team isn’t happy about it and if you’re serious about working at the company, then you should be more concerned.” 

Damian narrows his eyes and makes a non-committal sound as he thinks it over. 

“I was thinking that we should keep it casual,” Vlad explains. “They’re already on the same mathletes team for the school. Last night was just a misunderstanding of friendly competition. Some more public appearances on the weekends should start to clear the air.” 

Dick nods, giving Damian’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We can plan something for this next Saturday then. We’ll be in touch.”

~~~

Monday is an A-Day as in All-Classes Day, so Danny’s backpack is extra heavy with his books. He plops his bag beside his desk as he falls into the chair for his AP Statistics class. 

Unfortunately, (or Vlad would consider it fortunate) it is also his first class with Damian. Extra unfortunately, Danny happens to look at the door as Damian walks in and they make eye contact. Damian scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns away from Danny and crosses the classroom to his seat. He places his messenger bookbag on the chair, taking out his materials for class. Oh yeah, Danny should do that too. 

The class filters in, Mrs. Fischer places worksheets on the desks, and Danny keeps his eyes focused on his notebook. He busies himself with writing out the equations for star densities. He starts with Sol (the sun) and then he does Alpha Centauri A, followed by Alpha Centauri B, except that he can feel Damian side eyeing him and burning a hole through his aura. 

He whips his head up to glare at Damian, who turns and makes full eye contact with him. The urge for him to flare his aura is so strong. He could send his aura across the classroom to rake a hand down that death shroud like he did at the gala. Control it.

 Once the bell rings, Mrs. Fischer opens her laptop to start attendance and Danny smiles with a lopsided smirk, continuing to maintain eye contact. 

“Damian?” She calls. 

“Present.” Damian al Ghoul Wayne– always the first at the top of the list –stands to address the teacher.

Their staring contest comes to an end and while it might not technically be a win because of extenuating circumstances, Danny is happy enough to count it. He has to duck his head though, letting his hair fall over his eyes to hide the simmering green. Breathe in, breathe out.

“River,” Mrs. Fischer continues with the attendance and Danny happily draws stars around the calculations he made until it’s his turn to announce his presence for the attendance. He’s peaceful now that Damian is stewing in his seat.

“Alright, now for today’s warm up.” Mrs. Fischer closes her laptop and turns on the projector. “Who would like to- okay. I see Damian and Danny are very eager today. Step up to the board and take a marker.”

Danny lowers his arm as he stands and strides to the front of the room. He chooses the green expo marker, of course. Damian has a standard black. 

“Alright everyone, you know the drill. As soon as I reveal the problem, you’re all competing to see who finishes first. Your answer must be correct and you must show every step. Then we compare your work with the answers on the board.”

Damian regards Danny again and Danny shoots him a look right back. There is a moment of rustling as the class at their backs gets ready, oblivious to the invisible prickling of Damian’s death shroud against Danny’s aura. 

“On your mark, get set, go!” Mrs. Fischer toggles off the projector’s Blank setting to reveal two copies of the same problem on the whiteboard, one on each side for Danny and Damian. 

Alright, easy. Danny scans his eyes over the problem, considering the process and equations he has to use. Shit! Damian is already writing. Alright, fine, maybe if Danny uses just a little bit of speed boost to pull ahead and-

The intercom speaker crackles on. “Will Damian al Ghul Wayne and Danny Fenton-Masters please report to the main office. That’s Damian al Ghul Wayne and Danny Fenton-Masters to the main office, thank you.”

Both boys freeze as a chorus of heckling “ooh”s rise from the seated students. 

“Fenton, what did you do?” Damian points his pen at Danny as if it were an accusatory knife. 

“Nothing!” Danny raises his hands in defense. “What did you do?”

“Alright, that’s enough boys.” Mrs. Fischer interrupts, already writing a pass. “Damian, here is your pass. Go straight to the main office.” 

“Tt.” Damian slides a final glare at Danny before taking the pass and leaving. 

“Danny, you don’t volunteer for the white board very often. Why don’t you finish the problem,” she suggests, giving him an encouraging smile.

He nods and goes back to solving the equation, if a bit more distracted. Danny recognizes her scheme. She’s making sure to separate them to prevent any scuffling in the halls. The back of Danny’s neck heats. Crap, he hadn’t considered it before. Of course all of the school would’ve seen the news. 

“Done!” A student calls. Mrs. Fischer is walking around the classroom, peering over students’ shoulders to assess their work. 

“Me too.” Danny turns away from the board. He probably got something wrong, he just went on auto pilot and didn’t pay very close attention after the intercom announcement. 

“Very good, thank you, Danny.” Mrs. Fischer writes another pass and walks to the door with him. She checks the hall, making sure that Damian has left. “Alright, here you go.”

“Thank you,” Danny mutters, taking the pass and leaving. 

Damian is already sitting outside of Principal Hammer’s office and as Danny approaches, the man holds open the door for them, gesturing with his head. “Okay boyos, in you pop.” 

Danny and Damian enter the office, eyes focused on the floor. The room is surprisingly long with Principal Hammer’s desk facing the door and the other half of the space containing two plush chairs and a beanbag around a circular table. On the table are a few options for coloring pages or white paper and a cup of coloring pencils next to a box of markers. 

For a moment Danny wonders how juvenile Hammer thinks they are, but then he remembers that the school does technically do 6th-12th grade. He’s never interacted with the classes under 9th grade though because they’re on the “middle school” side and he entered on the “high-school” side when Vlad took him in. 

Damian selects a plush chair and sits, his back straight in perfect posture. Danny throws himself into the beanbag, smiling a bit when Damian scoffs. Stuck-up. 

Sitting this close, Danny’s aura skitters up against Damian’s death shroud like a horrid charge of electricity. 

Principal Hammer closes the door and takes the other plush chair, handing Damian a clipboard and a pack of colored pencils that he picked up from his desk on his way over to the sitting area. Damian takes them automatically, eyes narrowing further when he catches Danny sneaking a peak at the coloring page that’s partly done. It’s a mandala design that is much more complicated than the outlines on the table. 

“So, boys,” Principal Hammer starts, his open laptop balanced on his knee. “I’m sure you two didn’t mean to make such a big splash this weekend, but-”

Danny slides lower in the beanbag and groans. 

“Of course that’s what this is about.” Damian grumbles, eyes focused on his coloring. 

“Hang on, I just want to check in is all,” Hammer explains. “Given your families, there are a lot of eyes on you two, especially now.”

Damian’s grip tightens on his blue colored pencil. “Our guardians have already discussed the matter with us. Extensively.”

Hammer nods. “I’m sure that your families are discussing your media image with you, but my goal is still your education. While this dispute happened off of school grounds, I still want to check in about your behavior. I was concerned that there could be some blow-back here at school.” 

“Nope, all good.” Danny gives the principal a cheery smile accompanied by a thumbs-up. 

“And yet, I wouldn’t have called you here if I believed that.”

“Like Fenton said. We are fine.”

“Then would you boys care to explain why I got an email from Mrs. Fischer about, and I quote, ‘an unusual air of competition’ in math class this morning?” Hammer phrases it as a question, but it’s obviously a direction. 

Danny shrugs and turns his head to look out the window. The scratching of Damian’s coloring picks up pace. 

Hammer closes his laptop, eyes flicking between the two students in front of him. Damian is– of course –at the top of the grade, even despite his emotional outbursts at times. Though it has to be said that he has made much improvement over the years. Unfortunately, it seems that all his hackles have been raised again. As for Danny, he is not far behind Damian and other than various leaves for medical purposes, he has a spotless file. If Danny applied himself to his classes more and scored higher grades, he could even keep up with Damian.

“Boys. You should know that if this behavior continues– especially on school property where you become a risk to each other and your fellow students –then you would have to sign a No-Contact Agreement.”

“Wait, hold on.” Danny looks at the principal. “Doesn’t that go on our permanent record?”

“Not exactly. It will appear on your high school transcript which will be seen by any programs that you apply to after graduation,” Hammer clarifies. 

The colored pencil snaps in Damian’s hand, his voice holding no place for argument. “Absolutly not.” His death shroud seems to grow spines and radiate fury as it grates against Danny’s aura.

“Then you’re going to have to come to some kind of agreement about your behavior.” 

Danny turns his attention to Damian. He pulls his aura closer.

Damian stares back, the muscle twitching in his jaw. He forces himself to take a deep, slow breath and let it out. Friends. They’re supposed to seem like friends. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

“Won’t happen again,” Danny finishes, both of them remembering yesterday’s agreement between their families. 

“Then I am trusting your word.” Hammer takes their hall passes and writes down for them to return to the classroom. “And I am keeping my eye on you, along with your teachers. I’ll let them know of our conversation.”

Together, Danny and Damian leave Principal Hammer’s office and return to Mrs. Fischer’s room. The walk in the halls is deathly silent. They don’t look at each other again for the rest of class. 

~~~

Danny lets himself get lost in the coursework of his AP Latin class. A dead boy studying a dead language, the irony isn’t lost on him. At least the language class is an elective subject that Vlad has consistently allowed Danny to choose over the years. 

Mondays are always grammar days and today Mr. Ling is grilling the class on conjugation charts in all the tenses: past, present, future, perfect and imperfect subjunctive, conditional, and such. It’s fun when they repeat the pronunciations as a group because it sounds like they are chanting demon summonings. For an AP class, it’s pretty easy, but it’s a nice way to start the week and Mr. Ling is always saying that the basics must become second nature to them. 

So, Danny is perfectly happy to fill out the verb tense conjugation charts for 45 minutes and almost completely forget about prickly Damian. At least until homeroom. 

Unfortunately, Mondays are also an “All-In” day which means that Danny has to stay in Mrs. Fischer’s room and can’t get a pass to go to the STEM lab to work with his robotics team like he usually does. Damian is also there, of course. If Danny had to guess, he thinks that Damian would get a pass for the music or art room usually. 

They share a brief glance and sit in their opposite corners of the room. Danny uses the time to get a headstart on his homework and Damian reads manga. 

3rd period is AP Physics and Mr. Stratt is rather old-school when it comes to the seating charts being in alphabetical order by first name. Luckily for them, Danny and Damian’s names are so similar that they share a desk and are going to be lab partners for the first semester. 

“Fenton,” Damian greets as Danny joins him at their table.

“Sup.” Danny aims for causal, but it must’ve been too strong out of the gate because Damian looks offended by the familiarity, so Danny corrects to the same flat tone that Damian had used. “Damian.” 

Damian doesn’t say anything else as he flips to a new page in his lab book and gets ready for class to start. Danny follows his example. 

Mr. Stratt starts the class by placing a ramp on the central lab table. “This week, we will be learning about Impulse and Momentum. You will come up to the ramp where I will give you a ball and you have three tests at a given measurement to see where the ball lands. Then I will give you a different measurement and your task today is to predict the new place on the floor your ball is going to land. Using the scientific method: create an equation, test your prediction, and report on if your findings confirmed your procedure or not and why.” 

Some of the balls on Mr. Stratt’s desk include a pool ball, a tennis ball, a pingpong pall, a whiffle ball, and a bouncy ball. The problem is straightforward enough. Danny and Damian go up to the teacher’s lab table. 

Mr. Stratt gives them the wiffle ball and tells them to drop it at measurement marker 8. They watch it roll down the ramp, across the table, and fall approximately between marker 6 and 7 on the floor. Mr. Stratt gives them the new measurement of marker 5 on the ramp. After doing another two rolls and noting down their various measurements, Danny and Damian return to their table. 

In addition to velocity from the pull of gravity with the angle of the ramp, they have to account for the velocity of the ball rolling on the table and the mass of the ball. 

There is some back and forth of discussion as they brainstorm. (Well, more like Danny trying to engage Damian in problem solving and Damian remarking on the points of fact. (AKA: the same song and dance they’ve been doing since the start of the school year.))

They know that they can calculate the velocity from marker 8 with the distance of the ramp and the time it took the ball to roll down. So if they change the distance, they can predict the time it takes the ball to descend from measurement 3 and calculate the new velocity. 

Then they do the same process for the ball rolling across the table. After descending from marker 8, the ball left the table at a velocity of X to hit the floor at point Y; then after rolling down from marker 3, the wiffle ball will hit the new measurement on the floor at point Z. 

To double check their work, they do the math all over again. 

Mr. Stratt calls the class back together and students go up with their table partners to briefly present their equations and state their predictions before letting their ball roll down the ramp to test their theory. 

By the time that it’s Damian and Danny’s turn, no one has landed their ball exactly right and have had an error margin of a few inches. No two equations have yet to be written the same way. Danny is not liking their odds. Damian is looking smugly confident that they’re going to be the first ones to get it right.

“Thank you Hannah and Evan,” Mr. Stratt says. “Danny and Damian, your turn.” 

Danny uses his journal to present the equation on the projector, briefly explaining their reason behind where they placed velocity and gravity in the equation. Damian puts the wiffle ball at marker 3 on the ramp and lets it go. 

The ball hits the floor much lower than their prediction. Well, that was the worst Danny could hope for. But why did that happen? He thought their numbers were pretty spot on. 

Damian’s lips twist into a frown, his shroud of death scraping against Danny’s aura to the point of making Danny’s skin crawl. 

“Bummer, better luck next time. Thank you Danny and Damian. Chelsea and Caleb, it’s your turn.” Mr. Stratt waves up the next table as Damian and Danny go to sit down. 

Damian sits in his chair, watching the other groups with eyes that nearly seem to burn, his shroud chafing against Danny’s aura. Under the fluorescent lights, Damian’s eyes are a thin, pale brown. 

After the last few groups don’t get it right either, Mr. Stratt gives them some hints. “When determining the momentum of an object, you also need to consider the mass. As the ball moves across the table and falls, it experiences drag through air resistance.”

Oh! That totally makes sense! They hadn’t taken that into account. 

Mr. Stratt opens one of the cupboards to reveal small weighing scales. “I don’t have enough per table, so share and find the mass of your ball. You’ll have ten minutes to retry your calculations and make a new prediction.”

Danny immediately stands up and says to Damian, “I’ll get the scale. Be right back.” 

Grabbing a scale, Danny weighs the wiffle ball and writes down the numbers before passing the scale to the next person. Back at the table, he shows Damian. “It’s only 0.3 ounces, which is the same as 9 grams.” 

“Right.” Damian raises a single eyebrow in mock surprise. “It’s very light. We knew that already.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, now we have the numbers and can try again.” Danny is already reworking their equation. 

Damian watches Danny write, tapping his pen on the table. After a moment of frustrated silence, he contributes. “Multiply the velocity by the mass.” 

The second round of testing goes much better. Their classmates show the changes they made in their equations and test the drop again. Most pairs get their drop point within centimeters and a few still miss by an inch or so. Danny feels more confident this time, but Damian seems apprehensive. 

Apparently, it is warranted as they miss their point by roughly three inches. 

Now why did that happen? Danny’s eyebrows crease together and he stares at the distance markers on the floor, rerunning the numbers in his head.

Damian frowns deeply, crossing his arms and glaring at the floor as if it has personally disappointed him.

Mr. Stratt chuckles lightly as he picks up the wiffle ball. “Good attempt, you two. The design of the wiffle ball makes this experiment a bit more difficult. The holes in the ball increase the effect of air resistance which increases the drag and lowers the mass. We’ll discuss air resistance and drag more during the week as they are crucial to understanding Impulse and Momentum.”

Ah, of course. That makes sense too, though Danny wants to know now. He doesn’t want to wait. “Right, thank you Mr. Stratt.” 

“You’re welcome. Now Chelsea and Caleb, your turn again.” 

Damian and Danny return to their seats, though Danny has to make a conscious effort of seeming casual as he moves his chair further away from Damian’s. His death shroud prickles and tosses like an angry sea, grating against Danny’s aura even as he reigns it in even closer to get away from the backlash.

Danny has heard of Damian’s temper before and has seen it for himself when he purposefully provokes Damian. During these first weeks of the school year, Damian has kept step-in-step with Danny in their lap experiments and even surpassed Danny at times by correcting their work. What Danny didn’t expect is the way that Damian seems to crumple now that they’ve been proven wrong.

When you know what to look for, it’s easy to see the anxiety that is masked with Damian’s every move. His breathing is slow and controlled, his pen tapping a steady beat on his lab book, and his back is ramrod-straight in perfect posture. 

His eyes slide over to Danny and he practically spits, “Stop staring, Fenton.” 

“We got it wrong, so what? We learned something new.”

“I don’t appreciate being set up for failure.”

“We weren’t set up for failure, it’s the scientific method, trial and error is how we learn.”

“Tt. Unlike some people, I don’t make mistakes.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Damian opens his mouth and then snaps it closed, muscle ticking in his jaw. 

Don’t poke the lion. Danny really shouldn’t poke the lion. “Aw, cat got your tongue?” Oops.

In a blur of motion, Damian whirls on Danny. 

He lunges across the space separating them, one hand grabbing the back of Danny’s chair to loom over him and the other hand stabbing the pen between Danny’s fingers where his hand is splayed out over his lab book. 

Damian is breathing hard as he repeats, “I don’t make mistakes.” 

“Woah, hey!” Mr. Stratt gasps. “Damian!” 

He would probably tell Damian to sit down or go in the hall or something about not attacking other students, but Damian is already storming out of the room, the door slamming closed behind him. 

Danny looks down at the pen lodged in his lab book. 

It’s a nice pen. Heavy metal died navy blue. Probably a model with refillable ink cartridges. A rich-kid’s pen. It’s lodged between his index and middle finger, millimeters away from the webbing that connects the two fingers. As much as it looks like it, Danny has a feeling that Damian didn’t miss. Slowly, he picks up the book and is not at all surprised to find that the lab table is noticeably dented from the tip of the pen (which is very much dented and ruined).

Mr. Stratt gently touches Danny’s shoulder. “Danny? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. He just surprised me is all.” 

“Dude didn’t even flinch,” Caleb whispers somewhere behind Danny and other voices from the class start to speak up. “He moved so fast!” “Damian is so violent. “That was scary!” “Why did he explode like that?”

“Alright, alright!” Mr. Stratt raises his hands for silence. “We may not understand his actions, but let’s not give Damian a harder time than he’s already having. He still deserves our respect, so we won’t be talking about him behind his back. I’m going to call the main office and inform them of what happened. In the meantime, you all have an exit ticket to fill out; the question is on the board.” 

After giving Danny one more once-over and a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, Mr. Stratt moves to the phone in the corner of the room and dials out. 

Danny stares at the projected slideshow asking, “What surprised you about today’s lab experiment on Impulse and Momentum?” 

It’s not the answer that Mr. Stratt will be looking for… but… if Danny is being honest… Damian surprised him. And Damian has a tendency to do that, apparently. 

Faintly, he can hear Mr. Stratt on the phone. “Hello, this is Stratt in room 347. Damian al Ghul Wayne has left the classroom after an outburst. Please have security find him and bring him to the main office for the rest of class. … Yes, that’s right. … Mhm, I’ll send a follow up email with specific details in a moment. … Thank you, goodbye.” 

Danny stretches out his hearing, taking only a moment to find the squeak of running sneakers. He has to suppress a smile when he hears Damian kick off the school’s outer wall and disappear into the city. Good luck trying to find him now. 

Absent-mindedly, Danny writes something like “wiffle balls are light” on the index card and turns it in as he leaves class. 

Period 4 Senior Civics is a blur and when lunch comes, Danny sits out in the quartyard where he can be alone. He’s not much help to his robotics team during period 5, just follows their directions as the guilt starts to settle into his bones. It’s not surprising when Damian is absent for 6th period AP English literature, but Danny does slump in his chair and stare at the book. 

Damian likes this class and is one of the more vocal students when it comes to reading allowed or discussing a passage. The lack of his presence is noticeable. 

Danny raises his head when someone pokes him in the shoulder with the eraser-end of a pencil. Tracy looks at him with wide eyes. “Is it true that you didn’t flinch at all when Damian attacked you? Weren’t you scared?”

Huh? What? Danny blinks at her in surprise. “Why would I be scared of Damian?”

Tuesday is as good a day as any for a second chance (or would it be third chance by now if yesterday was the second chance with the champagne-tower-incident being the first chance?), or at least it will be if Damian comes to school. 

Danny waits in his chair in 1st period AP statistics, trying not to be obvious about the fact that he is watching the door. He gives up when the bell rings. Damian may cut class from time to time, but he never arrives late to class. Damn stupid rich kid brat.

Nothing to it then. Time to slog through the extended classes of the Tuesday B-Day schedule. An hour and 40 minutes of three classes plus lunch and homeroom. Yipee. 

Period 1: AP Statistics (Actually, it’s kinda calmer than usual without Damian there to correct peoples’ mistakes.) ((He gets called back to Principal Hammer’s office and asked again if he and Damian need a No Contact Agreement. Danny declines.))

Homeroom: (It’s a movement day, so he goes to the robotics room.)

Period 2: AP Latin

Lunch: (It’s raining so Danny sits inside with a few people from his robotics team to finish brainstorming.)

Period 3: AP Physics (Mr. Stratt privately talks to Danny and asks if he wants his seat to be moved away from Damian. Danny declines.)

And then it’s time for Danny to go home. At least today he can go home and explain to Vlad that it’s not his fault this time and it’s all on Damian for not showing up. 

Oh ancients no, Vlad please, do not call the Wayne Manor, Danny and Damian will figure this out, it’s okay, the plan is going to work just fine, watch and see. 

Yeah, sure, Danny will swear that on his crown. 

~~~

Wednesday is a C-Day, so the first class of the day is period 4, Senior Civics. It’s kind of cool actually, in a way. 

Ms. Geovani introduces them to an economics simulator and they have to create their own country. First they have to name their country (Gothomlandia) and make a flag (bat symbol, of course). Then they have to create their own government positions and people run for office. Each student is given a role and each role has their own goal, while at the same time you have a household of 5 people to take care of with housing, food, insurance, electricity, “fun,” and stuff. There’s a lot of rules. 

By the time the bell rings, Danny is deep in scheming conversation with his table group (the batman theme is predictable and boring so they should do a coup). They start to pack up and a few people check their phones while grabbing their bags. 

Gavin leans over to Danny. “Hey, my group chat is blowing up saying that Damian is back today. My friends in the concert orchestra say he’s in class and he was ‘constipated while playing his violin.’ Just thought you might like a heads up after Monday.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks?” Danny picks up his bag. “It’s all cool, though.”

“Mhm,” Gavin hums, clearly unconvinced. “Not from what I’ve heard on the rumor mill.” 

“Nah, promise. We’re all chill.”

“Fine, suit yourself, I tried.” Gavin raises his hands in defense and leaves. 

Danny follows his classmates out of the room, turning on autopilot towards homeroom with Mrs. Fischer. 

Good. Good! This is good. Damian is back. They can get back on track and then he can finally have some good progress to report back to Vlad. They can talk, and- The thought of Damian’s piercing gold eyes has Danny freezing in his tracks, guilt twisting in his stomach. 

Well, they shouldn’t have to force it just yet. Monday was intense. Danny is pushed further into Damian’s life and Damian has an internal crisis about making a mistake in his friendship with Danny in their science experiment. 

Danny keeps walking, if maybe a bit faster. It’s just… Just business as usual. No need to be weird about it. 

He gets the pass from Mrs. Fischer to go to the robotics room, just like he always does. Afterall, Damian is probably just going to get a pass to go to the art or orchestra room. They don’t need to talk in homeroom. Another audience is really what they do not need. 

Going to the robotics room on Wednesdays is perfect because after homeroom, he’s already in the right place for period 5. And today is exciting because they can start building their new design! On Friday, there’s going to be a class competition on the reconfigured outdoor obstacle course. Danny’s team lost last week, so they’re starting completely from scratch and there’s lots to do and not enough time. 

They even consider staying in during lunch, but Mr. Silversmith kicks them out saying that he needs to eat lunch too and wants to go to the teacher lounge. Danny moans and groans with his team as they halfheartedly try to argue with Mr. Silversmith, more interested in teasing and being annoying than getting their way. 

A few minutes after the 5th period dismissal bell has rung, the robotics team disperses into the lunch room to find friends or to stand in line and order food. The options aren’t great today (as if mortal food ever has great options), but his human body has to eat and Danny mentally flips a coin before deciding.

He sits with some students from the mathletes team, Vanessa Smith next to him as she talks to William McCaffrey about an upcoming competition. The team isn’t meeting until after school on Friday, so Danny tunes them out, lost in thought while picking at his food (would be better if he could add some ectoplasm). The cafeteria buzzes with chatter around him and not for the first time in a long time, he misses his friendship with Sam and Tucker. But the distance was too great and they grew apart about a year ago. No use to really dwell on that.

At this point, he knows that he’s just avoiding Damian, but how in the Nine Infinite Realms is he supposed to befriend prickly Damian when they can’t even get through a lab experiment. Physics should be more neutral ground than whatever this mess is that their families are throwing them into.

Well, speak of the devil. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, a familiar death shroud brushing up against his aura. 

The chatter around him falls silent as a stiff voice says, “Fenton.”

Danny looks up to find the particular prickly person in question. “Damian?” Sometimes Damian does have lunches with the math team, but that’s usually just directly before or after a competition, and he sits on the opposite side of the table from Danny

“Yes, obviously, let’s go.” Damian turns on his heel, lunch box tucked under his arm and hands in the pockets of his school uniform. 

Danny scrambles to pick up his tray, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he follows Damian out of the cafeteria. 

Damian leads the way to the art classroom and gestures for Danny to sit across from him. Setting his tray down, Danny perches on the stool and drops his bag on the floor while Damian sets up his lunch. Danny tries to look anywhere else in the room and not watch Damian.

First he lays a napkin on the table before setting down his silverware and placing down his glass tupperware along with a thermos at the top corner of the napkin. Danny looks down at the beef gravy served over potatoes and canned tangerines with a chocolate milk carton on his cafeteria tray. Damn fancy rich people. They bring their own lunch to school instead of actually funding the cafeteria. 

“If we are going to make this arrangement seem believable, then we had better get to know one another,” Damian says with resignation as he cuts into a cheesy mushroom-steak served over a bed of black beans and wild rice. Their chef really pulls out all the stops, huh. 

Danny mixes together his beef and potatoes. “Oh, um, alright. What do you want to know?”

“You were not born in Gotham. You joined the academy in March of our freshman school year.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Damian sips from his thermos of tea– his eyes a cold, dull gold in the fluorescent lights –as he waits for Danny to elaborate.

Aw, shit. Okay. They’re actually gonna commit to the bit now.

“I lived with my parents in Amity Park and my older sister Jazz. Well, her name is Jasmin, but we call her Jazz. Um, my parents were scientists and they studied their passion and would teach us about it too when we were home. So, I would learn from them and build with them in the lab. Then one day there was an accident. A really bad one.”

Is Danny talking fast? He focuses on swirling his fork in the gravy instead of his sweaty palms. The words keep pouring out of his mouth.

“It was three years ago– plus a few months –in the summer before freshman year. I was in the lab watching Vlad and my parents work on their newest invention…” Danny stabs at the tangerines, ignoring the way his gut clenches and twists. “Um… It was supposed to be like this power converter thing… Jazz was at the library finishing her summer homework. She’s really smart and so she was taking as many honor and AP classes as she could. I can’t imagine the shock she must’ve had to come home and find everything reduced to rubble…

“Vlad saved me. I don’t really remember. One minute they were trying to figure out why it wouldn’t turn on, and the next…” Danny waves his left hand, brandishing the star shaped scar on his palm. He forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s not nauseous. He doesn’t need to run. He can talk about this. Just stick to facts. Damian doesn’t need to know about all the ghost shit. 

“Anyways, there was a lot of discussion about where Jazz and I would go. She was a few months out from being 18 and I was 14 at the time. Mom had a sister, but she lives off the grid out in the woods so it was determined that she wasn’t the best fit. Vlad is our God Father, so obviously he was fighting for us. Mom and dad didn’t have a will or anything to say what they would have wanted, so Vlad was the next choice. 

“Jazz kept counting down the days and telling me that as soon as it was her birthday, she’d do the paperwork for my custody and we’d stay together.” Memories swim in Danny’s eyes, his gaze long and distant as he stares out the window. “But I saw the university applications she left abandoned on her desk. We had money from the life insurance alongside some patent royalties we got for a few of our parents’ inventions, but she’d have to get a job. Maybe both of us would have had to so that we could’ve kept a roof over our heads and food on the table. I couldn’t ask that of her. 

“She still had to finish her senior year. I’ve watched her plan so much for her future. She wants to be a psychologist. So now she is studying at Stanford University and she’s doing really well too,” Danny smiles. “She’s made the dean’s list and she’s in several national honor societies and this semester she’s helping one of her professors with a research project.”

While Danny had rambled, Damian opened the smaller tupperware to munch on apple slices that are cut to look like they have bunny ears. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks… I guess. It’s whatever.” It never gets easier, telling people or hearing their sympathy. Really, what can be said? It fucking sucked: Jack and Maddie’s deaths and funeral, being hospitalized, a temporary emergency fostercare placement, talking in circles with Jazz, and then on top of it all, he got creepy ghost powers!

“You said that you and Masters were in the lab too. How were you spared? And you haven’t explained how you came to Gotham,” Damian says in that brick-wall way of his. It’s starting to feel more like an interrogation than a conversation.

“Like I said, Vlad saved me, put his body in harm's way to save me,” Danny grits out. “But we didn’t make it out unscathed and both of us were hospitalized for weeks. When the custody got sorted out, Vlad bought a house in Amity Park so Jazz and I could keep going to Casper High.”

Danny swallows hard, rubbing his right thumb over the metal bracelet on his left wrist, absentmindedly playing with the clasp. He doesn’t have to bring up the attack. Damian doesn’t need to know anything at all about the GIW’s lab. “After everything that happened, I… wasn’t handling things well. There was…” Danny frowns, breathing slowly through his nose.

Facts only. That’s all that Damian needs to know. Not the (literally) gory details. And he can’t have Damian thinking that he’s weak. It’s just the same story that was told to the press. Danny can huddle that. This is fine. “With all the changes that happened, Vlad, Jazz, and I decided that it would be best to have a fresh start, to have a place that we could make our own. Vlad has a castle in the Wisconsin countryside, but it’s more of a vacation house than a home, not to mention the distance from the closest high school. The other location that he had the best roots in was Gotham.” 

“I see. Dalv Co. has been a long time competitor of Wayne Enterprises so you moved here with your guardian.” The whole time, Damian has watched Danny with stupid, intensely focused eyes, like he’s taking apart Danny’s words and neatly examining each morsel. 

Now, Danny is the one that wants to attack Damian, lay him out on a broken down table this time and snarl defensively at him. 

Danny nods, picking up the chocolate milk carton to pick at the seams. “He named me as his heir when I chose him over Jazz.” Or at least, that’s how Vlad sees it, so Danny is stuck with all the glory that comes with following his uncle’s footsteps. Jazz wouldn’t do it for herself, so Danny chose to put his sister and her future first. Actually, it’s been a while. He should give her a call soon, see how her second year of university is treating her.

“And yet you won’t take his last name?” Damian asks, though his tone states it as a fact. 

“No. I won’t lose my parents’ name or the name that connects me to my sister.”

Damian nods, his expression begrudgingly giving approval. “You are loyal, that’s a valuable quality.” 

“Thanks. I think.” Danny takes a hesitant sip of his chocolate milk. It takes two tries to get it down. “Well, I just spilled my guts to you. Now it’s your turn to tell me about yourself.” Hopefully Danny isn’t too obvious with how quickly he changes the conversation.

“What would you like to know?” Damian sets his thermos down and delicately folds his hands over the napkin on the table. 

Danny stares at the absolutely infuriating boy sitting across from him. He just talked for like 10 minutes! Revealed his entire tragic backstory! But now Damian wants to play 20 questions for his own life history? Civil. They’re supposed to be Civil. “Alright. Well. Let’s start easy then. Tell me about your family.”

“There are a lot of people in my family. Be more specific.”

Fuckin… Danny tries not to gnash his teeth. “Your parents, then.” At least he can settle his own curiosities. He’s heard rumors about the Waynes.

“My father is Bruce Wayne and my mother is Talia al Ghul.”

“Your mother doesn’t live with your father, and they aren’t married,” Danny states. This is a well known fact and a scoop that the rumor mill has long since given up trying to figure out, even though it’s still whispered about. 

“Correct. I was raised with my mother’s background until I was around the age of 12. Then I came to live with my father to gain experience in and knowledge of the world.”

“Why’d you phrase it like that?”

Damian huffs, mildly rolling his eyes. “My mother and her father cared for me first. The strength of the mind and body is very important to them. Together, they oversaw my education through rigorous lessons. I quickly surpassed peers of the same age in reading, writing, speaking, mathematics, and physical feats.”

Danny nods along. This too is also known in the school. Damian works efficiently and quickly compared to other students and after completing his school work he turns his attention to additional online courses. Last year– their junior year of high school –he had even started taking college courses and the rumor this year is that he already finished his AA degree. Although, so far he is not beating the allegations that he escaped a cult by moving in with his father. 

“However,” Damian continues, “my mother and grandfather had a falling out. A disagreement about the next steps in my education. My mother did not want me to continue being so sheltered, so she sent me to my father when I was 12 years of age.”

Yeah, that is definitely suspicious cult-phrasing, but as much as Danny enjoys baiting Damian, they are unfortunately supposed to be getting along. “How did you feel about living in Gotham?”

“I was not concerned for my safety, if that is what you are insinuating. My siblings happened to be the more difficult adjustment.”

“How so?” Danny asks around a mouthful of potatoes. 

“I was used to being an only child,” Damian states as if that answers everything.

In a way, Danny supposes that it does. “Then tell me about your siblings.”

This time, Damian really rolls his eyes. Like really rolls his eyes. Hey, did you find a brain back there? “I have a lot of them. Be more specific.”

“Dude, I do not follow celebrity news. I only really know Tim and that’s because Vlad complains about him. Plus, I met him and Dick at your house yesterday.”

“My father’s children in order are: Richard Grayson, who is the oldest; then Jason Todd and Cassandra Cain, who are roughly the same age; followed by Timothy Drake; and then me. Those are the four who are legally adopted. Duke Thomas was a ward of Father’s for a handful of years before his father woke up from a coma, though he still comes to the Sunday family dinner. Stephanie Brown and Barbra Gordon are also close family friends and join us frequently on Sundays.”

While he doesn’t closely follow the news, people talk about them a lot and the Wayne are celebrities enough that Danny can roughly put the names to the faces. “Fair enough, that is a lot of people. What’s one fact about each of them?”

Damian thinks for a moment before counting them off on his fingers. “After quitting his job as a police officer, Richard is working to become a non-profit lawyer for defending minors. Jason is a substitute teacher and also does odd jobs and volunteer work around the city, especially in the district where he grew up. Cassandra is on track to become a prima ballerina while also working part-time as a speech therapist. Timothy, while you know him as a CEO, is also skilled at photography and is currently working on his first exhibition. Duke is in university with a major in communications and a minor in social work. Stephanie is in a pharmaceutical program and has her first internship as a pharmacy assistant. And Barbra is the tech expert at the Gotham Public Library.” 

“Wait,” Danny says, leaning forward as if he just realized something and this isn’t a thing that he’s been curious about for years. “Isn’t Jason the one that died.”

“I thought you said you don’t follow celebrity news.” Damian hedges.

“First off, it was all over the news when he died and when he came back. Second of all, call it a morbid curiosity or a desperate hope for… them…”

Damian nods a bit, seeming to understand. “Then you know that Jason and Father were in the wrong place at the wrong time while overseas. Whether it was a terrorist attack or a ransom case gone wrong, the Joker killed Jason. Due to the funeral being a close casket, the press does not know that Father buried the only remains that could be found from the explosion: the tattered clothes Jason had been wearing that day and his right pinky finger. Unbeknownst to them– at the time, I had not yet joined the family –Jason had survived. However his injuries left him with severe head trauma which induced amnesia. It was years later when he had recovered enough that he returned to us, and eventually reappeared in the public eye.”

“That’s the story that Bruce said in an interview. Well, except for the pinky finger part.” 

“Yes, what other answer would there be?”

“Alright,” Danny hums, finishing off his tangerines. “Then what’s a fact about yourself?” 

“I just told you several.” Damian levels him with a look.

“What is one fun fact about yourself?” Danny retries.

Damian looks around the art room, eyes settling on a rack of drying water colors before he returns his focus to Danny. “Every Wednesday after school I volunteer at local non-kill animal shelters.”

“Oh cool, which one?”

“All of them.”

Danny pauses. “Say what?”

“Not all in one day, obviously,” Damian states with an amused smirk. “I have a list that I rotate through.”

“No, yeah, obviously,” Danny parrots. However… “That’s actually really cool. You must see a lot of different animals.”

“Yes, that is part of the fun.” 

Finally, the bell rings to release them from their forced conversation and the boys pack up their lunches. 

Damian is the first to finish with quick and precise movements, so he stands and pins Danny down with a look. “That will be our first activity. This Saturday, meet me at the Paws Shelter at 3pm.” He doesn’t wait for a response, turning on his heel to go to their 6th period class. He’d like to think that Damian is fleeing. 

“Alright, sounds fun Damian,” Danny mutters to himself, “I’ll see you there.”

Danny could swear that when everyone sits down for AP Lit, their shoulders are tense and they’re shooting nervous glances between Damian and Danny. They’re not even sitting near each other!

But Damian brushes it off and continues as normal, barely paying attention to anyone except the teacher. Everyone turns in the essay that’s due today and then Damian is leading the class read-aloud, not getting tripped up even once by the Shakespearian lexicon of Hamlet. 

The churning in his gut finally settling, Danny smiles to himself, small and hopeful. Good. This is good.

Danny Fenton was just 14 when his parents built a very strange machine, it was designed to view a world unseen, and that day changed everything.

“They don’t have to know,” Danny says, wincing and panting as he pats the dirt level with a shovel.

“They’re going to wonder about how the portal started working,” Sam points out. She’s kneeling in the dirt by Danny, replacing the grass squares that they had dug up. The grass behind the shed was already sparse, so the torn up bits don’t look too noticeable.

“Maybe you should at least tell them that there was an accident?” Tucker hefts over a large rock and places it on top of the disturbed earth. “At least say you were in the room when it turned on and that there was some feedback. You don’t look great, man, you might need to go to the hospital.” 

“I’m fine. It’s fine. They don’t have to know.” Danny touches his stinging chest before he wipes his hand over his sweaty forehead, frowning when his fingers still come away with streaks of blood. “I still have a body.” 

“So you still need to take care of your corporeal form!” Sam gestures to him. Her mascara has dried in tear-streaks down her cheeks, eyeshadow smudged and eyeliner gathered in the corners of her eyes. At any other time, Danny and Tucker would tease her for looking more raccoon than goth. 

Shortly after Sam, Tucker exclaims, “You crawled out of the portal bleeding everywhere!”

They’d used paper towels and damp washclothes from the lab cabinets to clean up the worst of him, after he’d split from his body and was floating above his own corps- 

No. It’s fine. Don’t think about it. It’s fine.Sam and Tucker had been so gentle with him while he tried to catch his breath and remember who he was is. All the bloody paper towels and washcloths are buried now too, but he still keeps finding blood. It’s at the edge of his hair and in the creases of his skin, like his body is one gaping wound that keeps bleeding, red and tacky and real. It’s real, this is real. The green smudges are just residue. It’s not part of him.

“They have a point,” a female voice says behind them. 

The three jump and turn, metaphorical hackles raised in alarmed defense. No one else was supposed to see this, who else could possibly be home, the sun only just set and they’re standing over a-

“Danallee…” Danny heaves out a painful breath, his brain scrambling to catch up. “You snuck up on us. I know you didn’t want to see it, but it’s over now. You got cleaned up? Good. You look better.” Why is he talking so fast?

She looks down at her hands, expression pinched in confusion before she winces and touches her head. “Yeah, I’m fine, bro-bro. We’re fine.” 

Sam’s posture loosens slowly and she gets to her feet. “Geez, Ells, you spooked us.” 

“Not my fault that you didn’t hear me leave the house,” Ellie scoffs. 

Tucker pulls out his PDA and nervously starts tapping the stylus on the screen. “We should probably get inside. Your parents said they’d only be away for the day. There’s no telling when they might be home and I think I left my video recorder running in the… down there.”

“Yeah, yeah, good point.” Danny’s left hand spasms around the handle of the shovel, his fingers numb and tingly. “Let’s clean up.”

Sam stands, dusting off her ripped leggings before looping her arm with Ellie’s and going inside the house. Ellie looks over her shoulder, eyes locked on the disturbed dirt and her face pale, until they’re around the shed and it’s out of her view.

Pausing in the doorway of the shed, Danny takes a moment to catch his breath, his chest tight and sore. He's not wearing his binder anymore, yet his breathing still feels restricted.

“You sure you’re good, man?” Tucker places a concerned hand on Danny’s back and Danny has to force himself not to flinch from the contact. “When you crawled out of the portal… you were…”

“Snow white hair and glowing green eyes?” Danny finishes for him. “I remember… must have been some kind of crazy ecto-contamination.”

“The stuff was all over you…”

Danny brushes Tucker off, trying really hard to not think about the red and green streak he made when Ellie dragged him out of the portal, also covered in green herself, but thankfully not as hurt. It was stupid of her to run in when she saw him get electrocuted.

Sighing, Danny puts the shovels away and closes the shed. “Let’s get inside.” 

After Tucker runs back downstairs to grab his video recorder, the four of them hunker down in Danny’s room, games forgotten and pizza left out, the house feeling unnaturally cold and still. Almost like it’s… not living…

“Did we really just bury our…” Danny can’t bring himself to finish that sentence, his throat closing up around the rush of panic and fear. 

“Bodies…? Yeah…” Ellie supplies for him, ever the dutiful twin sister. “Born together, die together… or something.”  

Tucker’s eyes are focused on the video recorder, even as he takes off his red kangol to scrub a hand over his buzzcut. “I’m sorry for the dare, I never thought-”

“No, it’s fine,” Danny cuts him off. “I never thought it was possible either.”

“But now there’s a portal down there,” Sam says, her face somber. She’s cleaned off her makeup since coming into the house. 

“Our parents’ life-work has been proven real, and all I got was a headache.” Elle hugs her knees to her chest. She’s wearing pajama shorts and one of Danny’s oversized hoodies. 

They may be identical twins, but she doesn’t have to keep stealing his clothes. Danny doesn’t have the energy to argue with her now, though. Nausea is starting to roil through his stomach alongside the squeezing of his lungs as the reality of what happened settles in. 

Wait, shit, did they clean the decontamination shower? He doesn’t want to go back down there…

He plucks at the threadbare knees of his pajama pants. They had to bury his clothes because they were so marred with blood and ectoplasm. Sam had run upstairs to grab him his pajamas so he could change. Damn, now he's down to two binders. Maybe he’d feel more settled in his body (his very real and very alive body!) if he put on another one. But with the ache in his arm and chest… he just needs to rest. 

Sam and Tucker are digging into their overnight bags, starting to get ready for bed, when everyone hears the front door open downstairs and they freeze. 

“Dan-O! We’re home!” Jack hollers cheerily into the house. 

More quietly, they can hear Maddie tell him to “be quiet, what if the kids are sleeping.” 

The blood pulses in Danny’s ears as his heart skips a beat. Crap, shit, fuck and balls. He was hoping for another hour at best. 

“Hey, Danny?” Someone asks him, their voice a million miles away.

His room pitches and swoops around him, a ship lost in the storm of electricity that crackles through his blood. Danny presses his numb left hand to his chest, struggling to pull in enough air to make a breath, his lungs too tight. 

Ellie straightens up, eyes wide. “Someone catch him! I think he’s going to-”

Danny’s vision goes black and green as he keels forward and hits the deck.

~~~

It’s sort of like an out of body experience. That is, if you’re watching your own life play out from below water and that water is also reflecting on a mirror you’re watching. 

Your friends grab you as you fall.

Your twin sister runs down the stairs, shouting, “Mom! Dad! Help”

Your Mom and Dad freeze for a moment and stare drop jawed at their daughter before barreling up the stairs to you. 

There’s an ambulance ride where Mom holds your hand all the way to the hospital and strokes your hair exactly like she did when you were a baby. Dad is probably following in the car with your sister and as much as you want them to come too, your friends are probably sent home feeling like everything is their fault.

The paramedics intubate you and give you an IV. They ask Mom all sorts of questions about your health history and family health history that she answers. Yes, of course you are fully vaccinated. No, heart conditions do not run in the family. No, we just got home, I’ll have to ask his friends what they were doing. Yes, of course he’s clean of drugs and alcohol. 

You’re rushed into a private emergency care room at the hospital where a doctor shines a light in your eyes and takes three vials of your blood to run a CBC with Differential and a Metabolic Panel. Another doctor gives you an Echocardiogram, and then you get a Transesophageal Echocardiography, followed by an Electrocardiogram. Next you’re rushed upstairs and run through an MRI. Your Mom does not get to hold your hand. 

Once they diagnose that yes, really, a 14 year old that was perfectly healthy yesterday is now having a full blown heart attack, they start treating you. 

They try Anticoagulant blood thinner and clot busting Thrombolytics. You do not have a blood clot.

They give you a Beta Blocker to make your heart beat slower. It helps for a few hours. Your Dad sits at your bedside and tells you stories in the Intensive Care Unit, telling you you’ll be okay, but he has to press the emergency button above your bed when you start sizing. 

Your sister sits in the hall and cries. Your mom signs the emergency surgery agreement forms. The doctors rush you into the operating room and the mirror goes black as you’re dragged deeper under the water by anesthesia. No one can hear you scream. You don’t want to die again.