Chapter Text
Danny hurts.
He usually hurts, ever since he was fucking electrocuted, but the pain today is from the bruising on his ribs. One of the machines at home malfunctioned and shot a bean bag at him. His parents freaked, of course.
Sam's sitting next to him, digging in her bag for painkillers, even though he's already taken some this morning.
"You took Tylenol, right?"
Danny nods, watching balefully as she reaches deeper. "I took some this morning. You don't need to give me more."
Sam scoffs, pulling out a large bottle. "You've been wincing every time you turn. It's also been four hours."
He sighs, refusing to flinch at the pain. He lets Sam place four tablets in his hand, then ignores the noise of disgust as he dry swallows.
"That's gotta be doing something to you," Tucker groans. "Aren't you supposed to take that with food?"
"Doesn't matter," Danny mutters. "I'll be fine."
Sam shoves the bottle back into her bag, and sets her arm on the table. "You haven't eaten lunch. Eat."
He looks at the food on his tray.
His stomach churns.
Some animal part of his brain recoils in disgust at the thought of even touching it.
"I think I might puke if I do that," Danny admits, quiet as he pushes the tray away.
"I haven't seen you eat anything all week," Tucker retorts. "The only thing you touched was that jello in the hospital."
Sam turns. "Wait, seriously? Danny, what the fuck?"
Danny looks away from them.
"Danny."
"What."
"How are you not back in the hospital??"
"More importantly," Tucker adds, "How do you not eat for a week?"
"Not hungry," he mutters. He's lying.
But the last time he ate a meal it came up an hour later.
"I'm telling your parents," Sam decides, digging out her phone. "This is out of hand."
"Don't," Danny hisses, fueled by some foreign part that's still waking up.
"Yes, dude," she grunts, wrestling Danny for the phone. "I do not want you to die."
While he was preoccupied with Sam, Tucker actually did what Danny was trying to stop.
"Hey, Mrs. Fenton?" Danny makes an attempt to snatch the phone out of his hands. He doesn't even know why, but he needs to. "Has Danny been eating anything?"
"shut up."
"No," Tucker replies, "Sam and I haven't seen him- hey!"
Danny gets his hands on the phone, but Sam gets it away from him again. "Sorry Mrs. Fenton," she says into the phone, "I don't know what you've said but Danny's being a total dirtwad-" she shoves him back with a hand- "and not letting us talk to you!" She tosses the phone back to Tucker, and then traps Danny in a hug.
"Yeah, I'm back," Tucker replies, aggressively glaring at him. "Yeah. Mhm- okay. I'll tell him. Uhm, jello." He sets the phone down, clearly done with the call. "Your mom's going to talk to you about this. She told me to tell you, in case you didn't hear."
Danny tries to repress the feral whine in his throat and fails. The look on his friends' faces are not nice.
He doesn't want to be treated like an animal.
He's fine.
Sam shoves the milk carton in his face.
He drinks it, not bothering to disguise his reaction.
Sam is, of course, in charge of making sure Danny actually goes home.
Instead of punching her and running off. Or climbing a fence and running off. Or just running off in general.
She can actually catch him, unlike Tucker.
She still keeps a hand on his backpack, because he's been acting scary. The closest she has to a comparison is when Tucker found a kitten in an alley and took it home. The thing was terrified of everything, and tried to bat everyone away. They had to give it away to a specialty foster because it kept biting Tucker.
Which is... not a fun comparison.
He keeps scratching at the bandaging on his arm, and then at his chest. back and forth.
The movement gets more aggressive as they walk. It's scary.
He actually half-snarls when they stand in front of his house, and actively tries to pull away.
She levels him a frown. "Danny, no."
The closest thing she gets to a response is him pulling away slightly harder.
Sam resorts to dragging him to the door by his bag, and then his shirt when he shrugs it off.
She grunts with the effort. Why is he being so avoidant?
More importantly, though, she notices that he's far lighter than he was a week ago. Kicking the door open, she pointedly ignores the shriek Danny lets out when she bodily picks him up and carries him into the living room.
Right where his mother and sister are.
She tosses him onto the couch, and he immediately tries darting for the door.
"Danny what is wrong with you," she pants, blocking off the door as Mrs. Fenton quickly turns on the usually unnecessary defenses.
Nothing.
Everything?
he feels wrong. He's hungry. But that's not right, because every time he looks at food he feels like throwing up.
He feels like an animal. A caged one.
His mom is close.
Why does she smell like food?
It's wrong.
He backs away from her.
(He wants to bite her.)
There's something in the basement.
(Danny is in the basement.)
He needs out.
He ducks below her arm.
He's out of their reach.
Almost.
The basement is open.
Danny is in the basement.
Something grazes his shoulder, and he jumps sideways, knocking into a container, and it breaks as they both tumble down.
(That animal in his chest shrieks.)
… Why is he running from his mother?
Danny's covered in ectoplasm, head to toe, and it's in his mouth.
(it tastes better than anything he's had before.)
He licks his lips and sits up. Why are they looking at him like that?
"Danny," his mom starts, steps cautious and hands out. "Are you alright?"
Sam is staring at him.
Jazz is on the stairs. Her hands are shaking.
"I'm..." Danny wipes his face off, hand stopping over his mouth. He hums.
His mom crouches down in front of him. "Daniel. Look at me."
He looks.
Her brow is knit. "What was the last thing you've eaten?"
Danny thinks. Lunch?
No, no, that's not right. did he..?
He moves the hand away from his mouth.
When did he last eat?
Why can't he remember?
His mom stands him up, wiping ectoplasm off his arms. "We're getting you cleaned up, and then you are going to eat something."
Danny blinks, and suddenly they're alone in the kitchen. He hops up to sit on the counter, even though his mom always tells him not to.
She doesn't say anything, just looks at him for a moment.
His mom digs in the fridge. She pulls out fruits, and milk, and ice, and pulls out the blender. He blanches.
"I forgot we had a blender," Danny mumbles, and startles when Mom spins around and grabs his shoulders.
"You're talking to me," she breathes, and hugs him.
This is.. officially weird. She's also weirdly warm, even though she's usually colder than he is. Danny runs his tongue over his teeth absently.
he tastes electricity and lime.
Danny watches her assemble something- smoothie, he sighs- with absurd speed. The blender is painfully loud, and he covers his ears. Mom looks at him with a frown.
It's quiet quickly, though, and she hands him a very large cup full of a very purple smoothie. The straw is bright green.
Unlike lunch, the smell doesn't make him gag, but it still isn't.. nice.
"Smells weird," he mumbles. Reluctantly, he takes a sip.
Logically, it should taste like the fruits that were in there. Logically, it should taste like plums and blueberries and milk.
It barely tastes like anything, except sweet rot.
Danny pulls a face.
"What's wrong, honey?" Mom actually sits on the countertop next to him.
"I don't think you did that right," he mutters. "Doesn't taste right."
Mom gently removes the cup from his hands, and takes a sip.
"Mm, no, it tastes right," she frowns. "What are you tasting?"
Danny scowls as she gives the cup back to him. "Nothing. Maybe a tiny bit of bad fruit."
He turns away from her gaze, and forces another sip, cringing as he does.
"Is that why you aren't eating?"
Danny hums. Maybe. (Yes.)
Mom gives him a one-armed hug. "It must be from what happened."
"Makes sense," he mumbles, leaning slightly away from the heat she's radiating. She pulls him closer.
"We'll work around it, then," Mom smiles. "Just like we always do."
Enforced by his friends and mom, Danny is going to be eating three meals a day.
Mostly consisting of smoothies made by his mother, after they went through an arduous day of him trying disgusting combinations until they found the best combination.
Which tastes like absolutely nothing to him.
It's mostly lime and canned pineapple, and apparently Sam thinks it tastes like getting electrocuted.
He'd make a joke about it, but he can't bring himself to.
The rest of his meals are mostly-raw meat. Tucker thinks it's hilarious. It still tastes horrible.
At least it isn't coming back up, though.
The strange part is that he feels hungry, still.
Not in his stomach. It's somewhere in his chest, aching, right below where the worst of his scar is.
He tries to ignore it.
It doesn't work.
The hungry-but-not feeling only gets worse as he goes. He can't think. Mr. Lancer sends him to the nurse in class. He gets sent home on Wednesday. His friends stop by. He bites Tucker. They leave. He picks at his dinner. He goes to bed.
He wakes up in the night.
(he can see, clear as day. It slips his mind that that's not normal.)
He's starving.
He slips down the stairs, following the pull in his chest, through the kitchen, opening the door to the basement, to the portal.
He wants to go in.
He can't go in.
He'll die if he does.
He'll starve if he doesn't.
An abstract thought walks through the portal.
Something in him snaps at the sight. He lunges forward.
His mouth tastes like a rainstorm in a cave, auroras in the water.
The streak of consciousness bleeds rainbow black, and it traces his mind with colors.
He understands it, on an instinctual level, and sinks into the sound.
Doorway child, It croons in his dying wail. You are a predator. Do not pretend to be tame.
Every cell in his body hears the feeling.
His soul knows the true name of the thing that swirls around him. The river. Change-bearer.
His hands cup in its guidance, guide something icy electric to his lips.
He feels alive.
His chest thrums in contentment, the River bearing him towards his bed, reading truths into his soul.
Danny sleeps well that night.
He starts stealing vials from the basement after that night.