Chapter Text
Maddie and her husband were just about ready to wrap up another late night in the lab when news of Amity’s latest ghost attack finally reached them. Barely taking the time to be startled, the two of them packed up their gear and raced to the scene, the idea of rest instantly forgotten and postponed indefinitely.
The pair could already hear the sounds of an ongoing ghost fight as the GAV skidded to a halt in the abandoned parking lot their trackers had led them to, wasting no time filing out and racing towards the noise. The two split up, hoping to catch their spectre of the week by surprise with two different angles of attack. Strategy was something they had been working on more, lately.
They both sped on as fast as their legs would carry them, but Maddie was always faster, bursting into the old warehouse before there was any sign of Jack arriving.
“Freeze, ghost scum!” she shouted dramatically as she brandished her weapon, a good old fashioned blaster, though quite a heavy one. She wound up following her own command for a split second as she took in the scene before her.
There were two ghosts this time, both ones she recognized. Hovering above her, laughing like a madman was the hunter ghost—Skulker, she thought it had called itself before. She hadn’t had many chances to study it up close.
Right as she’d walked in, she’d seen a streak of black, white, and green stemming from where it floated. Following the loose trail with her eyes, she spied a much more familiar face lying vulnerable on the ground.
Phantom.
The ghost who had managed to trick seemingly the entirety of Amity Park into senseless adoration through its ‘heroic’ deeds. Even her own children would try to defend it whenever the topic came up at home. While everyone else was content to believe its deception, she and Jack had seen right through it from the start.
She knew it was impossible for a ghost to have such charitable reasons for all the stunts it had pulled since the portal had first opened. Still, contrary to what some might think, she could in fact believe that the ghost thought of itself as a protector. After all, a ghost was driven by its own wants—lingering dreams of whoever they had once been. As such, she also knew that this was hardly true, no matter what it believed.
It could claim all it wanted to be some sort of benevolent force, only wanting to stop the other, evil ghosts from stealing, causing chaos, destroying things, hurting people. But oh, not me, never me! You see, I’m different, I would never (even though it had)! But try as it might to cry its own lingering humanity, its intelligence, she could see the baser instincts underneath—the ones that fueled its every move. Or, one in particular.
Territoriality, plain and simple.
If there was anything she did trust about Phantom, it was that it would indeed defend what it perceived as its own (which, unfortunately for all of them, seemed to be the whole of Amity) until it couldn’t anymore. What it didn’t understand, what it could never understand by nature of its existence, was that this only put everyone in more danger.
She had seen it already: the destruction left behind after its fights with other ghosts, the purposeful destruction of any ghost-hunting equipment that posed a danger to it, and the theft of anything else to use for its own purposes. Phantom didn’t truly care about any of the people in Amity, and never would, because it couldn’t.
It would continue to fight every ghost that dared to encroach on what it believed to be its own, uncaring of the havoc wrought by these increasingly violent fights. All of Amity would allow this to happen, look the other way when it destroyed businesses, schools, homes, because it had ‘saved the day.’
Before they knew what was happening, the entire town would be levelled, either through a fight so huge the destruction would be immeasurable, or because clean up and rebuilding couldn’t keep up the pace with the growing frequency of these fights. Because no matter what it claimed, Phantom did not care about Amity; whatever happened to anything in it, to the people in it, was inconsequential, so long as its territory was secure.
She and Jack alone could see this, could see Phantom for what it truly was, and they would not allow the logical conclusion of its 'heroic' tendencies to come to pass.
She could see it: this was her chance. The hunter ghost had done most of the work for her. Phantom wasn’t getting up, likely going nowhere anytime soon. If she just took the shot now, then Amity would be free of it, of this parasite, and be better off for it. Thinking of it that way, there was no real reason not to go for it.
Still…
Such a shot while it was already clearly injured would, as intended, likely spell the end of Phantom. A good thing, surely, but maybe not the best thing, not just yet.
Because even if it wasn’t in the way all of Amity Park’s teenagers and newscasters seemed to believe, Phantom was indeed quite special.
She and Jack had never been able to pin down what it was. Perhaps it was that it seemed to retain a somewhat more human appearance than many other ghosts, or the way it seemed that little bit more solid as its default, opaque where other ghosts held at least a slight translucent quality. The way it acted much the same as the kids their own children went to school with, indicating that it was a fairly recently formed ghost, and yet was already so powerful.
The way it seemed to know so much.
They had debated many times over what might be the cause of all its oddities, but they had never been able to settle on a single theory, could never confirm any of them.
Not without a closer look.
And oh, had they tried. Time and time again, they tried to capture Phantom, but every time, without fail, it managed to slip right through their fingers. No matter what they did, no matter what they threw at it, Phantom would always slip away.
But not this time.
This time, she had a real chance; this time, she could finally figure out what made it so different. It would be a scientific breakthrough, the likes of which was just too enticing to pass up.
She had to take it. The only one in her way was the other ghost, who had always had a strange fascination with Phantom (though she supposed she couldn’t exactly pass judgement there).
Still, she hesitated briefly, unsure of which route she should take. If she went straight for the one currently winning, Phantom would likely take the opportunity to slip away like always. Truly, this could be a golden opportunity if she played her cards right. Still, shooting directly at Phantom, no matter how low she set her weapon to, no matter what device she used to contain it, could cause more damage than she’d like; it did look pretty badly “injured” already.
As she deliberated with herself, she finally heard it—the crying.
It wasn’t the ghoulish wailing she was used to; the echoing, malicious screams or soft, wavering groans of lost souls. Or, well, it didn’t sound like it, at least. It sounded more like… whimpering, almost, like a wounded animal (or a child, she didn’t let herself think). Soft, hitching sobs that would have sounded pitiable coming from any other creature.
She shook the apprehension off, berating herself for getting distracted, and took aim, mind made up. The other ghost could wait. Her main priority was making sure that Phantom was secured. Hadn’t she already learned that it was an enemy they couldn’t afford to waste time with?
She saw its face in her crosshairs, twisted with what looked like pain, something like fear or confusion. She prepared to take the shot, not one to fall for such spectral imitations, when it began to speak.
“Mommy,” it cried shudderingly, and her blood ran cold, lungs suddenly an empty vacuum. “I want my mom.”
She rushed over, heard thundering in her chest when she heard the crash. In the center of the kitchen, Jazz stood, pale and horrified.
“It was an accident,” she whimpered, little hands trying desperately to soothe her sobbing brother.
What happened, what’s wrong, what did you do, she wanted to ask, but that was when Danny saw her.
“Mommy,” he wailed, and what could she do but sweep him up and coo in the hope of providing even the smallest bit of comfort? His tiny fists clenched the fabric of her jumpsuit tight, his face hidden in her shoulder as he sniffled and cried. She took the opportunity, then, to look him over, whispering softly to him all the while, gently bouncing him in her arms.
“It’s okay, you’re okay. Mommy’s here, sweetie,” she said, finding that his ankle was already discolored and swelling. She only hoped that it wasn’t a break. Jazz looked to the floor, sniffling and fighting down guilty tears. Now that wouldn’t do.
“Jazz, honey,” she said, making the little girl look up. “Why don’t you go get Daddy and tell him what happened? Danny needs to go to the doctor.”
“O-kay,” she said between stuttering breaths, wiping at her damp face with both hands. Before she could fully leave, Maddie pulled her close. She leaned down to press a kiss to her hair, careful not to jostle Danny too much in her arms.
“Now,” she said, turning to her little boy and forcing the worry out of her tone. “Let’s go get you some peas for that ankle, okay?”
The other ghost laughed in its face, sneering something about how pathetic it was, how disappointingly easy it was to take it down after it had put up a great fight so many times before, and now here it was, crying like a child. The words barely registered to her, Phantom’s desperate pleas echoing in her ears.
Mommy
I want my mom
The pleas of a child, crying for his mother. For someone to come and make it better.
And that shouldn’t have had any effect on her. She knew better, she knew the tricks and deceit of ghosts better than anyone—it was her job to know. And yet…
And yet, something turned in her stomach at the scene, and she suddenly had a very hard time believing that those tears were just for show. Not when it seemed hardly aware of what was happening anymore, let alone that she was even there.
It didn’t even seem to really know what it was saying, babbling some more about how much it hurt, begging for its mother to come and save it, and Maddie felt some switch suddenly flip in her mind.
She did not like Phantom; she didn’t trust its “hero” act and never would. She knew better than to trust anything a ghost said, no matter how human or non-threatening it managed to seem.
That did not mean she was willing to ignore the sounds of a child in pain, regardless of how real it was, regardless of whether said child could even be counted as one anymore.
That didn’t mean she could just stand by while he cried for someone who wasn’t going to come.
She took the shot.
The robotic ghost that had the upper hand only a moment ago was suddenly flung backwards, screeching in surprise. It seemed like it hadn’t noticed her, either. She had half a mind to be annoyed, but for the moment she simply appreciated having the element of surprise.
Phantom, meanwhile, didn’t move, apparently too out of it to even register the change. She ignored the thing inside of her that twisted up at the sight.
The other ghost prepared to move again, sights now trained on Maddie. She braced herself for a fight, hearing the whir of one of its many blasters, when she noticed the stolen Fenton Thermos that Phantom so famously sported laying on the ground. It had seemingly been knocked away from it sometime during the fight, several feet from its prone form. Without a moment to lose, she rushed over to snatch it up, sucking up the spirit right as it sprung forward to attack.
It howled and struggled, but she held her ground. It seemed that, despite its boasting, Phantom had managed to get in enough good hits of its own that Skulker was really no trouble for her in the end. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but she chose to be glad for the moment that it made her job easier.
Attaching the Thermos to her belt to worry about later, she turned back to the ghost boy. He still hadn't moved, eyes distant as they turned to watch her approach.
“Mom?” he asked in a voice so small, so hurt, so hopeful that it was killing her.
She wasn’t his mother. She didn’t trust a single thing about it, both on principle and from everything that she’d observed for herself. She knew what would happen, what it would do if she allowed it to continue to run free for even just a day longer.
But right now, she was seeing him for what he truly was—a child. A child who was obviously hurt, scared, and deeply confused. No matter what he really was, she just couldn’t bear to let him think he was alone.
“I’m here, honey,” she said, kneeling by his side and assessing the wounds that were struggling to heal themselves. She held back a gasp at the true extent of the damage.
From a distance, with the ghost boy already bathed in a wave of green light from their friend, she hadn’t been able to see the way that almost half of his torso was stained with his own ectoplasm, flowing from a gaping hole in his side. She knew that a ghost, if nothing else, could take a much heavier beating than any human could ever manage. But something like this? This, she wasn’t so sure about.
“Mom,” he rasped again, like he just couldn’t believe it, a hand rising weakly in an attempt to reach for her. Having pity on him, she caught it and squeezed gently, wondering what on Earth she should do. Distantly, she wondered when he had last seen his real mother, how long it must have been for him to be looking at her like that.
How bad of a beating it must take to make a ghost delirious.
“I’m scared,” he confessed, leaning towards her as much as he could manage without really moving.
“I know,” she croaked, conflict and worry and a strange sort of grief warring inside her. “It’s going to be okay.”
And the trust that flooded that luminescent green so easily, that made his muscles relax as much as the pain would allow, told her that she would do anything not to make a liar of herself.
Gently, gently, she gathered him into her arms and lifted him up, careful not to disturb him too much, and murmured for him to keep pressure on the wound. He nodded a bit sluggishly, though she wasn’t sure how effective his method actually was, hands trembling badly and fumbling just trying to find it.
She needed to get him out of there, fast.
Jack chose then to finally catch up, breathing heavily. His eyes brightened when he saw the ghost cradled in Maddie’s arms, rambling something about ‘finally catching that no-good specter’ and ‘this is going to be a breakthrough, Mads,’ before cutting himself off suddenly. Feeling the grave look on her own face, Maddie had a pretty good idea of why.
He opened his mouth, ready to ask what was wrong, is everything alright–
“Dad,” Phantom croaked, gloved and green-dripping hand blindly reaching out for him.
Jack flinched back, eyes wide and startled. As he looked back to Maddie, she saw the question there. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything just yet.
“Dad, it hurts,” the ghost boy sniveled, making her husband freeze where he stood. As his mind raced, Phantom managed to grab the top of his suit in a weak grip. The pitiful way he looked up at him had Jack moving on instinct, shuffling forward to put less strain on his shoulder. The ghost’s whimpering quieted just that little bit, so he figured it was effective.
Distantly, he thought that he should be cautious, that this complete override of every logical thought in his mind, the instinct to just make it all better, was exactly what the ghost was riding on, that it was all just a manipulation tactic to keep itself safe. He couldn’t quite bring himself to care.
Unbidden, he thought of his own children—if, God forbid, Danny’s accident had been much worse, if one of them had died all too young, and were then stuck here, suffering. He’d never forgive anyone who saw them in such a state and did nothing.
So, instead of asking questions, instead of brandishing a weapon or any of a thousand devices he could use to contain the spirit like he knew he should, Jack simply brushed the fringe and sweat (sweat? …Not the time, Jack) from the dead boy’s face and looked up at his wife, understanding.
“We need to get him to the lab, Jack,” she said. Her voice was calm, but he could see the way her arms were shaking. Phantom whimpered between them, beginning to squirm before Maddie shushed him softly.
“I’ll start up the GAV,” he said numbly.
As Jack drove like mad back to FentonWorks, Maddie sat in the back with Phantom. Unsure what else to do with the lack of medical supplies stored there (truly an oversight, even without this particular incident), she held him close and did her best to staunch the… bleeding? Leakage? She wasn’t sure what to call it, all she knew was that her best option right now was to keep as much of that green liquid inside of the dead boy as she could.
She wondered just what they were even going to do once they returned to the lab. They had spent their careers learning how to capture, weaken, disarm—they had never considered that they would need to know how to heal.
Noticing the way he started to drift, Maddie gently prodded the boy in her arms to keep him awake. She wasn’t sure if it would be any better or worse if he were to pass out, but for the moment, she just ran with what she knew. His physiology seemed pseudo-human enough that it was likely a safe bet.
“Phantom,” she prompted. “Stay awake for me, okay honey?”
“‘M tired,” he said, though he obediently worked to keep his eyes open.
“I know. You can rest soon. But we need to make sure you’re okay, first,” she said, ignoring the thought that she didn’t really know what ‘okay’ might constitute for him. Was there such a thing as some sort of second death to even save him from? Would it even be possible? Or could they only try to ease the pain until it either overtook him or grew unnecessary?
“Mmkay,” he murmured, eyes sliding shut. She tapped him again, restraining herself from instinctively shaking him awake, not wanting to jostle his wounds too much.
“No, no, you need to stay awake, remember? That means eyes open,” she chided.
“I’m tired,” he repeated, though visibly did his best to obey.
She needed to keep him talking.
“How about this; what did you do today?” she asked.
He hummed in confusion.
“Tell me what you’ve been up to–” she cut herself off with a swallow. Maybe it was wrong, playing into whatever ectoplasm loss induced delusion he was wrapped up in, but she needed him to listen and… well, it came naturally enough. “It feels like I have no idea what you’re doing these days. So, how was your day?”
“...Good, until I got a hole in my gut,” he rasped hesitantly, flashing her a neon-soaked grin that tugged at her heartstrings. Something about it felt achingly familiar. She pushed the feeling aside—she needed to focus on the boy in front of her, not the one that was safe in bed at home.
“School was okay. Boring, like usual. Didn’t get to do much else before…” he trailed off, letting the implication sit.
Maddie, meanwhile, only blinked, caught off guard.
Phantom… goes to school?
She supposed it could have been a recollection from his time as a living boy. But other than the presence of his mother, he seemed pretty well aware of where (and what) he was.
She couldn’t help but let her thoughts wander a bit, trying to put the few pieces she'd been given together. With how young he appeared, he must have never finished school in life. Still, she couldn’t imagine her own son willingly spending time there when he didn’t have to (though, if all the calls they’d been getting lately were any indicator, he barely did so even when he did have to… they really needed to have a talk about that). Or maybe he had been more like their Jazz, or even herself, practically living for his studies.
Unbidden, she thought about her daughter in his place—of a bright future cut off, leaving behind a remnant still trying to keep up, to get ahead, to go above and beyond, unseen.
She wondered what his favorite subject had been, what he’d hoped to do, where he’d wanted to go, once he'd graduated. She couldn’t help but imagine an invisible boy, sitting in the back of the classroom and observing the same lessons year after year, unable to move on and just taking what joy he could from the lingering memories.
She had to shut down the thought, unable to bear it. Maybe it was just for a sense of normalcy. She didn’t know, and she didn’t have the time to speculate on it.
Her musing was interrupted when the ghost boy mumbled something she didn’t catch.
“What?”
“The stars,” he answered dreamily. “They’re so clear tonight.”
She followed his gaze to the wide window spanning the side of the vehicle. He was right—they glittered wonderfully against the night sky, more numerous than they usually got this close to the city. It made her think of hours spent stargazing with Alicia a lifetime ago, a thousand lazy Arkansas summers she hadn’t thought back to in far too long.
“They’re beautiful,” she awed, turning back to him. “Do you like the stars?”
“I love them,” he said earnestly, a grin gracing his face.
His eyes had a familiar twinkle to them, a wonder she knew well but hadn’t seen in a long time. She couldn’t help but melt a bit, watching his eyes flit around the sky, so happy despite–
“What about them?” she asked, remembering herself.
“Everything,” he whispered emphatically. “The science, the history, the stories. There’s just so much.”
It all just felt so familiar.
“Do you know the constellations?” she questioned, even as she already knew the answer.
“Duh,” he mumbled, seeming proud. Despite the cool green substance soaking through her gloves, no doubt staining her fingers underneath the material, she couldn’t help but smile back at him.
“Why don’t you tell me about your favorites?”
It felt like a small eternity, listening to him ramble on and on about old legends and ancient astronomers, a storm of knowledge she knew she had heard somewhere before, but couldn’t quite put her finger on.
All too soon, though, in the middle of a rant about the creation of the telescope, his voice grew weak, beginning to peter off.
“Phantom,” she called urgently. “You need to stay awake.”
His only reply was a weak groan, eyelids fluttering before they ultimately fell shut.
“Phantom!”
She couldn’t explain the primal fear racing through her as the small (so small—God, how had they been so stupid?) body in her arms refused to move.
“Sorry, Mom,” he whispered, words halting, like just getting them to pass his lips was a battle of its own.
“Phantom…?” she croaked, feeling him slump against her with an awful finality. “No, no, you– Phantom. Phantom!”
Maddie tried to rouse him, any sense of gentleness gone in the face of the need to just keep him conscious, shaking him as hard as she dared. In the end, it was to no avail. His eyes stayed solidly shut.
She was trembling, horrible full-body shakes wracking her as she stared at his slack face. She thought that it might have been the worst moment of her life.
And then he changed.
A bright, blinding flash of light made her gasp. Was this what it looked like when a ghost–
But, no, he was still there. She could feel him in her arms, and absurdly enough, it almost felt like he had gotten heavier, if anything.
The light receded and–
And–
“Danny…?”
From the front of the car, Jack froze.
“Maddie? What’s going on?” he asked slowly, feeling his blood pressure rise.
“Danny… Danny, what–” she choked. Every moment spent hunting, hating, shooting at their local ghost boy flashed through her head and stole the breath from her lungs. It couldn’t be. Something else had to be at play, any other explanation in the world.
“No. No, no, no,” she chanted to herself, feeling almost like she was begging the boy in her arms to go back, to make it not true.
“Mads, what– I saw a light, what’s–” Jack asked, readying himself to pull over. It snapped her out of her stupor just enough to stop him.
“Drive,” Maddie ordered brokenly, cradling her son as close as she could.
“Maddie…?”
“Oh, Jack,” she shuddered, devastated, stroking a hand over his face. “I think we made a mistake.”
Phantom. Danny. Danny Phantom…
All those devices that set off around Danny for no discernible reason. The silly jokes, the rebellious attitude of the ghost boy. The familiarity with which he spoke to the two of them. The hair, the tech, the suit. How had they not known?
How did they let this happen?
She felt like she might die, feeling her child so horribly cold, seeing him so terrifyingly still.
But she couldn’t break down, not now. Not when Danny still needed her.
“Just drive,” she whispered, but she knew Jack heard her through the silence.
The rest of the trip home was a blur. It was more than likely shorter than it felt, but that knowledge made it no less agonizing. She didn’t think about how the liquid staining her hands had turned red, rather than the toxic green it had once been. She thought instead about how she could still see the wound trying to heal itself, much faster than it should (but still not fast enough).
The moment the GAV pulled to a stop, Maddie was carrying Danny (her son, her baby) out of it and rushing to get down to the lab.
“Maddie!” Jack called, concerned. They didn’t have enough time for her to stop and explain to him. They didn't have time.
“Maddie,” he panted, finally catching up as she laid her son down on an examination table, the closest thing they had to a stretcher. She fought down a wave of nausea thinking of how, not even an hour ago, she had wanted to have him in this same position, only with her hands being the ones to split him open.
“What’s gotten into–”
He trailed off, looking suddenly very ill as he got closer and finally saw the scene for himself. Face pale and eyes wide in a frightened expression she’d never quite seen on him before, he looked like he’d just stepped into a horror movie. She supposed she probably looked about the same; if nothing else, she felt like she was living one.
“Dann-o?” he asked, breathless, eyes flitting between her face and that of their son. “I don’t– why is–”
“Jack…” she murmured, not looking up. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, her son, not when she had clearly already paid far too little attention to him, when he was paying the price for that right before her eyes (he was a ghost, he was dead, her baby had died and she hadn’t even known).
“Jack. We need to– he needs…” she couldn’t find the words, couldn’t bring herself to say it. Jack jolted out of his shocked stupor, nodding stiffly.
“Right. Yes, I…”
Jack glanced back at their son, shaking himself and firmly not looking as he gathered the materials they needed. All the while, Maddie struggled to fight away the tears already rolling down her face; she needed to be able to see, if she wanted to be of any use to her son now.
She didn’t notice when Jack finished, nearly startling as he checked Danny for any wounds aside from the obvious. She took a deep breath, wiping her face and allowing herself to push aside any and all thoughts that wouldn’t help her perform her task (the coppery tang of blood mixed with the more foreign stench of otherworldly chemicals was enough to make her sick). That could wait.
Right now, she needed to be Dr. Madeline Fenton, leading specialist in ecto-biology keeping the ghost on her table from destabilizing—not Maddie, Danny Fenton’s devastated mother watching him bleed out in her basement.
She could find somewhere private to break down later, could hold him close and never ever let go until he was sick of her later. Right now she needed to make sure there was a ‘later.’
So, she forced her hands not to shake as she accepted the antiseptic from Jack. This, she knew how to do; this, she could be sure of herself in, steady and clinical, so long as she could just make herself forget who her patient was.
She wasn’t a medical doctor, not exactly, but she knew her way around a suture well enough, although in a very different context that was solidly in the realm of things she needed to not think about right now, so she wouldn’t. Phantom (because no matter what he looked like in that moment, that was who she needed him to be, that was who he had to be right now or else she was going to lose it, lose her child–) didn’t stir as she cleaned the area and prepared it for stitching.
(Danny had only ever needed stitches once before; at eleven years old, he’d wanted so badly to learn how to use a skateboard, but had taken a bad fall mere minutes into his first attempt. He’d tried so hard to seem unrattled, even as there were tears in his eyes, and had held her hand in a death grip as the gash on his leg had been stitched up.
He’d gotten the hang of it eventually. She hadn’t seen him touch it since he’d started high school.)
The next few moments were a blur that seemed to last for a disproportionate amount of time, but that she logically knew must have only totaled a few minutes. She let herself fall into the motions of it, a clinical sort of detachment allowing her to get the job done without thinking too hard about what exactly she was doing or who it was that she was doing it for.
She’d hardly even realized when she was done, the wound coming to an end before she knew it. She felt herself coming back to the world of the living as she tied it off, swallowing thickly and begging her mind to just let her not think about it for a few more seconds, just so she could finish this.
Jack was already ready to perform the transfusion, gently shaking her and gesturing for her to hold out her arm. Right. She’d forgotten about that part. She complied readily, barely registering the pain of the needle entering her arm as she stared at Danny’s unconscious face.
She shuddered to think what would have happened to their son if they had been just that little bit slower, if she had been in just a slightly worse mood, if being… whatever he was didn’t come with a seemingly miraculous rate of healing. So she didn’t think, closing her eyes and letting herself drift until Jack removed the needle without another word.
She wondered, belatedly, if it would even do him any good. He’d bled ectoplasm before, she’d seen it. And yet, it had all turned red in a single instant. Was it a true transformation, or simply some kind of disguise? She wasn’t sure. It sure smelled like blood, felt like it in a way that the neon green substance hadn’t. She trusted that, if it didn’t help, it at least would do no further damage.
She thought idly that she should probably get a glass of water, a piece of fruit or something. But she just couldn’t bring herself to move, to worry about herself at all, not when her son was lying motionless on that table. Not until she knew he would be alright.
Jack, however, didn’t allow her to neglect herself, even as she wanted nothing more than to stay rooted in that same spot, to never tear her eyes away from her baby again for fear that she would look back to find a corpse instead, or maybe nothing at all.
“Maddie,” he murmured, gentle, patient, and just as devastated as her. She turned to find him holding out a glass of orange juice, which she accepted almost numbly. She didn’t know when he’d had the time to get it.
Jack was always good in a crisis; reliable, able to get things done when it counted. But whereas she always pushed her feelings to the farthest recesses of her mind when the time came, Jack always wore his heart on his sleeve. Driven by logic and emotion, respectively, they were two halves of a whole, seeing what the other didn’t, seeing it in a way they couldn’t or else they’d fall to pieces.
This was one of many (many) things people didn’t seem to understand about her husband, reasons why she never even bothered to entertain the questions of “Why are you with him?” While it was true that Maddie appeared to be the more competent of the two, without him, she wasn’t sure how she’d function at all. He had always been there, keeping her in check, keeping her head above water; she wasn’t sure how she’d survived so long without him.
As long as he was there, she knew she could make it through.
The worst was hopefully over now. She just had to have faith. Faith in their skills, faith in her boy. He was strong, he would pull through. Their children were always surprising her, always testing the odds and clearing every obstacle. Jack said they got it from her. Although it was rare for her to be so self-conscious, sometimes, she wasn’t so sure of that.
She would try to be sure now. She would try to have the strength to wait, to watch over her baby as he fought what she suspected might not even be the hardest battle of his life.
And as Jack wrapped an arm around her, as he pulled her close, as she finally took a sip from the cool glass in her hand, felt him tremble against her and heard the stutter in his breath, she finally let it all crash down on her.
If there was anything she had learned from all her years of knowing Jack, it was that sometimes, the bravest thing you could do was fall apart. He’d said that, once, outside of the hospital room for a friend that they’d thought was lost to them for sure. One who had been, but not in the way they’d thought.
Right now, she didn’t feel brave at all. She just felt scared.
But as they wrapped their arms around each other, letting go and sobbing themselves hoarse, she thought that maybe she could be.
If Danny could do what he did almost every day and still be such a bright light, if he could face what they said to him when they didn’t recognize him and still tell him he loved them only hours later, if he could put up a brave face even as he bled out in the arms of the mother who he had every right to fear, then she could survive this, too.
She would wait. He would come out the other side of this, and they could all finally just talk in the way they’d been needing to for far, far too long.
She just had to believe in him.