hng

there's probably a bunch of these revelation things lying around here so I wanted to do one myself

no harm in that right?

most likely will end up multi-chaptered.

Disclaimer: Nope sorry still don't own it

It was dark. It was probably well past ten.

No duh. It was obviously past ten. There wasn't anything nearby to indicate the current time, but it must have been at least an hour and a half since he should have arrived home.

And by the looks of it, he'll be much, much later coming home.

If at all.

...

The night's battle had been particularly rough, long, and painful. The grueling showdown with the "Ghost Zone's Greatest Hunter" had ended with one ghost locked away in the thermos with the rest of the day's adversaries, and an injured ghost boy who suddenly lost the strength to fly.

Danny had sensed the oncoming falter in his flight, and attempted to try and speed closer to the building with the unmistakable Ops Center mounted on the roof, obvious as anything. The only thing he had succeeded in, however, was a rather startling drop in energy and a wobbling glide into the deserted sidewalk concrete. The landing jarred at a particularly painful spot on his side, a whimper escaping him. He lay on the sidewalk for a moment, the cold stone draining away the minimal body heat that was supplied by his existing human half. The Fenton thermos was still held loosely in a weak white glove, silent despite the ghost enemies currently crammed inside.

So tired. So, so tired.

Fentonworks was still a ways away by foot, the top of the tall and obvious building visible over the roofs of the other buildings that seperated Danny from his home. Sighing heavily, the ghost boy rose to his feet, unsteadily, staring at the home he could have been at already. His right hand painfully gripped at his injured left side, and the other hand still held the thermos. Looks like...I better start walking...he thought grimly, pulling his hand away from his side as he felt something wet seep into his glove.

Green fluid clung to the white gloved hand, dripping off his fingertips. Danny winced, glancing down at the expanding green spot on his side. Pain still throbbed intensely through his system, picking up severity and clouding his eyes for a moment. Danny clutched the wound again, trying to push forward toward home and ignore the injury that would most likely be reduced to a scratch come tomorrow morning.

Such was not the case, as a bout of dizziness and the loss of strength in his legs caught him and sent him to his knees with a soft groan of pain. With an irritated grunt, Danny tried to force himself back to his feet, but the needed limbs merely tingled in response and shook when he attempted to shift weight onto them. Sighing, he lowered back to his knees and remained there, still holding the wound as it began to stain the concrete below with glowing green ectoplasm.

C-Can't walk...

Can't fly...

He stared numbly at the rooftops of the building at at his home in the distance, the silence of the currently deserted street smothering the world like a heavy blanket. A chill wind picked up, snaking by the boy's body and forcing a shiver out of him. Danny blinked. What is this...? Ghosts...don't get cold...

He was still unable to stand, even after the brief rest, and his strength was still gradually draining away. The boy bit his lip and cursed under his breath, not yet attempting to move and aggravate the wound on his side. He knew he couldn't sit there all night, he'd be seen at some point. Or he'd end up passing out and changing back...and right now, changing back wasn't something he was keen to doing right this moment.

The wound, although he hadn't looked at it properly yet, was severe and Danny feared that changing into a weaker form would essentially kill him, especially now that the green blood was still flowing from it and coloring the concrete an eerie emerald. If he stayed in ghost form, at least for a little while longer, he believed he might be able to have it heal quick enough to be non-lethal to his human form to handle. So he assumed, anyway.

Even now, the pain from the injury was burning right through his body, hot bolts of agony speeding through his veins and specking his vision with darkness. His breathing became heavy, labored, and his form began shaking...

Dammit, there was no way he was going to make it home any time soon, not like this...

The ghost boy stared longingly back at his home, preferring to be there getting reprimanded for missing curfew than kneeling on the sidewalk, weakening and bleeding out pitifully. He most likely won't be seeing that home tonight, and his absence from coming home at all would definitely strike panic into his family, unless they assumed he had gone to one of his friends' houses overnight. Unlikely, however, since it wasn't the norm for him to simply up and vanish for the night, without mention. Would they come looking for him? Would they maybe, just maybe, find him here? And if they got here...would they find their most hated ghost enemy, or their son, bleeding and weakening on the streets?

Danny gave a sharp intake of breath as a pulse of hot pain blazed his nerves, causing him to sink toward the ground. Desperately, he looked about his scenery for an adept place to shelter for the night, besides the houses of this unfamiliar neighborhood. The only thing that could offer a temporary refuge for an unwanted and injured ghost was the narrow alley on his left, lined with gleaming silver trash cans and garbage.

Biting his lip, the halfa made one last attempt to stand. The effort was in vain, however, as his weak legs gave out and allowed him to fall into the brick wall of the building next to the alley. Groaning, he dropped back to his knees, grimly eyeing the fresh green smear left on the faded red brick wall. The boy dropped his hands to the ground, leaving him with no choice but to crawl in a rather undignified limping gait to the rubbish-ridden sanctuary. His crawling became dragging, slow and pathetic like an injured animal dragging itself to safety to lay down and die. A rumbling sounded from above, from the roiling black smudges that blocked out the stars and moon, and a single drop fell.

Danny pulled his nearly-useless body behind a line of partially-rusted trash cans, hidden from sight from the outside of the alley but not shielding him from the falling rain. He leaned his trembling form into the wall, holding the thermos-his only means of defense now-close to his chest. His right hand lowered shakily toward the source of the emerald blossom that darkly stained his suit, pulling at the frayed and damaged fabric around the area. The slice in the suit gave view to the injury beneath: a deep gash that wound with the curve of his torso, from navel to spine, and ran deep into his pale flesh. The wound was still pumping ectoplasm, already beginning to pool under his body, and Danny grimaced as he pressed his hand back onto the slice, as if that only could stifle the bleeding. Yeesh...was Skulker trying to cut me in half or something?! Dumb question, he most likely intended that. The battle had also left him with various scratches and bruises on his face and arms as well, but the minor injuries were ignored in favor of the giant gash that was steadily leaking away his energy and life...half-life...with each passing minute.

For that moment, as raindrops fell more heavily and landed with frozen stings on his hurting body, a pang of terror struck in his chest like a sudden thunderclap. He was bleeding so much...and there was virtually no way to stop it, nothing nearby that he considered any source of help or aid. He was going to die in this alley. He was going to bleed out, bleed all the rest of his life away...and there would be nothing. He might never see his home again, and the cold of the alley loomed around him almost ominously, unwelcoming, alien, unfamiliar.

Danny leaned into the wall, slightly curling up against the cold solid brick, as if he could just shrink into himself. Shrink away from the pain and the cold and the helplessness...He almost longed for the comfort of unconsciousness and the relief of sleep...but that would only bring death quicker, as his human self would hardly last much longer with this injury.

The thermos was still held with as much strength as he could bear and held close, as if it were his last tether keeping him in a sense of security...a false one most likely, but still. The faint luminescent glow of his spectral body reflected off the dingy trash cans, making it seem to shine a little more, enough to see the reflection of a battered, beaten ghost who lay defeated in a cold alleyway.

To be continued...

It's 2AM here, boy I hope I didn't botch anything up with this first chapter...XP