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Description
65. Horror

It was only instinct that kept him going.

Instinct and sheer determination, if not cast iron will to live, though Danny doubted it had anything to do with that as he slid through the air, altitude slipping away like the blood that was leaking from dozens of wounds across his body. The worst of them dotted red and green along his arms, up across his shoulders and down his back. Defensive wounds every one of them, taken when he’d curled into a ball to protect the places that needed it worst.

It didn’t help—he’d swear that the spines had gone the entire way through him were it not for the lack of blood on the front of his hazmat. That, he hoped, was good, because there was plenty of that already. He lost more air as his strength failed and the lights blurred beneath him. Just in time; Sam’s house was right there and all he had to do was try and control the way he fell into it, through roof and attic and ceiling to land quietly in a crumpled heap on her floor.

He bit back a pained moan as he pulled himself to his knees, stumbling to her bed in a half crawl that left red and green streaks across her carpet. He didn’t notice and if he had, Danny wouldn’t have cared. He needed to wake her, he needed her help. Tucker was useless when it came to medical aid, the boy was so petrified of needles that he could barely look at them. Unfortunately, needles seemed to be normal for Danny at these hours, so to Sam he went.

But she looked so peaceful sleeping, and he was so very tired. His hand clutched at the dark purple of her bedspread, leaving it black where blood stained it darker. He could wait a moment—his head tilted and laid itself alongside his hand. Soft, so soft, and his eyes were so heavy.

If I close them for just a moment, it won’t hurt anything. Just for a second…

---

Sam wasn’t a morning person. Never had been, never would be, no matter how hard her mother and father tried to change that. She made it a habit never to wake up before the sun had risen at least halfway unless there was an emergency. Or school, though it was summer so she could forget about that horror for another month, at least. So when she woke, sat up blinking tired eyes against barely there sunlight, Sam was confused.

Her mother and father weren’t tugging back curtains to wake her, nor were they summoning her to breakfast. Or another apocalypse inducing attempt at forcing any shade of pink into her wardrobe. There were no birds singing, there was no massive baseline pumping to wake her. There was nothing, simply silence.

Nothing to wake her, no one who needed help, only Danny passed out against her bed, and—wait.

Sam’s eyes blinked again and a bit more sleep fled them as she looked at the sleeping boy. It wouldn’t be the first morning she’d had to shake him awake and send him on his way before someone discovered him. They’d argued about it for years now, whose parents would take it worst. Hers would have a cow if they found him asleep in her room, anywhere at all even if he was on the floor. His might freak to find him gone and think a ghost had taken him.

Danny had suggested once that she come over and fall asleep against his bed so they could measure inverse reactions. Sam had declined with an amused smile as she wondered what the Fenton’s would think. That Danny had finally acted on what they all knew. But she could be patient.

Sam was smiling that same amused smile as she reached a hand out to lay it on his shoulder and shake him gently. “Danny, you have to wake up. Time to go home.”

He didn’t budge, or ever make the expected faint snore that usually accompanied her first attempt and his first denial. She shook him again a little harder. “Danny—”

His name died on her lips as she lifted her hand to see it painted bright red, darkening from true crimson even as she rubbed her fingers together. Her heart stuttered as the blood tried to stick, thick and tacky, and Sam’s eyes turned back to Danny against as she reached out and shook him harder. This time his head shifted on the bed, his hair falling from his eyes so that Sam could see them. The once bright blue eyes that sparkled with laughter were dull now, dark and empty and clouded.

She breathed in once, and then screamed.

Description
65. Horror

It was only instinct that kept him going.

Instinct and sheer determination, if not cast iron will to live, though Danny doubted it had anything to do with that as he slid through the air, altitude slipping away like the blood that was leaking from dozens of wounds across his body. The worst of them dotted red and green along his arms, up across his shoulders and down his back. Defensive wounds every one of them, taken when he’d curled into a ball to protect the places that needed it worst.

It didn’t help—he’d swear that the spines had gone the entire way through him were it not for the lack of blood on the front of his hazmat. That, he hoped, was good, because there was plenty of that already. He lost more air as his strength failed and the lights blurred beneath him. Just in time; Sam’s house was right there and all he had to do was try and control the way he fell into it, through roof and attic and ceiling to land quietly in a crumpled heap on her floor.

He bit back a pained moan as he pulled himself to his knees, stumbling to her bed in a half crawl that left red and green streaks across her carpet. He didn’t notice and if he had, Danny wouldn’t have cared. He needed to wake her, he needed her help. Tucker was useless when it came to medical aid, the boy was so petrified of needles that he could barely look at them. Unfortunately, needles seemed to be normal for Danny at these hours, so to Sam he went.

But she looked so peaceful sleeping, and he was so very tired. His hand clutched at the dark purple of her bedspread, leaving it black where blood stained it darker. He could wait a moment—his head tilted and laid itself alongside his hand. Soft, so soft, and his eyes were so heavy.

If I close them for just a moment, it won’t hurt anything. Just for a second…

---

Sam wasn’t a morning person. Never had been, never would be, no matter how hard her mother and father tried to change that. She made it a habit never to wake up before the sun had risen at least halfway unless there was an emergency. Or school, though it was summer so she could forget about that horror for another month, at least. So when she woke, sat up blinking tired eyes against barely there sunlight, Sam was confused.

Her mother and father weren’t tugging back curtains to wake her, nor were they summoning her to breakfast. Or another apocalypse inducing attempt at forcing any shade of pink into her wardrobe. There were no birds singing, there was no massive baseline pumping to wake her. There was nothing, simply silence.

Nothing to wake her, no one who needed help, only Danny passed out against her bed, and—wait.

Sam’s eyes blinked again and a bit more sleep fled them as she looked at the sleeping boy. It wouldn’t be the first morning she’d had to shake him awake and send him on his way before someone discovered him. They’d argued about it for years now, whose parents would take it worst. Hers would have a cow if they found him asleep in her room, anywhere at all even if he was on the floor. His might freak to find him gone and think a ghost had taken him.

Danny had suggested once that she come over and fall asleep against his bed so they could measure inverse reactions. Sam had declined with an amused smile as she wondered what the Fenton’s would think. That Danny had finally acted on what they all knew. But she could be patient.

Sam was smiling that same amused smile as she reached a hand out to lay it on his shoulder and shake him gently. “Danny, you have to wake up. Time to go home.”

He didn’t budge, or ever make the expected faint snore that usually accompanied her first attempt and his first denial. She shook him again a little harder. “Danny—”

His name died on her lips as she lifted her hand to see it painted bright red, darkening from true crimson even as she rubbed her fingers together. Her heart stuttered as the blood tried to stick, thick and tacky, and Sam’s eyes turned back to Danny against as she reached out and shook him harder. This time his head shifted on the bed, his hair falling from his eyes so that Sam could see them. The once bright blue eyes that sparkled with laughter were dull now, dark and empty and clouded.

She breathed in once, and then screamed.