Work Text:
You hit play.
—
The black screen blinks to a close up of Danny’s face with his hand obscuring part of the view.
“I think it’s on now,” he leans up and over the lens, his shirt falling forward to expose part of his collarbone area. A solid dark splotch of a bruise covers the skin, disappearing down his chest.
“Yeah it’s on, and recording,” can be heard, muffled but loud.
Danny leans back settling in a chair, the angle is positioned to catch his nose and up. Frowning, he gets up again to adjust the angle. It takes a minute of shuffling, knocking it completely before he deems it evidently acceptable.
Sitting back down, he glances off camera, back and away again.
He sits silent for a moment.
The camera blurs before refocusing on his face. Dark shadows under his eyes become much clearer than before.
“I’m not exactly sure how to start-” his face pinches. “Jazz said I needed to - I dunno - talk about-” he cuts himself off with a harsh breath. He scrubs a hand over his hair in an agitating motion.
“Stupid-” he huffs, slumping forward to brace himself on the desk. “This is stupid…”
He looks to the side, dropping further to rest his cheek on his bent arm. His free hand curls over his head.
The hint of discoloration can be seen on the wrist.
Static crosses the screen along the top, pixelated colors starting in the left corner.
He sighs.
Pushing from the desk to stand.
“Whatever,” he says, switching the camera off.
—
You click to the next video.
—
The black screen blinks to a view of carpet. A dark, almost black, green stain can be seen for a moment as the view shakes before moving to Jazz’ face. She frowns, gaze focused around the screen. The noise of hands on the camera moving is loud and staticy.
“Just try it again?” She asks, voice gentle, as she steps back and away. Behind her, Danny sits in his chair, head lolling over the back of it.
“It’s pointless and stupid,” he says to the ceiling.
“You need to give it a chance, please?” she turns her back to the camera to lean over his arm.
“Why?” he rolls his head to look at her. With the new angle, he looks more tired than before.
“Because you aren’t processing anything, and I know you don’t want to talk to me about it, I won’t force you.”
He looks away.
She reaches a hand to cup his cheek, “Bottling it up is eating you alive.”
He snorts, a harsh breath, jerking away from her hand.
Looking away.
Her hand hovers for a moment.
She draws a breath, standing straighter, hand dropping to her side.
“I won’t watch these, I swear, it’s just for you,” she says, walking behind him, away.
“Just give it another shot? For me?” she asks off screen.
He doesn’t respond.
A beat passes.
The door closes with a soft click.
He breathes out.
Danny slumps in the seat, his hand pushing his bangs out of his face.
A bandage is wrapped around his bicep.
A long drawn beat passes before he takes a deep breath in.
His hand moves to scrub down his face as he sits back up. Leaning on the desk, he rubs the back of his neck. His other hand fiddles with a sheet of paper on the desk.
He pushes it away, head dropping with a sigh.
His shoulders lift and fall slowly with his breathing.
Fisting the paper, he pulls it close as he sits up proper. Reading the paper, his expression shifts from frustration to exhaustion.
“‘Step one, say aloud the date and your name’,” he reads monotone. His gaze shifts to the camera, “It’s the 18th of November, and my name is Danny.”
He glances at the paper again before crumpling it fully. “This is supposed to be a video diary to help me…’process the inner emotions of a significant event’ or whatever.”
He spins a little in the chair to look to the side. “Which I still think is dumb, cause I’m mostly just talking to myself about stuff I already know?”
He tosses the balled paper into the air once. “How is that supposed to be helpful? Let me just reiterate the worst day of my life, sure, that's definitely going to help.”
He fiddles with the paper ball, gaze staring into the middle distance.
“It’s not like I have enough to deal with,” he mutters quietly.
The screen fizzles with colorful pixels.
“Here we go again,” he mutters, getting up. He leans over to turn the camera off.
—
Next next-
—
The video starts with Danny sitting down.
“It’s, uh, November 29th, and once again it’s me Danny,” he starts. His hair is wet, dripping water onto his oversized t-shirt.
A fresh bruise discolors his cheek, reaching up to his eye that is red instead of white. Discoloration wraps around his neck.
“You know what’s great,” he says, pulling a small plastic bin into view. Popping the lid, he pulls out a tube and a roll of bandages. Scissors and medical tape next before closing the lid.
“What was I- oh right, you know what’s great,” he repeats, pushing the bin away. “How neither of my parents noticed this,” he gestures to his face. “No the only thing they were mad about was that they didn’t get to-”
He cuts off sharply, ripping open the medical tape.
His hands shake with small tremors. Face a blank slate.
Lifting his leg, he braces his foot on the chair. One hand holding the tape, letting the roll hang, he lifts his pajama pants over his knee with his now free hand.
A long gash runs the length of his thigh. It oozes slowly, dark red lines tracing the muscle. Rubbing the back of his free hand up the leg, he wipes the blood away. In a practiced motion, he tapes the cut shut, cutting the excess.
Wipe.
Press.
Snip.
Wipe.
Press.
Snip.
Wipe-
“Maybe Jazz was onto something,” he half laughs, voice thick. He swallows. “How do you even talk to anyone about- Sam and Tuck don’t deserve to be bothered by this, it would just make them feel like shit.”
He finishes off taping his leg shut. No longer bleeding, he pulls his pant leg down.
He stares at the back of his hand. Red coats it, dripping.
“Right, wipes, why do I always forget to take out the wipes,” he says. He pulls the bin back into frame. “Because I’m stupid and never get anything right and-”
The bin nearly breaks with the force he pulls the lid off.
He frowns at the plastic.
“Can’t even control your own strength, Fenton, good fucking job.”
He tosses the lid off-camera, it hits something that clatters before a soft thump. He doesn’t glance over, instead, rummaging the bin with his cleaner hand.
“Where…where is it…I know I put it back, it should be- there.” He pulls out a pack of wet wipes. The bin gets elbowed to the side as he opens it to pull out a handful of wipes.
It takes most of the wipes to get all of the red off his hands. Which he lets sit in a pile on the edge of the frame.
The tube of cream is next which he rubs across his cheek and neck before covering with the bandages.
He sits in silence with the leftover medical supplies littering the desk.
Gaze unfocused on empty hands.
“Why do I keep trying,” he says quietly, almost too quiet to be heard.
His shoulders shake as he curls into himself.
A loud bang is heard in the distance followed by car alarms.
A door slams.
“Danny?” Jazz's shrill voice is heard muffled.
Danny takes a deep breath. When he looks up, his face is blank.
He leans towards the camera, mouth open to answer when it goes black.
—
Next next next next next-
—
The screen turns on to Danny leaning away from the camera. His chair isn’t in frame. The room looks like a tornado rolled through it.
His usually thick hair lays limp in his face. Covers his eyes.
“Hi, this is Danny, I dunno how many of these I’ve made, but it’s December 15th,” his voice is rough.
He swallows, a strange clicking noise can be heard, as he leans back. His cheeks look sunken, hallowed out.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can-” he cuts off, a wheezing wet cough taking over his voice.
He hunches, bracing himself on the desk as his body shakes with the force of each cough and wheezing breath.
His nails dig into the desk, gouging small grooves.
The coughing eases.
Slowly.
Enough for him to take his hand away.
He looks at it in disgust.
Pulling a roll of toilet paper closer, he wipes the red off his hand.
He rubs his throat, walking off screen.
He comes back in his chair, pushing backwards with a foot.
“I-” he tries before breaking off to cough. Wincing he rubs his throat.
“Note to self,” he says in a grating whisper that hisses more than has a voice. “Screaming should be a last resort.”
He sits for a moment, hand going still on his neck.
His shoulders move subtly with his breathing before they too go still.
For a long minute he doesn’t move.
Doesn’t breathe.
Static fills the screen.
Covers the entire image.
When it clears, glowing green shines from beneath his bangs.
He jerks.
Head snapping back as he covers his face with both hands.
Moving up to push his hair back.
Blue eyes stare into the middle distance, tension in every line of his body.
He takes a very loud breath in through his nose before letting it out just as forcefully.
His hands grip painfully on his hair, tugging.
Tears shimmer at the corners of his eyes, expression crumpling.
He pulls his knees up to his chest, hands moving to cover his ears, he curls up.
He mutters something that’s barely heard by the camera.
“...mon….’t a…nst...am no’…ons…ot a…ter…”
Over and over again.
His body begins to rock in time with the repetitions.
It’s not so much a chant as it’s a plea.
A hand moves from his ear to fist his hair again.
His shoulders shake in time with each gasping breath.
Whispered litany becoming choked and drowning.
Static inches in from the edge of the frame. Expanding pixel by pixel.
It slowly centers around Danny’s head.
Leaning back in the chair, just enough to lift his head.
Cheeks wet with tears.
Haunted blue eyes stare at the camera.
His mouth shapes around now silent words.
‘Am not a mon-’
The screen goes black.
—
The next video auto starts.
—
The screen starts looking at a sheet of dark metal. Loudly, the camera shakes, wobbling before it's turned to be a close view of Danny’s face.
He’s outside, soft yellow light highlights against the bottom of his face. The night sky stretches behind him.
“It’s December 16th, Danny here,” he says quietly. His voice cracks on his name but no longer sounds like gravel.
He looks up, over the camera.
A long breath mists out of his parted lips.
The camera lowers, pointing more at his chest than his face.
He wears a light parker open over a t-shirt. A splotch of dark stains the shirt on one side, leading up to the shoulder under the coat.
He sits with shoulders slumped.
Defeat etched in every line.
Another long breath mists the air.
“I’m tired.”
The admission seems to break something in him. Face crumpling, he curls up. He holds the camera to the side.
Looking up at his bent legs, head resting on his knees and arm covering part of his head.
The street light reflects off his eyes.
“I am so tired.”
His bottom lip wobbles. He swallows, eyes squeezing shut.
“I don’t want- I can’t- why am I still trying?”
His hand fists his hair, face turning away from the camera.
“I’m so useless, just an absolute fuck up. I try to fix my mistake but end up making a bigger mess- nothing ever goes right- I can’t do this anymore.”
His shoulders shake with a silent sob, the camera wobbles to frame his legs.
His pants are torn across one of his shins, dried blood caked into the tear.
The camera starts to shake, wobbling almost rhythmically.
Quietly, his sobs build in volume to be heard by the camera. In time with the shaking frame.
Danny cries.
And cries.
And cries.
And cries.
He eventually slumps sideways, pulling the camera into his stomach. His shirt covers the frame, muffling the sound.
That too quiets.
For a long drawn out minute, everything is still.
The camera is pulled back with the sound of him moving. It takes a second to refocus, settling on his hip and the long expanse of the sky behind.
The sound of clothes shifting is the only precursor to his hand settling across his stomach. His nails are broken and shipped. Something black under the tips and tracing around the cuticles. His knuckles are ripped and covered in scabs.
His pinky is bent at a weird angle.
“God I’m just a big baby…”
He laughs wetly, the sound catching in his throat.
“Dying was easier than this,” he mutters.
His fingers grip the side of his parker.
“Fucking,” he laughs darkly, “I hate this. How was getting electrocuted easier than this? Can’t even die correctly- I’m-”
He cuts off with a frustrated noise.
“Maybe I am a monster, I’m already a fucked up loser, I might as well be a fucked up monster.”
The hand lets go of the jacket to reach up and out of frame.
“Everyone sees me as one anyways, why should I keep fighting it?”
A darkness crosses the bottom of the sky behind him.
Static pixels along after the shadow.
Danny sighs.
“Great, another fuck up in the making.”
He sits up, camera facing away from him.
White light flashes across the screen, fizzing out in a rainbow of pixels.
The screen goes black.
—
The next video starts.
—
The screen starts with the camera facing the sidewalk, wobbling a little with each step. Scuffed sneakers barely seen. Snow piles up along the street.
“Danny here,” he says, voice dull. “It’s December 24th, so uh Merry Christmas I guess.”
The camera lifts to the sky. Fresh snow falling.
“One of these days…”
He stops walking under a street lamp.
“I don’t want to go home.”
The frame drops to point across the street.
FentonWorks is lit up in colorful lights. In the front window, the silhouettes of his parents can be seen shouting at each other.
A window in the upper left of the building turns on before turning off.
The camera spins quickly before dropping and shaking. Pounding feet partially coming into frame out of sync with the harsh breaths.
Sidewalk turns to street.
A blaring horn, a flash of light.
Sidewalk again.
The passing streetlights disappear, darkness swallowing the path.
The screen fizzles into rainbow pixels in time with an explosion of white light.
The view comes back in parts, static still filling the screen.
Upside down, the outline and shapes of the city can be made out before disappearing behind the tree line.
Fuzzy and unfocused outlines of trees fly past.
It comes to a sudden stop, view dropping straight down. The outlines of trees slowly come into focus, the static pixelating everything still.
“Fuck-” his voice is garbled in static.
A deep breath.
Loud cracking can be heard, plastic groaning and giving.
“Fuck!”
The shout so loud, the speakers crackle and fizz.
The screen fizzles into pure static.
It takes a long moment for it to clear. Only outlines can be seen in the pixels.
Boots standing in snow.
A tree trunk on the edge of the frame.
He kneels, camera turning to face the trees sideways.
For several minutes, nothing happens.
Just quiet stillness.
The static continues focusing and fuzzing the outlines of the trees.
A quiet beep startles him, shaking the camera.
“Oh, this is still running,” the voice is made of static but the quiet stillness can still be heard.
“Battery is basically dead, that’s not a surprise.”
The screen goes black.
—
The next video starts.
—
The screen blinks on, a blurred line crosses the top corner. Danny’s hands can be seen, too close and unfocused. Fumbling.
The view finally steadies on his face. His hands move off the screen.
He pulls his sleeve down over his hand with his teeth before rubbing the screen with it.
When he pulls away, the camera refocuses on his face a little clearer.
He glances up and away, swallowing.
“Sorry, Jazz, you were probably right,” he says.
He licks his lip.
“About a lot of things, I should have talked to you or-”
A loud bang is heard.
He hisses, ducking over the camera.
The video fizzes with static before clearing. A hand covers the view again.
“I’m sorry. Sam, Tucker, Jazz, if you’re watching this, I am so sorry.”
He says, voice cracking and rushed.
“I should have talked to you guys, I should have-”
Another bang cuts him off.
The view shakes, before turning to his face.
A long line of blood trails down his face.
“I can’t stay here, not anymore. It’s not-” He chokes on the next word.
He takes a breath, expression twisting into a bitter smile.
“Nobody wants a monster like me. Everyone would be better without me around.”
The next bang is louder, he jumps, gaze snapping away.
When he looks back, his eyes shine green.
“Don’t look for me.”
The screen goes black.
—
The screen stays black.
You hit next.
Nothing happens.
You hit next again.
And again.
And again.
You hit the back button.
There are no other videos, the last file highlighted.