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A storm is coming— Danny knows that.
He'd known it well before he'd gone out for the evening, the smell of plasma strong in the air.
Electricity always does smell stronger, these days. He smells it everywhere— pulsing in every whirring machine, radiating from every socket in every building, emanating from every rain cloud. He feels it nipping at his skin as he moves past, moves through.
They say that people who get struck by lightning once are more likely to get struck again— Danny hadn't been so sure before the accident, but now…
He feels the first few drops of rain and sucks in a sharp breath.
He'd hoped he would be able to get home before it started, or that he could at least catch whichever ghost was terrorizing Amity Park that night, but now that doesn't seem possible.
Danny searches the city below. Anywhere will do, as long as he's sheltered, but he likes the buildings with thick walls best. Even better if they're vacant.
It's the news station that catches his attention— dark. Empty, probably. It is two in the morning, after all.
He's not too keen on the idea of being surrounded by all of those cameras, even if they're off, but it's sure to have some soundproofing and the rain is getting stronger.
He doesn't hesitate any longer, dropping to the ground and slipping through the walls. A major sense of relief washes over him, especially as he hears the rain beat harder.
Across the room, through the front windows, lightning flashes, and Danny braces himself for the thunder.
He counts— one mississippi, two mississippi, three mississ— it comes as a slow rumble, like it's rolling across the sky, through the city.
He knows it's paranoia, but it sometimes feels like it's searching for him.
He shudders, takes a breath.
When the thunder is gone, at least for now, he picks himself up off the floor and traces the wall with his hand.
He can't recall ever being here before, and certainly not at night. There aren't nearly as many cameras as he'd expected, and the sets are smaller, too. What really strikes him, though, is the room off to the side, behind a wall of glass, full of computers and recording equipment.
He grimaces and decides to steer clear.
He's not afraid of technology, at least not normally. He's just not sure if he should be surrounded by so much of it, especially not during a storm like this.
He sets his sights on something else— anything else.
Across the stage, he spies a cracked door.
He knows better than to snoop— he should just be grateful that the building is providing cover.
But there's a crack of thunder and he makes a break for it, slamming the door shut behind him.
It's over in moments, but his heart is still racing. He crumples to the ground and counts his breath, urging his body to calm down.
"Oh."
Danny glances up, exhausted, and is met with the curious— if concerned— face of Amity Park's very own Lance Thunder.
Of course. Of course he isn't alone. When has he ever been so lucky?
But the weatherman doesn't seem like a threat. In fact, he doesn't seem like himself.
He's dressed down— still wearing his suit-pants and dress shoes, of course, but his shirt is unbuttoned, untucked. His hair is disheveled, his eyes bleary from fatigue. The skin of his face is creased from computer keys.
Lance Thunder had been asleep at his desk.
Danny doesn't know what to say— or if he should say anything at all. A part of him just wants to turn invisible and get out of there, but with the storm is just getting started. His entire body shakes, and he pulls his knees into his chest. He might as well get comfortable now, if he's going to be hunkering down with Lance Thunder all night.
Lance rubs his face and swivels the chair around.
"What are you… doing here?" he asks, curious more than anything.
Danny narrows his eyes. He's already blown it as far as brave or intimidating goes, but he can still try.
"I could ask you the same thing," he says. He resists the urge to jump out of his skin when he feels another rumble of thunder rip through the atmosphere, the lightning making a patchwork of the sky through the blinds. He forgets to keep his expression even, unafraid, his anxiety blatant.
Lance opens his mouth to say something, but he decides against it. He motions to the computer instead, it's monitor still dark.
"I was working. Tracking the weather for the week."
Well, Danny hadn't exactly been expecting that. He'd thought the weatherman was just a pretty face, that someone else had fed him the information. But Danny had enough sense not to say that.
"At two in the morning?" he asks, confused.
Lance shakes the mouse, letting the monitor screen light up again, and he checks the time. He winces. "Whoops, I only meant to stay until 11:00. Guess we're stuck here together."
He eyes the ghost, and although he hesitates, he asks, "Are you comfortable there?"
Danny shrugs, averting his gaze.
So the weatherman isn't kicking him out— great. So what? Danny doesn't need his pity.
Phantom's supposed to be brave. He can't show weakness to anyone, but certainly not to a reporter. Hell, he's not supposed to be here at all— he's supposed to be out there hunting down a ghost, and he can't even do that.
Lance crouches down and makes himself comfortable beside Danny.
He wants to push the weatherman away, to yell at him for getting so close, but his nerves actually calm down, and the words become buried in his throat. His face burns, but when he finally gets the guts to face the man beside him, he sees that Lance isn't even looking at him.
Lance is watching the storm through the window.
"I'm scared of storms, too," he admits in a whisper.
"What?" Danny gawked— that couldn't possibly be true. Lance was always out there, in the rain and snow, thunder and lightning. He even seemed to be the only weather reporter in town these days, getting pushed from the station to the field every other day.
Besides. "I'm not scared," Danny says.
Lance doesn't argue with him. He glimpses at the ghost, just for a moment, and goes back to watching the wind and rain. "It's loud," he says. "It's strong. When I was a kid, I thought it was going to break through the walls. And don't get me started on when I'm in the rain."
"It feels like… like you're surrounded? Like the lightning will strike?" Danny guesses.
"Yeah. That's the worst part, isn't it?"
"It is…" he relents.
When his breathing finally slows down to something like normal, Danny speaks again, breaking the silence (or at least, distracting himself from the lightning and thunder outside).
"So… why'd you go into weather?"
Lance shrugs. "I thought knowing how storms work would make them less…" he considers his words. "Less everything," he decides.
Less dangerous. Less supernatural. Less immense.
"Did it?" Danny asks.
"Sometimes." Lance shrugs. "I know how to protect myself from it, now, anyway." He motions at the weather outside the window. "Besides, this storm sounds worse than it is— trust me, I'm a weather man."
To his credit, in normal circumstances, Danny would have laughed. It's almost even comforting.
But then the thunder cracks and the anxiety returns full force.
Danny shakes his head. No. No, it's different for him. He can't just put on a raincoat, or put out a lightning rod. He's been electrocuted before and he will be electrocuted again.
He tries to picture a clear sky, but all he can see are dark clouds threatening to swallow him whole. He knows there's another side, where the storm clouds end and he could be safe again— and he knows that he'll die in the storm before he ever gets there.
The weatherman's shoulders drop and he studies the ghost closely. He's not going to cure a ghost's fear of thunder in one night, he realizes.
All he can do is be here.
"It's safe here," he assures Phantom. "It's safe."
Danny shudders, but he nods.
He takes a deep breath.
He smells the plasma in the air, and hears the thunder through the walls.
But he also feels Lance, his warmth, stuck in the storm right beside him.