Chapter Text
Danny would reluctantly admit that Wes had grown on him.
Like a weirdly endearing fungus would.
But the admission would be only to himself and under pressure.
The halfa was reluctant to admit that among all the people in Amity Park he could feel Wes just as much as he could feel his family and friends. Because they were not there quite yet, u know? but they were going there, he supposed.
After so much time dealing with each other’s bullshit and some semi-forced coexistence something had to give eventually. So, no matter how much Wes liked to bitch about hating him, Danny didn’t really believe him. Not anymore, at least — even if he liked to play along just to mess around —
Danny was counting it as a win.
But then Weston had gone and gotten kidnapped. Spirited away. Gingernapped. Whichever fits.
And he had not expected to have to deal with kidnapping situations in this stage of their relationship. Honestly, he didn’t even know why he hadn’t thought about it as a possibility. It was a kind of normal occurrence in Amity, after all. What with the ghosts grabbing people at random sometimes.
Danny could deal with the ghosts or the G.I.W. any day of the week. He had done it before. He could do it again. No problem.
But when the kidnappers in question had taken out these little sticks and started waving them around indiscriminately it had been kind of obvious this was not their typical-ghostly-situation.
It was, still, not the weirdest thing to happen in Amity.
Also, he was pretty sure those were Wes' uncles or something.
Danny narrowed his eyes at the scene down the street from his perch on top of the nasty burger and tried to decide if he was remembering correctly from the gazillion photos Mr. Weston had tried to smother him with when mom and dad insisted on having 'family dinner' at Vlad’s place.
And Danny meant insisted quite literally.
Vlad's house had been still decimated from the last fuck up of the week at the time, and the Fruitloop had been prepared to scramble with all the dignity he could muster — which in Danny’s opinion was practically none — for a viable replacement instead of admiting defeat, until Mr. Weston had offered his house.
Wes sure had been thrilled about that.
Danny sure was. But only after the potential blackmail of baby photos had made it worthy to push through the evening.
Still, if his memory didn’t fail him then those were definitely a small army of Westons — lately he had taken to calling any redhead in the vicinity a Weston™ in the making, if just for his own giggles. Jazz was still pretty annoyed. —
Or maybe they were just random magicky gingers.
He couldn’t help but wince at the possibility and so he grumbled around the straw of his smoothie.
He usually hated magicky business.
Either way, they were disrupting Amity’s non-existent peace and-
Well.
Wes screeching holy murder to the skies always managed to make him feel all sorts of weird when he was not the cause of it. All sorts of murdery weird. Case in point.
Though it was kind of funny that Wes screamed enough around town for most of the people — and ghosts — currently on the street to be ignoring him right now. Now, that there was something that honestly merited it.
Even those who were paying attention were doing it in a gossipy what-the-heck-is-weston-doing-now sort of way, and neither Danny nor the Ancients could blame them.
To be fair to Wes, he seemed to be doing fairly well against the stick people and their color rays. Which was the reason Danny had decided to take a seat on top of a building, enjoy the free show and take the opportunity to finish his drink before anything happened to the damn thing — again —. This promptly proved to be a mistake when the army of gingers disappeared moments later. All that ginger just gone. Poof. Begone.
When his half-freezed brain — just how he liked it, honest — finally processed the lack of screeching and thus a Wes to go alongside it he couldn't do more than resign himself and sigh.
‘ Goddamnit Weston ’
He struggled to fish his phone out of his jumpsuit one handed and punched in the fruitloop-speed-dial — never a good thing to have — leaving his seat behind so he could float his way up to get a better view of the street and eventually the whole city. Just in case. Because most of the time it didn’t hurt to check all his bases.
When the call went through he didn’t even bother with niceties. It was just Vlad, after all-
“Someone just gingernapped your secretary 's son,” He slurped — because he could and would finish this smoothie — and wasted no time in switching the conversation to the background of his priorities. Concentrating instead on pinpointing Wes’s new location in his inner ghostly GPS for Westons-in-danger. “just thought you might want to know.”
He ignored what was — most likely — Mr. Weston’s struggles to get the phone away from Vlad and snapped the thing shut when his senses finally zeroed in on the new location.
He took off.