Two weeks. Danny had been stuck in Walker’s prison for two weeks.
Coincidentally, there were also two main problems with this situation that left Danny almost completely and utterly baffled.
Okay, one, when did Walker get competent enough to actually keep him locked up? For those first few days, he was actually able to almost escape. Now? He couldn’t even move out of his cell without twenty trigger happy guards pointing things at his face.
Talk about rude.
Two, and more importantly, where the fuck was his rescue crew?
Maybe Walker increased security outside or maybe Tucker and Sam didn’t think he’d be in his prison of all places. Danny didn’t know and frankly, he was starting to realize that he was going to have to escape on his own. Considering the ridiculous amount of chains stuck to him, and the fact that Skulker was a little shit and gave the Warden something to keep him in ghost form, Danny’s chances of escaping looked to be likely as a hot day in the Far Frozen. And this was assuming he could even escape the guards’ gaze in the first place.
That thought really should have made him more worried. Thousands of years stuck with all his enemies without seeing his family? Really, it should have freaked him out more. (Jazz would have probably said it had something to do with defense mechanism. His brain protecting him from ‘facing reality’ or something like that).
But despite what he should be worrying about, all Danny could think was that he looked a chain mummy or like some D-zombie from a T-rated video game.Seriously, he was practically draped in them. He looked like a bondage slave. (When he told Walker as such, with a bit more implicit snark involved, Danny was amused to see the Warden finally gave in and forced him into a muzzle).
He took great pride in annoying the guards with his constant rattling.
Still, there were other issues being stuck at the prison (other than the obvious ones). Despite being stuck in ghost form, Danny was still very much part human. Meaning, he still had human functions. The first time Danny had to take a piss, the guards laughed and mocked him. Though Walker must have had some sense of duty, or at the very least, common sense. Somehow they were able to set up a toilet in his cell within the hour.
Danny didn’t know where they got the water or even where everything went, but hell if he was going to complain about it.
However his current issue was taking precedence, and was one he didn’t think would occur because he thought someone would have figured out where he was by now.
Food. Total complete and utter lack of food.
By the end of week one, Danny resorted to drinking ectoplasm. Sure, it was disgusting, but at the very least, his throat didn’t feel like it was trying to kill him every time he tried to talk. He’d think about the implications of being able to drink said ectoplasm much, much later once he was back home and safe in his own bed, but for awhile, he found he could survive on the slimy substance. Plus ectoplasm apparently contained water, which was good enough for Danny to continue forward each day.
But despite ectoplasm’s amazing properties, it apparently didn’t supplement for actual food. Since it could be collected in the “air” Danny had no issues just taking some whenever he needed. But actual food from the Warden without knowing what the sociopathic ghost would actually put in it?
Yeah, no. He held out until someone could come save him
At least he tried to. He really did.
When whale noises started groaning from his stomach, it was very difficult not to attract the attentions of the guards.
Moral of the story? His stomach was a damn traitor.
Once the guard knew, it was like a domino effect. The guard told him to shut up, and then his stomach did the thing again. Shocks from their tasers and being pulled by the collar, yadda, yadda, more threats and “be quiet or Walker will have your head, ghost child,” the usual deal. The idiots finally realized that there was an issue at the third fucking scream from his stomach, and one of them decided to go get Walker.
This led to his current situation. Danny, still tied up in chains, (but unmuzzled and hands free) in a private torture chamber-esque room, with at least fifteen guards, Walker, and tons of weapons pointed at his face.
In the center of it all this commotion, was a pile of purple mashed potatoes sitting innocently on a plate in front of him.
Purple. Mashed. Potatoes.
“You’re trying to poison me,” Danny said bluntly. He gave the potatoes his best non-powered death glare.
The potatoes, of course, did nothing except continue being purple.
Walker huffed, rather loudly. Leaning down he placed his hands on either side of Danny’s plate, mere hairlines away from the spoon, “Boy, as much as I like making you suffer,” not that he really been doing that much, Danny noted, other a few shocks here and there, “I’d rather you have the energy to scream,” He pushed the plate closer to Danny, “Now, eat. ”
“Wooowww,” Danny snarked with a roll of his eyes, “so enticing. Makes me just want to write home and tell everyone about it,” Even as he said that, he stomach gurgled loudly to remind him of his current predicament.
Walker arched an eyebrow at the noise, “I’m no expert, but even halfas need to eat. If anyone is gonna kill ya, it’s going to be me, not your human functions.”
“You know, why do ghost even have an executioner? You’re dead, so do you just re-kill them?”
“I mean, it’s weird. I get the whole, torture eternal souls thing, but you can’t exactly kill people again.”
“Phantom, you better start eating before I stuff this down your throat.”
And bantering just became dangerously annoying. Huffing, Danny looked down at the plate. The purple not very enticing potatoes stared back at him. Mockingly. They begged to be eaten with their surprisingly good smell but also turned him away, all because of who it came from and its stupid color.
His stomach growled once more, and he bit his lip. The side of him that was completely controlled by his stomach screamed, “WHO CARES ABOUT COLOR. THERE’S FOOD,” and was physically torturing what was left of his already little common sense and even lesser sense of self-preservation.
Danny looked between the plate, then up to Walker, then to the spoon next to the plate, and then to Walker’s hand which was clenching the table tighter with every passing second. This cycle continued on for a good thirty seconds before his stomach once again reminded him to focus.
Finally, Danny sighed loudly and picked up the spoon.
Fuck it. Food first, worry about torture happy ghosts later.
“Good, boy,” Walker said with a smirk, voice absolutely smug, “Now, if you could learn to sit, then you’d be as good as a dog.”
Danny scrunched his eyebrows, “Ewww. Just eww. I thought we already had a little talk about the weird things you like. Don’t need to add roleplay into it.”
Walker growled and Danny knew if it wasn’t for the fact that he was cooperating, the Warden would have had his guards shock him. Score for stubbornness.
Instead, the Walker just gritted his teeth and said cooly, “Just eat before I change my mind about this and just leave you to starve.”
Danny rolled his eyes, “Well excuse me for being cautious,” he muttered, as he scooped up the potatoes. He eyed the substance one last time, and before he could think about what he was putting in his mouth, dumped the purple monstrosity in his mouth and-
Holy shit this was the best thing he’d ever had in his life.
But that may be his starvation talking.
“I thought you were being cautious,” Walker commented dryly, as Danny shoveled the food in his mouth. The bastard sounded smug but Danny was in too much bliss to care.
Danny swallowed and looked up, eyes completely serious, “Dude, I don’t care if these mashed potatoes are purple. I’m hungry and these taste great, so if you don’t mind I’m going back to paradise.” And then he proceeded to shovel more in his mouth like Walker hadn’t even started talking.
Fuck, if the Warden wanted to poison him, he could.
He earned that with his cooking skills.