Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Acidic green lightning split through the sky, the dark clouds above momentarily giving way to something unearthly and wrong.

No, no, no, Danny rambled to himself, struggling to pick himself up off the floor. Ectoplasm spluttered between gloved fingers, and as his opponent grabbed his white hair and shoved him back down, forcing him to kneel, to bow, he could hear Skulker's rockets whistling through the air below him, nearly in harmony with that of the howling wind. Through the grate beneath him, he saw them explode amongst a troop of skeleton ghosts that had been approaching the tower. Their bones shot like shrapnel into the fray and decapitated several more of their mindless companions.

Somewhere nearby, Dora roared in absolute fury as she tackled her brother to the ground, the force from her pounce causing the ground to tremble and the tower to shake. Frostbite's people snarled, Fright Night's steed shrieked, helicopters blazed by, ectoblasts flew, and shouts rang from every direction, but from the top of the device Technus had been manipulated to create, the one that was slowly but surely merging the Ghost Zone with the Human World, the one that could force all ghosts into servitude…

From the top of this tower, time seemed to move in slow motion, every detail as pure and clear as crystal.

We're failing, he thought belatedly as another bolt of spectral lightning struck and the clouds of both worlds churned. Another hard blast pummeled into his stomach, but he managed to struggle upright and return fire. There was no joy when it connected, and he threw himself forward, taking advantage of the small opening.

We're losing. There was an enticing pulse in the air, sweet and exhilarating. Energy crackled through the air, and even he could sense it now.

There isn't enough time.

Jazz was sobbing, and his parents, struggling against their bonds and shouting into their gags. The equipment meant to disable the device laid in broken pieces across the platform, eerily illuminated by the green flashes of lightning.

Not enough, not enough…

Phantom didn't mean to Wail—he thought he was long past the point of having the energy to do so—but somehow, someway, he did, and his knees gave out. Not now, he told himself. Long claws dug into him, eliciting a gasp of pain. Get up. Fight.

He was pulled upright. The Ghost King leered in his face, eyes cold and mad with power. The glow from the Crown lit his pale, regal brow. "How disappointing," Dark mused. "They warned me of your greatness, Twice-born. 'Beware of Phantom,' they told me. 'Don't dare underestimate him,' they said. 'He is strong,' they insisted. Bah. Pathetic. They think you are more powerful because of your curse? No, it makes you weak. Look around you. The sight of your failure will greet you."

Of course he didn't do as he was told. Dim green eyes focused on the family trapped on the tower with him…their hopes lying in shatters at their feet. With no way to contact their human or ghost allies for backup, with no other way to save either ghosts or humans from enslavement, they had nothing left, and seeing them…his sister, his parents…their eyes wide with fear, their chests heaving…Danny wished…

The hands fisted into his jumpsuit began to burn. One wrenched themselves away from his chest and up to his throat, forcing him to turn his head and look the Ghost King in the eye. "You will obey!" Pariah Dark thundered.

Several ghosts, having bypassed the armies below, clambered onto the platform, some allies and others enemies. All powerful, prideful ghosts in their own right. Eyes vacant, they lowered themselves to a knee and awaited their King's command. "It begins," he hissed gleefully. "They come to me now. Soon, even you will be mine, abomination! I will break you and make you suffer!" A smirk curled over his lips, and greedy eyes flickered away from him. "And I know where I shall start."

No.

Phantom spat a mouthful of ectoplasm and saliva straight into his face. Pariah Dark rubbed the glob away from his eyes and tossed him aside with a roar. He crashed into the center console, where the Soul Shredder and the Ring of Rage together were housed in a bubble of energy, and rolled over a few times before skidding to a stop.

The skies were nearly one now, the humming in his head nearly unbearable.

No time, no time…

Several more ghosts flitted onto the platform to stand behind Pariah, who stood glorifying in his victory. Laughing. He was laughing now.

Cocky asshole.

The Ghost King did not notice Phantom's eyes blazing. His arms trembled, hardly able to take his weight, and his breath rattled in his throat.

I can't…I won't…

Pain radiated from every major point in his body, but he got to his feet again and, summoning the very last of his energy, did the unexpected. Instead of attacking, or attempting to deflect the attacks of over three dozen powerful ghosts that had just been ordered against him, he launched himself forward.

Only chance…

Intangible hands shoved through the electrifying barriers, and quivering fingers wrapped themselves around the two artifacts.

"HALF BREEEEEEEED!"

His head was wrenched backwards, and he screamed, his throat tearing as another Wail, this one infused with power straight from his cold core, spilled from his lips. White overcame his vision, and the energy of the two items flooded into his body, more maddening, more shocking, more excruciating than anything he had ever experienced before. The Accident could not compare to this torture. All he knew was the feeling of the Soul Shredder's magic, each and every one of his fears screeching and tumbling through him at once, ripping at both heart and core, and the feeling of the ring…how one remained sane with this in his possession, let alone the Crown of Fire on top of that…

The rapid thudding of the human heartbeats near him rang in his ears, the sensation of every possessed ghost's mind stabbing into his own, the whispers and cries for help... There was so much hatred, so much fear and pain to add upon his own…

He felt them approach him, as they had been ordered to, but they were repulsed away. Distantly, he could feel his suit melting and the ground beneath him rumbling, quaking. It seemed an eternity before something snapped. A crack of thunder erupted, and the stream of power whiplashed. He jerked away and collapsed, a broken blade and dead ring falling into his lap.

Silence.

A ragged gulp for air. Blurred vision. Heart thud-dud'ing, core spluttering, out of sync. A twitch. The tingling rush of invisibility, on and off, off and on. Eyes…open.

Blue sky.

He would have laughed, had he been capable. Everything felt raw, with the exception of his legs. He could not feel his legs. He couldn't move them. The smallest movement of his head was all it took for him to see that his form was destabilizing.

Bubbling.

Disintegrating.

It was almost funny, really.

A fuzzy form shoved itself into his field of vision. The orange was nearly blinding, and it was only followed by more colors, too bright for him to process.

The words coming from the form's mouth were shrill and all muddled, but the sound of it was so familiar, he strained to focus. "You idiot," she was now repeating. There were tears streaking down her face. "You idiot."

"Why?" Mom's face appeared beside his sister's. There was a large hand pressed into his chest and a sharp pinch right in the crook of his arm, but he wished he could focus on her face, silhouetted by the blinding sun—Earth's sun—and the spinning, spinning of helicopter blades. He wanted to tell her that the roaring in his ears was obnoxious and that he really, really wanted to fall asleep now.

For some reason, that felt more important than what he should have been attempting to say. It was too hard to say those things, far too hard.

But there was no time for speaking. There was no time for regrets. No time to apologize. He stared at the blue sky, at the three people surrounding him, and closed his eyes, at peace and grateful.

"Why did you do that?"

Tongue as heavy as several bricks, he slurred hoarsely, a weak smile twitching at the corners of his lips, "'Jus' me. 's me."

And just as the comforting blanket of unconsciousness took him into its embrace, a familiar flash of light crossed his eyes.

Chapter Text

"Tucker! C'mon!"

A pitiful moan erupted from the lump on the bed, and Tucker rolled over, pulling his blankets up over his head.

Sam Manson, who had entered her friend's room as loudly and obnoxiously as she could, threw her hands up in the air. "For the love of—!" Picking up a stray shoe from his floor, she chucked it at him. When Tucker grunted at the impact, the girl smirked in satisfaction and maneuvered through his mess toward the window. "C'mon, Tucker," she attempted again, flinging open the curtains.

Once the room was filled with sunlight, the teenaged boy winced under his covers, curled into a tighter ball, and whined, "Ugh, Sam…"

"Get your lazy ass up out of bed! We gotta go!"

"But, Saaaam, it's too earl—wait. Sam!" He yelped and scrambled upright, blinking his eyes rapidly. "How the hell did you get in here?!"

Sam quirked a brow and grinned as widely as the Cheshire cat. "This isn't the first time I've snuck into your room through the window. You know that."

The wide-eyed, confused look on Tucker's face was priceless, and unable to help herself, she started snickering and rolled her eyes. "Your mom let me in, you nimrod. Now, get up." She accentuated her command by hurling what she hoped was a semi-clean pair of Nike shorts at him. With the layer of crap on Tucker's floor…Well, let's just say Sam preferred not to think about it. He might have insisted there was an order to everything, but she had yet to be convinced. "We're going to be late."

For a moment, the blank, zombie-like expression remained, but after a few seconds of appraising her—obviously noting the bright, logoed t-shirt she wore—realization hit. With a grumble, Tucker rubbed his eyes and fumbled for his glasses. "I don't seem to recall ever actually agreeing to this, Sam."

"Aw, come on, it'll be fun, Tucker!" Sam consoled.

Tucker, who had been friends with Sam for long enough to feel no shame whatsoever in tumbling out of bed in only his PJ bottoms, grabbed the Nike shorts she threw at him and slowly rolled to his feet. "I wouldn't call waking up this early on a Saturday morning fun."

"Hey, it's not my fault you stay up all night online."

Tucker glowered, but it lacked heat. Of course she was right. "I certainly don't call spending my Saturday at the school very fun either."

"Well, it's for a good cause," Sam said with a bright smile. "Suck it up."

"You're awfully cheerful this morning. Far too cheerful to be Goth."

Sam looked down at herself and snorted. She didn't look particularly Goth in her yellow shirt and purple gym shoes, but instead of retorting, she reasoned, "It's a nice day out, and we're going to be making a difference in Amity Park's diabetics' lives. What isn't there to smile about? If that's not enough for you, the volunteering will look good on your college resume, and look—" she displayed another brightly colored t-shirt, the words Strides: Walk for Diabetes written across the front in large font "—I got you a free shirt."

He caught the shirt easily and made a show of surveying it. "You do know how to bribe a man, Sam. Pretty good deal," he admitted. Sam's smug grin made his eyes widen in mock-horror. "Oh, no," her friend bemoaned overdramatically. "I feel like I'm going to be drowning in free t-shirts by the end of the month."

With another roll of her eyes, Sam playfully shoved him through the bathroom door. "There are worse things. Now hurry up! Your mom's made those sausage links you like so much, and it's your own fault if they're cold when you finally show your face downstairs."

Despite his protests, she heard him pick up the pace, and she had to choke down a laugh. "The things I do for you, woman!" he cried.

The things he does do for me, Sam agreed fondly as she tightened her ponytail. The two teens were vastly different in almost every aspect, but even still, she could not have asked for a better friend. He put up with her eccentricities, her stubbornness, and strong views, and he accepted her for who she was—flaws and all. Despite his immaturity and goofiness, despite all his cheesy womanizing and geekiness, there was a surprising amount of sensitivity in him. He always seemed to know when she truly needed him. She supposed that's what happened when two people become as close as siblings: they just know these things.

This was one of those times. He knew there was another reason she was going to the Lions Club's Strides walk today, and she was just so grateful he would be there to keep her sane…and to keep her from doing anything rash.

Her parents were running the thing, after all, and there'd be no escaping them.

They never really saw eye to eye—Sam and her parents. That didn't mean she didn't love them, of course, but they really were intolerableat the best of times. It didn't help that their Type-A personalities became even more pronounced whenever given a position of power, and since Jeremy Manson was President of Amity Park's Lions Club, it was sometimes difficult to work with him.

Sam learned to deal with it. For the most part, anyway. It was only recently that she discovered just how much she loved participating in community service, and after putting aside her more juvenile desire not be seen in public with her parents, she became more involved with the Club. It was the perfect outlet for her, and she was proud to be a part of such a beneficial organization. Her parents, too, were thrilled because, finally, their "Doom-and-Gloom" daughter appeared to actually be invested in something that they approved of.

Shocker.

To be utterly truthful, it was one of the very few things she and her parents actually shared—a passion for giving back to the community—even if…

Even if her mother had a funny way of showing it sometimes.

Fuck the PTA, Sam cursed suddenly, blowing her side-bangs out of her face and digging her dark plum-colored fingernails into her palms. Sick, narrow-minded, disgusting… And to know her mother had been the one who started it! Sam had been trying to forget about it, trying to put it aside, at least for a little while, but it was like a pimple that just wouldn't go away. It still made her blood boil, and even though she had made the mature decision to try to make amends with her mother, to try to stitch the chasm back together, she would never forget what had caused that chasm to form in the first place.

She almost had decided to skip the Lions Club event altogether, but if there was ever a time to start making peace offerings…

A sudden crash behind her made her jump. Tucker, now fully dressed, gave her a sheepish look. "Sorry," he apologized, picking up the book he'd elbowed off the empty fishbowl on his dresser.

"Dork," Sam mumbled, her mood noticeably sourer than it had been. "You ready?"

It took a moment for him to swipe his PDA off the only immaculate spot in his room: his bedside table, which was reserved for his gadgets alone. "Yeah."

Together, they made their way downstairs, where Mr. and Mrs. Foley sat at the kitchen table, absorbed in the morning news. Upon hearing them enter, Mr. Foley swiveled in his chair to give Tucker an incredulous stare. After alternating his gaze between the clock and the teenager multiple times over, he deadpanned, "Okay, who are you and what have you done to my son?"

"Ha ha, Dad," Tucker said sarcastically, slipping up to the counter to grab a plate. "Good morning to you too."

"Morning, dear," Mrs. Foley responded as she watched her son heap sausage and eggs onto his plate. "Sam? Did you want anything? We have some apples in the fridge and cereal in the pantry, if you haven't eaten."

Sam smiled at her thoughtfulness. "No thanks, Mrs. Foley. I had breakfast with my grandma this morning."

As Tucker slid onto a seat with his mountain of meat and immediately tucked in, Sam turned her attention to the TV. "Ghost Alert just finish?"

Mr. Foley nodded absently. "Nothing much to report. There were just a few wandering specters over the course of the night. No attacks."

"That's good," Sam breathed in relief.

Ever since the Shift, the city felt like it was perpetually holding its breath, peering over its shoulder. Paranoia and fear was palpable, and tensions were high. Everyone—from toddlers to seniors—seemed to be on the look-out for anything suspicious or…supernatural, but despite it all, despite the changes that had overcome their town since that fateful night, Sam couldn't help but feel grateful. Utterly grateful.

They had their lives, after all, thanks to him.

She'd heard of the ghost attacks in Chicago, and she'd heard of the Fentons. It intrigued her—all that they did and all that they fought—but it wasn't until the Ghost King went insane and tried to enslave the entire ghost and human races that she realized just how real it all was. And how dangerous the objects of her fascination could be.

When Pariah Dark's attempt failed, something happened. The Fentons had explained it on national television—something about how the expulsion of ectoplasmic power had shifted the spectromagnetic field of the Ghost Zone, which ran "antiparallel and sideways" to the Earth's own magnetic field, causing barrier between the worlds to fluctuate.

Sam hadn't really understood the science behind it (not that she didn't try), but she—and everyone in Amity—had understood the consequences. As it turned out, due to the Shift, Amity Park was now the exact spot where the barrier was at its thinnest. Natural portals became a daily sight, and ghost sightings, a frighteningly increasing occurrence.

There had only been a few legitimate ghost attacks since the Shift, and Sam had been unlucky enough experience one at the school. It had been unlike anything she had ever felt before—the eerie chill that crept down her spine and the dread that consumed her gut and mind. And that had been before the pair of glowing green octopi had appeared. There had been no deaths (thank God), but there had been a few injuries, which was horrible enough.

"Yes," Mr. Foley agreed hesitantly. "I wouldn't get used to it. The Fentons were on again last night, and they said the ghosts are completely disoriented by the Shift. The smarter ones, the more powerful ones—they're hiding away in the Ghost Zone until they can adapt to the change (1)."

"Or they're just waiting for that Portal to find its new home. So that it can stabilize the natural portals or whatever (2)," Tuck said through a mouthful of food. "When are they moving in, anyway?"

Mrs. Foley clucked a little. "Despite how eager Jack Fenton is to get up and going, their family is still recovering from the battle, and they've been working endlessly to help both Earth and the Ghost Zone since Pariah Dark's escape. Besides, I can't imagine they're making their arrangements very public, Tucker."

"They have enough publicity as it is and deserve some privacy," Sam felt the need to point out. She hadn't meant to sound so bitter, but it certainly came out that way. Her scowl certainly didn't make her tone sound any less harsh, and when she saw that the commercial break was over and yet anothermention of interviews came from the peppy newscaster's mouth, Sam stood up. "Anyway, I bet they're moving as fast as they can. You nearly done, Tuck? My parents are going to kill me if we're late."

After shoveling the last few forkfuls into his mouth and taking care of his dishes, Tucker was following Sam out the door and shouting goodbyes to his parents, who, despite the obvious concern she felt emanating from them, had not pushed her any further.

It's what she loved about them.

Tucker, however, was another matter entirely, and even if she sometimes wished he'd get out of her head, it's what she loved about him.

"You know, it'll be alright."

Sam sighed and picked at her fingernail polish. "It was a big fight we had, Tuck," she said without preamble. "Bigger than any we've had before, and this time, both sides said things that we regret—things that aren't entirely forgivable just yet—and the fact it went so public…"

Tucker winced in sympathy. It had been an extremely tough for Sam since the Shift had occurred and the Fentons announced their move. Her house had been divided, shouting matches reigning supreme. She'd come to him a mess more than once, and the things she had told him about what was happening had been enough for him to admit he wanted to scream and punch something.

What he did was better, and Sam would never forget it. Though he had been little more leery on the entire subject at first, he had ultimately agreed with her and had helped her fight back against the people of Amity who were too scared, too judgmental, too ignorant to see the truth.

Because where Pamela Manson and her kind had seen nothing but a threat to Casper High's student body, something that had no business getting anywhere near "normal children," Sam had seen something else entirely. She had wanted to put a stop to it, and what had begun as a family feud had soon spiraled out of control and into a citywide ethical and political battle. The Guys in White, an organization wiped out by the Fentons for their unlawful practices just last year, still held some sway over opinions, which made it even more difficult to make her voice heard.

But basically, everyone who was anyone knew about it.

In all honesty, Sam harbored the childish hope that not everyone knew about it. She truly hoped that the one person who should have known about it actually had no clue about it. He'd been through enough already without having this thrown at him.

"I know, I know," Tucker soothed. "Your mom's getting better, though, right? I mean, she's coming today, so…she's not so… hostile about it anymore, is she?"

"She's…still a little frosty toward Dad, Grandma, and I," Sam admitted, "but at least she's stopped spewing all that prejudiced anti-ghost crap. The silent treatment's abating a bit lately, too, because I think she's realizing that there's nothing more she can do. The Fentons are moving in whether she likes it or not, and after the last attack, she knows we need their help now. There're no more arguments she can make. Even still, I know she's waiting for it all to come bite us all in the ass."

Tuck drew up short. "You don't think that, do you? That it'll come bite us in the ass?"

Sam shook her head fervently. "Of course not! No, I stand by what I said all along."

She wasn't the only one who thought so. The ghost boy had always been a hot topic of debate, but now…everything had changed, especially in the city that would soon house him. What it came down to? Phantom might have been powerful enough to withstand the influence of two ancient artifacts of Ghost Zone lore and destroy Pariah Dark, he might have been the one who accidentally caused the Shift, and he might have over a hundred lethal enemies and a sketchy track record, but underneath it all, he—he was also a human being. Not a monster, not a poltergeist. A teenager.

And he deserved every right to go to a public school if he so chose. Sam, Tucker, and a hell of a lot of other students, faculty members, and citizens weren't about to let people like Pamela Manson and her PTA cronies deny him that right, not with the sickeningly prejudiced reasons they were giving. Not after all that he had sacrificed.

Despite everything, despite the worldwide revelation of his secret the moment he defeated Dark, saved his family's lives, and prevented the entire human race from being dominated by brainwashed ghosts, Daniel Fenton obviously wanted to live as normal of a life as possible. Even if there are some dangers involved with him attending Casper High—Sam had to concede to that point—and even if the very mention of his name was beginning to make her internally wince, it wasn't right to deny him that.

"Besides," Sam added as they rounded the corner, "once the Fentons move in…Well, surely she'll see that having them here will make things infinitely better. Safer, too, for all of us."

Whatever Tucker was going to say was drowned out by the sudden shriek that emitted from a coffee shop across the way. The pair of teens leapt out of their skins and whirled toward the noise, just in time to see a crazed woman, still screaming bloody murder, crash through the shop door and sprint for her life. A shimmer of an indistinct form, recognizable as one of the harmless ghouls (3) that liked to float around lately, phased through the glass soon after her emergence from the shop and continued on its merry way.

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to slow her racing heart, Sam ignored the ghoul's echoing moans and wheezes and glared in the direction of the mindless woman, who had, quite honestly, freaked out over nothing. With a roll of her eyes and a mutter of "idiot" on her lips, she turned back around to find Tucker chuckling. Her narrowed violet eyes dared him to make a joke about how violently she had reacted to the woman's sudden scream.

He was smart and did the right thing. Swallowing his laughter, he smirked knowingly and instead responded to her previous comment. "Safer? Well, it's not like it can get any worse than it is already. Though I admit—" his eyes trailed in the direction the woman had run "—this town definitely could use a little Fenton insanity about now. It's probably the only brand of insanity strong enough to stand it's own against people like her."

Chapter Text

"That is insane," Danny Fenton groaned, flopping into his seat and digging his knuckles into his eyes. It was far too early to be up on a Saturday. He might not usually get a lot of sleep anyway—what, with the ghosts' insistence on attacking in the wee hours of the morning—but since he was still recovering, much to his displeasure, sleep was proving to be the cure-all to the massive amount of energy he'd drained pulling the stunt he did. Well, that and concentrated doses of ectoplasm, but that was beside the point. He was still pretty tired, and all he really wanted was to crawl back into bed. "Why are you showing me this, Jazz?"

His sister had that irritatingly smug look on her face, and withdrawing her tablet from under his nose, she began to tap away. "It's good for you."

"In what world is this good for me?" he protested. "I stay away from that stuff for a reason!"

"See! That you're still blushing like a tomato proves to me that you're not letting the attention go to your head. Keeps you humble."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Been there, done that, Jazz. Honestly, I don't need to see any more crazy fan theories about me or my love life, which—if they were smart enough to connect "constant ghost attacks" with "lack of free time"—is nonexiste—"

"Ugh!" Jazz interrupted, flinching violently and exiting from whatever webpage she'd stumbled upon. With a crinkled nose, she shook her head and flung the tablet into her bag as though it were poisonous. "Oh my God, I cannot un-see that. That was worse than when they thought we were dating."

Danny was very sure he didn't want to know (because there was nothing worse than hearing his parents yelling at his sister for having what they thought was a romantic relationship with the ghost boy), and he started to guffaw. It pleased him that it no longer hurt to do so. "I think my point has been made."

Shuddering, Jazz ignored him and groaned, "Where's Mom and Dad already? They said they'd be right out."

Danny shrugged, and standing up, he stuck his head through the roof of the GAV to take a quick peek toward the new house, which they, unbeknownst to most people, had almost completely moved into just the day before. Maddie Fenton, naturally, happened to coming out the door the very moment he turned intangible, and as Jazz gave him a warning smack from below, his mother scolded, "Daniel James Fenton! What did I tell you about using your powers until your father and I gave you the clear?"

"To not to," he mumbled sullenly.

There were some definite perks to having his parents know his secret now, but this—their cautiousness, their lack of faith in his judgment where it concerned his health—was not one of those perks. No doubt Jazz told them of the real reasons behind a few of his collapses at school, and anyone with eyes had deduced where all the gashes, bruises, and burns came from by now. Sure, fine, he pushed himself a little too far every now and then, but he did know his body and his limits better than anyone.

And if he was being honest with himself, he'd had these powers for so long it felt wrong not to use them. It was stifling to stay so grounded, to ignore that constant cold pulse in his chest. He knew they were concerned (and for good reason), and he knew that they were helping (he certainly never knew that it was only thanks to his human side that his "ghost half" hadn't starved yet). However, what he knew and what he accepted about their fussing didn't prevent him from being mildly irritated by it all.

"But I'm fine, Mom," he insisted. "Really. I feel great. I stayed awake all throughout yesterday and helped pack and move! No naps, no overwhelming hunger, no random power glitches. If I'm well enough to actually go outside and interact with the world, surely I can—"

Her don't-argue-with-me-Daniel-and-get-your-head-back-in-the-RV glare was easily more terrifying than Plasmius' "scary eyes," so he immediately did as her eyes demanded.

As he sat back down and sighed into his lap, Jazz's hand came to rest on his shoulder for a brief second. After flicking his gaze to meet hers, she smiled lightly, and he felt a flush of warmth at her obvious support. She might be annoying, she might be awful with a Fenton Thermos, but she'd been there through it all. She'd been the one who nursed his wounds, the one who covered for him, the one who always knew what to say to lift his spirits. Even now, she knew how best to encourage him, and a shudder possessed him at the thought of where—and what—he'd be if he hadn't had her there to help him after the Accident and now, after the Shift.

When Maddie climbed into the passenger side's front seat and turned to address her son, her expression softened to one of sympathy and understanding. "I know you're impatient to get back to your old self, sweetheart, but we're still learning about you—all of us, even Sleetjaw. He knows more about halfa physiology than anyone, and if he's concerned, I'm even more so. I just don't want to take any unnecessary risks."

A remnant of delayed fear swooped through Danny's gut, only to dissolve into the same numb disbelief he felt when he first woke up and saw his parents debating with Vlad (of all people), Jazz, Frostbite, and Sleetjaw, who was the Far Frozen's Head Healer, about whether or not it was safe to give him higher doses of Ecto-Dejecto. It was so weird hearing the word "halfa" falling so naturally from his mom's lips. He still wasn't used to it, and he certainly knew that though his parents seemed at ease talking about it, seeing it was another thing entirely. If Danny was honest with himself, he had never felt greater discomfort than having his parents witness just how wacky a malfunctioning ghost-side could be.

"I know, I'm sorry, Mom. I just…" Danny felt a flush creep to his cheeks, and he bit off what he was going to say, turning to the window.

His mom's eyes remained on him. "What were you going to say, dear?" she asked gently. Danny wasn't so thick that he couldn't hear the strain in her voice, and internally he winced, knowing that she and Dad were trying to reconnect with him, to do whatever they could to integrate his new life into theirs.

For this to work, however, Danny had to meet them halfway, no matter how awkward it felt to him.

"I want to fly," he admitted, turning back to Mom and rubbing the back of his neck. "I miss it, but…it's not just that. I've been thinking…and I really need to learn the city."

"And you'll have time to," she promised. He didn't fight her when she reached over her seat to brush his bangs from his eyes. "I didn't realize you were so eager to get out there. I thought you wanted to stay out of public eye as long as possible."

Danny jerked in his seat. In truth, he never said so in as many words, but he shouldn't have put it past his mother to interpret his growing reluctance to join in family conversations about the new school and about the new house and about the new city. He was Danny Phantom, Danny often felt the need to remind himself. Phantom doesn't get afraid.

But Phantom certainly had been afraid on the top of that tower, hadn't he? a part of him whispered.

"What gives you that idea?" he scoffed defensively. "I've already done a few phone interviews, haven't I?"

Jazz and his mother exchanged a sideways glance. "And that was from the safety and privacy of home," his sister said. "That's different, and you know it. You don't have to pull the Phantom bravado on us, Danny. It's okay to be nervous about this."

"But we're facing this together, sweetie," Mom interjected, a smile gracing her lips. "Every step of the way. It'll be alright. Principal Ishiyama and Mr. Lancer seem like very nice people, and when you start school this week—"

"Mom, you saw how the people reacted back home," Danny pointed out shrewdly.

"Yes, and you handled it all with grace and dignity."

"But that was from the safety and privacy of home," he echoed Jazz, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling. "They will only see me as Phantom. Just Phantom. I didn't want this to happen. I mean, I'm happy that you know now—it was stupid of me to keep it from you in the first place—but the rest of the world? No. Not them too. I didn't realize…the consequences." Suddenly he felt horribly selfish. His parents and sister had been the ones dealing with the brunt of those consequences while he was holed up inside, and here he was, complaining about it. "It was… so much easier when I was a fly on the wall, Mom."

Mom was silent for a moment. "I won't lie to you, Danny. It won't be easy—at least, not at the beginning—but if I know anything, I know that you will overcome whatever trials face you now. Just remember who you are and why you do what you do, and don't let what they say bother you."

It's not what they will say. Well, yes, kind of, but not really, Danny wanted to explain, but it was just easier for him to swallow roughly and nod in agreement. The silent nod wasn't enough for his mom, judging by the concern in her eyes, but he was saved from further questioning by the clumsy appearance of his father.

"Sorry! Sorry!" he boomed. "I didn't mean to keep you guys waiting."

Jazz, who had been nodding in genuineagreement with their mother's words, shifted in her seat and automatically reached for her seatbelt. "What held you up, Dad?"

"Oh, that Thunder fellow called the Fenton Ghost Line again," Dad said nonchalantly, placing the key in the ignition and starting the GAV. Dark teal eyes fixated on Danny through the rear-view mirror. "He's persistent, that's for sure. He really wants that interview, Danny boy. I told him it was all up to you."

Danny ran his hand through his hair. This Lance Thunder's frequent calls, which were far more frequent than Tiffany Snow's from Channel 11 or Henry Lloyd's from Channel 4, were admittedly starting to grate on his nerves. He and his parents received some offers from the agents of some big, world-renowned names, too, but they were politely declined for the time being. While he was recovering, his parents might have held multiple press conferences that were aired across the nation, but that did not mean that he was ready for anything like that. He wasn't even sure he was ready for anything local.

Of course, if someone were to post any interview he did on the local channels on YouTube, it didn't really matter anyway. There would probably have a few thousand hits within an hour—he'd heard that the grainy footage of the battle and of his transformation was already record-breaking—but he didn't want to think about that.

"There's no excuse not to anymore," he admitted. "There are probably some things I need to say publically before we start at Casper High."

His dad beamed at him. "Good sport."

"Are you sure, Danny?" Mom's brow puckered, and the tiny frown on her face deepened. "If you're feeling pressured…You don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with."

As tempting as that is… Unease crept up his spine, but slowly, he said, "I might never be comfortable with it, but I need to learn to be. I've got to accept what happened, and I can't do that by cowering away inside."

For a moment, she studied him closely. "Alright." Her wariness and protectiveness did not necessarily hide the hint of pride in her voice. "You can call him back after we get everything set up at the school. Before the rest of our furniture and lab equipment is delivered, preferably. Once people recognize the Ghost Assault Vehicle and see the moving truck, we're likely to have visitors."

"That's a nice word for 'paparazzi' and 'rabid fans,'" Danny quipped darkly under his breath.

His comment was so quiet that not even Jazz heard his words, but she'd always had this annoying ability to latch onto his moods. It was probably an "older sister" thing. "Yeah, and we have to try to make a good impression on them before they realize what bad neighbors we are," she joked, nudging her brother with her shoulder.

"We aren't bad neighbors, Jasmine!"

Jazz's attempt worked, and Danny snorted. He shared a loaded look with his sister, who deadpanned, "In the last two years, we broke thirteen windows, Mom. Explosions went off day and night. We sucked the whole block into a parallel dimension not once but twice."

Snickering, Danny added, "Ah, man, do you remember how many times wayward experiments gooped the Millers' cats? I think I lost count after eight."

"Well, I guess it depended on which cat it was."

"Riiiiight. Oh, then there was the block party incident—"

"That's enough," their mother scolded, a hint of a smile in her voice. "You've made your point."

Dad, however, was chortling in amusement. "That was good fun—rounding up those malicious hotdogs and burgers."

"Malicious?" Danny repeated incredulously. "They wanted to form a gang and reign over all the condiments. They were so stupid they were harmless!"

"Oh, yes, so stupid that it took all four of us to contain the hysteria."

"If I remember correctly, Jazz," he mused, "you were the one who shrieked and ran in the opposite direction whenever one of them made any sudden movements, so I'd amend that to 'all three of us.'"

Jazz spluttered for a moment before smirking. "At least I wasn't the one who dropped the Thermos and let those we caught back out again!"

"That was hardly—"

"Hey!" Dad exclaimed, interrupting any retort Danny could sling back at Jazz. "Wasn't that the first time we fought together, Danno?"

The question took him aback. It had been a random Saturday, truly, and it had been an insignificant battle, as far as ghost attacks went. Even so, the escapees had been so slippery, so quick and jumpy, that the entire Fenton family had been having far too much fun laughing at each other to really realize that Danny had joined the block party as Phantom.

They didn't know it, but it was the first time he truly felt his parents saw Phantom as more than a ghost. It was this little skirmish he considered the birth of their alliance—or rather, what had been their alliance before they knew he was their son. He hadn't expected anyone else to realize the significance of that day, and he most certainly hadn't expected his father to be the one to recognize it for what it was.

"Yeah, Dad," Danny said. "It was."

The shift of the mood in the GAV was almost palpable. "It's so obvious now," his father breathed, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry."

The apology was automatic. There was still so much they had yet to talk about together as a family, but that didn't mean his parents hadn't been trying to merge their memories of his two identities individually, often making connections and beating themselves up for missing it in the first place. It made Danny feel awful because it was his fault for keeping the secret for so long in the first place.

As always, Mom was quick to reassure him. "Stop apologizing, Danny. There is nothing to be sorry for. We've been through this."

And so they had, multiple times over. Tears had been shed, voices had been raised, and the blame game had been played. Lately, though, an accepting calm had settled over their family, but it would take some time for everyone to forgive themselves for all the lies, the regrets…the missed opportunities.

"I know," Danny mumbled.

Mom smiled and turned to Dad. "While we're on the topic…your son was using intangibility before we left the house."

His father, surprisingly, grinned and asked with a great amount of enthusiasm, "How'd it feel, Danny-boy?"

Despite himself, he grinned back. "Normal. Completely normal. I didn't even think."

"No wooziness?"

"Nope."

"That's good," Jack said. "We'll have to call Sleetjaw to help us with some more tests when we get home. That should give us a better idea about when you'll be good as new! You think you can transform this time?"

Another quick thrill raced through him at the casual use of 'transform.' It was still surreal. "Without disintegrating or melting a little?" he asked bluntly. He pretended not to notice his mother's wince and paused for a second, focusing on the fluctuation of the ever-present cold within. It was as steady as the beat of his heart. He had known it subconsciously, but it was great to feel the proof all the same. "Yeah, I know I can."

His glee was easily transparent. "Don't get too excited just yet, bud," Dad warned. "It may be like an old muscle. We might need to…exercise and drill Phantom to get you back into shape."

Danny opened his mouth but caught sight of his sister's and his mother's identical expressions. "Fair enough," he relented reluctantly, folding his arms and peering out the window.

It was then that he realized that, up until this moment, he'd been pointedly avoiding the windows. Transfixed, he stared at the people passing by, some openly gawking at the Fenton RV as it zoomed by. Fear coiled in his stomach whenever he caught and held the eyes of a stranger through the dark-tinted glass, but he could not bring himself to look away.

Dad pulled into Casper High not even moments later.

If he'd been nervous before, it was nothing compared to now. It had never felt so real, and the reality of it all hit him at once. They were in Amity Park now. They had moved. They were going to meet the head faculty of his new school. The procrastinator in him had been putting off the realization, the truth, of how close the deadline was, and now that it was here, he was very nearly panicking. He'd been grasping at threads, at any and every distraction, and he realized just how much he'd been manipulating his own perception of what was coming.

And this was just a meeting with two strangers. What was going to happen when he agreed to that interview? What about Monday? If he'd always thought of high school as a piranha's den, what the hell was it going to be now?

Oh, God, I'm so not ready for this. Why did I do this? Why didn't I actually consider online classes or home tutoring when Mom and Dad suggested it? Why did I want to try to be normal? I already know I'm a freak. I don't need to be reminded of it every single day. I don't…

"What do you think is happening here today?" Jazz mused, interrupting his internal rambling. Danny followed his sister's gaze. A few cars were parked near the outdoor track. Yellow-shirted people unloaded trunks and hauled banners and coolers across the parking lot.

"Looks like an awareness event," Mom said, watching the volunteers. "Lions Club. I think it was mentioned on the phone. Oh, not here, Jack. Mr. Lancer said to just park in the back lot. It's closer to where they want us to install the ghost shield. We'll walk around to the office."

As his father recklessly pulled into three parking spaces, Danny remained motionless, his gaze unseeingly fixated on the white, blocky building. The American flag flapped weakly in the breeze, just at the corner over there. Jazz had to nudge him in order to get him to move. Stiffly, he gathered his courage and followed her out of the RV.

"You ready?" Mom asked, indigo eyes flicking between her children.

Jazz, ever the studious and eager student, bobbed her head happily, but Danny faked a smile and said, "As I'll ever be."

Chapter Text

A burst of cool air hit Danny's face as his mother pushed open the door. Only one woman sat behind the desk. Blandly, she raised her gaze at the sound of the door closing and did a double take upon recognizing them, her magnified eyes widening to almost comical proportions when they landed on him.

Danny pretended to survey the office lobby. He knew the one at his other school far too well, and there was little doubt he'd have to get to know this one too. The supply of raven paraphernalia in the room was endless, and the sense of school spirit, overkill. In fact, the longer he looked, the more suffocating and overwhelming the…red-ness of it all became. Jazz was probably reveling in it.

Deep breaths, Danny. Dad placed a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up momentarily to exchange a smile with him. It'll be fine.

"Hello," Mom said in a cheery tone. "We're here to see the principal."

The brunette bounded upright, squeaking, "Yes, of course. Let me inform her you're here."

She returned far too soon for Danny's taste, and at her side stood a short, pristine Asian woman and a middle-aged balding man. They both smiled welcomingly enough, and Danny, though still nervous, relaxed a little when he saw them turn their attention to his parents first.

"You must be Maddie and Jack Fenton," the woman said warmly, offering her hand. "Welcome to Amity Park. I'm Kim Ishiyama—" she swept an arm toward her male companion "—and I believe you have already been acquainted with Edward Lancer on the phone."

Mom and Dad smiled, and each shook her hand, followed by Mr. Lancer's. "Thank you. It is great to be here, finally."

"It's a far cry from Chicago, I'm sure, but we are certainly glad to have you here." Only then did the woman turn her gaze to Danny and Jazz. "And these must be your children?"

"Yes, ma'am," Mom said proudly. "These are Jasmine and Daniel."

"Hello, Jasmine. Daniel. It's great to meet you."

He knew the power of a first handshake, and he did not break eye contact while greeting them. Vaguely, he realized that neither of them reacted to the slight chill in his touch and made no sign that they knew his true nature, but despite their sincere and open expressions, he was self-conscious enough to get the distinct impression they were studying him quite closely anyway. Mr. Lancer's pale hazel eyes pierced straight through him, analyzing, reading, and understanding. He was one of those teachers, Danny knew instinctively, who was born to teach, one who could read students as easily as he could a classic novel. For some reason, instead of intimidating him, as other teachers had in the past, Lancer seemed…there was something there that made Danny believe that this man was one he could trust implicitly. The tension unknotted in his stomach, and with a shy smile on his face, he echoed Jazz and said politely to both of them, "It's nice to meet you, too."

"Please, let's take this to my office," Ishiyama offered. "I'm sure you have a busy few days ahead of you, and we don't want to take up too much of your time."

"Oh, don't think that!" Dad reassured as they fell into step behind the two faculty members. "Setting up ghost shields for the school and taking care of the kids' school stuff is infinitely more fun than unpacking."

Without thinking, Danny chuckled and muttered under his breath, "You're only saying that because the lab equipment's not here yet."

Jazz gave him a stern look and elbowed him in the ribs. Mr. Lancer, who was nearest the siblings as they entered the office, quirked an eyebrow at the interaction but made no comment. He didn't necessarily have to.

Ishiyama closed the door behind them and retreated behind her desk. "I think," she said, taking a seat and intertwining her fingers as the Fentons followed in suit, "before we start, on behalf of the faculty and student body, I need to thank all of you for the sacrifices you made to be here. Especially you, Daniel."

He shuffled, cheeks burning. "Danny," he corrected, a knee-jerk reaction.

"Well, then, thank you, Danny."

His neck felt hot now too. "It was a mixture of my own stupidity and some really, really dumb luck," he replied modestly. Guiltily, too, for had it not been for him and his thoughtlessness, the Shift would not have occurred and the people of Amity would not be facing the ghost threat at all. "There's no need to thank me. Really."

For the first time, the principal lost her professional front and stared. Mr. Lancer was the one who responded. "I believe it was Seneca who once wrote 'Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity,'" he mused, eyes twinkling. "Whatever it might have been, we are grateful, and I am really glad to see that you and your family suffered no permanent injury."

Despite himself, the part of him that was undeniably Phantom, the part that protected him from further embarrassment, slipped out. "I certainly gave it my best shot, though," he joked, smiling crookedly.

Before Mom could so much send him a sharp behave yourself or a pleading don't joke about things like that, Danny, Dad said, "Yeah, Danny-boy's still not tip-top, but he's doing a lot better."

Ishiyama looked concerned. "If you do not think—"

"I'll definitely be ready to start on Monday," Danny interrupted. Realizing how forceful he sounded, he grimaced lightly, rubbed his neck, and stuttered, "I mean…I realize that I—my...circumstances made it very difficult for you." This was a bit of an understatement. Despite the itty-bitty loophole in the Federal Anti-Ecto Control Act that prevented him from being prosecuted by the government and despite all the work being put into revising the unconstitutional act since the GIW was put down, there had still been uproar. His family had tried to downplay it, to keep him from listening in on the news whenever he was awake, but he knew. He knew full well what that Manson woman had said and done, and he also knew the anti-ghost sentiment was not going to go away overnight. "And I realize that there…are—um…"

"Some stipulations," Jazz supplemented. Her eyes flashed angrily, and Danny knew she was thinking about the board and PTA too.

Mom nodded. "We have already discussed the necessity of the ectoplasm-suppression band." She dug around in her bag, pulled out the metal bracelet, and placed it on the desk. "We have yet to see if it works, due to Danny's injuries, but we're confident it will meet your expectations, and we fully understand the consequences of falsifying the proof of its functionality. Danny will bring you a copy of the necessary data on Monday."

Danny couldn't help but scowl at the piece of metal as his mother spoke. It had been a massive blow to his pride to have to agree to wear it, but the school's "no weapon" policy made it a little difficult for him to argue, considering the world now knew he was a bit walking weapon himself. In the end, his desperate desire to live as normally as possible overrode his complete aversion to the thing, which was, really, not so bad in a certain sense. It was the principle of the thing that bothered him so much, but it was a necessary evil, mandated by the higher-ups and the community. The unobtrusive, charcoal grey band was designed to suppress his offensive powers, mainly his control of ectoplasm and some of his cryokinesis, but theoretically, he should still be able to morph and fly, go invisible and intangible, and sense ghosts. Grudgingly, Danny had to admit that, if it worked, those few powers were all he needed to initially respond to a ghost threat and protect himself or others, and since it could be easily removed at his discretion, there was very little for him to work with.

Not that he and his family didn't try.

He missed most of what had been said on the topic of the band or whatever the hell else they were saying about the stack of papers in front of the principal. Something about reporters on the school grounds and police action, maybe? By the time he looked up from the thing, Ishiyama was assuring, "Outside of the band, there are far fewer stipulations, as you say, than you might fear. Danny will be treated, respected, and disciplined as any other student would be." Addressing him personally, she added, "In regards to the band itself, you will be allowed to leave your class and remove it if a ghost were to attack, as I'm sure your parents have discussed with you, but should you abuse this privilege, in any way, you will be appropriately reprimanded and possibly dismissed from the school, depending on the severity of the situation."

This was nothing he hadn't expected, and a premature rush of relief bubbled in him, making him feel more at ease than he had all morning.

"However…"

All of his optimism came crashing down immediately, and a frigid block of ice dropped into his gut.

"There is one thing we need to talk about in particular. We have made the unanimous decision to prohibit you from participating in any sports, and we have special permission to overlook your Physical Education requirements, owing to your—"

Oh, hell no.

"My powers?" Danny questioned frostily, crossing his arms.

Ishiyama looked taken aback by his tone. "Please understand. We had very little information about your abilities, and even with the information we have now from your parents, we are forced to assume that your powers have made a positive effect on your human strength, agility, and speed, which gives you an unfair advantage over your peers."

Danny went silent, and after appraising him for a moment, she continued, "Extracurricular activities of an academic and social nature, of course, are permitted, so long as—"

"I don't cheat?" Danny finished bluntly again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "With all due respect, Principal Ishiyama, I can't deny that my powers don't give me an edge, and it's not as though I was planning to join any sports or activities anyway, but I hardly see how I'm going to be treated or respected as my peers are if you're already—" he floundered for words that were less harsh than the ones he meant to say "—insinuating I'll use my powers to cheat."

"Mr. Fenton…"

When he saw her puffing up like a peacock, a superior expression he'd seen only too often in the eyes of his other teachers flashing in her own, he couldn't even allow her to gather her thoughts. "Have you seen my transcripts? Talked to my old teachers? I'm sure they had plenty to say, though I think the sudden plummet to straight Cs and all the disciplinary reports after eighth grade speak for themselves."

"Danny-boy…" Dad sighed.

"Inviso-Bill" has had enough of this crap, Dad, he almost wished he could say.

"…I don't think…"

He tuned his father out. Jazz had silently reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. He almost slipped his hand from hers, far too frustrated and discomfited to have to deal with her pity right now, but the gentle touch was far more effective than his dad's words could ever be. His anger cooled, and he sighed.

All I want is to prove myself before I'm judged. Is that too much to ask?

"I—I'm sorry," he muttered aloud. Exhaustion hit suddenly, and he rubbed his eyes and made a genuine effort to appear apologetic, though he really wasn't sorry at all. "I should be grateful you're letting me step foot in this school at all."

Lancer, looking unfazed by his outburst, mildly took over for Ishiyama. "It was never our intention to make any insinuations, Mr. Fenton. Between the PTA's demands, the superintendent and district board, and the Illinois State Board of Education, the compromise we reached is most likely not the most preferable, but it is what was agreed upon. It does not help that this compromise is difficult to discuss."

Mom squeezed Danny's knee gently. "We understand, right, Danny?"

This was not turning out very well, Danny decided. He inhaled slowly and nodded, though he was beginning to resent that he had practically left his fate in the hands of the higher-ups. It never particularly bothered him before, but to be fair, he and his family had been more concerned about his ghost form's destabilization, the resulting effects on his human physiology, and the consequences of the battle than they had been about setting up meetings to debate with bureaucrats for the right to his fate.

It was a matter of sucky circumstances and timing, which was practically the definition of his life post-the-Accident. The only way he survived the past year was developing the motto: might as well suck it up today and look forward to a better tomorrow.

He had to remember that it could have been worse. Far worse, had not others stood up for him. Looking up at Lancer from under his bangs, Danny wondered if the teacher was one such person, and for the second time that day, he felt a prick of shame for his selfishness.

"I'll have one less class," Danny finally said, and the tension in the room noticeably dissipated. "What will I be doing in the place of gym?"

Ishiyama took the opportunity to slide two sheets of paper across the desk toward him and Jazz. "These will be your class schedules for the year. You'll be pleased to know, Jasmine, that we were able to put you in every AP class you requested. I know that was a cause of concern earlier, but it all worked out. There are some notes attached from your teachers about the material you missed the first few weeks of school."

"I'm glad! Thank you!" Jazz said, teal eyes scanning over her schedule. She was obviously already committing it to memory.

"Daniel, to answer your question, you'll have a study hall during your gym period."

Danny, who had been staring at the tiny printed letters that said as such on his schedule, looked up. "Really?" he asked, cautious hope filling him.

"You will be able to use the study hall to visit your teachers for extra help if you miss a class or sit in my homeroom to do homework," Lancer said. "It was your parents' idea, and we agreed it was the best course of action."

Dazed, Danny flitted his gaze to his mother and father. By way of explanation, Mom said, "You do need to pull your grades up. We can't stop you from ghost-hunting—" Danny's smile broadened at her words; it wasn't the first time she acknowledged how much it meant to him (the word "obsession" never once passed her lips), but he didn't think it would ever not matter "—but we can do this. We know you can do better this year…now that we know how to help you."

"I can do better," he murmured to himself, eyes brightening. An unexpected turn of events, this, and gratitude and awed disbelief blossomed in him. Amazing how the smallest thing…he wasn't about to admit just how hard his freshman year had been on him. It wasn't as though there were words enough to describe just how hard it had been, but even if there were words…

Later, Jazz would inadvertently reveal that his reaction gave it all away anyway.

In that moment, though, all plans he'd previously had to press that they give him no special treatment flew out the window. This small break suddenly meant everything—it was a chance, a chance to make something more of Danny Fenton as opposed to Danny Phantom; he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be given a chance—and he scanned the paper in front of him again, just to be assured it wasn't a trick. "Mom, Dad, why didn't you tell me about this? Jazz…?" Without waiting for an answer or a response from any of them, he turned to the faculty members and said, "This—God, this will help so much. Thank you."

Mr. Lancer chuckled and joked, "You won't be thanking us when the other students get wind of it, Mr. Fenton."

"Yeah, I bet." He'd've been downright envious if someone were presented with this opportunity, too, even if he didn't have Phantom's extra responsibilities. "I promise I'll keep it on the down-low." Ishiyama looked ready to add something, but he already guessed what it was she was going to say. With the knowledge that his habit of passing out on desktops had most likely been reported by his previous teachers, he rubbed his neck and said, "And I won't disappoint you."

Surprisingly, that satisfied Ishiyama, who looked between the two Fenton children and said, "We look forward to great things from both of you."

"They're all set, then?" Mom asked.

"Yes, we have everything we need. They're officially enrolled, and now that they have their schedules, they can call themselves Ravens!"

"Great!" Dad exclaimed with a crooked smile, clapping both Danny and Jazz on the shoulder. Ever eager and blunt, he immediately turned the conversation around. "Now that the kids are good, tell us more about your ghost evacuation plans. Maddie said something about the gym?"

"That's right," the principal said. "We also considered the auditorium, but the gym can house more people. Since we've only experienced minor attacks—" Danny flinched in his seat "—we cannot be sure the gym will be enough in the long run."

"Maddie actually just realized something this morning," Dad said.

"Yes, I'm sorry we didn't bring it to your attention sooner." Mom smiled sheepishly. "With everything going on, it completely slipped our minds to even think that there might be a disadvantage."

"A disadvantage?" the principal inquired.

"Yes, you see, it probably wouldn't be the best idea to herd the students to one room. Our shields can stop anything with an ectosignature from gettin' in, except Danny, that is, but—"

"Wait, what?" Danny interrupted, his spirits sinking. "You didn't tell me about this either!"

"Is it really that surprising, Danny? Honestly," Jazz teased.

Dad beamed proudly. "Calibrating our inventions to ignore your ectosignature was a tough thing, too, what with yours being a little—"

There was a sudden roaring in his ears, fading in and out like a crappy radio signal, and fear trickled down his spine. Swallowing thickly, he ignored the encroaching memories and his churning stomach and croaked, "I don't think that's a good idea."

Mom's brow furrowed. "Why? I thought you said that it would have been extremely helpful if—"

"I know, I know, I did say that, but that was before…" He averted his eyes and spoke to his knees. "Did you think about what would happen if I was somehow…compromised? There'd…I mean, it wouldn't be the first time. Pariah Dark nearly—he—he nearly…"

The faculty members looked at a loss as to what to say, but Jazz interceded before Mom could so much as blink. "Danny," his sister consoled, "the chances of that happening again are slim to none now that Soul Shredder and the Ring of Rage are powerless. Freakshow's scepter is long gone too, and you know that Ghost Writer's been enlisted by Clockwork and the Observants to scour the Library for information on any spells or artifacts that would be powerful enough to control ghosts so that they can be located and destroyed."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I understand. One library and one ghost is enough to—?"

"The Ghost Zone has few true libraries—as we know them, anyway—but the Library is something else entirely," Jazz said to the principal. "And it only has one Librarian. It's a fascinating place, but that's not important right now. What is important—" she eyed Danny meaningfully "—is that there is a much higher likelihood of a powerful ghost overshadowing someone, masking his or her ectosignature in the possessed body, and infiltrating the shield anyway. What could you do if that ghost decided to wreck havoc and you couldn't get through the shield?"

Ishiyama stiffened in her chair, her expression twisted in disgust. "I will not have that," she said determinedly. "This was a common occurrence at your old school?"

The question was addressed to him, and with everyone else's gazes beating down on him, he suddenly felt like a bug underneath a magnifying glass. They were looking to Fenton for advice, he realized, and he wasn't quite sure how to feel about that.

"It is as easy as pie for some of them," Danny admitted numbly. "So, yeah, it's…definitely happened. More often than I'd care to say. Now that we have some allies in the Ghost Zone, though, it might not be half as bad as it once was back home, but then again, we can't say that just yet. Ghosts don't live by the same rules we do, and their culture is…odd, to say the least. We're not entirely sure how they'll view the truce we made now that the Ghost King is gone."

The principal and Lancer hardly exchanged a look, and the Asian woman's expression hardened with determination. "The students' safety is our priority, and there's always the chance you'll need the shield's protection, Danny. They will remain as they are." The principal folded her hands in front of her. "I'm sure we'll be discussing these potential situations in more detail at another date, but for now, let's focus on getting the shields up. Mr. Fenton, you were saying?"

Dad blinked and then remembered. "Oh! Yes, right. Our shields will prevent ghosts from entering and stray ectoblasts from hurting anybody, but they won't prevent debris from falling through. The kids'll need space to move if it comes to that, which is why we suggest multiple evacuation locations. Just to be on the safe side."

"Alright," Ishiyama said slowly. "We have approximately three thousand students. The performing arts center can hold nearly half that number, and the gym has enough seating in the bleachers for all of them."

Mom and Dad exchanged a look. "That should work perfectly."

"Wonderful!" Ishiyama took a brief glance at her wristwatch before standing. "Mr. Lancer, please direct them where they need to go and answer any further questions they have. I'm afraid I'm going to need to excuse myself. I volunteered myself to be a faculty supervisor at the Lions Club event today, and since I'm gong to be participating in the Walk as well, I need to collect my things and change."

"Diabetes Walk?" Jazz guessed, eyes alight. When there was an affirmative nod, she added, "Our grandpa is diabetic. Type II."

"My father-in-law is as well," Ishiyama returned.

"Perhaps you and your brother would be interested in attending, Jasmine?" Lancer suggested.

Danny, who was just getting out of his chair, paused, and his apprehension came back with crushing force, nearly taking his breath away. "That's alright, Mr. Lancer," he said as courteously as he could. "I'd like to help my parents set up the shields."

His parents really didn't need help setting up the shields, but he hoped they wouldn't say as much. For once in his life, however, the timing was right.

"Yes, unfortunately, we do need the kids' help if we want to make it home before the moving truck gets there. Next time, I'm sure."

"Of course," the principal said, once again offering her hand to Mom and Dad first. "Thank you for taking the time to do this for us. It really was a pleasure to meet all of you."

Everyone else exchanged their farewells, and since he was holding the door for everyone, Danny was the last in line to exit the office. He was just about to step through the threshold when he heard his name being called from within. Cocking an inquiring eyebrow, he hid a wince, paused at the door, and pivoted slightly toward Principal Ishiyama. There was a strange emotion in her dark eyes, and he swallowed anxiously. The stiffness and upright do-good attitude he had begun to associate with her, however, had faded away, and she slumped a little in her chair. After several interminable seconds, she passed her hand across her eyes. "My six-year-old daughter and my husband," she began, "were visiting the Shedd Aquarium when the city first unexpectedly shut down. A few of our staff, as it happens, have children and relatives attending colleges or working in the city…a number of our students' siblings and families on top of that."

Danny's eyes widened, and he hesitated, mouth working around words that he couldn't voice. A weak smile spread across her lips, and she continued, "There were no causalities—none that I am aware of, anyway—and that is thanks to you. I just want you to know…whatever you hear out there, there are people here who are indebted to you."

"I never wanted that," he finally managed.

"It doesn't make it any less true, Mr. Fenton."

"I don't—I don't want to be treated—" Danny bit his tongue, unable to understand why it was he was just blurting this out. Vaguely, he heard his mother calling for him, and he jerked his head toward the door. He can't remember if he offered any form of apology to the principal for the hasty exit, but he did offer her a quick smile. There was a soft "thank you" from behind him, and without looking back, he took a step out the door and responded, "You're welcome."

Chapter Text

It was all going very well, Sam thought. Surprisingly enough. She and Tuck hadn't been late, which definitely put her in her parents' good graces. Her mother, dressed in high-end athletic leggings, Prada sunglasses, and the yellow Strides shirt (another surprise for Sam, seeing as the color "clashed so horridly" with Pamela's artificial ginger hair) actually greeted the pair civilly, though Sam expected that was only because they were in public, and of course they had to be perfect in the eye of the public.

She didn't think she'd ever really understand what it was her mother was trying so hard to be—or what it was she was trying so hard to prove—by going through this poise-and-propriety shit twenty-four-seven, but she wasn't about to complain just now. This wasn't about her. Not today. She wasn't going to deny it, though: the significant lack of tension between them was more relieving than she would've thought possible, and it felt as though a massive boulder had been lifted from her chest. With a newfound bounce in her step, she obeyed her mother's orders and eagerly went to help other Lions Club members, Tucker in tow. The Club was expecting a big turn-out, mostly due to the fact that several of Casper's hardest teachers were offering extra credit for attending this event, and there was quite a bit to get done before people started to arrive in another hour and a half.

Yes, everything was going great…until the whispers started.

Sam had been hauling a bag of ice from the parking lot to the coolers when she heard her mother snap at another Lions Club member, and her first thought was, Well, that didn't last very long. As refreshing as it was to hear her mother's temper being directed toward another person, she saw her dad's jaw tighten, and she immediately steeled herself. Whatever it was that pissed her off so royally was going to rebound, and Sam, who would have no qualms getting into a full-fledged argument if need be, unlike her father, would be the one to take the brunt of it. It was too beautiful a day to fight, however, and this was meant to be peaceful ground, so she approached as though she hadn't overheard anything. Pamela brushed by without saying a word, Dad close behind. Sam ignored them and split the bag open in order to pour the ice into the cooler.

"Did you hear?"

Sam's arms jerked, and several ice cubes sailed over the edge and onto the track. "Tucker, honestly," she hissed, whirling on him.

He was hefting another bag in his hands, and grinning, he propped it up against the cooler. "So? Did you hear?" he repeated.

"About what?" she grumbled.

"Some people just drove in now. They claim they recognized the Fenton's Ghost Assault Vehicle. Here." His grin broadened. "At the school."

"Ah," Sam murmured. "That would do it." In response to the confused expression flitting across Tucker's face, she further explained, "It looks like someone force-fed Mother Dearest a lemon over there."

Tuck's gaze drifted to her mother, who was sipping at a water bottle as she pretended to oversee the volunteers. Jeremy Manson was muttering in undertone to her, but she didn't look very receptive. "Yeah, that's one way to say it."

Sam snorted as she took Tuck's bag of ice and dumped it in. He took her silence as an opportunity to press, "You know, I bet they're telling the truth. It only makes sense they'd be here to install the shields we've been hearing so much about during those stupid assemblies, right?" Without an immediate response from Sam, he whistled under his breath and mused, "Maaaan, I wonder exactly what it is that powers those babies. Would it be stupid to assume they use some sort of battery? You know…that almost seems too obvious for them. Maybe they—"

"As happy as I am to hear that we might have shields up by the time the weekend's over, I don't really care, Tuck," Sam said, crumpling the plastic bag and tossing it at a nearby trash can. It missed.

"Ah, come on!" he protested. "Don't you wanna do some recon?"

"No, I really don't." She bent over to pick up her trash, which made it into the can this time, and then knelt beside the cooler to begin stuffing it with water bottles. Belatedly, she realized it would have probably been a better idea to put the drinks in first, and she stabbed each bottle viciously into the blanket of ice. "They don't need any more people snooping 'round, Tucker."

"Sam," he said seriously, "I'm hurt. Don't you know me at all? I'm not about to go stalking them. That RV of theirs, though…"

Her hands were cold, and the ice was already starting to sweat a bit. She rubbed several beads of water off her skin. "That still counts as 'snooping around' in my book."

"It's only snooping if they catch us at it! I want to get a closer look!" His eyes were alight with that frenzied, geeky excitement, and Sam couldn't help but smile. "You've seen it in action! That thing is a beast. And they built it from scratch! They don't say much about their inventions, seeing as it's the ghost-hunting that takes up a majority of the media's interest, so I'm really, really tempted to ask them for permission to step inside sometime. I bet they'd be happy to talk to us about—"

"Us?" she repeated sharply. "No thanks, Tuck. I'm not interested."

He scoffed. "Lies. The ghosts fascinate you just as much as their tech fascinates me, don't you deny it." He certainly had her there, and she pursed her lips. "Don't you want to learn more?"

"Of course I do!" she snapped. "But I don't want to hound them. You know what happened in the seventh grade when everyone found out my family was loaded! It's obviously not the same, but I'm just—I don't—" Groaning in frustration, she finally settled with a "Just leave them be, Tuck."

His exasperated expression melted into the sort of puppy-dog pout he knew she couldn't resist. For all her tough exterior, she really was a big softie when it came down to it, and he would exploit this power over her whenever he deemed fit.

And for Tucker, that was often. Very often. By this point in their friendship, he'd gotten his pout down to perfection.

"Cover for me, at least?" he beseeched.

The last of the plastic bottles had been shoved into the cooler, and brushing her chilled hands on her shirt, she heaved a sigh. "Fine." When that wicked grin of his spread across his face and he began complimenting her and her lineage profusely, she shoved the overdramatic fool over and said, "You better hope you don't get caught, tech boy! And you gotta be back before people start showing up or I'll string you up myself!"

"Chill, Sam! I'll be there and back in a snap." In an utterly failed attempt to be sneaky, he scrambled upright and slunk off in the direction of the parking lots behind the school.

As it turned out, her promise to cover for him, should anyone ask for him, was unnecessary. No one noticed him slip away, and within five minutes after Tucker was gone, she got called to lug some foldable tables. Somehow, she ended up without a partner to help her carry the last one in the cart, and too impatient to wait for another volunteer, she slid her hands to the middle of the table's edge, bumped it up with her hip, and hefted it upward. It wasn't all that heavy, but it was cumbersome. With every step she took, it was a battle to avoid getting whacked by the thing.

"Ms. Manson!" a voice nearby exclaimed. "Here." Sam turned just as someone took hold of the table from behind. Principal Ishiyama, looking slightly frazzled, smiled and brushed hair out of her eyes. "I'll help you with this."

Sam returned the smile, though the t-shirt and casual capris that replaced Ishiyama's usual business skirts, blouses, and pressed pants made her indescribably uncomfortable. She supposed that's what happened when one realized even teachers had lives outside of school.

It would have taken ages longer for Sam to carry the table by herself, so naturally, she gave the woman a gracious "thank you." She wasn't, however, feeling too grateful when the principal's presence attracted Pamela Manson.

"Kim!" she greeted sweetly.

As her companion stood, Sam continued to pop out the table legs from their cozy indentions on the underside of the table. "Hello, Pamela! How've you been?"

"Busy, busy, busy," Sam's mom chittered.

"Yes, I can see that," the principal agreed, scanning the track and football field. Nearly everything was ready by now. "It's looking good. I'm sorry I was delayed getting here."

Her mother glanced at her fancy wristwatch. "Oh dear, it is getting late. I didn't realize the time. It's too early for any heavy traffic…was there an accident blocking the highway?"

Sam's back was to her mother, but there was no mistaking what she was attempting here. The teenager could imagine the sickeningly angelic, innocent expression on her face, wide eyes gleaming with false thoughtfulness. A smirk twitched at the corner of Sam's mouth when Ishiyama's tone lost its warmth. "No, I had business to attend to here at the school earlier this morning," the principal admitted formally. "It took a little longer than I anticipated."

Her brow furrowed and plastic smile faded, but before she could say anything, they were interrupted. "Principal Ishiyama!"

Smirk quickly transforming into a grimace, Sam internally screeched at the sound of the very recognizable accent. After forcing herself to take several deep, cleansing breaths, she flipped the table onto its legs, put it in line with the others, and turned to see Paulina Sanchez batting her long lashes at Ishiyama.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." She didn't sound very sorry at all. In fact, the bubblegum-princess "I-can-get-whatever-I-want-just-because" timbre in Paulina's voice was far less covert than it was in her mother's. "I didn't mean to interrupt, but is it true, then? That—"

It was with intense glee that Sam witnessed Mr. Sanchez, the Club's VP, grab his daughter's hand and give her one of the fiercest glares she had ever seen in her life. He said something in a dark undertone to her, and she backed off, eyes downcast. When she saw Sam watching her, however, her features contorted into a righteous sneer, but the narrow-eyed disdain with which Paulina used to intimidate countless others did not work on Sam Manson.

"I apologize for the interruption," Mr. Sanchez said, sounding significantly more genuine than Paulina had. "Pamela, Jeremy told me to see you about the cash box? We're going to need it soon."

"Yes, of course. Our treasurer had an unforeseen emergency, so it's…" Sam's mother paused and asked, "Kim? I was told Jeff left the box in your care. Did you…?"

Principal Ishiyama's hand flew to her forehead. "No, no, I'm sorry, Pamela. I knew I was forgetting something. It is still locked away in my office…and I just sent our secretary at the desk home, too. Everything's been locked up. I'll just—" Delicate fingers dug into capris pockets as she spoke, and after withdrawing some car keys, she frowned and was just about to riffle through her purse when she suddenly paused. "Oh, that's right." She chuckled in embarrassment. "The keys we need are with Mr. Lancer. I'll just—"

"Oh, don't worry yourself over it!" Pamela said cheerily. "Samantha would be glad to go find Mr. Lancer for you."

She hasn't called me Samantha in weeks, Sam mused. After a suspicious glance at her mom, who was eyeing the principal like a viper would its prey, she nodded lazily at the principal.

"You'll most likely find him in the office, Ms. Manson," Ishiyama said, accepting her offer appreciatively. "Thank you."

It wasn't until she promised to return as quickly as possible and began to walk away that she realized she had completely forgotten about Tucker…and that Mr. Lancer was at the school on a Saturday. With an important key ring in hand.

Oh, shit, Sam cussed. They are here. Tucker was right. They're here to install the shields.

She…wasn't sure how to feel about that, and she clenched her teeth.

All she knew is that she really, really wasn't in the mood to meet the Fentons.

Wasn't in the mood? No, it was more than that. This was the first time she admitted it to herself, and she hated it. Despite the inevitability of meeting them at some point—their children would be attending school with her, after all—she really did not want to run into them. Not…Not yet.

It wasn't that she didn't admire them. They were brilliant. Truly, truly brilliant, and she would have given a leg to have a single, private conversation with them about ghosts. And Phantom…One cannot simply be friends with Tucker Foley without having some interest in comic books and superheroes, and…well, she'd been a bit of a closet fan. Not one of those rabid, Paulina-type Phans who erected shrines in her locker and went on special trips to Chicago just to catch a glimpse of the ghost boy—she'd stuff her foot down the throat of anyone who dared accuse her of those horrors—but…someone who watched and cheered him on from the sidelines, nonetheless.

But that was before the Shift. That was before the Fentons reevaluated theory upon theory when their son revealed he was Phantom. That was before she learned they had hunted their own son for nearly a year before forming an alliance with him.

She was judging them already, and she hated that, too, because it made her feel like a hypocrite on top of everything else…namely because she lived by the phrase "don't judge a book by its cover."

Maybe she was being hard on herself, but after all that happened these past few weeks, after all the fighting, resentment began to bud and spread like a weed, which conflicted with her respect and gratitude for everything they'd done to fight the ghost threat. It was only natural she wanted to give back, but she couldn't help but worry that all she suffered and strived for these past few weeks would mean nothing to them. Simultaneously, she couldn't help but feel guilty that she couldn't do more. Frustration with her uselessness only increased her resentment, which cycled around and around until she was sure she wanted nothing to do with the Fentons, but of course she did want something to do with them because she wasn't going to stand by when she could help them help others, which…created another cycle within a cycle of complicated emotions.

She didn't do emotions well, so she bore it all, wishing with all her heart that she'd be given a few more days to get over it before she had to face any of them. As she padded across the parking lot, she fiercely repeated to herself: Lancer is in the office, and he is alone. 'Course he is. Ishiyama said he'd be.

Without thinking, she entered the door to the aquatic center, which was nearly always open—Coach Tetslaff was even more of a tyrant to her swimmers than she was to her P.E. students—and surprisingly, the second set of doors leading into the depths of the school were open as well. She shrugged and went through, finding herself alone in the long and half-illuminated athletic hallway.

The silence and emptiness might have been eerie to others, but without the usual gaggle of idiots rushing to and from class and without all the shoving, chattering, and yelling, the predictable and immature desire to sprint down the hallway as fast as she possibly could was nearly impossible to control. It was probably pathetic she was so thrilled to realize she had the freedom to race through the entire school if she so chose, but she didn't really care.

Exactly how many times had the rule "don't run in the halls" been reinforced over her years at public school again?

With a wild grin, she took off like a bullet from a gun, her footsteps echoing in the hall, and in that moment, all she knew was the straining of her muscles and the harsh burn in her lungs. An unforeseen opponent raced alongside her, and she pushed harder, just for the hell of it. She could have stopped when she reached the end of the hallway, but where was the fun in that? The band hallway connected to the athletic hallway just there, so there was no question about it: she had to see just how fast she could skid around that—

The next thing Sam knew, something hard pummeled her in the gut. Her feet were knocked out from from under her, and an undignified yelp escaped her lips. There was a flail of feet as whoever it was she ran into tried to avoid falling on top of her, so by the time her ass finally hit the floor, she was pretty sure she had been kicked at least twice. Stunned, she could only vaguely hear someone apologizing repetitively, and when she finally became aware that a pair of rather large hands was all up in her personal bubble…

Well, that was not okay.

"Hey!" she protested angrily, knocking the hands away with a sharp backhand of her own. "You better watch i—"

Glacial blue eyes, brimming with concern, met her own, and as the owner of those eyes blushed and crouched before her, Sam's gut sank straight through the floor.

Danny Fenton ran his hand through his dark hair and chuckled abashedly. "I—um—don't necessarily think it's me who should be watching it," he joked. "I am sorry for knocking you over, though. You okay?"

He has freckles, Sam commented to herself. For some reason, that surprised her. This kid's face was everywhere, and yet…

Laughter bubbled from her lips. Of course it did. This was fucking hysterical because it was just her luck that this would happen. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good," she answered belatedly. Get a grip, Sam. Get a grip. "God, this is kind of embarrassing."

"Of all the clichéd ways to meet someone, right?" he joked, rolling his eyes. Now that he seemed sure she was alright, amusement danced in those shocking blue eyes of his. There was a mischievous quirk in his crooked smile, too, and it…was more real than the shaky one he'd greeted her with. It lit his entire face. "Here."

The last of her hilarity died as she looked at his offered hand, suddenly unsure if he was somehow mocking her or if he was actually being a gentleman. Either way, she found it offensive—she could get up on her own, thank you very much—but when she saw his smile begin to fade and noticed him metaphorically retreat into a shell of his own making, she couldn't help but feel guilty and reach out for his hand. His skin was noticeably cool to the touch, and once the two teens rose to their feet, Sam immediately stepped back.

"Thanks," she said. "Turns out teachers actually do have a point when they tell us not to run in the halls. Who knew?"

He snickered and whispered with mock-seriousness, "Shhh, don't say that too loud. They'd never let us live it down."

Oh my God, he's actually a dork. She'd been around Tucker long enough to know with one-hundred-percent surety. That alone shocked her more than the freckles had, and though she normally prided herself in having excellent people skills, she suddenly felt as though she was completely out of her depth here. Her gut swooped again as she scanned his face, and it occurred to her (yet again) exactly who it was she was speaking to. The juxtaposition between what she had assumed (goddammit, she was judging him without knowing him) and what she had just deduced in the last thirty seconds was making her so uncomfortable that she didn't really know how to...be. She had never felt this unconfident in her life.

It didn't help that the girly side of her, the one she refused to acknowledge, had been discreetly surveying his tall, lanky body, noting his posture, his clothes, his face… He really was cuter in person, and despite what she heard of his condition on the news, he really seemed none the worse for wear after the battle he fought.

Never in a million years was she about to let any of that show, though. Some part of her remembered why it was she tried so hard to stand against her mother and all the other anti-ghost sympathizers, and she put all her weight on it.

His good humor had all but disappeared by this point, and he scuffed at the floor with his raggedy Converse, looking as out of place as she felt. Her resolve solidified.

Chuckling a little for his benefit, she said smoothly, "Speaking of teachers, I've actually got to find one and get back out to the track. The Lions Club thing is going to start soon, and I really need his help with something."

"Does—Does that teacher happen to be Mr. Lancer?"

She blinked. "Yeah, actually, it is. I was told that he was in the office?"

The kid shook his head. "He's with us. I mean, he's in the gym. With my parents and sister. I—um…I went to grab something for my dad—" he tugged what looked a hell of a lot like a cross between a sonic screwdriver (1) and a pocket knife out of his hoodie pocket "—and took a wrong turn getting back. Wasn't really paying attention."

"Good thing we're heading in the same direction then. C'mon." Acting on impulse, she snatched his upper arm and tugged him back the way she came. It was only when he tripped forward, stepping on the back of her shoe in the process, that she realized she was touching him with as much familiarity as she would Tucker, and she forced herself to pretend absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary when she released her hold.

"Thanks, um—?"

"Sam," she answered.

He fell into step beside her and returned, "Danny."

It was really sweet of him to introduce himself, even though he must know that everyone knew him on sight now. "Well, welcome to our little corner of hell, Danny."

She had been completely deadpan when she said it. Was it a test? Perhaps. Perhaps not. The ultimate test would be to see how he dealt with people who were too thoughtless to treat him like a human being, but for now, she'd observe what she could for herself.

So much for not wanting to meet any of the Fentons, Manson.

He didn't necessarily disappoint. He surveyed her expression with serious blue eyes before cracking a grin. "I'm not going to lie: if this is a corner of hell, it's definitely one of the sweeter corners."

She gave him a disbelieving look. "I don't know what kind of high school you went to before, but this one's designed to suck the life out of its students and revel in the emotional distress of angst-y and dramatic teenagers."

He didn't miss a beat. "And here I was thinking you meant Amity Park in general," he sighed. "Scratch what I said."

"That's better," she approved. "Got three more years to go, unfortunately."

"Same." His tone had lost some of its light-heartedness again. "We'll suffer together, I suppose."

Unexpected warmth rushed through her. "You know…" she pondered aloud, changing the subject. "I didn't apologize for nearly plowing you down."

"Eh, it's no big deal. I've taken harder hits than that."

The moment the words were out of his mouth, his eyes widened, and he winced, gnawing at his bottom lip. Sam, however, pretended as though she hadn't noticed, and her heart panged slightly. She'd seen him take harder hits than that, and once again, she found herself eyeing his long sleeves and dark jeans. "Doesn't let me off the hook. So… I'm sorry I nearly plowed you down."

"'s alright," he muttered, rolling the weird screwdriver-pocketknife thing he'd previously displayed to her between his fingers.

Sam was very glad they'd reached the gym by that point because it was starting to feel awkward again. The moment she pushed open the door, a large man wearing a neon orange jumpsuit lifted his goggles and half-turned from the metal box he had just installed on the gym wall. "Hey, Danny-boy!" he boomed. "'Bout time! Bring the Fenton Thingamajig over here and fix that loose wire for m—" Dark teal eyes narrowed speculatively at Sam. "Who's your friend?"

"Uh, this is Sam," Danny said, gesturing toward her. "I met her in the hall. She needed to talk to Mr. Lancer about something."

Mr. Lancer, who had been speaking to Maddie Fenton and a girl whose natural red hair would have had Pamela Manson blazing with jealousy, heard his name and noticed her standing beside Danny. "Ms. Manson?" he asked, cocking a brow. "Is there something I can help you with?"

The Fenton…Thingamajig slipped through stiff fingers and clattered to the floor. From her peripheral vision, she saw Danny blushing to the roots of his dark hair and stooping to swipe it off the floor, and she winced. Yeeeaaah, she knew it had been stupid to hope he didn't know that her mother was the anti-ghost kingpin of Amity Park. He obviously wasn't the only one. She felt the rest of the family's gazes on her, too.

"Hey, Mr. Lancer," she responded. "I don't mean to barge in on you, but Principal Ishiyama left the Lions Club's cash box in her office, and she left the particular key we need here with you."

The teacher's eyes brightened in sudden understanding. "Ah, I see. I'll escort you, Ms. Manson. I'm sure they need that straight-away."

"Yeah, they do."

Mr. Lancer turned to Mr. and Mrs. Fenton. "I'll be back shortly. If you finish this shield while I'm gone, would you mind waiting here momentarily?"

"Of course not, Mr. Lancer," Maddie Fenton assured. "Take all the time you need. This one will be another few minutes."

"Excellent. Let's go, Ms. Manson."

Sam's eyes passed over Danny as she turned, and though his stare unnerved her and chilled her to the bone—that was Phantom, she had no doubt—she smiled. Something (she couldn't be sure what) possessed her to say, "Good luck on Monday, Danny."

Jasmine nudged him when he didn't respond, and the hard edge in his eyes melted away once he finally blinked. "Thanks, Sam."

Sam was just about to turn back to Mr. Lancer when Maddie Fenton suddenly called out, "Oh, sorry, wait a moment!" The older woman waved away any protests and questions from her family members, approached the teacher and student, and said in a soft undertone to Sam, "I was wondering if I might have a word. Real quick."

Shocked momentarily, Sam blinked and said, "Sure."

Curious blue eyes followed her. She knew they did, and she sent a silent thank you to Mr. Fenton for asking Danny to "get crackin' at that loose wire." Even without his gaze on her, however, it was distracting, to say the least—to hear them speaking about the shield, laughing together… Danny had a nice laugh, and it was even nicer to see him nodding seriously at his father's words, obviously focused on what he was saying and on what they were doing.

Mrs. Fenton reclaimed her attention when she tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. She really was beautiful, soft in all the places Sam's own mother was sharp. "Sam," she said gently, "I've seen your name a few times in the news, and…I've been hoping for an opportunity to thank you. You were really brave to make the stand you did—for us, for him—and…I'm sorry we haven't shown our appreciation until now. Your protests did more for us than you know, and I can't imagine it was easy for you…or your family." Both females flicked their gazes toward the rest of the Fenton family, all hard at work on the shield. Danny’s sister was the only one sneaking peeks in their direction. "We…we didn't tell Danny," Maddie continued, her voice cracking, "just…how close of a call it was, just how much work it took to get him here, because we didn't want him to worry too much, to feel...Well, not to say that he's ignorant, by any means, but he doesn't know the full story. Not yet, at any rate."

Sam nodded numbly, her heart flooding with warmth. Her doubts, her worries…needless, and she truly felt as though she was soaring. "I understand," she said. "And it really was the least I could do, Mrs. Fenton."

Tears beaded in the mother's eyes, and she brushed them away with brusque fingers. "Soon, he'll be able to thank you himself, but for now, on his behalf, thank you, dear. Thank you."

Chapter Text

The moment Sam and Mr. Lancer left the gym, Jazz was on him. She didn't even have to say anything, but then again, she never really had to.

He barely turned from the panel he was working on and said, "Just spit it out, Jazz."

She sighed. "How'd it go?"

"What do you mean 'how'd it go?'" he asked. "It just—" he waved his left hand ineffectively "—went."

"Clear as mud, son," Dad chipped in. "You know what your sister means." When Danny didn't respond, he prodded cheerily, "Did you ask her about the school?"

"I…didn't really have the chance," he admitted, lowering the Fenton Thingamajig. Honestly, he couldn't be exactly sure what he said. It kind of passed in a blur. All he could distinctly remember was a solid, stinging blow to his torso and unique violet eyes that sent butterflies cartwheeling through his stomach. At one point, he recalled, it had felt so comfortable, so natural, talking to her…that there weren't any labels. He wasn't a ghost or hero; she wasn't a fan or a cynic. He was just that new student who accidentally got himself lost in his new school, and she was the sympathetic one who took pity on him and helped him out. Above all, though, he was just Danny, and she was real.

While she talked to him, there were no gaping stares, no gasps or shrieks, which is what he'd been expecting. Better yet, there were no scowls, no sneers or odd shudders, which were the usual responses from his peers in Chicago whenever they saw him walking through the halls. It was almost a new experience for him. Having always lived under the shadow of his "nut-jobs" of parents, he'd never had the chance to really connect with anyone his own age before they got scared away by his family's eccentricities or by bullies' threats. Naturally, he had been on edge the moment she dashed around that corner. Much to his surprise, she and he—they just…well, whatever it was, it felt relatively normal.

Until he had to ruin it by oh-so-nonchalantly mentioning just how abnormal he was. I've taken harder hits than that. What was he thinking? Obviously, he wasn't thinking at all. It completely slipped out, and all he had hoped in that moment was that she didn't think he was boasting or anything. From his experience with self-absorbed jocks and rich kids at his old school, that was a sure-fire way to be identified as a conceited asshole, and that was not how he wanted to go about making friends.

He wasn't sure why it mattered so much anyway. Sam was just one person, he tried to convince himself, even if she was one of those Mansons, who… probably had her opinions of him more or less solidified anyway.

But even after hearing that name, after freezing a little on the inside, he came to the conclusion she was not of the same fold. There was no way she could be. Sam Manson was different, and there was something about her he couldn't help but feel attracted to. It wasn't just her effortless beauty (of course he noticed, and yes, he was very proud of himself for keeping everything tangible) but her overall…aura: her appealing, wry sense of humor, the way she held herself and spoke to him, meeting his eyes without flinching, grabbing his arm as though he wasn't a powerful ghost hybrid…

Good luck on Monday, Danny, she'd said, as though she cared, as though she understood.

He might not know much about what it meant to have a close friend—and maybe he was a fool, maybe he was just scrabbling for her kindness, her realness, to act as his lifeline—but he did know he'd be pretty darn lucky to have her as one of his.

"That's a shame," Dad said, interrupting his musings. "She could be in some of your classes, for all we know. Ah, well, even if she isn't, having one friendly face in a crowd of many is better than none, right, Danno?"

"Yeah," Danny muttered, not even attempting to deny just how nice it would have been to have talked to her a little longer. "It's possible we do have some classes together, though. She is a sophomore."

"Is she?" Mom asked from behind, rejoining the conversation. When Danny nodded, she smiled slyly. "You know, Danny, she was pretty cute, wasn't she?"

"Oh my God, Mom," he protested. "I just met her!"

Mom chuckled. "We 'just meet' people everyday, Danny. Every so often, though, we meet the ones who matter."

"I didn't know you believed in destiny, Mom," Jazz teased, a knowing grin on her face.

"There are just some coincidences," Mom said mysteriously, "that can't be explained otherwise."

Now suspicious, Danny looked between the two. "Wait, what? What coincidence?"

~…~

He didn't learn about the coincidence until later, while driving back home and then while sitting cross-legged on the living room floor when the conversation continued thereafter. Having already suspected that his parents and sister were sheltering him from some of the harsher, less…satisfactory news concerning his big reveal, he couldn't find it in himself to be angry at them. He couldn't even find it in himself to be disappointed that the battle outside his sick room had been worse than he thought.

No, he was more humbled that Sam Manson would do this for him, that she would risk her bond with her family for him… He'd known that some people were watching out for him—he wasn't that out of the loop—but this was beyond anything he ever expected. Though a part of him was beating itself up for not realizing just how much of an impact she made, the other part was blazing with determination. He would make it up to her. He would thank everyone in Amity who had a hand in it, too.

And he had the perfect opportunity to do so.

The moment they were done telling him everything, Danny stood up and calmly asked for Lance Thunder's number. Apparently, he'd left his personal number for him to call. An absolute honor, Danny was sure, but despite how creeped out this guy's eagerness would normally make him, Danny dialed that number without hesitation. It wasn't until he heard the ringing on the other end that he realized exactly what he was doing.

The local news anchor picked up on the second ring, hardly giving Danny a chance to so much as think about what he was going to say. "Lance Thunder," a mildly distracted voice answered.

"Um, hi," Danny said. "This is Danny Fenton."

In the following years, Danny would swear on his half-life that the man fell out of his chair. There was no other way to explain the noise that emitted through the phone after he announced his name.

"Danny, my man! It is an honor, let me tell you." His excitement was overwhelming, and the image of a bouncing, over-eager puppy came to mind.

"…thank you," Danny mumbled, taken aback.

"And how are you doing? I know you took quite a hit in Chicago."

That's an understatement, dude. "I'm…alright? Doing a lot better, thank you."

"That's good, that's great!" the man blabbered, and Danny's eyes narrowed. The distinction between this man and the three people he met today at the school was so profound he felt sick to his stomach. "So, I assume your father passed on my message."

Messages, Danny corrected with a grimace. "Yes, that's right," he said politely, controlling his tone, "and I'd…like to accept your offer. For an interview."

He could hear the guy's grin in his voice. "Wonderful! Fantastic! I can easily shift some things around, place a few calls, and get you a slot tonight!"

"Tonight?" Danny repeated, more shrilly than he intended. He had assumed that he'd have the night to mentally prepare, at least! "Um—"

"Of course tonight!" Lance Thunder exclaimed loudly, sounding offended. "You're big news, Danny! It has been at least three weeks since the Shift, and everyone's curious to hear your side of the story! Since I've heard that your parents are adamant against having you speak at a city-wide press conference for the time being, we'd like you on as soon as possible! If you're available, of course." Danny heard a flurry of taps on the other end, but he was hardly paying attention. The word tonight played on repeat in his head. "I bet we can get you on at eight central. Eight sound good to you?"

Mom had emerged from the kitchen when she heard Danny's distressed tone, and she cocked a brow at him. He shrugged uselessly and mouthed, "Tonight?"

She nodded, and he lied, "Eight sounds great, Mr. Thunder."

"Oh, Lance is just fine, Danny. Please call me Lance."

"Alright," he conceded. "I'll be there, Lance."

"Thank you very much for your cooperation with us, Danny. Especially with it being so last minute and everything!" The guy laughed heartily, and when Mom noticed Danny's face twist and gave him another inquiring look, he gagged theatrically, causing her to roll her eyes. From some reason, it made him feel infinitely better. "Once I have everything finalized, I'll give you a call at this number and give you more of the details."

"Okay," he agreed. "Thank you for this opportunity."

"No, thank you. Until tonight!"

Click.

Danny pulled the phone away from his ear, and after staring at it for a moment, unsure if that was generally how things like this were supposed to go, he stated, "This is going to be a nightmare. He's even more of a spazz than Jazz is."

"I heard that!" Jazz's voice echoed from upstairs.

"You were meant to!" he retorted reflexively.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, sweetheart," Mom comforted, completely ignoring the two siblings' bickering. "You can hold your own: you definitely proved that today, and no—" she interceded when she saw him begin to speak "—I'm not upset with you about that. You stood up for yourself, and I'm proud of you."

Danny exhaled slowly but could not find it in himself to say anything. She and Dad knew nothing of what happened during CAT testing last year—only Jazz remembered what happened before Clockwork pushed his magical reset button—and he meant to keep it that way.

"You know we trust you, don't you?"

He didn't meet his mother's indigo eyes, but he said, "Yeah, I know."

With a bright smile, she leaned against the door-jam and changed the subject. "While you were on the phone, your father got word from the movers. There was some trouble with a malfunctioning ectogun on the road, and now they're about an hour behind schedule."

Danny wasn't surprised. "Okay?"

"Well, it's still pretty early. If you're up for it, we have time to spare now, and we can get in contact with Sleetjaw and—"

"Yes!" he exclaimed immediately, leaping up and doing a sort of dorky victory punch in the air. He didn't care that he probably looked like an idiot. He didn't even think to care that this was kind of a big moment for the family, as far as all the Phantom stuff went. He only cared that he was feeling a hell of a lot better and that he might, might just be able to go flying tonight. "Yes, I am totally up for it."

For a moment, she looked a little bemused by his enthusiasm—and by his lack of insecurity, perhaps—but that was soon replaced by amusement and happiness. "I figured."

~…~

"Alright, spill."

Sam jolted back to reality and realized they'd walked a whole lap around the track already. "What?"

Tucker scrunched his nose and gestured wildly with his arms. "I've been going on about the mere size of the Fenton's tank of an RV for a solid five minutes now, and you haven't even rolled your eyes once."

She rolled her eyes then, but he didn't look too impressed. "Sam."

"I was just thinking, Tuck."

"Oh, no!" he exclaimed exaggeratedly. "I would have never guessed. Care to enlighten me on what it is you're thinking about?"

"The Fentons." There was no use keeping it from him, and why would she anyway? Tucker was the only one she wanted to tell. "It was worth it, Tucker. When I ran to find Mr. Lancer, I met them, and Maddie Fenton thanked me."

"Wait," Tucker said, his voice rising in pitch, "hold up now."

As it happened, Dash Baxter decided to show his smug face right at that very moment. Shoving himself between Sam and Tuck, he threw his arms across their shoulders. She froze, unsure if he'd overheard her. "The Fentons, huh, Manson?"

Somewhat overheard, then. "What's it to you, Baxter?" Sam said emotionlessly, maneuvering from under his arm. Tucker, unfortunately, was not as deft as she was and got stuck under the larger boy's armpit. Though he struggled against the hold, Sam knew Dash wasn't aiming to hurt him. Not this time, anyway.

Since her part in the Danny Fenton-Phantom protests bumped her up Casper's social hierarchy and forced a lot of previous enemies to become…frienemies, things had changed. She'd been able to use her unwanted status to her advantage, especially in regards to bullying, and the bullies themselves had started maturing in their own rights. In all honesty, though, it was still weird to see Dash actually…behaving. Well, in the loosest sense of the term. He might still be rude, temperamental, coarse, and obnoxious, and he might not be against asserting his dominance over his peers wherever and whenever possible, but whatever odd sort of gruff tolerance and almost-friendly manhandling this was—it was an improvement, for sure.

"Don't tell me you're still scheming to get Danny Fenton on the football team," she continued, "Or, better yet, thinking of going after his sister?"

"Dude," Tucker snorted as he finally rid himself of the beefy arm, "you've got about as much chance with Jazz Fenton as you have with the President of the United States."

And there was the bully she knew. Before Sam could snarl a warning to Dash or back Tucker up, a meaty fist shot out and socked her friend in the gut. "Can it, Foley," the quarterback growled, catching Tucker by the scruff of the neck and pulling him upright just as he doubled over. Sam was tempted to kick the asshat in the balls for that, but logic prevailed over her violent urge. She settled for tugging Tuck away from the blond, who continued to sneer, "You're lucky there're a lot of witnesses here. Otherwise, I'd be beating you bloody for saying that, regardless of your Goth-bird friend here."

"Lay off, Dash," Sam threatened. "What kind of example are we setting here anyway?"

Dash's murky blue eyes followed Sam's, and he scowled when he saw a nearby mother walking with two elementary-school-aged children, who, being the curious children they were, watched the high school sophomores unblinkingly.

He smiled his blinding, photogenic "I'm-a-football-stud" smile at the kids and took a few steps away from Sam and Tucker. "And just so you know, Manson," he said through his teeth, "I'm not scheming. It's no secret I'm gonna ask him."

"Last I heard, they wouldn't budge on that front, Dash," Sam muttered, an ember of rage flaring in her chest.

Dash waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "And when did you last hear? Last week? It's been all hush-hush lately, so you don't know that. No one really knows what they've decided to do with him." Although his choice of words made her blood boil, she couldn't deny him that point, and he squared his shoulders, looking quite pleased with himself. "Man, can you imagine, though? With Phantom on our team, we could—!"

"If you don't respect him enough to actually call him by his name," Sam barked, bursting the metaphorical bubble containing the athlete's little fantasy,"he's not going to give you the time of day."

Dash narrowed his eyes. "And who d'you suppose he would give it to? You?"

Thankfully, Sam wasn't the type to gloat, and it was a big relief when Paulina distracted Dash because she might have gotten a little snarky and said some things she'd rather not have said.

"Whatever. Later, dweebs," Dash sneered before sauntering off to his girlfriend.

Tucker and Sam watched him go. "Ugh," she complained, scowling at the idiot's back. "You alright, Tuck?"

"Forget about me!" he exclaimed, still a little breathless. She noticed his hand rub absentmindedly at his stomach, but instead of showing any pain, his eyes were alight with curiosity. "What were they like? What happened? When did you meet them? It was Lancer, wasn't it? He was with them?"

"Whoa, boy, slow down," Sam teased, laughing.

Tucker didn't look put out in the slightest. "Seriously, Sam. What happened?"

"I ran into Danny Fenton," she admitted. "Literally. It was my fault, and I ended up on the floor."

There was a single, beautiful second of silence before Tuck snorted. "You're shitting me," he laughed. "That's, like, the most cliché thing in the book!"

Sam stared. "That's really creepy. That was one of the first things he said, too."

"I knew I'd like this kid." His grin broadened. "So…?" he pressed, rolling his wrist and gesturing her to proceed.

"What do you want me to say? He was…" Sam trailed off. "He was normal, Tuck."

Smile fading, Tucker deadpanned, "That is so informative, Sam, I can't get over it."

She swatted at his arm. "I mean…he wasn't a Class-A dickhead, and…he really didn't seem like he was flying high on the magical carpet of celebrity-dom either."

"Magical carpet of celebrity-dom," Tucker repeated. "Wooooow."

"Shut up," she said, shoving at him again. "You know what I mean."

"I guess?"

"I think I figured he'd be stuck up or basking in the limelight or whatever!" she defended, realizing how stupid she sounded as she said it.

"Really, Sam?" Tucker quirked a brow. "You didn't stop to think that maybe he avoided most cameras before the Shift for a reason? What about all the bad publicity he had?"

Honestly, she hadn't, but she wasn't about to admit that. "You've seen Phantom's fights! You've seen some of the tricks he's pulled!"

"What does that have to do with anything? We always laughed whenever he pulled a good one on the Guys in White. Or the Wisconsin Ghost. Or whoever the hell else he was fighting that week."

"Yeah, and we always thought he could be a bit of a cocky bastard, too," Sam reminded him, but her voice betrayed her. She had seen first hand that he was anything but. Even when he casually mentioned his alter-ego's tendency to take hits that hurt more than the full force of her sprinting body…Another person might have been showing off, but she'd known it was an unconscious effort to make her laugh, to make her feel better about running into him like that.

God, I'm an idiot.

"Oh," Tucker said, realization dawning. "I think I get it now."

"There you go, then," she muttered. "Anyway, the point is, after I fell on my ass, he—he apologized and helped me up."

Tucker's eyes nearly bugged from his head. "You let him help you? Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Sam?"

"I felt bad, alright!" she defended. "We laughed it off, but he did look kind of mortified. The whole thing was...awkward."

Tucker scrutinized her closely, and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Mmhmm, I bet."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped. "Seriously, nothing much happened after that. He was lost, and since we were both headed in the same direction, I led him back to the gym."

"They're setting up the shields there?" he asked, his manic-geek smile returning in full force.

"Yeah. I didn't get a chance to really talk to any of the others—with the exception of Mrs. Fenton—but in general, they…they really are good people, I can tell. It isn't just some image they devised for publicity's sake. They genuinely care."

He was silent for a moment, unnaturally serious, and turning his gaze away, he said, "Not everyone is like your parents, Sam."

The question "So that's the real reason?" hung in the air, unasked and yet still answered.

~…~

"You okay, Danny?" Jazz asked in an undertone. "I know you're not exactly comfortable with this yet."

He'd only been half-listening to the medical and scientific jargon falling from his parents' and Sleetjaw's lips, and his eyes flitted to his sister, who was sitting next to him on the long metal table.

"Yeah," he said honestly, crossing his arms self-consciously over his scarred chest. She's seen them all, his parents have seen them all, and it wasn't like his arms were clear of marks, but he still felt the urge to hide those close to his center. The more vulnerable ones. Some distant part of him knew he should be proud of what those scars represented. He should be proud he'd survived this long, that he had learned, adapted, and became a pretty good fighter and defender in the process, but that distant part of him wasn't enough to stop him from feeling…less.

He shoved the self-deprecating thoughts aside and explained, "I was just thinking about how weird it is seeing the lab so empty."

"It's technically not a lab yet."

He rolled his eyes. She was right, of course, but since some equipment did make it to the new house during the initial drive down from Chicago, it was more a lab than it was a basement at this point as far as he was concerned. "Whatever it is, it's…kinda unnerving, how silent it is." Considering how the lab itself still unnerved him—he'd had far too many nightmares about being captured and experimented on for his edginess to disappear entirely, despite having spent most of the past three weeks hooked up to numerous machines in their old lab—he almost chuckled at the irony. "There's no humming."

"You know," Jazz mused, casting a quick look around the nearly-empty space, "you're right. I can't remember the last time there wasn't something humming in the background."

"At least it won't be long before something's humming or beeping..." He sighed suddenly. "Or blaring or shrieking or exploding again."

"No exploding, hopefully!" Dad butted in. He, Mom, and Sleetjaw had finally finished talking and had joined the two siblings. Winking at his children, he added, "Not yet anyway."

"As long as it's not the Portal," Danny joked in a wry tone. Realizing what he said a second too late, his mouth popped open in a gasp, and he hurriedly stuttered, "Oh, God, that—I wasn't thinking. Bad joke. Bad joke."

The light in Dad's eyes died and had grown solemn, and Danny cast his gaze to his lap, wishing he had bit his tongue. He jumped when Mom rubbed his shoulder. "You're fine, Danny," she comforted, "and you're right. If the city still wants live coverage of the Portal's activation, we're going to need to have even more precautions."

"I need to be there," Danny insisted.

He remembered what happened the first time this topic came up and winced again. There had been some yelling and fighting involved, and he didn't want a repeat of that. This time, she merely kissed his brow. "We'll talk about it later. Sleetjaw's dropped everything for you, you know."

"It was no trouble, I assure you, Great One!" Sleetjaw inserted with great passion.

He'd given up trying to persuade any of the ghosts from the Far Frozen to stop using the embarrassing title, but he still flushed. "Thanks for coming, Sleetjaw."

The ghost's lips stretched over his sharp fangs into some semblance of a smile. "No need to thank me, Great One! It is a great day if you are feeling well enough to morph. Are you ready to proceed?"

Nodding and lowering his arms from his chest, Danny sat perfectly still as Sleetjaw lowered his massive bulk before him, and he didn't bat an eye as a massive paw pressed against his bare chest. The yeti-ghost's red eyes were overcome with a frigid blue glow, and his core jolted in response to the healing power Sleetjaw, whose core was kin to his own, was using to probe through his body.

Where it once burned like a thousand wasp stings, the weird energy-exchanging examination now made his heart race, electrifying and exhilarating, and he closed his eyes, only to open them and feel his own spectral energy blazing through his veins. It was cold—freezing, even—but it was his.

God, had he missed it. He'd hardly felt himself without it.

"His eyes are brighter," Mom mentioned.

"He's in the room," Danny murmured under his breath, but he was grinning too wildly for his words to sound bitter, which had all too often characterized his tone during previous sessions over the course of his frustrating recovery period. He'd heard time and time again from Sleetjaw that glowing was a good thing. Apparently, brightness and purity of the color were indicative of core health.

Sure enough, Sleetjaw rumbled, "There is no longer a taint to your core, Great One." The yeti-ghost's power receded, as did the vibrant blue glow in his red eyes. Danny's own green glow died seconds afterward. "Miraculous, how fast it has regenerated. Were you full ghost, you would have never recovered your form, but you are strong."

Danny shifted, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Mom flick her gaze upward. Feeling understandably self-conscious—he knew she'd been staring—he reached for his shirt. Tugging it on with hasty, jerky motions, he asked, "You think I'm good to go ghost, Sleetjaw?"

"We shall see. It is important we ensure the stability of your powers first."

And so they did. They tested intangibility and invisibility for awhile, focusing on parts of his body, his whole body, and then reaction time. It was a breeze for him, and he felt no discomfort with his parents in the room. They'd witnessed these particular powers time and time again over the past few weeks: of all this powers, these two had glitched out the most often.

Summoning ecto-energy was another thing entirely, though.

When asked to demonstrate this particular power, the familiar, tingling, pins-and-needles sensation laced through his core and down his arm, where the energy collected and flared into being in his palm. The moment the green flame-like power manifested, Mom swallowed a gasp and looked about a second away from rushing over to him.

"It's fine, Mom," he said gleefully, displaying his glowing hand. "It doesn't hurt me. It actually just feels…like my hand fell asleep. Except it's colder and less…annoying."

"That's amazing," Dad breathed, unable to keep the awe from his voice. Mom could only offer a sheepish smile.

From that point on, they continued to observe, occasionally asking hesitant questions, as Danny formed ectoplasmic and ice blasts alike. That he was capable of using his powers like this in human form was a good sign, though he had to admit that it was becoming more and more of a challenge to do so as Sleetjaw's requests started to require more control or more energy.

"Your stamina has decreased," the yeti-ghost explained. "You merely need to train, as you would your human muscles."

"Thought so," Dad said.

"It's always been more difficult in this form," Danny admitted breathlessly. "But since my last…erm…"

"Growth spurt," Jazz supplied. "He jumped from a Class 6.5 to 7.3 overnight, it seemed. Some boundary was reached, and it became easier after that, right, Danny?"

Danny nodded. "Still not as easy as when I'm Phantom, but yeah, easier."

"Easier," Dad repeated slowly.

"Great One?" Sleetjaw interceded, catching Danny's attention. "I am fully confident in your ability to morph successfully this time. Do you feel strong enough to do so?"

Danny, still panting, massaged his twinging ribs. "Yes."

"Danny—"

"No," he interrupted in a firm tone, "I need to do this, Mom."

Sleetjaw bowed his head, unaware that his mom was biting her lower lip and exchanging a worried look with Dad behind his back. "Then let us see, Great One."

Of course, in the face of the permission Danny just received from his ghostly medic, his previous excitement was nowhere to be found. Panic and dread rooted him to the spot, his throat seizing and stomach performing an endless free-fall. It was stupid, he knew that. They'd already seen him change from ghost to human. Under Sleetjaw's supervision, they'd already seen him try to transform, too. They'd seen him melt, and they'd pumped him full of ectoplasmic nutrients or whatever. They'd seen the scar—the first one, from the Portal, the one that was unlike the others (1). They'd seen him demonstrate his powers.

That meant they already knew that he wasn't…entirely human. They already knew, but this time they'd be seeing their son transform into Phantom, and that, somehow, was different.

This felt final. This was the final confirmation that it was all real and wasn't just some…distant dream.

He wouldn't put it past Nocturne, honestly, and if Desiree and Vlad were somehow involved, too—well, no surprise.

It was far too silent in the lab. They were waiting. His parents' eyes, teal and indigo, had not lost their uneasy gleam, but now that they saw he was determined to do this, both pairs of eyes were soft and comforting, loving and supportive...

Jazz was the one who ultimately encouraged him on. Like the others, she watched him, but she was the only one completely at ease. Calmness and acceptance exuded from her small smile, and when she caught his eye, she inclined her head.

When you're ready, go ahead, she told him without words.

So, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he went ahead.

The beams of light popped into existence and washed over him, dousing his entire body in a wave of cold. There was no burning, no pain, and his lips twisted into a victorious smile of their own accord. The rush of energy died in the blink of an eye, and his feet left the floor. Now floating, weightless and free, he opened his eyes.

Mom was there, right in front of him, extending a gentle hand. It took all of his self-control not to flinch away or go intangible, but when she brushed his white bangs from his eyes and cradled the side of his face, he leaned into her hand and released a shaky breath. She didn't say anything, but he knew he made the right move after she broke into a bright, teary smile and tugged him into a hug. "Thank God," she murmured into his hair. "Thank God. I don't think I could have borne to see my baby…no, not again. You hear me, Daniel? Never again. Never again."

This was the first time he'd seen her break down since the Shift, and it scared him. "I'm alright, Mom," he responded, echoey voice cracking. "I'm fine." His gloved fingers fisted into his mom's jumpsuit as Jazz joined the hug, forcing him to plant his feet on the ground, and he didn't care that he was crying when he looked up over their shoulders toward Dad, who approached with an even wider, prouder smile than Mom's and laid a broad hand on his son's shoulder. Danny laughed giddily.

Reality wasn't so bad after all.

Chapter Text

"We're leaving," Pamela snapped, passing by the door to Sam's room.

Sam, far too fixated on the wights on her laptop screen to fully register her mother's words (1), only grunted in her vague direction. It wasn't long before her mother backtracked and demanded, "Samantha, did you hear what I said?"

Irritated, Sam clicked the pause button, yanked the headphones from her ears, and spun in her chair. The wights were now popping out of the snow and being generally awesome, and since she did not like pausing during scenes this intense, even if she'd already watched this particular episode a few times over, her only thought was that this had better be important. "What?"

"We are leaving."

Sam scowled and whirled back around. Moving to put her headphones back in, she grumbled, "Good for you. I guess I'll see you later."

"This isn't up for discussion."

Sam quirked a brow and wryly leaned back into the chair, crossing her arms. One of her ear-buds fell into her lap. "I didn't realize I'd be joining you on this mystery venture."

"Of course you are," her mother stated. "Now get dressed."

"Where are we going?"

"Just get dressed, Samantha."

Sam looked down at her black camisole and purple sweatpants, shrugged, and pulled on the black sweatshirt that was laid across the back of her chair. Too lazy to so much as zip it halfway, she displayed herself. "I'm dressed."

A critical, disapproving eye ran over her choice of attire, and Sam rolled her eyes. "Your fault for not giving me some warning here," she snapped as she stood. "I was perfectly happy to spend my night in Westeros (2)."

Much to her surprise, her mother did not argue.

That was the first warning sign.

Clucking her tongue, she snatched Sam's arm and tugged her from the room. Sam sighed and took one last, longing look at her abandoned laptop before she was practically dragged down the stairs. Sam's grandmother sat bottom of the stairs in her motorized wheelchair, her wrinkled face blank and purple eyes blazing.

That was warning number two.

"Quit your sighing," her mother ordered, as though there wasn't an irate senior waiting at the bottom of the steps. "We were lucky to have even heard about this as early as we did."

"You going to let me in on where exactly it is you're dragging me off to?"

"We," she said dramatically, "are going to see my point proven."

"Pamela, this isn't going to prove anything!" Grandma Ida shouted as soon as she heard that. For such a seemingly frail woman, Sam's grandmother had an impressive set of lungs, and she'd obviously just been waiting for a chance to put them to use. "You will only see what you wish to see, and I will not listen to you go on and on about it! You have become obsessive! Enough is enough!"

"Obsessive?!" Sam's mother shrieked, releasing Sam. Her father, who had just entered the entrance hall from the kitchen, steadied her when she stumbled. "I'm trying to do what's best for the city! The boy is dangerous, uncontrollable and unpredictable, and if you think—"

"I don't think! I know!"

"THAT IS ENOUGH NOW!" Jeremy Manson exploded. "Pam, I swear I will ask our neighbors to take every last one of our cars on a free joy ride and strand you here with my mother. Don't!" he exclaimed when his wife opened her mouth. "Don't. I did not have to include you and Samantha, remember, and Mother…stop it. You're upsetting your granddaughter."

Having not expected to land in the middle of what looked like a warzone in what was supposed to be a time of tentative peace, Sam was more overwhelmed and disconcerted than she was upset, but before she could so much as scowl, her dad continued, "And the only reason I agreed to this is because you agreed this is for observation only. We are going to see what he has to say—because he might actually say something important. We are not going there to make a scene or gain ammunition."

Sam had an incredibly bad feeling about this, but her mind had trouble processing everything that was being said. "Where are we going again?" she asked for what had to be the third time.

"I managed to get us VIP seats in the studio audience for Lance Thunder's interview of Danny Fenton tonight," he explained. He glanced at his wristwatch. "And we'd better be going soon."

"What?" Sam breathed, a tumultuous wave of emotion washing over her. This was huge. Danny actually agreed to do an interview? But…how…why…? "Since when did—?"

"It was last minute," Pamela injected. There was a spiteful smile on her face that made Sam want to hurl. "He's likely to incriminate himself, and I don't want to miss it."

Horror and surprise was overcome with a fierce rage. For all that she wished she could spit expletives left and right, for all that she wished she could shout, "I met the guy, and I might have only spent a few minutes with him, but I know he's more unassuming than a majority of people in this godforsaken city," she knew that would only lead to disaster. Frustrated and beyond consolation, she grit her teeth and growled, "You're wrong."

Three pairs of eyes fixated on her with varying degrees of anger and confusion. Pamela, of course, was the first to say anything. "You don't speak like that to me, Samantha."

"I'm sick of this, Mother! I'm so fucking sick I can't even—"

"Samantha," her father warned. "I could leave you behind, too."

Stewing with fury, Sam cut herself off, though her glare was easily read. I'll only behave if she does. Grandma Ida took hold of her hand, and after exchanging a look with her grandmother, the teenager averted her eyes and huffed, "Fine."

"I don't want to hear any fighting on the way back," Jeremy said sternly, looking between his wife and daughter. "We are going to listen to what the boy says, we are going to think about it, and then we are going to have a talk. Like the mature people we are. Without yelling, without screaming, and without—" he shot a sharp look at Sam "—cussing."

You've got some high hopes there, Dad, Sam thought. She appreciated what he was trying to do, but she didn't need to be a genius to know that this was not going to end well. They could have all easily stayed at home to watch this interview on TV instead of actually getting into the studio, so there was obviously some ulterior motive here that she wasn't aware of.

Or her dad genuinely wanted them to behave while Danny Fenton talked. That was it. Right there. What a manipulative move! Forcing them into public to watch this interview would force them to behave. In a more private setting, they'd likely argue through the entire thing and get into another huge fight, in which each of them would continously pick quotes from the interview and twist Danny's words to suit their interests.

This was probably the only time her father's insistence to play mediator worked out for all of them.

"And don't even think of singling the boy out. Any of you," Ida warned, waving a crooked finger at them and interrupting Sam's silent appreciation for her father's craftiness.

Her dad's motives were a lot easier to decipher than her grandmother's. Sam did not understand her Grandma's fondness for Danny Fenton—there really was no apparent reason why, but she protected him with a ferocity that would make mama grizzly bears jealous; Sam suspected it was just because the crazy old bat loved to stir up trouble…or it could have something to do with what that infamous fortune-teller predicted for her in her youth—but despite that, the teenager was grateful for steady support from at least one family member.

"I'll be watching it all here, and if you embarrass me or the boy…" Grandma's voice dropped into a croaking whisper, "…my trusty blow-dryer and I will be waiting for you, in the dark, when you get your sorry tokheses (3) home."

If there were two things the Manson family knew, it was that 1) you never messed with, touched, or so much as looked at Grandma Ida's sweet tea if you knew what was good for you and 2) you must take Grandma Ida veryseriously when she threatened to bring out her trusty blow-dryer.

The Mansons did nothing but participate in small talk (or in Sam's case, stare out the window and combat with her growing curiosity) the entire way to the news station.

~…~

"This is an outrage," Mom muttered.

Danny eyed the chattering studio audience with cautious blue eyes. He wasn't wearing anything particularly constraining—just a charcoal grey long-sleeved shirt and slim black jeans—but he felt as though he was suffocating all the same. "It's not like we can ask them to leave," he muttered, unconsciously retreating further into the shadows behind stage. "He probably assumed we'd know."

"It still wasn't right of them to say nothing about it," Jazz complained. "Just be sure to watch yourself. This Lance seems completely..."

She didn't have to fill in the appropriate description. There wasn't really a single word to describe the ditz, but he wasn't Amity Park's prized public figure for nothing. When Danny'd been dragged off to shake the hands of countless crewmembers and staff (under the close supervision of several security guards, of course), there wasn't a single one of them who didn't assure him that he was in good hands—the best of hands. There's no one better to do your first public interview, Mr. Fenton, they had said. Lance Thunder had seemed quite flustered by their praise, his charisma blinding and cheerfulness nearly contagious.

Inwardly, however, the teenager knew he had been right to prepare for some inadvertently insensitive questions.

He had to give the guy some credit: he tried. That much was obvious. After going over a vague outline of some topics he might like to cover with Danny, he did explain that he wanted this interview to feel as natural as any thirty-minute-long conversation between old friends would, and he seemed to want nothing more than for Danny to feel as though he was at home.

For all that Lance attempted to make him feel welcome and calm, though, he ended up doing the exact opposite, especially now that Danny knew he was going to have more eyes on him in the studio than he'd anticipated. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will," she responded.

Mom was fussing at his cotton shirt, pulling the shoulders straight and smoothing nonexistent wrinkles, and she said, "Remember, Danny, you don't have to answer anything you don't want to, and if he is being an insufferable fool, don't be afraid to call him out on it, and—"

"He'll be fine, Maddie. Let him breathe!" Dad exclaimed with a deep chuckle. Danny felt an immense surge of gratitude toward his father, who gently pulled Mom away and winked at Danny. "He's given speeches before legions of ghost armies! I think he can handle this."

"Can't compare the two, Dad," Danny mumbled under his breath.

Public speaking never particularly bothered him. In front of ghosts, at least. They did not judge on character so much as they did on more simple things. Like power, for instance. Power was measured by how well a ghost protected his or her haunt or by how large said haunt was. Simple enough, right? The ghosts might have hated him for his particular abnormalities, but Danny had gained respect as a fighter, a defender of not only the Human World but also the Ghost Zone, and by some consensus he couldn't really comprehend, they deigned to him during the recent crisis.

He knew where he stood with the ghosts. The ghosts knew where they stood with him. Everyone accepted that without fuss. Humans? Humans were far more complicated than ghosts, and the true question became: what respect did Fenton have that wasn't given through Phantom?

None. These people didn't know him. That was why this interview was far more stressful than any speech he could have given in front of his ghost allies. That was why this fear was different than the fear he experienced when the weight of two worlds rested on his shoulders.

"We're on in ninety seconds!" came a call from a mysterious somewhere.

The studio audience, having already been prepped and fully seated, lowered their volume, and though he was out of sight, Danny could make out several necks craning in his direction. His throat was incredibly dry, and he really wished he had a bottle of water.

"Alright there, Danny?" Lance asked, popping up from behind the Fenton family unannounced. "Remember your cue?"

It wasn't an entirely hard one to remember, and he said so, hardly registering the voice escaping from his mouth as his own. Lance laughed, gave him a pat on the shoulder, and sauntered into position.

"You'll do great, son," Dad said. "Knock 'em dead."

"That's probably the last thing they want me to do, Dad," Danny quipped under his breath, his eyes seeking out the silent security guards standing nearby. Fenton equipment, in addition to human defense weapons, hung from their belts. "What they want is a show."

"Sixty seconds!"

After inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, he closed his eyes. Just be yourself, Fenton, and they'll get their show, if not the one they're expecting. He nearly snickered when that shitty piece of advice to himself fluttered into his brain. He could only imagine the shock they'd get when they realized their real-life superhero was actually a huge cheese-ball.

This actually might be quite amusing. This…he really had been looking at this all wrong. Hadn't he longed for an opportunity like this? Hadn't he always wanted to show them? To tell those who already had some preconceived notion of who Phantom was and who Fenton was that they were wrong and that he was someone completely different?

The answer was yes. Yes, he most certainly had been waiting for something like this. Ever since they had first uttered the stupid nickname Inviso-Bill, he'd dreamt of this moment. Sure, he hadn't anticipated he'd have such a big audience, but all the same, remembering how it once was for him—how carefully he had had to hide his secrets and how he had wished he could just scream them into the sky… it sent a rush of calm resolve through him, blanketing a majority of his pessimism and nervousness as it went.

"Thirty seconds!"

There was a noticeable hitch in the collective whispers echoing in the room, and when he lifted his gaze toward the audience this time, he caught sight of none other than Sam Manson, who was flanked by a blond man in a sweater-vest and a woman with the most waspish expression he had ever seen. The entire Manson family had come, it would seem, and quite unsurprised, he tried to ignore Pamela Manson and focus on Sam.

Yet another reason to feel both anxious and courageous. This was just as much about his allies—both human and ghost—as it was about him, after all. That's the real reason why he was here.

"Ten!"

The lighting changed rather abruptly, almost blinding Danny, and from behind the camera, the guys were now counting down on their fingers. He squinted at their countdown, blinking rapidly and hardly registering the encouragements from his family members, and all too soon, they were on.

He was still blinking away the floating spots in his eyes when an irritated backstage worker came up behind him and jabbed toward the taped 'X' he was supposed to be standing on. No sooner had he stumbled there than he heard Lance say something about "a change in plans" and "a special night tonight indeed." A loud roar of applause followed the announcement of his name: Danny Fenton.

His cue to go. The lights were more bearable now on his sensitive eyes, and as he took his first step, he prayed that he wouldn't trip because that would be really embarrassing.

If anything, the noise coming from the audience swelled when he walked out before the cameras, and his stride shortened when he saw their silhouettes begin to stand up. It was their display of respect for his Phantom persona, of course, but a burst of pride and satisfaction rushed through him all the same. Despite himself, a smile grew on his face, and after realizing he'd nearly stopped walking and Lance was waiting for him behind his desk at the other end of the stage, he picked up the pace and acknowledged the crowd with a little wave.

He regretted it almost instantly because he was pretty sure it was an awful, dorky excuse for a wave. He was wrong; the crowd went nuts. They were still going at it when he finally reached Lance, who shook his hand again and greeted, "Welcome, Danny! It is great to have you with us tonight!"

"Thank you." Silence finally fell over the studio when he spoke, and as he took his seat in the armchair to his interviewer's left, he blurted the first thing on his mind. "I really wasn't expecting a standing ovation there."

Of course, this only caused a massive commotion, and Danny blinked stupidly over the cameras. He couldn't make out any faces behind the cameramen, and that bothered him. "If you're going to keep doing that, we're going to be here all night," he stated bluntly. Lance started laughing, shrugging, and mouthing something at the crowd. "There's no need for that, really. I'm not all that impressive."

Judging by their reaction, they seemed quite affronted by that, and Danny wondered if any of his classmates back in Chicago were watching this now and kicking themselves or just gaping in utter disbelief. Lance looked most upset of them all. "I doubt all these lovely people would be here if they thought that, Mr. Fenton!" the blond exclaimed. "Am I right, ladies and gentlemen?"

"No, no," Danny stuttered when the audience responded with more cheers and began to stand once more. "It's alright. Thanks, though. I really do appreciate it."

"And speaking of appreciation," Lance said smoothly, leaning forward into his chair, "you have two worlds that owe you an enormous debt of gratitude for what you did to prevent the Ghost King's return."

"I did what I had to do," he said meekly. "As did everyone who helped me defeat him. My parents, the Chicago Police and Fire Departments, the scientists of DALV and Axion Labs...all the ghosts that could fight before they succumbed to Dark's powers, the tacticians and strategists…" Danny's face lit into a smile, and he forgot about everyone else sitting there in favor of the ghosts and humans he met and fought with. "Man, we had a few Roman dictators and Revolutionary War commanders on our side, and they were amazing. I almost wish…"

"That you could have asked them to stick around for help on your History homework?" Lance joked with a roguish wink. "I bet my daughter wouldn't mind that, either."

The crowd laughed, and Danny felt horrified and then downright sickened at these people's utter ignorance. The mere thought of using his friends like that made his eyes flash. He had the presence of mind to angle his head so that any green filtering through his blue irises would not be seen. It was an old trick, one that had gotten him out of trouble time and time again.

"No," he said, his tone as collected as he could manage. They don't know any better, he repeated to himself. "These particular ghosts—There are races, I suppose you can say. Like humans, kinda. I won't get into it because it would take ages to explain, but these ghosts I mentioned are called spirits: wandering souls of deceased humans who got lost on their way. No matter who they were in life, no matter what they had done, all of them are benevolent in nature, hardly capable of maintaining a form. They have little memory of their past, but they remember what matters… because in the end, the only thing they want is to complete the one good deed they didn't, couldn't, or wouldn't complete in life and move on. "

Lance looked about ready to interrupt, but Danny wasn't about to let him. "That's the best part of being Phantom."

That got his interest, the teen thought distastefully. "I'm not sure I understand," the interviewer said, perking up. "I thought sending ghosts back into the Ghost Zone would be a fulfilling enough job to take on?"

"Do you honestly think that getting beat up by ghosts on a daily basis is where I find my fulfillment?" Danny asked dryly. A few snickers erupted from beyond the camera-line. "No, the spirits who joined us…they had either died on the losing side of a war or died before they could see their side win, and…"

"You helped them move on," Lance filled in, comprehension dawning in his eyes, "by recruiting them to our side and winning the war."

Danny nodded. "You can imagine that they were noble people and only wanted to be a part of a noble cause."

"As you are?"

Danny caught Lance's pale, twinkling eyes, and his fervor died down as he realized that, somehow, the conversation had returned to him. "Me? Noble?" He snorted. "Depends on who you ask, I guess."

"It takes a noble person to take the time to help those spirits, no?" Lance smiled.

Now that his anger had dissipated, Danny felt a little uncomfortable under such close scrutiny. The reawakened awareness of the crowd's presence did not help. "It's what anyone would do. You know," he mused with a sheepish smile, "this was kinda a weird way to start an interview."

"Nah, the least we can do for you in exchange for your heroism is let you speak your mind!"

Danny shifted in his chair so that he sat nearly at the edge, elbows resting on his knees. Somewhere, behind stage, his mother and Jazz were appalled by his posture. "Look, the whole point I was trying to make bringing up those spirits was that, as far as I'm concerned, I'm not the hero here. The ghosts, the humans who took part—they're the heroes. I wouldn't be here now without them…and neither would any of you, for that matter."

"They all played an instrumental part—I'm sure we all agree—" Lance nodded solemnly "—and our hearts go out to them, but, Danny, don't shortchange what it is you have done. It was you who ultimately led these people, and these ghosts, into the battle and you who struck the final blow."

Danny was saved from responding when Lance turned away from him and called, "Linda? Will you roll the clip?"

He jerked upright. He knew what it was, and he didn't want to watch it. He never did want to watch it, but whenever it was played on TV, he couldn't help but track Pariah Dark's every move. Chills automatically erupted down his spine, and he forced himself to sit still as he watched himself battle with the Ghost King, nearly kill himself, and then revert back into human form. Danny hoped that a warning for viewer discretion had popped up at one point or another.

There must be something wrong with him. The audience was whooping for him, and here he was, feeling numb and nauseous.

They don't know any better, Danny reminded himself. But they don't need to know this.

He realized he'd missed half of what Lance was saying and twitched a little when he snapped out of the zone. "…much speculation going around about what really happened up there on the Tower."

Danny furrowed his brow. He wasn't talking about how the plan went awry. He probably wasn't even referring to how exactly it was he beat Pariah Dark. Everyone already knew all this from his parents' press conferences. Uncertain of what else to say, he commented, "Well, I nearly died."

"It is true, then?"

"Um, yeah?" Danny tried very hard not to stare at him like he had grown two heads, and chuckling a little, he joked, "Channeling that much energy wasn't exactly a walk in the park."

"Oh, I never meant to imply that it was!" Lance was quick to assure, Danny's dark humor completely lost on him. "Your recovery was a long and grueling process, I'm sure."

"Living through it once was enough, I think. I'm on the mend, and that's what matters."

"And we are all glad of it, Danny. We are very glad," Lance confirmed. "No, I was wondering if it was true—that someone like you…"

No fucking way is this how he's bringing this stuff up. "Someone like me," Danny repeated. "Listen, I'm not exactly sure what's been said about me, but I'm sure it's wrong because hell, I don't even have the right answers. We're working on that. All you need to know is that I'm human, and when I'm Phantom—yes, it is me, and no, I don't have separate entity living in my head; I know that's something I needed to clear up once and for all because I've heard that a lot, and that's just…no."

More laughter. The Phantom side of him flared up again, and he rolled his eyes when Lance agreed, "I can imagine why that's not your favorite theory, Danny."

"I don't know why it would be anyone's theory," he mumbled. "When I'm Phantom, I'm nothing more and nothing less than me. I have a heartbeat, I need to breathe, I can bleed out, and yeah, I can die. I'm just a little more durable, heal a bit faster…and have some ghostly attributes."

That was all they needed to know. He didn't tell them that, when in ghost form, he had a heart rate of about 15-20 bpm. They didn't need to know that he only needed to breathe once every few minutes, either, and there was no way in hell that he was going to tell them about his human form's medical eccentricities. He hoped what he did say was enough to satisfy them.

"I have heard," Lance said, his eyes wide with fascination and delight, "that the ghosts call you halfa. Half-human-half-ghost."

"Yes," Danny conceded cautiously. "I'm sure you've heard hybrid and half-breed, too."

"And Twice-Born."

Danny stiffened in his chair. How could Lance know that? The audio for that clip was so horrendous that it rarely ever accompanied the clip itself. Besides that, no one but Danny himself could have heard Pariah Dark call him that. He didn't even think his parents or Jazz heard it, and they were on the Tower with him.

It shook him just as much as it had the first time he heard it.

"That is probably the most curious epithet of them all, I must say," Lance mused. "And that right there, Danny, is the question that's been burning in our minds since the Shift. You made your big debut as Phantom just over a year ago, in a fight against a raging meat monster at your high school. Before then? Well, all superheroes have their origin story. Would you mind telling the world of yours?"

He'd been expecting this question, but his heart rate sped up all the same. The pressure of everyone's eyes on him was insane. "It was an accident," he hedged, forcing a laugh. "A comic-book-stereotypical lab accident. How else?"

"Aw, come on!" Lance complained in a good-natured tone. "You can't give us anything more than that?"

"I could, but I'm not going to." When mutters and complaints resounded around him, he shrugged. "I've discussed this with my parents, and I—what happened to me…it's not something I would wish on anyone."

The interviewer nodded sympathetically. "It must have been very painful, falling into a steaming vat of ectoplasm."

Danny was more amused by the guy's obvious attempt at manipulation than he was upset about the utter disregard for his decision not to speak of it. "Nice try, Lance, but I'm not budging on this."

"I suppose it was worth a shot. Or was that it? You got hit by a malfunctioning Fenton ecto-weapon!"

Snorting now, Danny shook his head. "If that were the case, my entire family and then some would have the same powers I have. Burns are almost guaranteed when you don't know how to handle those things." He offered Lance a thumbs-up. "A for effort, though."

If Lance was disappointed, he didn't really show it. Danny, however, saw that excited, energized gleam in his eyes, and he doubted he'd back off. He doubted anyone would back off now. "Maybe one day, I'll be able to talk about it," Danny admitted, "but since we honestly don't know enough about what happened, we don't want to go around encouraging …Well, I'm sure you understand that we're only trying to protect people who think they know better than we do. Besides, it's easy enough to fill in some of the blanks."

"Don't go playing around in highly dangerous, anti-ghost laboratories is the main message here, I am assuming."

Danny cringed, memories of acidic green and electrifying pain jumping to the forefront of his mind. He shoved them away and smirked half-heartedly. "Something like that."

"Alright," Lance said courteously, "if we cannot discuss that part of the 'how,' then you can perhaps tell us a little bit more about what happened after your accident."

"There isn't much to say, really. I thought I'd gone insane. I mean, it's not everyday you wake up and see you're glowing."

"You woke up as Phantom after your accident? Twice-Born, indeed."

Danny pretended not to have heard that last comment. It was less demeaning than any of the other things he'd been called, but it felt too personal, too close for comfort. If Lance fully understood what it meant—what it really meant—he might have been a little more accepting, but he wasn't about to go telling people what it meant to him. He doubted he could even explain it to his family. He doubted he could even talk about it with the only two other halfas in existence, as they…they were not like him. Not exactly. (4)

When Danny didn't respond, Lance empathized, "I would probably have run screaming from the house if I woke up like that."

Grateful for Lance's prompt topic adjustment, Danny brushed away his previous thoughts and chuckled. It was easier to talk about this stuff than he expected, and without feeling a shred of embarrassment, he confessed, "Oh, don't worry. I think I passed out when I saw my reflection. Reverted right back to human form, though, so for the rest of the night, I was convinced it was all just a bad dream."

"So how did you figure out it was permanent? Did you learn to control the transformation by yourself?"

"No. I had my sister, Jazz, to keep me sane."

"Did she witness your accident?"

"Oh, God, no. She would have killed me if she was home and knew I was sneaking around in the lab without supervision. No, I almost…well, the morning of my accident, my parents left for some convention at the University of Wisconsin, and she was spending the day with some old friends. She stayed over with them, and by the time she came home the next morning, I was very aware that my accident hadn't been a bad dream. I kept changing back and forth, losing sight of my hands… She walked through the front door, and I wasn't really able get it out, you know? She was still in denial about ghosts—and she'll admit it, too—and I had no idea how to explain what was going on. I almost decided to run right out on her then and there, but then I started falling through the floor."

"You're kidding," Lance deadpanned. "You're joking with us, aren't you? It was really that bad?"

"What? Did you think having a ghost-form super-glued to you was going to be glorious and glamorous?" Danny shook his head and crossed his arms. "Heck no. Huge learning curve."

"Well, you certainly have command of your powers now."

"Only thanks to Jazz." Danny smiled, happy to give credit to his sister and pour on the praise. Maybe she'd chill out a little more if he was super flattering. "I'd've been a wreck without her help. If I told my parents then, I would have been even better off."

"Okay, I have to ask this. I have to." Lance wiggled in his seat like an excitable puppy, and it set Danny on edge immediately. "Is it possible…you could give us, ah, a demonstration?"

The crowd's agreement was astounding. For a second, Danny didn't comprehend what he was asking, and when it hit him, he couldn't decide if he wanted to go invisible and walk out just to spite everyone in the studio or if he wanted to glare in silence. Taking a deep breath, he eventually narrowed his eyes. "Even if I wasn't still healing from the battle," he half-lied, "the answer'd be no. I'm not some prized show pony to be paraded around the state fair here."

Lance looked crestfallen, and from the sound of it, the audience was too. Danny almost felt guilty for being so harsh, and he relented a little. "I'm sure you'll spot me sooner or later," he guaranteed in a more friendly tone. "It's hard to keep me grounded for long."

The wounded puppy look disappeared, and Lance tittered, winking again. "Like to fly, do you?"

"It's not exactly a secret."

"Well, you and your sister kept your other secrets very well!"

"We had plenty of incentive. Flying…that's fun, but what I do is dangerous. I didn't only have to watch out for ghosts, you know. It was scary for awhile, I'm not going to lie. The Guys in White were still around then, and it doesn't take much to imagine what they would have done to me if they found out. With the ghosts coming out of the Zone in droves, I thought it'd be…safer. Understandably, I decided early on that not everyone would understand as easily as my sister...or my parents did."

"Yes," Lance agreed, "you managed to escape the Federal Anti-Ecto Control Act by the skin of your teeth, after all."

"Yup," Danny sighed, his eyes rolling to the ceiling. He leaned back, laced his fingers behind his head, and thought about the metal band he'd have to wear to school on Monday. "Even still, heartbeats aren't enough for some people."

"Ah, you beat me to it!" Lance exclaimed. "I was just going to broach this topic!"

Danny straightened in his chair. "Yeah?"

With twinkling eyes, Lance lowered his voice so that it adopted a dramatic timbre. "How does it feel to know that the entire world—from your fans to your foes—has learned that Danny Fenton is the Danny Phantom?"

He froze. Talking about feelings like that on live television? No thanks. Nope. That's where he drew the line. Rubbing the back of his neck, he stammered, "Um…I'm not sure how to answer that."

"Ah, I bet it's pretty surreal for you still. Waking up from mortal injuries and realizing your secret identity was a secret no longer must've been quite a shock, huh?"

"You could say that, yeah."

Bobbing his head, Lance did not press further—maybe there was some sensitivity and tact in the guy—and said, "Since we're nearly out of time here and I still need to ask you some mandatory questions about your truce with the Ghost Zone and the Fenton Portal's reactivation before we sign off, perhaps you'd rather answer this: how do you respond to your fans? Or those who, as you say, don't understand?"

This was the opening he'd been waiting for, and his gaze flashed from Lance to the silhouettes, in the direction of the Manson family. "To those who rooted for me since the beginning," Danny began, "and those who had fought for me to be here, to be an active member of the community…thank you. You guys have been fighting a battle of your own—one that I was too sick to fight for myself—and it means a lot to me. I hope I'm worth all your efforts."

He ignored the coos, sniffles, whispers, and whoops, and a faint smile touched his lips. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough for now. He would find Sam on Monday to thank her in person, but he felt a lot better knowing that he, at least, showed his appreciation to the world.

"And to the others, Danny?" Lance pressed. "What do you say to those that aren't exactly pleased with your presence here in Amity?"

"I can only hope I prove myself to them—er, you. You, sorry." His face flushed, but he didn't turn from the cameras, looking those who were watching dead in the eye. "If not, that's okay." He shrugged. "I'm not going to beg or plead for your acceptance. I never have and never will. You believe what you believe, and I'm not going to waste your time or my time trying to change that. It doesn't matter in the end. The ghosts you might have seen so far…they are nothing. This is only the beginning. I don't mean to scare anyone, but that's reality. The Shift happened, and Amity is the hot spot now. When the upper-level ghosts start coming out of the Zone, I'm going to keep doing what I do best, whether you like it or not."

Chapter Text

Sam had about a million texts from Tucker by the time the interview was over. She swore the kid had to comment on everything, and after scrolling through a few of the messages, she realized she'd have to call him as soon as possible before he exploded or something.

After the influx of information, she didn't necessarily blame him. She wanted to talk about it too. With someone who didn't belong to her family, preferably. Surprisingly enough, however, said family had been on their best behavior. Sure, her mother had wrinkled her nose and narrowed her eyes a few times, but for the most part, she had been attentive and shockingly impassive as she listened. As for her father—Sam didn't have to worry. She'd caught him smirking in approval or bobbing his head in agreement every so often.

Seemed even he could appreciate Danny Fenton's somewhat dark sense of humor. Not everyone in that dumb audience did.

Even before they emerged from the crowded studio and into the cool night air, her parents had found several friends, including the mayor of Amity Park, and had begun to discuss the more serious things that had been brought up in the interview: namely Danny Fenton's warning about the upper-level ghosts, the Fenton Ghost Portal, the shields at Casper High, and the plans to put more shields around the city. Others from the audience formed a group and stood around, giggling, whispering, and craning their necks toward the doors. Sam assumed they were waiting for the ghost boy to emerge so that they could bombard him for autographs and pictures. Some were even dodging around the building, probably looking for less obvious exits.

Of course, there probably weren't enough brains between them to realize the guy could evade them if he really wanted to.

Sam caught her father's attention, waggled her IPhone, and pointed a finger around the bulky black OtterBox case toward a brightly lit spot around the corner of the building. There was a bustling strip mall just across the parking lot and down the tiny side street, but even with the amount of traffic over there, it would be quieter and more private than standing where she was now. Jeremy nodded and leaned out of the adults' conversation-circle to whisper to her, "Don't go too far. We shouldn't be long."

She doubted that. Their mayor loved to talk, and Pamela loved her minor details. They could easily be there for another half hour at least. She was already dialing Tucker's number and pressing the phone to her ear before she made it around the corner.

He picked up on the first ring. "Finally!" he groaned by way of greeting. "Where the hell have you been? I've been texting you and—"

"I was in the studio audience, Tuck," Sam interrupted. "I wasn't going to pull my phone out while they were talking. That's rude."

"Dammit, no way! And you didn't invite me?" he whined. "C'mon, Sam, what kind of friend are you?"

"It was last minute! I didn't even know this was happening at all until my parents were practically ready to leave. Mom dragged me away from Game of Thrones and everything."

Tucker snickered. "She's lucky she didn't lose a hand or something." His tone became hesitant. "Wait, I'm not interrupting your marathon, am I?"

"No, you idiot. I called you, remember?" Sam snickered. There was a sigh of relief and an embarrassed "oh, yeah" from the other end. "I'm still downtown. Mom and Dad are being buddy-buddy with the mayor right now, so I took the chance to call you. This is more pressing than a Game of Thrones rewatch, anyway."

"Damn straight! I still can't believe this kid is real, honestly."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, not sure what else to say. Her mind was still tumbling, and though she had told herself this wouldn't happen, though she told herself she'd keep her distance, her fascination with Danny Fenton—as the person he was, rather than the superhero others made him out to be—was undeniable.

"He totally had me cracking up," Tuck was saying. "Can you believe what he said to Lance Thunder when he asked him to show off his ghost powers?"

"Yeah, I actually can," Sam muttered, leaning against the glass of the building behind her. "I wouldn't want to be put on display like a zoo animal like that either. What I can't believe is that Thunder asked him in the first place."

"Well, Fenton sure showed him."

Sam smiled softly. "Yeah, yeah, he did. He called him out on a ton of stuff, and it was kind of awesome."

"It was priceless!" Tucker laughed. "Lance's face. How much you want to bet that his reaction will become a viral gif or a meme in the next twenty-four hours?"

That got Sam laughing. "I'm not betting a thing. You're so right. I'm surprised you haven't started posting stuff all over Reddit or something already."

She could almost hear the smug, mischievous smile on his face. "Why do you think I made the bet?"

"Oh, God," Sam said. Interrupting him while he was doing stuff like this was as bad as interrupting her while she was book binging or marathoning her favorite shows. "I'm cutting in on your precious time with Photoshop!"

"Ah, dude, it's cool," Tuck assured. "Photoshop can wait. I need to know what you thought about his accident."

Sam knew Tucker had been theorizing about this since the Shift. She had tried not to…and failed. "What, you think the explanation he gave is bullshit?"

"Not exactly. I just think there's more to it."

Sam gnawed on her bottom lip. She remembered noting how subtly his posture had changed, how his dark hair had fallen into his crystal blue eyes, partially hiding them from view, and how his fingers had picked at his cuticles as he talked. "I think…He made one mistake, and now… I mean, he was joking about it, making fun of himself, but he obviously didn't want to talk about it. He was more open about his near-death experience during the Shift, and that had him recovering for three weeks. According to him, he popped right up after the lab accident. It must have been even more traumatic, if he's hiding the full story from people."

"Actually, if you think about it, he really didn't say much about what happened to him after the Shift either. He only seems more open about it because everyone already knows he was hurt pretty bad."

"He avoids details," Sam realized. "I don't blame him. I still feel awful whenever that stupid tape plays."

"Yeah, my mom can't watch it. She doesn't like watching any of the old battles they caught on film either. Never did. She always said it was because he's our age and stuff. Thought he died too young. Now that she knows he's actually human? Forget it."

A shudder ran down Sam's spine. The reminder did not sit very comfortably with her, and an intimidating surge of awe and horror made her gut clench. It wasn't that she forgot necessarily, but it hit her hard every time, nevertheless.

"It's killing me, not knowing," Tucker continued. "I know it's none of our business, so don't give me that, but come on! He's a real-life superhero, and we don't even know his origin story! We really know nothing about him. Even after all that."

"Nothing's stopping us from getting to know him, Tuck."

Tucker went silent for a second. "You actually said that."

"Yeah, so?"

"How do you plan to do that? We already know Dash is zeroing in on him. I bet the whole school wants to be his friend. For all the—I don't know what it is he has, but whatever it is, he's still pretty reserved. Everything considering, I highly doubt he just hands out his trust to people."

Sam shrugged and immediately felt stupid. Her friend couldn't see her. "I don't really plan to do anything, Tucker. I was just saying."

"Uh-huh. Your parents know you want to make friends with Danny Fenton?"

"Who I hang out with is my business, not theirs," Sam retorted. There was a chill in air. Shivering, she tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and zipped her sweatshirt up. "They got used to you, didn't they?"

"Oh, ha ha," Tuck said. "Very funny, Sam. But seriously, you sure you don't just want to pepper him with questions about ghosts? About those spirits he brought up, maybe?"

He was teasing her, she knew, but this sparked her enthusiasm. "I wish he had more time to explain! It was so intriguing, wasn't it? Now that I do know that there are ghost races, I need to know more, Tuck. Do you think each race has its own mythology and culture? Or do you suppose they have more of a hodge-podge of different interpretations of the same legends and stories? And where do the less intelligent, more animalistic ghosts fit into the hierarchy? Is there a hierarchy? Are they civilized enough to have a form of government? I know they called Pariah Dark the Ghost King, but what was he to them, really? How does he fit into their history?"

"I have no clue, Sam," Tuck managed to get in, a grin in his voice. "I really hope the Fentons give lectures sometime soon. I'd come with you, just so that I can see your face when some of these questions you keep asking are answered."

"I'd love to sit in on a lecture," Sam sighed dreamily. "If not a lecture, then I hope they publish a book. Actually, speaking of books, wasn't Maddie Fen—"

The only warning Sam had was a little shriek, and that wasn't warning enough. Scared shitless by the unexpected noise, she flinched reflexively, cussing, "holyshitwhattheffffff…" as Jazz Fenton toppled out of thin air right next to her. Her phone went sailing away from her, and all Sam could do was watch it fly, jerk away from the glass she was leaning up against, and gawk.

"Danny!" Jazz hissed to the open air. "What are you doing? I thought you said—" She caught sight of Sam and blinked her large aquamarine eyes, looking for all the world like Sam was the one who had appeared out of nowhere. "Oh, hi."

"Hi," Sam returned weakly.

"Shit," Danny's voice echoed nearby. Sam blinked, and he was suddenly there, looking a bit pale, exhausted, and worse for wear. He lurched forward, and a second later, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton popped into existence beside him, each holding one of his hands. They stumbled, too, and he released their hands to shoot a quick glare at his own. "That wasn't supposed to happen. I'm sorr—'eeeey there, Sam!" Some life came back to his glazed eyes. "Did not see you there. How's it going?"

Some vague part of her was surprised he remembered her name. "Smooth," she offered, glad to have found her voice again and to have regained some composure. He gave her a dorky grin and opened his mouth to respond, but she held her finger to her lips, effectively shushing him. "You know, I don't want to tell you how to do your job," she whispered, "but if you're trying to sneak out, it's best to actually stay invisible."

He barked a laugh. "Heh, that was the plan."

"Plan failed," Jazz pointed out. She peered around. "It seems we're in the clear anyway. We can walk to my car from here without being caught. Honestly, you were worrying for nothing."

"Thanks, Jazz," came the sarcastic response.

"And you are definitely not flying home by yourself, young man," Maddie Fenton scolded. "You've been pushing yourself too hard! You need rest!"

Danny's brow furrowed in frustration, and his eyes stared out into some world of his own. "I should have been able to do this without breaking a sweat," he murmured, disappointment clear in his tone.

"Danny…"

His shoulders slumped, and he ran his hand through his hair, forcing his bangs back. "I know," he sighed. Maddie Fenton's stern glare was vicious—Sam wouldn't be surprised if the older woman stared down feral ghosts with that very glare—but Danny didn't seem intimidated in the slightest. He threw his hands up in a sort of placating gesture. "No flying, I promise."

Mrs. Fenton relented. "You should have told us you weren't feeling well enough to walk so many people through the wall." She had said it as though it was the most normal thing, and for a brief moment, Sam wondered where the hell these astounding people came from.

"Yeah, and you're lucky it was just Sam here!" Jack exclaimed in a loud whisper. He beamed at her, leaned over, and plucked her phone off the sidewalk. "Someone else might have screamed and set the fangirls on ya!"

For no reason at all, she felt a burst of pride and—dare she say—warmth at his words. Danny's icy blue eyes flickered to hers, but she couldn't read them. "They're actually still swarming everywhere, and there's another group of people up front with the mayor," Sam said, taking her phone back from Mr. Fenton. The call with Tuck had ended, but the screen was flashing with multiple notifications about his attempts to call back. She winced, knowing he was probably freaking out. "Might want to hustle before they find you."

"Thanks, dear," Mrs. Fenton said with a warm smile. "We appreciate it."

"Yes," Jazz agreed. "It was nice seeing you again."

The other members of the family offered her some sort of farewell and turned to leave, but Danny continued to stare at her. A small crease had appeared between his eyebrows, and he looked like he wanted to say something. Whatever he was going to say to her, however, was interrupted by Jack, who took Danny by the shoulders, spun him around, and said cheerfully, "You can stare at pretty girls later, son. The only date you have tonight is with your bed."

She wasn't sure whose cheeks burned brighter: Danny's or hers. To his credit, Danny managed to shoot her an apologetic look over his shoulder before muttering something in a dark undertone to his father.

Sam watched them cross the dark parking lot, wondering exactly what the hell just happened. "They are so strange," she said to no one, and as her blush faded, a broad grin started to spread across her face. The entire family had a 'this-is-a-crazy-world-so-why-not-be-a-little-crazy-too' vibe, and she liked it. She liked it a lot.

"Who's strange?" Jeremy Manson said, peering around the corner and cocking a brow at her.

Sam froze when she saw Pamela following at her father's heels. Her mother's cat-like eyes narrowed in the direction the Fentons had gone, and Sam tried to distract her by nonchalantly changing the subject. "That was quick."

"I said it would be," her father said, eyeing her suspiciously. "Let's go."

Pamela didn't speak as they walked to their car, but Sam knew she was screwed. She had hoped she could keep her interactions with the Fentons secret for a little longer than half a day, but it seemed she was out of luck. With a sigh, she sent a quick text to Tucker explaining what happened. She promised to call him later and apologized profusely after receiving a response written in all caps. She hated blowing him off, especially after scaring him like that, but it was a good thing that she texted ahead of time because Pamela attacked the moment they were in the car.

"You met the Fentons."

It wasn't a question. "I did," she stated. "Twice."

Pamela swiveled in her seat and fixated her gaze on Sam while her father, who'd been backing out of the parking spot, jolted to a stop. Someone behind them wailed on the horn, but it went ignored. "Twice?!" he and she asked simultaneously.

"Yeah, twice, and I think they're fantastic."

"I don't want you anywhere near them, Samantha."

"Mother…" Sam began.

"I mean it, Samantha! You stay away from them!"

Jeremy cautiously reached over to rub his wife's shoulder. "Pam, maybe—"

"Don't you start!" Pamela ordered, her tone less hysterical than usual. "Don't. I listened to the boy—I listened, just as you said—but I heard nothing but empty, arrogant words and an obvious threat to those who get in his way!"

"Oh my God, Mom, are you blind?!" Sam exclaimed. "It wasn't a threat!"

"And what, pray tell," her mother snapped, "did you think it was if not a threat?"

"It was a warning! He was actually being mature and pushing aside his personal feelings about all this! He just wants us to be prepared for the worst—to focus on what's really important!"

Her mother sneered. "Do you have any idea what's really important here, Samantha?"

Rage made Sam's blood boil, and she hissed, "I'm not a child. At any time now, a powerful ghost could enter our world. I understand that any of us could be hurt or killed in the crossfire. What I don't understand is why you won't let this go! Why won't you give them a chance?"

"They are dangerous, Samantha! And the boy…they boy is one of them."

"Danny isn't a ghost!"

"Samantha, do you think what he is will stop him from hurting those around him? Being near him is compromising your safety! He attracts the ghosts to him like a magnet. He is a freak!"

"He is not a freak!" Sam immediately defended. "It was an accident! A mistake. He made a bad choice, and he's accepted the full consequences. Do you think for one moment he wanted this to happen to him?"

"What matters is that it did happen! I never trusted Phantom, and I will not trust him anymore now that we know he was once fully human! There is such a thing as giving too much power to a single person, and this boy has far too much!"

"Mom, he sacrificed his life for us! You saw him today! Can you really imagine him doing anything to harm us intentionally?"

"Intentionally is the key word here, Samantha," Jeremy interceded cautiously. He had started to drive at one point or another. Sam hadn't noticed. "Your mother has a point. Ghosts can be controlled. Pariah Dark nearly succeeded in controlling them all."

"But he isn't just a ghost. He's human, too!"

"You're missing the point."

"No, you're missing mine. You're so fixated on his ghost powers that you dismiss his humanity! Not everyone would use those powers as selflessly as he does!"

"But—"

"What if it was me that had the powers, Mom?" Sam interrupted, changing tactics. "What if it was Dad? What would you think of us then?"

Several painful seconds of silence elapsed before Pam said, "I'll never have to answer that question because it's never going to happen."

"Of course it isn't," Jeremy soothed. "We're not about to go poking around in the Fentons' lab."

"You're not getting within a hundred feet of those people at all," her mother agreed.

There was an ominous tone there, and Sam didn't like it at all. "Those people," Sam snarled, "know more about ghosts than anyone alive! We need to work with them, not against them! They are the only ones who can teach us how to defend ourselves!"

"Samantha!" Pamela bellowed, her voice cracking. "They can't even protect their own!"

Sam stiffened, and her anger gave away to utter disbelief and confusion as her mother's argumentative posture slackened and her voice lost all potency. "Don't you see?" she asked, almost desperately. "It's bad enough people are putting their faith in a child. Now we're expected to depend on the very people who neglected to keep their son safe from their own insanity?"

She is afraid. She is deathly afraid of the future. Of change. Of them.

The realization was incredible, if only because Sam hadn't realized just how afraid her mother was. As Pamela took a few shaky, vulnerable breaths, the teen sat back in her seat, stunned.

They were nearly home before Sam spoke again. "I don't think, for one moment, there is a single one of them who doesn't blame themselves for something that could've gone better."

Sam saw her father's brow furrow and flicker to meet her eyes in the rearview mirror. "What does that—?"

"If you watched them—all of them, together, as a family—you'd see." They pulled into their neighborhood, and she turned to stare out into the window. House lights blurred by. "Have you ever thought about what they've been really doing over these past three weeks? Out of public eye?"

There was no response. Maybe they were ignoring her, rolling their eyes and giving each other exasperated looks. Maybe they were actually listening. She didn't want to look to find out and continued anyway, "I have no idea how they pulled through, but they did. They might not do things conventionally, they might have made some grievous mistakes, but if they can get through something like that… well—I think they can do a lot more good for us than we know."

The moment the car rolled to a stop in their driveway, Sam decided she had enough and wanted to retreat to her room. As she stepped outside, she added, "I'm not putting my faith in anyone who doesn't deserve it."

The car door slammed behind her.

~…~

All he knows are the whispers and the darkness.

The darkness is encompassing; it presses from every side, obscuring the senses and dulling confidence in his very individuality. He remembers he'd never been afraid of the dark—he cannot forget that; he will not forget that—but this darkness is different. This darkness is maddening, made only worse by the tantalizing bursts of green light in his peripheral vision. It is the green of the Ghost Zone. The green of spilt ectoplasm. He knows it is an endless green. Staring into it will surely trap him forever, yet he still searches for it. He aches for even the smallest pinprick of light.

To escape this darkness, to escape these whispers, he'd do anything.

The voices around him are closer, and he spins in a circle. Silver and white and red split through the darkness like lightning whenever the green light catches the glint of abandoned metal and shattered bone and lifeless eyes.

He does not see whose eyes. He tries to run toward the bodies, but he cannot move fast enough. There are shackles around his ankles, and he cannot fly.

A chill races down his spine, and he spins again, fear clambering up his throat. The murmurs surrounding him gush and ebb like ocean waves, brushing at the very edge of his consciousness. The only word he can make out…is the one he struggles not to obey.

"…bow…"

The green lights begin to dance to a beat he can't perceive, and the suspense mounts when they twirl and whirl faster, cutting through more and more of the darkness with every pass. He sees the pale skin of the slain…and the enslaved. He sees crumbling buildings. Mostly, though, he sees teeth—fangs. Thin, cracking lips stretch over those fangs, and they loom closer.

The light passes over the bodies sprawled over the ground. He can smell the blood now. He can feel it soaking him through.

He thinks he catches sight of Sam's raven hair and purple eyes, and there is Mr. Lancer's intestines hanging from his belly. He recognizes his sister with half her head blown off. His mother and father have bruises encircling their necks, and they lean limply against each other. Lance Thunder wears a joker's grin and a collar of shredded flesh.

He's not so sure he wants to escape the darkness anymore. He wishes he was nothing...and no one.

The whispers are like bees buzzing in his ears, incessant and demanding, and a silent scream builds in his throat. He tries to close his eyes, he tries to cover his ears, but his hands don't respond to his will. He can only watch helplessly as the monster stalks him.

"…boooooooow to meeeee…."

N-no…stay away…

The monster is much too close now. Much, much too close, and he strains and struggles and screams.

"Haaaaaalf-breeeeeeeed…"

The monster's face flickers, and the Crown and Ring and shattered horns give way to red eyes and blue skin and flaming white hair. Back and forth, like a swinging pendulum, two monsters become one and the same.

"…Oooooobey…"

There is a crushing force on his back, and he is forced to bow.

The monster sing-songs his names. All of them. They echo across the wasteland. They taunt him, remind him of his failures and his weaknesses, and his heart races and head pounds and still he screams and screams at the chaos and destruction and death that surround him.

"Twiiiiiiiice-Booooooorn…"

He finally finds his voice, and he kicks at the shackles constraining his feet. His hand flies from its constraints, and the weight on his back smashes him into the ground. "No! Get away!"

"Daaaannyyyy…"

"NO!"

"Danny!"

Something grabs his shoulder, and he twists, power blazing through his veins…

"Danny!"

Danny's eyes shot open, and he yelped as his comforter twisted around his ankles. A large shadow hovered above him, and jolting upright, he immediately smacked his head against another skull. This, of course, only increased Danny's panic, and he started to flail his legs.

"It's me, Danno!" his father whisper-shouted. "It's just me."

Danny's heart was thudding so loudly he barely heard his father, but the familiar sound of his voice was enough to ground him to reality. It was a dream, he repeated to himself as he gulped down as much air as he could. Just a dream.

He flopped back and nearly hit his head on the nightstand, which led him to realize he was on the floor. He groaned a little in embarrassment. Of course he had to fall from his bed.

The noise he made must've sounded a little strangled. Or painful. Dad's expression was wrought with worry when he leaned over him.

Danny's sharp eyes, however, did not focus on his father's face: they latched onto Dad's wrist. The moment Dad noticed, he tried to hide it, but by then, the damage had been done.

"Oh, God, Dad," he whispered, scrambling upright. He clenched his hands—damn traitors—into the sweat-drenched sheets that had come down with him. "I didn't…I'm sorry. I normally don't…"

"It's nothing, son," Dad said. His smile didn't fit his face, and Danny realized this was the first time he'd been alone with his father in a very, very long time. "It doesn't matter. Forget about it. I need to know if you are okay."

His father's words brought the nightmare back, and Danny flinched, closed his eyes, and rubbed his clammy forehead with a trembling hand. He couldn't respond—not yet—and Dad lingered, unsure and concerned.

After a few tense moments, Dad offered, "I—I can get…I can get Jazz, if you'd like?"

Danny's eyes flew open, and he stared at his father, who was shuffling awkwardly. "No," he croaked. He got to his feet, only to sit heavily back down on the edge of his bed. His digital alarm clock, one of the few things he'd unpacked earlier, read 1:34 AM. "No, it's okay. Don't wake up Jazz. Or Mom. I'm fine."

When Dad nodded and rubbed at his wrist, he felt an overwhelming surge of guilt. "Here," he said, gesturing for his father to come closer. To his surprise, Dad did not so much as falter and sat right next to him on the bed.

Danny swallowed over a thickening lump in his throat when he saw the burn on his father's skin. "This…isn't okay. I'm not okay with this," he muttered. He was amazed that his father was even near him right now. He supposed he was disgusted enough with himself for the both of them. "Did I do that when you were shaking my shoulder?"

"You…you tried to shove me off with a ectoplasmic pulse of sorts. It was actually really brilliant, how you did it." He sounded like himself now, and he beamed at Danny. "We'll have to try to replicate that at some point. It'd be an amazing technique to use in hand-to-hand combat and—"

"Dad." Danny's eyes were still on the burn, and he raised his hand, which was glowing a soft, faint blue. "May…may I…?"

His father seemed to sense that this wasn't the time to ramble about new moves for Danny to practice, and he nodded. Much to Danny's surprise, Dad grew quiet as he gently touched his fingertips to the wound. Instinct took over, and under his direction, the frigid energy slid over the burned skin like an ice cube on kitchen tile. It was a strange sensation, not entirely unpleasant, but it took a lot more energy than he anticipated. He could not hold out long.

"Wow," Dad breathed when Danny withdrew his hand. He rolled his wrist and examined the mostly-healed skin. "Where did you learn this?"

"Um…I didn't," Danny admitted. He'd just watched Sleetjaw and other clan-members of the Far Frozen, mostly. "Not really. I kinda just…" Spots suddenly raced across his vision, and he felt so lightheaded, he nearly face-planted into his dad's lap.

"Whoa there," Dad said, steadying him. Dark teal eyes scanned him from head to toe and back again in quick succession. "Will you be alright if I run to get you a glass of water really quick?"

Danny nodded weakly. His tongue felt like a desert, and his throat was sore from silent-screaming. He only vaguely felt Dad's weight leave the bed, and he concentrated on taking steady breaths as he tucked his head between his knees.

Dad crept in about twenty breaths later, knelt before him, and offered the water. After taking a few sips and deciding he wasn't about to throw it all up, Danny practically guzzled the rest down. Once he was done, he felt significantly less dizzy. Hooray for freakish halfa metabolisms, his exhausted mind snarked. Rubbing his finger along the edge of the glass, he muttered, "Thanks."

"It's no problem, Danny-boy."

He kept saying that. In what world was it no problem? "Dad..."

"Danny," his father sighed, "it is fine. Really. I shoulda known not to scare you like that."

"No, I am glad you woke me up," Danny assured. He placed his empty cup on the nightstand with a little more force than necessary. "It's me. I'm..." Broken. Ruined. Scarred. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. "I'm the one who should be able to tell the difference between nightmares and reality."

"It's not always that easy, son." Dad placed a broad hand across his shoulders. That wasn't very comforting to Danny. He was sure to be paranoid for days to come. Already, he was worrying he wouldn't be able to break the habit of falling asleep during school. What if he did and ended up really hurting someone? What if—

"Did…you want to talk about it?"

That made Danny retreat from the sanctuary of his palms and look up at his father. He must have looked as startled as he felt because his dad backtracked and stuttered, "If—I can just…no, I bet you want to sleep. You need sleep. I'll let you sleep."

This might have been weird to both of them—stuff like this was Jazz or Mom's territory, and Danny rarely ever opened up, if at all—but the moment his dad rose to his feet, Danny felt the loss and just...

"No," Danny said, "No, it's—it's okay, Dad. I just…I thought I was being… attacked, and I shouldn't feel like that. Not...not here. Not now. Not with you guys. Everything was just going so well, you know?"

Dad did not speak for a moment. "Was this the first? Since the Shift?"

Danny nodded. "I guess I've been too tired to dream," he muttered. Snorting, he hugged his knees to his chest. "That's new. I didn't even realize. My nightmares aren't usually that considerate."

Dad caught the bitter tone in his voice. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"But it's nothing to be proud of either! It was as though I..."

He didn't go on. Couldn't. There weren't words enough to explain. Dad seemed to understand; he nodded and settled down beside Danny again. He didn't press him, as Jazz so often did, and the lack of pressure was an unexpected attack on the defensive walls he'd built around his emotions.

"I wasn't good enough," Danny finished.

"Oh, kiddo..."

"I'm a mess, Dad," he found himself saying. "I'm a mess."

Dad didn't deny it. He didn't try to convince him otherwise. At least, not outright. "I visit that Tower every night, too."

Danny peered up at his father through his sweaty bangs, shocked by the confession, and his father draped an arm over his shoulders.

Danny hadn't realized just how much he'd needed this until he was pressed up under his Dad's armpit. It reminded Danny of all the times Dad had dragged him down into the lab to see a new invention, every time they went out for ice cream or to the zoo or the park when he was little. It reminded him of simpler times. As he had grown older, the gesture had become embarrassing, and he'd evaded Dad's burly bear-arms whenever he could. It had just been another thing his peers teased him about.

But that was before.

They hadn't really talked much—not by Jazz's standards, anyway—and there wasn't hide or hair of any inspirational, emotional speeches. Neither Fenton men were by any means healed. He was still just as afraid of his memories of the past and his slippery grasp of the future, but in the present, he knew he wasn't alone.

By the time Dad unraveled his arm, Danny was just starting to doze off against his father's shoulder. The last thing Danny was aware of was Dad settling him back and whispering, "You're better than 'good enough,' Danno. Always have been."

Chapter Text

"Did you remember your emergency Ecto-Dejecto pills, Danny?"

"Yes, Jazz."

"Got the Thermos?"

"I nearly always have a Thermos on me, Jazz."

"Your EctoSup-racelet?"

"That's still the dumbest name I've heard since the Boooomerang, but yes, Jazz, it's right here on my wrist. I think you can see it."

"And the signatures? The information?"

"Yes, Jazz."

"Oh, and did you—?"

"Jazz!" Danny finally snapped. "Honestly, weren't you standing right next to me when Mom fussed over all this already?"

From beside him, Jazz looked a little wounded, but his nerves were too fried for him to feel any regret for losing his temper with her. Despite how exhausting his Sunday had been, he hadn't slept too well the night before, and none of his family members seemed to be aware that he didn't want to hear any of this. He didn't want to hear the pep talks, and he certainly didn't want to see those little smiles. He just wanted to be left alone so that he could deal with what was coming in his own way, and he wanted to do it without all the…hovering.

They meant well—of course, they did—but their good intentions had a tendency to stress him out even more.

Danny sighed and turned to stare out the window, well aware Jazz wasn't about to let him get away with the silent treatment. Sure enough, she spoke within seconds after his moody dismissal. "I just want everything to go smoothly, Danny."

"Murphy's Law seems to love me, if you remember, Jazz," Danny said with a sardonic bite to his tone.

"Even Murphy has to take a break and bug someone else every once and awhile." Her aquamarine eyes twinkled with humor. "Things…Things haven't gone too badly yet, have they?"

"Exactly," Danny stressed. His stomach performed some rather spectacular gymnastics stunts as he said it, and it occurred to him that he hadn't really eaten much that morning. "It's weird, Jazz. It's only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. I can't be this lucky for this long. It's not normal."

"Your optimism is inspiring," Jazz deadpanned. "Really, it is."

Danny snorted. "Says the one who seems to think I'm going to forget all the important stuff."

Jazz rolled her eyes. "Would you care to remind me just how many times have I had to save your ghostly butt because you forgot a Thermos?"

When he glowered in her direction, Jazz scrunched her nose smugly at him. He ignored her and grumbled, "I realize how important this is. I'm not going to mess this up."

Even though she was facing forward again, Danny saw her expression soften, and she sighed. "I know, Danny, I know. We can't help but be worried about you."

"I'm feeling a lot better, Jazz," he insisted, pressing his head back into the seat. "I can take care of myself. I don't need—"

"No, that's not it." Her gaze flickered over to him. "You're already falling into that role again, Danny."

Feeling as though he'd been slapped, he avoided looking at her and stared into his lap. He tapped his fingers against his knees uselessly. The denim covering them was worn, baggy…unassuming.

"Look. You don't even realize it," Jazz continued, her voice sympathetic. "It's going to be hard. For both of us. Just…try not to shut anyone out. Try to give them a chance."

"Finding someone who deserves a chance is going to be a problem," Danny murmured, voicing concerns that had been stewing for weeks now. He hadn't meant to, but Jazz always had this uncanny ability to make him emotion-vomit all over her. "Trust—trusting anyone…"

He'd been thinking about it far too often—about how their eyes were going to stalk him. He was going to be used as an example, a role model, and everyone was going to want something from him. They were going to want things from Jazz, too, and now that the entire Fenton family's privacy was compromised, he wished…

No, wishing was dangerous. He shouldn't wish.

Danny supposed he and his sister could take advantage of all this attention and praise, but he honestly hadn't even been tempted to. What kind of relationship was based on something like that anyway? Once upon a time, he might have jumped at this chance to claim instant popularity, but after all that he'd seen in a loser's shoes? No, now the answer was simple: that type of friendship was hardly a friendship worth having.

Without Phantom's reputation, however, who would look twice at dweeby Fenton in his oldest pair of gym shoes and too-large shirt? With his poor posture and downcast eyes on top of that? No one else had, back in Chicago.

Then again, that had been the point. He had perfected that mask well—so well, it seemed, that he couldn't remove it completely—but now that his secret identity was blown, he couldn't skirt along the sidelines anymore. He didn't have to, and even though that was somewhat relieving, it was also a problem within itself. With all the eyes on him, he'd have to watch his every word and action…because anything and everything could be used to incriminate him.

People were going to expect him to stand up and speak, however. They were going to expect him to fight against every injustice they saw, and there was no guarantee it wouldn't all be thrown back in his face.

It was a vicious cycle—having to cater to both his self-consciousness and society's expectations of him—and it really sucked. For every bit of freedom he earned, there was something else shackling him down.

Where was that calm resolve he found during Saturday's interview? Where was the relief he found after meeting Principal Ishiyama, Mr. Lancer, and Sam Manson? Where were those smiles he used to greet all the neighbors who stopped by yesterday? He certainly could use all of these things now.

"Trust your intuition, little brother," Jazz advised in a gentle voice. She was pulling into the parking lot already, Danny realized. Why did they have to live so damn close to the school? Even though they had arrived before a good portion of the other students, the school's stillness and silence only served to remind him that every last one of those empty parking spaces would be occupied within the next hour.

"You've always had good instincts," she continued. "I mean, of course I'm not asking you to dump all the Phantom stuff on someone's head just like that, but—but I really do hope that you'll keep an open mind. Find someone you can talk to."

"You too," Danny murmured. He meant it, too. Jazz had sacrificed so much for him the past year. He knew he was the cause of a bad breakup and more than a few lost friendships. He knew she dropped a few of her favorite extracurricular activities for him on top of that. "I'm…"

Jazz smiled and took a hand off the wheel to gently squeeze his shoulder. "We have the same lunch period," she reminded him. "Text me after the bell rings if you have no one to eat with, okay?"

There was once a time his older sister wouldn't be caught dead in public with him, and his relief and gratitude was evident when he said, "Thanks, Jazz."

"Anytime, Danny." She parked the car and turned off the ignition. "I have a feeling you won't need to take me up on it."

Danny accidentally slammed the car door and winced at the loud noise. "Wanna bet?"

"Didn't we just have a discussion about optimism?" Jazz teased. "You seem to forget you've already made a lady friend."

"Who?" Danny asked. "Sam? I just met her, Jazz!"

His sister shrugged her shoulders, but she had an infuriating, know-it-all smirk on her face. "You should find her today," she suggested innocently.

Danny refused to comment. Jazz didn't need to know that he already considered keeping an eye out for her.

They walked in relative silence to the door. Upon reaching it, Danny faltered, his legs no longer working the way they were supposed to. Jazz put one hand on the handle, turned to him, and asked jokingly, "Got everything?"

He rolled his eyes again at her, knowing she was trying to get him to smile. This isn't the hard part, he reminded himself. He'd done this part already. It was only Ishiyama that he'd be seeing, after all. He was only there to drop off the folder of paperwork. It went unsaid that they'd ask him for something more, just to prove that the dumb bracelet really did work, but that was it. Easy peasy.

When Jazz opened the door for him, he stepped into the office immediately. Again, he couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the amount of red in the room, and the bespectacled secretary the Fentons saw on Saturday leapt out of her chair before he could so much as glance in her direction. She was wearing red, too. Of course she was.

"Good morning!" she exclaimed.

He nearly jumped. "…Hi," he greeted in a cautious tone. The woman's ruddy face glowed even more vividly, and she cleared her throat. "Um…we're here to…"

"Yes, yes," the brunette said in a quieter voice. "They have been expecting you." Her eyes danced between the two of them, and for some reason, she appeared more flustered than she had before. "Fol—Follow me, please?"

"Sure."

He would later wonder why he hadn't seen it coming, but at the moment, he was too busy swinging his backpack around so that he could dig for the binder-clipped folder of EctoSup-racelet information. He pulled it out just as the secretary halted and announced, "You can go right in."

"Thanks," he muttered distractedly, zipping his bag closed and replacing the dangling strap on his free shoulder.

He took a few steps and looked up to find at least a dozen people sitting in a large conference room, every single eye turned and locked onto him. Judging him. Some were cold and emotionless, and others, blazing with curiosity.

Pamela Manson was the only one of the newcomers he recognized, and her gaze was the coldest of all.

He didn't realize he took a small step back, away from them, until he bumped into Jazz.

"Good morning, Mr. and Ms. Fenton." Danny scanned the group and finally located the speaker: a gentleman with a prim beard, business suit, and a damn red-striped tie, sitting directly next to Principal Ishiyama.

This man reminded Danny of Vlad, whom he hadn't seen or heard from in weeks, and that put a bad taste in his mouth.

Vlad's information on halfas had been too important for his parents to turn him away completely. Knowing every interaction with the fruitloop came with some sort of price, Danny could only assume that Mom and Dad had resorted to blackmail to get him to fully cooperate, but he couldn't be sure. No one would speak of it. All he knew was that once he had begun to recover, Mom and Dad had made it quite clear that Vlad was no longer welcome…and wouldn't be welcome for a very, very long time.

Vlad was taboo in their household now, and after everything the asshole had done, Danny didn't really care how his parents forced him to stay away. As loath as he was to admit that he owed Vlad for helping save his life, and for participating in the big battle at all, Danny was just relieved that he was out of their lives.

And now this guy, clearly cut from the same cloth, just had to waltz in.

The tension was high in this room, and Danny didn't like it. He felt trapped all of a sudden, and he carefully evaluated every face and empty corner, his body rigid and ready for flight.

"I am Dr. Lucas," the man said with an oily smile, "the superintendent of Casper High. It is certainly a pleasure to meet you both in person."

"It is good to meet you, too, sir," Jazz said, stepping around Danny to stand at his side. Unable to trust himself to speak, Danny merely nodded once as his sister gazed around at the assembly. "I hope we're not interrupting anything?"

His sister had always more tactful than him, but he was pretty sure everyone in the room could sense the sharp dagger hidden within her polite question. The secretary wouldn't have ushered them into the room if the group hadn't already been waiting for them, after all.

"No, thank you for your consideration, Ms. Fenton. There was a bit of a miscommunication—" Sly eyes slid to Principal Ishiyama, whose expression was stoic as stone. "—so we deeply apologize for any alarm this might cause you."

"I'm not sure I understand," Jazz said, her brow furrowing. "We were told to bring the all of the documentation to Principal Ishiyama."

He smiled in an arrogantly pitying way. Danny was grateful that Ishiyama jumped in just as the slime-ball drew a breath. "It would seem," she explained, "that witnesses are needed to validate the effectiveness of the device your parents made. I was under the impression that I would have sufficed, but I was mistaken, as you can see. We have highly respected members of the community here today to act as additional witnesses."

Danny's blood ran cold. He had known that Principal Ishiyama and perhaps even Mr. Lancer would want to see it work, and even though it wouldn't have been the most comfortable experience, he had been okay with that.

But these people were strangers, and some of them stared at him like they wished he'd spontaneously combust into flames or something. That wasn't too encouraging. Looking at them more closely, however, he realized that each of them, the curious, cheerful, and the cold alike, waited with varying degrees of anxiety for his reaction.

So it seemed some of them were also afraid he'd spontaneously combust into flames or something.

Joy.

"It's alright," he finally said. It was a blatant lie—it was most certainly not alright because these people obviously didn't respect or trust him, his parents, or their colleagues—but Ishiyama looked genuinely apologetic, so he could forgive her. "I understand."

"Then you also understand," Lucas added, "that if the majority finds the device inadequate, you cannot attend class today?"

Danny stepped up to the big conference table, set the folder down, and stared up at them. "What do I have to do?"

Even the superintendent looked a little surprised by his compliance, and Danny almost smirked. Yes, the rare species known as the "halfa" is actually capable of being reasonable! he sassed to himself. What a remarkable discovery.

"Is it safe for you to remove the band now?" Dr. Lucas asked.

Danny had to refrain from scoffing, and without waiting for permission, he pulled the wristlet off and displayed it to them. The question was so stupid it didn't warrant a verbal response.

Thin lips pursed. "And is it safe for you to replace it while demonstrating your…"

"Powers? Abilities? Ghostliness?" Danny supplied when the man trailed off. Déjà vu surged through him, and he had a feeling this wouldn't be the last time, either. "You don't have to be so PC with me about that." A shorter Hispanic man sitting across from Pamela Manson stifled a chuckle. "But yeah, whatever you prefer to call them, it'll be perfectly safe."

He and his family had already tested it in the lab. It wasn't exactly enjoyable, to say the least. The more powerful the ectoblast he summoned, the harsher of a whiplash he received after putting the band back on. Even a minor display of power had made him flinch or hiss in discomfort. His parents had advised that he not do this often, as that energy had to go somewhere.

Because thermodynamics and stuff.

He was pretty grateful that that 'somewhere' was his own body. He could take a few ectoplasmic shocks. If the energy had instead dissipated too quickly into the surrounding area, he might have accidently hurt someone, and that was exactly what everyone was trying to prevent with the thing in the first place.

Dr. Lucas, who had begun thumbing through the folder Danny had placed on the table, smiled. That smile was sickening and syrupy, and it made shudders run down his spine. "Then we don't want to waste anymore of your time," the superintendent hummed. "Please go ahead."

Danny was sure his expression was anything but polite. The guy didn't even do anything—not really—but he still royally pissed him off with his stupid questions and his stupid slimy courtesy and his stupid beard and his stupid little smile and his stupid thin lips and his stupid red-striped tie.

Without lowering his gaze from the superintendent's, Danny formed a low-powered ball of ectoplasm in his hand. It looked intimidating enough and probably could have been mistaken for one of his more powerful shots. Honestly, though, getting hit by something of this size and strength at full velocity might cause a small bruise, and the pain on impact would be comparable to a nasty static shock.

The gasps and sharp inhales made his anger-induced confidence falter, and unwilling to delay the inevitable, he steeled himself and shoved the band back onto his wrist. The green glow zapped out with a strange sizzling sound that was inaudible to humans, and he recoiled as the energy jolted back into him.

"Are you quite alright, Mr. Fenton?" Ishiyama asked in alarm.

Shaking his hand out, he looked up. Pamela Manson's expression was as cool as ever, but she exuded fear. He had shaken her, and he almost felt bad about it. The others murmured amongst themselves, but he ignored them as best he could.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Stings a bit when I do that. But as I said—" Danny displayed his palms "—perfectly safe."

"And perfectly functional," Jazz added.

Dr. Lucas' pale eyes scanned the gathering, as though searching for anyone that would refute the statement. "Indeed. Does anyone have any reservations about the device?"

Dead silence.

"Well, since all seems to be in order," the superintendent continued, "I am certain you understand the consequences we—?"

This again? "Yes," Danny interrupted, a little more sharply than he intended. "I do."

He smiled. "Then I do believe it is my honor and pleasure to officially welcome you both to Casper High."

~…~

It had taken more time than he'd've liked to extract himself from that room. As it had turned out, the Hispanic guy who had chuckled at Danny's sass had actually been the mayor of Amity Park, who preferred even less pomp and circumstance than Danny did. Some of the others in the room had wanted to shake his hand and ask after his health, and the rest had only felt obligated to talk to him out of duty. Pamela Manson had been the only one not to approach him, but he had felt her eyes on him the entire time.

His eyes hadn't left him either, and Danny had found himself migrating closer and closer to the corners of the room, where he'd have something at his back…and a good view of everyone in the room. The room had begun to feel way too small again.

He needed out.

Jazz had noticed and had made the excuses. Something about finding their lockers.

Danny, of course, was instantly relieved and didn't care if he showed it.

"You did well, Danny," his sister muttered the moment the door closed behind them.

Danny exhaled slowly. Leaving that godforsaken room really hadn't helped in the slightest, and his stomach tied itself into knots again. "I try."

"Honestly, though, I don't know what is up with this town. They better learn to get over themselves. They're going to end up killing someone if they continue 'miscommunicating.' We're going to need to work together and—"

He barely heard a word of what she was saying and hummed noncommittally. He had a feeling he should rant about his own frustrations, but as they entered the red-ified lobby again, what had happened in the conference room seemed a little unimportant now. Through the inner glass windows of lobby, he could see students passing by in the hallway, and he wondered if spending a day with the Vlad-incarnate was a better idea after all.

Jazz's hand rested on his shoulder, and he jolted back to reality. He hadn't fully realized he left. "You okay?"

Danny nodded.

He could tell she didn't believe him. "Danny," she attempted, "if you're…I mean, if it's too m—"

"Don't even say it. It's fine."

She regarded him closely for a moment before smiling and asking, "Ready?"

No.

"Y-yeah." He made a valiant attempt to straighten his shoulders—he failed miserably—and stepped up to the door. "Gotta rip off the Band-Aid at some point, right?"

"All at once or not at all," Jazz agreed, smiling lightly. It was something Mom had said when they were little, and the memory of her fixing up their cuts and scrapes made him smile.

'All at once' it is, then.

He didn't know what he expected, but for the second time that day, he was realized he should have been unsurprised.

Because the very moment he stepped out of the office, some burly upperclassman barreled into his shoulder. It was so unexpected that Danny was shoved back into Jazz, who steadied him and glared at the offender.

"Watch it, you little prick," the guy growled as he passed, not once looking back.

Danny just stared at his retreating back….and started to laugh. "Welcome back to high school," he chuckled, a little hysterically. "Wow. Okay."

It was really messed up that that rude asshole helped uncoil the ball of dread tangled in his gut, but Danny wasn't about to complain. Any small bit of familiarity was appreciated, and the longer Danny stood there without being recognized, the more at ease he felt.

It was…just school, he realized. With one sweep of his eyes, he could already discern the invisible lines separating the cliques. He could sense that undeniable undercurrent of dejection and resentment toward the upcoming school day. He caught the grumbles about Mondays and the laments about the weekend's end.

There was nothing different, save the unfamiliar faces. The cacophonous rabble was no louder, and the students, no less absorbed in their own lives. Emotions ran just as high, exhaustion was just as prevalent, and friends were being just as obnoxious with each other.

Weird, how one person's entire world could turn upside down…and how the world—the universe or fate or whatever—could just keep allowing high school to be…high school.

"Okay," he said again. He released a puff of air, blowing his bangs out of his face. "Alright. Let's go."

So he led the way into the throng of students, only vaguely aware of the general direction he needed to head in.

Of course, it was only a few footsteps later that he discovered why there was so much student traffic here: he and Jazz needed to pass through the cafeteria, where a huge portion of the student body congregated before the first bell rang.

Needless to say, his confidence in high school's unshakeable ability to be just high school shattered.

It began with the stares. The whispers started soon after that. He never did see who first noticed him, but his ears were keen enough to pick up the undeniable repetition of: "is that—is that Danny Fenton?" along with its accompanying, "No, no, it can't be" and "But no, look, it is!"

The whisperers soon became gawkers, who either turned in their seats to see him or stood to get a better look. Those passing through stopped dead in their tracks. Danny just put one foot in front of the other, ignoring the fact that more and more people were staring, hesitating...

Were his shoulders creeping to his ears? He certainly hoped not.

Not a single one called out to him, and for that, he was grateful. It made it so much easier to keep his eyes forward, to pretend as though he couldn't see that the noise and ruckus of the cafeteria was dying down.

Was he supposed to keep his eyes forward? He didn't want to look anywhere else.

The eternal, incomprehensible whispers of the Ghost Zone were far less nerve-wracking than the unusual hush that had fallen over the room, and Danny decided that he was quite wrong about the universe: it didn't know how to keep high school high school after all. He was stupid for even considering it. Didn't the universe have bigger things to worry about, anyway?

Dammit, did he look like a stuck-up douche for pretending to ignore them? He couldn't know.

God, this was awful. Why did they have to pass through here? What would happen if he looked toward them? Should he actually address them about how rude they were being? About how uncomfortable he was?

"Ya-aaah," someone whooped, leaping up. "Fentons!"

Danny stopped walking and finally looked up over the conglomeration of students. He would forever be indebted to that individual—that beautiful individual who whooped. It was enough to shake everyone out of their funk, and it was that individual who began clapping.

Danny'd never been the suave, valiant type of hero. He'd never been the one to sweep girls off their feet and soar into the sunset, and judging by the way he was treated when he was "just a ghost," he was pretty sure he had never been the hero others wanted him to be either. If he were to be classified as a hero at all, he was the type that snarked a little here and there, lost his pants due to intangibility a few times, and stumbled his way through life. He was just a dude who wanted nothing more than to sleep in on weekends, avoid bullies, and sit for hours on the Internet.

He wasn't anything special. He was just a kid who really shouldn't have been playing around in his parents' sci-fi-worthy lab. He was just a kid who had been terrified of his uncontrollable powers and who decided, as any rational person would, to learn how to use them, if only to keep himself from getting into trouble with his parents….or killed by those who wouldn't understand. When he had learned it had been his fault the ghosts were released, what else could he do but try to fix that? What else could he do but continue to fight when he became targeted specifically? And when defeating him became some kind of weird game for them?

Considering the history of how it happened, minor ghostly obsession aside, it didn't make him a hero and definitely not a hero who deserved all this attention. That's why he felt so uncomfortable when Ishiyama thanked him, when the studio audience cheered for him on Saturday…and when his neighbors came by to thank the entire Fenton family for their service.

At that moment, however, as most of the cafeteria, full of his new peers, whose predecessors had only ever made his life hell and whose acceptance mattered more than he cared to admit, erupted into applause, Danny thought that maybe…he could start to believe it.

The bell, signaling the first ten-minute passing period, broke the spell, and the unity between the students dissolved as each of them began to gather their things and walk out at their own pace. He didn't see a single cell phone camera turn in his direction, and the staring dwindled. He couldn't know if their now-normal chattering was or wasn't about him, his family, the Shift, or anything ghost related, but no one approached him or Jazz. All in all, there was a definite level of respect here that Danny never would have expected.

"I told you they wouldn't mob you," Jazz murmured, slugging him on the shoulder.

"Ah, there's the 'I told you so,'" Danny mocked. "There's still the rest of the day to go, you know."

She laughed. "Optimism, Danny. Optimism."

She didn't need to give him anything more than a gentle squeeze on the shoulder (in addition to an overbearing reminder about where his locker was in comparison to hers) before she darted up the nearest staircase.

Definitely better than spending the day with the Vlad-incarnate, Danny decided as he continued on his way. How's that for optimism, Jazz?

Chapter Text

"Where's Tuck this morning?"

Sam tapped pause on her iPhone and tugged an earbud from her ear. "Why do you want to know?" she teased her friend. "Thinking about him a lot, have you, Devon?"

Her friend crinkled his nose. "Hold up. There are so many things wrong with this right now. One, no. Ew, no. Me with Tuck? Where is the mind-bleach? And two—" He paused at his locker and cocked a brow at Sam. "Devon?"

Sam shrugged and leaned up against the nearby lockers. She hoped no one needed to get into any of them: she really had no intention of moving. Throwing both hands up, she defended, "You said…"

"I know what I said, but honestly, Sam. Devon?"

"Alright, alright, Val," Sam laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm crossing it off my list. I knew that'd probably be a bad one."

Val rolled his eyes. "That was a dumbass name, Sam."

"Hey, it hasn't been the worst," Sam protested. "Your first attempt was Aiden. You're not an Aiden." When Val snorted, she pressed, "Michael was still decent, right?"

As he rummaged through his locker, Val frowned thoughtfully. "Actually, Sam, I…the more I think about it, the more I think I might actually stick with Val."

Sam smiled. As a creature of the night forced to attend school at this ungodly sunny hour, it was her first true smile of the day. Pride flooded her, and she placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Whatever makes you happy, Val."

It hadn't been easy, getting to this point. Val had fallen out of grace with the A-List in eighth grade, nearly two years ago, when rumors about his sexuality began to circulate. The then-female Valerie Gray had walked the halls alone and lived in furious shame and confusion until one day, Sam had taken pity and invited her to sit at her table. They had become friends, of a sort, and though they butted heads far too often to become the best of friends, Val had found an ally in Sam, who'd weathered social ostracization and all sorts of rumors herself.

Sam, being the most open-minded and accepting of their class, had been the first Val came out to. All throughout freshman year, despite being one of the most confident, proud, and self-aware people Sam had ever met, Val had still struggled with his identity, but with the combined support of Tuck, Sam, and Val's father, he had become a little more comfortable in his skin and had come out to the rest of the school by the end of the year.

Most of their grade had been surprised when Val had asked to be referred to by male pronouns. They had seen Val's gradual progression: the haircuts, the clothing style changes…but had never thought to label him as "trans" over "lesbian." Very few adhered to his wishes, and despite appearances, it wore Val down to continue correcting them.

Sam herself had only just gotten used to using male pronouns to refer to her friend, and she knew Tucker was still having trouble at times. That was one big step for them all. When Val settled on his new name, that was yet another huge step.

"You didn't answer my question," Val reminded her. "Did Tuck get sun-sickness or something when you dragged him out to that thing on Saturday?"

"Oh, nah," Sam said, "he's recovered from that already. He had a Mathletes meeting this morning. There's a competition coming up, I think."

"He's a dork."

"Unfortunately, he's our dork."

"Your dork," Val corrected.

He and Tuck didn't get along very often, even if Tuck had helped Val out more than either of them cared to admit. It might have something to do with the brief "fling" the two had in sixth grade, but Sam couldn't be sure, as most of the topics involving that period of their lives were avoided like the plague. Long story short, it had ended with Tucker discovering Val had only dated him on a dare, and it hadn't been pretty for either party.

Funny, how times change.

"Whatever," Sam said. "Speaking of dorks, though, my grandma was going on about that fortune-teller she met fifty years ago again."

"And let me guess," Val said, "she was just as cryptic as always?"

Sam frowned. No, not exactly. She knew Grandma Ida believed in this fortuneteller's predications wholeheartedly. Most of what this Baba Zita woman told her had come to pass, to hear her grandmother tell it. "I don't know. It's just weird. Since I came home from the news station the other night, she's been watching me like a hawk. She's acting really strange about it."

When Val turned to give her a completely deadpan stare, Sam amended, "Alright, stranger than normal."

"Why would she watch you like a hawk?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea! If she's bringing up this fortuneteller so often, I think she's waiting for something to happen."

"What would you have to do with anything?" Val asked.

Sam sighed. He obviously didn't get how unnerving it was, but then again, he never had much tolerance or patience for the supernatural or unnatural. Superstition? Magic? Aliens? Forget about it. It had taken the Shift for him to even acknowledge the existence of ghosts. His cynicism had cost him in the end, though he was far too proud to admit it, and that's not mentioning his complete and utter refusal to announce his stance on ghost rights.

Everything pointed to him being anti-ghost, honestly, but Sam knew Val was careful about expressing that. She'd turned a blind eye to it more often than once, but that didn't stop her from from feeling smug in the knowledge that she'd won that argument…and that Val was due for a serious reality check.

"Aren't fortunetellers supposed to go on about marriage and kids and how long you're going to live and whatever the hell else they can see on your palm?" Val continued. "I doubt grandkids come up."

Sam decided it wasn't worth telling Val that this woman didn't actually do palm readings. "Well, whatever it is, Grandma won't give any of us a straight answer because she refuses to 'interfere with destiny.'"

As predicted, Val released a derisive snort. "Destiny. Yeah righ—Hey!"

That was the only warning Sam had before there was a loud slamming noise. Val collided into her, scattering the stuff in his hands and forcing Sam to stumble back a few steps. After catching her balance and assuring Val was alright, she whirled to find Dash leaning against Val's closed locker, smirking at them.

At Val, to be precise.

Sam's blood boiled. She would admit it: there were times she felt a tinge of satisfaction for the growing up Dash had done recently, but when it concerned Val, it seemed he reverted back into the lowly life-form he used to be. Val was no different in regards to him, and she hated it. There was some backstory here—one involving blackmail and alcohol and a hell of a lot of hostility—but Sam wasn't about to touch that with a ten-foot pole.

Whatever the story, it didn't make anything he did to Val (or anything Val did to him) excusable. "What the hell, Dash?" Sam snarled. "You could have taken Val's fingers off!"

"Sam," Val warned under his breath.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the jackass cooed. "Did I startle you two lovely ladies?"

Val bared his teeth in a humorless smile. "I'm not entirely sure why you find so much pleasure in keeping up this shit, Dash." Lowering his gaze slyly, he said in an all-too-innocent voice, "Maybe you feel like you're compensating for something?"

Dash's face flushed an angry red, and he pushed away from the wall to grab Val by the front of his jacket. "What does it matter? At least I have a dick, bitch," he spat. "God intended me to have one, so I don't have to pretend."

Val's expression hardened to stone, and Sam knew she had to get them apart immediately. Val might have ordered her multiple times not to get involved, but he had already gotten more detentions than he could afford; fighting again would get him suspended. "Dash, get the hell off him, and don't bring anyone's God into this," Sam said. "You know he can kick your ass to the football field and back."

"Got the little Goth-bird to back you up, huh, Valerie?" Dash mocked. Val shot her an nasty look. Sam could only imagine which hells she was being cursed to. "Perhaps all that talk about being a black-belt really is just that: talk. Or perhaps…" His voice lowered. "Perhaps what everyone else says is true. Perhaps you two really do fuc—"

Val's nostrils flared, and using a self-defense move he'd recently taught Sam, he kicked at one of Dash's shins and knocked him off balance with a quick uppercut of his elbow (1). In Sam's opinion, the jock got off easy. Val could have easily gone for the groin, and if he hadn't, Sam would have gladly done it herself.

"You're pathetic," Val told Dash as he stumbled to catch himself.

Their confrontation had attracted the attention of quite a few people, and Sam scanned for any approaching teachers. Seeing none, she released her darkest scowl on the bystanders, who either returned her scowl with hesitant ones of their own or avoided making eye contact all together.

One person, however, stopped in his path to look directly at her, brow furrowed over concerned blue eyes. His gaze blazed as he assessed the situation, and his jaw clenched upon seeing Dash.

Sam was distracted from Danny Fenton when Val bent down to retrieve some of the papers he'd dropped, accentuating his previous statement with a, "Really. You are."

Blinking stupidly, Dash grit his teeth and shoved Val back again. He had been squatting, and the force of the shove was enough to get him off his feet.

Sam started to tell him off again, to no avail. Dash was deaf to her. "Fuck off, freak," he spat at Val.

From the corner of her eye, Sam saw Danny stiffen, his entire face becoming expressionless and cold, and…wait, was that a flash of green?

For the first time since meeting him, a sliver of fear possessed her.

"You call me pathetic?" Dash laughed, sneering as Val got to his feet. "There's no way a frickin' freak of nature like you even knows the meaning of—"

Danny grabbed Dash by the shoulder from behind. "I think that's enough."

~…~

Danny had been on the brink. The confrontation had not come to blows yet, but judging by the blond's aggressive posture, it was only a matter of time. Sam's friend was handling himself well, and if there was one thing Danny'd learned from the bullies at his old school, it was which fights to pick as his own and which to bow away from.

He had been a fly on the wall then, but that hadn't stopped him from doing what he could to divert bullies' attention from other kids onto himself, if necessary. He'd done it time and time again. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn't.

Whispers surrounded him, and Danny watched as some of those whisperers stopped to gawk at the fight and laugh. Disgust and anger wormed into his expression, and when the blond pushed Sam's friend, who was already in a vulnerable position, Danny narrowed his eyes.

Cheap shot. Not cool. Tension rose between the two students, and Sam was fighting to be heard. Just as Danny was about to take a step forward, a single word froze him in place, shooting a dose of venomous hatred and dread through his veins.

Freak. He even heard it in Spectra's simpering voice, and if there was one thing he hated, it was the reminder of what he had to go through to accept that some of what Spectra had said to him the first time they met, though embellished so that she could better feed off his misery, was based in truth.

If there was one thing he hated even more than that, it was the abuse of that particular word. That damn word had brought him down to one of the lowest points in his life, and it was that word he'd had to painstakingly learn to associate with himself in the most positive way he could, if only so that he'd never have to experience that level of self-hatred again.

He used it to refer to himself often now, as if to assure himself that it couldn't hurt him anymore, but hearing it used on others…

Before he knew it, he had stalked across the hallway. He reached for the jock's shoulder and said, "I think that's enough."

Sam blinked at him, her scowl dissolving, and her black friend, whose face contorted with embarrassment and rage, glared at him. The blond, for his part, whirled around. From the tone of his voice, he was about done trying to control his temper. "Yeah? What would you kno—oh."

It truly was amazing how quickly the other boy paled and then colored again, his jaw falling slack and eyes brightening with awe.

Danny, unwilling to acknowledge the hero worship radiating from the boy, remained expressionless. "Yeah," he said. "Take it from an actual freak of nature. Throwing words around like that is a shit thing to do. So is knocking people over for no reason." The jock continued to stare, and Danny was painfully aware of a lot of other stares on him. He glanced around at the three people involved, his confidence fading. "Why don't we…just go to class, okay? I don't think anyone wants a fight."

The bully completely dismissed Danny's suggestion, and ignoring Sam and her friend, he whispered, "Holy shit. Phantom."

Was this kid for real? Sam's restored scowl confirmed that he wasn't the only one thinking it. Sam's friend's expression, on the other hand…

That glare could boil paint off the walls.

"It's Fenton," Danny corrected.

"It's you. You're here!"

Danny blinked and looked down at himself, unable to stop from snarking, "Yeah, I guess I am. And we should be going our separate ways now. The warning bell's going to ring soon."

It was as though the kid didn't hear a single word he said. He flashed a suave smile and held out a hand. "Dash Baxter. It's great to meet you, Phanto—"

"Fenton," Danny repeated. He hoped that his expression was neutral enough to prevent this guy from sensing his mild disdain, but he supposed that his refusal to accept the handshake was a good clue. "It's Fenton."

Dash's brow furrowed and cheeks flushed, and he jerkily retracted his hand.

"Alright," Sam's friend growled. "As cute as this has been, you need to get the hell lost, Dash. I'm done. And you." He shoved right past Dash and poked a finger right in Danny's face. Now that the other guy was up close and in his face, Danny became disoriented for a moment. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Green eyes, framed by thick lashes, bore down on him. The intensity reminded Danny of his mother's most deadly you're-in-trouble-and-I'll-whip-out-your-middle-name-right-now-so-help-me stares. If Danny weren't already used to being on the receiving end of such stares, he'd have taken a step back. "I—I just…"

"I had everything under control," sh—he? growled. "I'm not some damsel in distress, ghost boy, and you can't just charge into people's lives. I didn't ask for your help, and I sure as hell didn't want it. You had absolutely—"

"Chill out, Val!" Sam interrupted in Danny's defense. She rolled her eyes. "He came to back you up and make sure you two dipshits—"

"Who you calling 'dipshit,' Vampirica?" Dash sneered, butting in again. "Why don't you both buzz off? I need to—"

"What, are you his spokesperson now, Sam?" Val accused simultaneously, talking over Dash. His tone was vicious, contempt dripping from every word. "Can't the ghost speak for himself?"

Danny couldn't hide a small wince.

Sam's eyes narrowed at her friend and then exchanged a look with Danny, who flickered his gaze to Dash and back to her. Her eyebrows rose in acknowledgement of what he'd nonverbally asked of her, and she grabbed Dash by the upper arm, turned him around, and began to lead him away. "You know what? I think I'm done too. Let's go to Trig, Dash. Mrs. Lar is going to chop your balls off if you're late again. See you guys around."

Dash winced and belatedly noticed he was being hauled away by a girl half his weight. "Hey, what the fff—Manson, let go of me. I wasn't done..."

Val didn't even register that the two had left. He continued to grill Danny, "Who gave you the right to come butting into other people's business, huh? Just because you're some hotshot who—"

That wasn't exactly fair. "Hey," Danny interjected, "I just wanted to help."

"Wow, perhaps those ghosts did knock you around the head once too many times. Did you hear me ask for your help?" he demanded spitefully. "Or did you just assume?"

Danny sighed, unwilling to get riled and definitely unable to argue in his defense. The other student had a point—a decent point, too—and in the end, it wasn't worth it. There was, however, a chance to empathize, to explain that he did understand.

He recognized the façade of invulnerability. He knew how a personally perceived weakness, how a moment of vulnerability combined with humiliation, could make every last defense rise. Hurt pride was not something that healed easily.

"I get it," he said softly, beginning to turn away. "I would've hated it if someone stood up for me, too, but I think…if someone had ever done that for me, it would have made a difference, no matter how small." I almost wish someone had, he realized. Just once. Jazz had made up for that, but she was different. She knew what he was going through. She knew he didn't deserve it. His peers had only watched it happen. "I'm not sorry I stepped in."

Val squinted at him, and if anything, he looked more infuriated, more humiliated. They stared each other down, eyeing and measuring, and finally, the warning bell rang, startling both students.

"You better stay away from me, ghost," Val said as he brushed past Danny. "I don't want you, your whacky family, or your weirdness anywhere near me."

~…~

In the two minutes between the warning bell and the late bell, Danny managed to get lost, and as he rushed around, scanning the classroom numbers, he really tried not to look like he didn't belong here, but it was hard not to. He was working through the inevitable realization he wasn't going to make it to class on time, cursing himself all the while and wondering if Jazz…He almost snorted aloud. Yeah, right. Jazz wouldn't have this much trouble. She probably made it to class before the warning bell rang. She probably mapped her whole schedule out, scoping the high school's floor-plan for the quickest routes and the most opportune times to make a locker visit.

So much for good first impressions. Tardiness was bound to happen at one point or another, but he had hoped it wouldn't occur so soon.

An upperclassman eventually took pity on him and kindly asked if he was lost. She was running late, too, it seemed, but she must have sensed his distress. When he admitted he was indeed lost and told her where he was supposed to be, she smiled at him, pushed her glasses up her nose, and pointed him in the right direction.

He thanked the girl—Maria, she told him—and found the classroom with some time to spare. As he entered, he felt even more out of place than he had in the hallway. Everyone was hanging around, waiting for the teacher to show and for the bell to ring. Whether they hovered over their assigned seats, the seats they'd chosen for themselves, or their friends' seats, he couldn't tell.

Awkwardly, he drifted to the edge of the classroom, waiting for the chaos to end so that he could slide as indiscreetly as possible into an open seat. Claustrophobia crept up on him, and he avoided eyes and leaned against the wall, all the while playing with the frayed straps of his old backpack. The seconds ticked by, and Danny felt an increasing urge to back himself right out of the room through the wall. Who would stop him? Who could?

"Hey, you. New kid. Wall-hugger. I'm talking to you. You in the godawful outfit. Hell-o-ooo?"

It took a moment to realize that someone was addressing him. Sighing, Danny raised his eyes to meet the irritated frown of a super hot girl. Like, she had to have sold her soul to the devil multiple times over to reach that level of perfection, and he was sure he was gawking. He composed himself quickly and prayed to whatever god would listen that she didn't notice his initial reaction and wouldn't use it against him.

Not like it mattered much, honestly. There was about a one in a billion chance he'd ever receive so much as a second glance from a girl like her. In fact, it did look as though she was mere seconds away from flipping her hair, giving him a death-glare/I-am-so-out-of-your-league-smirk combo, and ordering him to move the hell out of her way. She'd probably leave a glorious trail of perfume in her wake as she sashayed away and everything.

That's how he expected it to go, anyway. That's how it usually went. Instead, Danny found himself being gaped at, her full lips forming a perfect 'oh' of surprise, crystal eyes shining…

"Inviso-bill!" she gasped in her breathy voice.

Aaaaand there ended any attraction he felt for her. He cringed at the old nickname, and something shifted. She was certainly beautiful, but she was also beginning to hyperventilate, her eyes razing him up and down, mouth working around unformed words…

If only I could turn invisible right now. I really want to be invisible right now.

If there was ever a time he was grateful for the bell, it was that one. Some fangirls' intensity unsettled him more than he could say, so he gave the stunned girl a hesitant smile and made his get-away, weaving to the other side of the room and finding an open seat near the windows.

He picked a seat next to a well-dressed ginger kid, who looked up from his Chem textbook with a guarded expression on his face. Danny smiled at him, hoping that that was all the social interaction he'd be required to participate in for the time being.

His neighbor, now blinking in astonishment, returned his smile with a shy, gap-toothed one of his own and began to turn back to the front of the classroom. Something caught his attention, though, and he leaned over to whisper, "Um…You do realize that Paulina is flagging you down?"

Paulina. Must be the girl he'd just run away from. He didn't turn to look. "I wasn't aware, actually," Danny muttered, digging through his backpack for a pen. "So, does this teacher have handouts? Or—?"

"She's definitely trying to get your attention now."

Something about the kid's tone caught him off-guard. He was nervous, intimidated, his gaze flicking from Danny to someone behind them, and Danny frowned. Something told him this Paulina girl would bulldoze anyone who stood in the way of her desires. "I'm not—" Danny began.

A flustered and mousy-haired woman, rambling apologies, walked in at that moment, and Danny cut off, shrugging apologetically and trying to focus his attention on the teacher.

In his effort to turn over a new leaf, to actually keep the promises he made himself and his parents, he pushed all extraneous thoughts to the back of his mind and remained engaged as possible during the entire period.

It was surprisingly easy to pay attention, to focus on something other than what had occurred this morning. He had been worried he'd find it difficult to catch up after missing a good chunk of school already, but here, there was no issue. He caught on without much trouble or confusion. For the first time in a long time, he found himself enjoying the class, too, and even though he knew a decent amount about Chemistry already (hard not to, being the son of two scientists who loved their science puns and brought their work to the dinner table on a near-daily basis), he was drawn in. Very few subjects at school had ever done that for him, and for someone who normally would have been happy to remain as unobtrusive and silent as possible, he surprised himself when he blurted out an answer to one of her questions without raising his hand.

Mrs. Rickter didn't recognize the new voice, and she peered out over her class, exclaiming, "That's correct! I'm sorry…Who was that?"

Danny raised his hand slowly, and it sent the class into a fit of whispers.

The teacher's smile was warm. "Thank you, Danny." The use of his chosen nickname made him stare—he'd always had to correct teachers whenever they called him 'Daniel'—but she was blissfully unaware of his disconcertment and the class' soft chit-chatting and continued on, "So, to reiterate, the oxidation number of halogens…"

When the bell rang twenty minutes later, Mrs. Rickter sent them off with a cheery goodbye and called over the noise of her students, "Danny, please stay after, if you don't mind."

The oh-shit reaction was a learned behavior at this point, and his stomach dropped.

"She probably wants to talk to you about your makeup work," his neighbor, who had introduced himself as Mikey, babbled helpfully. "If you need any help with that, let me know. It's no fun playing catch-up."

Oh. Duh. "I appreciate that, Mikey," Danny said gratefully. "Thanks."

The red-head lugged his bulging backpack over his shoulders and gave a self-conscious wave as he headed out, skirting around a conglomeration of students still dilly-dallying. Danny avoided Paulina, who was hanging around as well, and made his way to the front of the room.

Mrs. Rickter was erasing the board when he approached. It took a moment for her to notice him, and when she finally did, she chuckled. "Oh, how long have you been standing there? You should have said something! I don't bite, Danny. Though I have to say, if I hadn't been late and you still hadn't come to introduce yourself at the beginning of class, I just might have."

Danny cracked a smile and exchanged pleasantries with her. She didn't seem to have much patience for small talk, and without further ado, she bustled around her desk, collecting a stack of papers she'd paper-clipped for him. "You know, you gave me a pleasant surprise this morning, Mr. Fenton."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Progress reports from my old school can't have been too flattering, I guess."

She surprised him by frowning. It looked foreign on her face. "Now don't think that way, sir," she chided. "New school, new slate. No looking back, you hear?"

Her bubbly personality and optimism was insanely refreshing, and Danny smiled. "I hear."

"Good. I am glad to see you participating, is all. Not very many do, so the new voice just about made my day! I hope you know this means I get to target you for the rest of the year now. You've just about doomed yourself.

"Anyway, I can't keep you long, as I'm sure you've gotta run. I see several lollygaggers hangin' 'round for you, and I simply couldn't forgive myself if they were late to their next class too. Now, wait…I just had—Oh, here they are. Sorry." Lowering her voice, she handed him the stack of worksheets and continued, "Considering how quickly you picked up on today's lecture, I can't imagine these worksheets and outlines being too difficult for you. There is going to be a test on this material and the stuff we cover this week next Monday, and I will do my best to prepare you for it, but I will push the test back for you, if necessary. I can't exactly foresee how much work you'll need to do in other classes, and I'm not that much of a tyrant."

Danny laughed. This woman was going to make his mornings brighter, that was for sure. "Thanks, Mrs. Rickter."

With an enthusiastic grin, she shooed him off, saying, "It really was great to see you in class, Danny! See you tomorrow! Let me know if you have any questions, okay?"

He didn't have time to respond. The small group outside the door swelled over him within milliseconds, and he found himself face to face with Paulina and Dash.

Where the hell did he come from? Danny wondered, disoriented. He wasn't…no, Sam had dragged him off in a different direction. How had he…?

He noticed Paulina slipping her bejeweled smartphone into her purse, looking smug. She didn't speak, but her expectant gaze was latched onto him.

"Pha—Fenton, my man!" Dash said, giving him a friendly slap on the back. Danny was glad that he didn't have to correct the blond again, but this chumminess wasn't sitting well with him at all. "Mind if we talk to you for a second?"

"Um…I just…" Danny stuttered. "I don't think that's a good idea, guys. I don't know my way around the school yet, and—"

"Hey, wait, if this is about what happened earlier," Dash interrupted, "I'm sorry. I didn't have the best morning and said some stupid things."

Danny hesitated, scanning the bully's face. He didn't know enough about what happened between Dash and Val to know if Dash was being sincere or if he was just apologizing for the heck of it.

Sensing an opening, Dash assured, "This won't take long, I promise."

Danny sighed. "Okay."

Dash's face brightened, and Paulina gripped the blond's jacket sleeve, biting her lip and looking about ready to burst.

"I really do have no idea where I'm supposed to be going," Danny added, "so I have to go soon, Dash."

"Oh, sure, no problemo."

Dash and Paulina led Danny to the edge of the hallway, out of the way of the foot-traffic. Several other guys in letterman jackets and girls followed, and it set Danny on edge. Being circled like this never ended well for him, and he had to forcibly remind himself that these were just teenagers, not ghosts, and that these teenagers weren't going to hurt him. Logic didn't stop him from cataloguing their movements and their expressions, and before they stopped walking, Danny had a vague idea about what this was all about.

"So," Dash began, "the football team was talking and—"

Yup. He was right. "Sorry, let me stop you there. I can't."

Dash folded his arms. "You didn't even let me finish. I had a great speech and everything. Super motivational, right, Paulina?"

"Inspirational," she purred. "The girls and I loved it."

"You don't have to finish. Look, I'm not exactly…" He became hyperaware of the weight on his wrist. "I'm not a sports person," he muttered. "And I wouldn't have time for it, anyway."

Dash studied him for a second, his lip curling. "They're not letting you do any sports after all, are they?"

Seems he wasn't as thickheaded as Danny thought. Informed, too. Funny, that it surprised him. His life wasn't exactly his right now, after all. He was news, he was exciting…of course they'd know about this.

"No, they're not," Danny admitted.

"That is so unfair," Paulina whined. There were several mutters of agreement from the team members who'd followed them.

"I think it's pretty fair, honestly," Danny muttered with a shrug, feeling uncomfortable now.

"But you would be so amazing on the team!"

"Yeah! It's only cheating if—"

Danny shook his head. "They can't know that I'm not cheating," he said. On Saturday, he hadn't appreciated the logic. He'd taken it far too personally, seen it as an attack on his morality and character, but after processing it over the rest of the weekend, he finally accepted it. "That's the problem. But it's okay. I don't mind it so much."

"Wait, hold up." Dash's brow furrowed. "You didn't have to give up a sport because of this stupid rule? I mean, you weren't in one before?"

Danny laughed. It was only a matter of time before they learned from old classmates and teachers, who had been respectfully (or perhaps ashamedly) silent since the Shift, that all he had been at school was a complete nobody with a really weird family. "Oh, God no. Not at all," he said.

"I don't believe you," Dash said.

"You can believe what you want, but I'm not lying."

"You're serious? There's no freaking way—"

"Some people say 'there's always a way,'" Danny jested. "I guess I managed to find one. Sorry, Dash, Paulina, everyone else over there—" he offered them a little wave and swung his backpack forward so that he could find his schedule again "—but I have to go. I really can't be late."

He started to walk, skimming the paper in his hands as he did. History was next, and he did recall passing the history wing near his locker. There were a ton of map posters over there, at least, so he figured that's where he needed to be next. He could backtrack, hopefully.

Most of the other jacketed members of Dash's team dispersed, muttering in disappointed undertone. Dash and Paulina, however, followed him.

Of course they did.

"You had to have been into some martial arts, at least!" Dash pressed. "Don't be modest. How else do you beat up on ghosts like that?"

"You're trying to make me sound way cooler than I am, dude," Danny muttered. How could he explain how easily ghostly instinct could overpower his human weaknesses and inhibitions when he fought? How could he explain how powerful the drive to survive really was? He couldn't. Not to someone like Dash. "Sorry to disappoint."

"But you are cool!" Paulina insisted, her voice rising a few octaves. "You're amazing."

Dash nodded. "That's why I can't wrap my mind around it! Only losers—"

He cut off when he saw Danny's expression. "Is that what you think?" Danny asked, raising his eyebrows. "Just because someone isn't in a sport, it makes them a loser?"

"Well, yeah," Paulina said, as though it were obvious. She flipped her hair and shook her head at him, looking for all the world as though she were observing a kitten who had done something adorably silly. "Seems to be the trend. Most of the losers here—"

"You should probably get to know them before you call them losers," Danny interrupted bluntly, his temper rising. "One of them might end up being your boss one day. Better yet, they might end up marrying into your family or something. Or…you know, they could end up being ghost-powered superheroes."

They stared at him. Whether they were horrified by what he was saying or completely uncomprehending was beyond him. If he revealed more than he meant to, if he was flaunting references to his own sob-story and sounding like a complete ass about it, he reached his limit already and was beyond caring at this point.

It had taken him this long to realize that some part of him had hoped he'd be able to escape from stuff like this, now that he was in a new place with Phantom's identity to back him up, but no…he hadn't escaped anything. He was merely viewing the same issue through a different colored lens, and he didn't like it any better than he had before.

Earlier today, he reminded himself he didn't have to lie in the dirt and wait for them to kick him anymore, and it felt amazing to show people like them that he wasn't going to take it anymore.

Screw them. Screw popularity and what anyone thought of him. Screw the fact that someone might find this petty. This was liberating. This—this was years upon years worth of humiliation, dejection, and low self-esteem formulated into a single spear, aimed straight at two people who didn't exactly deserve the brunt of it but who perpetuated the bullying culture and thus did deserve a taste of it all the same.

Because he wasn't the only victim. There were countless others, and right here, right now, he could make a stand and maybe even be taken seriously.

Danny took a deep breath, and as he began to walk away from them again, he looked them right in the eye and asked, "But you never really know, do you?"

Chapter Text

By the time lunch rolled around, Danny was exhausted in all senses of the word and wanted to retreat into solitude.

After his last spat with Dash and Paulina, it wasn't all bad, honestly. The few teachers he'd met were respectful, helpful, and seemed unbiased. During the passing periods, some students approached him, to explain that they had family in Chicago, that some of their family and friends had been involved with the plans to take down Pariah Dark, and they had thanked him. From those who didn't approach him, he'd received countless smiles and nods of appreciation.

It was relatively easy to ignore the disgusted sneers, edgy gazes, and dark mutters by comparison.

Even still, the relief Danny felt when the bell rang was overwhelming, and he was probably one of the first people to step outside. The bright sunlight and fresh air invigorated him. He took a moment to appreciate the silence, tipping his head back to survey the cloudless blue sky.

It was the perfect day to fly, to race across the city and see just how long it could take him to get across to the other side. A smile stretched across his face. He hadn't had much of a chance to fly during the weekend, despite the fact his parents had finally given him a hesitant go-ahead. He'd been too tired, too busy unpacking. The ache to get up in the air was nearly overwhelming. Up in there, he could breathe. Maybe…

His phone buzzed, startling him, and he ducked out of the way of other students and into an alcove near the edge of the building. He pulled out his old flip phone, the only phone his parents felt they could entrust to him after the others' untimely demises, and saw that the text was from Jazz.

Jazz: We're heading to the main courtyard, near the tennis courts, if you want to join us, Danny!

He grimaced. He'd forgotten his sister had offered to sit with him. He stared at the message for a moment before latching to one word in particular.

Danny: We're?

Jazz: Yup, I met Maria in Psych. She tells me she met you in the hallway earlier today.

It took a moment to click. She had helped him out when he was lost.

Danny: …That's embarrassing

Jazz: Nah, she thought it was cute. Apparently her little brother came up to say hi to you too.

There were a lot of warning signals going off in his brain right now. He knew his sister, and he knew the type of girls she hung out with: all intellectual, all ambitious. That didn't bother him. What did bother him was feeling like more of an outsider than he already was, and that included hanging out with his sister's super smart friends. Maria had been nice to him, undoubtedly, but if she was getting along with Jazz…and had a younger brother…

Then there was that casual use of the word cute.

No way did he want to spend a whole lunch period with these two. Nuh-uh. Nope.

Danny: I'm gonna pass Jazz

Jazz: Are you sure? If it's about Maria...

That made his heart ache. His sister was a friendly person, but she didn't become friends with just anyone. She deserved a break from all the Phantom hype, too, and even if he hadn't been planning on going for a flight anyway, he wasn't going to take that away from her. His resolve solidified, and he was quick to respond.

Danny: Yes Jazz I'm sure. I wanted to sneak away for a bit anyway

Jazz: I can't say I blame you. Be careful and don't be late to class, okay?

Danny: Roger

Danny's stomach rumbled as he stowed his phone away again, and he looked down at it, as though it offended him. In a way, it had. So much for getting right up in the air. It would seem that his stomach had other plans. He considered the possibility of munching and flying, but that would require a really slow flight. Slow was not exactly what he wanted right now, and having learned from a previous experience that flying and eating was a bad idea, he decided against it.

His mother would kill him if he choked or ended up dropping his food on innocent pedestrians, anyway.

Eat, then fly, he decided. He had his lunch in his bag already, so he could fly out onto the grounds, find a secluded spot, and inhale his food and the pills his parents were still making him take with every meal. He would be able to take a twenty-minute flight if he hurried.

Satisfied with this plan, Danny double-checked for any witnesses and, seeing none, phased out of the plane of visibility. Cold power rushed through his veins, and with a wild grin, he morphed. It felt a little funny to transform with the band on his wrist, but it didn't hinder him from immediately launching himself into the air and hurtling up high above the school at full velocity.

Only when the school looked no bigger than a postage stamp did Danny stop rising. He took a second to appreciate the sprawling city of Amity Park. Everything looked so small from this height, and Danny felt his restraints falling away. It was so easy to forget his worries and responsibilities up here, where there were no expectations and no idiots pushing his buttons. He felt great, better than he had in a long time, and spreading his arms, he barked a laugh….and allowed gravity to take hold of him.

~…~

Sam had heard that some schools didn't allow their students to eat outside during lunch. She, of course, thought that was complete bullshit. If students wanted to play hooky, they were going to play hooky, whether they were allowed to spend their lunch period outdoors or not.

Thankfully, Casper High was one of the schools that didn't force its students to stay inside. It was Illinois, though, and since Illinois autumns, winters, and springs were bitches at the best of times, the courtyard's tables and benches often went ignored, even by Sam. It wasn't that Sam minded the cold. She actually loved it; however, she had to concede that, in this one instance, she was like normal people and didn't like being cold and wet.

Despite her preference for colder weather, she wasn't about to shy away from the uncharacteristically warm September day when it meant she could escape the artificial lighting and white walls of Casper High. Almost everyone had the same idea, and by the time Sam escaped from her Latin II class, the courtyard was packed.

Sam had no intention of so much as looking at the crowded courtyard. No, she had her own place. Back in the very early days of freshman year, she and Tuck had claimed the shade beneath the only cluster of oak trees on the school grounds. Since the trees ran alongside a stretch of the outdoor track, which was further away from most students' classrooms and lockers than the courtyard was, it was rare that anyone ventured that way. The two of them could geek out, eat, and laugh without any bull-headed jocks, mopey wannabes, or peppy cheerleaders to bother them.

As Sam stepped outside, she took a deep, appreciative breath of fresh air and started her way across the parking lot. The comforting thump of her combat boots on pavement set a nice beat, and she tried to ignore any thoughts about Val, who was giving her the cold shoulder for absolutely no reason.

Normally, his self-righteousness and extreme inflexibility was forgivable, and his anger blew over soon enough, even if his grudges lasted for far longer. In all honesty, Sam was getting sick of it. All this moodiness was tedious, even if somewhat understandable, and no doubt it would haunt Val one day, when he found himself without friends.

That wasn't much of a concern at the moment, though. Val could do whatever he wanted. Sam had other things on her mind.

Namely, a certain Danny Fenton.

Sam hadn't witnessed his second confrontation with Dash, but she'd heard about it. She'd heard lies and twisted truths and a great amount of speculation connecting it all together. She'd also heard a mixed review of his actions and behavior, some calling him a pompous dick, others voicing their surprise at his modesty, and others still silently praising him for what he'd said.

From what she could decide for herself, though, she thought he was perhaps one of the bravest people she had ever met. No joke. When she stopped to put on his metaphorical shoes, she realized she would not have the guts or the composure to do what he'd done since the Shift.

There was something about the way he presented himself that belied his outward confidence, something that signified true courage. It was obvious to her that he wasn't a natural leader. He wasn't born a hero. Twice today, though, he stepped up when no one else did, spoke his mind in situations where most others wouldn't. That wasn't Phantom's doing. That was him, without a mask, and she respected him for that.

Her stomach decided to make its presence known with a loud grumble of hunger, and before she made it to her usual place, she was digging around in her bag for her lunch.

"YAH!"

Sam gasped and jerked away from the hands that had unexpectedly grabbed and shook her shoulders. Gripping her bag by one strap, she whirled around and whacked Tucker, who was giggling his fool head off, with it. She didn't even care if her fruit was squashed. "You. Complete. Ass!" she exclaimed, punctuating each word with a smack.

Tuck cowered from her blows. "Alright, alright, yeesh!" he protested. "Don't abuse your best friend!"

She almost hit him once more for good measure. "Honestly," she chided, "you're such a child."

Tucker grinned at her and fixed his glasses, which had been knocked eschew. "You're just sore because I actually snuck up on you."

Sam scowled but didn't comment. Instead, she approached the oldest, largest tree of the bunch and settled herself in the grass at its trunk, folding her legs under her. It was a good thing she wore some Macbeth leggings today instead of a mini-skirt: she could sprawl out however she pleased.

"Thought so," Tucker sing-song'd as he, too, sat and drew out his bagged lunch. "So. Has Mr. Ryham managed to convince you to do Cer—whatsit yet?"

"Certamen," Sam corrected for perhaps the millionth time (1).

"Yeah, that."

"No, and he's not going to convince me, no matter what sort of flattery he tries on me."

"It isn't flattery. I heard from Mikey—"

"Don't even go there. That little…" Sam growled. This wasn't the first time the Junior Classical League president tried to get to her through Tucker. He and her teacher had been at it since the beginning of the year. "I want to apply for that position at the animal shelter, you know that! They know that. I don't have time for trivia games."

Tucker took a huge bite of his sandwich and shrugged. "Man, I'd've thought you'd cave by now."

"Nope, not this ti—" She cut off and cocked her head. She didn't know what it was that drew her attention to it. Maybe…it wasn't so much a physical sign so much as it was a feeling. A distinct feeling she was being watched, combined with a hint of a chill in the air…

"Sam?" Tuck asked.

A hint of goosebumps began to rise on her skin. She recognized it…but didn't recognize it at the same time, and she felt Tucker grip her arm. He sensed it now, too.

"Ghost," he hissed.

She didn't respond. The last time she felt a chill like this, a ghost attacked. Last time, a mind-numbing, subconscious terror had crept up her spine as the chill settled into her bones. This chill…a ghost was near, without a doubt, but this one was different. The warmth wasn't leeched from her body. Her muscles didn't lock in place.

I wonder…

Swallowing her instinctual fear, her eyes swept the area. Of course, she saw nothing. It didn't take long before she remembered the last place people tended to look was up, and without hesitation, she fixated her gaze directly on the junction between the trunk of the tree she was leaning up against and its lowest branch.

Again, she saw nothing, but somehow, she knew. Sam smirked and called, "You can come out now."

When there was no indication that a certain invisible someone did, in fact, rest in that crook, she almost believed she was wrong, but…unless she was mistaken…

Sam pushed off the back of the tree and rose to her feet, placing her hands on her hips and quirking a brow at the crook.

Tucker, of course, was looking at her like she'd gone nuts. "What are y—?"

When a strange flash erupted behind the tree, he cut off, scrambled back, and released a strangled 'eep.' Sam's smirk faltered at the sight, inquisitiveness overpowering all else, but once Danny Fenton, rubbing his neck and smiling cautiously, stepped out into the open, she recovered.

"Um…hi," Danny offered, giving a little wave.

"Oh, thank God!" Tucker burst out. Danny reddened and flinched, blue eyes widening to the size of saucers as they latched onto the other boy. "It's just you! You scared the shit out of me, you know!" he berated. "I thought there was a ghost stalking us!"

It was disheartening to see just how Tucker's words affected Danny. He looked traumatized, and Sam didn't like that. She didn't like that at all.

"Well, there kinda was," Sam teased lightly, trying to get the other boy to smile. "What were you doing in that tree?"

If anything, that made it worse, and Danny fiddled at the bracelet on his wrist. "I'm sorry!" he rambled. "I really—um…I didn't expect…I wasn't spying or eavesdropping or anything! I just…I—my sister offered to sit with me, but she met another soon-to-be-psychiatrist in AP Psych, or at least, I assume she is an aspiring psychiatrist because Jazz isn't really the type to become friends with people just like that without psychology or photography being involved in some way, but that doesn't matter. What matters is Maria also has younger brother, and you know how that is—"

Sam didn't know, but she supposed it was some sibling thing that involved a high level of embarrassment. She barely had time to nod sympathetically. Tucker, on the other hand, had begun to gawk without shame.

"—so I figured I'd just avoid all that and let her have some time with someone who wouldn't bug her about all the ghost stuff and actually talk to her—and there's no doubt in my mind that Jazz'll be telling Maria a whole number of things I'd rather not relive—so I decided to fl—ah, I mean, I decided to come out here, and since I definitely didn't know you'd be here, I wasn't…so yeah. Yeah, alright, okay, I think I'm just—I'll go."

He hadn't drawn a single breath during that entire explanation, and Sam was stunned for a moment by the impressive speed of his speech. Tucker, too, said nothing.

Awkward staring was imminent, Sam supposed.

The two friends most certainly hesitated for a moment too long: Danny's face blazed an even brighter red. He mumbled something about being sorry for frightening them and began to back away.

Sam's gut performed a sickening somersault. "Wait," she insisted, stepping forward. "No, really, Danny, it's okay. Why don't you join us?"

He paused, one foot half-raised into the air, and gave her such an incredulous look that she felt like an awful person. How exactly that worked, she wasn't sure, but even still, it was awful to see the person who stood up to twice Dash this morning, the one who faced ghosts all the time, look so lost and amazed by her simple invitation.

She had once entertained the idea that he hadn't been treated well at his old school. This was almost confirmation that he had, indeed, been at the bottom of the social hierarchy. If he was unused to simple kindnesses like this...

Tucker, his eyes bright with excitement, finally ditched his stupid slack-jawed expression and smiled at Danny. "Yeah. Might as well stick around. I doubt you want to eat lunch alone on your first day."

"Oh, no, thanks, guys." Danny rubbed the back of his neck. "It's fine. I don't want to…"

Tuck snorted and interrupted, "What? Crash our party?" He gestured around. "I think we have room for one more."

Danny blinked and followed Tucker's hand, and he wavered. Sam was so sure he was about to make his excuses and back out—she didn't necessarily blame him, after the morning he had—but then, despite all odds, the nervous energy dissipated, and he deadpanned, "I dunno about that, dude. It's really rocking over here." The impish light dancing in his eyes offset the sarcasm in his tone, but instead of ruining the effect, it did the exact opposite.

"It'll be more rockin' if you join us," Tucker responded.

"I'm not so sure about that," Danny mused. "Sam's just rolled her eyes. That doesn't inspire much confidence."

"Don't drag me into this!" Sam exclaimed, trying not to appear amused as she leaned back against her tree. "I don't care where I fit into your little metaphor."

"Sam, your negativity is killing the party vibe. I might just have to kick you out," Tucker said. "And you—" he turned to Danny "—if you're too cool to party with us nerds…"

In response to that, Danny's expression hardened momentarily. Without hesitation, he dropped his backpack and flopped onto the ground, right beside Tucker. "If that supposed to be a dare, you're going to have to do better than that," he informed.

"No dare." Tuck grinned smugly. "I just wanted to see something."

"What?" Sam and Danny asked simultaneously. The synchronization caused the two to exchange exasperated looks with another, which did not go unnoticed by Tuck. He, wisely, said nothing of it, but Sam noticed his eyebrows rise slightly.

"If I could do what no man seems to have done before, of course!" Tucker exclaimed dramatically, slugging Danny's arm and then crossing his arms behind his head. "Get Danny over here to relax a bit! Gotta enjoy what peace we have before we actually do get some real ghostly stalkers, right?"

What peace? Sam almost asked. She wondered if Danny even remembered the last moment of peace he had.

To Sam's surprise, though, Danny started to laugh—really laugh—and he said, "Thanks, man. I think I needed that." He held out his hand, which Tucker joyfully accepted. "I—ah…didn't catch your name."

"It's Tucker. Tuck, if you—what?"

Sam flashed her gaze to Danny, who was giving Tucker a weird look.

"Oh, yeah, laugh it up," Tuck grumbled, now looking slightly agitated. "I've heard it all before." His voice rose in pitch, and he waved his hands around. "Tucker the 'sucker,' right? And oh, look! It also rhymes with 'mucker' and 'fu—'"

"No!" Danny was quick to interrupt. "God no. I was—I was just thinking that that's a really unusual name. Unique. I actually…" He chuckled embarrassedly. "Well, I had an online friend who went by Tuck. Fryer-Tuck."

Tucker froze, every muscle locking in place. Sam, recognizing the username, shot a stunned look at her best friend.

"What?" she asked on his behalf.

Danny didn't notice. He was looking at the turkey sandwich he'd pulled onto his lap. He picked at the bread. "Met him while playing Doomed when I was, like, eleven," he cheeks were tinged red again. "You guys know Doomed? I haven't…I need to get in touch with him again, is all. To apologize. I just…Geez, do I feel guilty." He smiled up at them. "Pretty geeky, I know, but I was supposed to compete in this huge online tournament with him a few months ago, and I—well, you can imagine…I wasn't there."

"Holy shit," Tucker choked suddenly. "Ace?! No. No, there's no fucking…"

Danny stared. Tucker stared. Sam stared. She had been trolling Tucker often enough as the mysterious "Chaos" (a secret she'd kept for years now) to know the username of his partner-in-crime quite well. She began to flick her gaze between them, unsure if she was more amazed at the coincidence or entertained by their faces.

"Oh my God," Danny said in a dazed tone. "You're Fryer-Tuck?"

"Are you freaking serious right now? You're Ace? SpaceAce12?" At Danny's eager nod, Tucker exclaimed, "Oh my fucking God! You wanted to be an astronaut. You're shitting me right now. You are shitting me."

"No, no, I'm not!" Danny's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Holy crap. Hooooly crap, what are the odds! Dude, you never told me you were in Illinois! Well, I never did either, but I—"

"I…" Tucker interrupted, eyes distant and reverent. "I…have been beating virtual bad guy ass with Danny Fenton. No wonder you fell off the face of the earth for awhile! You had no time for video games, did you?"

Sam actually remembered Tuck voicing his concerns about Ace just a few months ago, about how they'd been friends for too long for him to just…disappear. At least, not without warning. At the time, Tucker had nearly convinced Ace to sign up for Facebook, too, which would have brought the two even closer.

'Holy shit' is right.

"No, not really," Danny admitted easily, "and I am sorry about totally ditching—"

"Water under the bridge, man!" Tucker assured. "I'm just…" He sat back and stared off into the distance. "This is insane."

"Wanna hear something even crazier?" Danny asked, his grin infectious.

"How could it get crazier than this?" Sam demanded.

"I don't think I can handle anything more crazy," Tucker added, "but hit me, man. I bet you can't beat this."

Bright blue eyes shone with enthusiasm, and he looked between Tucker and Sam. "Tuck actually helped me—as Phantom, I mean—once. Tuck and that Chaos guy."

Sam's brow furrowed, but when she realized what he was talking about, her eyes widened and mouth popped open. A tirade of cursing similar to Tucker's pounded repetitively through her head.

There was one time she teamed up with Tuck and Ace. One time. To defeat that villain she had no cheat code for. The few players who saw the thing called it 'The Big Bad Glitch of 2013.' Not a single one of the programmers or creators knew what the hell it was. The Internet was still ablaze with rumors and speculation.

Sam, of course, wanted the glory of saying she beat it first, even if she had to share it with noobs.

"I was going to tell you, when I had the guts, Tuck," Danny continued. "You and he—"

"He could be a she!" Sam interjected, her voice a little higher in pitch than normal.

Danny and Tucker barely registered her protest. "Wait, dude," Tucker said, "are you saying…?"

"That the Glitch of '13 was a ghost?" Danny said. "Yeah, I am. You and Chaos saved my ass and prevented Technus from ruining countless gamers' lives. Here's my very, very belated thank you."

And just like that, they were off. Once Tucker wrapped his mind around the fact he fought alongside Phantom, in a joint effort to defeat a real ghost, the boys began re-enacting their parts in the battle, laughing, and complimenting each other on their moves and shooting skills.

Sam was only delayed in joining the conversation because, unlike Tucker, who seemed to take this revelation in stride, she had a hard time fully comprehending.

It wasn't every day she learned something as earth-shattering as this. Meeting an online friend completely out of the blue was certainly a damn outstanding occurrence, but to learn that she and Tuck had helped Danny Phantom fight Technus, the very ghost Pariah Dark first coerced and bent to his will during his most recent plot?

That was inconceivable.

Technus was the one who built that Tower for Pariah Dark. Out of all the ghosts, Technus was the one who had done the most global damage (statistically speaking, anyway), and he was the one whose power over technology had the potential to do even worse. Needless to say, he was no easy foe.

There is no way this was happening, she repeated to herself as she watched Tucker mime shooting a sniper rifle. Danny was more relaxed than she'd ever seen him, and he gesticulated with fervor. There is absolutely noway.

Damn, and she'd targeted Ace—Danny, that is—nearly as often as she had Tuck when playing as Chaos! She'd beaten his ass just as thoroughly, too!

She was jolted back to reality when the conversation seemed to follow her line of thought.

"…still not sure why Chaos decided to be all chummy, though. It was completely out of character."

A truly evil part of her, the very same part that encouraged her to get a Doomed account in the first pace, the same part that urged her to prove that girls could annihilate boys, crept its way to the surface.

Alright, devil on my shoulder, Sam smirked, I concur. This'll be good.

"It's a mystery to this day," Danny agreed. "You haven't teamed up with him since—"

"Her," Sam corrected again, slightly exasperated. She drew out her phone and swiped up on the touch-screen. The video camera was primed and ready to go, and she pressed the red button to begin recording. "Her. And she's sitting right here."

She had known it had been a good idea to keep this secret, and she couldn't have picked a more opportune time to drop the charade. The reaction was better than she could have hoped for. Both boys' heads snapped to her so fast, she was sure they'd be sore for days.

"What?!" they shrieked.

"Ha ha, yes!" she exclaimed, pumping her free fist into the air. "Blackmail material here, boys! I'm Chaos, and I owned your sorry little asses!"

It didn't take long before Tucker accepted the truth as it was. He buried his face into his hands and groaned, "I should have known. I'm not even surprised. I—" His eyes flew up when she toppled back, laughing hysterically, and he growled, "Dammit, Sam, you are an evil little—"

"Ah, ah, ah," she teased, sitting back up and waving her finger at him. "That's what you get for thinking girls couldn't play video games as well as boys could!"

"Damn straight," Danny muttered, eyes gleaming with boyish admiration. His obvious appreciation for her skill went straight to her head, and she preened like a peacock. "Wow."

Turning to Tucker, who was lamenting to himself, Danny hit him in the upper arm. "Tuck, you do realize she popped up as Chaos shortly after I joined, don't you? About four years ago? All this time, and you never onceconsidered that it was Sam? At least I have an excuse!"

"No, okay!?" His voice was muffled, seeing as he spoke into his palms. "I didn't! Not once! Happy, Sam?"

Her grin broadened. "Very."

Quaking with suppressed laughter, Danny considered Tucker for a moment before turning to Sam. "You gotta admit, though," he chuckled, "that was well-played, Sam."

"And don't you forget it!" Sam ordered smugly.

"I have a feeling I won't be," Tucker said, glaring at the cell phone in her hand.

Tucker's mood wore off quickly. Soon enough, the three of them began laughing again, swapping tales, teasing each other, and eating whenever they remembered to. By the time the bell rang, they all had established themselves as comrades in geekery, and not a single second of their lunch period had awkward or weighed down by the topic of the Shift, ghosts, or Phantom.

They were having too much fun to even consider it. After the topic of Technus passed, it was as though there was no Phantom, and even that wasn't tough or strange to talk about. Sam didn't realize that until later, but she liked that. She wasn't one for allowing new people into her inner circle, but she really liked this—the three of them together. Danny and Tucker, in particular, fell into such an easy friendship, she couldn't help but wonder where the hell Danny had been all their lives.

Amazing to think that he actually had been a part of their lives for four years already…and not a single one of them had known it.

"What's your next class, Danny?" Sam asked as she packed up her stuff, interrupting Tucker's groaning at the prospect of another few hours of school. The kid was completely zoning out, so she raised her voice. "You know, I think your username should've been SpaceCase instead of SpaceAce."

Danny jolted out of whatever section of the cosmos he had been staring off into. "Hm?"

Sam rolled her eyes, and Tucker snickered. "She was asking about your next class."

"Oh, English II with Lancer."

She and Tucker grinned. It was one of the few classes they shared this year. "Beautiful."

Chapter Text

The phone's jarring ring made Danny jump, and his knees hit the underside of the breakfast table. The cereal bowl in front of him slid, milk slopping over the edges. With a mild curse, Danny stood to grab a rag to mop up his mess.

"Danny, could you get that please?" Jazz called from the living room.

"Uggggh," Danny groaned. One would think that he'd be used to the constant ringing by now, but it only grew more aggravating with each passing day. He couldn't wait for the day that the new FentonWorks advertisements hit the air. People would have no choice but to call the business line or the emergency number, and then Dad could finally pull the landline. They would be able depend on their new ecto-proof cell phones for personal communication after that, and it would be stress-free, noise-free, and—

"Danny! It could be an emergency!"

It probably wasn't. There hadn't been a sign of a high-level ecto-entity in Amity since the Shift—a most recent trip to the Ghost Zone revealed that the ghosts were still observing the truce and using the time to recover, reform, and rebuild—and yet the phone still rang day-in and day-out. "Alright!" he called back. "I got it!"

Adopting the most pleasant tone he could, he picked up the phone and rattled off the short greeting his mother had approved. "Hello, you've reached FentonWorks. If you have a ghost-related emergency, we can take your call now. If not, you can call us at our new business number: 1-800-44—"

"Oh, do stop rambling, Daniel. I've gotten this spiel quite a few times over the past week."

Danny's fingers went slack, phone nearly slipping from his fingers. Despite himself, his blood curdled and muscles froze at the sound of that familiar, suave voice. "Vlad?" he asked, more surprised than infuriated. "What—?"

"I have to say, my boy," Vlad said, his tone softening, "it is certainly good to hear your voice. I hear your voice playing from TVs and radios all over the nation, of course, but nevertheless, to hear it in person…How are you?"

"I'm…I'm good, yeah," Danny answered, still stunned that this congenial conversation was actually happening right now.

"That's good, that's good," Vlad murmured. "I'd been trying to get into contact with you, but your parents—"

At the mention of his parents, Danny finally processed whom it was he was talking to. Eyes flashing green, he snarled, "What do you really want, Vlad? Why are you calling here? I thought—"

"They…didn't tell you?" Vlad asked. A hint of his usual scorn returned to his voice. "I'm not surprised."

Confused, Danny almost took the bait. "What do you mean… they didn't tell me? No, you know what? Buzz off, Vlad. All I know is that you shouldn't be calling here. Stay away from me, and stay away from my family. I'm hanging up."

"Danny?" Jazz asked, sticking her head into the kitchen.

Danny ignored his sister in favor of listening to Vlad's response to his threat, his thumb hovering over the 'end call' button. "No!" the older halfa exclaimed, and Danny paused. "Please, Daniel. I only have one thing to ask of you, and you will not hear from me again, as promised."

Past experiences with Vlad proved that this could potentially be a very bad idea, but for some reason, Danny had the distinct feeling the desperation and plea in his old enemy's tone was genuine.

Genuine or not, caution would be necessary here.

"What do you want?" Danny repeated in a growl. Jazz shoved through the kitchen door, and he turned his back to her, holding up a single finger. He could still sense her breathing down his neck, despite the sign he didn't want to be disturbed.

"Your parents were insistent that you decide, but obviously, they have not told you I've been waiting for a response."

"About?"

"The Fenton Portal."

Vlad's answer was so unexpected, Danny's animosity dropped away entirely. "What about the Portal?"

Judging by Jazz's sharp gasp beside him and her sudden insistence he get off the phone right now, she knew exactly who he was talking to…and that meant Vlad was telling the truth.

And if Vlad was telling the truth, that meant his parents—and Jazz, it would seem—had been keeping something from him.

Danny avoided his sister by turning intangible, and he glared at her as her fingers slipped through his arm. "Daniel Fenton!" she yelled. "Don't you dare! I will get the Intangibility Gloves, I swear to God!"

"I had hoped to join the select few invited to witness the Fenton Portal's reactivation in person."

"Last I heard, Vlad," Danny said, "Mom and Dad were trying to keep the Portal's activation private. Family only."

"Danny, please hang up," Danny heard Jazz say. "Let me explain."

"You are a little behind on the news, dear boy. The city has approved the Portal's activation for 7 AM on next Tuesday morning…and as I hear it, several colleagues of your parents—and several of mine, for that matter—will be there. As will a few of Amity's best and brightest. They're making an announcement tomorrow, I believe."

Danny's stomach churned, and he shook his head vigorously. "No, you must be mistaken," he denied. "Mom and Dad told me just a few days ago that they wouldn't let anyone wear them down. They knew…They knew how much…No, they can't have. You and I…"

"They didn't want to tell you yet, it would seem. I do apologize, little badger."

The pity in Vlad's gentle voice was enough to make Danny's eyes flash again, and he looked at his sister, who was now flanked by both Mom and Dad. The apologetic and guilty looks on their faces were almost too much to handle.

"No," Danny said. He felt detached, emotionless, and he stared with unblinking green eyes at his family. "I suppose they didn't."

"Then you understand why I feel I must be there."

Danny's fingers twitched, and he felt like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. Mom and Dad had promised him he'd never have to deal with Vlad again. They'd taken care of it. They'd reassured him, and they'd comforted him, and they told him. They told him time and time again that he'd never have to so much as stand in the presence of that manipulative bastard again if he didn't want to. His family held the upper hand over Vlad, and they could do far worse than shove him from their lives.

Danny didn't have to agree. He could hang up right now. He could scream and yell and call Vlad every last cruel name that came to mind. After everything he'd put Danny through, after all the manipulation and mind games and battles, it'd be no less than what he deserved.

But goddammit, Danny did understand. He understood why Vlad wanted to be there. He understood so deeply, it hurt, and it hurt even more because his parents didn't tell him and because he empathized with this inhumane monster, who was actually pretty human after all, and because they were letting people down in the lab.

Danny had known it was a possibility. He'd listened to his parents talk about the precautions they would take if guests came during the Portal's reactivation. He'd already insisted that he be there, school be damned. Before Mom and Dad told him they decided that they weren't going to allow people down in the lab, he'd already talked himself through the reasons why it would be okay. No one would have to go through what he did. No one would have to go through what Vlad did, either.

Little good it did now.

The only thing that saved him from a panic attack was focusing on his anger and hurt.

To Vlad, who was attempting to apologize again for something, he could only mutter, "I'll think about it. Don't call here again."

In the silence of the kitchen, the beep of the phone sounded far louder than it should have. Unable to look any of his family members in the eye, he became tangible again and set it onto the counter.

"Danny, sweetheart," Mom attempted, stepping forward and reaching out to him.

Danny turned away. He knew that giving his parents the cold shoulder was childish. He was too numb to care, and he shrugged off Mom's hand as he walked into the living room, where he'd thrown his backpack.

"I'm going to school," Danny announced, slinging the bag over his shoulders.

"Danny, listen," Jazz begged. Of course she'd followed him. His parents hovered nearby too.

"Don't!" Danny snapped. "Just…don't. Not now, Jazz."

"This is my fault," she pressed. "I was the one who convinced Mom and Dad to give you a few more days of peace before they told you about Vlad. I thought that giving you the weekend to think about it might…"

He blocked her out at this point, her excuses practically going in one ear and out the other. Without a second glance at Mom, Dad, or Jazz, Danny morphed and took off, and he flew as though Pariah Dark himself was on his tail.

~…~

If there was one thing Sam learned about Danny in the few weeks since he began school at Casper High, it was that he was probably one of the most patient and considerate beings on the planet Earth.

And that wasn't even an exaggeration.

The novelty of his presence at Casper High hadn't worn off yet, and students only became more and more confident to approach him as the days went by. He really wasn't given a moment of peace, not by those who stared from the sidelines or by those who pestered him about everything they could think of. Reporters certainly did not leave him alone either. It was especially bad after a new interview aired…and when people started to get anxious about the growing presence of benign ghouls and spirits roaming the streets.

The more sentient ghosts would only follow, after all.

He didn't complain. Not once. Or at least, not within earshot. He treated everyone who talked to him as though they were important, as though they deserved his undivided attention and time. The more time she spent with him, however, the more she recognized the subtle signs of frustration lingering behind his smiles and his jokes. Nevertheless, she never saw him lose his temper, not even when some idiot thought it was okay to blurt out personal and rude questions.

That's not to say Danny didn't handle those questions with a great amount of grace and sass...because he most certainly did. Somehow, he also managed to not hurt any feelings, and that was the second thing Sam learned about Danny: his awkward charm worked wonders, and he was pretty charismatic when he wanted to be.

"When he wanted to be" was almost all the time, unfortunately. The only time she ever saw Danny begin to relax was at lunch, when he was alone with her and Tuck. Even then, despite the instant connection they made with Danny over Doomed and despite how well the three of them got along, there was still something severely missing from the budding friendship, and it was easy enough for Sam to figure out what it was.

It all had to do with Danny's other life. It wasn't as though they went out of their way to ignore it—they most certainly had enough to talk about and laugh about outside of all the ghost stuff—but Sam couldn't help but think that it was too normal. Correction: Danny was trying too hard to be normal.

And that made it weird. For all that Sam understood that Danny wanted a relatively normal life, with normal friends at a completely normal school, it was weird that he hid what was truly normal for him.

He'd been hiding his secret for a year, Sam reasoned. Maybe pretending Phantom didn't exist was normal after all. Maybe avoiding all the ghost-stuff was normal too…to keep up the façade, to hide his identity.

She couldn't help but be bothered by it. Ghosts fascinated her. His family and their careers fascinated her. She wanted to talk about it. She wanted to be informed, she wanted to know if her growing suspicions about that bracelet on his wrist were true, she wanted to talk politics and culture and history, and she wanted to share her interests with her friends. Normally, she had no problem doing so.

The problem was that what she also wanted to be Danny's friend, through and through. She really liked him. He was funny, kind, interesting, smart…and perhaps the biggest dork she'd ever met, next to Tucker. Basically everything she thought he wouldn't be.

And Sam wasn't going to risk upsetting Danny and turning him away so soon. Not until she knew that he wouldn't push them away for something stupid…like assuming she and Tucker were using him for a popularity boost or something. Sometimes, she wanted to think that he knew better, but at others…she had to remind herself that he was a guy. Guys could be a bit dense.

In all fairness, he was still in one of the biggest transition periods of his life, and if nothing else, she would respect that. If he didn't want to talk about the other side of his life yet, she'd deal. In the end, though, she couldn't really be the friend she wanted to be until he did open up about the part of him he'd rather not show people.

Tuck, on the other hand, seemed to have no such inhibitions about what he said around Danny. He wasn't an insensitive dick, by any means. No, Tucker had the gift of perfectly timed humor about him, and Danny's humor often matched. They bantered about everything, including ghosts. They never truly said anything of intellectual value when they went off like that—nothing that could stimulate further conversation, anyway—but still, no topic was safe, and their puns ran rampant.

Sam grinned at the memory of the boys' reaction when Paulina had taken one look at the two during one of their battles of wit and dared to refer to their friendship as a bromance. She wished she'd had a camera. It was absolutely priceless, the way—

"Give it a rest, Sam!"

Composing herself, Sam batted her eyes at Tucker. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh," he said, sounding utterly unconvinced. "Don't pull that crap with me. I thought we agreed that we'd never speak of it again!"

"You and Danny made that agreement," Sam corrected. "I made no such promise."

Tucker groaned and banged his head melodramatically against his locker. "I still can't believe you, of all people, are still laughing about it!"

"Because it's hilarious."

"Yeah," Tucker grouched. "Real hilarious to have girls watching our every move, waiting for God knows what, giggling and whispering and—"

"Whoa, what's this now?" Sam interrupted. "Tucker Foley is complaining about having girls' eyes on him?"

"Oh, shut up, Sam," Tuck said with a roll of his eyes. "Weren't you the one who went on and on about your complete hatred of undue attention? I distinctly remember you preaching about it."

That sobered Sam up, and she grimaced. "Alright, you're right. I'm sorry, Tuck."

"Thank you," Tucker said. "I don't know how Danny does it, honestly. He gets this shit all the time. Like, 24/7, and—"

As Tuck ranted, Sam sensed a distinct shift in the movement around them, and now distracted, she peered over his shoulder, wondering what was going on.

She didn't have to wait long. The source of the unease was currently storming around the corner, and even Sam was taken aback.

Because Danny looked furious.

It wasn't just that his eyes were quite literally blazing. He sped down the hall, his dark eyebrows furrowed and his expression frigid, almost blank, in his fury. His fingers furled into a fist around one of backpack straps, and as he approached, Sam saw that the knuckles were white as bone. His other hand clenched and unclenched at his side. Without his usual warm, open smile, he looked dangerous, volatile…and every bit the super-powered half-ghost he was.

Needless to say, it was very clear why the rest of the students, who usually called out friendly greetings to Danny as he passed, parted like the Red Sea before him.

Sam was only vaguely aware that Tucker stopped babbling and turned to follow her gaze. "Whoa," Tucker murmured.

As Danny, completely caught up in his thoughts, almost walked right past them, Tucker fell into step beside him, Sam following half-a-beat afterward.

"I almost hate to ask," Tuck greeted, "'cause you look like you're about to bite someone's head off, but is everything okay, Danny?"

Danny didn't laugh, and he came to an abrupt stop at his locker, which was only a few paces away from Tucker's. Glowing green eyes flicked to them, and Sam's breath caught in her throat. "Oh," he said. "Hi, guys."

"Hi. Um…you okay?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, but he obviously wasn't. Even if his eyes hadn't been Phantom-green, his stiff tone and forced smile gave him away immediately.

"Dude, your eyes say otherwise."

"My…?" Danny's confused expression dissolved into a scowl, and he growled a curse under his breath, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. After taking a few deep breaths, he opened them again, and Sam discovered that an eye-color change didn't make him look any less intimidating when he was angry.

"God, that's embarrassing," Danny muttered, avoiding their eyes. He winced as he traced the path he'd made through the conglomeration of lingering students. They whispered and stared, averting their gazes when they realized he was looking their way. "Haven't had a problem like that in awhile, not since…" He sighed in frustration and rubbed at his eyes, suddenly looking exhausted.

"Yeah, definitely not fine. Nice try, though," Sam offered, daring to pat his shoulder.

Danny surprised her with his response. Sighing again, he admitted, "No…not fine. I just…got some bad news this morning, I guess you can say."

"Your family okay?" Tuck asked.

His smile was sardonic and bitter. "Oh, they're fine. More than fine. I'm not too happy with them at the moment, but they're okay."

Sam frowned. "I thought you and your folks got along well. And your sister? You guys seem super close."

With a snort, Danny stuck his hand through his locker door and began drawing things from it.

Stuck his hand through…

Holy shit.

Sam couldn't help but ogle in awe: it was the first ghostly thing she'd seen him do, aside from the glowing eyes, and this lapse was a testament to just how angry and distracted he was.

"She's the worst of them!" Danny was ranting. "'Wanted you to give you the weekend to think about it,' my ass! 'We didn't want you to worry about it yet?' Bullshit! She convinced my parents to keep it from me. Of course she did. So I didn't find out from my own family. No, I find out from Vlad freaking Masters, of all—"

"I'm sorry," Sam interrupted, tearing her eyes away from his intangible arm and finding her voice again. "What is going on, Danny?"

"The Fenton Portal," Danny ground out. "That's what's going on. I already knew they'd show its activation on TV, you know? That's whatever. We were going to try to film it ourselves, for security and safety reasons."

"That's what I've heard," Tucker muttered in as calm and cool a tone as he could. Sam knew his eyes were fixed on Danny's arm, too.

"Yeah, obviously we don't want anyone else snooping around and filming our lab," Danny rambled. "I already knew the city council was pushing the limits, and my parents told me a few days ago that they were going to take care of it. What I didn't know was that the city did wear down my parents. They probably oh-so-casually mentioned that they had to pull a few strings in order to give us legal permission to have a lab at all. Whatever it was, they came to an agreement. The Portal's activation is officially going to be a public thing now." His lips twisted, and the bitter tone returned. "Several of the world's leading paranormal scientists, some big-wigs, and a few very lucky civilians will have the honor of witnessing it. The announcement will be made soon."

Something occurred to Sam, and before she could stop herself, she said, "So that's what my parents were arguing about this morning!" Danny's eyes snapped to her, and she explained, "My dad wants to be there, I think. They wouldn't tell me anything. I don't know how they found out, but that's not the poin—"

"No, Sam, that's exactly the point," Danny interrupted.

She couldn't believe him. "I…thought you might be happy that your family's receiving the recognition it deserves," Sam bit out.

"You don't think I'm proud of them?" Danny asked, eyebrows rising. "Of course I am! Do you have any id—?"

"You sure as hell aren't acting like it!" she exclaimed. Tucker hissed something under his breath, but she ignored him. "I personally think it's incredible. Hell, I'd give anything to see—"

"Don't say that."

Sam stared at him, a flicker of irritation coursing through her. She had every intention of giving him a piece of her mind. Telling her how to think and judging his parents on their FentonWorks business decisions? How would he know? He didn't have any right! Almost immediately after thinking so, she felt Tucker pinch her arm, and she hesitated, her momentary anger fading away as she looked back at Danny.

Something wasn't right. Danny was pale, and though he tried to hide it, his fingers trembled as he composed himself. Sam's stomach churned, and she bit her tongue.

"Look," Danny said, running his fingers through his hair, "It's complicated. I am happy for my parents. You have no idea what it was like for us before people believed in ghosts. My parents were treated like shit." His gaze flickered up and locked with hers. "My family was a joke. So don't accuse me of not being happy for them."

Sam didn't often get embarrassed after speaking her mind, but at that moment she was so ashamed of herself, her face was blazing red. "Danny," she stuttered, "I…"

"No, it's fine," Danny said. "Don't apologize, Sam. I'm frustrated, and I'm not explaining myself well. I just…I don't think we should have so many people down in the lab when we activate the Portal. It's not safe. Something could happen."

Sam wasn't about to let him let her get away without apologizing, but the change in his tone of voice caught her attention.

"You're…worried?" she asked.

Tucker decided to speak up then. "It's dangerous tech, no doubt, but I think your parents will make sure that everyone's fully protected, right?"

For a moment, Sam would have not felt confident whatsoever in the Fentons' ability to keep viewers safe in their lab, but within milliseconds, Danny's face was blank, revealing nothing. That flicker of doubt and fear…must have been a figment of her imagination.

"I mean," Tucker added, "I've read that your parents' ghost shields have improved leaps and bounds over the past year. The power source is far more stable, and the software and hardware, far more advanced. Their tech is reliable…the best in the world, actually."

"Keep up with that stuff, do you, Tuck?" Danny smirked weakly.

"Techno geek, Ace (1). I'm all over FentonWorks tech."

"Yeah, well," Danny muttered, losing his humor and shuffling his feet, "even still, accidents happen, don't they?"

Alarm bells began ringing in Sam's head. Accidents. His accident. She opened her mouth, only to be interrupted by Tuck again. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, Danny," he said. "You're going to be there too, aren't you?"

Danny nodded, his brow furrowing again. Sam expected him to elaborate, but he didn't. "So what does this have to do with Vlad Masters?" Sam asked tentatively.

When Danny's expression soured and his eyes flashed at the name, she knew she'd screwed up again.

"He wants to be there."

Tucker ogled at him. "How in the world…The Vlad Masters? Vladco and DALV founder? Self-made billionaire and certified genius? Your family knows him, too?"

Sam had to refrain from rolling her eyes. When she told Tucker she'd met Masters at one of her father's business parties, he'd made a huge deal out of it.

"A little too well," Danny muttered, not looking at them. "My parents were once friends with him."

"Once?"

The bell rang at that moment, and Danny's eyes flickered from hers to the clock on the wall. Shrugging, he said, "It was a long time ago. I'll see you guys around."

Several clusters of students hushed themselves and broke apart when he turned away from the lockers, expectant or trepidatious gazes following his every movement. They'd probably been eavesdropping, perhaps even speculating what it was that had Danny Fenton-Phantom so pissed. Wild theories and rumors would be circulating by the end of first period, Sam was sure.

She shot a glare toward them and reached out for Danny's hand. "Wait, Danny!" When her fingers brushed him, his shoulders slumped, and he faced her again, eyes guarded and cool. His sudden distance didn't intimidate her, and she plowed on. "Are you okay?"

Her concern seemed to surprise him, and after the shock melted away, a bittersweet, yet genuine smile played at the edges of his lips. Despite the fact he was calmer now than he was when he entered the school, it was clear there were some demons still tormenting him. "Not really. But I'll work it out. Thanks, guys."

"Not exactly sure why you're thanking us, but no problem," Tuck said, clapping him on the back. "I gotta get going. Tetslaff is going to hand my ass to me on a silver platter if I'm late again. You know how she is about the swimming unit. See you losers around."

"Hey!"

Tuck shot a smirk over his shoulder, waggled his fingers, and turned the corner, leaving Sam alone with Danny, who gave her a salute in farewell as he began the trek to his class.

Their first period classes were on opposite ends of the school practically, but on an impulse, Sam followed him anyway. There were several things she needed to say. "Danny," she began, "I…was out of line. Earlier."

"It's fine, Sam," Danny said.

"No, it really isn't, and I'm sorry."

Blue eyes roved her face, and he smiled at her. "Honestly, it's okay, but I'll accept your apology if it makes you feel better?"

"Yes, yes, it would."

"Then I accept your apology."

"Thank you, oh-gracious-one," Sam teased.

Danny made a face at her in response, and they walked in companionable silence for a moment before he exclaimed, "Wait, Sam! What are you doing?"

"Um…walking with my dork of a friend?"

He ignored the teasing. "But don't you have—?"

"Yes, I do."

"Won't you be late?"

"Nah," Sam denied, waving a dismissive hand. "I have Rogers for AP Art History. She loves me, so even if I'm technically late, I won't be. She'll turn a blind eye."

"Oh. Okay, um…?"

Before she could lose her nerve, she said, "Danny…I don't want to force the issue of Vlad Masters. Or the Portal or whatever it is that's going on with your family, but… if you ever need to talk about something...or rant or whatever—Tuck and I are your friends. I don't expect you to want to talk about a lot of the shit you've been through, or are going through, but you don't have to bottle it all up."

Her face felt a little warm when she started talking, but it was nothing next to the heat she felt when her eyes met those serious, attentive baby blues. In an attempt to keep things light, she nudged him and joked, "Because if you bottle it up, you might explode one day, and no one wants to see that. It'd be gruesome."

Incredulous was too tame a word to describe Danny's reaction, but after a moment, he began to snicker, mirth dancing in his eyes. "You know, Sam," he said, "you're not like anyone I've ever met before. Thank you."

Sam blinked, confused by the turn in conversation. "For what? For being the weirdest person you've ever met?"

"No. For actually speaking your mind. Not everyone does."

Chapter Text

Danny wasn't sure how he managed to get through the morning without running into a wall. He moved through the hallways as though possessed by another ghost, aware of himself but not quite there at the same time. It took every last bit of energy to remain focused in class, to ignore every passing thought about a certain Portal and arch-nemesis.

By third period, he was wiped, and he found himself thinking of what happened this morning anyway. A part of him was proud for lasting even that long. The other part cursed everyone and everything in the universe for putting him in this position.

It didn't help that Mom, Dad, and Jazz went behind his back, in some sort of misguided attempt to "protect" him or whatever, and talked about keeping Vlad's persistence from him.

Mom and Dad…he trusted them. Since the Shift, he trusted them more than he ever had, and they'd just repaid that trust with a stab in the back. Would it really have been so horrible to tell him? Sure, it would have sucked to hear, but it wouldn't have come from the cheesehead.

Just how long had these calls been going on, anyway? Had Plasmius tried to contact him in other ways?

It made him feel sick. Repulsed, even. He tried to remember that Vlad had given in to his obsessions, embraced his ghost-half and its impulses in a way Danny vowed he never would. That was sure to amplify whatever mental health issues Vlad had as a human. Because undoubtedly, Vlad had quite a few unresolved problems.

Did all of that excuse everything Plasmius had done? Not on his life. Plasmius had crossed lines that shouldn't have been crossed, and there was no going back from that.

But did those obsessions and those issues make Vlad irredeemable?

That was harder to answer.

Plasmius had been an asset to the fight against Pariah Dark, and his knowledge on halfa anatomy and physiology had saved Danny's life. Vlad had been in it to save his own skin and reputation, of course, and had only joined Danny's cause after getting snubbed by Dark himself, but still. The few other times they teamed up, it often followed the same pattern. Where there was a backfired plan, there was a need for help in the art of ass-covering.

Vlad had long since passed the opportunity for a second chance, hadn't he? When he never changed—and there was no sign that he ever would—he really did deserve nothing from Danny. Danny, after all, owed him nothing, and it was so tempting to let the older halfa stew in anxiety just to see how he liked it. It was about time he paid him back.

As his mind played back the conversation he'd had on the phone this morning, however, he was forcibly reminded that this man was bound to him in an undeniable and irreversible way. He hated it, but it was the truth. Vlad wasn't planning anything this time. He wasn't looking to manipulate or play around. His request was a legitimate white flag, a call for truce, tied together with a desperate desire to ensure nothing happened during the Portal reactivation.

And above all, it was a reminder that they were the only two halfas in existence.

It was a little weird knowing all of this wasn't just one of Vlad's tricks, and it only made the headache pounding behind Danny's eyes increase its tempo. The border between his hatred for Plasmius and his absolute understanding of Vlad's request became so blurred and jagged it was no wonder he had no idea what he was going to do to resolve this mess!

So it was with this tumbleweed of thoughts blowing around in his mind that Danny found himself being jabbed by a vicious, pointy elbow. He barely managed to withstand from yelping and glaring at the perpetrator before he realized that his entire history class was staring at him.

"I asked you a question, Mr. Fenton," Mr. Donaldd said in a cool tone.

Half-dazed and lost, Danny blinked. "Um…"

"I see," the teacher drawled, looking down on him over his hawk-like nose. "Tell me, Mr. Fenton, do you believe that your celebrity status gives you some sort of free pass to doze off in my class?"

The arrogance and disdain in Donaldd's tone snapped Danny out of his confusion, and temper flaring, he almost, almost said something along the lines of, "I'm not sure…do you believe that your cheap Severus Snape cosplay gives you permission to bully your students?"

But he bit his tongue. He wasn't going to let his preoccupation with Vlad ruin the good streak he had going on at school. No detentions so far. It was a record, really. Just last night at dinner, his parents had commended him on how well he was doing at school.

The thought of his parents again made his mood sour further, and he couldn't refrain from scowling. This just wasn't his day. Donaldd hadn't given Danny any grief or so much as a sidelong glance before today! What had changed, Danny couldn't be sure. Avoiding his teacher's dark eyes, Danny readjusted his expression, clenched his teeth, and said, "No, sir."

There was a hint of a self-satisfied, humorless smirk. "Then I expect you to pay attention."

When the bell rang for lunch, Danny was the first up and out of the classroom. He was hyperaware of the confinement of the school's white walls all of a sudden, and his chest constricted without his say-so.

Out. That was all he wanted right now. To get out and—

"Danny, hey!"

Recognizing the voice behind him, Danny stopped to turn and said, "Sorry, Mikey, I gotta—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Mikey, chattering at about a hundred words a second, had thrust his phone into Danny's face, and Danny fumbled with it for a moment before focusing on the screen.

Danny's gut dropped, and unable to tear his eyes away from the damning photograph, he hardly spared Mikey a second glance. "Mother fuc—"

"Mr. Fenton!"

Danny winced and turned to face the owner of the commanding voice. Mr. Lancer stood in the threshold of his classroom door, and he shifted his stance so that he could present the room with a sweep of his arm: an obvious invitation to step inside.

There were eyes glued to him. He could tell. Cell phone screens flashed all around him, shared between friends, and he wondered how long this had been going on. Was he so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice?

Wait, never mind that! his overwrought brain shrieked at him. Just how far had this spread? What was being said about it? Holy shit, they were probably saying a whole load of crap, weren't they? Judging by all the word-vomit that spewed from Mikey's mouth, Danny could only assume the rest of the student body's curiosity, fears, and suspicions had been piqued.

He was normally so good, so careful…What was he thinking?

It took some effort to prevent his shoulders from creeping to his ears, and after handing the phone back to an apologetic Mikey, Danny grimaced and slunk across the hall.

Mr. Lancer was a great guy, Danny had discovered early on. Honorable and dedicated to the students under his care, Lancer had definitely become another cheerleader in Danny's life, and if Danny was being completely honest, Mr. Lancer had made the transition to Casper High easier than he would have ever believed. The older man almost reminded Danny of Clockwork, with his shrewd eyes and keen attention to detail, and without even really knowing how or when it happened, Danny began to view the teacher as a mentor of sorts. In the human realm, anyway. The ghost stuff...no one here was fit for that yet, and no one might ever be.

The moment the thought crossed his mind, a peculiar wave of melancholy hit him. Disappointment? How could it be? Loneliness? He didn't know. His mind was back on Mickey's tiny phone screen, and only a vague part of himself felt Lancer's hand on his back, guiding him into the classroom.

Why hadn't anyone said anything? Danny wondered, indignant and upset. Were they really…? Was I that out of it?

"Please take a seat, Mr. Fenton."

Danny flopped into the offered chair and dropped his bag at his feet. His eyes lingered on the outline of his phone through his jeans' pocket. It had specifically been put on silent so that he wouldn't have to deal with Jazz or his parents for the rest of the day. Now he had an insane urge to check and see if they had seen it, if they had tried to contact him about it.

Mr. Lancer settled at the other side of his desk, steepling his fingers before him.

"I screwed up," Danny blurted before his teacher could say anything.

Lancer looked taken aback. "Mr. Fenton…"

"I definitely screwed up." Danny's anxious fingers contorted on his lap. "I promised myself I wouldn't do this—show…this. I just wanted…" His voice cracked, and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily to compose himself. What a pathetic show of vulnerability, he could almost imagine his enemies saying.

"Has Principal Ishiyama seen it?" Danny asked, after a moment's silence.

Mr. Lancer's silence and softened expression were answer enough for Danny, and he groaned, burrowing his head into his hands. "I screwed up," he muttered again.

When the teacher remained silent, Danny looked up to see that Mr. Lancer had turned his computer screen around. On the screen sat a photograph of Danny with glowing green eyes and his hand stuck through a locker door. It wasn't a pretty picture, honestly. He looked as though he were about ready to tear the whole row of lockers off the wall.

"No, I wouldn't say that," Lancer mused in a thoughtful tone, shifting his gaze from the picture to Danny. "Mr. Fenton…Danny…"

The use of his nickname normally would have made him pause, especially after weeks of correcting Lancer every time he called him 'Mr. Fenton,' but this time, he couldn't muster a single ounce of surprise. "I bet it's spread all over," he muttered, discomfited. "People are probably already using it to twist it to their own ends. I didn't…want them…" He exhaled a frustrated breath and crossed his arms.

They'd seen him transform, for God's sake. They all knew of the powers already. It shouldn't bother him so much that there was a picture of him using them in human form, even if he did just inadvertently give free ammunition to the anti-ghost movement. He was beginning to censor himself less and less at home, so of course it was inevitable someone would catch him at it outside of FentonWorks, no matter how careful he thought he was.

He understood that. Logically, anyway. Emotionally speaking...

He couldn't help but remember the first day of school, when he was put on display like a show pony to demonstrate the EctoSup-racelet. The way they'd all avoided mentioning his powers, as though they were symptoms of a disease that cast him out as a leper or something… At first, Danny thought the necessity of the damn thing had to do with parents' desire to keep their children safe from him, but that wasn't it. Not entirely.

With the bracelet had come the unsaid rule: do not use your powers unless you absolutely have to. It was more than fear of the ghost he could become. No, everything about his Phantom side made some of them uncomfortable, and what made it worse was finally understanding that both pro-ghost and anti-ghost people felt that way, whether they truly wanted to accept him as he was or not.

He didn't like showing off his powers in human form anymore than they liked seeing them used so publicly, so of course he wasn't going to go doing stuff like this on purpose. That tool of a superintendent, with his nonchalance and smug little smirk, came to mind, and a new fear gripped Danny.

"I don't suppose I'll be let off the hook for using my powers accidentally in the hallways, will I?" Danny asked, daring to meet his teacher's eyes.

Lancer blinked in confusion. "Mr. Fenton, I didn't call you in here to lecture you about the consequences of using some of your more mild powers in front of your classmates. No one's going to punish you for that, and if they wanted to, believe me, I'd have more than a few words with them about it."

Danny sat and stared for a moment, almost incapable of believing Lancer's words, before slouching in his chair. He was anxious to get outside all over again. "Oh. Well, then, why am I here?"

Being the weird sort of chill authority figure he was, Lancer only quirked a brow at Danny's blunt and disrespectful question. "I wanted to ask if you were alright," he said. Pale hazel eyes swung to the computer screen. "And see if there was anything you might wish to talk about."

Danny's first reaction was to shut down, nonchalantly shrug, and deny anything was wrong. Surliness and stubbornness had always worked on teachers in the past whenever he wanted to skirt around "the Truth." Just as he was about to initiate step one—the careless shrug—he caught himself.

The picture was right there. Right on that computer screen. It was all the evidence Lancer needed to know something was wrong, and denying it all would only show Lancer that Danny thought he was stupid, not worth trusting. He owed Lancer more than that.

So after a considerable pause, he responded honestly, if still cautiously, "I…think it's something I need to sort out myself, Mr. Lancer."

Lancer merely continued to watch him, and embarrassed, Danny added, "Thank you, though, for…for asking." It was significant somehow, that his English teacher actually asked. He wondered if Lancer knew just how foreign that concept was to him still. A part of him was still primed to throw up a wall against the usual tirade of lectures from Mom and Dad and everyone else in his life.

Oh, God. Mom and Dad.

Danny fidgeted in his seat, and Lancer finally gave a single nod of understanding. "My door is open at any time, Mr. Fenton. I hope you know that."

For the briefest moment, déjà vu overtook him, and it wasn't Lancer sitting before him.

Sam had said something so similar this morning…hadn't she? Danny shook his head and found that Lancer's expression was just as earnestly sincere as Sam's had been before first period.

"Now go on," Lancer said. "I don't want to keep you from your lunch."

Danny was out of the seat well before Lancer finished his dismissal. Slinging his backpack back over his shoulder, he headed toward the door and said, "Thanks, Mr. Lancer."

"Danny."

Danny halted in his tracks and turned back to the teacher, who smiled at him. "I'm sorry. One last thing. I have a question for you."

"Shoot," Danny said, curious.

"I believe, in your last interview, someone called you a natural tactician, a strategist whose ability to turn a battle on its head, without any sort of formal training, isn't quite like anything they've seen in modern times."

Danny didn't like the sound of that anymore than he had the first few times. Oh, I've had training, he had responded the first time. On-the-job training.

They had all laughed, as though it was completely normal and okay for a fifteen-year-old to get thrown into these kinds of battles without help or training, but Danny had hardly found it funny.

Danny pulled a face, and Lancer held up his hands. "Their words, not mine. Though I have to say, Mr. Fenton, when I view or read about some of your accomplishments, I can't help but think the flattery isn't too far off the mark."

Danny winced. Who asked them to try to analyze the goddamn good luck he's had, anyway? Shifting closer to the door in his discomfort, he said aloud, "I'm sorry, I'm not sure where the question is here, Mr. Lancer."

"When you're preparing to fight, as Phantom," Lancer said, choosing his words carefully, "what aspect of the enemy do you consider first?"

"Sir, I don't—"

"I want to hear your answer, Danny."

This was some kind of test. Danny knew tests when he saw them, and this was definitely one. For the first time in a long time, he didn't quite know how to play it in his favor. He didn't know what Lancer expected of him…and he couldn't fathom the right answer, let alone the entire point.

Deciding honesty was the best policy, Danny huffed a sigh. "Everything. Or at least, I try to see and predict everything at once: his moves, his plan, his pawns, how his obsession ties into it all, even the layout of the battleground, civilians and innocent bystanders standing in the crossfire… Everything. Nothing can be overlooked. No detail is too small, and if one small detail does slip through the cracks..."

"What about you?"

"Me? What about me?" Danny asked, taken aback.

"Where do you fit into this 'big picture?'"

Danny didn't answer. Instead he cracked a weak grin and joked, "This is starting to sound like a discussion about self-sacrifice and identity and that pesky hero complex, Mr. Lancer, stuff I probably should go over with a psychologist…or my sister, who likes to pretend she's mine."

Lips twitching into an amused smile, Lancer said, "Humor me once again, Mr. Fenton. Where do you—as neither Phantom nor Fenton, but as Danny—fit into this 'big picture?"

In the end, Danny couldn't say what it was that possessed him to relent to Lancer's request. Maybe he was tired of being the strong one. Maybe he was sick of the unruffled front he'd had to put up in public since his secret was revealed. Maybe he was finally over being angry, and maybe the attention he had to pay to every last aspect of his behavior was finally beginning to drive him insane. Maybe he…needed to trust someone outside of his family. If just this once.

Or maybe it wasn't nearly as deep as that at all, and he just wanted to leave. That was more than possible too.

"I—"

An abrupt chill swept over him, playing hopscotch down his spine. It wasn't like the very human "walking-down-the-frozen-foods-isles-at-Walmart-in-shorts-and-a-tshirt" type of chill nor was it the gut-gripping chill of his ghost sense. This wasn't anything like the gentle goosebumps and tingles he'd get when there was a wraith, ghoul, or lesser spirit nearby, either. Danny's gaze drifted to the corners of the room and out through the windows, where there was a beautiful autumn day waiting for him.

And not a ghost in sight.

This…wasn't normal. This wasn't a normal sensation at all. It wasn't unpleasant, but it certainly wasn't…human. It was…

Gone. Like a dandelion seed in the wind.

"—don't know," Danny muttered, just barely managing to finish his previous thought.

If Mr. Lancer noticed Danny's distraction, he didn't comment on it. With a contemplative expression on his face, Lancer said, "Danny Phantom has proven he can see the big picture. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad for Danny Fenton to take a step back to look at the bigger picture now and again, would it?"

Picking up on a subtle hint, Danny's brow furrowed, and he looked at the picture on the computer screen again, his lips twisting into a scowl. Why did the photographer have to capture that particular moment? When he looked every bit the monstrous half-ghost people like Pamela Manson made him out to be? Oh, he was going to find a creative way to murder whoever thought it was a good idea to spread this around. Surely the culprit was terrified out of his mind hims—

Hang on.

He wasn't the only one in the picture.

The background was indistinct blur for the most part, but he couldn't mistake the presence of Sam and Tucker, half cut out by the hasty photographer, who had the obvious goal of focusing on Danny's intangible hand. They were a little blurry, too, but their expressions were clear enough.

They…they had seen him sticking his goddamn hand through a solid object, and they hadn't said a word. They commented on his eyes, he remembered, but that had been…casual. Casual! He hadn't even bothered to think how casual and normal it was, had he? Tucker and Sam had even joked about it! He'd been embarrassed and caught up in his own problems, and they'd passed it off as nothing!

And they didn't look afraid here. In the photograph, both of them were looking at him, their attention focused on what it was he was saying at the time, what it was that upset him in the first place.

The bigger picture…

"You have friends here, Mr. Fenton," Lancer said softly. "You are not alone."

~…~

Sam couldn't help but think of Danny the rest of the morning. With the buzz of his name flitting all around her, it was hard not to.

It was ludicrous, all the shit they were saying about the damn picture circulating around.

It was like being trapped with her mother and Paulina in a tiny room, where the only two voices that mattered were theirs, and of course those two voices did nothing but try to talk over the other. Everyone was either in geeky and worshipful awe over the physical proof that there was a living, breathing superhero amongst them or they were talking in hushed undertones, allowing their ignorance and paranoia perpetuate into silly rumors. She heard them debating the reasons why Danny had been so angry and wondering what exactly had caused him to go off. The stories varied from "his heart was broken by his forbidden ghost sweetheart from the Ghost Zone" to "he's possessed by an enemy ghost, and he's going to go haywire at lunch, just watch."

And those were the relatively sane theories! It was as though getting into a fight with his parents was far too normal to even consider!

She wanted to lash out at all of them, scream her frustration at their stupidity to the heavens and depths of hell alike, but then she thought of Danny.

If Danny heard some these stories, he'd probably laugh. He wouldn't like that he was being talked about, true, and the subject matter would probably uncomfortable for him, but some of the stories themselves? Prime pickings for both of her guy friends to mock.

Sam wasn't like them. She'd fought too hard to validate Danny's presence at Casper High to let it go to shit because of a few stupid ass rumors. Instead of screaming and creating too much of a fuss, she involved herself by undermining as many of these rumors as she could, sneering and scoffing and showing just how unfazed and unimpressed she could really be. Needless to say, she was on a warpath already when when she heard about it.

"Let me see that!" she snapped at the tiny girl outside her fourth-period classroom, right as the bell rang for lunch. The freshman, who had the misfortune of being overheard by an already irate Goth, was so startled by the demand she nearly threw the phone at Sam.

The first thing she saw the picture. Of course. Below, however, written in big block-letters, it read: "Ghost Boy Shows True Colors."

And Sam saw red.

"This can't be legal!" Sam raved loudly, causing the freshman, the girls she was with, and a lot of passerby to stop and stare. "This—this…!"

Disgusted with humanity, she shoved the phone back at the freshman and stormed the halls, snarling as she went. It wasn't until she was outdoors that she realized she probably should have read the block of text following the slanderous title. With a curse under her breath, she dug around in her black cargo pants' pocket for her phone.

It didn't take long to find the article, which was posted on some bullshit anti-ghost hate blog. She couldn't even read through the whole thing, it made her feel so sick and angry. She'd have to read it later, when she calmed down. Scrolling down to the bottom, she noted that commenters were already claiming that the photograph was reblogged without appropriate credit to the photographer. The abuse was pretty brutal, so Sam supposed somebigoted a-holes had a code of honor.

Well, if what the commenters were saying was true and the photographer didn't give his permission to use the picture in this way, then that was one less finger she'd saw off the main culprit when she got her hands on him.

But that was several dozen more gouges she'd make in the body of this blogger.

As she neared her usual lunch spot, Tucker looked up from his PDA, saw her face, and greeted her with, "Sam, we gotta learn to control those violent urges you have."

"Bite me," Sam said, plopping down next to him.

"I guess you saw, huh?"

"Don't make me include you in my list of people to mutilate today," Sam snapped.

"Wow, I might have shuddered a little bit there."

Sam rolled her eyes. "Stop being a dick."

"Stop being moody," he shot back.

"Ugh," Sam groaned, leaning against her favorite tree trunk. "That blog article's going to be trending before we know it, just watch. My mom's going to be glowing! I need to—"

"Honestly, Sam, we can worry about that later!" Tucker exclaimed. "We can tackle that no problem, and you know it, so stop stressing. What I want to know is: where's Danny?"

Chapter Text

Danny had forgotten his lunch. He could still picture the small brown bag, sitting on the kitchen counter where he'd left it, but he couldn't be bothered by his forgetfulness. Not on a day like today. Besides, he had been anything but hungry when he set out from Casper High. His mind was abuzz with so much activity it was like he'd somehow gotten a hornets' nest trapped inside his head. It was all too much to handle, so it came as no surprise that food was the least of his priorities.

Flying, however…that was definitely a top priority right now.

It felt less and less like stretching a sore muscle every time he took to the sky. The small bouts of training and "physical therapy" he'd been doing with Frostbite, Sleetjaw, and his parents were obviously paying off: he felt more like his old self today than he had since the Shift. Pent-up energy sizzled beneath his skin, and reveling in the chilly wind dancing across his cheeks, Danny pushed himself to his limits and flew as far and as fast as he could. Wild whoops and exhilarated laughter escaped his lips as he shot upwards and dropped into vertical dives, pulling out into a series of complicated loop-de-loops, twists, rolls, and abrupt stops that would have had his mother's heart pounding in her throat had she been watching.

Both of his parents had yet to get used to some of his more reckless stunts, but it wasn't as though they went out of their way to restrict them, which came as a relief to Danny. No rollercoaster could hold a candle to the adrenaline rush he could give himself by simply…being. He had tried to explain the sense of ultimate freedom to Jazz many times, and to his parents on top of that, but they couldn't quite understand, even though they'd all received rides from him at one point or another.

He didn't mind. As much as he might want to share the experience with someone, it was nice to have something that was his.

And it did feel as though the sky was his. It would only be a matter of time before he had to share the skies with allies and enemies alike, so who could blame him for taking advantage of it now?

The thought of ghosts sobered him. The yetis of the Far Frozen, who were in constant contact with the Observants and the High Council of the Ghost Zone, had been keeping his family updated on the Zone's status, but it was only a matter of time before peace shattered. The theory was that things wouldn't get too bad until after the Fenton Portal was activated. Then it would be free game. Ghosts were restless creatures at the best of times, and the poltergeists, especially, needed to cause trouble, no matter how well Danny knew them or valued them as allies.

Even so, he knew he had a lot to do. Never would he have expected to get tangled up in law and politics involving ghosts, but Amity and the Zone alike needed help and a little bit of guidance, and he and his parents were the only ones who had the authority to do so.

Unless…

Maybe that's why they are back in contact with Vlad.

A playful chill, a paradox to the dark mood he put himself in, lanced through Danny. He peered around, brow furrowed. There was nothing around him but sunshine and clear skies.

Shaking his head and promising himself he'd get more sleep tonight, Danny decided it was probably time to drag himself back to reality, with all its insane expectations, responsibilities, and...stuff.

As much as he really wasn't looking forward to returning to school in general, he couldn't decide if it was a good or bad thing the day was half-over. On one hand, he wouldn't have to deal with school and everyone there for much longer. On the other, he'd have to go home and face his parents and Vlad sooner rather than later, and some part of him just...didn't want that to happen.

One thing was for certain: the sooner he got back, the sooner he could get it all over with.

He sighed and flipped onto his back, propelling himself toward Casper High at the laziest pace he could. At least he'd have Tuck and Sam to—

Crap. Tuck and Sam!

Guilt nibbling at his gut, Danny flipped right side up and picked up his pace.

What kind of friend am I? he wondered bitterly. Ditching them like that? They were probably looking for him…or had waited up to eat lunch with him. He'd totally forgotten them in favor of getting the hell away from everyone and everything.

He cursed again, guilt increasing. Sam and Tuck weren't the only two he'd forgotten.

He'd promised Jazz long ago he wouldn't do this to her. It was one of her stipulations to helping him fight ghosts under Mom and Dad's noses, and after a few brushes with death, he'd agreed with her: he lived too dangerous a life to drop off the radar for longer than a few hours. Not without telling someone where he was and what he was doing, at the very least.

He hadn't looked at his phone in far more than a few hours. Jazz was probably having a meltdown, and if she was upset, then his overprotective parents were even more so.

Great.

He was suddenly exhausted, and he rubbed at his eyes, Mr. Lancer's words coming back with a vengeance. You are not alone, the teacher had assured him. But if that were true…why did he feel so empty? So…unhappy?

Flying was always an escape for him. He didn't expect that to ever change, but peering down on the bustle of the city, as he had so many times the past year, he felt as though he were stuck in the past, struggling through freshman year all over again.

And why was that? His parents knew his secret now. They'd been every bit as loving and supportive as he hoped they'd be. Hell, the world knew too! He was anything but alone!

So maybe the real question here really was where Danny Fenton-Phantom wanted to fit into the big picture after all. The question and its answer hadn't seemed nearly as huge and life-altering in Lancer's room as it did now.

Even when he was found out as a somebody, he chose to be alone. After years of being a nobody, he still chose to maintain his distance from everyone and live with a huge gaping hole his parents and sister couldn't fill.

And for the first time, it bothered him. He couldn't convince himself he was happy like this anymore…and he realized it was only he who was to blame for feeling this way at all.

On the first day of school at Casper High, Jazz had told him he was slipping back into the role he'd fashioned for himself last year. She told him to keep an open mind and give them a chance.

And find a place for himself. That's all he really ever wanted.

He hung around Sam and Tuck, sure, and he'd opened up some, but had he broken free of whatever the hell it was preventing him from getting closer to them? Had he been one-hundred-percent himself?

No. Not at all. He wasn't doing himself any favors, was he? He wondered how Sam and Tucker put up with him, when there was this huge elephant in the room that went by the name of Phantom? One he refused to address?

...And one they respected enough not to address themselves?

In that moment, Danny decided it was about time he gave his number to Tucker and Sam.

And maybe he should mend what'd been busted this morning, too. He couldn't stay angry with his parents and sister forever. If everything fell to pieces, they were the only ones left. Nodding to himself, he vowed to look at his phone and respond to whoever texted him the second he touched down.

How is that for "big picture?" Danny mused.

He felt lighter already.

~…~

Jazz: Danny, you can't imagine how sorry—

Mom: Sweetie, I know we need to talk, but please text one of us when you make it to—

Jazz: Danny, you left your lunch. I have it with me, so please—

Mom: I know you're upset, Danny, but you're beginning to worry—

Jazz: Mom is at her wit's end, Danny. Dad, too. Please answer. I haven't seen you all—

Jazz: Are you okay? I just heard about the—

Danny tapped through the messages as he walked through the halls, hardly bothering to read them all the way through. They all followed the same vein, and an echo of anger coursed through him. He had expected this slew of messages. He had even felt a little guilty knowing he hadn't responded to them, and he had understood his family's worry—truly, he did!—but would a small part of him ever not resent their fussing?

Probably not.

There were no threats for grounding yet, though, so he supposed that was a small plus. And Dad hadn't texted. He felt a surge of gratitude and respect for his father. Jack Fenton was a bit tactless at the best of times, but he also knew when the people he loved needed their space.

With a sigh, he sent both Jazz and his mother a short apology and an "I'm fine." Nothing more, nothing less. It would have to do for now, until he could speak to his family in person.

Several texts came in within seconds after he pressed send, and Danny scowled as he began to read through them. With his nose in his phone, it really was inevitable he would run into someone. Head on.

"Oomph," Danny grunted, not bothering to look up. "Sorry, I…"

"Fenton."

Val's voice caught him off guard, and recoiling a few steps back, he stuffed the phone into his pocket and finished lamely, "…I should watch where I'm going."

"Yeah, you should," Val accused. "But then again, I should too."

Danny hadn't so much as caught the eye of Val since the first day of school. First impressions meant a lot, and Danny had assumed he'd made somewhat of a bitter enemy that day. If Val's threats were anything to go by, Danny was sure both of them would have been perfectly happy to spend the rest of high school pretending as though the other didn't exist. He was thrown by the…decency Val was showing now.

"Um…"

Val's scowl returned. "You blocking the hallway for a reason, Fenton? Some of us have lives to return to."

"Oh," Danny said stupidly. He stepped out of the other student's way. "Sorry."

Val was about to pass around him but for some reason decided to stop. Green eyes scanned him, and Danny felt as though he were under the scrutiny of x-ray vision.

"You really are out of sorts today," Val finally said, a suspicious and almost hostile note in his tone. "What's wrong with you?"

Danny looked at him in shock. "You…haven't seen?"

Val's nose crinkled in response. "I heard things."

"…why do you care?" He regretted asking as soon as he blurted it out.

Val didn't look as though he expected the question either. Recovering, he pointed a finger at him and growled, "Because I think I'm the only one in this stupid school who isn't fucking star-struck."

Danny caught on quick. "You don't trust me."

"And I sure as hell don't like you either," Val agreed.

"I hope that wasn't meant to hurt my feelings," Danny retorted with a humorless grin, his temper finally slipping away from him. His stock of patience had been depleted, and he didn't care he was taking it out on someone he shouldn't. "It's not like I'm trying to win a popularity contest."

Val didn't appreciate the sass very much. Stepping into Danny's personal space, he hissed, "I don't think you're in the position to make jokes, ghost."

"Just when I thought we might be getting along," Danny sighed. "What happened to 'Fenton?'"

If looks could kill, Danny'd be burning alive right now.

"Watch your step, ghost. I will call someone to take care of you," Val threatened, "when you give me reason to."

Danny wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or scowl. He ended up laughing. Getting burned alive was too good for him, according to the resulting narrow-eyed glare.

"I didn't know having a fight with my family this morning would put me up for this much suspicion," he informed bitterly.

That seemed to surprise Val. "That's what it was?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Val."

"No!" Val shouted. "This is exactly why you're dangerous! This is how people get hurt!"

Their quiet argument was turning into a full-fledged showdown. At the edge of his peripheral vision, Danny saw students gathering to watch and listen. He ignored them, but he did step closer to Val, hoping to encourage him to stop yelling. "I'm not going to hurt anyone," he said softly.

Val snorted in disbelief. "If you can't control your freaky little powers over a fight with your parents, who knows what you can do to someone when you're really angry?"

In another place or time, Val's observation might have been an ectoblast to the face, but instead, Danny felt all emotion spill from him like the yolk of a freshly cracked egg.

You're just a freaky little boy…with freaky little powers…

Empty and detached, Danny asked, "What makes you think you're so unique? Thinking that about me?"

Lifting his left arm and pulling down the sleeve of his red hoodie, he displayed the cold metal band around his wrist. When the look of comprehension and mild disgust dawned on Val's face, Danny couldn't muster it in himself to feel any victory or smugness for making him feel like shit.

"It's great that you're looking out for everyone, Val. I mean that. But even if I wanted to go and show off all those 'freaky little powers,'" Danny said in a low tone, watching as Val composed his expression into a calm, cool mask, "which I don't, they've got the big stuff covered."

"Danny!"

Danny shoved his sleeve back over the bracelet and turned to face Sam, who came up behind him. Her purple eyes glowed with a hidden warning, and she only acknowledged Val with a tense nod. As far as Danny was aware, Sam and Val hadn't spoken much since his first day of school.

"Not interrupting anything, am I?" she asked.

"No," Val stated defensively.

"Good," Sam said, taking hold of Danny's arm. "I have to borrow Danny before the bell rings."

"Whatever."

"Sweet. Let's go, Ace."

"See ya, Val," Danny said as Sam wheeled him around and began to lead him away from the scene. When there was a good distance between them, he turned back to his friend and realized Tucker had appeared out of nowhere. "Hey, Sam. Hey, Tuck," he greeted casually.

"Don't 'hey, Sam' me," she muttered. Her eyes were fastened on his wrist. "They really did do it, didn't they?"

There was no use pretending he didn't know what she was talking about. He revealed the band again and jostled it back and forth, causing Tucker to raise his brows. "Yup," Danny admitted. "They did."

Sam's lip curled at the sight of the bracelet, and in a deadly voice, she snarled, "That's dehumanizing and wrong."

It made his heart sing to hear it from someone else's mouth, but looking at Sam's face, Danny felt the need to downplay just how much it bothered him, if only to keep her from going off the deep end. "I can take it off whenever I need to," Danny explained, and with a sigh, he corrected, "Or whenever the school thinks I need to. And it doesn't restrict everything, soooo it's not as bad as it could be, really."

"But you hate it," Sam said bluntly. Her tone brokered no argument, and it wasn't because that was how she thought he should feel. She already knew exactly how he felt.

"Yeah," Danny agreed, "I hate it, but there's really not much I can do about it. I agreed to the terms already."

"And what if this thing on your wrist is what actually causes someone to get hurt?" Sam asked, indignant.

"That's a good point," Tucker agreed. "They can't seriously expect—"

"I'll have to be fast enough," Danny murmured. "I never want to have to say 'I told you so' to them. Not for something like this. For now, it's fine. I will be fast enough."

Sam's ire dissipated a little, but there was still a passionate fire blazing in her eyes. "Danny, no amount of excuses is going to make this even remotely 'fine.' I bet we can fight the—

"Let's just drop it for now?" Danny suggested, a little more curtly than he intended. "Please?"

Sam obviously wanted to push the issue, but Tucker came to his rescue, interrupting her before she could begin talking again. "Yeah, let's drop it for now," he said innocently. "And maybe instead you can tell us why you ditched us at lunch today?"

That sufficiently distracted Sam, who slugged Danny in the shoulder. Hard. "Yeah! You have some explaining to do!"

"Ouch, Sam, lay off!" Danny laughed, rubbing the spot she hit. "Can you blame a guy for wanting some air after that stupid picture started going around? I wanted to get out and blow off some steam, so I skipped lunch and went for a fly."

It was so easy to say the word 'fly' this time, and neither of them looked a bit surprised.

"You shouldn't be skipping lunch," Sam lectured, "but no, I can't say I blame you. It's already been a long day."

"Tell me about it. I kinda stormed out of the house this morning, and…" Danny trailed off and recalled his promise to himself. "Here, wait, hand over your phones."

They paused outside of Lancer's classroom and did as he asked without question. Old habits died hard, so before Danny could decide it was a bad idea, before he could convince himself of a million different (and stupidly convoluted) reasons he couldn't completely trust anyone with his private number, he added himself as a contact and returned the phones to them.

"Text me your names later," Danny requested. "This way I can let someone know where I am when I'm mad at my parents or annoyed with Jazz. I need babysitters, apparently. And now," he added with a small smile in Sam's direction, "we can hang out outside of this little corner of hell."

Sam's head shot up from her phone immediately. Unlike her smirk or her Cheshire grin or her other little expressions of dark amusement, her genuine smile lit her entire face. It was like watching sunlight stream through a gap in storm clouds.

Tucker missed the shared moment and didn't ask about the inside joke: he had immediately started punching away at the keyboard. "Yesssss, Danny! Yesssss! This is so long overdue!"

"Uh-oh," Sam said seriously. The warning bell rang, and automatically, the three of them moved through Lancer's doorway and to their chosen seats. "You just signed your life away."

"What?" Danny asked, confused.

"The Nasty Burger!" Tucker exclaimed, dropping his backpack at his feet. "We've—well, I've been dying to introduce you! I just didn't know how to get ahold of you when I wanted to go, so I've been waiting for the perfect moment. Haven't I told you all about it? Online? I'm sure I have! I must have!"

"You're going to live there," Sam informed. Leaning over, she added in a mock-whisper, "I refuse to go that damn place more than three times a week. And that's only because I'm an incredible friend. I'd get out while you can."

"Don't be telling stories, Sam. He's going to love it." Tucker plopped into his seat and repeated to Danny, "You're going to love it."

Danny Phantom faced ghosts with obsessions of all sorts, but this sort of fanaticism almost scared him. "What is it?"

Sam looked at him as though he committed a cardinal sin, and she dropped her forehead to the desk when Tucker said, "Well, Danny, I'm glad you asked!"

As Tucker launched into a glorified explanation of the restaurant and its menu, Danny sat back, listening to Tuck and catching onto his enthusiasm.

To hear Tucker—and Dash and Paulina and several other students, who invited themselves into the conversation—tell it, the fast food place was like Amity's paradise. And he said so, much to the horror of Sam.

Tucker laughed and began to tease her, and when Danny joined in, he only vaguely heard the last bell ring. Others scuttled to their seats, looking a bit like neglected puppies, but Danny couldn't be bothered by whatever it is they really wanted to talk to him about.

The picture was all but forgotten.

It felt monumental all of a sudden, to be here, in this classroom, at this moment, laughing with Sam and Tuck. His friends. The ones who didn't care if he put on his "angry-eyes" or if he stuck his hand through lockers...or if his invisibility freaked out on him. How strange, that he'd completely forgotten about scaring the crap out of Sam after his first interview with Lance Thunder 'til now.

Well, if that wasn't a sign, he didn't know what was.

He hadn't had friends before. Not like these two. But he trusted them, Danny realized as Mr. Lancer called the room into order. He wasn't about to let them go. Not for anything. Not for his insecurities, not for his fears, and most certainly not for his stupid self-sacrificial hero-complex.

But maybe he spoke too soon. Any lingering warmth in his heart and body was sucked away by a body-jolting chill that skipped teasingly down his spine, and a flicker of panic for entire class's safety gripped him.

Something wasn't right. Something was going to happen.

This was the third time he experienced this sensation, but this time, it was far too powerful to brush off like a bothersome mosquito. Danny sat erect in his chair, muscles tense and trembling with anticipation. If anyone noticed his change in behavior and tried to get his attention, he wouldn't have known. He closed his eyes, tuned them all out, and focused.

Expanding his senses was little more than instinct by this point, and as he eased off his bracelet, Danny allowed Phantom to spill over into his human form…

He felt it. The Zone was leaking into this world. Nearby. He knew it with absolute certainty.

"Mr. Lancer!" Sam was saying loudly, her voice striking like a pickaxe through his subconscious. "Sorry to interrupt, but—"

Danny's breath misted in front of him.

~…~

When Danny went deathly pale and rigid in the seat next to her, Sam knew something was wrong. And she wasn't the only one who noticed. Unease permeated the room, and behind Danny, Dash turned to whisper worriedly to Kwan, "Is he having some sort of fit?"

It was when she saw him, with chilling, empty eyes, slide the evil metal thing off of his wrist that she exchanged a wide-eyed look with Tucker and felt fear trickle into her gut.

Her hand shot up on reflex as Tucker poked at Danny's side, muttering in a low undertone and trying to get a response from him. The few milliseconds her hand was in the air felt like eons, and instead of waiting for Lancer to call on her, she spoke up. "Mr. Lancer!" she called. "Sorry to interrupt, but—"

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees, and Danny moved fluidly from his seat, his breath visible in the air.

Lancer's gaze flickered between Sam, the rest of the class, and Danny. Sam saw the exact moment comprehension hit. Any agitation for the interruption drained away, along with all the color in his face.

Before the teacher could call a "Code Green," Danny leapt forward, shouting, "Everyone OUT. NOW."

Danny disappeared before her eyes, and everyone hardly had time to respond to his warning before pandemonium erupted.

Something shot through the floor, causing every occupant of the room to scream and scramble madly from their desks. Lancer was shouting orders, his voice hardly distinguishable over the blaring of the new Ghost Alert siren and the mounting panic of the classrooms surrounding theirs. Those sitting near the front of the room disappeared as quickly as Danny had, but Sam, trapped in the back of the room, could only lunge for cover as the behemoth swiveled around, swinging its jagged, blood-stained tusks and stomping around as though it'd been shot in the ass.

In fact, it had three or four broken spears lodged in its gut and sticking through its back, so she wasn't too far off the mark.

The enraged boar's tusk missed her by centimeters, and with her heart threatening to explode from her chest, she swallowed a scream. Her dive to the floor hardly succeeded in keeping her safe. Huffing and frothing at the mouth, the ghost was closer than she thought. Faster than she thought. Sam lurched out from the space between desks, hitting her head in the process. Stars danced in her eyes, and she nearly screamed again as Tucker grabbed her by the hood and pulled her down.

The desk under which she'd been taking cover exploded into shards. Sam and Tuck yanked at each other and tried to scoot backwards. Snorting furiously, the ghost reared…

"Hey!"

A sizzling green blast hit the giant boar on its flank, throwing it back and preventing it from crushing Sam, Tuck, and several others who were sprawled on the floor. With a shrieking squeal of rage, it settled its stampeding rampage and turned its soulless red eyes toward the one person standing between it and the students who hadn't been able to escape the room.

Sam looked up from under the crook of Tucker's arm, which had been shielding her neck and head, and saw him for the first time. If the situation had been different, she'd have been stricken dumb. As it was, her mind was already churning at a thousand miles per hour.

Hair as white as untainted snow, eyes and fists blazing ectoplasmic green, formfitting black jumpsuit and confident stance…

Phantom was…obviously Danny. For the first time, she could see why people said Phantom was truly a formidable ghost, but even with that powerful aura, he was so obviously Danny she would later wonder how the hell anyone didn't make the connection until the Shift.

At the moment, though, she could only send a silent thank you to Danny and the universe for giving her another day on this planet.

"Watch it!" Tucker yelled when the boar charged at Danny, sending Sam's relief plummeting into terror again.

They needn't have worried. Sam watched dumbly as the ghost was thrown back by a hastily erected, pulsating shield.

"Guys!" Danny called, his voice echoing. Sam met his eyes, and he flinched when the boar tried to run into his shield again. It flickered and then glowed even more fiercely, and Danny had to turn back to the ghost, incapable of taking his eyes off it for long. Under his direction, the sheet of green light fluctuated, expanding up and over the boar's head.

It didn't like that much.

"…going to trap this thing in a corner," Danny informed, his voice strained. "I want you to get out and run the moment you have the chance!"

"But—" Star, who was crouching next to a fear-frozen Paulina, tried to complain.

"GO! NOW!"

Danny surged forward, shoving the shield at the ghost with one hand and forming a ball of green fire with the other. This ball, he threw with everything he had.

Sam couldn't afford to waste the time Danny was giving them. Reluctantly dragging her attention away from the fight, she hauled Tucker up and hurried over to Star, who was struggling to support Paulina, tears of frustration and fear staining her cheeks. Dash and Matt, one of the other football players, beat Sam to the other two girls. Dash threw Paulina over his shoulder like he would his Nike bag, and Matt and Kwan quickly helped Star and several others to their feet.

"Go, go, go!" Sam shouted, waving her arms toward the open door. As they all rushed through the obstacle course of desks and debris, her eyes scanned for anyone that had been left behind.

"Sam, let's go!" Tucker called from the front of the room.

Satisfied she was the last one in the room, Sam ran for the door. Unfortunately, she never made it.

"Sam!" multiple voices cried at once.

Sam whirled around. A stupid move, really. She was nowhere near heroic enough to have any desire to face her would-be killer at the very end. As it happened, she did come face to face with a second ghost, its slathering jaws wide open and aiming straight for her.

She would not recommend.

Before she could even feel her heart stop or see her life flash before her eyes, Danny was there, tackling it to the ground.

Sam fell, her wrist snapping as she caught herself. Choking on a cry of pain and blinking back tears, she had enough sense to slide herself away from the two wrestling ghosts as fast as possible. Loud booms, signifying the boar's attempts at escape from Danny's shield-prison, rang in her ears. Blue and green flashes and black and white blurs sped past her eyes. It was too fast to watch, too much to comprehend, but when Danny and the mastiff stopped rolling and the mastiff came out on top…

No amount of fear she experienced beforehand could compare to the fear she felt now. Danny's arm was braced against its corded neck…green saliva dripping onto Danny's face as it snapped and strained against his hold, and his shoulder…

His shoulder had been bitten. It was a torn mess of flesh and ectoplasm.

She hadn't realized Tucker was trying to get her up until she rolled out of his hands and picked up the first thing she could find: a piece of plastic with the metal leg of a chair still attached.

She did the only thing she could do. She lobbed that sucker with as much strength and fury as she possessed.

A quick flare of pride surged through her when it nailed the ghost in the head, but that pride quickly turned to dread. Of course she hadn't really thought through the consequences. Oh, it stopped attacking Danny. That had been the main goal. Her actions did, however, gain the ghost's attention, and it turned to face her and Tuck, pulling its lips back into a menacing snarl.

Tucker began tugging her good arm again, yelling indistinctly at someone. Perhaps he was yelling at her. Maybe she deserved it, if she set the thing on them. She did just do a stupidly noble thing, didn't she?

The emaciated mastiff was crouching low over Danny, its muscles tense in anticipation. Danny took advantage of its distraction and shot a bolt of blue energy into its jaw just as it prepared to leap for her and Tuck. It yipped and dropped, its muzzle encased in ice.

Howling and shaking its head around, obviously trying to dislodge the trap over its mouth, the mastiff completely forgot about the humans and half-ghost. Danny made a quick escape.

"Did it get you?" he panted, coming up to them. "Either of you?"

She shook her head furiously, but his guilt-ridden, wild eyes fixated on the wrist she was cradling to her chest.

She marveled at how expressive his eyes were beyond that aura of his.

His eyes were soon back on the two ghostly animals, his entire body poised to attack or defend, but one of his gloved hands reached out and brushed along Sam's injured wrist. A chilly sensation slid up her hand and arm, and her mind was suddenly clear of pain and disorientation.

In the blink of an eye, the chill was gone. Deprived of Danny's touch, her wrist throbbed numbly. "Danny, what…?"

The giant boar, which had been pacing and sulking in its cage, released a scream that was heard over the sound of the sirens, and with a mighty thud, it reared, stomping down and finally shattering the shield Danny had trapped it behind. Danny thrust himself in front of Sam and Tuck, flinging out his arm protectively. Instead of glaring directly at Danny, however, the boar snorted, pawed at the ground, and tossed its head.

The dog stopped its flailing immediately and stood with raised hackles, a low growl rumbling in his chest…eyes trained on the boar. Melting ice dripped from its muzzle, weakening the constraint.

Danny froze and watched the tense standoff with wary eyes, one hand fumbling at his belt.

"Shit," he cursed suddenly. "A Feud, and no Thermos." Sam recognized the two terms, and her eyes widened. "Of freaking course. I need to…Wait." He suddenly seemed aware that she and Tucker were still in the room, and his expression became frightening. It was stormy and dark and maybe even a little panicked. Under his breath, he hissed, "What are you two still doing here? You should've run! These two are about to go at it, and they're not going to stop for anything!"

"Dude," Tucker whispered, his voice trembling, "you can't…you're blee—"

"Shut up. Don't worry about me," Danny murmured. Sam was suddenly aware of how much worse the bite looked up close. "Don't move. Don't make a sound."

The two animal ghosts continued to stare each other down. The temperature continued to drop, and Sam was soon shivering against Tucker and Danny. Suspense and unbridled hatred was thick in the air… and building…building…

The two ghosts finally clashed, the mastiff ghost baying and the boar screaming. With sigh of relief and a final order to get to safety in the gym, Danny was after the two ghosts in a flash. The three of them disappeared through the classroom wall, leaving Sam and Tucker with nothing but weak knees, heaving chests, and a crying siren for company.

Chapter Text

The silence pervading Mr. Lancer's room lasted an eternity before Tucker began to laugh, bordering on hysterical. "Oh my God," Tucker giggled. "Holy shit! Did you see that?"

Sam wouldn't have been able to make a snappy retort even if she wanted to. She was gaping in horror at the place where Danny and the other two ghosts had disappeared.

Feuders, he'd said.

She'd read about them after a particularly destructive battle in Chicago. Feuding ghosts, in general, were forever doomed to fight each other, for a reason entirely their own. Anyone and anything getting in their way of that would be destroyed without remorse, which was why Feuds were dangerous. Animal Feuding ghosts? They were the worst of them. They were mindless, fueled only by their remaining primal instincts, and sometimes, the only way to stop them was to destroy them both.

And Danny had just gone after them. Without a Thermos.

There was, maybe, one potential positive: Feuders were obsessively protective of their opponents. As Sam understood it, other ghosts and humans alike were not worth fighting them, in their jealous "mind." It was their fight and their fight alone. That was why they were so vicious in the classroom: they had considered him a threat to their opponent. So as long as Danny kept a safe distance, the two Feuders would be so caught up in each other he wouldn't matter.

This time, however, Danny might very well be tackling the impossible. The sound of the Feuders' rampage shook the school, and her blood ran cold when she heard the giant boar's scream, paired with its opponent's high-pitched bark, reverberate once again through the halls. Sam knew it was only a matter of time before the Feud became destructive and uncontrollable. Danny would have to intervene, especially if there were stragglers who hadn't been able to make it to the gym.

Sam wasn't too good at thinking of the positives, was she?

"Tucker, shut up," Sam said impulsively. "We need to go."

"What?" Tucker asked, his laughter dying. "Are you insane?"

Perhaps she was. Sam wasn't in any hurry to face those two beasts again, but Danny…

"We should stay here!" Tuck continued. "It'll be safer than trying to get through to the gym right now. Who knows where they're headed?"

"Tuck, we can't sit around!" Sam exclaimed. "We have to help Danny!"

"Whoa!" He caught ahold of her upper arm as she tried to run past. "Stop and think for a second! What can we do? We can't go after him! Have you forgotten your wrist?"

Sam didn't give a damn about her wrist. "Not Danny. Jazz!" she tried to explain. "We need to find Jazz Fenton!"

"What are you—?"

"The Thermos, Tucker! She might have one, and he needs one!"

"What? You can't just—"

"I can't?" Sam asked in a deadly tone. "Just watch me."

She tore from his grip and sprinted from the room. Tucker was a beat behind, and to his credit, he actually managed to keep up. Later, she would be proud of his sudden burst of athleticism.

"We don't even have a plan, Sam!" he exclaimed breathlessly.

"Find Jazz," Sam grit out.

They skid around a corner into the cafeteria. Judging by the scorched tables, as well as the slick patches of ice and nervous, loud chatter erupting from the gym, Danny and the ghosts had made a pass through it. Recently, too. The sounds of the attack rumbled more loudly above their heads, and after a particularly concussive boom, several ceiling tiles shook lose and split down their center, crumbling and raining dust upon their heads. Tucker flinched and looked up warily, as though expecting the ghosts to fall through the ceiling any second.

"Great plan," he wheezed sarcastically. "We can't even be sure she—"

Sam brought herself to a dead halt, and Tucker nearly ran straight into her. His chest heaved as he gulped for air, and when he struggled to continue his protest, Sam shushed him and listened.

"Do you hear that, Tuck?" she whispered.

"I don't hear anything," he retorted, without even bothering to listen.

"Exactly."

Tucker's eyes widened. "They're gone," he realized aloud. "You don't think…?"

"They must be outside," Sam breathed, dread spurring her into action again. There was no telling where the Feuders would go next, and the more time she wasted standing around, the more likely it was that someone was going to get hurt.

And the more likely it was that that someone would be Danny.

Sam and Tucker didn't get far before one of the sets of double doors at the back of the cafeteria burst open. Jazz Fenton rushed from the gym, Lancer at her heels. He was a mess, his eyes bloodshot and shirt rumpled. Sam imagined he'd probably be yanking his hair up by the roots, had he had hair at all.

The moment Lancer saw them, relief spread across his features. Whatever adrenaline he had running through his system decided to vanish at that moment, and he looked about ready to collapse, his knees were shaking so badly.

Jazz was the picture of calm. She noticed Lancer beginning to have a small panic attack and took charge, gently leading him to sit down at the nearest lunch table. As Sam clambered over some of the tables, taking care not to wipe out on some treacherous ice as she went, she overheard Danny's sister murmuring some words of comfort to Lancer before turning and making her way toward them. "Sam! Tucker!" Jazz called out.

"Jazz!" Sam panted. "Jazz, we have to—"

"Do you have any idea how worried everyone was when you guys weren't accounted for?" Jazz demanded, meeting them halfway. "Your classmates managed to make it back to the shield, but you two! You two should have—"

"Jazz!" Sam interrupted. "No time for lecturing! We have to help Danny!"

Jazz's brow furrowed. "Danny can take care of himself, and my parents are coming soon. From what Mr. Lancer told me, these ghosts are—"

"Coming soon? How soon? Jazz, they're Feuders!" Sam yelled. "And—"

She didn't get to finish. Teal eyes widening, Jazz cursed under her breath, and she whirled, throwing the bag she was carrying in front of her. From it, she withdrew her phone, and after tapping a few buttons and sticking the device between her shoulder and ear, she dug around in the bag.

"Not just animal ghosts, then," she muttered to herself as the phone rang. "Goddammit. Shit. Shit."

Whoever it was she was calling didn't pick up. Groaning, she threw the phone down, and after finally pulling something that vaguely resembled a kitchen hand-mixer from her bag, she nimbly leapt over some debris and charged off, yelling over her shoulder, "Stay with Mr. Lancer, and get to the shield!"

It was just their luck that Jazz's phone suddenly lit up and buzzed on the table. Next to it rested her bag, and within the bag, her Thermos. Horror filled Sam.

"Jazz, wait!" she shouted, but all she saw was a flash of red hair as the older girl sped out of the room.

Sam made a split second decision. Ignoring Mr. Lancer's call of her name, she swiped the bag and phone from the table. The abrupt movements and sudden weight caused her wrist to protest. Hissing in pain, she threw the bag strap over her head and across her chest, switched the incessantly buzzing phone to her other hand, and raced after Jazz.

Harsh footsteps and heavy breathing followed her. "I hope you know what you're doing, Sam!" Tuck yelled.

"I don't!" she admitted, trying to forget that they were once again running toward the ghosts that had tried to kill them no more than a few minutes ago. Instead, she tried to predict Jazz's path. The girl was quick, and there was absolutely no sign of her. "JAZZ!" she shouted, hoping to get her attention, wherever she was.

The phone was still ringing. Aggravated, Sam threw a look down at it and saw the banner across the top read…Mr. Fenton! He needed to know what was going on! Sam finally picked up.

"Jazzy-pants!" Mr. Fenton's voice boomed. "We're just around the corner! What's—?"

"No, sorry, Mr. Fenton," Sam rushed to say. "This is Sam. Sam Manson."

"Sam?" Jack asked, obviously confused. Sam wondered if he remembered who she was. "Is Jazz okay? Where is—?"

"She's fine," Sam reassured. "She just left—"

"Left?" Jack's tone was serious now.

"She left her phone and bag. Danny's in trouble," Sam admitted. "The ghosts are Feuders, and there's no Thermos with them."

All Sam could hear on the other line was the squealing of tires.

"Sam?" It was Maddie's voice that emitted through the speaker now. "I want you to listen to me very carefully."

Sam knew where that was going, and she wouldn't have any of it. "I have Jazz's Thermos!" she informed. "I'm going to catch her before she gets outside."

And then she hung up.

Now wasn't the time to ponder how much trouble they were going to be in for doing what she just did. They were in the athletic hallway now, and Sam cursed. There were at least three different exits nearby. Sam sped up, heading toward the nearest, most obvious one, and thanked the stars when her common sense paid off.

"JAZZ!"

There was an explosion outside, causing Sam to start, but Danny's sister hardly flinched. She turned back from the double doors, and once she recognized them, she jogged away from the doors, eyes flashing dangerously. Sam decided she and her brother looked a lot alike when they were angry.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Jazz demanded. "Danny would kill me if he—No, you know what? I have no time for this! Get back to the gym!"

"Jazz, wait!" Tucker said. "Hang on!"

Sam ducked under Jazz's bag strap and tossed it. Jazz caught it on instinct. "Danny doesn't have a Thermos," she explained.

A flicker of fear, then guilt, shattered Jazz's calm. "Of freaking course he doesn't," she muttered, turning away from them. The Thermos released a soft whine as Jazz powered it up. "I'm going to kill the rest of him, I swear to—"

Another loud kabOOM interrupted her, and the glass to the double doors suddenly imploded, the metal frames screeching as they were ripped from the threshold. Jazz, swift as a striking snake, shot towards her and Tuck, grabbing hold of their arms and yanking them with her back the way they came.

"Stay behind me!" she warned, releasing them and taking aim with her Thermos.

The boar ghost laid in its mess of glass and twisted metal, rivulets of ectoplasm seeping from wounds and sores all over its body. Sam gasped as its ruby red eyes flew open, glowing with hatred and fixated on something in the sky outside. It rumbled a moan and started to get back up to its feet again.

It didn't get far.

"Say good night, ghost!"

With one pushed button, a blinding beam of light exploded from the end of Jazz's Thermos. It captured the boar, which realized too late what was happening. Shrieking, it bucked and struggled as, somehow, its spectral mass distorted, then blurred completely before Sam's very eyes…

"INCOMING!"

~…~

Danny was a complete idiot. With a capital "I."

Firstly, he hadn't reacted quickly enough to his new, nameless "Sense" or his Ghost Sense, and that second ghost—the dog—had nearly taken Sam's head off. He'd prevented that, but he was sloppy. She'd hurt her wrist pretty bad because of it.

And the ghost had managed to get a good bite out of him, too. Couldn't forget that. As painful as the wound was, Danny couldn't complain too much. The ghost probably would have torn his throat out if not for Sam. He was still amazed by her balls. No one, save other professional ghost-hunters, had ever lifted a finger to help him before.

Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, he didn't have a freaking Thermos during a Feud.

With a Thermos, this job would have been easy-peasy. The Feuders would have done most of the work for him, and while they were focused on each other, he could have snuck into range and pushed a single button.

Bam. Done.

But without a Thermos?

His mind whirled with the possibilities as he stood protectively in front of Sam and Tucker, his eyes trained on the two ghosts. What could he do? He needed them out of the building, without a doubt. But once outside the school, what then? He couldn't let them roam the city! His first thought was to get Jazz, but the idea was dismissed automatically. He knew better than to leave Feuders alone, and since he hadn't mastered duplication yet, there was nothing he could do. What he could do was keep them occupied until Mom and Dad, whose Ghost Hotline was synched with the school's emergency system, arrived on the scene. It was the only way.

The tension in the room suddenly snapped like an elastic band, and the dog and boar, each shrieking challenges at the other, lunged.

Someone's breath hitched behind him, reminding him he wasn't alone.

"Get to the gym!" he ordered. "Quickly!"

Danny didn't have the time to ensure Sam and Tucker followed his order, for the ghosts' initial tackle had sent them careening towards a wall. His shoulder tore and blazed with pain as he flew after the Feuders, his hands glowing in preparation for a shot. The ecto-energy flowed more like lava, rather than acidic electricity, and he cursed himself, his core twinging uncomfortably when he tried to draw more power.

This wasn't good. Not at all. For someone who was feeling so super confident in his progress since the Shift just an hour before, he was tiring. Far, far too quickly.

So quickly, in fact, his reflexes were shot. The moment he darted into the new classroom, he was hit, full on, with the weight of an entire dog ghost.

He misfired, the blast soaring into the whiteboard and burning a hole straight through. Danny fell backwards, the dog squirming and whining on top of him, and it wasn't until Danny's head cracked against the hard floor that he realized he should have remained intangible.

Well. Jazz would get a laugh out of that one later. It'd bring back old memories of his rookie stages as an untested teen ghost superhero, back before he'd taken the name "Phantom" or had so much as winced at the name "Inviso-Bill." Good times.

Angry, embarrassed, and half-dazed, he snarled and barely managed to shove the dog off with a pulse of energy and roll out of the way before the boar, huffing in indignation, came charging, its broken tusks lowered to the ground. Danny thought it had every intention of skewering the mastiff like a kabob, but with a speed that belied its size, the boar twisted toward Danny.

The tusk pierced the skin of his thigh, and instinctively, Danny slipped into intangibility and dropped through the floor, gritting his teeth against the shock of pain. Ectoplasm trickled down his leg, but he didn't falter and shot straight back up.

It was crucial he take advantage of the boar's momentary confusion at his sudden disappearance. The move only tricked the dumber ghosts, and it worked like a charm this time. The boar was still spinning around in search of the halfa stupid enough to touch its opponent when Danny barreled through the floor and threw the most powerful ghost ray he could muster into its vulnerable belly.

There was a sickening snick-sloosh sound as the spears lodged in the boar's gut shifted, and it screeched a cry of pain and rage, toppling right onto its side. Danny's momentary victory was ruined by the dog, who'd regained its footing and pounced at his back.

It would have been Sloppy Move #3 (or was it #4?) of the day if Danny hadn't turned, braced himself, and used the dog's momentum against it. Managing to duck under its chest, Danny grasped a foreleg, shoved a palm to its chest, and helped it on over his head.

It was too much to hope for that he'd help the mastiff impale itself on the boar's tusk. The dog did collide with the boar but nowhere near the tusks. The moment they touched, the two of them, true to form, became captivated by one another once again. Ignoring him, they scrambled to right themselves and clashed fang with tusk.

Chest heaving, Danny flitted to the edge of the room and faltered a little when he placed his leg down on a desk. A lick of fire blazed up to his thigh, and he withdrew to the air. Feeling lightheaded and a little sick to his stomach, he dragged his hand through his sweat-damp hair and avoided looking at his gored thigh.

Breathe in, breath out.

A shoulder and a leg injured. He was surely inspiring all sorts of confidence in his ghost-fighting abilities, wasn't he?

The sarcastic thought made him feel better. Since witty puns and general physical humor would be lost on these two, it was the most he could do to encourage self-motivation, and it put him back in the right frame of mind. There was nothing he could do about his injuries now, so he'd ignore them. He'd push through, and to do that, he'd just have to be more creative. Hovering and flying took little energy, really, and since the wooziness he was experiencing wasn't nearly as bad as the exhaustion he felt after several all-nighters in a row, it wasn't like he was crippled. It was still a little debilitating all the same, to be restricted to aerial attacks until his accelerated healing kicked in.

If it did at all.

He watched the Feuders carefully, hoping to find something he could use against them. The boar was taunting the dog, tossing its head and stepping forward, only to prance back like an arrogant show pony that knew exactly how pretty he was. The ghost was more intelligent than Danny would have initially believed: the dog soon fell prey to the bait and followed its opponent's dance step-by-step.

It was obviously a game they'd played many times before, and Danny prepared himself. He recognized the game, too, having played it far too many times with a certain naughty ghost named Cujo.

The mastiff ghost landed a nip on the boar's flank, and the boar, its work done, shot off. Releasing a proud howl, the hunting dog was right at its heels.

It was a chase more than a fight now, and that damn boar was fast. Hallways and rooms blurred before Danny's eyes—he tried to attribute it to speed rather than ectoplasm loss, but the likelihood he was lying to himself was pretty high—and within seconds, Danny lost all sense of direction and wouldn't have been able to tell a single person where he was in the school.

It was the boar, ultimately, that gave Danny a brilliant idea. It tried to take a corner too fast and slipped, smashing its shoulder into a row of lockers and leaving behind a huge indention in the metal.

The dog followed it right into the lockers, but it didn't hit quite so hard. It recovered more quickly than the boar could, and it gained on its opponent by maybe half-a-step.

It wasn't the dog ghost's small success that caught Danny's attention so much as what happened when the boar screwed up: it slipped…and it changed direction, having forgotten its original path.

Not so intelligent, after all.

Rejuvenated by his genius, Danny slipped into invisibility and sped up, his legs morphing into a single tail. He'd tried to explain the sensation to Jazz once, but it'd been more than a little disastrous. She'd worried about the state of his mental health more than usual for a week or so, and he could still scare the shit out of her by trying to "kick" her with the limb. Because Heaven forbid he touch her with his own...ghost-flesh and ectoplasm.

Even though it stung like hell to merge his legs, no thanks to that lovely wound on his thigh—now upper tail—his ability to switch from two legs to one tail and back again really was irrelevant at the moment. His ice powers, on the other hand…

Grimacing and straining to keep up, he pulled up next to the loping dog, getting as close as he dared, and forced himself to focus. Despite the fact the boar was at least three times the size of the dog, their strides were almost identical, steps matching within centimeters of each other.

So without delaying a second longer, he shot the floor.

The boar's hoof caught the slick patch of ice, and Danny was ready, placing another ice patch right where it would have stepped to catch its balance. The dog, predictably, slipped in the same spot, and they skid into each other. The interruption to their chase encouraged some wrestling, but the boar was driven and stubborn. It would have its chase, regardless of the ice.

Regardless of the fact it forgot it could fly, too, it seemed.

Danny wasn't about to complain about its lapse in memory. With a few more well-placed shots, Danny played shepherd and herded the two. He didn't know where he was going, much less how to steer these two to a wall that'd lead them outside, but if there was one thing that anti-ghost protesters and "Phans" could agree on, it was that he was a lucky bastard at the best of times.

Because as luck would have it, Danny emerged into the cafeteria, one of the few places he could actually use to reorient himself. The room was half-empty, the tables usually occupying the space folded and organized along the right-hand wall. There was a soft murmur of noise emitting from the double doors at the back, noise that dropped like a swatted fly when the boar crashed into some tables the janitors hadn't gotten around to folding and putting with the others.

Screams erupted from beyond those doors, and Danny's heart dropped.

The gym.

This wasn't working, and he was wasting time with this ridiculous "genius" idea of his. Though he had no way of knowing it, it had been approximately two minutes since he left Sam and Tucker alone, but it felt far longer to him. His core pounded in his chest, not unlike migraine would in his head, and it hurt. Despite the adrenaline pumping through his system, it was a ticking time bomb, a sign he was going to revert to his human form far sooner than he wanted to.

And maybe even a sign he was going to dissolve a little too. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but who knew, with what happened to him during the Shift? All he knew was that if his injuries weren't healing already, it meant all his energy was focused into his attacks, defense, and current form.

That was when spontaneous cleverness made its belated arrival.

Spurred by the sounds of panicking students and by the pounding in his core, Danny shot at the two ghosts. That probably wasn't the smartest part of the plan, but it kept them from tumbling through any walls he didn't want them to.

There was only one up, after all. If they went through the school roof, they'd be able to get outside. Right to his parents. To a Thermos.

It didn't take much to agitate the ghosts, and once they started after him, Danny darted to and fro, avoiding tusks, stampeding hooves, and long teeth alike, and left behind a trail of ice in his wake.

It went exactly as he thought it would. The two ghosts slipped and slid across the floor, scrabbling for purchase on whatever small sections of tile Danny left untouched. Danny, finally spinning out of the way and hovering above, was once again forgotten as they lunged for each other and missed. And missed again. And again.

The dog finally managed to make a clumsy leap onto the boar's thick back, and it sank its teeth into the bristly coat, jaw locking. For a few comical seconds, the boar froze, each of its legs stiff as petrified wood, but then it exploded into a rampage Danny hadn't quite expected.

It bucked and spun like a rodeo bull, trying to dislodge its unwelcome rider, and in its wild tantrum, its hooves left the ground. Squealing in frustration, it shot upward, right through the ceiling.

With a weary, grim smirk, Danny followed, careful to stay out of the way of the flailing hooves. The school was only two stories, and Danny thought they were headed straight up, right into open air. He could have laughed in relief, but to Danny's utter disappointment and shock, the boar halted its flight right before the ceiling. Hanging suspended in the air for a glorious moment, it shrieked and body-slammed the dog into the floor.

It did its job well, throwing its entire weight and then some into the blow. The force from the collision rattled the lockers, and a crack splintered through the tile floor.

Rolling off the stunned dog, the boar pranced upright, and Danny stared in horror at the crack. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he registered some echoing screams, and he Sensed them. There were students hiding in the bathroom. Nearby.

He didn't know what he was thinking. He probably wasn't thinking. But in full view of the boar, he took a fistful of fur at the scruff of the dazed dog's neck and rocketed through the ceiling, pulling the deadweight along with him into the bright sunlight.

He didn't need to look back to know the boar had followed, and when the dog started writhing in his grasp, Danny released the dog, sending a disk of energy flying after it.

So focused on ensuring the dog wouldn't turn around and attack, he wasn't prepared for the boar. He turned and just managed to place his hands between his chest and those damn tusks. One sliced along his palm, digging deep into the flesh, before Danny got a good enough grip on both to stop the boar from following through with what would have been a maiming blow. The momentum carried the locked pair into somersaults, tumbling over and over one another midair. All the while, Danny shoved the head as far away from his vital organs as he could.

Of course they had to crash right into a tree. Branches slammed and stabbed into Danny's back, and the impact knocked the wind out of him. He didn't get the chance to see if the boar suffered the same fate. His vision went black, and he plummeted, throat seizing and lungs constricting as he struggled to catch his breath.

He caught himself before he hit the ground, and he landed, injured leg crumpling underneath him as his chest heaved. Ectoplasm spilled through his fingers and onto the trunk he used to prop himself up with. Bile rose in his throat, biting and foul, but he forced himself to swallow and concentrate. Dizziness and exhaustion and oxygen-deprived lungs could wait. The bruises flowering across his back and the oozing wounds on his shoulder, thigh, and hand could wait, and that damn ring flickering around his waist could damn well wait, too. The ghosts weren't going to give him a break now.

He couldn't have pulled himself together any sooner.

The boar was still maneuvering its way out of the tree, but the dog was ready to punish him for what he did to its opponent. It was kind enough to give some kind of warning, baying as it loped toward him. It zigzagged around Danny's wide shots, and Danny took to the air again, throwing up a small circular shield the moment it got too close for comfort.

It decided to prove it actually wasn't a complete dumbass then and there. It leapt, four paws slamming into the ectoplasmic shield. Weak and hastily erected as it was with only one hand, the shield shattered, and his concentration slipped. The dog's blow shoved Danny end-over-end, and he barely managed to avoid crashing again. His distraction left him wide open for attack, and teeth sunk deep into his ankle.

Danny released a hollow yell and shot at the mastiff's head and snout, but he might as well have been hitting the thing with a pillow. "Alright! That's fucking it!" he bellowed. Fury coursed through him, and the blue cyrokinetic glow around his uninjured hand blazed so bright it was nearly white.

He probably left frostbite on that bitch. It was satisfying to hear the dog whimper as it released him, though it didn't feel too nice when it tore its jaws from his leg…and the boar decided it was time to join the fun again.

Didn't even bother with its tusks this time, either. It stampeded over Danny, heavy hooves kicking and bruising, and one sailed into the back of his head, forcing him down to the ground before he had the sense to make himself intangible.

Colors and shapes blurred and spun before his eyes, and his ears roared with the whomp-whomp-whomp of imaginary helicopter blades and rung with the keening ee-ee-eeeee of car alarms. His limbs trembled, and his energy flickered and fizzled, that damnable transformation ring popping in and out of existence. He was pretty sure he threw up. Possibly. Actually, he must have, for his vision rectified itself with sickening clarity, and his mouth tasted like sour metal. Though it took herculean effort to get himself up off the ground, he did just that.

For a horrifying split second, Danny thought he lost them, but the trail of car alarms and bent bumpers led him in the right direction. He found himself doubling back around the school, right near the aquatic center entrance. The boar and dog had edged closer to the parking lots outside the enclosed pool, which also bordered the largest open field on Casper High's grounds, where gym classes played soccer, ultimate Frisbee, and the like. The boar was taunting again, obviously hoping to goad its opponent into another rousing game of cat and mouse.

Don't change back now, Danny told himself, his core clenching and injuries blazing. He felt like he was going to throw up again, but he couldn't. Not now. He couldn't let them start another chase, either. Not now, not now, he repeated, faltering as he flew to intercept the Feuders once again.

Last time, he tried to reassure himself. Mom and Dad'll be here.

The reminder—that they were coming, that they were going to fight with him this time—encouraged him to gather what little strength he had left. He was going to throw himself at them, but luck happened to favor him a second time. The sound of squealing tires, easily the most beautiful thing he had ever heard in his life (he could have cried, it was so beautiful), made him hesitate, and good thing, too.

"DUCK AND COVER!" Dad shouted from the GAV.

A soft whistle sped through the air, and the missile, shot from the heavy-duty RV itself, nailed the boar ghost in the ribs. The explosion caught the dog, and together, the Feuders disappeared in a small mushroom cloud of pale green smoke.

The GAV was hardly in park before Mom and Dad leapt out, brandishing weapons and a Thermos.

Thank God. A Thermos.

With the ghosts recovering from his mom's dangerously accurate blow, his parents had the opportunity to search him out. He met their eyes and felt his lips twitching into a lopsided, somewhat cynical smile.

They didn't return it. "Danny!" they shouted simultaneously.

What were they—? Ah. He was on the ground. Still Phantom, somehow, which was a small victory. He looked like shit, he was sure. He had forgotten that…with the arrival of his parents and their lovely technology, who would save his sorry out-of-shape ass, also came his parents.

Who weren't used to seeing him like this.

Well, actually, they were far too used to seeing him like this, but this was one of the first times they knew it was him they were seeing injured, bloody, and about ready to pass out.

Eyes flickering from his parents to the slowly dispersing mass of smoke, he staggered upright, stumbling midair. He had every intention to regroup with his parents, grab the Thermos, and get those sons-of-bitches back into the Zone where they belonged, but he Sensed something that changed his plans quite drastically.

Just as the dog ghost began to creep from the cover of the smoke, Danny was ready for it and tackled it from the side. His arms wrapped around its torso, and his bloodied hand was in the perfect position to wrap around its muzzle…

The boar'd be on him any second now.

"Get the boar!" Danny yelled wildly, throwing a leg over the mastiff's body for extra support and holding it in a headlock as best as he could, given its manic thrashing and wiggling.

Another whistle, this one shriller and purer, and a loud kabOOM preceded the sound of the boar shattering glass and permanently twisting and contorting metal. The Fenton Bazooka, propped on his mom's shoulder, smoked, and as Dad surged forward with the Thermos, the dog finally twisted free.

The bright side was that it didn't bite him. For the third time. The not-so-bright side was that it was heading straight after his parents, who were going after the boar. The boar… which had just destroyed a set of double doors to the school.

Not good. He had been bitten and gored and trampled, all because he needed them outside of the school and away from students, and they were heading back in? Oh, hell no. There was no way he was going to let them back in. Not after all that.

This ended now.

Adrenaline surging, Danny propelled himself forward. He managed to gather just enough speed to know he'd beat his parents there. What he'd do when he got there, he couldn't say for—

From within the school, right near the destruction wrought by the boar, there was a flash of light, a beam of blue, and the familiar shriek of a ghost that knew its fun and games were over.

Upon seeing its opponent's defeat, the mastiff howled, roaring and charging forward with crazed vigor. The light died, and Danny saw Jazz standing with a raised Thermos. Behind her…

Fear was an incredible motivator. Fear for one's own life could encourage feats of strength and speed beyond a person's usual abilities. It was a shock to the system, undoubtedly. Fear for someone else's life, on the other hand?

That was like getting struck by lightning…and getting off on it.

Pain receded to the very back of his mind, and he streamlined his body in an attempt to pick up more speed. Even with the extra effort, he knew he wasn't going to be able to intercept the mastiff from plowing through Jazz, Sam, and Tucker in time.

"INCOMING!" Danny hollered.

Jazz, thank God, was ready for it. The boar hadn't been in the Thermos for longer than a blink of an eye before its opponent doomed itself to the same fate. Danny pulled up short of the beam, careful not to get caught himself, and hovered. He watched with vehement satisfaction and relief as the mastiff struggled, and once its yips and howls died, there was deafening silence. Even Danny's enhanced hearing could not pick up the sounds of the humans panting nearby.

Danny's entire body relaxed. He dropped to the ground, wincing and exhaling a very manly whine when he put too much weight on his injured leg. He supposed it was a good thing the dog bit the same leg twice. Propping one trembling hand against the school's brick exterior, he maintained his balance and took a deep breath.

"Danny!"

Too many voices shouted his name, and sudden sirens blared nearby. He didn't know who to turn to first. Mom and Dad, their faces pale and weapons still smoking, were running up, Jazz was picking her way through the mess the boar made, and Tucker and Sam were following.

His weariness hit him with full force again, and perhaps it wasn't all too surprising that, with it, came fury. Because the sirens meant the police were there, and if the police were there, reporters and cameras were there, too. He was infuriated because this was the worst fucking day ever, because of Vlad Masters and that stupid picture, because his family seemed to think he wasn't ready to face certain truths, and because he certainly wasn't ready to be fighting powerful ghosts just yet.

And above all…

"I can't believe you!" Jazz shouted. Her voice sent his ears ringing more than the police sirens. "I can't believe you'd be so irresponsi—!"

"Save it, Jazz!" Danny snapped, turning toward her with furious green eyes. "I fucked up. I forgot the Thermos. Again. I know. I know I stormed out this morning without it, and it's my fault. Thanks for rubbing it in."

She didn't respond to his retort. Her expression morphed, flashing from irritation to shock to concern. She obviously hadn't realized the extent of his injuries until she'd come running up. "Oh, Danny…"

Danny didn't give her the chance to ask whether or not he was alright, he didn't hear her yelling for Mom or Dad to summon Sleetjaw, and he certainly didn't notice that his hold on his ghost form was becoming more and more slippery with every heartbeat.

His fury boiled over.

As his parents frantically raced up, Danny said to Jazz, "And you have no right to call me irresponsible!" His gaze flickered to Sam and Tucker, whose expressions were frozen in horror, and he fixated a glare on them. "Just what the hell do you two think you're doing here?"

Chapter Text

He was bleeding.

The—the blood—the…ectoplasm?...No, Sam couldn't call it that. Why classify it as something else entirely? Something inhuman and supposedly theoretical to the rest of the world? It was far from inhuman, far from theoretical. Sam fucking saw it right before her eyes. Sure, it was green and glowed a bit, but it was necessary for living, and it should remain in Danny's body. She couldn't see his ectoplasm as anything but blood, not when it stained his skin and seeped through the mess of wounds on his leg and shoulder, not when he was swaying on his feet and bracing himself against the wall…

Yet somehow, despite the fact he was bleeding, he was yelling quite angrily at her, at Jazz, at Tuck, at his parents…?

(Why not add the fucking world to the list?)

Danny was really upset about something, but Sam couldn't hear him. She couldn't understand him. Because he was fucking bleeding. And he seemed to think lecturing her and Tuck and his family…was more important?

It was infuriating, but mostly, it was terrifying. This was her friend. Her friend was a pissed-off powerful half-ghost, and he was hurt.

Phantom suddenly turned to look straight at her, his eyes blazing haphazardly. Their glow flickered like a drunken lightning bug, and it knocked her out her stupor. "Just what the hell do you two think you're doing here?" he asked, pushing off the wall to stagger toward her.

Sam immediately reached out to support him. There was brief contact with frigid skin before he slipped right through her fingers and caught himself, a scowl on his face.

"You stubborn little—!" Sam hissed. "Danny, stop! You're hurt!"

"You could have been hurt! I told you to get back to the gym!"

"Danny…"

"Save it, Jazz. This is serious! We can't have students running around during—"

"Well, we weren't about to listen to you when we knew you needed our help!" Sam interjected. "Right, Tuck?"

Tucker's face was colorless, and he swallowed hard, unable to look away from Danny's torn leg. "Um…"

"There are protocols in place specifically so that something like this won't happen! You guys ran ghost attack drills for a reason! We installed ghost shields for a reason!"

She was going to pretend he didn't think she was completely stupid, but she couldn't prevent her temper from flaring dangerously. "I won't apologize for doing what I thought was right!"

"Guys, ghosts are dangerous! It doesn't matter if I fuck up and forget the Thermos, and it doesn't matter what happens to me! You shouldn't be out here!"

"Danny!" Jazz scolded. "That's enough! They understand! Stop yelling and stop moving! We need to—!"

"If we hadn't been out here," interrupted Sam, "that fight would have lasted a hell of a lot longer! It could have gotten even more out of control! So how about a 'thank you,' Danny?"

"These ghosts could have killed you, Sam!" Danny yelled, his eyes wild and…Sam's anger faded away. He wasn't being ungrateful, she realized. No, he was afraid. For them. For what could have been. "Both of you!"

"And they couldn't have killed you?" she asked quietly.

Danny opened his mouth, but with a quick glance at his family, who hovered anxiously, he seemed to think better of it. Exhaustion hit him all at once, and the fire died from his eyes. Maddie and Jazz Fenton attacked immediately, murmuring in low undertones, pressing gauze to his wounds, and using words Sam couldn't quite understand. When Danny's ghostly aura suddenly fluctuated, Sam almost took a step back…but found herself watching in awe as a ring of light parted at his waist and crossed over his entire body.

For the rest of her life, Sam would be amazed by the change. She would feel…remarkable by simply watching the remarkable. Chills would run down her spine, and she'd wonder—wonder why and how—but for the first time, as she watched Danny transform, she could only register one thing. Green blood…it became red.

Sirens wailed louder and louder, and tires screeched as the first cop cars sped into the parking lot. Ambulances raced in on their heels. The whomp-whomp of helicopter blades pounded a beat into Sam's head, and Danny's glazed gaze flashed up toward the sky.

"Shit," he muttered, trying to sit up. "They're real."

That elicited a bewildered snort from Tucker, but Maddie Fenton was unfazed and pushed her son right back down. "Oh, no, you don't."

Danny flinched, and his eyes closed. "Mom…"

"Just rest now, Danny. Everyone's okay. Everyone's okay thanks to you, Jazz, and your friends. Everyone's…Let's just get you home. Alright, sweetie? Jazz—?"

Throwing her own car keys to her father, Jazz took another set of keys from Mrs. Fenton and darted off, heading straight for the RV.

"But—" Danny protested.

"I'll take care of things here," Jack Fenton assured. "You go with your mother and sister before people start crowding and making more of a fuss. You don't want to be in the middle of this, especially when you're hurt."

"Dad…"

"No arguments." Sam had never heard the man sound so serious. Nonetheless, Mr. Fenton placed a large hand on his son's uninjured shoulder, squeezing once and smiling proudly before standing up. "Sam, Tucker, I believe I should be taking you back."

It was Sam and Tucker's turn to protest. "Mr. Fenton…" Tucker said, eyeing Danny worriedly.

"I'll be okay," Danny croaked. He offered a hesitant smile and leaned his head back against the brick. "I—thanks, guys. I'm—I'm sorry. I…didn't—I'm just…"

"You can thank us later," Sam said. She would ask for an apology for nearly killing himself later, too, but at this point, she just wanted him to keep his blood where it belonged. "We—Just try not to bite anyone's head off in the meantime, okay?"

It was a poor joke, but Sam could see Danny appreciated the attempt. His eyes brightened ever-so-slightly. "No promises."

A metallic whirring, distinct from the 'copters above, grew in volume. It was too close for comfort, too unfamiliar to be anything relatively safe. Sam's adrenaline spiked, and she whirled around. There, skimming across the grass, was the RV. Floating. Its tires rotated inward, toward the underside of the vehicle. Jazz sat calmly at the steering wheel, looking as though she weren't driving an RV-turned-hovercraft straight toward them.

"Holy…" Tucker murmured.

Taking ahold of Danny's arm, Mr. Fenton slung it over his shoulder and gently helped him up. To his credit, Danny's pale, sweaty face didn't falter once, though the tension in his shoulders and the furrow between his eyes suggested he wasn't feeling well at all. Maddie quickly took Jack's place, maneuvering under Danny's arm to support him. Danny didn't look their way again, and he allowed himself to be helped into the…RV. As he disappeared into the backseat, Jazz caught Sam and Tucker's eyes and inclined her head in gratitude.

Once his son settled in, Mr. Fenton exchanged a loaded look with his wife and then began to guide Sam and Tuck away. Every step they took away from Danny was distinctly strained, and the calm expression on Jack's face had all but dissolved by the time Danny, Jazz, and Maddie zoomed from view.

And just in time, too. The parking lot was alight with a flurry of blue and red light, and a gathering of people with and without cameras flooded the blacktop. Some of them had already spotted Mr. Fenton's bright orange jumpsuit and tried to follow the three as they approached the school. Their shouts for attention went ignored, and the group of three increased their pace until they were safely in the school, where the reporters could not follow.

The school was eerily quiet. Too quiet. Sam couldn't stand it. After all the chaos, this silence and calm was unacceptable. It made her nervous.

"Was...Will Danny be okay?" she asked, her voice sounding far too loud in the empty hallways. Jack's shoulders slumped marginally, and if Sam had been a tactful person, she would have known to stop herself there. As it happened, Sam was hardly a tactful person. "I mean, really okay?"

"He will be just fine, Sam. Not much can keep that boy down. He'll be healed up in no time." If Sam didn't know any better, she would have thought the smile on Mr. Fenton's face was forced.

"He's…he wasn't ready to fight, was he?"

"Danny…it's been a long and hard recovery. Harder than he lets on. But he pushes through, the crazy kid. I've never seen anyone push themselves as hard as he pushes himself."

A proud grin had replaced Mr. Fenton's false smile, but Sam also knew regret when she saw it. But what could…? She suddenly remembered what occurred this morning before school. It felt like a lifetime ago, standing in the hallway before first period and seeing Danny rage down the hallways. The Fentons had had that fight about the Portal. Danny had stormed out of the house, hadn't he?

A block of horror wedged itself in Sam's heart. We really could have lost him today. All of us, she realized. And then the Fentons wouldn't have had the chance to…

It pissed her off. No, that wasn't quite right. Anger was the closest thing to whatever this was—this fear and passion and hurt—and though she couldn't find it in herself to be angry at Danny for being a self-sacrificial jerk anymore, she was very angry at everyone else—the ones who didn't believe in ghosts, the ones who stood by and let ignorance and fear control them…and she was especially pissed at the idiots outside, who only cared that they were minutes away from receiving quotes for their next big story.

They didn't care what had been sacrificed. They didn't see what had nearly been lost.

Why did the Fentons have to face this threat to their city alone? Why couldn't they be left alone to deal with their issues without a minor crisis getting in the way? Why did Danny have to be the one who suffered because of it all? Why him? Why them?

Why now?

The natural portals were beginning to stabilize. That much, anyone could see, but that wasn't what bothered her. Sam's fascination with ghosts had always blinded her to the reality of things. She liked to think she sympathized with the Fentons after the Shift. She liked to think she understood.

But she had been so arrogant. So, so arrogant. Today she realized that no one would understand, not until they actually saw it. Not until they stood in the aftermath of an attack and saw the physical and emotional wreckage left behind. Besides that, the Fentons' time, their personal lives…it wasn't theirs. It was the ghosts'. It was Amity's. It was probably even the fucking world's. As far as everyone else was concerned, their own family was last priority.

So again Sam had to ask, why now? Why not after the Fentons had had their chance to fix the fractures left behind by the Shift? Why not when Danny was fully healed and more than capable of taking care of a few rogues? Why now when everything was finally starting to come together?

"…some really wicked tech, Mr. Fenton," Tucker said, breaking the thick silence between them and interrupting Sam's inner rant. "I can't help…I mean, it's probably stupid to ask…But what powers the thrusters that raise an RV of that mass that high off the ground?"

Tucker had always had a gift for turning people's moods in a complete one-eighty. Sam often couldn't stomach the amount of cheer, optimism, and cheesy jokes Tuck carried with him, but seeing Mr. Fenton's face light up was enough to stop even Sam from dwelling on the situation's injustices.

"Not a thing as a stupid question!" Mr. Fenton's grin broadened. "Unfortunately, it was serendipity, and we all know how long those stories are to tell. I would love to explain it to you sometime."

"Really?"

"Sure! Danny did say you were interested in computer science and engineering, so of course I'd be happy to answer your questions. I'd be happy to talk to anyone about it, really, but it's always nice when someone doesn't start looking at me with a blank expression when I start getting excited." Mr. Fenton had a deep belly-laugh, the type that seemed to require more air than the body could possibly hold. "He talks about you two all the time, you know. It's amazing you haven't dropped by yet."

"Danny…hasn't invited us."

Mr. Fenton rolled his eyes and pushed open the set of doors leading from the athletic hallway to the cafeteria. A buzz of noise greeted them from ahead, where Mr. Fenton would find most of the student body and the school faculty. "That boy. Well, consider this an open invitation. Drop by anytime you'd like. Follow him home, if you have to. He's a bit bad at the whole friend thing, but I think he's comin' 'round with you two. I haven't seen him smile so much since his accid—"

Sam's bad wrist caught the door as it swung back, and she hissed in pain, wrenching her hand away and cradling it to her chest.

Mr. Fenton immediately turned, steely eyes scanning her and latching onto her wrist. "You're hurt! Why didn't you say anything, Sam?" he demanded. "Let me see."

Sam offered her hand and was surprised by how gently Mr. Fenton probed the injury. He had done this before. "I had forgotten about it," she admitted, staring the swelling and bruised skin. Her mother was going to be so pissed. And when she heard what Sam had done to help the Fentons? All hell was going to break loose. She wasn't looking forward to getting home tonight.

"I think I fell," she added. "Danny did something earlier, and it felt fine…?"

"I'm nearly positive it's just a sprain. It should heal quickly, but it may need a brace. Does it hurt? I'll take you—"

"I can find my way to the nurse's office," Sam said, smiling. "You have to go. It's no big deal."

"It is a big deal, Sam."

"I'll make sure she gets there," offered Tucker.

Jack Fenton looked between the two of them and toward the gym doors. "Alright, if you're sure you're okay…"

"Perfectly fine, Mr. Fenton. Thanks."

"No, thank you. Both of you." Mr. Fenton offered his hand to both of them and shook heartily. "It took guts to do what you did today to help Danny. You'd be awesome hunters, you know that?"

Long after Sam and Tucker reached the nurse's office, Sam mulled over Mr. Fenton's compliment like Smaug would a new piece of shiny gold.

~…~

Danny was struggling to stay upright. He leaned his head back against the seat, trying not to sway with the movement of the GAV as Jazz drove. Mom had elected to sit in the backseat with him instead of moving up front, and after handing him a bottle of water and instructing him to drink up, she went to work disinfecting his injuries and collecting samples. Apparently, there was a theory in the paranormal field that diseases could lay dormant in ghosts after death in a sort of ecto-mutated form. If Danny hadn't felt like he was going to hurl any second, he would have argued that he'd been bitten so many times and by so many unsavory and mangy ghosts it was highly unlikely their theory was true.

Or maybe his immune system was just that good. He hadn't had a human cold since the accident, at any rate. Maybe his luck would hold out and he had immunity to ghost rabies, too.

Mom's hand was steady as she worked. At one particularly tight turn, Danny couldn't withhold a groan, and her hand stilled. "Perhaps you should lie down, sweetheart," she said quietly.

It had never been more apparent that Dad had taught Jazz to drive. She must have felt guilty or something because she hit the brakes, and their speed plummeted noticeably.

"Jazz," Danny grunted.

"Sorry! Sorry."

His mom's hand trailed behind his back, but he wiggled away. "Hon, let's lie you down."

The mere thought of lying down sent nausea rolling through him again. "No, no. I'm good. Super good. Can't I just sit here and sleep?"

"Not yet," Mom said, rummaging around in the GAV's compartments for something. "We need to keep you awake for now. Damn, we have everything but your emergency Ecto-Dejecto in here! We'll have to wait 'til we get back home, Danny."

When Danny groaned loudly, Jazz scolded, "Don't be dramatic. You'll be fine."

"Sure, bully the injured half-ghost." He barked a bitter laugh. "Who wouldn't be injured if he'd had his Thermos. Which would have been with him if someone hadn't given him a nasty surprise this morning."

It was low, and it was cheap, and it was the literal definition of childish. He regretted the bitter tone and the petty words as soon as they left his mouth. If he was going to be placing blame, he needed to dish it out fairly. It was his fault he left the Thermos, not his family's. Turning his head and daring to open his eyes, he saw they were in their neighborhood, nearly home. "Never mind," he muttered to the silent RV.

"Danny… we're going to have to talk about it."

Danny shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to even think about it. Vlad Masters could go suck it, this whole mess could disappear, and then Danny could sleep easy.

If it were that easy, he wouldn't feel so angry. He could just let it go. Looking down at his torn jeans and then back up at his mom, whose face was lined with concern and regret, Danny finally sighed, "I know."

She finished tying his leg neatly with bandages before turning her attention to his shoulder. "This one isn't as bad as your leg. It probably won't need stitches."

"Small blessings, I guess," Danny muttered drily.

When they turned onto their dead-end street, which had been paved specifically for FentonWorks, Danny blinked apathetically at the amount of people standing around. Why were so many people…? Oh. Of course there were lingerers. Cameras. The smart ones knew when to split their pack. The curious ones knew where it was they were likely to get more answers.

Of course they didn't think to respect the fact this was their private home.

Mom sighed as they pulled into the drive. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

"'s not your fault."

He could only thank God that they'd recently finished setting up their high-tech garage: otherwise, he would have had to go in through the front door, which would have both wearisome and humiliating. His parents had gone through several sets of contractors before Dad was happy with the design and size of the garage. It had to be large enough to fit the RV and still have plenty of space for another weapons vault, Dad's emergency workbench, Dad's emergency fridge, and half-completed projects Dad didn't want to store in the lab. And Dad's toolboxes. Couldn't forget all his toolboxes. The garage connected directly to the lab rather than the main house, and the arrangement was a huge improvement compared to their old place in Chicago, where they were cramped for space and their house practically was the lab.

One perk to being a superhero and international celebrity, he supposed. His parents were thrown into the limelight with him, and grants and donations came in abundance now it was recognized that ghosts were a very real threat.

Jazz pulled into the garage and shut the garage door immediately after killing the ignition. Silence reigned as Mom flung open her side door and helped Danny out of the RV. "Don't put any weight on that leg," she warned, slipping under Danny's arm once again. Jazz quickly came to support his other side.

"Wasn't planning on it."

It seemed to take an eternity and a half to maneuver down the short staircase hugging the wall. Danny missed a step and nearly took his mom and sister down with him, and it was so ridiculous and pathetic, he began to laugh.

After a second or so, Mom and Jazz laughed with him, and though it might not have seemed like much, it was something—a sign that everything would be okay. Eventually. Danny felt lighter than he had all day, and the second half of the trip through the basement door into the lab felt a lot easier.

All humor died as Mom and Jazz eased him onto the cot they'd set up in the corner. Jazz and Danny had dubbed it the "Medical Wing." It was curtained off, and there was just enough room for an eclectic spread of human and ghost medical supplies, some courtesy of wealthy well-wishers and others, gifts from the ghosts of the Far Frozen.

The bright lights above made Danny's head pound, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, closing himself off and hoping he might be able to slip into sleep without Mom and Jazz noticing. He felt his shirt slip over his head and his jeans being cut at the knee. They were talking above him, arguing about whether or not it was really necessary to summon Sleetjaw as they circled around the cot. Toolbox drawers and refrigerator doors clanged and slammed as they began pulling together more appropriate dressings, medications for his wounds, and the usual assortment of ghostly nutrients and energy-boosters.

The discussion grew in volume the longer it went on, and seeing as it was all completely unnecessary, Danny squinted against the light and muttered, "'s fine, Mom. Been bitten loads 'a times." Annoyed, he mustered the strength to push the lamp head away from his face. With a stern look directed toward her son, Mom readjusted the light, and he hardly flinched as she injected him with a low dose of Ecto-Dejecto. The effects were nearly immediate, and reveling in the welcome surge of energy, he propped himself up more comfortably against the pillows. "Sleetjaw doesn't need to come here."

Jazz gave Danny a smug look that clearly said that's what I've been trying to tell her. It was a familiar look: she used to wear it all the time when she pulled off a successful distraction or, more commonly, whenever Phantom was reported a hero on the news, much to their parents' confusion and frustration. Despite the fact he didn't want anything to do with Jazz right now, knowing she was on his side right now was enough to encourage a genuine smile from him. After the Shift, she'd been just as fussy as Mom and Dad, so it was nice she was on his side now.

It was reassuring too. If she didn't seem to think they needed Sleetjaw's help, it meant that he really was fine. Perfectly fine. He trusted her "medical" opinion more than anyone's, mostly because Jazz knew him—as both Danny and Phantom—better than anyone. She'd been there since the beginning. She'd been the one to tend to his wounds, the one to help him discover his strengths and limitations. She'd covered for him, and she'd lied for him. In the end, Phantom hadn't just been Danny's secret. He had been Jazz's, too. The enigma of Phantom—what had happened to him in the Portal…that was something they had had to face together, and it bonded them in a way neither of them could have ever foreseen.

With the secret out, Danny had wondered what it was they had left to share. With everything that'd been going on, it had seemed as though there was very little left, but with that single look...Jazz had proved otherwise.

"Yeah, Mom," Jazz said, glowing with pride. "I think we can take care of this. With the Ecto-Dejecto injection, he'll be on his feet by dinnertime."

Mom pursed her lips, and looking between her two stubborn children, she sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Her blood-stained fingers twitched on on the bedclothes, as though she were desperate to reach for both of them. "Danny, Jazz…" she began, "I know you think—because of how much you've been through without your father and I…You know more than we do. And you do know more. You understand halfas and ghosts in a way we don't, in a way we're only starting to comprehend, and we don't want to pretend we know better. But we are your parents. We're trying—we're trying to catch up. We're trying…and you have been lucky. One of you could have been killed, and we—we wouldn't have…"

Mom's voice cracked, and when she wiped at her cheek with the heel of her hand, Danny and Jazz exchanged guarded glances.

"I'm going to be fine, Mom. Don't you trust us?" Danny asked.

Mom was quick to grab one of Jazz and Danny's hands in her own. "No, no, that's not it, Danny. That's never been it. It's amazing what you two have been able to accomplish together, and I am so proud of you both. But…until your father and I catch up…we want to make sure it isn't just luck and wit that gets you through these ghost attacks. We want to make sure you fight smarter and heal better. You've lost enough to these ghosts. I refuse to let them take anything else from you. Dad and I weren't there before, but we're here now. Do you understand?"

As Mom had talked Jazz's expression became visibly distressed and guilty, and when she and Mom caught and held each other's gazes, Danny realized something. "You're not just talking about the Feuders anymore, are you?" he asked.

Mom squeezed his hand and shook her head.

Danny remained silent, staring at his pale hand in hers for a long moment before he slipped it away. It would seem they were going to talk about this now, and he wasn't too happy about it. So much for this tentative peace. "I don't think keeping the truth from me is the best way to protect me, Mom."

"Hon…"

"I don't think you understand, Mom," Danny interrupted. "Jazz, you should understand."

"Danny, we…I understand how you feel about the Portal, and—"

"This isn't just about the Portal!" This morning, it had felt like it was all about the Portal, but even then, Danny had been lying to himself. If he was being honest with himself… "It isn't just about the Accident. Well, yeah, okay, it kinda is, but that's not the point. I can get over it. I know I'm super paranoid about it, and that's my problem. I thought you'd accepted that."

"We did, hon," Mom assured. "We understand entirely."

"Then you should know this is really about us! It's about you lying to me about the Portal and then lying to me about him."

Jazz gnawed at her bottom lip, and Mom said, "Danny, we—you know you don't have to—"

"I know I shouldn't have to! I shouldn't be in this position at all, Mom! Vlad…I hate him, Mom. I hate Vlad fu—freaking Masters."

Now that the words were out, Danny couldn't hold anything back, and they spewed from his mouth like projectile vomit. "I've tried to understand him. I even learned to pity him, but in the end, that can't replace how much I despise him. He's manipulated and cheated and he's torn me down. He's killed and lied and done a whole manner of things that disrespected you and Dad and our family, and worse than that, he's gotten into my head. He's made me believe things and do things and—and what makes it worse is that in some backwards way I owe him for it! He's a complete lunatic, but he did make me stronger, and he did make me faster, and it sucks. It sucks because I shouldn't owe him anything. I tried to convince myself I owed him nothing. I shouldn't feel as though he and I connected, but he's one of the only others like me. I'm stuck with him. Hell, I could have been him! And you know what? Whether I like it or not, some part of me is like him, as he so gleefully loves—loved—to remind me.

"When I thought he was gone—when I thought he was out of our lives—I felt so relieved, Mom. You have no idea. I didn't have to look over my shoulder anymore. I didn't have to worry about his presence dogging my every thought and my every step. I thought I was done and that he…he was gone. You assured me he was gone, and we were done!"

Jazz couldn't look him in the eye, but Mom covered her mouth and stared at him tearfully. Danny could see it all in her eyes: her world was breaking apart before her. Before that moment, she had only connected the few dots she'd had at hand. The revelation that Vlad was Plasmius was enough for his parents to officially kick him out of their lives, but otherwise, neither she nor Dad had been fully aware of the impact Vlad had made on Danny. What she did know was based on assumption alone and whatever it was Jazz was able to tell her without going back on her promise not to tell their parents the whole story.

This was the first time Danny himself had ever said a word about it.

There was a reason none of them talked about Vlad anymore. He had fractured their family in a way his secret hadn't. All four Fentons had avoided the issue steadfastly, and perhaps that had been a good thing at one point. They needed to fix everything else before they could talk about Vlad. But now…now it was clear it had been anything but a good idea. It was like stepping onto a hidden landmine completely blind. They couldn't have possibly been prepared for the explosion that followed.

"You know what?" Danny said. "I'm done."

"Danny, we can't just let this go again!" Jazz snapped.

"And we won't! It's just…I can't talk about this right now, and honestly? If we're going to talk about this, Dad needs to be here, and I need..." Some patience? Some Advil? Kleenex and hot coffee? Maybe he needed all of it and more, but what he did know was that he couldn't do this until his head was at least somewhat on straight. "Can I just take a nap? Please?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Mom whispered, her trembling fingers brushing away his bangs. "Of course."

Chapter Text

"Please tell me what they expected, Tucker. For my sanity. Please tell me."

Tucker was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and chin propped on his hands, watching her pace back and forth. Disgruntled, he sat up, opening his mouth to speak.

"No, you know what? Don't even dignify that with a response," Sam raged, curling her good hand into a fist. The ACE bandage supporting her injured wrist was already bothering her, and she scowled down at it. "From the way everyone's acting, it's as though they expected sunshine and rainbows! For all the pep talks and preparations, no one was actually prepared for this. Goddammit."

"C'mon, Sam. Stop pacing. Sit down."

"Idiots," she spat.

"Honestly, sit down and shut up. I'm getting concerned here. You've been having a redundant argument with yourself for the past ten minutes, and you've always said that redundancy is like the Eighth Deadly Sin or som—"

"People are idiots, Tuck. All of them."

"Yeah, well, you're not doing the Fentons any favors right now either, Sam."

Sam jerked to a stop, her breath hitching in her throat. It was scratchy and raw, and swallowing convulsively, she spun to face her friend. If it had been anyone else, they would have found her combat boot at their throat, but this was Tuck. Tuck's Get Out of Jail Free card never expired.

"Do I have your attention now?" Tucker asked drily. "C'mon. Sit down until Mom and your grandma show up. They should be here any minute now."

"Fine," she grumbled, plopping down next to Tuck and staring moodily out the window. Beyond the door just to the right of them, she knew a hoard of students lingered, waiting for their irate and terrified parents to pick them up. The door itself did little to hide the fact that the phones were still ringing off the hook. The poor staff and faculty, who had been running in and out over the past hour, were blatantly frazzled.

Needless to say, with the amount of parents calling in, the school had been forced to authorize an early release, much to the displeasure of a certain Jack Fenton, who argued quite loudly—loudly enough to be heard from the nurse's office, at any rate—that Casper High's students would need every second of class time they could get while they could get it.

I hate to say it, Mr. Fenton had said, but those ghosts were Class 4.0s. This is only the beginning.

Sam recalled that some of Phantom's more powerful enemies ranged anywhere from Class 5.0 to 8.0. Pariah Dark? Class 9.3. Anyone who followed the news—hell, anyone on social media knew these attacks had the potential to become much, much worse.

Sam pulled out her phone and scrolled through her newsfeed. There was nothing new—and most of it was speculation rather than genuine fact—but the longer they were stuck in the nurse's office, the more comparison blog articles, all detailing other ghost attacks from Danny's old school, popped up. She'd read each of them with obsessive zeal.

"I don't think they realize we were lucky this time," Sam sighed finally.

"I don't think they want to realize it." Tucker had been looking over her shoulder at the articles too. "Nothing new about Danny?"

Shaking her head, she tossed her phone aside. There'd been plenty about Danny. Plenty about the Fentons, too, and it was nothing they weren't already overhearing from skeptical and fearful fellow students and parents. "Nothing that's worth knowing."

Tuck gave her a brief, one-armed hug. "Hey, he'll be okay. He's pretty tough, you know?"

"They all are," Sam murmured.

Surveying her face, his eyes narrowed. "I know that tone. What are you planning?"

She didn't know how to respond. She had no plans. She had no schemes. She only had a desperate desire to do something, something more than rage and curse about the idiots in Amity Park (again), something more than ice her wrist and prepare herself for a long lecture. If she had had the words, she would have tried to tell Tucker about it. Judging by the softening look in his eyes, however, he knew exactly what she wanted to say anyway.

"Tucker!"

Sam jumped and barely managed to avoid Mrs. Foley as she torpedoed her way into the nurse's office. She tugged her son right off the bench they were sitting on and pulled him into a tight hug. Tuck stumbled forward, towering nearly a whole head over his petite mother, and gasped as the wind was knocked out of him.

"I'm fine, Mom." He made a futile effort to wiggle out of his mother's arms. Sam smirked at him, and he rolled his eyes dramatically over Mrs. Foley's shoulder. "Really. We're both fine."

"Fine?" she repeated, drawing away and looking him up and down before swinging her stern, concerned gaze to Sam. "Fine? Sam's wrist begs to differ! When I got the call from Mr. Lancer saying you two had gone off on your own—!"

"Like total bad asses, might I add," came a voice from the doorway.

"Ida!" Angela Foley scolded, turning to glare at the elder woman as she scooted her way into the room on her motorized wheelchair. The jarring sound of ringing phones and raised voices rushed in through the open door, and Sam grit her teeth.

"Don't 'Ida' me, dear," Sam's grandmother continued as the door swung shut. "You can't deny their actions today were praise-worthy, if completely idiotic."

"Hello to you, too, Grandma."

Ida smiled. "Hey, Sammie. Seems you have quite a story to tell."

"Ida," Mrs. Foley admonished again.

"What? Can't praise be given where praise is due?"

"Of course it should, but we shouldn't be—!"

"No, Angie, dear. You're right. I don't suppose we should. Not here at any rate." Ida's pale eyes darted to shoot a venomous glare out toward the lobby area. "Why don't we get out of here?"

Sam didn't need telling twice. Unfortunately for her, the nurse emerged from wherever it was she was hiding and preceded to rant at them about Sam's wrist for another solid fifteen minutes. By the end of the sermon, Sam had had enough of the old lady's disapproving sniffs and was about ready to explode. Her parents' fury, she decided as she stalked out of the office, was going to be nothing next to hers if she didn't get the hell out of the school now.

When Sam emerged into the lobby, she held the door open, waiting for Tuck, Mrs. Foley, and Grandma Ida to exit as well. None of the dozen or so students waiting around for their rides noticed her, which really was too bad for them when she heard what they were whispering.

"It's their fault," one of the boys said. "If they hadn't come here, none of this—"

"—so scared. I don't know what—"

"Stupid to assume we'd be okay with that freak here—"

"—what use was he, anyway? Those things got into the school! Shouldn't he have caught those ghosts—?"

"Yeah, if Phantom is as powerful as they say, shouldn't—?"

"Sam," Tuck muttered in her ear, tugging on her sweatshirt sleeve. "Come on. Mom and your grandma need to sign us—"

Sam slammed the nurse's door shut, pulling away from Tucker's grasp. The group of students started, their hands grasping at backpack straps and their eyes blown wide. Their shifting and bumbling allowed Sam to see Val leaning up against the far wall, excluded from the group. He was frowning at the gaggle before him, but when he snapped his gaze to Sam, his expression cleared, and he glowered frigidly at her. A void of silence swelled over the office, darkening Sam's mood further and adding fuel to the flames.

"Glad to see what you truly think of the guy who saved your ungrateful asses," Sam spat. "Where the hell were all of you when the ghosts attacked?"

No response. Blank eyes blinked at her as though she were an alien from some whacko planet, and her lip curled. Why was this so hard for people to see? Why was it necessary that she had to remind people what Phantom—Danny—had done for them? Again?

"Thought so," said Sam. "He might not be perfect, but he's a damn sight better than all of you combined."

She didn't stay long enough to see their reactions. She was out the door and kicking at dead leaves on the sidewalk before any of her peers could so much as breathe in her direction. The thought of being anywhere near a human being right now disgusted her. Hypocritical, ungrateful, blind, and selfish…what was there to like about her species anyway?

Sam suddenly had the desperate desire to see Danny, to talk to him, to understand. Why did he do it? Why did he sacrifice everything for this world, for these awful, cruel people? Why did he continue to do so, when this was the reaction he got? In the end, did they deserve his sacrifice? His dedication and protection? Did they deserve anyone's mercy and kindness at this point?

A part of her knew how he'd respond. She could imagine Danny's kind blue eyes shining as he shrugged modestly, his smile refreshingly optimistic and honest. The image soothed her cynical heart, if only marginally.

"That was tactfully done, Sam," Tucker's voice said wryly from behind her.

Sam turned to him. Over his shoulder, she saw Grandma Ida and Mrs. Foley had stopped to talk to Mr. Lancer, who glanced out toward her and Tucker every so often as he spoke. Sam was pretty sure she knew the topic of their discussion. "Yeah, well," she said, "'tact' is my middle name, didn't you know?"

Tucker snorted and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The temperature had dropped, a pearly gray cloud cover and blustery wind signaling imminent rain. It was stupidly poetic that the sun and uncharacteristic autumn warmth would disappear now, given what had happened.

"I know you hate feeling useless," Tucker started softly. "I know you—"

"Oh, spare me," Sam interrupted, stuffing her hands into her hoodie pocket. "Please. I can't do inspirational right now."

"Too bad." Tucker stared her down, his brow quirked, and after a moment, Sam sighed in resignation.

"Thank you," he sassed. "Seriously, though, Sam, I know you hate injustice, and I know karma is due to kick some serious ass, but…I don't think this is our fight."

"You're wrong. It's everyone's."

"No, no, I mean…I'm not talking about ghosts or portals or the Anti-Ecto Control Act or anything like that. Of course that's everyone's fight. I'm talking about Danny. About him earning Amity's respect and trust."

"Shouldn't the Shift have been enough?" Sam asked. "What more does it take?"

"I don't know. I don't understand it, but that's why we're not the ones to tackle this one."

"I'm sick of being frustrated about this, Tuck. It shouldn't be this way."

"I know, Sam, I know. That's why you have to start letting it go. We helped give him a chance, and we can support him and cheer him on, but ultimately…the rest is Danny's battle to fight, you know?"

Sam was silent, Tuck's words sinking in and hitting right where it mattered most. Something akin to guilt seethed deep in her gut, viscous and ugly. "I keep thinking about how it was before the Shift," she said slowly, "how it must have been for him. It…He shouldn't have to fight this alone."

Tuck squeezed her shoulder. "He won't be alone like that again. He's got Jazz, he's got his parents, and he's got us, doesn't he?"

But it's not enough, Sam wanted to say. It's not enough for me. I want to do more. Doesn't he deserve—

"Oh. Oh, shit."

He deserves friends who actually ask him if he's alright, Sam thought sardonically. That's what he deserves.

"I'm awful. I haven't texted him yet," she muttered, pulling out her phone and opening a new text message. "Should do that before I lose my phone privileges."

"Honestly? Will they really—?"

"Do you even know my parents?"

Tucker grimaced. "You're right. I do know your parents. But wouldn't they also want you to have it on you after what happened today? I mean, you might need it for emergencies."

Sam's fingers paused, and she placed the corner of the phone to her chin as she considered. "I'll bet you twenty bucks they'll take the phone away and assign me a bodyguard instead."

Tucker laughed. "No fucking way. You're on." As customary, they shook on it, matching grins on their faces, and Tuck added, "You're going to lose this one. You seem to forget your grandma thinks we were bad asses today. She's totally got your back."

"You seem to forget my mother's absolute hatred and crippling fear of ghosts," Sam countered.

"I can't believe we're betting on your punishment for saving the day. We're screwed up. Your parents are screwed up."

Sam hummed in agreement, attention back on her phone as she typed her message. It was taking longer than it strictly should have, and that frustrated her. How hard was it to ask Danny how he was feeling?

She was still working on perfecting her text by the time Grandma Ida rolled up, poked her in the side, and said with an absolutely straight face, "To the car we go, Ms. Samantha Tact Manson."

Mrs. Foley, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet as she approached them, had to ask Tucker if he was alright when he choked on a laugh.

~…~

Danny stared up at the ceiling, listening to his parents attempting to be quiet. It was their movements that had initially woken him, but paired with the sound of their indistinguishable whispers, the familiarity of it all actually lulled him back into a mindless doze.

He couldn't be sure how long he laid there, staring at the ceiling and thinking of everything and nothing at all. If it were up to him, he would have stayed this way the rest of the night, listening to the the clink of test tubes and steady tapping on the lab's computer keyboard, but some time after the sounds faded to nothing, his stomach decided it had other ideas.

There really was no greater motivator than food.

With a small grunt, Danny rolled over in his cot to grab his phone off the bedside table. It nearly blinded him when he unlocked the screen, and he hissed under his breath, snapping his eyes shut and rubbing them tiredly.

After allowing his eyes to adjust, his first instinct was to check the time, to reorient himself with reality, but the sight of unread messages from unknown numbers surprised him. Propping himself up on a forearm, he rubbed his eyes again and blinked incredulously at his phone.

When was the last time he'd gotten a text from anyone but his sister and parents? Who the hell got this number anyway? Curious, he opened the most recent text:

xxx-xxx-4684 (sent 2:07 PM): Hey, Danny. :) By the time you get this, my phone might have been confiscated, but my parents always seem to forget they still have a landline when they ground me. Loop holes for the win. Give me a call if I don't respond on my cell, okay? Doesn't matter the time. I just really want to make sure you're okay after today.

Sam. Danny stared at the second number she provided, and his heart swelled with affection, threatening to close off his throat. He'd totally forgotten he'd given her his number. Her and…

Danny closed the text and opened the string of messages from the first number:

xxx-xxx-4335 (sent 12:28 PM): yoooooo ace! nasty burger tomorrow? they have half-price shakes on saturdays and the chocolate-covered bacon one is to DIE FOR.

xxx-xxx-4335 (sent 12:32 PM): …i now realize that was a poor choice of words. i'd say sorry but i'm cracking up right now. in the middle of Lancers class too. i'll totally blame you if i get in trouble.

xxx-xxx-4335 (sent 1:25 PM): txt me back when you get this. not about the nasty burger (tho thats totally still on if you're down) but about everything else. because holy shit dude. holy shit.

xxx-xxx-4335 (sent 1:26 PM): we're all ok, btw. shaken, but ok. i know you'd want hear that whenever you're…well, i hope you're ok too. wouldn't want you dead for real now would we? that's supposed to be the chocolate-covered bacon milkshake's job.

Danny stifled a weak chuckle. His eyes burned with unshed tears, and he swallowed over the lump in his throat. A single blink allowed the tears to overflow, and a shaky, but nonetheless brilliant, grin spread across his face as he sniffled and wiped his face with the heel of his hand.

Is… this what I've been missing? he wondered as he reread the texts, unashamed tears now slipping freely down his cheeks.

What had he done to deserve these two? He tried to remember feeling anything close to this swell of emotion and found himself failing. Jazz's loyalty, perseverance, and unflinching patience during the first few months after the Accident, followed by his parents' acceptance after the Shift, came close, but that was family. Family, in whatever capacity, was obligated, and Danny knew, now more than ever, that Fenton family love was unconditional.

Tucker and Sam—they saw him as he was, without the lens of familial love blinding them to his faults and his more unattractive traits, and accepted him.

Amazing how a few simple texts could mean the world to someone like him, starved as he was for friendship. How had he survived before? How could he have once tolerated loneliness and isolation when there was a feeling like this out there for him to experience?

He'd do anything to hold that feeling close. Anything.

A tinny knock startled Danny into dropping his phone onto his lap. "Danny?" Jazz's soft voice asked.

Face flushing, Danny scrambled upright, scrubbing hastily at his face. Jazz gave him a tender smile and, without waiting for permission, eased her way through the curtain blocking off the medical space from the rest of the lab. Her eyes darted from the open messaging app on his phone to his face and back again.

She didn't have to say a word, but he knew exactly what she wished she could say. He looked away with a half-hearted scowl, both annoyed by her sympathy and intuition, which always made him feel vulnerable, and grateful that she didn't push the matter, which allowed him to retain a modicum of dignity.

Damn her. She could read him like an open book regardless.

"Hey," Jazz said. "Mom…Mom's got some frozen pizzas in the oven. You feeling up to joining us in a few?"

Shit. Ice slid down Danny's spine, and his fingers fisted into the blanket covering his legs. Going to join them meant having a frank discussion he wasn't ready for.

To be fair, it was a discussion he was sure he'd never be ready for.

Jazz obviously caught Danny's reaction and attempted another smile. It didn't reach her eyes. "Or I can bring you a plate if you want? Are you still…?"

"No," Danny said automatically, his voice raw with disuse.

"…Danny, you don't have to feel as though—"

"No," he repeated. They needed to face this. As a family. It'd already been put off for too long. He could almost guarantee it'd be an ugly discussion, and undoubtedly, not a single one of them would emerge unscathed. A part of him was deathly afraid of what he might say if he allowed anger to get the better him again.

Where Plasmius was concerned, however, it was practically inevitable.

"I'm…I'll be up in a bit."

Jazz hesitated, eyeing him with concern. The unsaid are you sure? screamed from every last inch of her stance and expression. Danny waved her off, rolling his eyes for good measure, and she nodded once before leaving him alone.

With Jazz gone, he leaned back into his pillows and closed his eyes. His fingers closed over the smooth surface of his phone, and he gripped it like a lifeline. He needed to respond to Sam and Tucker, and it was probably best he did so now, while he was in the state of mind to do so.

His thumbs hovered over the touch screen keyboard. An echo of the overwhelming gratitude he experienced before reverberated through his chest, but as he stared at the texts before him, he couldn't find the words. The longer he stared at the messages, the more anxious he became and the more he was reminded of what happened earlier that day.

How could he even respond to them after all that? After all they've seen and after all he put them through? Today had been a train wreck, and it was no thanks to Plasmius.

Of course Danny pinned his inability to formulate responses to his friends on him. Feeling disgusted—with himself, with Vlad, with everyone and everything—Danny locked the phone. He'd text his friends later, when this asshole wasn't on his mind, polluting everything in his life.

And speaking of said asshole, it was time to make a decision, one way or another.

If Danny had been one hundred percent honest with himself from the beginning, he would have realized hours ago he'd already made his decision this morning, during the very phone call in which it'd first been presented.

Lip curling into a snarl of self-loathing, Danny swung his legs over the cot. He was still wearing his battle-stained, leg-shorn jeans, the lower half of his leg wrapped with white bandages. Flexing his calf caused a sharp pain to shoot through his limb, so Danny stood carefully and tested his weight on his bad leg before shucking off his ruined jeans and searching around for a pair of old sweats. Pulling them on was no issue, but the fresh t-shirt posed a bit more of a problem. His chest and shoulder stung and protested as he reached overhead, and though he took care not to reopen any of the wounds, he was pretty sure he failed anyway.

Now dressed, Danny slipped his phone into his pocket and headed across the lab and up the stairs. Stairs were harder than sweats. He gripped the banister as he limped upward, trying to pretend that the dread coiling in his gut was just another manifestation of hunger. If his palms were sweaty and his heart raced, he couldn't be bothered. Because this was going to be okay. They were all going to be okay.

Whatever quiet conversation Dad and Jazz were having as they set the table died off immediately when he emerged from the lab, and the small hope Danny had that this wouldn't be difficult vanished like air out of a balloon. Danny already hated the tension, hated the walking-on-eggshells feeling he was getting from his own family.

He wanted to bolt, he really did, but then his dad smiled. "Danny. I'm glad to see you up. How're you feeling?"

"…better. Much better."

Mom, who had been busy pulling the pizzas from the oven, placed them on the island next to a tumbler full of tea and immediately crossed the kitchen to usher him to the table, placing her hand on his forehead as they went. "You are definitely not burning up anymore. No pain? No lightheadedness?"

He accepted her ministrations as gracefully as he could. "No, not much."

"Not much?"

"No lightheadedness," he explained dutifully. "No pain unless I stretch too far."

"Good," she said. "That's good."

"Yeah," Danny muttered. He skirted the table and headed to the sink, where he grabbed a glass from the overhead cupboard and filled it with tap water. "Want anything, Dad? Jazz?" he asked.

"No thanks, Danno," Dad said at the same time Jazz shook her head.

Fingers sliding up and down his glass, he closed the cupboard door and headed back to the table. Both his father and sister watched him, Dad with surprisingly far more subtlety than Jazz.

This is torture, he decided as he sat down. He needed to start this conversation now before he combusted.

"Um, Mom…Dad…?"

"We'll talk after we eat," Mom said gently. She was putting far too much focus and energy into the pizza cutter in her hand, but she did look up momentarily to shoot them a smile. "Sit. I'm sure you're starving."

Sighing, Danny took a sip of water and, realizing how parched he was, downed the rest in one go. By the time he heaved himself up and refilled his glass, Mom had brought the cut pizzas to the table, and everyone was helping themselves.

Danny sat and grabbed some of the sausage before his dad could hog it all and tucked in. He inhaled three pieces before he noticed how silent it was. With his fourth slice of pizza hanging from his fingers, Danny looked up from his plate. Dad was eating with as much gusto as Danny was, but Mom and Jazz had a habit of picking at their food when they were stressed or upset. It showed in the veggie and meat toppings scattering their plates and the tiny bites they were taking of the pizza itself.

Fentons were not silent as a rule. Fentons were boisterous. They had no concept of what an 'inside voice' was, and if they had something to say, it was best you shut up and listened until they were done because they would talk over you in order to be heard.

Everything about this was wrong, and Danny did not like it. If they weren't going to talk about Plasmius, then maybe…before Danny could think to censor himself, he blurted, "So I think I got a new power today."

Dad's posture straightened, eyes gleaming eagerly. "No kidding?" he asked.

"I can't be sure," Danny said slowly, trying to recapture the sensation he experienced earlier that day, "but I think I could sense the natural portal…as it was opening?"

"Like your ghost sense?" Jazz asked, taking a larger bite of pizza and eyeing him with interest.

"Kinda."

Naturally, both his mother and father shot off a series of questions he couldn't fully answer, which didn't disappoint them so much as excite them.

"We'll have to go out this weekend, hunt down some natural portals," Dad eventually said with a big smile.

"Not Sunday, dear," Mom warned tentatively. "And not until after the press conference tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah, we have a lot of work to do before Tuesday," Dad said dismissively. "Tomorrow afternoon, then! Your mother and I have already been working on a map of the spectromagnetic fields of Amity and the surrounding areas, and since we needed to scope out a few hot spots anyway, I bet we can pinpoint—"

A brief flicker of enthusiasm sparked in Danny's chest before he remembered Tuck's invitation. "Actually," he interrupted, a smile growing on his face, "Tucker Foley invited me to hang out tomorrow. At The Nasty Burger."

Mom's smile brightened the entire room, and despite himself, Danny flushed. "That's great, Danny! Of course you can go. We probably need more data before we can go out in the field anyway."

Never one to be dissuaded, Dad waved a hand. "Bah, lunch won't take all day, will it? Bring Tucker and Sam along! If we can't track down any natural portals, we can train!"

And just like that, the soft glow in Danny's chest puttered out. "I…um…Dad, I don't think they'd be all too interested in..." Danny very carefully avoided Jazz's eyes. "…that kind of thing."

"What? Of course they would! Tucker seemed particularly intrigued by the Ghost Assault Vehicle, and Sam! I tell you, son, that one has an insatiable curiosity. I can tell."

"I'm—I'm not denying that. It's just that…we haven't really talked about any of this stuff. I don't know if—"

"You haven't talked about—" Jack Fenton's offended, surprised, and disappointed tone cut off abruptly, and he sighed. "Danno, you're not…you're not having a hard time at school, are you?"

"What? No!" Danny exclaimed. How had this even happened? He'd only meant to start a relatively normal conversation, not fall under further scrutiny! They had more important things to talk about anyway, didn't they?

"It'd be all over the news if I was, wouldn't it?" he added almost bitterly, thinking of the trending picture of his hand stuck through his locker door. He could only imagine the field day the paparazzi would have if they discovered the great Danny Phantom was a victim of bullying and had been dubbed a delinquent at his previous school.

"That's not exactly what your father meant, sweetie," his mother said. "Is anyone making you feel ashamed of—?"

"No," Danny said, far more defensively than he meant to. A hideous, dark sensation coursed through him. "Just because Sam, Tuck, and I don't talk about it doesn't mean—"

"Then why don't you?" Jazz asked in an undertone.

Danny cut himself off and glared as Jazz took an innocent bite of pizza. "I'm not ashamed. I just…I'm working on it. Can we not judge for a second, Jazz?"

Jazz hummed, unfazed by his hostility. "I think you should consider letting them come either way."

His first instinct was to roll his eyes and tell her to mind her own business, but he bit his tongue, her initial question suddenly striking with unflinching accuracy. Why? she'd asked. And why indeed? On the first day of school, Jazz had asked that he keep an open mind, that he try to find people he could be himself with. He had immediately shot the idea down. He'd had doubts then, and even after becoming close friends with Sam and Tucker, he defaulted to hiding his true identity and a huge part of his life. Why? Why did he shy away from having that sort of freedom with his friends?

If it wasn't shame, was it because he was afraid? His defensive attitude certainly made it out to seem as though he was afraid. He knew, logically, that Sam and Tucker weren't like that. They didn't care he was a halfa. They were friends with him despite that.

But would they have become my friends if they knew what halfas were truly capable of? an ugly part of himself hissed. Would they still want to be friends if they found out?

He shook the thought away. No, of course he wasn't afraid. If it wasn't truly fear, then, what else could it be but some amount of shame that was holding him back? When interwoven so tightly, where exactly did fear begin and shame end anyway?

Danny felt as though his gut were dropping into a never-ending pit, and for the second time that night, he spoke without thinking. "I'm going to let Plasmius come."

He didn't immediately look up to see his family's reactions, but he needed a response. He wanted them to tell him no. He wanted them to argue that it was a bad idea. He wanted them to change his mind. But above all? Above all, he wanted to see it in their faces: that, by agreeing now, Danny wasn't giving in, that he wasn't losing anything more to that psychopath…

And that there was nothing to be ashamed of for sympathizing with the devil, even if for a moment.

When no response came soon enough for his liking, Danny looked up and repeated, "I'm going to call him after dinner and tell him he's…" The word welcome would probably have been followed by bile and undigested pizza, so he backtracked. "…tell him he can come see the Portal on Tuesday."

Repeating it yielded no results. He found nothing but thoughtful and kind expressions on his family member's faces. There was no anger, no disappointment, not even forced tolerance, and Danny felt betrayed.

"Danny," his mom began, "I know how difficult this is for you. I know it isn't entirely fair to you, and we…we didn't give you much warning. That is our fault. It's our fault we never talked about this, and it's our fault we waited so long to tell you everything."

This was not what Danny wanted to hear. This wasn't making him feel better at all. He knew all this already.

"I understand," he muttered, eyes averted. He crumbled a piece of crispy crust between his fingers.

"It's not something you should have to 'understand' on our behalf, Danno," Dad said strongly. "We screwed up. We decided that this was your decision for you, and that's not right, especially when we don't know the whole story."

Mom reached across the table and grasped one of Danny's hands, forcing his attention on her. "After the Shift, we promised there'd be no more secrets," she said. "We promised we'd communicate, that we wouldn't keep things from each other. I—we thought we could protect you, give you some time away from all this craziness we've found ourselves in." Squeezing his hand, Mom smiled, her voice hoarse. "You wouldn't believe how much you've changed since we've moved, Danny. We haven't seen you smile like this since before the Accident, and I couldn't bear to take this happiness away from you just yet, but…it doesn't change the fact we broke our promises, not only about the Portal but also about Vlad."

"I don't want an apology," Danny murmured.

"You deserve one, sweetheart."

He couldn't take it any longer. "I decided to let a creep enter our home, Mom! Come back into our lives! And after everything he's done, I really don't want apologies!"

"Then what do you need?" Mom said gently.

"AN EXPLANATION," Danny thundered, eyes burning and blazing green. A year and a half's worth of hurt and frustration finally broke the dam inside, and he yanked his hand back from his mother's.

He could forgive his parents for everything they'd done to him before they knew he was Phantom. For hunting him, for capturing him and threatening him…how could he blame them when it was his fault for keeping the secret in the first place? They knew no better, and that was no thanks to him. There was never anything to forgive.

Vlad Masters…it seemed that was an entirely different story, one he'd been reluctant to crack open, because he knew he wouldn't be able to stop once he started.

Danny was so eager to reconnect with his family after the Shift he had no desire to so much as think about Plasmius, and when his parents told him Vlad was gone, no longer welcome in their lives, that was all he needed to bury the poisonous thoughts he harbored. Why should he leave them to fester when Plasmius would no longer be an issue? It was fine. It was easy. He could live with the dirty laundry tucked out of sight and out of mind under the bed.

But then this morning happened, and Danny actively sought every excuse to redirect his anger, which in turn fueled excuse upon excuse for his volatile behavior. It tainted his fighting and the relationships he took care to build, ruining the walls he'd placed to keep the poison at bay.

Shame none of his tactics worked. Because here he sat, all of the shit finally snowballing out of control and bursting to unearth the true heart of the issue.

For the first time since the Accident, Danny was ready to admit he blamed his parents for ever getting involved with Vlad Masters.

"You knew what he was, Mom!" Danny shouted. "Not that he was a halfa, no, but you knew there was something off about him from the moment he invited us to that reunion. Dad…Dad, I know he was your friend, but Mom. The guy was all over you whenever Dad wasn't around! He was a jerk to Dad and Jazz, and he was more interested in me than he had any right to be! He was an obsessive, possessive douche! You must have seenwhat was happening!"

Mom blinked, her hand still extended across the table. "I did," she admitted, her voice nearly nonexistent.

"THEN WHY? Why didn't you kick him to the curb when you knew? Why did you both let him back into our lives?"

She didn't have an answer for him right away, he could tell, and before Dad could leap to his mother's defense, Danny started to rant, "At first I thought it was somewhat cool. Superhero-getting-his-first arch-nemesis kinda cool, you know?" He snorted darkly. "I was an idiot. It seemed so simple to me—I was the good guy, he was the bad guy, and the good guy always stops the bad guy. That was it. But then I started to realize what he truly was. What he could do. What he knew. He knew everything about us, spied on us, violated our privacy. He watched us, or had minions watching us, and every step of the way, he was there, like some sort of…gross little leech.

"He knew about me too! About things I'd never told anyone—not even you, Jazz—and he'd be so damn smug about it, revealing what he knew so slyly, as though suggesting he deserved a place in my life, that he had a right to me, simply because we shared these stupid powers!

"So why, Mom? Why, Dad? Why did you ever trust him? Why did I have to put up with him? Why do I still have to? I need to know. I need—" His voice caught, and he gave up, finally falling silent. His eyes burned with tears rather than ectoplasm now. At some point, he'd jumped from his chair. It was lying on its side on the floor.

His leg trembled and gave out. Cold tile rushed to meet Danny's knees, and he curled into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Danny!"

Another chair fell with a sharp crack, and before Danny could recover, warmth pressed from all sides. Mom, Dad, and Jazz had all joined him on the floor, their arms encircling him.

"Danny?" Danny broke at the sound of his father's compassionate voice, and he turned his red face away. It was a rejection that hurt him as much as it probably hurt his family, but it was enough to give him the space he craved. As Mom and Jazz backed off, Dad left a hand on Danny's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Danny nodded, then shook his head. His chest heaved with gasping sobs, fingers shaking as he slowly unfurled his legs and sat cross-legged. He bowed his head, his tongue like lead, and he habitually began to tear at his cuticles as he struggled to calm himself. Dad's hand rubbed circles into his back, easing him back into some semblance of emotional stability.

Pfttt. Who was he kidding? He really was a fucking mess.

"Danno?" Dad asked again, some time later. Danny cocked his head to signify he was listening. "Can you tell me why you decided to let Vlad come on Tuesday?"

The question made him freeze. How could he explain…?

When he merely looked up from his lap with tear-bright, tortured eyes, his parents exchanged a look and smiled knowingly. It had been a rhetorical question.

"We will never forgive Vlad for the crimes he's committed," Mom said. "We will never trust him again, and I am tempted to murder him myself, but…once upon a time, Vlad was a friend to both me and your father, and he was a good one. As good as family. After his accident...we didn't exactly treat him like family. We had a lot to apologize for. I…I gave him more than one second chance, in the name of that friendship, to deal with my own guilt for what happened to him, and unfortunately—" She swiped a hand over her cheek, catching the tear falling there. "I overestimated the man he once was…and underestimated the monster he became."

Jazz exhaled shakily. "We all did," she whispered. "Didn't we?"

"We did," Danny agreed, his voice nearly nonexistent.

"That's one of the many differences between you and him, Danny," Mom said, a sharp bite in her tone. "Fentons try to see the good before they see the bad, and that is nothing to be ashamed of, even if—even if sometimes we try so hard to see the good, we forget the bad exists at all. Does...does that make sense?"

Slowly, Danny nodded. Was—was it really that simple? he wondered incredulously. Looking at his parents' faces, he saw his own choices, his own beliefs, reflected back at him, and he decided maybe…maybe it was.

"Danno, you understand Vlad in a way we could never hope to, and we'll support your decision, no matter what. It takes a brave, brave man to face and make a decision like this, and I am so proud of you. But even still…"

"I need to tell you everything," Danny murmured.

"Everything you're comfortable with. It'll help when we decide how to deal with him from here on out."

"There's…" Danny's throat closed up, anxiety threatening to send him over the edge again. With some effort, he choked out, "There's no guarantee you'll be able to…to even look at—"

"My friend is gone, Danno, I know this." Dad's jaw set, and his eyes flashed. "And no matter what, you are my son."

Danny's shoulders slumped as relief surged through him, the intensity and sincerity of the words soothing a gash he had long since tried to treat himself.

"Shout, cry, curse…whatever you need to do, we're here to listen. The rest can come in time. Vlad is dangerous, and your mother and I made mistakes. We don't want to make anymore."

"That's the only way we can make up for the ones we've already made," Mom added, guilt furrowing her brow and dulling her eyes.

Danny was quick to shake his head. "There's never only one 'only way,'" he muttered, his lips turning up at the corners. "Not for us."

It was the closest thing to forgiveness he could offer right now, but judging by the brightening expressions on his family's faces, it was enough to show he was on his way.

"Do…do you think you can start from the beginning, Danny?" Mom asked.

Taking a deep breath, Danny snuck a look at Jazz, who nodded at the unspoken question in his eyes. I'll help, she promised, much in the same way she had promised not to say a word about his full history with Plasmius weeks before.

"Okay."

~…~

Sam did not have to wait in the doctor's office lobby for long. Read as: not at all. After Mrs. Foley kindly dropped her and Grandma Ida off, she'd been ushered in as though Death itself was snapping at her heels. Judging by the pinched and stressed expression on the receptionist's face, Sam could only assume her mother had played the I-am-a-fucking-Manson-and-I-can-own-your-entire-family-if-I-so-choose card with quite a bit of explosive vehemence.

Grandma Ida hummed idly as Sam was fussed over. After an X-ray and numerous extraneous exams were performed, she was given recommendations for the best over-the-counter brace on the market and counseled over proper icing and pain medication, and she was out the door before she knew it.

When Sam saw the family car waiting in the lot to pick her and Grandma up, she almost wished her wrist had been broken, rather than sprained. The inevitable surely would have been delayed that way.

"Do me a favor, Grandma," Sam muttered in undertone as the pair approached the car. Their driver was already in motion, ready to accommodate and assist Grandma Ida. "And kill me now."

Her grandma chortled and patted her arm. "Destiny has a funny way of manifesting itself, Sammie. You'll be just fine." She smiled mysteriously, and Sam knew better than to ask what she meant. "And remember, no matter what they say, Grandma's on your side here. You did well today."

Sam absorbed the praise. "Thanks, Grandma." Steeling herself, she took it upon herself to help the driver with Grandma and her wheelchair before circling the car and ducking in herself.

Inside,Pamela Manson sat primly and properly, her hands folded in her lap as she stared out the window. Her profile was as rigid and stony as her posture, and unsurprisingly, her mother did not turn to address her. Her father, however, was another story.

Disheveled from what must have been a very stressful train ride from Chicago, his face was haggard and lined with concern. He leaned forward immediately as she sat down, eyes latching on her wrist. "Are you alright, Samantha?"

Her mother snorted, knocking curtly on the inner car window to signal the driver. "Of course she isn't, Jeremy. Monsters attacked the school, and she was hurt. If I were in my right mind, I would be on the phone with our lawyer right now, ready to sue Mr. Lancer, the superintendent, and those pathetic excuses for—"

"Mother," Sam interrupted icily. "I'm fine. I fell, and if I follow the doctor's instructions, my wrist will heal in two or three weeks. It really isn't a big deal."

Pale eyes flashed her way. "It isn't a big deal?" she repeated loudly. "Not a big deal?!"

It took a significant amount of effort to keep the sass out of her tone. "I could have sprained my wrist the same way in gym, Mom. People fall. It happens."

"Samantha, this is not entirely about the wrist! You do realize Mr. Lancer called us at work, don't you?"

"Yes, I'm aware."

"Well, according to him, you're damn lucky you weren't killed!"

Sam bristled. "I didn't have much of a choice! The ghosts attacked our classroom, and the way out was blocked! I couldn't just lie down and cower! If I did that, I would have been killed."

"You shouldn't have been put in that position!"

"They can't just predict exactly when and where a ghost will attack, Mom!" Sam retorted. "It doesn't work like that. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's all."

"That is hardly the case, Samantha! That Fenton boy was in your classroom, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, and it's thanks to him I'm standing here at all!"

"It's thanks to him your life was in danger! I told you ghosts were attracted to that freak—"

"Danny," Sam stressed, "had nothing to do with those ghosts today! And don't call him that! He and his family saved the school today!"

"According to the news, he did a poor job of it," her mother sniffed.

Sam stiffened, and she grit her teeth down. All that blood…He hadn't texted back yet, had he? Her fingers itched to check her phone.

Grandma Ida, who'd been suspiciously silent up until this point, placed a comforting hand on Sam's forearm. "That's enough, Pamela. You forget what Mr. Lancer truly said. I heard the message too. Your daughter, Tucker Foley, and the Fenton children were heroes today, to hear him tell the story. And he only got pieces of the full story!"

"You don't get to decide how I discipline my child after she puts herself into life-threatening situations," her mother spat. "Taking stupid risks is not heroism. When I heard from Mr. Lancer you had gone out to confront the beasts yourself—"

"I didn't go after the ghosts!" Sam corrected. "Phantom needed help! What was I supposed to do?"

"Get your skinny ass to the shield!" Pamela shouted, her palm smacking the custom leather seat beside her. "That's what you were supposed to do! Isn't that right, Jeremy?"

Sam's father sighed wearily. "What you did was very dangerous, Samantha. Your mother is right. You should have gone to the shield immediately."

"I probably should have, yeah," Sam admitted, "but Danny's my friend! And he was hurt today, protecting us! I had the power to help, so I did!"

Sam's mother froze, and with narrowed eyes, she asked in a deadly quiet tone, "Your friend? Samantha Anne Manson, I told you to stay away from the Fentons. I didn't want you associating with them or Phantom."

"Well, I didn't listen," Sam stated, folding her arms. "It's not like I went out of my way to keep it a secret! He's a great guy, Mom, and if you took two seconds to get your head out of your ass, you'd—"

"Samantha!" her father barked, eyes flashing in warning.

Hands shaking with rage, Pamela threw her purse open and yanked out her cell phone, jabbing away at it with her claw-like nails.

"Hon," Jeremy ventured, his tone clipped and impatient. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What are you doing?"

"If she's not going to listen, if she's not going to take me seriously, I'm going to have a restraining order placed on every single member of that family. I will have one."

This was a new level of crazy Sam could hardly wrap her mind around. "Wait, did you just say restraining order?"

"You refuse to listen to me!" Pam screamed. "You refuse to see that associating with those people is suicide! Grounding won't do a damn thing—I know you too well for that, Sammie—but maybe this will finally get it through your head that—"

"Let me out."

Sam could hardly recognize the words as her own. This level of anger was so dissociative, she almost felt paradoxically calm, but even still, there was no denying that she sat in the eye of the storm, everything around her a tumultuous whirlwind of red.

"Excuse me?" her mother asked, lowering her phone.

"I said 'let me out,'" Sam repeated. "I'd rather walk home than sit in this car with you if you think for a single second the Fentons deserve this. This is excessive, even for you."

"Now you hang on one second, young lad—!"

Sam plowed forward as though her father hadn't spoken at all. "Honestly, Mom? I can't believe you! You have no right to tell me who I can and can't be friends with! Besides—" The idea that had been niggling at her mind all day finally came to light in a burst of clarity, and she smiled, whatever she was going to say lost to the brilliance of her epiphany's truth. "—I'm going to learn how to fight."

To protect herself. To protect others. To never feel as useless as she did during the ghost attack today.

Damn, and she prided herself on her intellect? How had it taken so long for her to come to this conclusion?

She could see her mother's disapproval right off the bat, but her father's irate expression easing into a calmer one as he turned the idea over in his head, considering the pros and cons, the latter of which nonexistent. Because come on, where was the con in teaching a teenaged girl self-defense?

None of course, and her father said so: "That's not a half-bad idea."

"Jeremy!" Pamela exclaimed, sounding scandalized.

"Think about it, Pam. She's too young to have a concealed carry license, but that shouldn't stop me from teaching her how to shoot a gun. Damn." He sat back in his seat. "The gun range offers self-defense classes, too. I should have taken you ages ago, Sammie. I would feel much better if you knew how to defend yourself, especially now."

Grandma Ida's smug grin quickly flipped to a scowl when Pamela said, "Absolutely not. It's a completely moronic idea, and above all, it's a waste of time!"

"And why's that, Pamela?" Grandma asked.

"Because nothing like this is ever going to happen again!"

"That's wishful thinking," Sam snarked. "This is only the beginning, Mom! I'm ahead of the curve here. In the next few months, I bet everyone will be proficient, or at least familiar, with a ghost weapon, and I bet we'll have sponsored Ghost 101 and defense classes at Casper High by the end of the quarter. The community will clamber for them. But even that's not enough. Now that I've seen what these ghosts can do, I'm going to need a lot more than a few classes if I want to help keep Amity safe."

Pamela was pretending to look amused, and Sam knew she'd won. There was nothing her mother could say to refute the logic of her prediction, nothing she could say to drag her ideas through the mud. "Oh?" her mother asked instead. "And how exactly do you intend to do that?"

Filled with purpose and determination, she met her parents' eyes evenly. "I'm going to become a ghost hunter."

Chapter Text

"You really care about this boy, don't you?"

Sam looked up from her book. Normally, she'd have been irate at the intrusion into her private space during her alone time, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't been waiting for someone to come.

Jeremy Manson stood at her doorway, a thoughtful and soft expression on his face. His knuckles rapped a light beat against the doorframe as he waited for her to acknowledge him, and despite herself, her defenses lowered.

She had already decided she was going to become a ghost hunter with or without her family's permission, but she needed to hear what had been said up in the privacy of her parents' bedroom so that she could…plan accordingly. Judging by her father's patient and considerate demeanor, he was satisfied with the outcome of the discussion, and Sam couldn't help but dare to hope things might work out in her favor. Yanking the headphones from her ears, she gave her father her undivided attention and asked, "What?"

It was as much an invitation as any, and Jeremy stepped into her room. Sitting up and folding her legs before her, Sam closed her book and watched her father take a seat at the foot of the bed. "You really care about Daniel Fenton," he repeated.

This time, it was not a question, but Sam responded as though it was one. "Of course I do, Dad. He's one of my best friends."

It was the first time she said it aloud, and it made her happy—how right it sounded.

Jeremy nodded, a strange sort of smile touching his lips. "I don't know why I expected anything different."

Losing the fond, warm glow and narrowing her eyes, Sam folded her arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Her father raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I only meant...a part of me hoped you were only trying to antagonize your mother, by hanging around the Fentons."

It took a moment for the full impact of his words to hit her, and when it did, it nearly took her breath away, slashing at her pride with all the ferocity of a hungry lion. No fucking way did he just say that to her face. How dare he insinuate she would use Danny as an excuse to rebel! What kind of person did her father think she was?

Indignant and hurt, Sam opened her mouth, but she stopped short when she saw the self-deprecating expression on her father's face. "It was stupid of me to hope," he said.

"I'd say so," Sam agreed bluntly.

Jeremy's eyes flashed, not all too appreciative of her tone. "You do understand," Jeremy said in a stern tone, "that all your mother and I want is for you to be safe?"

"With ghosts around, I don't think there is such a thing as 'safe' anymore," Sam said with a roll of her eyes. She sounded like a broken record, even to herself. "Not unless—"

"You learn how to defend yourself," Jeremy finished. "Despite what you may think, Sammie, we do listen to you."

Sam fiddled at the Velcro of her wrist brace, eyeing her father curiously. Grandma Ida had not been the only one to jump to her defense when her mother went off. Her father had as well, and she hadn't been able wrap her mind around a plausible why. She still couldn't. Whatever the reason he decided to put himself on Pamela Manson's Shit List, it had been his interference that redirected the brunt of his wife's stubborn rage, and it had left Sam confused and frustrated for hours after their return home. She wasn't the type to let someone fight her battles for her, and the fact she'd been ignored as her parents fought their way up to their bedroom did not sit well with her.

Mysteries never sat well with her as a general rule.

"I don't like this," Jeremy continued, keeping and holding Sam's gaze. "And neither does your mother. In an ideal world, we'd keep you far, far away from ghosts. But I can't deny your argument...has its merits."

Cautious hope filled her, and Sam asked, "You...you actually...?"

"If you insist on hanging around with the Fentons," her father said carefully, "then we will settle for nothing less than the best self-defense classes we can find."

It took a moment for Sam to work through her disbelief, but as her father's expression became increasingly amused by her inability to grasp what he'd said, she realized how stupid she must look. A slow grin spread across her face, and as happiness swelled in her chest like a balloon, Sam did something she hadn't done since she was a little girl: she threw herself forward and embraced her father.

She didn't know how he'd done it. She couldn't imagine what it was he said to her mother, how he convinced her to relent even this much, but she wasn't going to question it, not now. "Thank you," she said gratefully.

"Don't thank me yet," Jeremy said as Sam drew away. "You're still grounded."

"What?" she blurted. "What for?"

"Back-talking. And for not calling us immediately to let us know you were safe after the attack. You know better than that. So no friends, no phone, no TV this weekend." Sam seethed, sighing in reluctant defeat, and Jeremy added, far too cheerily, "And your mother is going to want to talk to you."

Sam winced. Wasn't her father the messenger already? "...About?"

"Her conditions."

"Conditions," Sam repeated dully.

"Yes. Conditions," her father enunciated. "We agreed that the self-defense classes are necessary, if only because there is no telling when you might get stuck in another situation like you did today. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and accidents—"

"So she's willing to admit what happened today wasn't the Fentons' fault?" Sam interrupted skeptically.

"Not quite," he said. "Your grandmother and I managed to convince your mother that we cannot protect you from everything, and a lot of what's going on—the ghosts, the Fenton Portal, your friendship with the Fenton boy…it's out of our control, and it's hard for your mother to admit that."

And she probably wouldn't admit it. Not to Sam's face, anyway. As far as apologies go, Sam wouldn't expect one from her mother. She couldn't remember a single instant in which Pamela Manson admitted she made a mistake, so this—right here, right now—was the best she would get.

It was almost enough.

"Until we get more information," her father continued, "and until we see how the Fenton Portal's activation will affect us and our defense plans for the city, we're flying in the dark. Permitting you to enroll in these classes is the one of the few things we do have control over."

"Okay," Sam said slowly. "I'm confused. Where is the downside?"

Her father's eyes flashed sternly. "If we're going to allow you to do this, if this is what you really want, then this is the last we want to hear about ghost-hunting."

Sam's eyes widened, and she grit her teeth, scowling. "But—!"

"It is one thing to learn how to protect yourself," Jeremy stated in a firm tone, "but it is quite another to actively hunt these monsters. We don't want another call like the one we received this afternoon, Samantha! These classes aren't supposed to be an excuse for you to put yourself in danger, and if you can't accept that, we will have a problem. We can pull you out of these classes as easily as we can put you in."

Sam's temper rose, but with some effort, she beat it back, dousing the passion rising in her chest. Her father's expression brokered no argument, and considering the fact her mother and father were actually giving a little, Sam realized now wasn't the time to fight. It was better to keep a cool head about this and make off with what she had before any rash decisions were made. Besides, didn't she already decide she would train to be a ghost-hunter regardless of her parents' wishes anyway? It wouldn't be so hard to go behind their backs, anyway, to ask the Fentons for some tips…

This was only a baby step. If her parents were considering what she was saying, if they were finally listening, then her time would come. She'd be able to present her case again, should the need arise.

"Fine," Sam agreed tersely.

Her father blinked, looking a little taken aback when she accepted as easily as she did. "Alright, then," he said. "Good." Shifting off the bed, he smiled and said, "Oh, and also: I want to meet them."

"The Fentons?" Sam asked in surprise.

"Of course," Jeremy said, turning. "I would like to meet Daniel especially. This boy is someone special, to have caught your eye."

There was a strange, mischievous glint in her father's eye that didn't suit him at all. In fact, he looked so much like Grandma Ida's son in that moment it unnerved her, and the suggestion in his words, paired with that little smirk, caused a very unwelcome and embarrassing blush to rise to Sam's face.

She was saved from responding by her mother's voice, amplified by the high-ceilinged halls of their house. "JEREMY! YOUR PHONE!"

"Oh, damn," her father swore.

"What?" Sam asked, more out of habit than out of genuine interest.

Jeremy looked at the clock on Sam's nightstand. "Huh. It is quite late. I wonder who—"

"JEREMY!"

"JUST ANSWER IT, DEAR! I'LL BE RIGHT THERE," he hollered. Turning back to Sam, he rolled his eyes and complained, "I've been waiting for an important call today, and it's been obnoxious, having calls redirected from the landline to my cell phone. You wouldn't believe how many—"

Sam's heart flopped like a beached Magikarp. "Wait," she interrupted. "Did you just say you redirected the home phone to your cell?"

"Well, yes. I expected to be in Chicago quite late this evening, but then the attack—"

She tuned her father out, her thoughts stalling. She tried to process it all slowly. Landline. Redirected to her father's phone. The phone her mother was answering.

She'd given Danny the home phone number. She'd told him to call. Anytime.

Oh, fuck.

She launched herself out of bed and was out of the room before her father could finish his explanation.

~…~

Flopping backwards on his bed, Danny closed his eyes and listened to the line ring. After a three-hour-long conversation with his parents, he was emotionally wiped, and all he wanted to do was pass out, but there were a few things he needed to take care of if he wanted to sleep peacefully tonight.

Mom and Dad had already retreated to their room for the night, their faces haggard and their eyes blurry with exhaustion. After flinging themselves between every last extreme on the emotional spectrum during his story, Danny wasn't surprised when they each gave him a tender hug and told him they would deal with Plasmius themselves in the morning.

The fiery look in their eyes had been beyond satisfying, but as good as it felt to have his parents taking command of this battle for him, he knew there was one thing he had to do for himself.

That didn't mean he hoped Vlad would actually pick up.

Danny was about ready to hang up when the man himself finally answered his phone with a surprised, "Daniel? Are you alright?"

For a moment, Danny couldn't imagine why the man was asking, but then he remembered. The attack at Casper High might have felt as though it happened a lifetime ago, but there was no doubt the news was still very fresh in the public's eyes.

Hatred and shame bubbling in his chest, Danny sat up. "Alright. Rule Number One: don't ask me questions like that. Ever. I don't need or want your concern. Or whatever the hell passes for concern in your perverted mind."

"Such hostility!" Plasmius chuckled, darkly amused. For a man who sounded so humbled on the phone this morning, he was certainly making up for his fat ass ego now. "If I'm not mistaken, you called me. I assume you want something. That's no way to—"

"Rule Number Two," Danny interrupted loudly. "Don't lecture me. And don't flatter yourself, Plasmius. I'm only calling because I made a promise, and I don't break my promises. Even to assholes like you."

There was a pause, and the levity in Vlad's tone was nowhere to be found when he stated, "You have thought about my request."

"I have." The hand clutching the Fenton's home phone trembled as he squeezed it tightly. "And if this is going to work," Danny said carefully, "you have to understand something. Right now."

"I'm listening."

"If you go ghost or use your powers at any time near FentonWorks, I will know, and I'll let your identity slip to the media. If you bring bugs to plant in our lab, we will know, and you'll be revealed. If you bring anyone—or anything—with you, we will know, and you'll be revealed. If you do anything to undermine my parents' work or do anything to sabotage the event, you'll be revealed. If you look at my mother or my father with anything more, or less, than respect—and if you so much as look at Jazz—forget your secret, I'll take you down where you stand."

Vlad was perfectly silent for a moment before he said, with far more sincerity than Danny had ever heard from him, "Thank you, Daniel."

That wasn't enough for Danny. He needed a verbal confirmation. "You agree to the terms?"

"I do. I understand my position perfectly."

Danny exhaled slowly through his nose. "Alright. Don't make me regret this, Plasmius."

"It'll be as though I'm not even there," Vlad promised. "Until Tuesday, Daniel."

"Hang on," Danny said before he could hang up. When Danny didn't hear a click, he grit his teeth, summoning the most polite tone he could manage. "I don't think I ever thanked you, for joining the battle. Or for saving my life. It doesn't change anything, and it never will, but consider this me repaying my debt to you."

"There was never a debt to repay," Vlad said, and Danny squeezed his eyes shut. "Goodbye, Daniel."

Danny sighed in relief after hanging up. The unnecessary weight bogging him down had lifted off his chest, and he felt rejuvenated and possibly even at peace with the decision he'd made.

Reaching over without leaving his cross-legged position on the bed, he placed the family phone on his desk and picked up his personal cell. His thumbnail nicked the dent on the bottom left corner, and he rubbed at it, staring at the glossy black screen. There were several other calls he promised himself he'd make, but now that he was faced with the prospect of making good on those promises, he felt his resolve faltering.

It shouldn't be harder to call your friends than it was to call Vlad, Danny berated himself, brow furrowing. But honestly, he was so out of his depth, he couldn't help but feel anxious. What did a super-powered teen even say to his friends after they saw him get his ass handed to him? Did normal people call their friends as late as 9 PM? Was it too late to call? Would they even answer? Should he leave a voicemail?

Oh, God, no, that'd be even more embarrassing.

A text then? He could text them now, without even bothering to call, but after freezing in the lab earlier, he decided he'd probably get more accomplished by actually calling instead of angst'ing over a single text.

Besides, this way, he could allow Sam and Tucker to lead the conversation, and maybe his social ineptitude wouldn't be so obvious.

Unlocking the phone and pulling up Tucker's contact info, he stared at it for a moment before shrugging, pushing the call button, and muttering, "Fuck it."

Tucker picked up on the third ring. Some pretty intense battle music filtered in through the speakers, the distinctive click of Tucker punching a controller's joysticks and buttons accenting the music. Sounding half-distracted and speaking through what must've been a mouthful of food, Tuck greeted, "Wazzup, Sam?"

"Um...sorry, not Sam. Is…" Danny frowned, trying to listen closer. "Is that Skyrim you're playing?"

Tucker choked, and the music immediately paused. "Dude!" he exclaimed. "Man, it's good to hear your voice! I didn't think you'd be up and about so soon! How're you feeling?"

The concern in Tuck's voice, so different from that of Plasmius', filled Danny to the brim with a strange mixture of happiness and guilt. He never liked worrying anyone, and he was glad he didn't chicken out. Jazz had told him multiple times how much it meant to her when he remembered to call or text her after a ghost attack...and how it felt whenever he didn't.

He didn't want Sam and Tuck to experience that so early in their friendship. Not if he could help it.

"Good," Danny admitted. "I'm really good, actually." Rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, he added, "I heal pretty fast."

"I'd say! Damn. Out of morbid curiosity, how fast is fast? I saw those bites, and they definitely didn't look too pretty."

"Definitely didn't feel too pretty either," Danny joked without thinking. Tucker didn't laugh, and he realized what he'd said. Anxiety spiked, and his natural inclination to hide, to lie, to wiggle his way out of uncomfortable, less-than-normal and ghost-related situations reared its unwelcome head.

But he'd been able to push through that barrier before, and so he would again. With a forced smile Tucker couldn't see, Danny continued, "I'm not sure if it means much, coming from a literal ghost, but I don't think your curiosity is morbid."

"I have to wonder if you or your family consider anything morbid anymore," Tucker teased.

"Um..." He seriously considered the question for a moment and then decided, "No, not really. Working with the paranormal can do that, I suppose."

Tuck snickered. "Oh my God, dude. I love that you actually had to sit and think about it."

"Shut up," Danny retorted. "It took me a moment to remember what morbid is to other people."

Tucker's giggles died off, and there was a moment of contemplative silence. "You know what?" he said. "I think I'm more concerned than amused now. You've probably seen some pretty freaky shit, haven't you?"

Danny opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Tucker said, "Never mind. Don't answer that. We'll all see some freaky shit for ourselves soon enough, won't we? Today was just the beginning."

Eyebrows raised, Danny flopped backwards in bed. "You considered that freaky?" he wondered.

"Dude, did you not see the torn ghost-flesh hanging from those things? The boar had, like, a dozen different spears poking out of its body! And that dog! That thing was nasty."

"Poor dog," Danny agreed, remembering its emaciated form.

"Poor dog? Said dog bit you."

"It did, but it wasn't really its fault," Danny reasoned.

"...are you fucking kidding me? And I suppose it wasn't the boar's fault either, for you know...impaling you?"

Tucker's reaction was exactly why Mom needed to finish her book on ghost species and behavior. Or make good on her promise to lecture at the local universities. He made a mental note to talk to his parents about it the next chance he had. In the meantime, he had no problem stepping in. A part of him was thrilled at the prospect of teaching someone about ghosts, about who and what they were. He never expected to like teaching, but lately, he realized that having the opportunity to offer tidbits of information about the Ghost Zone and its residents was the only reason he agreed to do interviews at all anymore.

"Not really," Danny said. "It wasn't their fault they fell through a portal. Feuders only attack when their opponent is threatened, you know? They can't always help it. If they were more sentient, it might be a different story, but it's my fault for not having a Thermos and taking care of them before...um...helping them destroy a part of the school."

Danny could practically feel the judgement from the other end of the phone, and sure enough, Tucker said, "You're crazy."

Laughing, Danny said, "I'm a Fenton."

"Nah, I will not accept that. Your brain must still be scrambled after all the hits you took today."

"Ouch. Now that hurt, Tuck."

"Ha! Never would have imagined the Danny Phantom had such a fragile ego!"

Danny didn't have a good come back for that one, so he simply said, "Screw you."

Tucker burst into laughter. "Okay, but in all seriousness, you're really alright?"

Danny smiled. "Yeah," he responded. "I'll be all healed up by tomorrow, and you can see for yourself."

"Really?" Tuck asked incredulously. "But how does that even...no, wait, hang on! Priorities. Does this mean you're good for Nasty Burger tomorrow?"

"Oh, duh, right. Yes. Yes, that's one of the reasons I called."

Tucker hissed a prolonged yasssss before asking, "Did you talk to Sam yet?"

"Not yet. I wanted to make sure you were still down before I called Sam." Remembering her warning, he asked, "Think she'll answer her phone?"

"She hasn't responded to me all night, so I assume not. She gave you the other number, right?"

"Yeah, she did."

"Cool. Do me a favor and tell her I said, 'I told you so?'"

"Uh, sure? Why...?"

Danny could practically hear his eye roll. "Get this, dude. She seemed to think—" Tucker stopped suddenly and swore under his breath. "Yeah, in a sec, Mom!" his shout was slightly muffled, but it was loud enough to hear through the speaker. There was a clatter, and Tucker's voice came through the speaker clearly again. "Hey, dude, I'm sorry, but I gotta run. Dad just got home, and it seems my presence is required downstairs."

Danny snorted. "No problem. I'll text you after I've talked with Sam."

"Sweet. See ya—"

Danny jolted upward, remembering almost too late that he had something important to say. "Wait!" he said abruptly. "Sorry, before you go, I need to thank you. I should have said it first, but…"

"Thank me?" Tucker asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "What for?"

Danny massaged his injured shoulder and closed his eyes. "What for? Tuck, you and Sam saved my ass today, and I didn't—I mean, I blew up at you guys because...well, that doesn't matter now." He cleared his throat, wincing at how awkward he sounded. "I was a jerk earlier, so I wanted to apologize and thank you. For doing what you did."

Tucker was silent for a moment, and Danny anxiously shifted in bed. "You don't have to thank us," he finally scoffed. "That's what friends are for, you big loser."

After they hung up, Danny slowly pulled the phone from his ear and stared at the screen, Tucker's last words lingering in his mind. "You're the crazy one," he muttered aloud, a small smile working its way on his face. Normal teens did not simply rush into the middle of a ghost attack, friends or otherwise. Normal teens hid and stayed safe. Normal teens did not stand down a scared and embarrassed half-ghost…or concern themselves over him at all.

His grin broadened, and not for the first time, he wondered how he could have gotten so lucky to have found these two completely not normal teens to be his friends.

Ectoenergy from his hidden core seeped into his human form, and Danny hovered a few inches above his bed. Any exhaustion he felt earlier was gone, and it felt as though happiness alone was keeping him aloft. With a satisfied hum, he dialed Sam's home phone and waited for her to pick up.

The line rang…and rang…and rang. Disappointment made him slump back in bed, and he sighed. "Well, so much for that," he muttered to himself.

He was just about to hang up when the ringing cut off and an unknown, harried-sounding voice sounded through the speakers. "Hello, you've reached the Manson residence. Pamela Manson speaking."

Now, if Danny were smart, he would have hung up the moment he realized it wasn't Sam's voice greeting him. As it turned out, he wasn't awfully smart. A pathetic moment of panic had him scrambling indecisively for words, and as his ass hit the bed again, he ended up stuttering, "Um…hi. Hello. This is—" Sense caught up to him, and feeling strangely protective of his identity and far too uncomfortable to reveal it to her, he dug his knuckles into one of his eyes. "Ah, I mean, I was…wondering if I could speak to Sam?"

The moment the question was asked, he realized he'd screwed up. He should have hung up. Sam was probably already in trouble, no thanks to him, and he wasn't about to make it any easier on her. It was too much to hope for that Mrs. Manson would just hand the phone over to Sam, and it felt as though ants were crawling around in his belly as he waited for a response.

"I'm sorry, who is this?" Sam's mother asked. For all the suspicion in her tone, Danny had to give her credit for maintaining a polite front. "Where did you get this number?"

No turning back now. Danny winced and said, "Oh, right, um...this is Danny. Danny Fenton?"

"Is it now?" Sam's mother sassed mockingly. "You don't sound so certain."

Feeling his face heat up, Danny cringed. "This is Danny Fenton, yes," he corrected, making a valiant effort to sound more confident in himself.

"And how exactly did you get this number, Mr. Fenton?"

This was awful. He thought his mother was intimidating when she wanted to be? Sam's mother was on another level entirely. It could be that he was very acutely aware that she didn't like him or his family...and loathed Phantom's existence, but either way, Danny couldn't remember the last time he felt so uncomfortable under someone else's scrutiny. And this was over the phone. "Sam, uh..."

"I see. Well, Samantha is grounded," Pamela snapped. Danny frowned, both disappointed and not all together pleased to hear that Sam's prediction came true. "And she's resting."

The accusation in her voice was all too apparent, but Danny couldn't get hung up on her animosity. "Is—is she alright? May I talk to her?"

Mrs. Manson was silent for a moment. "She's grounded," she repeated, with far more emphasis than the first time. In fact, Danny had the distinct sense she wasn't talking to him so much as she was Sam herself right now. "And I don't appreciate you calling here so late, Mr. Fenton. Good—"

She was going to hang up. "Wait!" Danny interrupted, speaking quickly.

He could feel her bristling at the other end of the line. "Excuse me?" she hissed, all semblance of controlled politeness and patience disappearing like a puff of smoke. "What do you—?"

"Mrs. Manson," he interrupted again, "may I leave a message for her, at the very least? Please?" Without waiting for her response, he plowed on. "Sam was hurt because I wasn't prepared. I wasn't fast enough or good enough. I won't deny it, and I can't stand that anyone was hurt on my account. I take the responsibility for it. But even still, she helped save a lot of people today, by helping me and my family. She was so brave, and I need her to know I—and the rest of the Casper High—would have been in far worse shape after that attack if she and Tucker Foley hadn't done what they did."

Silence. For a fleeting second, Danny was afraid that Mrs. Manson had hung up, but to his utter surprise, he heard a curt, "Good night, Mr. Fenton" before there was a final click.

"Shit," Danny cursed under his breath, pulling the phone away from his ear.

That...wasn't exactly how he wanted to go about introducing himself to the infamous Pamela Manson, and that certainly wasn't how he'd hoped to thank Sam. He probably just made things worse. A lot worse. And she didn't deserve that. He was such an idiot. Why hadn't he hung up when he had the chance?

Well. He supposed he'd better text Tucker and tell him he fucked up big time.

~…~

Sam stood, frozen on the second to last stair. From the living room, Pamela's gaze did not falter from hers as she slowly lowered the phone from her ear. The blank, emotionless look on her face didn't do a thing to intimidate Sam, who gaped in incredulity at her mother.

She almost stormed back up the stairs. Almost.

How dare she. How dare her mother speak for her? Grounded or not, Danny had been maimed today. He'd been hurt, and Sam had no idea if he was doing alright. None at all. How could her mother so callously ignore that? Didn't she realize Sam was worried about him? Didn't she realize that this was another mother's son? One who got hurt defending Sam and everyone else at Casper High? Didn't she realize that, even after all the progress they made tonight, this was a push too far? No one deserved to be treated like that! And after everything Danny's done? After what happened today? Didn't her mother see the news?

"I can't believe you," Sam hissed. "I really can't. You accuse me of being a child?"

Pamela's face flushed red with rage. "Excuse me, young la—?"

"Honey?" Jeremy interrupted suddenly from the top of the stairs. He thumped down and paused next to Sam, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Who was that on the…?" He trailed off, and after taking no more than a millisecond to survey his wife's pinched, disapproving expression, he turned to Sam, a mildly disappointed frown on his face. "What's going on?" he asked wearily.

Sam opened her mouth to say something that would undoubtedly get her in more trouble, but her mother responded first, projecting her voice with a flourish of drama. "That," she announced, "was Danny Fenton. On the phone just now."

"Oh?" Jeremy's hand fell from Sam's shoulder.

"She refused to let me speak to him," Sam bit out.

"No friends means no friends, Samantha," Pamela lectured, a dispassionate note in her tone. "You're grounded and will stay grounded until I say otherwise. No exceptions."

"But—"

"Samantha." Pamela's eyes flashed.

Sarcasm bled from her tone when she retorted, "Mother."

"That's enough," Jeremy said. "Sammie, I think we've had enough for one day. Your grandmother just went to bed. Let's just—"

"What? Drop it?" Sam demanded. "You do realize that my friend was hurt today, right?"

Jeremy cast a sidelong glance toward his wife. "We—"

Sam didn't let him get much further than that. She didn't want to hear it. "I don't care what you think about him! I don't care about your prejudices and your disapproval! Tucker and I saw him take some bad hits, and we have no idea what happened to him after his family took him away! Can you, for just a second, imagine what that feels like?"

Pamela and Jeremy stared at her. Her father looked discomfited, and her mother…unaffected.

A groan of frustration threatened to build in her throat. Actually, far more than a groan threatened to slip out, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. Shaking with the remnants of her fury and rubbing her burning eyes, she controlled her tone and asked, "Can I at least know if he's alright? Please, Mom."

Her mother did not bat an eyelash, and she pursed her lips, allowing the silence between them to stretch on.

When she could take it no longer, she said, "That's it then." Brushing past her father, she turned to head back up the stairs. "Fine."

"Wait, Sammie." Sam stopped in her tracks. In a gentler, more thoughtful tone than Sam would have ever believed her mother capable of, Pamela continued, "He asked after you. He asked if you were alright."

Warmth blossomed in Sam's chest, and she turned back around. "He sounded okay?"

Pamela jerked her head in a nod.

Relieved, Sam sighed, "Thank you. That's all I needed."

She barely got up another step before Pamela called again, "Sam."

Sam leaned back so that she could see her mother over the banister, and Pamela added, "He wanted to thank you, too."

Was...was that a hint of pride in her mother's voice? Nah, it couldn't possibly be. Perhaps Sam was projecting. Or maybe she was just insanely tired and had begun hallucinating. Either of those two options seemed far more likely.

Besides, she didn't need her parents' pride. Sam knew she did well for her first ghost attack, and she was proud enough of herself to make up for her parents' lack thereof.

Jeremy took his chance to wrap his daughter in a quick hug and kiss her temple. "Goodnight, Sammie," he said softly, drawing away and descending to the ground floor.

After Pamela echoed her husband, Sam responded in kind and mounted the rest of the stairs, her thoughts miles away. She was so lost in thought she didn't hear the light whir of mechanical wheels.

"'Friend' my old, wrinkled ass."

"Grandma!" Sam yelped, so surprised by Ida's presence in the shadows of the landing she didn't really register what it was her grandma said. Grandma Ida rolled forward, a smirk on her face.

Feeling a small smile playing at her lips, Sam leaned forward and whispered, "Were you spying on us?"

Grandma Ida's smirk grew, and she patted her arm. "Of course I was, dear."

"Hear anything interesting?"

"Only that you still refer to Mr. Fenton as a friend."

There was a teasing note in her grandmother's tone, and Sam rolled her eyes. "He is my friend. Just a friend."

The resulting hum was sarcastic in an oh sure you are kind of way. "Keep that young man close, Sammie," Ida said, patting her arm. "You'll do great things with him by your side, you know. And he cannot hope to do great things without you—and Tucker—by his."

Goosebumps prickled up Sam's arms, and she rubbed at them. "You're ridiculous, Grandma," she laughed. "You make it sound as though we were all meant to get thrown together. I don't believe in destiny. Or fate. There's no such thing."

"As far as you know."

More amused than anything, Sam said, "You sound so sure."

With a mysterious smile, Grandma Ida scooted backwards and turned down the hall toward the bedroom door she left ajar. "Of course I'm sure. And even if you don't want to admit it, you can't deny it: everything happens for a reason."

"...I'm not sure I—"

With a chiding cluck of her tongue, Grandma Ida looked back at Sam with a tender smile and said, "You've been waiting for a cause, for a catalyst, for a chance to use your gifts and achieve your full potential. You've been waiting for him. You wouldn't be drawn to him otherwise, now would you?"

When she crawled into bed an hour later, Sam still hadn't decided if this was Grandma Ida's roundabout way of supporting her desire to enter the world of ghost-hunting…or if her grandma was far, far too invested in her nonexistent love-life.

She fell asleep deciding the answer was both.

Chapter Text

"Damn, dude."

Danny slid into the booth, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder at the conglomeration of Casper High students. It looked like the swimmers and football players had recently finished their Saturday morning practices and were having a grand time carb'ing up. Several customers, of Casper High and otherwise, watched him enter, recognizing him as a stranger...only to begin staring once they identified him.

He'd considered wearing more of a disguise than a beanie and oversized sweatshirt, mostly because he didn't want to get hounded by reporters if they caught wind of where he was and what he was doing, but he'd decided that was overkill. Besides, Jazz would have laughed her ass off if she saw him leaving the house with anything more than he had on now.

That wasn't the only reason he decided against it. The more he'd thought about going out in disguise that morning, the more the idea had repulsed him. He was a normal teenager first and foremost, and damn if he was going to sacrifice that, even if it meant putting up with a few more stares and nosy people. Besides, he could always go invisible and get himself and Tucker out of there if they felt like they were being harassed.

By now, he was a pro at ignoring stares and whispers, so he focused on Tucker, quirking a brow. "What?"

"You really do heal fast."

"Yes?" Danny said, his confusion making the affirmation sound more like a question. "What? Did you think I'd lie to you about that?"

"Pft. Cut me some slack, Ace." Tucker waved a flippant hand. "I've read plenty of comics in my time, and I'm fully capable of identifying hero complexes when I see them. Like it or not, dude, you fit the trope so hardcore it's ridiculous."

"I don't have a hero complex." The denial flew from his lips, more habit than anything at this point.

"Uh-huh. Sure. Well, whatever it is, you can't deny that your type is notorious for downplaying injuries." Before Danny could retort, Tucker leaned back and admitted, "But…I don't know, I think I expected a limp or some...sign, at least. I mean, after the Shift, you…"

"Were out of commission."

Tucker nodded. "For awhile, too."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Danny said, "Well, I guess I'm happy to prove you wrong?" When Tucker gave him a strange, increasingly pained look, he raised his hands. "I don't really know how it works either, man, but I won't complain."

Judging by how Tuck's expression switched from near-constipation to astonishment, Danny must have misinterpreted something. "…What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

It took a moment for Tucker to respond. "I guess…comparing yesterday—what I thought was bad: those bites, all that blood—" Danny refused to flinch, even though Tucker's dark eyes bore down on him "—to what really was bad, it just…makes it real, you know? What happened that day." A heaviness settled over the pair, but before Danny could think of a way to fix it, stunned as he was, Tucker brightened and teased, "But if all that sacrifice and all those near-death experiences aren't a sign of your supposedly nonexistent hero complex, I don't know what is."

"Oh my God." And just like that, the breath Danny had been holding was released. "Accuse me of all the superhero tropes you want, but I don't have a hero complex! I've been accused of it so many times I thought I'd accept my fate, even go so far as to say it myself, once upon a time, but Jazz set me straight. If you look up the real psychology behind a hero complex, you'll learn that—"

Tucker couldn't keep it together, interrupting Danny's tirade with an explosion of laughter. "Your face! Bro, you are far too easy to mess with." He didn't pay attention to Danny's aggravated mumbling and instead, his eyes trailed some newcomers as they entered the restaurant. "Hey," he said abruptly, "did you order already?"

The thought of food put an ecstatic, almost crazed, gleam in Tucker's eye. Allowing him the subject change, Danny smiled and said, "Yup, I ordered exactly what you told me to."

"Including the shake?"

"What do you take me for?" Danny joked. "Of course the shake. I was told it was to die for."

Without missing a beat, Tucker returned, "Good. It would have been a grave mistake to forget the shake."

Danny almost missed the pun. The only thing that keyed him in was Tucker's awful poker face. His friend was hardly capable of controlling his toothy grin, and Danny's eyes narrowed. "Did you just—?"

"Yo, Fenton!"

Danny barely had time to turn before a certain football player was there,as though by Apparition, forcing Tuck over to the side with a 'move your ass, Foley' and inviting himself to sit in their booth. Tucker was squished into the wall, his shoulders folded inward as Dash applied pressure.

"Hey!" Danny protested. "What are you—?"

"The fuck, Dash?" Tuck wriggled his shoulders and attempting to earn himself some room. "Who invited you here? Don't you have a whole party of your cronies over there?"

The mere mention of said cronies jinxed them. Several of Dash's friends surrounded the table, and Danny's mouth snapped shut, a sickening sense of claustrophobia overcoming him. He'd been here before, trapped and cornered, unable to fight back. This was the first time it had happened since he'd left Chicago, and he'd almost forgotten how it made him feel, how it tore him in half. His Phantom side was on the offensive, ready to fight should any of them make a move, a smart ass remark on his lips, but as always, that side of him was forced into submission on subconscious reflex by the Fenton side of him, who knew it was best to pretend, if only to protect himself from something much worse than bullies.

And for a second, he legitimately forgot these guys already knew he was Phantom. He forgot the GIW were gone for good. He forgot they already knew he'd stand up for himself, that they knew better than to come after him. By the time he fully wrapped his head around it all, it was already too late to stop Dash and his friends from sneering at Tuck and swiping the hat from his head.

The rush of self-loathing Danny felt was overcome with irritation, and he interrupted whatever verbal abuse Dash was about to fling at Tucker, nicking the hat out of midair before it could reach anyone else's hands. "I think it'd be best if you went back to your own table, Dash," Danny said as he handed the cap back to Tucker.

"Aw, what's this?" Dash's teasing was more genuine than it was mocking, something that didn't sit well with Danny, especially after how he treated Tuck, who took advantage of Dash's distraction to duck under the table and pop up next to Danny. "No hello, Fenton?"

"Not when you antagonize my friends, no," Danny stated. "There's not enough room for all of us here, and our food's on its way. Do you mind?"

Dash folded his arms and looked back at his friends. "Told it you it wasn't true, Kwan. There's no way."

Tucker rose to the bait before Danny could. "What isn't true?" he asked, jamming the red hat back on his head and rubbing his bruised shoulder.

Kwan frowned. "He probably hasn't even seen it yet. Bet's not over yet!"

"What bet?" Danny hissed at the same time Tucker demanded, "Seen what?"

"It was posted maybe twenty minutes ago, and it's already trending like you wouldn't believe," Kwan said, pulling out his smartphone and tapping at its screen. Once he found whatever it was he wanted to show Danny, Kwan slid his phone over. Danny gave the football-player an unamused look, but Kwan waited and watched expectantly, none-the-wiser to Danny's reluctance to have any sort of involvement with this.

Tucker was already leaning over. The guy had no shame whatsoever. With a sigh, Danny took a glance at what was on the screen.

In bold, blocky font, the headline read: "A Misunderstood 'Delinquent' and Unfortunate Victim - Students and faculty of Danny Fenton-Phantom's previous school district speak out."

Despite himself, Danny snorted and muttered, "And seek changes, hopefully." He scrolled down, and to his surprise, it seemed that was the case. Eyes drawn to the quotes, Danny recognized names of teachers and classmates and was blown away by their blunt honesty. They did not sugar-coat the hell he lived in, and they were unafraid to tell the world how they had once perceived him and his family…and about how his Big Reveal and the Shift changed them for the better.

He had expected this to happen, in some capacity. In fact, he was a little surprised no one from his old school had 'spoken out' about him and his family sooner. But then again, owning to mistakes isn't easy, and the light his old school district was throwing on itself right now could be as much a bad thing as it would be a good thing.

"So this slander is true?!" Dash asked, snatching Kwan's phone back. He wrinkled his nose. "All of it?"

"Well, I'd have to finish reading it to say for sure," Danny sassed. Dash shot him a glare, and Danny said, "I haven't exactly hidden it from anyone, Dash."

"He thought you were just being modest," Kwan piped up helpfully.

Oh. Oh my God. Danny had to tell himself nothing good would come of turning intangible and just walking away. They…they just couldn't get it through their thick skulls, could they? Hadn't they hashed this out already? Was it really that hard to believe? "I wasn't popular at my old school," Danny reiterated. "I was bullied. Teachers thought I was skipping class to smoke pot, rather than fight ghosts. I was grounded every other weekend because my grades sucked. What else do you want me to say?"

"I don't know!" Dash exclaimed. "That you're stringing me along? That these people are feeding off your fame? I mean, you're Phantom."

Danny sighed. "That I am."

"You're just…Fenton, one of the guys in this article admits he went out of his way to trip you up the stairs every day since middle school! You!"

Jim Weber. The name came to mind instantly. Despite himself, Danny scowled, an old, dark resentment stirring in his gut, and Dash, for all his bull-headedness, caught on to it right away. "There it is," he said, a meaty finger jabbing toward Danny. "If all this is true, there's no way you didn't fight back."

Danny's scowl deepened. Folding his arms across his chest and not caring in the slightest if his eyes flashed green, he asked, "What are you trying to prove?"

"I just—"

He decided he didn't want to hear the answer. "Let me tell you something, Dash: do you really think I'd be so stupid to use my powers to get back at guys like that? With the Guys in White around? Really?"

The color drained from Dash's face, and his eyes widened. Mutters broke out amongst the other students, their disgust for the now-dead organization apparent. Kwan, the brave, oblivious soul, dared to say, "I understand." Danny was almost grateful, until he added, "It's sick. Knowing what they could have done to you. Wait, no, did do? Weren't you…captured? At some point?"

Both of Danny's eyebrows rose in utter disbelief. What…what the hell was going on today? Even with the usual mantra of they don't know any better running through Danny's head, he decided enough was enough. This, he could not excuse for ignorance or curiosity. There was a point when it was just decent not to mention certain things.

So he did the very thing he'd been dying to do since…forever.

"Oh my God, Karen," Danny deadpanned.

A true friend, Tucker picked right where Danny left off and said, "You don't just ask people if they were ever abducted by the GIW."

Danny and Tucker fist-bumped under the table as several of the bystanders snickered and oooh'dunder their breaths. Danny would have left it there, satisfied when some of them, finally acknowledging a dismissal, floated back to their table—because surely the rest would follow, right?—but Tucker most certainly did not leave it there.

Riding high on their Mean Girls burn, the idiot decided to poke the tiger. Turning to Danny, he said, "Scum-sucking road whores, amiright?"

Dash didn't like that very much, to say the least. Incensed, he lunged over the top of the table in defense of his friends, grasping the front of Tucker's sweater. "You wanna say that to our faces, Foley?"

Danny couldn't exactly remember what happened next, but somehow, he was on his feet, his hand gripping and twisting Dash's wrist, causing him to release Tucker. "That's enough!" Danny said in a low tone. "Honestly, guys!"

With a scowl, Dash snatched his hand back. "I don't know why you hang out with this fucktard, Fenton. You don't have to take on pity cases, you know. He's not worth your time."

Tucker flinched, and Danny's eyes blazed, narrowing dangerously. A part of him felt a rush of vindictive pleasure when Dash shuffled, the alien green of his eyes unnerving him. "Tuck's been my best friend for years," Danny said. "I knew him before I moved here, well before Phantom. So fuck off, Da—"

Danny was interrupted by a loud cough, followed by a sassy, "Excuse me."

Danny leaned around the wall of jock to see Val, dressed in tacky yellow and a Nasty Burger visor, balancing two trays across his arm. He sobered immediately, the undercurrent of adrenaline and power ebbing, and even as several of Dash's buddies began to jeer, Val continued to glare. "Some of us have work to do, you know. Get lost, or I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Oh yeah?" Dash retorted. "You and what cock?"

Val did not look phased. Instead, he shifted the load in his arms and jabbed a free thumb back toward the registers and grills. "That one."

Lingering behind the counter stood a stocky man with corded arms thicker than Dash's. He was an intimidating guy, easily six feet tall, and even without reading his name tag, Danny could tell it was the manager. Val confirmed it by adding, "Look, I may not be the manager, but with his blessing, I can still kick every last one of you out for this shit. You're disturbing the peace."

Wincing, Danny peered around and noticed judgmental stares and shaking heads. Some parents directed children from the restaurant, disapproval clear on their faces, and he felt a prick of guilt.

"See you at school, guys," Danny prompted, taking a seat and hoping that was enough to kick-start his peers into getting a move on.

It was Kwan who moved first. "Sorry about that, Val," he said courteously.

Dash might have been stubborn to the core, but even he knew it would be in his best interest to back off now that the rest of his friends were retreating too. Sliding out of the booth, he muttered, "I still think that article is a load of shit."

Val quirked a brow at Dash as he passed but did not comment, not even when the blond made it a point to nearly knock the trays of food out of his hands. Casting a glower over his shoulder, Val placed the trays on the table. "Need anything else?"

"No thanks, Val," Tuck said as he moved back into the seat across from Danny.

"'preciate it," Danny added, shaking away the bad mood Dash left behind and trying not to appear too eager when the scent of grease, fat, and salt washed over him. His stomach grumbled, hunger gnawing at him.

"Sure." Val turned away to go back to work, but after a moment, he stopped in his tracks. "Nice going, by the way, Fenton. Getting your ass handed to you like that yesterday."

"Thanks."

His sarcasm wasn't appreciated. With a roll of his eyes, Val said, "You're a moron, you know that?"

Snorting, Danny pulled his tray closer and smacked Tucker's hand away when he went after one of his onion rings. "I'm well aware. It won't happen again."

"Oh, I'm sure," Val drawled with a roll of his eyes. "If we're depending on you to, you know…be a hero, you're going to have to step up your game. You're not inspiring much confidence."

"What do you know?" Tucker snapped before Danny could respond. "Don't you have to get back to work?"

"He has a point, though, Tuck," Danny said. "If anything, yesterday proved I need to start training harder, to get back to where I was before the Shift."

Val regarded him with a strange expression, but when he heard his name being called from the back of the restaurant, he winced and raised a hand in farewell. "I gotta run. See you guys later."

"See ya!"

As he rushed off, Tucker huffed and stabbed his straw into his milkshake. "What a joke. What is it with people talking shit today?"

"Eh," Danny said. "I can appreciate what Val was trying to say. Dash was the one who was out of line."

It was a strange, almost eerie, how all emotion seeped from Tucker's expression. He avoided eye contact and took a sip of his shake, electing to answer with a wordless, "Mmmm."

"Real talk here," Danny ventured. "Are you okay?"

Tucker looked up from his shake, brown eyes calculating. After placing the cup down, he sighed. "Yeah, it's whatever, dude. I can't let some asshole get me down, right? I'm used to it."

Danny called bullshit immediately, but he let it drop. He hated it whenever Jazz had tried to talk to him about his bullies. It made him feel vulnerable and pathetic, and he could imagine that's exactly how Tucker felt now. "Yeah, I get you, bro."

"Yeah," Tucker echoed. "You really do, don't you? I never realized. I mean, I think I might have guessed, and there were some rumors, but it's…yeah, no, I didn't realize. At all."

"Realize what?"

Tucker finally made eye contact, and he attempted a sheepish smile. "That you were in the same place I was. Am. I guess."

"Oh," Danny said stupidly. "Well…yeah, that's why I hung around online all the time." Rubbing the back of his neck, he admitted, "You were the first friend I had who wasn't in it for a bet or some practical joke."

"Really?" Tucker sat back in his seat. "I don't know why this is so surprising. Why is this so surprising?"

"Because I didn't say anything?" Danny guessed.

"But why didn't you say anything? About what went on at your old school?"

"Why didn't you?" Danny shot back. When it became clear Tucker was treating it as a rhetorical question, Danny sighed. "It was nice, hanging out with someone who didn't know about my family. Or their crazy theories. This was back before they were right—back when even Jazz and I thought they were half insane. Why would I want to bring any of that crap up when I was able to get away from it all online?"

Tucker nodded. "I...yeah, I get you, dude. I get you."

He didn't need to say it. Danny could tell Tucker understood in a way few others ever could. "I meant it, you know," Danny said, and Tucker's attention became laser-focused on him. "You've been my best friend since I was eleven and we were just…noobs playing Doomed."

Eyes brightening and smile broadening, Tuck said, "Thanks, Danny. For standing up for me."

"I got your back."

"You know…" Tucker mused after a moment. "You should talk about this."

"What? About being bullied?" Danny asked, dunking an onion ring into some Nasty Sauce and stuffing it into his mouth. The explosion of tangy spice and grease was a beautiful, beautiful thing, and without thinking twice, he doused his entire order of onion rings and burger with the stuff. "This sauce is fucking amazing."

Tucker looked on with some smug amusement. "Of course it is. But yeah. I mean…that article—it's gonna be a big deal. For all of us, you know? But it'll be even bigger for some kids. Some kids… could use a superhero who's been there before—who walked in their shoes and…I dunno—survived it all. I mean, I could have used a superhero like that back in elementary school, before Sam broke some guy's nose for making fun of me for my new glasses."

Danny snorted. "Sam broke some guy's nose for you?"

Shrugging, Tucker said, "She was pissed he beat her during the Four-Square competition at recess that day. He was asking for it, apparently, and seeing him pick on me was the last straw. I pushed her down after that—because I didn't like the fact a girl was standing up for me, right? We had a bit of a fight in the dirt, and after our parents were called to the principal's office and she got in trouble for picking fights and ruining her dress, I stood up for her and told everyone that I started it—all of it. Her parents still grounded her, but she sat with me at lunch the next day, told me I was a pretty cool kid, and the rest was history, as they say."

Throughout the story, Danny propped his hand on his chin and did not stop smiling. "I can't sit here and pretend that's not the best story I've ever heard."

Tucker rolled his eyes. "We're adorable, I know. But that's hardly the point. Do you realize what it'll mean to some kids when they hear that a real-life superhero was bullied and rose above it? All while maintaining the moral high-ground?"

Tucker's gaze pierced right through him. "I…" Danny set down his sopping burger and wiped his fingers, trying to collect his thoughts. "Is it really maintaining the moral high-ground when I was afraid for my life? And had Jazz looking out for me? The GIW were everywhere before long. Besides, a certain…ally of mine taught me that…"

Danny trailed off when Tucker gave him a skeptical look. "You can't tell me you didn't use your powers to do fun shit whenever you could get away with it. I won't believe you. Mostly because I watched the news specifically to see what you'd do to embarrass the GIW next."

Danny froze for a moment. Seeing no judgement in Tucker's eyes, however, he relaxed and raised his hands, laughing, "Alright, you caught me. I pulled a few pranks and not only on the GIW."

Grinning, Tucker asked, "And?"

"You're going to be disappointed by my lack of creativity. The traps I set for the GIW were more inspired. For the others…I popped out to scare them, whispered in ears…"

"So your stereotypical, everyday ghost stuff? How could I be disappointed in that?" Tucker scoffed. "Imagining it alone is hilarious."

A devious smile threatened to split Danny's face, but he covered it up by taking a sip of his shake, which was as creamy and delicious as Tucker said it'd be. He sipped until he could control himself. It would be a shame if Tucker realized he practically set himself up for a future prank, after all.

"Yeah," Danny eventually said. "It was funny, but I stopped after awhile, when it became less about the laughs and more about getting back at people I thought deserved a little scare. I didn't really see what was happening until an ally of mine set me straight. Jazz still won't let me live it down. Whenever she needs to say 'I told you so,' she brings it up as an example."

"That ally—who was it?" Tucker asked through a mouthful of burger.

"Poindexter." Seeing Tucker's blank expression, Danny said, "He's not much a fighter, but he's smart. He helped Technus with the Tower. You might not recognize his name."

Tucker shook his head. "Can't say I do."

"Ah, no loss there. He's a bit annoying." Rolling his eyes, Danny added under his breath, "Not that my other allies are any better sometimes."

Tucker's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Have you heard from any of them? Since the Shift?"

"A few," Danny admitted. "My, um…medic—Sleetjaw—he came just this morning to give us some news. He does that every so often, on Frostbite's orders."

"I recognize Frostbite's name!" Tuck exclaimed. "He was on the front-lines!"

Danny nodded. "Yeah, and he nearly got taken out. He's not the only one. They all took some hard hits, and to make matters worse, the Zone is a bit…tense right now. There's some turmoil going on, because you know, Pariah Dark's fanatics are still MIA, and the current ghost…government, for lack of better word, isn't being too productive right now. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a coup soon."

"A coup? Really?" Tucker asked, eyes wide. "Will you and your parents get involved?"

Danny snorted. "They don't really want our help. We're not ghosts. We don't have a say, and we're only being informed about what's going on as a formality, I think. Though…that probably won't stop them from dragging me into it anyway once the Portal is open again. The Zone spills into our world whether we want it to or not, but either way, I wouldn't put it past a few of them."

"They respect you," Tucker observed.

Danny dunked a bit of his burger into a fresh packet of Nasty Sauce and shrugged, keeping his eyes on the food in his hand. "In their own way, I guess."

"They're not the only ones." Danny looked up and saw Tucker's expression become pensive. "Which is why you should consider talking about what happened at your old school."

"I'm not sure I—"

"Bro, if this is about a few harmless pranks, I will seriously—"

"That's not it," Danny said, shaking his head and trying not to get caught up in the passionate fire in Tucker's eyes. "I just…don't want…" He almost said anything to do with them, but he bit his tongue. "I don't want to drag anyone in the mud."

"Who said you had to?" Tucker asked with a shrug. "You're overthinking this."

Perhaps he was, but that didn't make what Tucker was asking of him any easier. He didn't want to stir up any trouble, and it wasn't his place to talk about others' sins against him. The kids at his old school were just being…kids, and they didn't need their lives ruined or reputations tarnished simply because they were bored and had nothing better to do with their time. He didn't want people to think he was suddenly joining the anti-bullying cause out of any desire to make himself look better, and he didn't want to rub Phantom in his bullies' faces either. He'd have to get behind this one-hundred-percent to really make a difference, and he'd have to face his past in a way he wasn't quite sure he was prepared to. To step up as this kind of role model would be a huge responsibility, the thought of which sent anxious butterflies careening through his gut.

He was still a mess. A work in progress. How could kids look up to someone who still needed to sort out his own issues? Whose power was due to an accident and his success, due to luck?

And how could they look up to someone who was ashamed to admit he was still afraid of his own bullies?

Besides, it would take an arrogant sort of person to believe he'd make any difference in someone's life by simply talking about his problems, right?

But, another part of him prodded, wouldn't I want to take that chance? If I could make a difference in a single kid's life…maybe it isn't so bad that I'm not perfect…and maybe it's okay to admit I'm afraid…

"Whatever you have holding you back," Tucker continued with steely eyes, "it has nothing on the goodyou can do if you can put a positive message out there."

And put so simply, Danny couldn't help but chuckle in self-deprecation. He was being stupid. As Phantom, did he everconsider the consequences? Of course not. Because being a hero was doing what was right regardless of them. His secret identity had guarded him from those consequences, but why should he change how he operated now, with the secret out, when all that he wanted was to be was himself?

"You're right, Tuck. I am overthinking this. I'll work on it."

Tucker beamed, his grin as blinding as summer sunlight, and Danny realized just how much his support meant to his friend. Humbled, he vowed then and there he'd do his utmost to do Tuck proud, even as Tuck said "awesome" and tried to steal another of his onion rings.

"Oh, hell no," Danny said, swiping the sodden tray from out of Tuck's greedy reach.

"Oh, hell yes."

Tucker lunged forward, and Danny shifted the onion rings higher. "Don't do it, dude," Danny warned.

He did not heed Danny's warning. He lunged again, nearly face-planting onto the table as his hand passed through Danny's arm. "What the f—?" he cursed as he caught himself.

Laughing, Danny gave his wide-eyed friend a smug smile, waved his intangible arm, and watched with glee as the surprised expression on his friend's face quickly morphed into one of utter betrayal.

"Aww, c'mon!" Tuck whined. "That's foul play, man!"

"I warned you!"

"Rude. So rude. Total abuse of your powers, right there."

That snapped the humor out of Danny, and he became aware of what he was doing. His arm phased back into the realm of tangibility, shooting down and out of sight in the blink of an eye. The onion ring tray, much to his embarrassment, remained clutched in his hand as he brought his arm back under the table. He must've looked more than a little panicked because the teasing light in Tucker's eyes was replaced by one of concern. Coughing lightly, Danny tried to save face and put the onion rings back on the table. He popped one into his mouth and retorted through a mouthful of food, "Yeah, well…Why didn't you get your own if you love them so much?"

Tucker's glower was about as dramatic as a child's. "The reason I told you to get the onion rings was so that we could share! Obviously! God!" Tucker pushed his chili cheese fries toward Danny. "Please, help yourself because I am a fantastic, polite friend who doesn't selfishly—"

For a moment there, Danny experienced a flash of guilt, but then his bullshit meter sputtered into action. Rolling his eyes, he took the opportunity to stick one of his onion rings right into Tucker's open mouth, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"F'anks," Tuck drawled after a moment of chewing.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Danny chided, a shit-eating grin on his face. As Tucker flipped him off, he swiped some of the chili fries and decided, the moment they hit his tongue, that this place was truly a place of wonders.

After a few more minutes of banter and stuffing their faces, their food was gone, and Danny sat back in the booth, not willing to get up and move just yet. "How have I lived without Nasty Burger my whole life? Seriously. Thanks for bringing me here, Tuck."

"You know it, man. I'm glad you see it my way and not Sam's."

Danny winced. "Yeah. Shame she's not here."

Humming in agreement, Tucker mused, "But you know…maybe we'll be able to do some major damage on the next few levels of Doomed now that she's not there to fuck us over!" He bolted from his seat and gathered up all their trash, his energy catching. "Danny, we need to get ahead while we can! Let's go!"

Danny's enthusiasm died nearly as soon as it was kindled. "Sorry, Tuck. I would, but I promised my dad we'd go out and do some field work today. Maybe train a bit, if I'm lucky."

Instead of looking crestfallen, as Danny expected, Tucker looked even more excited. He dumped the trash into the bin next to their table, returned to the booth, and said, "Dude, are you kidding? That's sounds so cool! Do you mind if I tag along?"

"Um…" Danny blinked, dubious. "Wait, what? You really want to?"

Tucker's grin broadened. "Of course I do!" His eyes widened, and he slammed his palms on the table, making Danny jump. "Oh, shiiiiit, Sam is going to flip if she can't come!"

"…will she?" Danny asked perplexedly, standing from his seat and allowing Tucker to take the lead out of the restaurant. Field testing new prototypes with his parents was hardly a fun time. But then again, he used to do everything in his power to get out of those excursions, namely because every single device "liked" him and his ectosignature. Testing new powers was a little more fun, but he was used to making a fool of himself in front of Jazz, not a whole audience. And his ability to...sense natural portals wasn't even a cool or showy power. Danny didn't see the appeal. At all. "Why?"

Tucker propped open the door to exit Nasty Burger and turned to stare at Danny as though he were an alien. "Dude…I know I'm super obvious about being into FentonWorks tech, but do you seriously not realize how into the ghost thing Sam is? She's been dying to learn more!"

"Is she?" Danny murmured. Gnawing on his lip, he asked, "Really? Why hasn't she said anything?"

"She has some weird idea in her head that she's going to scare you off or something. I don't even know. She's not usually like that." Tucker shrugged, and Danny felt his gut fall into an endless pit. Why…would she feel the need to downplay her interest in ghosts? Did she think he was going to get angry or upset about her questions?

A bur of agitation pricked at him, making him wonder why she felt the need to tiptoe around him. He wasn't going to get upset by her questions, was he? He and Tucker just had a normal conversation about Phantom stuff, didn't they?

But then again, he'd still freaked out when he realized he'd gone intangible in front of Tucker. Maybe she had good reason to tiptoe.

Unaware of Danny's crisis, Tucker grinned and exclaimed, "But whatever, we need to go get her!"

Tucker placed his palms on Danny's back and shoved him through the door. Once the door swung shut, Danny leaned back, using his weight to fight against Tucker' force. "What are you talking about? We can't just go get her!"

"Of course we can!" Tucker said. "We just have to—you know—go."

Danny danced out of the way of Tucker's hands and spun around. "She's grounded, Tuck! How do you expect us to ask—?"

Smirking, Tucker interrupted, "Now whoever said anything about asking anyone anything?"

When Danny continued to give him a blank stare, Tucker rolled his eyes. "Oh my God, dude. Are you dense? We're going to sneak her out, of course."

"But…" This wasn't exactly computing in his mind, and if truth be told, Danny was a little terrified of Sam's parents, who most certainly would not be too pleased if they found out he was involved in this. "…how are we going to sneak in?"

Tucker's smile faded. "Are—Are you serious? Use your imagination, Ace!"

Confused, Danny stammered, "I—I don't…" Thinking back, he said, "I know Sam's snuck out before, but—"

Adopting a flat look, Tucker stared at him, and after a moment, Danny realized what Tucker was getting at.

"Oh," he said dumbly. "Oh, duh. Ghost powers."

"Wow. You know, one would think that the savior of the Earth and Ghost Zone had some brains up there."

"Must've all been fried by the Tower," Danny joked.

With all the melodrama of a five-year-old, Tucker tutted, shook his head, and began to walk away. "God bless."

"I think you forget I used to be an average, everyday human until about a year ago!" Danny called, racing to catch up to him. Several people nearby gave him a strange, startled look, but he couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed.

"Almost every 'average, everyday human' can see the advantages of ghost powers, Danny!" Tucker said, a sly grin in his voice. "Especially when they're—I don't know—grounded."

"Well, sure, but we can't just abuse my powers to sneak Sam out from under her parents' noses!"

"Bro. Honestly. Are you telling me that you never used your powers to—?"

Danny huffed, interrupting Tuck. "Of course I did. I had to."

"Well, then, Sam has to break free of prison. It's a matter of utmost importance."

"But—"

Tucker crowded him, using two fists to pound a beat into his arm. "C'moooooon!" he begged. "We'll have her in and out before her parents know. They probably aren't even home! And her grandma will cover for us!"

When Danny continued to hesitate, Tucker huffed. "Chicken."

"It's not your half-life that's on the line here," Danny muttered.

"You're not going to die at the hands of the Mansons today, I promise."

Ignoring Tucker's comment, Danny continued, "And besides, isn't it…Sam won't like us flying up to her room like that, will she?"

Tucker's expression twisted into one of disbelieving disgust, and to Danny's utter mortification, his face grew warmer and warmer the longer Tucker stared him down.

The moment he avoided eye contact, Tucker began snickering. "You've got it so bad, don't you?"

Danny scowled. "What are you talking about?"

"You have a cruuuuush," Tucker sang.

"I don't!" His voice was a pitch higher than he would have liked, and Tucker grinned knowingly. "I don't have a crush on Sam," he repeated, tone firm, but Tucker's grin only grew. "Jazz hates it when I pop into her room like that. I thought Sam might be the same."

"Mmhmm," Tucker hummed. "If you say so, dude. I wouldn't blame you if you did, you know. I have eyes. Sam's hot. And crazy talented and all sorts of awesome. And—"

"Tucker…" Danny warned.

Exhaling an exaggerated sigh, Tuck said, "I guess it's none of my business. I mean, it's not like she isn't totally into you too."

It was amazing, how fast one's mouth could dry out. "What?"

"You heard me," Tucker said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and tapping away, innocent as can be. "You should ask her out."

Heart galloping, Danny shook his head in a way that was totally not frantic, thank you very much. "Sam and I aren't like that."

Tucker looked up from his phone in incredulity. "Are you seriously that oblivious, Danny?" Danny opened his mouth to respond, but Tuck held up a hand and returned his attention to his phone. "No, don't answer that. I guess you'll both figure it out soon enough."

"There's nothing to figure out," Danny insisted as they turned around a corner. He hadn't learned Amity Park's nooks and crannies half as well as he would have liked just yet, and looking around, he recognized absolutely nothing. He took a moment to wonder how this had happened before he slowed down and said, "You really want to come with me and my parents?"

"Yes!" Tucker exclaimed. "Who wouldn't want to go? You guys are the definition of cutting edge science, research, and technology right now. Now, come on!" He beamed at Danny with all the energy of a spastic puppy, and Danny finally dared to believe that this…was real.

No one had ever cared this much about his family's work before, no one his age anyway. The idea that his friends wanted to spend their Saturday out in the field baffled him, but Tucker's enthusiasm sparked something in him, the very same glimmer of curiosity that first tempted him to investigate the Portal, despite all outward signs he couldn't care less about his parents' ghost fixation.

Danny couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this way—excited to explore, thrilled to delve into the unknown, overwhelmed by what his family was capable of accomplishing…and what they had already accomplished—and he let it fill him up. Prior to the Shift, he hadn't had the time, the energy, or the presence of mind to sit and think about it all. He'd approached every new power with a wary grimace, worried about how he'd have to hide it while he learned how to use it, annoyed that there didn't seem to be an end to his weirdness. He'd looked at every invention as a nuisance he'd need to form a strategy against. He'd been struggling to get through school without passing out, struggling to keep his secret, struggling to juggle chores and ghosts and homework and injuries and Zone politics, and now…

He needed to keep ahold of this feeling. He could conquer the world with it.

"Alright!" Danny agreed. "Let's do this!"

Doing a dorky jig in the middle of the street, Tucker said, "Sweet! Sam's going to be so surprised!"

At the mention of Sam, Danny had to ignore a twinge of anxiety, and with a bit of morbid humor, he wondered what was the worst that could happen? If there was one thing he was good at, after all, it was avoiding capture. They'd be fine.

His little smirk didn't escape Tucker's attention, and for the rest of the walk, Danny had to battle Tucker's teasing and his increasingly tempting insistence that they take the opportunity to scare the everlasting fuck out of Sam.

In the end, Danny vetoed the idea, referencing a story that involved Jazz, a thrown lamp, an irate mother, and a whole weekend learning how to repair drywall with his father.

Tucker asked if it had been worth it. It had been—Danny got it all on video, which he delightedly shared with Tucker as they walked—but that was beside the point.

Danny didn't exactly notice when they entered Sam's subdivision, but he probably should have. During their walk, spacious retail lots and telephone wires had somehow morphed into groves of trees, immaculate yards, and massive houses. Danny had thought his new house was large, but it was dwarfed by these monsters. In fact, the area was so nice, he almost felt as though his ragged Converse had no business being anywhere near the sidewalks.

"What gang do Sam's parents belong to?" Danny muttered as he took in his surroundings.

Snickering uncontrollably, Tucker patted his shoulder. "One that keeps them away from home a lot." A mischievous grin spread across his face. "Which makes our job easier. Come on. Her place is around the corner, but her room is at the back…"

Ignoring the sidewalk, Tucker ducked through some hedges. After a moment's hesitation, Danny followed, cringing as his feet made indents in the pristine grass. Tucker led him across one house's sweeping backyard, where they dove into a little patch of trees and came to a stop before a finely wrought metal gate that backed the property they'd just crossed. Even from behind, Danny could tell Sam's house was one of the largest in the neighborhood. The landscapers had obviously been hired to provide a measure of privacy to the Manson's backyard: pines lined the fence in a semi-circle, blocking the view of the house from neighbors on all sides. He tried to peer through the needles to catch a glimpse of the rest of the yard without much success.

"Alright," Tucker whispered. "Her room's there." He pointed toward the right side of the house, third floor up. "Do your thing."

Danny turned toward him, startled. "What?"

"Your Phantom thing." When Danny hesitated, Tucker rolled his eyes. "How else do you expect us to get up there without being seen?"

"Oh. Um…" Danny fidgeted, and with Tucker's expectant eyes on him, he froze, a nauseous form of anxiety swelling up his throat. He cleared it, without much success. "Right."

Cocking his head, Tucker asked, "Are you…?" He paused, and Danny felt shame color his cheeks as his friend's dark eyes scanned him in concern. "You know you're my best friend, too, right?" Tucker asked.

Danny blew out a breath, causing his bangs to flutter out of his eyes. "Yeah."

"Back at The Nasty Burger, you were acting a bit weird about your powers too. Don't think I didn't notice." Danny winced, hanging his head, and Tucker placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Hey. You're not…scared? To…?"

"No, no," Danny denied.

Tucker's gaze was shrewd. "Good. You don't have anything to be afraid of, right? I mean, what is there to be afraid of? It's just us. You've already detransformed in front of me and Sam once."

Shuffling his weight between both legs, Danny sighed. "I know, I'm sorry. It's just…at school yesterday, that wasn't exactly my choice. I haven't done this before. I mean, not in front of…" He attempted a crocked, sheepish smile and made a vague gesture with his hand.

Tucker's hand dropped from Danny's shoulder. "People?" he finished for Danny.

"Yeah. It's weird still. To not have to hide it."

Tucker contemplated Danny for a moment, standing in sympathizing silence. "Phantom's a part of you," his friend eventually said. "You shouldn't have to hide it. You never should have had to in the first place. And you don't have to anymore."

Danny's gaze snapped to Tucker, a strange lump rising in his throat. He wanted to say thank you. To laugh in giddy disbelief. Or was it giddy relief? He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear something like that from his friend until now.

If Danny had told the Danny of four months ago that he'd end up here—and with friends like Tucker—he would never have believed it.

If Tucker realized how much of an impact his words made, he made no sign. He wasn't the type to make a big deal out of things anyway. When it became obvious Danny was threatening to make this A Big Deal, Tucker turned back to the house with a nonchalant shrug, and Serious Tuck disappeared. "Now suck it up," Tucker joked lightly. "Pretend I'm Jazz or something."

It was like a light-switch had flipped within him. Suddenly at ease, Danny snorted, matching his friend's tone and retorting, "Sure. Because you and Jazz are so alike."

To Danny's utter amusement, Tucker cocked his hip, raised his eyebrow, and gave him the most Jazz-like expression of exasperation and impatience Danny had ever seen.

He laughed. "Alright, alright! I guess I'm going ghost."

Before he could think too hard about it, Danny triggered the transformation, and out of habit, he closed his eyes. Despite himself, a small smile grew across his face as the weight of gravity slipped by him, a sensation that was just as thrilling as it was the first time he transformed.

When he opened glowing green eyes, he found Tucker staring at him in a daze of wonder, and for a moment, he and Tucker shared a moment of enormity before Tucker snapped out of it, eyes dancing. He barked a laugh. "Ha! Mikey owes me twenty bucks!"

"What? Why?" Danny asked stupidly.

"He thought you were too cool to have a catch phrase." When Danny gawked at him, Tucker snickered. "But I knew better."

Chapter Text

Sam was bored.

Like, super bored.

She'd already finished her homework for Monday, and there was only so much she could work on ahead of time before the very idea of schoolwork became sickening. A fully book-noted copy of A Tale of Two Cities sat on her bedside table, swollen from its time in her hands. She had spent the last fifteen minutes wondering if it would be worth it to pick it back up and review the most recent reading assignment, maybe try to predict what topic Lancer would assign an essay on, but she was reaching a level of boredom that bled into downright laziness. The thought of moving right now was too much, which is also why she soon vetoed a) finding out what Grandma Ida was up to, b) working out in the Manson family's personal gym, and c) scrounging around her closet library to find a book to reread.

So she continued lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, generally hating life, and wishing that she could have joined her friends at The Nasty Burger.

Hah. She snorted. She must be losing it. She held a great deal of disdain for The Nasty Burger, even if it did make a mean tofu patty melt. There was a point, however, when eating the same tofu patty melt and side salad got very, very old. She tried not to think her sudden desire to go to the restaurant had anything to do with the fact Danny was there. Because that was ridiculous. She was just bored. She had nothing to do. And whether she wanted to admit it or not, both of her boys made her happy. They were fun to be around, and honestly, it would have been well worth suffering through another Nasty Burger meal just so that she could spend time with them.

But then again, literally anything would have been better than this.

Sighing, Sam flipped over onto her side and flung her hand out for her headphones. She found them after a bit of struggling and absentmindedly got to work untangling the wires as she looked out her balcony doors. She'd opened the curtains earlier in the afternoon, hoping the sunlight and view outside might inspire her to draw or write, but it was a lost cause. It was a beautiful day outside, she noted, yanking on the wires. Maybe she would go sit out on her chaise later. Not that feeling sorry for herself was going to be any less boring outside, but maybe the change of scenery would—

Thud.

An earbud fell from Sam's fingers, and she froze, frowning. When the noise didn't repeat itself, she shrugged and scrolled through her iPod, looking through her playlists for something she could immerse herself in. Finding nothing that fit her mood, she scowled and was about to switch her search to "Artists" when she heard it again, louder and sharper.

A knock.

Sam shot upright, her iPod and headphones forgotten in the mess of her unmade bed. She eyed her bedroom door in confusion. Her parents were in the city for work, Grandma Ida usually hollered at her from the first floor if she wanted her, and the housekeeper had already come and gone.

No one should be knocking. No one in the household could be.

The knock sounded again, from behind her, and she flinched in surprise, turning toward the glass of her balcony door windows with raised eyebrows. When she saw no one there, she almost laughed at herself. Was she so desperate she was imagining things now? There was no way…

A flurry of raps started to pound away at her windows, obnoxious and demanding, and she launched herself out of bed, realization dawning as she approached the windows. There was only one person who ever knocked at her door like that, and she'd told him, time and time again, that it was completely unnecessary because dammit, Tucker, why are you such a needy little—

The noise stopped almost as soon as it started, and Sam threw her balcony doors open.

"—whole household know we're here, why don't you?" Danny's disembodied voice nearly made Sam jump, and she spun to the right, eyes scanning the empty space in front of her.

"Not my fault our girl's feeling a little slow on her feet this fine afternoo—ow. C'mon, man!"

"Oops," Danny said, hardly sounding sorry at all. "Didn't see you there."

Sam's eyebrows rose, and a slow grin grew on her lips.

"Ha ha. You are so, so funny. Sam, tell him that was a cheap shot."

"Saaaam, tell him he's being a baby."

"Saaaaaaaaaam."

"Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam."

"Oh my God," Sam said. And she thought she missed these two losers? She thought it might have been a good idea to leave them alone with each other for a day?

Unable to fix her usual scowl on her face, she blindly reached forward to dig her fingers into whatever fabric she could find. The moment her fingers hit something solid, she almost withdrew in shock. It felt as though she'd burrowed her fingers into a snowdrift of mist, and it took her an embarrassing moment to overcome the sensation. Readjusting her grip, she ordered, "Get your asses inside!"

She almost stumbled when she dragged them forward, expecting more resistance. It felt as though she were carting a few balloons through her threshold, rather than two teenage boys, and she realized Danny must be in his ghost form. Her heart fluttered with a strange excitement. Feeling a little slow on the uptake and telling her inner fangirl to chill the fuck out, she released her cargo and shut the balcony doors behind her.

She turned back around to find Tucker and Phantom standing in the center of her room. Tucker sported a wild grin, and he crossed his arms, smug and proud. Danny, on the other hand…Sam almost had to laugh. It looked as though he, in an unnecessary show of gallantry, was trying not to appear too interested in her room. He was failing miserably. His distraction served her well, though, and she was able to watch him for a few precious seconds.

He was different, when he wasn't in combat. Yesterday, there had been a hardness to him, a focus and gravity that reached his eyes. He had been colder, too, with all the intensity of a battle-hardened and experienced veteran. It had been a severe contrast to the snarky, cocky Phantom she'd grown used to seeing on TV, the hero who goaded his enemies and laughed like he was having the time of his life. It had been a shocking contrast to Danny Fenton, too, who may have been a bit sweeter and more pensive than his alter ego, but who also had that same goofy air about him.

Today, Phantom looked more human than he ever had, even though his alien eyes glowed just as brightly, and his form appeared just as semi-hazy, as the day before. He shuffled his feet as his gaze darted around her room, and he slouched, as though trying to make himself smaller, or less noticeable, in the large space. If Sam hadn't known any better, she never would have believed that this boy could take command and lead legions of ghosts to battle and stand strong against the Ghost King Pariah Dark, much less deal with the annoyance known as The Box Ghost.

It made her more aware of the truth than it had before: there was still a lot about Danny Phantom that was a mystery to her.

He must have sensed her staring because suddenly, his green eyes met hers, and she had only a moment to feel embarrassed that he caught her ogling before he smiled shyly at her. "Hey, Sam," he said, voice echoing.

"Um, hey," she said. A belated sense of disbelief hit her, and she began to smile, unbridled happiness soon overtaking her. "What are you guys doing here?"

"We're rescuing the princess from her tower, of course," Tuck announced with a bow. "Danny's gonna take us out in the field today."

"Shut up," Sam said in a whisper. Danny was watching her reaction with a strange expression on his face, and she launched forward, taking his shoulders in her hands. Startled, he flinched, feet rising off the ground. His gloved hands hovered near her waist, but then he shoved them to his sides, and his feet hit the floor again. She couldn't even imagine what he was thinking as he blinked at her in wide-eyed astonishment, but she was ecstatic and didn't care who knew it. Shaking his shoulders back and forth, she asked, "You're kidding, right?"

"Not kidding," Danny said quietly. When Sam beamed, he studied her for a moment before finally smiling. With a laugh, he reached up to remove her hands from his shoulders. His eyes twinkled with humor, but he dropped her hands nearly as soon as he touched them, as though they were toxic.

Or perhaps…as though his were toxic.

"If I had known this would be your reaction," said Danny with his shy smile, "I'd've invited you and Tuck over ages ago."

Eyes wide, Sam asked, "What?"

Coming up behind Danny, Tucker flung an arm around his shoulders. Again, Phantom started. This time, Sam was paying attention. She saw the flash of panic, the hardly restrained reaction to Tuck's proximity, and the expression on his face phase through a kaleidoscope of emotions, ranging from confusion to frustration, before finally settling into an awkward, but elated acceptance.

"This idiot seemed to think we'd be bored or something," Tuck said. "Couldn't believe his ears when I told him otherwise."

"What? Danny!" Sam exclaimed. "Really?"

Danny's smile became sheepish. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize!" Sam exclaimed, punching his shoulder. "So? What's the plan?"

"Well," Tuck said, "Danny's folks wanted to go out and hunt down some natural portals, update their maps of the spectromagnetic field in Amity. And this one—" he jerked his head toward Phantom "—apparently has a new power they want to play around with."

"Sounds wicked cool."

"It's not really," Danny said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think I can sense natural portals. When and where they form, I guess. We might not find any, given how out of whack everything's been since the Shift."

"Still cool, dude."

"Very cool," Sam agreed. "And useful."

"And, Sam, that's not even the best part!" Tucker said. "Danny was gonna try to get some training in!"

Sam felt her cheeks burn with the force of her smile, and turning back to Danny, she asked, "We'll get to watch?"

Danny snorted. "My parents wouldn't just let you stand by and watch. If you want…"

"I want," Sam said immediately, not even waiting for him to finish.

"That's what I said!" Tucker said. "Mr. Fenton'll probably dismantle an ectogun for us if I ask!"

"I can't believe you'd rather take it apart than shoot it."

"Both are important skills," Tucker said flippantly. "Right, Danny?"

Phantom nodded. "Jazz and I had to learn how to clean and do maintenance on an ectogun before we could shoot one."

"Makes sense," Sam said, recalling the conversation with her parents the night before. "I'd do anything to learn. If I don't get to learn to shoot today, then someday."

"That's the spirit!" Tuck exclaimed. Poking Danny in the side, he added, "Yo, glow-boy, you ready to go?"

"Glow-boy?" Sam spluttered with a laugh.

Danny gave Tuck a little shove, though even he couldn't hide his amusement at the nickname. His smile died quickly, and eyeing Sam with an uncertain frown on his face, he asked, "You're okay with this, Sam?"

"Yeah, of course! Why in the world would I—oh." She grimaced, glaring at her bedroom door for a moment. It didn't take longer than a heartbeat for a devious smirk to replace her scowl. Her parents wouldn't be home until later, and Grandma Ida was cool. In fact, Sam wouldn't be surprised if the crazy woman knew exactly what was going on, even now. Sam wouldn't get caught. She hadn't yet.

Phantom was still watching her intently, and with deliberate care, she swiped her bag from where it hung on her bedpost, shoved her phone inside, and threw the strap over her head. "Let's get the hell out of here," she said. "Grandma will cover for me."

Danny's eyes lit up, and he allowed himself to float, taking hold of Tucker and wrapping an arm around his waist. He drew Tucker close and held out his free hand to Sam. His snow-white hair fell into his eyes, and with a playful and endearing enthusiasm, he asked, "Well?"

Sam allowed him to wrap an arm around her waist, and her heart skipped when her feet left the ground, the abrupt loss of gravity sending her teetering in an automatic attempt to reorient herself. Her gracelessness in the air wasn't too noticeable: Danny steadied her quickly, pulling her to him and readjusting his arm. Despite herself, she shivered against him.

"Ah, sorry," Danny said. "Should have warned you…"

Sam ignored the comment, far too exhilarated at the sensation of weightlessness that had overcome her. If hovering a foot above the ground was this fun, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from laughing out loud when they started flying. "How is this possible?" she asked instead. "We're not too heavy for you?"

Sam felt Danny shrug, and Tucker leaned around Danny to say, "I asked him that too. I wasn't satisfied with his answer."

"I didn't have a chance to really think about the 'how's and 'why's of my powers when I was more concerned about the 'what's." Danny said. When both Sam and Tucker raised their eyebrows at him, clearly finding his lack of curiosity insane, there was a defensive edge to his tone as he clarified, "Getting a handle on everything kinda took priority for awhile."

"Oh." A brief sweep of guilt dampened Sam's enthusiasm, only to be followed with gut-gripping horror. Memories of yesterday's ghost attack, when the emaciated ghost-dog's slavering jaws snapped mere inches from Phantom's throat…that was the least of it, wasn't it? Of course Danny had needed to put survival before scientific curiosity over the past year! Between the ghosts, the GIW, and the Shift, Danny had been through trials she could only imagine in her worst nightmares.

It bothered her that it was so easy to forget the reality of it all: the world Danny lived in half of the time could be cruel, ugly, and violent. Danny hadn't had the luxury to mess around, to learn or play. Not nearly as much as Sam would like to imagine he did, at any rate. Not nearly as much as he pretended too, either. Reality was much bleaker and far, far darker.

She couldn't forget that again. If she truly wanted to be a ghost hunter, she couldn't afford to.

And with that thought followed a shocking revelation, one that she couldn't help but voice, the force of its truth nearly taking her breath away. "You never wanted to be a hero," she murmured. "You never wanted any of this."

Tucker shot her a look that very clearly said, are-you-kidding-me-right-now-Sam? and she suspected she had missed something, something kind of important. Whatever it was, Tucker seemed to think she'd overstepped somehow. That much was clear.

What exactly had happened this afternoon?

Despite Tucker's expression, Danny didn't seem phased. In fact, he stared with vacant eyes out her French doors for a moment, and with a hint of a smile, he finally admitted, "Not at first."

She almost dared to ask And now?, but before she could, Danny's smile grew, and they started to rise in the air. "But now I can't imagine life any other way."

Sam gasped, her stomach fluttering, and it was hard to hang on to the profound moment when she knew they were about to fly.

"We're going to go through the wall," Danny warned. "It will—"

"It feels like taking the polar bear plunge!"

"…I still can't believe you've done one of those, Tuck."

"I can verify," Sam offered. "Lake Michigan. Last winter. I had to hear this fool complain for weeks after he got sick."

"Ha!" Tucker said, looking smug. "There. Told you so."

"You're insane."

"Says the ghost boy who stands his ground against baddies like Plasmius and Pariah Dark."

"Says the kid who hangs out with said ghost boy despite that," Phantom retorted.

There was something Sam didn't quite like about how Danny said that, but she dismissed it, saying, "Alright, boys, you're both pretty. Now can we go? I want to polar bear plunge through the wall."

With a quick glance at Tucker, Danny smiled and said, "As the lady commands. Here we go!"

Despite the warning, Sam gasped again when the icy sensation snapped through her. She didn't have the time to flinch as Danny shot forward and through the wall, her gut swept out from under her.

She didn't shriek. Nope, not even a little.

A burst of light, a whirl of wind, and they were outside, climbing in the sky. She didn't have the opportunity to truly appreciate that returning to tangibility felt like getting draped in a blanket of sunlight. She couldn't even think to describe what invisibility felt like either. The sensation of flight was all that mattered.

Adrenaline spiking, her heart raced, every inch of her tingling with elation, and her cheeks split with the force of her grin. Danny accelerated away from her house, her hair whipping around her, the ends flying into her mouth as she barked a laugh. When she gagged, spat her hair out, and began to laugh harder, Sam felt more than saw Danny's eyes on her. She didn't have it in her to feel self-conscious, and she turned her gaze toward the city. "This is amazing!"

Danny chuckled beside her, and Tucker giggled manically on his other side, whooping when Danny, in a fit of playfulness, allowed them to plummet a few feet. Sam's brief yelp had Danny laughing, and obviously hoping to get a real scream from her (not going to happen), he dipped and ascended, zig-zagged and swerved, accelerating and decelerating. Danny performed to the reactions of his friends, providing a personal roller coaster ride.

Or so it felt to Sam. She could tell this was nothing but a leisurely stroll for Phantom. She'd seen him tackle turns and dives with far more speed and skill on the news, but today, it seemed he'd much rather watch them experience flight than chase the adrenaline rush himself.

The ground below them sped by, blurs of color making it nearly impossible to appreciate the sight of Amity Park from above. She tried to ask Danny just how fast they were flying, but being the troll he was, he offered her an evil grin and shot forward, speeding up to the point where the wind blew unwilling tears right across her temples and into her hair.

They landed far too soon for Sam's taste, and as she stumbled a bit on the landing, regretting the loss of Danny's solid presence, she struggled to catch her breath. "That was incredible. How do you...?"

"If it was my choice, I'd be up in the air far more often," Danny admitted, and as if to prove his point, he sighed and reluctantly planted both feet on the ground. After a quick sweep of his surroundings, his eyes narrowed, and he took a hold of one of Sam and Tucker's arms, pulling them into invisibility. "And it would be far easier if they would give me a break already."

They were standing along a row of tall hedges, thick enough to provide privacy to the Fentons' property but not quite thick enough to hide the movement of reporters, Phantom fans, and what looked like protesters with signs lingering across the street.

Sam's temper rose like a tsunami. "They're still doing this to you?"

"Yeah, a bit. It died down for a little while, but after the attack on the school, it's gotten bad again. With the Portal's activation next week, there's been more protesters, too. I guess I should be happy that no one tried to catch us at the Nasty Burger, Tuck." Sam couldn't see Danny, but the guilt in his tone was clear. "I wouldn't be surprised if someone snapped some pics."

Sam felt Tucker shrug, waving away Danny's concerns. "So long as they got my good side, dude."

Usually, Tucker's chill, nonchalant attitude drove Sam insane. She needed to be on top of things, always. She needed to be in control, to have all her priorities and values outlined and color-coded. Tucker was the exact opposite, and it was impossible not to feel some secondhand anxiety whenever he left something until the last minute. It was just as hard not to feel frustrated whenever the things that riled her up merely rolled off his shoulders. At times like these, however, Sam appreciated it, his honesty and carefree personality like a breath of fresh air in a stale room.

Danny laughed. "What good side?"

There was a scuffle, and suddenly, Danny's hand left her shoulder. She and Tucker popped back into visibility, Tucker lunging forward into empty air and nearly kissing the dirt when Danny slipped away.

"Not cool, dude! Not cool at all!"

Danny laughed in Tucker's ear, causing the boy to shriek in surprise and try to whack him again. Sam joined Danny in laughing at Tucker's manic flailing as he tried and failed to land a hit.

She stopped laughing when Tucker suddenly jolted to a stop in the midst of his crazy twirling, his eyes widening. Her gaze followed his, and she found herself facing FentonWorks for the first time.

Sam blinked, her mouth popping open. "Um."

The two-story brownstone stood alone and neighbor-less on the cul-de-sac, its shutters a green so deep they looked black. A little shed stood some meters behind the attached garage, which was expanded to fit both the Ghost Assault Vehicle and a surprisingly normal sedan. Apart from the hedges guarding the property from the front and the clusters of pines overseeing the back, there was minimal landscaping, but what was landscaping compared to...

…the rest?

Chuckling at her reaction, Danny phased into view. "It's a bit much, but my dad insisted on the sign. You'd think we would want to maintain a low profile, but that's…" His gaze slid to the hedges momentarily. "He's proud of FentonWorks. We all are."

"…I was more curious about the massive UFO in construction on the top of your house," Tucker said, nonchalant as you please.

"Oh! The Ops Center. Yeah, that's an eyesore, isn't it?"

"What is it for?" Sam blurted.

"Um…" Danny floundered for a moment, staring up at the metal abomination. "You know what? I don't really know how to describe it. It's got an operations room, with virtual maps of the Zone and stuff. Since the Shift, we've been holding meetings up there with some of our allies, to keep unwanted people out of the lab while we're still working on the Portal."

"…you need a whole UFO for secret meetings?" Tucker deadpanned in disbelief.

"There's some broadcasting equipment up there, I guess? In case of power outs and other emergencies. Uh…" Danny narrowed his eyes at the Ops Center, thinking. "It can fly?" he offered.

"That…that can fly?" Tucker asked. "How in the world…?"

Danny elected to respond to Tucker's question with a mere shrug. "It's got a fully automated defensive system, too. The Ghost Shield it generates should theoretically be able to cover the whole block."

"Theoretically?" Sam asked weakly.

"We haven't tested it yet. You missed the weapons test earlier this week, though. That was pretty fun."

Sam and Tucker exchanged a look behind Danny's back as he turned, diving forward to gain a bit of momentum and flipping on his back to glide like a swimmer through water. He beckoned them to follow, and whatever questions they had were forgotten as they took off after him, trekking up the driveway.

When Phantom touched down on the top stoop, his gaze darted around for a moment before he made semi-awkward eye contact with each of them, his entire body rigid with tension. Sam couldn't help but notice he looked first to Tucker, and after releasing a breath he'd been holding, he set his shoulders and attempted a smile, that magical ring Sam had seen only once or twice before sparking into existence and traversing his body.

Even before the ring fully dissipated, Sam asked without thinking, "Does it blind you? When you transform?"

Unsurprisingly, Tucker snorted, earning him a vicious jab in the shoulder, but Danny, now human, went ramrod still, his eyes growing larger and larger with every passing second. "It's a legitimate question!" Sam defended. "An honest one too!"

Tucker continued to laugh, and Danny remained dead silent, his hand resting on the handle of the front door. Sam watched as the weird, contemplative expression on his face slowly morphed into one of utter panic. "Oh my God, does it?" he whispered in awed horror.

"Great," Tucker chuckled. "Look what you've done, Sam. You've broke him."

"No, I just—" Danny's hand fell from the door, and he triggered his transformation, staring directly through his friends in his concentration. Like a kid playing with an on and off switch, Danny allowed the otherworldly light to pass over his face a few times, his eerie green eyes interchanging with blue and back again as he manipulated the change.

Sam held her breath to prevent it from catching in her throat.

Finally, Danny grinned and settled into his human form. "Wow, Sam, you really freaked me out. I'd never thought of that until you asked, you know. It was like…one of those moments when you look at something utterly normal—like a phone—and think, 'holy shit, it's incredible that we can use this chunk of metal and plastic to talk to people miles and miles away from us,' you know?"

It was cute, how excited he was. "Sure," she agreed. "So what'd your investigation tell you, Sherlock?"

"I'm glad you ask, dear Watson," Danny answered. "It doesn't blind me. Weird, huh?"

"Is it, though?" Tucker asked. "Weird is your normal, isn't it?"

"I guess," Danny said, laying his hand on the door handle again. He pushed downward and froze. "Oh. Um, so…" He looked back at them, his bright grin dimming to a nervous smile. "Speaking of weird, I know you've met my parents before, but…I guess as a heads-up: they're a bit…in-your-face. And super nosy. They do not have a very strictly defined concept of personal space, and they are so energetic it's a bit…intimidating sometimes. If they make you feel uncomfortable at any time, let me know. I'll tell them to tone it down." Danny hesitated and then added, "And just…don't eat or drink anything without asking me first. We got a new fridge to keep food and experiments separate, but that doesn't mean anything. Trust me."

"That sounds most ominous," Tucker said in a mock-serious tone. "I almost want to ask..."

"No. No, you don't, Tuck."

"Dude, don't you think you're exaggerating just a…" The look on Danny's face made Tucker trail off. "Alright, maybe you're not exaggerating. I suppose you're going to tell us not to touch anything that's glowing radioactive green too?"

"Oh! Yup, that too. Thanks, man, nearly forgot that one."

"…you're pulling our legs. You have to be."

Danny smirked and, finally pushing the door open, said, "Welcome to FentonWorks."

Chapter Text

The moment Sam crossed the threshold, the three of them were ambushed, but not by Mr. or Mrs. Fenton, as she might have expected after the warning Danny had given.

"DANNY! IS THAT YOU?" Jazz hollered from the second floor.

"As if it could be anyone else," Danny muttered, closing the door behind him. "YEAH!" he shouted back. Sam nearly started: Danny was rather soft-spoken at school, and hearing him raise his voice like that was unexpected, though not entirely surprising if she thought about it. The Fentons were what her parents called "a loud family," one whose volume and boisterous energy automatically went hand-in-hand. Her parents said it as though it was a bad thing, but Sam really couldn't imagine the Fenton family being any other way. "I'M HOME!"

"FINALLY." There was a light thump from above. "I'VE BEEN TRYING TO DO THIS STUPID ECTO-CALIBRATION ALL MORNING, AND I NEED YOU TO—"

Jazz appeared on the catwalk above the family room, holding a small metal box in her hands. She was dressed in Nike Tempo shorts and a Chicago Cubs crewneck, her face clear of makeup and long hair tied into a sloppy bun at the top of her head. Jazz was one of those girls who looked good no matter what she was wearing, but considering her usual attire at school, it was obvious she had not expected company today.

Blinking down at the three of them in surprise, Jazz halted at the top of the stairs. "Oh!"

"Um…yeah, Sam and Tucker are here?" Danny said awkwardly.

Jazz's face lit up, and she pranced the rest of the way down the stairs. "Hi! It's good to see you guys!" she greeted.

Sam hadn't talked much with Jazz since the Fentons moved to Amity Park. The girl had her own circle of friends in the senior class, so there really was no reason for them to interact in school, let alone outside of it. It didn't help that Jazz was the antithesis of Sam—peppy, pretty, and popular as she was. Had Sam not known any better, she would have cast Jazz as one of those dime-a-dozen girls—and regrettably had, prior to becoming Danny's friend—but if there was one thing Sam had learned, it was that the Fentons never really conformed to your everyday stereotypes.

So even though Sam didn't know much about Jazz, she knew enough. She respected her, sunny aura aside, and was more than willing to get to know her.

Coming up next to Danny, Jazz looked him up and down and plucked at the sleeve of his ratty sweatshirt in disgust. "Really?" Swiping the beanie from his head before he could respond, Jazz mussed his crazy hat-hair. "That's better. So how was—?"

"Didn't you need something, Jazz?" Danny interrupted in a grumble, swatting her away and attempting to tame his hair.

Jazz looked a little wounded, but Tucker understood her unfinished question and answered, "The Nasty Burger was fantastic, thanks for asking. Danny'll have to bring you something back next time."

Jazz beamed at him, and Sam was quite interested to note a hint of a blush on Tucker's face. "See, Danny," Jazz said. "That's how people with manners usually behave."

"And you're one to talk?" Danny shot back. "Screaming at me the moment I walk in the door? No 'hello, welcome home?'"

"Hello, welcome home," Jazz deadpanned.

"…I hate you sometimes."

Sam snorted, causing Danny to scowl at her, but it was worth it to see the doting expression on Jazz's face when Danny's back was turned. Sam might be an only child, but because Tucker was as close to a brother as she could possibly have, she understood this dance and song well enough. The bickering, sarcasm, and insults never did much to hide a deeper bond, one Sam knew was all the stronger between Danny and Jazz because of all they'd been through together.

"So," Danny said grudgingly, "did you actually need something? Because if not…"

"Oh! Um, it's nothing that can't wait," Jazz said, suddenly embarrassed. She fiddled with the box in her hands, the green FentonWorks logo standing in stark contrast to the dark metal. "I'm sure Sam and Tucker don't want—"

"Bullshit!" Sam interrupted. Raising the pitch of her voice and adopting air quotes, she mocked, 'Sam doesn't want…'" She scoffed and folded her arms. "Ugh. If I have to hear someone make that decision for me one more time, I will dropkick something, I swear."

"Aaand that's exactly how to not make friends, Sam," Tucker said. "Way to go."

"Shut up. Jazz doesn't look offended."

"I'm not offended," Jazz affirmed, a hint of a smile in her voice.

"There we go." Turning her attention back to the device, Sam asked, "What is it?"

"Practice," Jazz said, displaying the box. "It's an old invention that emits a shrill sound that's supposed to disorient ghosts. Maybe even incapacitate them."

"Kinda like Black Canary's Canary Cry?" Tucker asked excitedly. "But for ghosts?"

"Exactly," Jazz said, surprising Sam. "What?" she asked when she saw Sam's reaction. "I'm a big Arrow fan."

"You watch Arrow?" Sam asked.

"Well, yeah. I mean, Stephen Amell's hot, and there's a lot of strong female characters who—"

"Oh, you've done it now," Danny teased. "There's no stopping her when she gets started on Arrow."

Jazz fingered a switch on the side of the box. "If I remember correctly, this one worked really well on you. Would you like me to—?"

Eyes widening, Danny swiped the box from Jazz's hands. "Nooooo, that's alright. No testing without warning, right? That's the rule."

"I love that that's a rule," Tucker said. "Why is that a rule?"

Jazz and Danny exchanged a look, one apologetic and the other accusatory. "It's better to have warning, is all," Danny said eventually. "So I can brace myself. And stuff."

"Yeah, we never know—" Danny coughed, a clear sign he wanted his sister to shut up, and Jazz fidgeted, forming her words carefully. "—exactly how Danny will react. To an invention. Whatever it is."

"Or whatever it isn't," Danny muttered.

Tucker must have sensed a very embarrassing story behind the siblings' secretive explanation, and as his grin grew downright predatory, Sam decided to step in. "So what are you supposed to be doing with the Canary Cry box?" she asked.

Jazz smiled, and Danny, who was diligently avoiding eye contact with Tucker, looked relieved. "I'm trying to calibrate it to ignore Danny's ecto-signature. Mom and Dad want us to be able to do it on anything they've invented—and even on the factory-made stuff for public consumption—but this is an old design, back before Dad actually started keeping organized notes and specs on the stuff he built for fun."

"Oh, joy," Danny said, turning the box over in his hands. "So it is one of the things he tinkered around with and ended up building by accident."

"Yeah. It's taken me forever to understand the circuitry. I tried my best, but the only way to know for sure…"

"Is to test it."

"Yeah," Jazz said. "Jokes aside, you know I hate to ask you to do this."

"It's fine, Jazz," Danny said, even though it sounded as though nothing could be more distasteful than offering himself up as a test subject right now. "I'll do it. Just for you."

Danny steeled himself and flipped the switch. Sam heard absolutely nothing, but it was clear that Danny did. Doubling over, he gasped and dropped the box, hands flying to cover up his ears. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his lips twisted into a grimace of pain.

"Danny!" Sam exclaimed, heart leaping to her throat.

"No, nope, definitely not," Danny yelled, as though he were trying to be heard over loud music.

Jazz was quicker than Sam and hurriedly scooped the box back up, flipping the switch back off. "Sorry! Sorry!" She groaned in frustration and glared at the box. "I thought I had it for sure this ti—why are you laughing?"

Danny was still doubled over, his shoulders shaking.

"Danny." Jazz's eyes spewed fire. "Why. Are. You. Laughing?"

Raising his head, Danny smirked. "Psych."

For a moment, there was dead silence, and then Jazz screamed and threw the device at Danny, who turned intangible at the right moment. It sailed through him, harmlessly bouncing off the back of one of the couches and tumbling to the floor. "YOU ARE DEAD TO ME, DANIEL."

Danny laughed uproariously, and to Sam's amazement, he teetered off balance—and into the air—curling into himself as he struggled to breathe.

"Oooo, you just got full-named," Tucker mocked. If he noticed Danny's spontaneous floating, he gave no sign, and his laughter joined Danny's.

Sam, however, commiserated with Jazz. "We thought you were hurt, you troll!" she exclaimed. "That wasn't funny!"

"Aw, c'mon, Sam," Danny said, his feet settling back onto the floor. "It was just a little prank. And that's not even the best part. Wanna know the best part, Jazz?"

Jazz looked done. "What's the best part, Danny?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"I fixed that one two days ago."

"…I'm going to kill you."

"Get in line," Danny sang.

Sam sent Danny a sharp look, but Jazz, more accustomed to his morbid humor, huffed and stalked past Tucker to retrieve the box. "I guess I'll have to ask you to show me how you did it later," she said with a hint of a pout.

"Later?" Tucker asked, eyes alight. "Why not now?"

Jazz's brow puckered. "What?"

"That's the reason they're here," Danny explained. "They want to learn a bit. And hang out, too, I guess."

Sam had to wonder just how often Jazz and Danny had been teased before the first publicized ghost attack. Jazz looked even more stunned than Danny had earlier, and there was no denying the skepticism in her voice when she asked, "You guys really want to spend your Saturday afternoon…?"

Sam nodded. "Tuck's more into the tech stuff, but I want to learn everything I can."

"They wanted to join us in the field, too," Danny added.

Jazz surveyed them with growing interest. "No kidding. Well, sorry to say, but good luck getting Mom and Dad to go out with you."

"What? Where are they?" Danny asked.

Crossing her arms, Jazz huffed. "Where do you think?"

The Fenton siblings eyed a closed door in their family room wall. "Did something happen?" Danny asked, a note of concern in his voice.

"I wouldn't know. They've been down in the lab all morning. Shooed me out when I went to ask them if they had breakfast."

"Damn," Danny sighed, his expression serious. "Well, let me go—"

A stampede of footsteps thundered toward them, and the door they'd been staring at burst open. Jack Fenton was easily recognizable by his bulk alone, even though his face was covered by a welding mask that he must've forgotten to remove in his charge upstairs. Black smears marred the skin of his bare forearms, and the old white t-shirt he had tucked into the pants of his orange jumpsuit was pockmarked with charred holes and splotches of oil.

"DANNO!" Mr. Fenton's voice echoed behind his mask. He pushed it up and smiled brightly, his face shiny with sweat. Danny had inherited that crooked smile, and the resemblance made Sam smile, too. "JAZZY! YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS!"

Mrs. Fenton, far lighter on her feet than her husband, popped out from around him. Like Mr. Fenton, her jumpsuit was unzipped to the waist, revealing a grungy tank-top and lean, muscled arms. She'd pushed her goggles lazily up into her short hair, and with her bangs fanned above the band of the goggles, she looked a bit like an eccentric bird. Her infectious enthusiasm as she flitted to her husband's side only contributed to the image.

"We just got the—" Maddie's eyes landed on Tucker and Sam. "Oh!"

It was almost comical, how alike Maddie and Jazz Fenton were when they were surprised by unexpected guests. There was the moment they both froze, their mouths forming little "o"s, and then there was the very next, when they took it all in full stride and smiled wide, as though they couldn't be more pleased to have strangers in the house.

"Well hello!" she said, and there was a light of excitement in her voice that Sam didn't quite know what to make of.

"Hey, Mrs. Fenton," Sam greeted.

And Mrs. Fenton gathered her into an honest-to-God hug. Sam couldn't help but stiffen in the embrace, more surprised than uncomfortable. "It's good to see you both again!" the older woman exclaimed, moving from Sam to Tucker, who accepted a hug far more graciously than Sam had. The expression on his face suggested he was just as taken aback as Sam was, but he managed a smile by the time Mrs. Fenton drew away and sighed happily. "I didn't expect Danny to bring friends home today!"

Tucker's face fell. "Oh," he said, uncharacteristically self-conscious as his manners kicked in. "I'm sorry. That was my fault. We kinda invited ourselves over. If you're busy, we can—"

"Nonsense," Mrs. Fenton interrupted, flapping her ungloved hand. Sam's eyes were drawn to the middle and ring fingers, which were bound together with athletic sports tape. "You're always welcome here! Danny's never really been good about inviting friends over, so you have my permission to invite yourselves whenever you'd like."

Sam expected Danny to stand up and defend himself against what was undoubtedly an embarrassing comment, but it seemed that Mr. Fenton had taken his son and daughter hostage and was currently chattering at them at high speed.

Mrs. Fenton noticed this, too, and with a delicate frown on her face, she nudged her husband. "Jack, I hope you've noticed we have guests."

It was clear from the slow, curious blink and puzzled expression on Mr. Fenton's face as he swung his gaze toward Sam and Tucker that he most certainly did not realize they were in the room. Or if he had, he'd merely accepted it without a second thought and was now wondering why his wife felt it necessary to draw attention to the fact that, yes, there were indeed non-Fentons standing before him.

"Danny brought friends home," Mrs. Fenton prompted. She beamed at her son, who, now free from his father's attention, flushed bright red and mumbled something to the effect of it's-not-that-big-of-a-deal-Mom-don't-do-this-to-me under his breath.

Once Mr. Fenton fully processed their presence, he lit up and pounced. Sam nearly buckled under the unexpected weight of his hand as he rested it enthusiastically across her shoulders. Yes. Shoulders plural. Mr. Fenton was a bear of a man, and a single hand easily covered the breadth of her upper back.

"Fantastic!" Mr. Fenton boomed. "I'm glad you're here!"

"Dad," Danny said in a light warning tone, not missing Sam's embarrassing stumble. He caught Sam's eye and gave her an apologetic look.

Jack Fenton did not appear to hear his son, and instead of removing his hands, he ushered them toward the door he'd just emerged from. "This is exciting! We can show you what we've been working on!" he exclaimed.

"You mean…in the lab?" Tucker asked, and Sam looked up at Mr. Fenton with no small amount of awe. In fact, if she had been an anime character, the animators would have probably gone all liquid-sparkle eyes on her ass.

And Sam felt no shame. Because come on. How else should she react after an unexpected invitation down into the heart of FentonWorks? All within minutes of stepping through the threshold and well before the public showing of the Portal activation?

(This might or might not be the best day of her life).

"Of course in the lab!" Jack exclaimed. "This is going to blow your minds, kids!"

Sam felt more than saw Danny's reaction, and that was saying something. Because she actually did see his reaction, and it was nothing short of terrifying. It was like the power had gone out: he completely shut down, his embarrassed flush giving way to a near-gray pallor, his expression stone-cold and dead. His eyes, though…His eyes were a thunderstorm, and Sam wondered how someone so expressive could be so difficult to read.

She could feel the absence of Danny's good-humor as a physical thing, the temperature of the room plummeting. Sam was distinctly uncomfortable, uneasy, as the tension in the room mounted, and for an interminable second, it felt as if time were crawling through molasses.

But in the next blink of an eye, Danny's stony expression cracked, and the noose of sudden anxiety around her neck loosened. Sam would have almost believed she imagined it had it not been for the blistering look he shot at Maddie Fenton, who placed her wounded hand on the back of Danny's nape and stroked at the fine hair there. It was a subconscious movement on her part, something she did often, Sam assumed, considering Danny did not shy from the touch but rather leaned into it, the stiffness in his shoulders draining away.

"Dad," Danny said, and though his expression was neutral, there was a nervous edge in his tone. "Are you sure that's the best idea?"

The rush of déjà vu nearly disoriented Sam. Just yesterday, Danny had been upset enough about people coming into the lab for the publicized Portal activation that he'd stormed into school with his Phantom eyes on. And well before then, in Lance Thunder's studio, Danny had sat on a stage of intense light, trying to hide his discomfort from his viewers when Mr. Thunder asked for his origin story.

It was a comic-book-stereotypical lab accident, he'd said. It's not something I'd wish on anyone.

Oh. Oh.

"We'll just take 'em onto the observation deck, Danno! It's complete now!"

"Well, nearly complete," Mrs. Fenton corrected.

Flapping his hand, Mr. Fenton said, "Tohm-ay-to, tohm-a-to." He turned to Sam and Tucker again, eyes shining. "The deck and master control panel are brand spanking new, so of course there's still a bit of testing we need to do to make sure everything's up to par before Tuesday morning, but no worries! There are no live wires, no poke-y bits. Nothing that'll shock or stab ya."

"Oh, good," Tucker said casually, "because getting stabbed or shocked was really my first concern when you said 'let's go down to the lab.' Obviously."

Danny's eyes blew wide. "Was it?" he asked.

Tucker swung an incredulous look toward his friend. Sam could hear the unsaid what da fuck you on, bro? but to his credit, Tuck dialed it down to, "Hell no! My first concern was whether someone would be close enough to catch me when I inevitably trip and fall over myself in all my fan-boy glory." Tucker flicked Danny's arm. "I expect that'll be down to you, Ghost Wonder. Stay close."

Mr. Fenton erupted into full, belly-deep laughter. The room reverberated with the sound of it. Danny shot his father an intense glare, but that only made the man laugh harder. Placing his hand on his son's shoulder, he wiped away the moisture from his eyes and poked his son repetitively in the arm. "Aw, c'mon, son! That was a good one. Admit it."

"Geez, Dad. Really?" Danny batted away his father's hand, and because it simply wasn't in him to stay angry, he lost what little control he had over his straight face.

Mr. Fenton merely beamed and poked at Danny once more, aiming for his hip. Danny yelped, and with his body flickering out of visibility and flickering back in the same second, he skittered out of range and protested his father's cheap shot.

Sam watched the exchange with wide eyes, amazed at just how comfortable Danny was in this house, with his family. It was almost as though he were a completely different person here.

The moment the thought came to her, she dismissed it because, really, it wasn't fair to Danny to think that. She had seen this playful side of Danny. Plenty of times, if only in controlled doses. His behavior at school was always tempered by the knowledge he was being watched, that there were expectations of him that sometimes prevented him from being a kid.

Watching them all now, it was hard to believe for a single instant the Fentons once spoke vehemently against Phantom, against the idea of co-existing or so much as working together with the residents of the Ghost Zone. It was hard to believe the GIW and the Fentons once had a common goal.

Because now, the Fentons could watch their ghost-powered son disappear and float and do a whole manner of things that would have once sent them straight for their guns. Now, they were in constant communication with leaders from both worlds. Now, a Google search of their family name revealed articles upon articles about their reformed perspective and the new direction in which they wanted to take FentonWorks.

The transformation between then and now filled Sam to the brim with pride and (dare she say?) hope. Pride and hope, in that others' beliefs were changing too; in that, she was here now, ready and willing to learn and do everything in her power to help the Fentons in this new era of ghost and human collaboration, of growth and exploration and discovery. Her decision the previous night—the decision to become a ghost hunter, paranormal expert, what have you—had never felt so right, and she'd already known going in—and maybe even before then, when Amity Park was still considering whether or not Danny could attend public school—that this was what she wanted, more than anything in the world.

"Alright, hon," Mrs. Fenton said suddenly, catching her husband's elbow. It was clear she was amused by her boys' playing, and her tone implied she really hated to break them up now. "We still have a lot to do if we want to start on the Portal this afternoon."

"Right!" Jack Fenton exclaimed.

"I thought you were already working on the Portal?" Sam asked.

"Oh, no, dear," Mrs. Fenton said with a laugh. "We should be working on everything for Tuesday, but we got a little sidetracked with a different project."

"A hella neat different project."

"Ew, Dad," Jazz said, wrinkling her nose. "You don't get to use that word. It doesn't make you cool."

"That's okay, Jazzerincess," he said, without missing a beat. With a wink at Mrs. Fenton, he added, "Who wants to be cool when you're already hot as I am?"

Jazz and Danny looked traumatized, their expressions of horror and screeches of disgust delighting their father, who whooped a laugh and made a show of placing a sloppy kiss on Mrs. Fenton's bandaged knuckles.

"Was that just a Dad joke?" Tucker whispered to Sam, sounding just as delighted as Mr. Fenton.

Sam didn't respond. She wouldn't know. Her dad didn't really do jokes.

"Didn't you want to show us something, Dad?" Jazz asked loudly, almost desperately, grimacing at her parents' PDA. "Because if not, I'm going to—"

"Oh, no, wait!" Mr. Fenton said. "This really is super cool. You're gonna love it."

"What is it?" Danny asked. He sounded a little reluctant to ask, but there was no denying the hint of an intrigued glimmer in his eye. "You never mentioned you were working on anything new."

With a cryptic smile, Mr. Fenton turned back to Sam and Tucker and herded them toward the basement door. "Hadn't we? It was all your idea anyway."

Danny blinked. "Um, what?"

"Just come and see!"

Sam couldn't help the jolt of utter joy and anticipation no more than she could help the wide grin on her face when they began to descend the stairs, but even still, she found her gaze drawn to Danny, who hung to the back, silent. Jazz stuck to his side, looking as though she wanted to say something to him, but he didn't seem all too receptive, his focus solely on his parents and friends.

Sam wasn't about to let it go, and one day soon, she was going to prod that still-healing wound. She had a lot to ask, more than Danny was probably willing to answer, but she needed to face the fear of Danny's negative reaction just as much as he needed to face some of his own fears, whatever they were.

And maybe by pushing each other to make that leap, things wouldn't be half-bad in the end. In the meantime, though, she'd vow not to touch anything without explicit permission.

Danny was hovering behind her, his nervous energy palpable, and she sent him a reassuring smile over her shoulder, hoping that the silent promise there reached him.

She didn't really get to see if it did. Tucker came to a dead stop in front of her, and she nearly bumped into him.

"Oh, wow," Tucker breathed.

'Wow,' Sam thought as she stepped around Tucker onto the landing, was an understatement.

The stairs ended on a platform that extended into a metal walkway, all fully encased in glass. The lights flickered on below and around them as they walked forward, but Sam couldn't help but pause before stepping onto the catwalk, her eyes catching glimpse of another room settled just a skip and a hop across a mini-hallway that hugged the wall of the main basement. Three of the four walls were glass, and within the room sat clean and gleaming tables full of test tubes, beakers, and an assortment of other instruments Sam couldn't hope to name. Fridges and incubation cabinets of various sizes and more desk space lined the non-glass wall, fresh stacks of petri dishes, scales, and little machines sitting in wait for use. Some of the machines hummed, spinning and cycling the contents of whatever samples they contained.

Mrs. Fenton tracked Sam's gaze. "That's my parabiology lab," she said proudly.

"Our parabiology lab," Mr. Fenton corrected from ahead.

"Mom's parabiology lab," the Fenton siblings overruled in sync, one in a chirpy tone and the other with all the fatigue of someone who'd heard this argument once too many times.

"Mom's the true parabiologist," Jazz explained to Sam and Tucker. "Dad's the engineer. That's not to say Dad doesn't know his way around a PCR machine and Mom can't help program tech, but let's be real." She swept her arm over the rest of the lab. "Dad rarely leaves his Toy Room."

And that's when Sam looked down.

The catwalk extended above a wide space that could have easily been two basements in it of itself, suggesting the Fentons did indeed own the whole cul-de-sac. Nearly half of the floor below was sectioned off by what looked like garage doors that extended from the walls. Tucked into the corner of the room, there were more benches and huge tables, most of which were nowhere near as clean as those in Mrs. Fenton's portion of the upper lab. Cluttered with metal, wires, and page upon page of concept drawings as the desks were, it was clear this was meant to be an engineer's workshop. Thick sheets of metal, tool boxes, and massive power tools nestled along the walls and amongst the organized mess, and sitting in the open portion of the room…

"Is that the Specter Speeder?" Tucker asked, drawing so close to the glass his nose was nearly brushing up against it. "I thought it was obliterated during the battle!"

"It was. By…Arg—Ara—" Mr. Fenton snapped his fingers. "Help me out, Danno."

"Aragon," Danny said, his tone flat.

"The Dragon Ghost," Sam muttered. The one ultimately responsible for the Fentons' capture. The one who delivered them to Pariah Dark at the top of the Tower.

Danny avoided her sympathetic gaze and stood at Tucker's side, observing the Speeder below with critical eyes.

"Yeah, that one," Mr. Fenton said, as though there were absolutely no bad memories associated with the name. "We couldn't salvage much of that Speeder, so I decided to build a better one. She's nowhere near done, but my new baby's well on her way!"

"She's beautiful. What did you use to build her?" Tucker asked.

Mr. Fenton looked thrilled to have been asked, his smile brightening and eyes lighting up like a firework.

"Titanium alloy infused with small quantities of ectoranium, which we hope should provide a little extra shielding whenever we're in the Zone. The windows, like these—" Mr. Fenton's knuckles rapped against the glass surrounding them. "—are triple-paned laminated glass, filmed with an anti-ecto-radiation compound of our own design."

"Whoa," Tucker whispered, eyes wide. "Shatterproof, radiation-proof, and ghost-proof, right? Why titanium? Does it have special anti-ghost properties, too?"

To Sam's surprise, it was Danny who answered this time.

(But not before trying and failing to hide amused snickers.)

"Not quite, Tuck," he said after composing himself. "Titanium's lightweight. And strong. It can tolerate extreme temperatures and pressures, and it doesn't corrode very easily either."

Sam and Tucker stared, and Sam saw it—the moment Danny realized what he said. Flushing and attempting to hide it by whirling around so that he was facing the Speeder again, he huffed and crossed his arms. "They use titanium on spaceships, too," he muttered.

Huh. Tucker did say Danny had wanted to be an astronaut, didn't he? SpaceAce12 indeed.

Sam slowly processed what Danny said and asked, "Is the environment of the Ghost Zone that hostile?"

The Fentons exchanged a look and continued walking along the catwalk, the others falling in step behind them. "We aren't sure," Mrs. Fenton admitted. "We had theories—and most paranormal scientists accepted them as fact—but now…"

"Danny screwed things up and trampled all over their accepted theories," Jazz said. "Because he's been to the Ghost Zone, multiple times, without any side effects or anything."

"But it's not like we've tested how long I can stay out there, in either my ghost or human form," Danny added. "So there's still a lot that's a mystery to us." Shooting a sidelong glare at Jazz, he added, "I would also like to point out that it's not like you haven't done your fair share of trampling, Jasmine."

Jazz gave Danny a flat look. "You forget I never would have stepped foot in the Ghost Zone if not for you, Daniel. Ergo: your fault."

"You've been to the Ghost Zone, too, Jazz?" Sam asked curiously.

"We all have," Jazz answered. "But I'm the only one outside of Danny who's gone to any of the islands—regions, realms, whatever—without any sort of protective gear."

"Which, I need hardly remind you, was very dangerous," Maddie Fenton said, a severe glint in her eye as she looked back at her children. Danny opened his mouth, and Mrs. Fenton added, "Half-ghost or otherwise."

"And which," Mr. Fenton said, pulling what looked like a small Xbox controller from his overlarge pockets, "is why we started doing some tinkering. Now, go 'head! Onto the deck! You can see better from there."

One by one, they reached the end of the catwalk and filed into the large rectangular room that overlooked both Mr. Fenton's workshop and the other half of the lab. Sam took note of the control panel that wrapped around the walls of the room, its buttons and knobs all flashing with various colors of light. Tucker beelined for the computer screens, which were mounted on retractable arms that could extend and move along various sections of the panel, and made appreciative sounds, rattling off makes and models and piling question upon question onto Mr. Fenton, whose responses quickly became far too technical for her to follow.

Sam, for her part, was more interested in what the other half of the lower lab had to offer, and as she approached the glass, she looked down.

The massive hole in the wall drew her attention immediately. Octagonal in shape, it must've been at least ten feet in height and width, but even with the flood lights illuminating the cavern's mouth, she couldn't tell just how deep it went. With its wires and thick cords spilling like intestines from its belly and its metal doors disconnected and resting against a nearby wall, the Portal didn't look anything like the pictures she'd seen on the internet.

She sensed Danny at her shoulder. "That's the Portal?" she asked softly.

"It will be," he said.

Amazing how, in just a few days' time, it wouldn't be a mere hole in the wall. What she wouldn't give to be here on Tuesday, to see it go live.

"And the rest?" she asked, scanning the area below.

"We want it to be a training area," Danny said, and Sam grinned. She'd read that Mrs. Fenton was a black-belt, and considering the entire family's ghost-hunting, she had no doubt it'd be utilized to the fullest. "Which is pretty sweet because we didn't have anything like that at our old lab."

Sam was curious enough to ask how they had trained before, but Danny continued on before she could. "Mom and Dad want a place where they can test inventions without having to worry about a lot of collateral damage, too, so we'll see how that goes."

"What?" Sam asked. "You mean…?"

"It wouldn't be FentonWorks if there wasn't some sort of explosion happening every other day, yeah," Danny said. He chewed on the inside of his lip. "You know, the idea of having separate lab spaces is nice and all, but I know the boundaries will start to blur before long."

Having seen Mr. Fenton's workshop, she could believe it.

"And that section over there?" she asked, pointing out a curtained area off in the furthest corner from the Portal.

"Oh, um." Danny's tone became awkward, and she turned to look at him. "That's our infirmary."

Danny's infirmary, Sam's mind amended. Her expression softened, and without thinking, she rested her hand on his arm.

"Yo, lovebirds!" Tucker exclaimed from the other side of the deck. Sam jumped a foot away from Danny, removing her hand as though she'd been shocked. "Get over here!"

"We're not lovebirds!" Sam denied, and to her surprise, she heard the very same exclamation from Danny, utterly in sync with her.

When she whirled toward Tucker, his expression was carefully composed. "If you say so," he said, as though he couldn't care one way or another.

But she knew better, and she saw that smirk he was fighting (the bastard). She was also not blushing, thank you very much.

"Come on!" Mr. Fenton added. "You're missing it!"

Ignoring the eyes on her and refusing to look at Danny, she crossed the deck and found a spot where she could view the Speeder again.

This time, it was not alone. Three sleek circular devices hovered around the Speeder, and with a jab of the joystick on his controller, Mr. Fenton brought them up to eye level.

"Oh, no way!" Danny exclaimed excitedly, and for the first time since entering the lab, he became animated, his eyes dancing. "Those're what I think they are, right? You got them to work?"

"That they are, kiddo. I present to you the Fenton Rovers!" Mr. Fenton said.

"Like the Mars rovers?" Sam asked.

"Exactly! We're gonna send these babies out to collect some data for us about as many regions of the Ghost Zone as we can. Temperatures, atmospheric pressures, UV radiation, mineral samples—all that jazz! They even have special HD cameras! Wanna see our test shots?"

Excitement shot through Sam. Very few pictures of the Ghost Zone existed, and not a single one of them depicted anything more than a swirling expanse of green.

Without waiting for a response, Mr. Fenton woke one of the computer screens and clicked through an application, pulling up a picture of what looked like a frozen wasteland from above, its beautiful towers of ice piercing the sky. The following picture was an alarming, but amusing, close-up of a yeti ghost, who either did not understand the concept of a photograph or wanted to pull a prank on the Fentons by grinning right into the camera.

"Oh my God, is that Sleetjaw?" Jazz asked Danny, who dissolved into laughter upon seeing the picture.

"This is incredible," Sam said, talking over the giggling Fenton siblings. "How many are you going to send out?"

"We only have these three fully functional right now," Mr. Fenton said. "We're hoping to get as many as twenty out there once we prove they can get us results we want."

"We're cautiously optimistic at this point. We've tried to do something like this before," Mrs. Fenton elaborated, "but we hadn't fathomed the scope of the Zone—and we never would have guessed its climates are as diverse as the Earth's—so our bots were poorly developed, poorly funded, and as such, they never brought us accurate results."

"If they came back at all," Danny joked.

"But we've got an understanding with our allies this time, thanks to you, Danno!" Mr. Fenton beamed proudly and mused his son's hair. "They'll know not to shoot on sight. And better yet, Walker's already given us a green light to—"

"Wait, what?" Jazz exclaimed. "I knew Frostbite and Dora and a few others would be fine with this, but you reached an agreement with Walker? How?!"

"Well, Danno was saying that even though Walker's a pain in the butt, he's generally more amicable if he feels like he's in control, and since he did such awesome job holding the main line on the Zone front during the Shift, we thought it was only right we continue that spirit of goodwill and give him a heads up about our plans before we talked to other ghosts."

"So you invited him here? To let him inspect the Fenton Rovers?" Danny asked.

"Well, we actually met in a more neutral setting, but essentially, yes. It's like you say, Danny," Mrs. Fenton said with a soft smile. "Once you figure out what a ghost needs to feel secure, it isn't too hard to reach an agreement with them. These 'real-world items' are fit for launch!"

Sam swore she had never seen Danny grin so widely, and actually, it looked like he was battling the urge to go and give both of his parents the biggest hug of their lives. "That's genius!"

Mr. and Mrs. Fenton accepted the praise humbly, and as Mr. Fenton guided the Fenton Rovers back to their stations on the lab floor, Mrs. Fenton placed one hand on each of her children's shoulders. "None of it would've been possible without you two."

Feeling as though she were intruding on a Hallmark family moment, Sam hovered near Tucker, whose eyes were finally drawn to the Portal. "That's weird," he muttered, frown on his face.

"Hm?"

"I thought I saw—"

"You know…" Mr. Fenton mused, drawing their attention back to him. "Sam, Tucker, would you and your families be interested in—"

Mr. Fenton froze as Danny's breath misted in front of him, and suddenly, an alarm blared, red lights flashing on the control panel.

A ghost. Sam's heart leapt to her throat, blood chilling and ice slithering down her spine.

In the blink of an eye, Danny was half-crouched into a solid, protective stance front of her and Tucker, his fists glowing green. "Stay behind me," he growled.

"Um," Tucker said, and he sounded more confused than scared, which is something that Sam couldn't claim for herself. "What's happen—?"

"Unauthorized entity," the computer interrupted in a cool voice, as though the alarm and Danny's ghost sense weren't enough. "Lab security breach."

"Sam, Tuck," Danny said, nearly vibrating with energy. "I want you guys to—"

"We're not leaving," Sam said, sounding stronger than she felt. "We're your friends. We've got your back."

There wasn't time to argue, though Danny clearly looked like he wanted to. Torn between getting his friends to safety and staying to face the threat, he finally relented. "Fine," Danny said, turning away from his friends. "Mom. Dad. We weren't expecting visitors today, were we?"

Mr. and Mrs. Fenton both procured compact pistols from their belts. They hummed as they powered up. "No," Mrs. Fenton said, holding her gun at the ready, and Danny shifted all his weight onto the balls of his feet, eyes blazing green. "All authorized ghosts have been given Fenton Portal-bles specifically calibrated with coordinates for the lab. Their ecto-signatures are in the database already, so it's most likely not a friend."

Another full-body shiver possessed Danny, and his breath ghosted in front of him again. "The shields are up?"

"Always," Mr. Fenton said, suddenly very serious. He leaned over to open a compartment below the control panel, drawing three small items from within and tossing what looked like a lipstick container to Jazz and two bracelets to Danny, who then passed them right on back to Sam and Tucker.

"You'll be safe behind the ghost shield," he said, "but just in case…"

Sam strapped the bracelet on without a thought. A flick of the wrist, and it whirred to life, the trigger popping from the device and settling right in her palm. Now primed and loaded, the wrist ray would shoot with a mere squeeze of her fist over the trigger.

She would later be amazed that the Fentons immediately trusted two untrained teens with loaded weapons, but at the moment, she felt electric, petrified with anticipation and adrenaline, ready to take on the world. And win.

Bad guys beware.

"Whoever it is, they're trying to force open a natural portal," Danny informed. "Right here. I can feel it."

"Ooo, really?" Mr. Fenton said excitedly. "How is it different from your ghost sense? How precisely can you locate the source of the brea—"

"Focus, Dad!" Jazz snapped. "We can nerd out about Danny's new power later!"

Below, Sam caught glimpse of a spark, a glowing crack in reality materializing and then beginning to spin in the very center of the room. "It's opening," she breathed.

The portal stabilized, its hectic spinning slowing into a lazy spiral. The alarms continued to shriek, even as a single ghost flew gracefully through the breach and into the lab, its red eyes immediately zeroing in on them.

Sam knew this ghost. She knew him, and of all the ghosts she would have preferred to stay far, far away from, he was at the top of the list with Pariah Dark himself.

"PLASMIUS!" Danny roared, a flare of light nearly blinding Sam as he launched himself into the air.

Jazz shouted Danny's name, but it was too late. Phantom was already rocketing toward Plasmius, ectoblasts streaming from his fists. Plasmius unlocked his gaze from the observation deck and was too slow to block Phantom's first shot. Phantom had him pinned in a heartbeat, one hand at the villain's throat and the other holding a ball of ectofire as he straddled the demon ghost.

Sam's heart thumped rapidly in her ears, mouth dry with shock, and without her say so, she grasped Tucker's free wrist. This…This wasn't Danny. Danny was never this violent, this ferocious. Against the Feuders just the other day, he'd treated and fought them with the respect they were due. Even against the Ghost King, when he'd been fighting for his life and for the lives of those around him, he hadn't exhibited so much raw hatred.

This was something else. This was personal. Plasmius had hurt Danny irreparably, had pushed him past all points of forgiveness. He must have. There was no other explanation, and Sam felt rage bubble in her gut.

Mrs. Fenton gasped her son's name and looked about ready to turn on her heel to run after him, but Mr. Fenton placed a hand on his wife's arm. "This is Danny's fight," he murmured, and with a few quick keystrokes, he disabled the alarm. The sudden silence shook Sam to the core.

"I don't like this, Jack," Mrs. Fenton returned. "I don't like this at all."

"Trust him."

Maddie bit her lip and turned back to the two ghosts, who were engaged in an unblinking staring match that made Sam anxious just watching.

"You're not welcome here," Phantom spat suddenly, his voice carrying from the floor below. Molding the energy into his hand into a concentrated spear, he brought it closer to Plasmius' face. "And you have about five seconds to get the hell out or I'll—"

"Or you'll what, my b—" Plasmius choked as Phantom's arm went down hard, cutting off Plasmius' voice.

"Damn," Tucker breathed beside Sam. Jazz caught their eyes, and Sam could only read pain and a hatred equal to Danny's own within her gaze.

"I—" Plasmius' usually silky voice was rough until Phantom shifted his weight off his throat. "I come with a message," he announced. "That's all."

"Let me get this straight," Phantom said. "You invade our home, through a fucking—"

"Language," Plasmius chided.

"Don't you dare!" Jack Fenton shouted, sounding colder than Sam would have believed possible of the man. "Don't you dare presume you can lecture my son!"

Plasmius did not respond, but his red eyes narrowed in Mr. Fenton's direction.

"Why are you here, Plasmius?" Mrs. Fenton asked.

The ghost visibly reacted to Danny's mom's voice, and he closed his eyes, slumping under Danny. "I come with a warning. For all of you."

Danny scoffed. "As if we would trust anything you have to say after you, you know, invade our home. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"It could not wait a moment longer, Daniel," Plasmius said, shifting under Danny to relieve some more pressure off his throat. "And you have blocked all other means of communication after our most recent conversation. Why else would I be stupid enough to come directly to you, in this lab, armed to the teeth as it is, unless what I have to say is of grave importance?"

Barking a humorless laugh, Phantom retorted, "Because you're nuts, maybe?"

"Always so quick with your tongue," Plasmius tutted. "One day you might lose it."

"Enough games!" Danny hissed. "Why should we believe anything you say?"

Plasmius eyed the deck again, and Sam's breath caught in her throat as he stared directly at her and Tucker. "You have guests."

The energy in Danny's hand flared, and he snarled wordlessly. "Touch them, and your secret is—"

A halo of purple-black light erupted at Plasmius' waist, and Phantom gasped, going so far as to retreat from Plasmius entirely, the energy in his hands fizzling to nothing. "What…?" Phantom looked lost, green eyes wide. "What are you doing?" he asked.

A big red WTF flashed in Sam's mind like a neon sign. Jazz, however, released a slew of expletives as Tucker whispered, "Holy shit, is he…morphing?"

Sam only nodded. Having seen Danny's transformation multiple times now, there was no denying what this was, and even when the dark light of the transformation faded to nothing, Sam couldn't wrap her mind around what she'd just seen.

Vlad Masters—billionaire, owner of DALV and Vladco, mayor of Chicago, popular socialite, and once best friend of the Fenton family—stood in the place of Plasmius, cool, calm, collected and not nearly as unnerved as the rest of the Fenton family was.

Well. A lot of things Danny said yesterday at school made sense now.

Tucker gripped Sam's sleeve, the repetitive 'holy shit's starting to roll in under his breath.

"I would think this is enough to prove my utter sincerity," Vlad Masters said. "I did not come to fight."

Phantom gaped. "Um…yeah," he said cautiously, all anger completely drained away. His eyes flicked briefly up toward his family and then his friends. "I almost want to know what you would have done if you didn't have the option of revealing your identity as collateral, but I'm not sure I want to know."

Vlad merely blinked and smiled, and Phantom shuddered. "Alright," he said, crossing his arms. "You have our undivided attention."

Sighing, Vlad grasped his hands before him and turned to address the room as a whole. "I've heard a rumor," he said slowly, "from within my own companies, that there will be attempts to sabotage the Fenton Portal activation on Tuesday."

Danny raised his eyebrows. "Is that all? We already expected to see some protesters. Hell, we have them out there right now."

Shaking his head, Vlad hissed, "No, you don't understand! It's not just about the Portal. It's about FentonWorks. It's about you and me and the entire Ghost Zone."

Sam didn't like this. She didn't like this at all. Even Tucker had stopped cussing, their combined dread pooling between them like a soul-draining entity in it of itself.

"Get to the point, Vlad," Mr. Fenton said. "What's this really about?"

Vlad looked up, and for the first time, the man's composure faltered. "The Guys in White."

Chapter Text

Vlad had not said a word since they left the lab. He merely followed where he was led, took a seat where indicated, and did not so much as look at anyone unless they made eye contact with him first.

(And all this, he did with the hint of a triumphant little smirk on his lips. Because even when he was playing nice, of course he had to be a smug dick about it.)

Once settled, Vlad tapped at his smartphone and slid it with infuriating grace into the middle of the table, waiting, his steel eyes finally meeting Danny's from across the room.

In the wake of Vlad's announcement ten minutes ago, there had been a moment of ringing silence before Mom had insisted they relocate to the Ops Center. "We can't discuss this here," she'd said, lowering her gun. "Not like this."

Danny, painfully aware of his friends' presence, would have much rather kept a thick glass barrier between them and Plasmius, but his mom had been right: the lab really was no place for this. As unhappy as it made him to invite Vlad any further into FentonWorks, he had to remind himself that taking him to the Ops Center, where meetings of this nature were supposed to take place, was a far sight better than inviting Vlad to, say, the dinner table.

Which would have happened, once upon a time. So…small blessings, Danny had to remind himself. Small blessings.

In the long run, maybe the dinner table would have been better. Even with the coffee his mom brought up, the homey feel of the kitchen and the illusion of normalcy might've helped calm Sam and Tucker. They tried to hide it, but they were shaken. Badly. Danny could sense it as easily as he could feel the sunshine pouring in from the windows.

Even now, they both looked a little lost in the Ops Center, hovering and uncertain, as though they were half-expecting Danny or his family to send them away, maybe even wondering if they were expected to excuse themselves.

Danny wasn't about to clue them in. Aside from ensuring he was between them and Vlad at all times, Danny found himself doing his utmost to ignore them, to pretend as though they weren't there at all. It probably was a jerk move: he knew they would appreciate some sort of sign of reassurance from him. He just couldn't bring himself to do it.

Honestly, he didn't want them there, but as much as he was unable to tolerate their presence after seeing him…lose it, he couldn't just tell them to go home. How could he? To send them away now would only prove to them he didn't trust them, and it would clearly showcase how little he wanted them there.

And that wasn't right. He would only be pushing them away, and after everything, what sort of thanks was that?

Besides, he knew how it felt to be left out of an important discussion. He knew how it felt when others took out the "kid gloves." It wasn't a nice feeling, and he wouldn't be the one to dish that out to his friends. He was feeling enough like a hypocrite already.

There was another reason he didn't want to meet his friends' eyes, and it had everything to do with the fact he hadn't transformed back into Fenton. They probably thought little of it, as humans, and after his talk with Tucker, he was making a conscientious effort to get over himself and his self-consciousness. So that wasn't the problem. The problem was he was still Phantom while Vlad wasn't Plasmius.

For as callous as ghosts could be about certain things, they were equally sensitive about others. There was a whole different set of social rules that Vlad and Danny both had to learn once becoming half-ghost. Some of those rules had been taught the hard way, but others had been unconscious, ingrained, unspoken, and none of those rules were so obvious as those of hierarchy and dominance.

Plasmius had done enough posturing and flaunting whenever Danny was powerless to face him as Phantom that he'd long since promised himself he'd never do the same to another ghost. Danny had learnt to show just enough grit and confidence to prove he deserved their respect, and that he wasn't a pushover, but what he was doing now, with all the arrogance of a peacock fanning its feathers? As good as it felt to get back at Vlad, to be on the other side for once, the strutting made him feel slightly nauseated. It was poisonous, and he could see how ghosts could become addicted to the very thought of exercising this much power over an opponent who'd put themselves at their mercy.

So, yeah, he was a bit disgusted with himself, but on the other hand, he trusted Vlad just about as far as he could spit. He wasn't entirely convinced this wasn't some trick, and with Sam and Tucker and his family caught up in this, he needed to be ready.

Not that his parents and Jazz were slacking or anything. Jazz's glare alone was enough to melt flesh off bones. Mom and Dad had holstered their weapons, but their camouflaged Specter Deflectors were active: Danny could feel the hair on his arms standing on end whenever he got too close. They must not have calibrated those to ignore his ectosignature yet. Both of them wore matching stony expressions, though Mom's apprehension was evident as she, with the slightest hesitation, reached across the table to view whatever it was Vlad had pulled up on his phone.

She took a moment to look at it. With a growing frown, she said, "I'm not sure I understand."

As Dad gently took the phone from Mom, a look of distaste warped Vlad's calm composure, and he tutted, as if he were about to chide a child. "It would seem Daniel's…temper has been noticed."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Danny hissed, eyes flaring and blood boiling. He hadn't taken a seat at the table, but had rather leaned against the wall nearby so he could maintain distance and still be a part of the conversation. Even before Vlad finished his first little tut, Danny had taken a step forward, fists clenched. Sam and Tucker shadowed him, lingering a half-step behind him on either side.

Vlad smirked. "Case in point, isn't it, my boy?"

Danny grit his teeth, and before he could think, he was saying, "You realize the position you're in right now, don't you?"

"Don't you?" Vlad challenged, his slimy, complacent humor giving way to irritability. "Eyes on you are eyes on the rest of us, you foolish child!"

The tips of Danny's fingers burned and tingled with a thousand acidic pins and needles. There was movement behind him, a hush of breath at his ear. He could see Jazz shaking her head at him, and his mother's pale face stood out like a beacon in his peripherals.

At the moment, they hardly mattered. Background noise, all of them.

"I'm hardly a child," Danny spat.

"And yet you consistently behave like one!"

Before Danny could launch himself forward, he was stopped by a smooth hand catching his wrist and the sound of a chair crashing to the floor.

He whirled around and felt the snarl fall from his face as Sam met his eyes. She didn't understand what was happening, and he had never sensed such a bittersweet whirlwind of confusion and determination, not even on the first day after the Accident, when Jazz stopped freaking out for a solid minute and decided to put her all into helping him. The swell of emotion nearly bowled him over, like the scent and warmth of a bakery would after trekking in off the slushy streets of Chicago.

He's not worth it, Sam said without words, offering him a mere twitch of her lips and the slightest squeeze from her fingers, warm against his pulse point.

And that was enough.

For a glorious second, he reveled in her touch, in her compassion and all the emotion behind it. But then he came back to himself, and shame rose in his throat like vomit. He pulled away and turned back around to see his father standing at the table, palms splayed on the table and chair knocked to the ground.

"That's enough," Dad said sternly, gaze flitting between both Danny and Vlad. "Vlad, I doubt you came all this way to antagonize my son. This is far too serious for us to waste time playing games."

A muscle in Vlad's jaw twitched, but there was no sign of his usual disdain when he jerked a nod.

Dad turned to Danny, his eyes hard. "Phantom."

Nothing more was necessary. It was no secret that Maddie Fenton was the disciplinarian of the family, but Danny was very familiar with that tone, and rare though it was, both he and Jazz knew better than to push or argue when their father used it.

The last time he used it, Danny mused, he'd been failing freshman biology. It had been Daniel James, then, and the look of utter disappointment haunted him to this day.

Swallowing another swell of shame, Danny stood down, and he, too, nodded.

Satisfied, Jack's expression softened, and he ran a hand over his face as he picked up his chair.

"Now what's really going on, Vlad?" Dad asked.

Vlad sighed. "It was reckless of us to ignore the possibility the GIW would go underground."

"I don't think we've ever ignored the possibility," Jazz said, a defensive note in her tone.

"There have been other priorities, I admit," Dad amended gently. Tapping his finger on the table in front of Vlad's phone, he looked back down at the display. "But what does that have to do with the GIW?"

Jazz slipped the phone toward her. Tucker moved before Danny could, and he boldly leaned over Jazz's shoulder to see. Sam, then Danny, followed.

He didn't need more than a second to look, honestly, but it felt like an eternity before he could drag his gaze up and away from that damn photograph, the weight of his guilt plowing through him like a herd of stampeding wildebeest.

It would be easy—terribly easy—to shift blame onto Vlad for making him angry enough to forget himself in the first place. Because if it weren't for Vlad, he wouldn't have gone storming down the halls of Casper High looking as though he were ready to go violently ghost on some unsuspecting classmate. Because if it weren't for Vlad, he would have never stuck his hand through his locker, and this photo would have never existed.

If it weren't for Vlad, a lot of things would have never happened.

But the truth of it was this was all on Danny. He should've known this would come bite him in the ass. Better yet: he should've known better, period.

"—a smart man, Jack," Vlad was saying. "You tell me. Surely you have already dealt in some way with the fallout of this photograph?"

Startled, Danny looked up at his mother and father, hoping it wasn't true. It couldn't be. It wasn't their battle to fight.

Mom folded her arms. "And as we said at the press conference: we support Danny's choice to use his core powers in public. We told them in no uncertain terms that questions about our parenting and our home life were wildly inappropriate."

"There was a press conference?" Sam murmured at the same time Jazz deadpanned, "They didn't."

But Danny didn't pay them any mind. He'd checked out the moment he heard his mom say the word 'support,' the fierce protectiveness and surety in her voice awing and humbling him in one fell swoop.

Later, he would get upset that his parents were harassed at their press conference—they should have been receiving intelligent questions and praise for their work on the Portal—but right now, his family's faith and support reminded him that he wasn't alone. It might have been his fault, but he'd be okay. They all would. They would overcome this, like they had all the rest of it.

"They were waiting for an opportunity," Danny said suddenly, drawing everyone's attention to him. "I just gave it to them."

"Assuming, of course, there is a them at all," Jazz said.

"There's been neither hide nor hair of the GIW since the scandal," Maddie agreed. "Their entire division has been dissolved. The federal government's revoked all funding and has publically denounced them. There's a court case pending, and their Director is in prison. What power do they have left?"

"You think they ran away with tails tucked between their legs? Wholly ashamed of themselves?" Vlad shook his head. "No. I've always admired your ability to see the best in people, Maddie dear, but that is naiveté. You underestimate them."

Mom pursed her lips. "They have nothing."

"No, what they have now is freedom," Vlad snapped. "And that's worth more than any government sanction."

Danny's insides churned. "They had restrictions before," he said. "Crappy ones, but still, they had something to abide by. Someone to answer to. But now…"

"They're mad dogs, and they've been released from their leashes," Vlad said.

"So what?" Sam asked suddenly "Anyone associated with the Guys in White is pissed because they've lost their jobs, and they're feeling humiliated because they've lost their reputation. Fine. Okay. But where is the proof they intend to act on it?"

Danny bristled as Vlad's severe gaze rested on his friends. "A couple of months ago," Vlad began slowly, "my HR department at Vladco hired a certain Kyle Lucas." Something about the name triggered a memory, but Vlad continued before Danny could catch the fleeting thought. "Brilliant, charismatic, kind…the cream of the crop, to hear my people tell it. Always willing to lend a hand, always offering to take on extra projects. He has a particular knack for exceeding all expectations in both design and execution. His résumé was most impressive, truly. I imagine his engineering genius is why the Guys in White were so keen to snatch him up in the first place."

Danny's eyes narrowed, Vlad's roundabout confession registering a tick ahead of everyone else. "You hired a GIW operative?" he demanded.

"Operative L, as it happens. Lead engineer," Vlad said, and if Danny weren't Phantom now, all color would have drained from his face. Even still, Vlad—the fucker—noticed straight away. "You know of him."

It wasn't a question, and Danny closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Vlad's lips quirked. "Ah, yes, I remember now. You did have a bit of a tumble with him, didn't you?"

His parents' eyes drilled into him, but he ignored them. "How could you be so stupid, Plasmius? Letting one of those rats anywhere you or your tech?"

And that rat specifically? he wanted to add. Pariah Dark might have nearly killed him, but Operative L nearly took everything from him—his freedom, his individuality, his rights and his humanity—he'd nearly taken it all. No human had ever gotten so close to revealing him, or so close to locking him away, as L had.

No single entity, human or ghost, had ever scared Danny half as much as L had, Dark and Plasmius included.

How L escaped prosecution, Danny couldn't guess. Perhaps Operative X, as Director of the Guys in White, was all the feds cared about. Maybe L had connections. Maybe he played innocent. Whatever. Danny didn't care, necessarily. All that mattered was that L was still out there, and that meant it wasn't over…and that it had never ended at all.

"Talent is talent, regardless of where you find it," Vlad said carelessly.

"That's the most Slytherin thing I've ever heard you say," Jazz commented. Danny heard Tucker snort behind him. "It's alright so long as you get ahead, right?"

"Of course," Vlad said, unashamed and unafraid to admit it. "I did not see the harm in it. It was a win-win situation. I wanted to keep an eye on him, and he's developed some revolutionary anti-ghost weaponry for my company."

"Which could probably just as easily kill you as contain you," Sam blurted. She stepped forward and folded her arms, violet eyes blazing. "Or am I wrong?"

Danny caught the use of you, and honestly, he could have cheered. As it was, he felt a rush of fierce pride. Not that he could take credit for Sam's badassery, but she was talking back to a notorious villain as though she were born for it, and that made this whole debacle worth it.

For the first time, Vlad looked as though he lost his balance in the conversation, his composure cracking. "Quite, Ms. Manson," he muttered. "And I realize now I have made a grievous mistake."

"You're not saying there's a weapon of mass destruction at Vladco right now, are you, Vladdie?" Dad said.

"No," Vlad said, brow furrowing. "Not of mass destruction."

"But you don't know, do you?" Danny asked, eyes narrowing. "You don't know for sure."

Vlad puffed up, defensive and irritated. "All projects at Vladco are approved solely through me and my Board. Anyone who develops or researches without my approval is at risk for immediate termination. I am not stupid, and neither is Mr. Lucas. He remained well within his boundaries, as far as protocol goes."

If Danny heard a single word more about how great this guy really was, he was going to hurl. "So, hypothetically speaking, someone could go behind your back and screw you over?"

"I…yes," Vlad said, deflating a little. "Most daren't try, but it is possible, given the right circumstances. It doesn't help that the Shift has scared my employees. And more than that, it's inspired them in a disturbing way. The Board is pushing me to approve less stringent protocols, to give more creative license to our employees, who have been bringing us increasingly…troubling proposals.

"Under normal circumstances, I would find it understandable. We did have a very big scare: ghosts and humans alike. I would imagine everyone is keen to ensure we are better prepared for future catastrophes." Vlad steepled his fingers, bringing the tips to his lips. "But then I grew suspicious, and I began to pay more attention to the gossip, to the chatter and correspondence between my employees, and I realized what was truly going on. Their ideas and opinions are riddled with the old GIW philosophy: that all things ectoplasmic are worthy of nothing more—and nothing less—than utter eradication."

Danny's nose wrinkled, lips twisting into a grimace. "And you believe Operative L has taken advantage of it?"

"I don't just believe," Vlad said. "I know. Fear is easily manipulated. That's why a lot of ghosts thrive on it. And that's why Mr. Lucas has become so influential, and in such a short amount of time. It's subtle, but it's clever, how he's using my company as a foothold. He talks, and others listen. He listens, and others talk. He fosters trust, shows empathy, and others are ravenous for it. They feel appreciated. They feel justified. They feel empowered, and when he's won them over, he invites them to join him and his 'other colleagues,' for 'little gatherings' and 'cocktail parties' and...well, there's your underground group."

"How are you so sure," Mom said, "that this man has done exactly that? Are you sure you're not—?"

"I've played the game, of course, Maddie," Vlad said, with a grim smile.

"You've got to be—" Danny huffed in exasperation. "He means he's overshadowed some of his employees, Mom. He's lurked around and probably violated a lot of privacy." He turned his gaze back to Vlad, probing for the truth. "And I bet he's gotten himself into one of these meetings."

And whatever it was he saw there, whatever he heard, Vlad was scared. Not anxious and paranoid, as he had been on the phone the previous morning, but petrified. Danny didn't know how he hadn't seen it before.

"It was harder to get in than I anticipated," Vlad said, not even rising to argue when Danny correctly accused him of underhanded tactics. "That suggests selectivity. That suggests organization. This is no group of friends drinking beer and complaining about their lives and how they would have done things. No, these people are serious—fanatical, even—and they cautious to the point of paranoia. They are operating in secret now, but that's about to change."

"And you know what they're planning?" Dad asked.

"From what I heard at the meeting this afternoon, they intend to use that picture—" Vlad tapped the table in front of his phone "—to make their first public statement. They were preaching the most godawful and repulsive things, twisting the situation to fit their needs. It will be much of the same on Tuesday."

Sam released a bloodcurdling hiss. Danny nearly turned to see if she was alright, but her hand caught his shoulder, fingernails digging into skin. "Fuckers," she growled under breath.

"Chill, Sam," Tucker breathed.

Vlad either ignored or didn't hear the exchange. "It was all propaganda, at first, but then it became a little more serious. They were impassioned, incited. I doubt any 'peaceful protest' they start will end peacefully."

"We'll up security," Dad said immediately. "The Amity Park Police Department has already expressed concerns about crowd control, and the mayor has—"

Vlad was already shaking his head. "A good thought, but we can't trust them."

Danny's gut sank further. "They have someone on the inside."

"I was not fortunate enough to hear specifics, but from what I could assume after listening to Mr. Lucas speak, I believe they want to attack from two fronts: through open protest and by sabotaging the Portal itself."

"And the only way they can really sabotage the Portal is if they're inside FentonWorks," Jazz said, exchanging a glance with their parents. "What exactly did L say?"

"'Poison the root of evil' were his exact words," Vlad admitted.

"What a poet," Danny deadpanned. "Waxing rhetoric and giving us absolutely nothing substantial to go off of. Typical. Knowing L, though, I bet he either has some old GIW tech or has been inventing on the sly. Hell, he could have an EMP for all we know. Either way, he has something that could take the Portal out."

He'd had something that could trap Phantom easily enough, as it happened. He and his buddies had had plenty of other nasty things in that pit of a lab, too, things only made more dangerous and vile in his more imaginative nightmares.

Mom inhaled sharply. "If that's true," she said, "and he tried to forcibly disable the Portal at a crucial moment—"

Dad caught on quick. "The ectoplasmic whiplash would contaminate the block, at the very least. It could very well fry the power grid, too. And that's not even mentioning what could happen on the Zone side."

"FentonWorks would lose a lot of trust," Vlad added. "And a lot of credibility."

"He wouldn't be so stupid, would he?" Jazz asked. "Vlad's just told us about how brilliant he is. He should know better than to—"

"You forget he's a fanatic, Jazz," Danny interrupted. "And fanatics overlook things like local public safety, revolutionary science, and social advancement for 'the good of all.'"

And this was only his first move, Danny realized. The minefield of twisted mind games L had used to demean him before he managed to escape the GIW were nothing on this. If L won this round, the GIW would gain ground they hadn't had in a long time, and that was something he couldn't allow to happen.

If they wanted to use that picture of him using his powers at school, to try to convince people he was dangerous, fine. Let them. The very thought of it made him sick with fear and numb with resignation, but he could fight that front. He could prove them wrong. He'd done it before, if only in a time of utter necessity, but if he could do it once, as Phantom, Public Enemy Number One, he could do it again. And this time he had the full force of his family behind him. And—he glanced sideways to see Sam and Tucker's wide eyes on him—his friends.

But messing with the Portal would have a lasting impact on everyone.

There was the ghost coup Danny suspected would happen sooner rather than later. There were the fragile alliances and ceasefires. Hell, Box Ghost and Lunch Lady had a kid on the way. Technus was working like a fiend to undo all the damage he'd done under Dark's mind control. Dora's realm was really pulling through, too, their unity and strength a foundation upon which the Zone was rebuilding itself. Skulker and Wolf, amongst others, were hunting rogues, bringing them to Walker for justice. The Far Frozen was thriving, their peaceful approach permeating a lot of the changes Danny was starting to see in the wake of the Shift.

And this piece of shit was threatening to throw a wrench in their efforts.

Danny didn't want to think about what his dad said about potential ectoplasmic contamination. He couldn't, if he wanted to retain any sanity at all. People could die. Or, you know, half-die, and that was the whole reason he didn't want any strangers near the Portal in the first place.

"We have some contingency plans to make," Dad said, drawing Danny's attention back to the present.

Phantom nodded, and with a deep breath, he pushed away his fears. "Alright," he said, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. "Let's get to work."

~…~

Sam stared at the steam rising from her fresh coffee cup. She felt numb, her thoughts reeling and emotions pivoting in a dizzying and drunken dance.

Danny and his father had escorted Vlad out, and as Mrs. Fenton offered her and Tucker more coffee, Sam took the much-needed opportunity to try to process everything that had been discussed in the last hour and a half.

There was a lot of discussion about what-ifs and Portal fail-safes, some of the technicalities flying well over her head. Tucker had been bold enough to ask a few questions, all answered patiently by Mr. Fenton, who tried to include Sam and Tucker when he could.

Ultimately, though, the conversation was dominated by Danny and Vlad, who played off each other and worked together with just as much devastating efficiency and passion as she would expect from their rivalry.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that. It bothered her, more than she cared to admit. During the conversation, she could see the Phantom who inspired both ghosts and humans alike during the Shift. She could see the leader in him, the intelligent strategist the press loved to rave about, but all the same, wasn't the guy sitting across from Danny literally the one he'd just pinned to the lab floor by the neck? Wasn't this the guy—ghost—half-ghost, whatever (she was really trying not to linger on that for too long)—who'd done his utmost to make the Fentons' lives miserable the last year or so?

She didn't like that the two half-ghosts thought alike, developing ideas that fit into the other's like a jigsaw puzzle. It was unnerving, to see them attack a problem like allies when she'd felt Danny's resentment, Jazz's hatred, and the Fenton parents' fierce protectiveness hovering in the room like a menacing storm cloud.

They discussed everything from Danny's role, which even he had to admit was limited due to public expectations, to the possibility of having other ghosts keeping an invisible eye-out. The situation was serious enough that Vlad had been given permission to observe (and potentially intervene) as Plasmius, something all of the Fentons hadn't been overly pleased with, but considering the restrictions Amity Park placed on the Fentons—and considering all of the forced company that they're expecting for Tuesday's broadcast—they were limited on options, as far as extra ghostly help went.

Some of their predictions…Sam hoped they wouldn't come to pass. But that all depended on the GIW and how they wanted to play their cards. If Vlad's two-fronted theory was to be believed, the unknowns only continued to stack up, and it made Sam nervous, knowing how much danger the Fentons and everyone in FentonWorks could potentially be in.

Mrs. Fenton and Jazz quiet conversation buzzed in her ears, and she withdrew from her thoughts for a moment to watch them, catching Danny's name only by chance. Maddie Fenton must have sensed her eyes on her because her gaze flicked from her daughter to Sam immediately.

"Is he usually like that?" Sam asked quietly, the words spilling before she could stop them. "With V—" She couldn't say his true name. It still didn't make sense to her, that Vlad Masters was like Danny, and more than that: that he'd been Plasmius this whole time. "With Plasmius?"

Jazz pursed her lips. "Danny and Vlad have a complicated relationship," she said carefully. "It's not a healthy one, and it's one we hate to acknowledge. But…none of us can deny that Vlad's more than his enemy. He's been—"

"A mentor," Maddie Fenton finished. "In all the wrong ways. Vlad wanted an apprentice, and even though Danny refused, he developed his own twisted methods to teach Danny how to survive in their world." She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "We promised he wouldn't have to deal with Vlad any longer."

"A necessary evil," Jazz said. "Danny won't blame you. He understands."

Mrs. Fenton nodded, not looking completely convinced, and as she stood, Sam could physically see her compartmentalizing her emotions and making way for what she knew needed to be done. Her son had inherited that trait. "I'm going to start going over the clearance list," she announced. "Ensure none of our guests have any sort of connection to Kyle Lucas."

"I'll come with you," Jazz said. "Danny'll be back soon."

Mrs. Fenton's face softened momentarily, and she turned to Tucker and Sam. "I'm sorry you've gotten caught up in all this."

Sam was quick to respond. "I'm not."

"We want to be involved, Mrs. Fenton," Tucker added. "And not just because of Danny. This is our city."

"Our world is changing," Sam said. "We want to keep up with it. We want to be a part of it."

Mrs. Fenton smiled, and to Sam's surprise, she crossed the room and took each of their hands. "I am so glad," she said, giving their hands a squeeze, "that Danny found you both."

The warmth in Mrs. Fenton's voice made Sam's cynical heart melt, but she was saved from saying something utterly sappy by Tucker, who joked, "We were the ones who technically found him hiding in a tree, but I guess that's about right."

Mrs. Fenton laughed. "He told me about that." She released their hands, a contemplative expression on her face. "You know, Jack and I...we can see how eager you are to learn, so we were going to invite you and your families to come on Tuesday."

Sam froze, eyes widening. "What?"

"We can understand if you don't want to go, considering," Mrs. Fenton said with a helpless shrug. "And I understand if you don't want your families anywhere near us on Tuesday, but—"

Sam could see where she was coming from. The Fentons had played with the idea of postponing the Portal's activation, but Danny thought that drawing the GIW out, letting them think they had the upper hand, would be worth it in the end if they could stomp on their throats in one go, rather than continuing to let them scheme and plot from the shadows.

That all being said, the Fentons were going to investigate quietly. And no one else was to know. The hope was that at least some of the shit about to go down would go down quietly.

"We'll be there," Sam said, before distantly, casually, remembering she was grounded and would have to think of a white lie to tell her parents about how she came to be invited at all.

Amazing, how most teens thought being grounded was the literal end of their entire world. Even Sam had been a bit of a baby about it. But there was something about an underground GIW group emerging and threatening both the Human World and the Ghost Zone that kinda put a lot into perspective.

"I'll talk to my parents," Tucker said, beaming. "If I were my choice, I wouldn't miss it for the world, but I guess I'd have to miss it for them, if they don't want me to skip school."

"I can talk with your parents as well as the school, if they are concerned," Mrs. Fenton said. "I bet we can wheedle an excused absence for you and Sam. We already have for Jazz and Danny."

Tucker's grin grew. "Thanks, Mrs. Fenton. I'll—" Something distracted Tucker, and his expression morphed from excited to bewildered, a startled and undignified shriek following soon after. "Dude!" he yelped.

Phantom rose from the floor—through the floor—looking a little startled himself for about half a second. Mrs. Fenton didn't so much as flinch as her son began to laugh behind her, his hazy and indistinct form returning to corporeality. She turned to frown at him. "Hon," she chided. "You know that not everyone's used to that."

Danny stopped laughing and grinned. It was good to see him smiling. He'd been…cold, earlier. Cold and unapproachable and not who Sam thought he was. "Sorry."

Mrs. Fenton looked unimpressed. "I've just invited Sam and Tucker to come on Tuesday," she told him.

Danny's smile fell a little, a flicker of darkness crossing his face before he nodded. Sam's heart stuttered. So he didn't want them here. She'd suspected: she'd noticed how he wouldn't look them in the eyes, how he wouldn't acknowledge them while Vlad was in the room, and her bitter feelings on the matter nipped at her. "Okay," he said, surprising her. "They deserve it, after today." His tone was rueful, and his gaze slid toward them, green eyes cautious and insecure. "Will you guys come?"

"We hope to," Sam answered, a little perplexed by his sudden shyness. She hoped it didn't translate into her tone. She had to show him she wasn't afraid. "The GIW can rot. I want to be there."

"You probably don't think anything of it," Tucker added, "but this is a once in a lifetime kind of thing for us!"

Danny gave them a weak smile. "You guys are way tougher than I ever was when I started out."

Jazz looked like she wanted to say something, but Mrs. Fenton stopped her before she could, catching her arm and giving her a pointed look. "We're going downstairs," Mrs. Fenton said. "Do any of you need anything?"

After getting head shakes from his friends, Danny relayed, "We're good, Mom. Thanks."

"Alright." Turning to Sam and Tucker, she said, "If I don't get to say goodbye before you leave, it was great to see you again."

"Thanks for having us, Mrs. Fenton," Tucker said.

"For all the thanks we deserve!" Mrs. Fenton joked, with a bit of an embarrassed laugh. "Truly, though, we're glad to have you. Remember what I said earlier: our home is your home. Drop by anytime you like. Jack and I have to make up for today, anyway." And with a wink, she was gone, taking Jazz with her.

Sam watched them go. "I love your family," she blurted. "I really do."

"Yeah," Danny said, obviously distracted. His eyes were miles away, and as he stared at the place where his mother and sister disappeared, the muscles in his jaw worked. "Yeah." He finally looked over and met their eyes, guarded yet almost achingly vulnerable. Sam recognized that look. It was the look of someone who didn't know what to say or how to say it, not without eating his own foot or embarrassing himself, but now that he started talking, his words came out in a rush. "I'm very lucky. To have them, I mean. And you. I'm lucky to have you too. Both of you."

Blowing out a breath, Danny crumpled, all the tension in his posture dropping away like a sail without wind. "Guys, I'm sorry."

Tucker scoffed. "That was pretty intense, not going to lie, but shit happens. Nothing to be sorry about. You can't control assholes like the Guys in White."

"That's not it."

"Then what?" Sam asked.

Danny shrugged, and it almost looked like he was going to leave it at that—and perhaps go invisible and sink through the floor, if his undulating aura was anything to go by—but then he admitted, "I…never wanted you guys to see me like that."

Ever loquacious, Tucker merely said, "Oh."

Danny licked his lips, and without fanfare, he transformed, landing gracefully as gravity reclaimed him. Somehow, it was automatically different, talking to Danny this way. It shouldn't be—he was the same person, no matter which form he was in—but he really was so much warmer, now. Sam wondered if that had to do with the responsibility he'd had to take on as Phantom. Or if it had more to do with the division Danny had had to create between Fenton and Phantom. Perhaps it was both.

"Look," Danny said, and it was almost jarring, hearing his normal voice without the echo. "Plasmius and I…"

When he trailed off, Sam remembered what Jazz and Mrs. Fenton had said. "You don't have to explain it to us," she said. "Really."

"No, I think I do," Danny said. "Vlad has always brought out the worst in me. I hate it. I hate him. I hate what he makes me feel, and I hate what he's done to my family. I hate that he's still here, like a chronic wart in my life. I can't get rid of him, no matter how hard I try, and it never helps, remembering that he could have been my godfather if things had been different. All that said…I'm not terribly proud of what I did today."

"I've followed your fights with Plasmius," Tucker said slowly. "Sam and I both have. It's not cool, dude, what he's done. And that's not even knowing what he's done behind the scenes. I can't imagine."

"I'll tell you," Danny said. "But not today. It's not like it's a secret anymore, now that he's blown his identity, but I think I'm done for the day. I can't focus on him right now." He looked stricken for a moment, some realization hitting him as he spoke. He took a step closer to them and said, "I never asked. I should have, right away. How are you guys taking it? Are you okay?"

He was really sweet, Sam thought, when he wasn't having a pissing contest with his arch-enemy. "It's not a pleasant revelation," she admitted. "Masters being Plasmius—he and my parents run in the same circles, you know?—but…" Some questions she'd had during the impromptu meeting were on the tip of her tongue, an uneasy sort of curiosity nearly overpowering her, but then she saw the look on Danny's face. She'd have to ask him another day, about what had happened to Vlad to make him this way. "I think I'm okay now," she finished, and she knew she made the right call when he smiled in relief.

"I'm still shook, bro," Tucker said. "Not even going to lie."

"Me too," Danny said. "I didn't expect that from him. Revealing himself like that is kinda a big deal. Which is why I'm going to have to trust him, despite everything."

His tone had taken a self-deprecating turn, and Sam didn't like that. "Danny…."

"Understanding him for what he really is doesn't excuse my behavior," Danny said before she could say a single word more. "I'm supposed to be better than him." His expression soured, and with an ashamed chuckle, he added, "Today, I wasn't exactly 'better.' Did I…?" He trailed off, biting his tongue and pursing his lips.

Sam filled in the blanks. He was asking if he had scared them, and she felt like a horse just trampled over her heart.

"I think you showed admirable restraint," Tucker said in an obliviously cheery tone. "I'd've kicked his teeth in. Sent him packing."

When Sam saw the humor in Danny's eyes, she took Tuck's cue and rolled her eyes. "Oh please. You couldn't kick someone's teeth in even if you tried, you weakling."

To emphasize her point, she grabbed at Tuck's nonexistent bicep, and Tucker jerked away with an offended squawk.

Danny laughed as Tuck tried (and failed) to push Sam away. "Save it for the real fights, guys."

Sam let up, suddenly feeling far less playful. "Will there be one? On Tuesday?"

Danny sobered, and Sam saw Phantom shining through. "I don't know," he said. "I hope there won't. Especially if you guys are there."

He was worried. Sam could see it, and with a scowl, she said, "You don't have to worry about us. We'll stay out of the way."

She didn't necessarily mean for it to come out the way it did, but it sounded bitchy and pugnacious even to her ears. Perhaps she was still a little bitter about how Danny had ignored them when Vlad had been here. Perhaps she was a little fed up with how he seemed to think that she couldn't take care of herself. Whatever the reason, it did not come out right at all, and Danny's expression became downright thunderous.

"Staying out of the way doesn't exactly make you safe," Danny snapped, frustration making him lash out. "Do you know what I was doing when Operative L got me? I was flying. Not fighting, not ghost hunting. I was minding my own business, and I let my guard down, for a single second."

The stone that sank into Sam's gut must have weighed ten tons, and her petty thoughts sunk under its bulk. So that's what Vlad had meant earlier. She'd heard the rumors, too. The media had caught wind of Phantom's capture, months ago, well before the GIW were taken down, but they had blown so much out of proportion that no one knew the truth. The gossip alone had kept Casper High occupied for a whole week. It was all made even more confusing when all the news sources retracted their stories with genuine apologies to the public, revealing it was phony news. A hoax that went a little too far.

This was the first time it was confirmed. For her at least. A brief glance at Tucker's hard expression revealed that this wasn't the first he was hearing of this.

Danny, though, must've seen the horror painted on their faces. The anger died, and he said again, almost defensively, "I was just flying."

Sam swallowed over a growing lump in her throat. "Danny, I—"

"It doesn't matter," he interrupted. "Nothing happened."

Bullshit, Sam wanted to say. I see now. I get it. You're terrified. They must have done something to scare you like this.

As if reading her mind, Danny said, "Some of the GIW aren't nearly as crafty as L is. They talked some shit, and while they were gloating their sentry duty shift away, I escaped."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, and as her remorse ebbed, her fury grew. She thought she'd hated the GIW before? Hah.

"It was enough of a close call that I can't risk anything," Danny said. "None of us can. These guys are dangerous. L, probably the most dangerous of them all. Just…remember that, if you come on Tuesday. Please?"

"We will," Tucker promised automatically. "We'll be careful."

"Of course, Danny," Sam echoed. "I'm more worried about you, though. Will you be okay? If this L guy tries anything—"

"I'll be fine," Danny said. "And maybe we'll talk more about it later. For now...you guys wanna learn how to use those things?"

He nodded toward the end of the table, where Sam and Tucker had deposited the wrist guns Danny's parents had given them.

Considering what happened in the last few hours, Sam had nearly forgotten why they'd come to FentonWorks in the first place. "You're going to teach us to shoot?"

"No," Danny said. "Jazz will teach you." A sly grin spread across his face. "I'm the target."

Sam and Tucker stared. "You're joking," Tucker deadpanned.

"Nope," Danny said, and he looked like he was thoroughly enjoying this, all signs of the most recent conversation swept away by his growing amusement. "I could use a workout now that I'm all healed up from yesterday."

"You can't expect us to shoot at you!" Sam exclaimed. She'd been on the shooting range often enough with her dad to know that you never pointed a gun anywhere but down range. The very thought of shooting at another living being appalled her.

"Why not?" Danny asked. "What better way to learn than to have a ghost to shoot at?"

"Danny!"

"Sam!" Danny mimicked.

"You're being childish now," Sam snapped. "You were just injured! Give me one good reason why you would want us to shoot at you."

Danny's eyes danced. "I've got to practice evasion tactics too, don't I?"

Sam saw the sense in it, in a really backwards way, but that didn't make it okay for Danny to just offer himself up as target practice. "You're insane," she decided. "I doubt your parents would ever agree to this!"

Danny's smile grew, and he swiped up one of the wrist rays. Tossing it to Sam, he said, "Lesson One: see that little switch on the side? Next to the safety?"

Sam found the switch as Danny handed off the other wrist ray to Tucker. Her thumb hovered over it, and Danny nodded. "It's set to 'B' for battle mode right now. Guess what the 'T' stands for?"

"Training mode?" Tucker guessed. He flipped his switch. "Sweet."

"That's a new feature on our weapons. Once my parents saw how Jazz and I trained, they thought it'd be a good idea. Needless to say, they were all for it."

"But not before ensuring you wouldn't actually get hurt, you idiot!" Sam spluttered, feeling only mildly appeased by the safety measure.

"Eh, still gives a good sting if I get hit. Motivation, right?" Danny laughed. He turned, waving over his shoulder. "You guys coming?"

Still conflicted, Sam watched as Danny disappeared down the stairs, and when Tucker began to smile, she whirled on him. "Tucker!"

Tucker gave a shrug. "C'mon, Sam, it's not like you don't want to nail him for being a jerk earlier. I know I do." Sam could neither confirm nor deny the temptation, and Tucker knew it, his grin becoming downright evil. "Besides, do you really think Danny'll let a couple of amateurs hit him? He and Jazz used to train on battle mode."

Tucker didn't wait for Sam to formulate a response, instead yelling for Danny to wait up and dashing out of the Ops Center.

Sam stood in place for a moment before groaning loudly and following on Tucker's heels. A part of her fought a smile as she shouted, "Fine! Fine, I'm coming!"

Jazz could use the backup. Her morons needed some form of supervision, at the very least.

Chapter Text

Danny laughed as another shot went sailing feet over his head. "Oh, come on!" he taunted. "It's like you're not even trying!" He flipped onto his back, bending his head backwards so that he was looking at them upside down, and he stuck his tongue out, making a show of waggling his fingers in the most obnoxious way he could.

Sam snarled below him, her face scrunched up in concentration. It was hilarious how competitive she became the moment the ectogun was in her hand, all previous reluctance miraculously gone in the face of a challenge. Her determination to learn and excel was admirable, but it made her easily frustrated when she didn't immediately succeed, and Danny most definitely used that against her.

He flew in lazy zigzags across their enclosed backyard, hardly flinching when he saw another green bolt pass harmlessly to his right. This time it was Tucker who'd missed, and Danny grinned. "Watch out for Doomed's Master Archer over here!" he shouted down.

"Shut up, you frickin' Swamp Imp!" Tucker yelled back.

Danny was so busy laughing at his friends he didn't notice Jazz take the ectogun from Tucker's hand and line up a shot. He was nailed in the gut, and he doubled over in midair, losing a few feet as he shook off the sting. "Dammit, Jazz!" he wheezed.

Smirking, Jazz gave the ectogun back to Tucker. "Don't let him get on your nerves," Jazz advised. "He does it on purpose. It makes the ghosts angry when he talks too much, and when they're angry, they make mistakes. But—" She raised her voice so that Danny couldn't possibly mishear. "He gets cocky and leaves himself open to—"

Danny caught Sam's eye and smiled, big and wide. That was the only warning any of them had before he disappeared. He rocketed back to the ground, plunging beneath the earth and popping out right below Jazz. He took her by the ankles, transferred his intangibility, and relished in her shriek as he dragged her back down with him.

He didn't stay under long, flying them back up to the surface and laughing when Jazz gasped for air and immediately spluttered, "Danny!"

Danny floated over Jazz's head. "What was that you were saying about getting too cocky, Jazz?"

Sam's amusement was captivating, and Danny caught himself watching her. She had somehow trained herself not to giggle, instead shaking with silent laughter that sometimes escaped as little breathy snorts, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't showing off, just a little, so he could make her laugh.

It was nearly as fun as provoking her.

Jazz's eyes were on him—he could feel it—and he turned to see her irritated expression had been replaced with one that automatically made him feel self-conscious. Danny's gaze snapped from his sister's, and fighting the heat rising to his cheeks, he darted back through the air again, arching his back and performing a few tight, fast backflips, just because he could.

He'd been cooped up for too long. Far, far too long. He'd been on a few flights since he'd been medically cleared by Sleetjaw, sure, and those had been great, but in all honesty, inactivity had been driving him insane. It wasn't until after the fight with the Feuders, after he'd apologized to his friends and all the excitement died down, that he realized it. Despite the fact he'd been hurt, and even though it had been a bit of a scary experience for both Amity Park and for him, as out of shape as he was, the fight had sent that spark racing through him, just under his skin, seeping and feeding into the obsession he tried to deny he had.

And now that he'd had a taste, now that he'd scratched that itch, it was like an addict after his next fix: Danny wanted to get back out there. As soon as possible.

It almost made him feel guilty, that he was so eager to hunt and fight. They were all experiencing a relative period of peace. The ghosts were working with them. This was a good thing—an amazing thing—and Danny couldn't be more pleased or proud of the ghosts and people involved.

But. He was starting to wonder...if he hadn't lost his purpose.

The fighting arena had changed. Between Vlad and the GIW and the school board, it had been all politics and media circuses and conspiracy theories. All that? That wasn't where he shone, no matter what they were saying about him in the last few weeks since his public reappearance. What he needed...was something of the good old days. He needed an Ember or a Johnny 13. He needed to be out there. In the city. In the skies. Hell, he'd even take anyone he could find from the Banished Islands in the Zone if it meant he could get back in the game.

It didn't help that there was nothing he could do about the GIW. In fact, his complete uselessness was only aggravating his restlessness further. The GIW weren't an enemy he could hunt down and capture in his Thermos. They weren't one he could confront head on. They were sly and cunning, and more than that, they were human.

And they were getting smart.

This wasn't a battleground he was very familiar with, and it was frustrating, to have to wait for the GIW to come to them, rather than the other way around.

The training was helping take his mind off it. Mostly. He was in the skies, and he was exercising his ghost form, in a sense, simply by holding the form as long as he was. He hadn't been Phantom for longer than an hour or so at a time since the Shift. It felt nice.

He watched from above as Jazz readjusted Tucker's grip on the ectogun. "You're gripping it too hard," she was saying. "And you're anticipating a recoil. That alters your aim just as much as a limp wrist can. There. Try shooting one of the targets."

Danny flipped over again, floating so that he was lying on his stomach in midair. He kept to just below the tree-line, hoping the landscaping would do enough to shield him from any curious eyes. It had bothered him at first, realizing his parents had needed to wall themselves in like this because of him, but now, he appreciated it. Until the training room in the lab was finished, the backyard was a perfect substitute. Within the ring of pine trees and hedges shielding them from view, there was a single junk shed—and Danny would bet his remaining half-life that, despite their short tenure in Amity Park, it was already full to the brim with failed experiments and extra parts—but otherwise, the yard was clear of all obstacles, giving them the opportunity to set up whatever sort of training simulation they wanted. They were only limited by their imagination.

(And the weight of their supplies, of course).

It had been a blast, honestly, setting up a pattern of targets for Sam and Tucker. Sam, to Danny's surprise, was a great shot with quite a few of the weapons Jazz brought out for them to try. Throwing an obnoxious and unpredictable moving target into the mix put her off her game, but disregarding how much fun Danny was having teasing her, he knew that with a little practice, she'd exceed Jazz.

Danny dipped his head back. It had been overcast all day, and with the sun beginning to set, the bright pearly gray of the skies was losing its luster. The temperature was dropping, too, the air sharpening. The cold was his element, and it was invigorating. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, allowing it to fill him up.

Yeah, it really was too bad he could expect no ghost attacks tonight. He was ready.

Lost in his thoughts, Danny didn't really realize he was supposed to start trying to dodge again. He had forgotten he was supposed to be trying at all, honestly. He didn't see the shot, so of course he was too slow to react. A tingling shock shot up his leg, and he hissed, an involuntary ball of fiery ghost-ice igniting in his palm. He stopped short when he popped right-side-up and realized he was about to launch ice at his friends.

"I got him!" Tucker shouted. "Did you see that?" He cupped his free hand around his mouth. "I GOT YOU, SUCKER."

"Lucky shot!" Danny denied, clamping down on his power. His fingers were numb with the lingering bite of frost. "I wasn't paying attention!"

"It counts!"

"Maybe in your dreams! I bet you couldn't get another shot if you—" Another ectoblast zapped him between the shoulders, and he spun around to find Sam, her ectogun still smoking, a satisfied expression on her face. She gave him a wink and salute as he shouted, "Hey!"

"'Take advantage of your opponents' weak spots!'" she sang, throwing previous advice right back at him. She danced backwards a few paces when he growled and lunged downward. She powered up another shot, causing Danny to swoop out of the way at the last second as she pulled the trigger. It missed by a few hairsbreadths. "'Don't be afraid to play dirty because ghosts won't ever play nice!'" she added, a mocking bite in her laughter.

Oh, it's on, Danny thought, and as he slipped out of visibility, he flitted right down behind her, popping out and whispering "boo" in her ear. She had expected him to pop out—because who wouldn't—but even still, his speed obviously caught her off guard. She shrieked and spun around, whipping her pistol and throwing her elbow up into his chin. He went intangible just in time and reacted with a sweeping kick his mother taught him years ago.

It caught Sam behind the knees, and she went crashing to the near-frozen ground. All of the air escaped her lungs in a rough oomph, and Danny saw her head snap back as though in slow motion.

"Oh, shit!" Danny cursed. He hovered anxiously over Sam. "Hey, Sam? Sam! You okay? I totally didn't mean—"

Sam's legs shot up, curling to her chest, and before Danny could react, they were braced against his torso. She shoved him back, and as he stumbled back, she was on him, leaping up and swiping her gun from the ground.

And then she tackled him.

Her momentum carried them head over heels, and he was too stunned to do anything more than stare up at her as she made it out on top and leveled the ectogun right at his nose. Danny went cross-eyed trying to look at it, but that was a better option than lingering too much on the fact Sam's shirt was riding up. And the fact her weight across his lap was going to be very…problematic if she didn't move soon.

The moment the thought crossed his mind, his gut swooped.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

"This is when you say, 'Pinned ya 'gain,' Sam!" Tucker shouted, howling with laughter.

Shit, shit, shit.

"I'm going to be sick," Jazz chimed in. "Is everything about you two a cliché?"

This was not supposed to happen.

Danny hardly heard the others, so deeply lost in his panic as he was. He didn't dare shimmy out from under her, either, because Sam hadn't moved off of him yet, and that would be losing, wouldn't it?

…Wow. Okay. That really was the least of his problems. He could move. He should move.

Above him, Sam rolled her eyes, unabashed and nowhere near frazzled, which, okay, was really, really ho—

No. No. He slammed the thought down before it could manifest and take root.

He'd learnt his lesson last year. Ghost overshadowed his date once, shame on Ghost. Ghost overshadowed his date twice, shame on him.

It hadn't been an easy thing to accept, but he knew better than to think it could be another other way: it was never going to work out for him, so he might as well stop himself while he was ahead. He couldn't afford to think about anyone like this right now, anyway, not with ghosts starting to escape the Zone and certainly not with the GIW threatening to mess with the Portal.

Besides, he wasn't…human. He wasn't ghost. He didn't truly belong anywhere, and he would always have a target on his back. With his identity blown, that target had only grown in size. No partner of his would ever be able to ignore that, and he would never be able to forget it.

Besides, she could do better than him. What could she possibly see in him, anyway?

He was suddenly very keenly aware of how cold his skin must seem against Sam's, how weird his semi-corporeal form must feel against hers, and ugh, yeah, he realized, too, how gross his green acne must look to her this close-up. He wondered why she wasn't moving, why she continued to hover over him as she shot an insult back at Tucker. Even Jazz didn't always like to get this close, not even when their training dissolved into wrestling matches. His mom, too, even though she tried her hardest not to, flinched whenever she touched him in this form, but she suffered through it, always. For him.

No human in their right mind would think: hey, let's tackle a ghost. That's a great idea. Yet here was Sam, after an impressive mid-air tackle, pinning him to the ground, and it—actually, it didn't feel too unnatural for him either. Not in the slightest. It was kinda nice, but…

No. No, he had to stop. He couldn't think about how much he was enjoying this because he absolutely could not have a crush on Sam.

It wasn't that he'd never noticed how attractive she was. He would've had to have been blind not to notice. It wasn't that he hadn't noticed how cool she was, how compassionate and driven and just all around awesome she was, because of course he had. It was just that…Sam was off limits. He realized he'd decided that a long time ago, even before they'd become proper friends.

Because he'd wanted to be friends. First and foremost. And she was a great friend. She was a better friend than he ever could have imagined. And he most certainly did not spend the entire afternoon flirting with her. Nope, not this one.

Shit, he totally had.

(He was so screwed).

Sam shifted, and he only realized she was saying something to him when she bopped his nose with the nozzle of her ectogun.

(God, this was starting to become a little mortifying).

"What?" he said dumbly.

(These revelations really could have come at literally any other time).

"Dead," she repeated with a smile. "You're dead."

She meant that she'd got him, well and good. She was still a little breathless, and there was a smug curl to her lip that got under Danny's skin, in more ways than one.

Yep, time to move. He'd made enough of a fool of himself. Affecting a lazy smirk, he went intangible and slipped out from under her. "Well, duh," he said as he melted into the earth and popped back out again. "I am part ghost."

"Ha ha," Sam said. "I just hope you remember this next time you—"

"Sam, your phone's ringing!" Tucker interrupted, a high-pitched edge in his voice.

Sam's face went white, and she cursed under her breath, shooting across the lawn to the deck furniture, where she'd thrown her phone and sweatshirt at the beginning of their training session.

Crap. His feelings for Sam suddenly became a secondary problem. Danny exchanged a look with Tucker, who looked as though he were about to throw up. Or wear a rut into their new backyard. Whichever came first.

"We're screwed," Tucker moaned. He whipped around and gingerly handed his ectogun back to Jazz. "Might as well shoot me now and get it over with, Jazz."

Jazz blinked and faced her brother. "Do I want to know?"

Danny knew better than to lie to Jazz. "We, um, might have snuck Sam out. She's grounded."

"Dude!" Tucker exclaimed.

"What?"

"Do you have to tell your sister about that?" Tucker said, lowering his tone into a near hiss.

"…you do realize Jazz is the only one I ever told about my powers, don't you?" Danny said, ignoring Jazz's Lecture eyebrow. "Willingly? She can keep a secret or two."

"Or a million," Jazz said, rolling her eyes.

Sam got to her phone just in time and checked the caller ID before accepting the call. "It's my grandma," she shouted, and Tucker immediately sighed in relief.

"Hey, Grandma," Sam said into the phone, adopting the most neutral tone Danny had ever heard.

She listened for a moment, a sly smile growing on her face. "Oh, sorry, thanks. Tell Mom I'll have the veggie chow mein." A pause. "Yeah, of course. I'll be down in a little while. Love you."

When Sam hung up, Tucker said, "That was so terrifying. I thought we were dead."

"You and me both, trust me," Sam said, and looking down at her phone display again, she grimaced, "I hadn't realized it was so late."

Danny looked toward the sky. It wouldn't be much longer before the sun began to set. "I'll take you home. Tuck, you headed home, too, or do you want to stay for dinner?"

Tuck checked his phone and winced. "Yeaaaah, Mom wanted us home half an hour ago."

"Whoops," Danny said. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—" What Tucker said registered late. "Wait, what? Did you just say 'us?'"

Shooting his mother a quick text, Tuck shrugged and said, "She's expecting you for dinner. She's a bully, though, so you don't have to come if you don't want to."

Danny blinked, anxiety spiking his nearly nonexistent heart rate. "Um…really?"

Tucker ignored him and turned to Sam. "You good, Sam?"

"Yeah, Grandma's covering for me, but if I don't get home in the next ten minutes, I may or may not see the dark of night again."

"Wow," Tucker deadpanned. "Much Goth. Very angst. Such vampire."

Sam shot Tucker a look that could curl toenails. "Did you just meme at me?"

"Aaaand we're going," Danny said, and stepping between his two friends, one of whom was snarling And a doge meme? I expected more from you, Tucker, he purposefully took ahold of their arms and floated into the air without warning. He had to bite back a laugh when they both pitched forward into the air, not expecting the shift in gravity. "See ya, Jazz. Thanks for helping out today."

Jazz beamed. "Of course! Between what happened with Pariah Dark and our move, I hadn't realized how much I've missed this."

"Yeah," agreed Danny, sharing a smile with her.

"I'll tell Mom and Dad you'll be at Tucker's for dinner," she added, and though her tone was casual, her eyes were ice, daring him to deny the invitation, welcoming him to try to make an excuse.

And he had excuses—ninety-nine of them had everything to do with the GIW—but after Jazz backed him into the corner like that, there really was no polite way to get out of it.

It'll be fun, Jazz's shining eyes said. Go. Have fun. Be a kid for a little while longer.

Danny caved, though he still wasn't clear whether the Foleys truly wanted him there or not. "That okay, Tuck?" he asked hesitantly.

Tucker gave him a weird look, and so Danny had to assume that meant of course, dunderhead.

"You guys make sure you come back," Jazz said to Sam and Tucker. "Practice makes perfect, you know."

"Thanks, Jazz," Sam said. "We'll see you around. Tell your parents I said thanks, too?"

"If she can get them out of the lab at all," Danny said, and with a final goodbye wave at his sister, he ascended, turning all three of them invisible and intangible as he went.

It was a quiet flight, but it wasn't awkward. Sam murmured directions every so often, and Danny obeyed mechanically. He felt sore—more sore than he probably should have—but it was a good sore. A flight like this was like stretching after a five-mile run, and he lost himself in the feeling of the night air rushing past him.

It was better for all of them that he didn't linger too much on the arm he had wrapped around Sam. It was too new, too scary, too much.

But flying? Flying was mindless, and it was easy as breathing. Even though he wasn't alone, it really felt as though it was just him and the night, and it gave him the opportunity to just…be. Up in the air, without Vlad or the GIW or the Shift or the media and its big, fat nose bogging him down, everything felt distant. No mountain was insurmountable up here.

It really was going to be okay. It had to be.

He could have flown for hours more, and he couldn't keep the disappointed frown from his face when Sam got his attention and pointed downward. They had already made it back to her place. He swooped into a small, abrupt dip that made both of his friends gasp into his ears.

When he touched down on Sam's balcony, she did not let go right away. She was cautious, as though hardly believing her feet were on solid ground again, and Danny would have teased her, reassured her that he wouldn't just let her fall, but he remembered how much of an adjustment it had been, to manipulate gravity this seamlessly. He'd pitched face forward into walls too many times to count, so he zipped his lips. Just this once.

After Sam finally let go, Danny felt the loss like a vacuum. "Thanks," she said, turning back to him and Tuck. "For today."

"Always our pleasure to break you out of your home, Sam," Tucker said with a big grin.

Sam laughed. "You too, sore loser," she said, jibbing at Danny. "I admit I wasn't really comfortable with it at first, but it really was fun to train your way."

Melancholy that the flight kept at bay snuck up on him before he could temper it. Danny shrugged because he really didn't deserve much thanks, considering, and her eyes narrowed at him. "Stop. We literally just talked about this. Don't beat yourself up over Vlad," she said astutely. "Or the GIW."

"It's…not exactly how I would have preferred for you guys to learn about that stuff," Danny muttered.

"Would you have told us otherwise?" Sam demanded, not unkindly. "If we hadn't been there?"

"Eventually," Danny said. He paused, and shuffling his feet, he sighed and began, "You guys…"

"Save it," Sam interrupted. "I don't want to hear about how dangerous this is. Or about how we should stay out of it. I don't want to hear an apology either." Danny's mouth snapped shut. "We're going to help you. And your family. Not because we were dragged into it but because it's the right thing to do."

"Duh," Tucker added eloquently.

Danny didn't know how to respond to that. Because that right there? He'd said those words—in one form or another—once or twice, when Jazz begged him to quit, to leave the ghost hunting to the adults.

Now that he was standing in his sister's shoes, he kind of saw her point of view. Kind of. But with that reflection of his own conviction staring right back at him, it finally hit him: he could not protect his friends from this anymore than Jazz could protect him then.

It wasn't his decision to make. And it wasn't something he could talk either of them out of, not when they came in knowing that, whatever happened, they were going to be involved in this life, and they were going to join the hunt, no matter what it took.

"Okay," Danny said, and the moment he said it, he felt something give, and the smile on his face could have split his face in half for all he cared because this—having friends who cared about the same things he did? Having friends willing enough to learn and train with him?—this is something he never expected to have. It was something he never expected to need.

Sam blinked, obviously jolted by his lack of resistance. "Okay?" she repeated.

"Yeah," Danny said. "Yeah, I mean, you've already gone through a crash course in Surviving Fenton and you've both faced down two Feuders like total badasses, without any training, so…Welcome to Team Phantom."

It would take an eternity and then some for him to ever forget Sam's responding megawatt smile.

(And if it took an eternity to make him forget how that smile made him feel, he'd be the only one to know).

~…~

Danny didn't know what to think when Tucker barged through his front door with all the grace and tact of a big dog who just heard the "w-word." "Sorry I'm late, Ma!" he shouted.

"It's a good thing your father got held up with a client!" came Mrs. Foley's voice from within the ranch. "It's chili night, you know!"

"Why the hell is he working on a Saturday?" Tucker wondered aloud.

It was full dark now, and Tucker's thin jacket had hardly protected him from the biting wind and plummeting temperature. He'd started to shiver on the flight over, but instead of hanging onto his outwear, he shed it almost immediately as he bounded into the warmth, throwing it onto the back of the living room couch. Danny followed more cautiously, closing the door behind him.

"Tucker John, you better hang up that coat!"

She hadn't even popped her head out of the kitchen, and Tucker blanched, swiping his coat back up. "Already done, Angela May!" he sassed.

There was a disbelieving hum from the kitchen, and as Tucker slipped over to the hallway closet, Danny stood awkwardly on the door mat and reverted from Phantom to Fenton.

The living room was tastefully decorated in cream, with maroon and gold accents. It was immaculate, everything gleaming, clean, and perfectly placed, and as he looked down at his scuffed Converse and old jeans, he felt a bit out of place. He pulled his oversized sweatshirt hood down and ran his hand through his hair, a nervous habit that probably didn't do much to improve his appearance.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been invited over to a friend's house, let alone the last time he'd had dinner with anyone outside of his immediate family. He had a vague memory of dressing up to eat with his grandparents, whose house was as clean, pristine, and…fragile as Tucker's seemed to be. He'd remembered being told not to make a mess, and to behave, and to use his "inside voice." Even Jazz had hated those dinners, though she had always been the more well-behaved. Sundays at Gramma's had been stifling. And boring. He'd always been chastised to stop fidgeting.

(He wondered what Gramma would think of him now. She had never approved of Dad's side of the family, and she'd downright hated their occupation. Having a ghost as a grandson probably wouldn't have gone over too well. It hadn't exactly gone over well with Aunt Alicia, if his parents' quiet conversations were anything to go by).

Belatedly, he realized he probably shouldn't judge the Foleys by their living room. He probably shouldn't compare them to his strict, dead grandparents because of their living room either.

Because that was stupid.

"Is your friend coming?" Mrs. Foley shouted.

Danny froze, and Tucker said, "He's here already, Mom."

"Oh!" There was a clang, and Mrs. Foley popped her head out of the kitchen. Danny's first impression of her was that she was gorgeous. Her hair, pushed back with a colorful cloth headband, was done up in a large cloud of bronze curls that fell to her shoulders, and she had lovely almond eyes and big dimples that reminded Danny strongly of Tucker.

"Hello!" she said sunnily. "You're so quiet I didn't hear you come in!"

Danny forced a smile. "Oh, sorry," he said, and he realized he probably should shake her hand or something, but his shoes were still on, and he wasn't sure what the rules were here. He remained rooted to the spot and removed his hands from his gross hoodie pocket. He probably looked like a delinquent, slouching as he was.

"Don't apologize, silly. It comes with the territory a bit, doesn't it?"

She said it so casually Danny stared, but instead of setting him on edge, it…was actually pretty nice. She was nice. He found himself relaxing, her easy acceptance washing over him. "I guess you could say that," he said. "It's good to meet you, Mrs. Foley."

Mrs. Foley's bright grin broadened, and she swept across the room and gathered him in a hug. Danny stiffened, too surprised to so much as go intangible.

"Mom," Tucker groaned. "He's a flight risk, and you're freaking him out."

Mrs. Foley pulled away, eyes roving Danny's face seriously. "Nah, he doesn't mind. I can tell."

Danny wasn't sure if that were true or not. "Um," he said, a little stunned.

"Tucker's told us a lot about you, you know," Mrs. Foley said. "Even before you moved here. It really is a bit of a miracle you found your way back into each other's lives again!"

Danny eyed Tucker. He had mentioned it to his own parents, in passing, that he'd known Tucker as an online friend before moving to Amity, but he'd never mentioned just how close they'd been. Even Jazz didn't know that. He'd been a little embarrassed, growing up, that his closest friend was one he'd never met in person.

Clearly, he had nothing to be embarrassed about. Tucker certainly wasn't.

But then again, was Tucker ever embarrassed? About anything?

(It was clear where he got it from).

"Thanks for having me over, Mrs. Foley," Danny said, his smile feeling a lot less forced this time.

"Anytime, dear! Make yourself at home." Something beeped, and Mrs. Foley turned in alarm. "That's the cornbread. Don't go too far! Dinner's nearly ready!"

Mrs. Foley headed back into the kitchen, and Danny hissed to Tucker, "Flight risk?"

Mrs. Foley must have heard because she was very obviously laughing as she pushed open the kitchen door.

"Literally," Tucker nodded sagely, once his mom disappeared. "You looked like you were going to fly right out of here if she made another move."

"I…didn't expect to get a hug," Danny said in his defense.

"Mom's a hugger," Tucker said. "And you kinda saved Dad's life, once, so…"

"Wait, what?" Danny said.

"Is it really that surprising, city boy?" Tucker asked. "A lot of people from the suburbs go into the city to work, you know."

"Yeah, I know, but I mean…when? Why didn't you mention it?"

"Kick your shoes off," Tuck said instead of answering. Danny did as he was told. "Dad was an accountant at Axion Labs last year when Plasmius and his pet robot tried to take it over."

"Skulker," Danny murmured, and he shuddered, remembering Plasmius' awful and powerful demonstration of his ecto-electrical core. The bombs he'd created… "I remember that."

"Yeah, well, Dad was in the building. You helped stop the rest of it from blowing up. The end."

Danny frowned and grabbed Tucker's arm. "No, hang on, not 'the end.' The people in Axion were held hostage for six hours before anyone could figure out how to get in there without triggering any more explosions. You and your mom…"

Tucker eased out of Danny's grasp. "Were okay once you showed up and kicked ass," he finished. "It's fine. Dad's okay. It's not really a big deal."

It sounded like a mantra, said in the tone and cadence of a mother whispering into the ear of her frightened kid. Danny's mind spun, and the real kicker came when he realized something else. "Tucker, you…Plasmius today…"

Tucker's composure cracked, and Danny immediately felt like even more of a jerk for the way he behaved earlier. He had been so caught up in his own issues with Plasmius that he hadn't even considered that Plasmius had brushed other people's lives, in innumerable ways, and that included Sam and Tucker. Hell, Sam had even said her parents ran in the same circles as Vlad Masters, hadn't she? And what had he done? He'd brushed it off. And Tuck? Tucker had been freaked when Plasmius had revealed himself as Vlad Masters, of course, but he had never once shown a single sign that this man had nearly destroyed his family.

"I'd call that a big deal," Danny muttered. Because it wasn't every day you meet the villain who terrorized you and your family into believing your dad might not make it home that night.

"But it isn't. Not really. I'm not afraid of Plasmius," Tucker said.

"I am," Danny admitted without thinking. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he felt his face heat up.

"It makes sense that you are," Tucker said. "But after today…I realized he's even more dangerous than I imagined, sure, but he's also not as invincible as he makes himself out to be."

Danny worried the frown on his face would make Tucker think he disagreed, so he turned to run his fingers along the soft maroon afghan draped over the arm of the living room couch, giving himself time to contemplate. Even as a part of him worried that maybe knowing Vlad's identity was giving Tucker a false sense of security, he conceded the point. Vlad hadn't just revealed his identity: he'd exposed a vulnerability and showed a willingness to work against a common enemy. He'd shown fear, and that made him less a monster, less of a nameless nightmare or a face of evil. He'd shown that while he clearly wasn't a good person, he was person all the same.

Danny had gone through enough of those revelations over the last year to understand how Tucker felt. This time last year? He would have never imagined sympathizing with someone like Walker, or Technus, or any of them.

Danny was just about to tell Tucker so when two things happened simultaneously: Tucker's mom called for Tuck to help set the table, and Danny was gripped by a full-body chill, his breath ghosting in front of him.

Tucker stared. "That wasn't what I think it was, was it?"

The ghost was close, Danny could tell, and he hurriedly shook his head. "Go," he said. "Go to your Mom. Don't leave the kitchen. I'll just—"

Tucker's eyes widened, and he gasped, stumbling back. Danny acted fast, yanking on that power deep inside him and whipping around with a ball of ectoplasm blazing in his fist.

He stopped when he found himself face to face with Princess Dorathea, who blinked innocently at him, her bemused, then offended, expression nearly making Danny laugh in complete shock.

His transformation petered out as his surprise morphed into confusion and then utter mortification as he realized where they were. "Dora!" he exclaimed. "What the fu—" He was vaguely aware of Tucker's mom barging into the living room, the question on her lips falling flat as she saw the random ghost chilling in her house.

"Good evening, Sir Phantom and friends," Dora said pleasantly. She smiled at Tucker, who slowly inched his way forward again with a cautious smile of his own. Mrs. Foley murmured a small 'hello' clearly on reflex. Dora nodded in satisfaction. "Your friends are much more polite than you are, Phantom. Have you no greeting for me?"

She was definitely teasing him, but there was a note of chastisement that Danny didn't exactly appreciate. How…how was this his life?

"Dora," Danny said carefully. "It's not that I'm unhappy to see you, but—"

Dora beamed and floated forward to kiss both of Danny's cheeks. "Oh, good! I had worried you'd forgotten us! It has been too long!"

Danny blubbered for a moment, and ignoring Tucker's incredulous giggling, he exclaimed, "I saw you just last week!" But then he realized that was the wrong thing to focus on, and he modulated his tone, just a bit. "Dora, you realize you can't just come barging into people's homes in the Real World, right?"

Dora cocked her head, her confusion looking a lot more like frustration. "I am a princess. I can 'barge' wherever I please."

"You're not a princess here," Danny reminded as patiently as he could because he wished he could say this was the first time this had happened, but it honestly wasn't. Before his parents had worked out the kinks to the portable mini Portals they'd developed for their allies, Dora had had a tendency to invite herself into the Fentons' lives at the most inconvenient times. The most notable instance was back in Chicago, when she had terrified their moving guys out of their collective wits. "You need to wait to be invited in. We've talked about this, remember?"

Realization struck Dora, and she immediately looked contrite. She addressed Mrs. Foley, whose alarm was sweetening into a sort of bewildered amusement. "Oh. I understand now. This is what the Hunters meant when I arrived."

Danny smacked his palm to his forehead and dug into his pants pocket. There were three unread texts from Jazz. And two missed calls. "Super," he murmured.

"I see I have made a mistake," Dora continued saying, sensing Danny's distress. "You have a social obligation here, and I have intruded. I apologize, friends of Phantom. I will rectify my oversight."

Before Danny could stop her, she had turned and flew right through the front door. Danny buried his face into his hands as a dainty little knock sounded at the door.

"Oh my God," he groaned, and after pulling himself together, he faced the two Foleys with what he was sure was a beet red face and shuffled to where he'd left his shoes. He began to shove them back onto his feet. "I am so, so sorry." He kicked his foot up, trying to drag the back of his shoe over his heel, and nearly fell over for his trouble. "I'll, um, I'll take a rain-check on dinner tonight, and I'll make sure she doesn't bother you again."

Dora knocked again, impatiently, and Mrs. Foley began to laugh. "Nonsense!" she said. "You should see why she sought you out, shouldn't you?"

Tucker was grinning like Christmas had just come early, and Danny knew he wasn't going to hear the end of this. "But, um…"

Tucker's mother ignored Danny in favor of answering the door, and Danny decided, then and there, that Mrs. Foley was pretty awesome.

"Thank you, kind Lady," Dora said, stepping in through the threshold once Mrs. Foley had properly invited her in. "If you don't mind, I'll need to borrow Sir Phantom for just a moment, then I'll leave you to your evening activities."

"Of course," Mrs. Foley said, and damn if she wasn't taking all this in stride. "I will just finish setting the table, I suppose. It was nice to meet you, Princess Dora."

As Mrs. Foley retreated, Danny watched her go with growing respect. Dora, for her part, immediately returned to Danny's side, looking like a puppy who'd just done a trick and was waiting for praise.

"Thank you, Dora," Danny said weakly, and it was enough to make Dora inflate with happiness. "You nearly scared the crap out of me, you know. My Ghost Sense doesn't distinguish friend from foe."

"Ah, yes," Dora said. "I seem to have really done you a…what is the phrase? A fuck up?"

Tucker couldn't help it: he burst into laughter. "Oh," he gasped. "Oh my God."

"Dora, this is my friend Tucker," Danny said, resigned to chronic embarrassment for the rest of the night. "He has an odd sense of humor. Please ignore him. Unless you'd rather he leave. Please."

"What are you saying, Sir Phantom? Would you eject your friend from his own home? Besides, a friend of yours is a friend of mine!" Dora insisted.

Tucker gave Danny a smug smile, and Danny rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine. Is everything okay? Did something happen?"

Dora shook her head. "Oh, no, everything in the Zone is as it should be." Danny breathed a sigh of relief. It would have just been his luck if she'd answered otherwise. "May I speak freely?"

"Oh, yeah, Tuck has my complete trust."

Dora looked as relieved as Danny felt just a second ago. "It is good you have taken another into your confidence."

Like he said: chronic embarrassment. "Why are you here, Dora?" he asked, and he had to be careful his tone didn't enter whiny territory. "What couldn't wait, 'til, like, tomorrow?"

Dora's smile faded, her warm personality giving way to a near-abrasive professionalism. "I came on behalf of the New Council." Danny cocked his head. Last time he talked with his allies, the Council had been a fledgling thing, something he wasn't sure would survive, not with how volatile the Zone was right now. He'd obviously underestimated the ghosts. "We seek some information, as we have heard distressing rumors from one of our spies, about the group known as the Guys in White. And your family's Portal into the Ghost Zone."

Danny closed his eyes. Of course. This was what he got for introducing some of his allies to the idea of subterfuge. And scenes from the Mission Impossible movies. "Exactly how far has this rumor spread?" he asked seriously.

"It has not. Not beyond the Council itself. We have it contained until we could convene with you."

"Alright, good," Danny said. "Keep it that way."

"So there is truth to these claims," Dora murmured. It was not a question. "We cannot lie to those who trust us to be truthful, Sir Phantom. Transparency and honesty is the basis of the New Council."

"I'm not asking you to lie," Danny denied. "I'm asking you prevent unrest and…reckless behavior until my family and I can assess the threat as legitimate."

"The Guys in White have captured hundreds of us," Dora reminded him, her normally calming voice slipping into a hiss.

"We only just heard of this ourselves," Danny countered. "Not even hours ago. We have a lot to do before we go running our mouths and telling the entire Ghost Zone that the GIW might be back."

"We cannot let this go, Phantom. We cannot sit by and ignore this threat."

"But they are human, and that means that decision rests with me," Danny said forcefully, and if his eyes flared, well…

It was a challenge, and Dora responded in kind. Her eyes narrowed and then became serpentine, the pupils narrowing to slits, their color brightening to a brilliant red. The temperature in the room plummeted, and Danny was only aware of it when Tucker shivered beside him. The reminder that Tucker was in the room forced Danny to reign himself in, and he took a deep breath, the power at his fingertips fizzling to nothing. In that moment, he hated himself. He hated that he had been the one to confront and defeat The Ghost King, that he was the one who ultimately held the power in this realm in the eyes of the ghosts. "This isn't the time or place for a Dispute, Dora," he mumbled.

"No," Dora agreed, backing down. She looked just as ashamed as he felt. "You are right. Of course not. I…It is just that this news does not come at a good time."

"Is it ever a good time?" Danny asked wearily.

Dora's lips twitched into a smile. "You make a good point, my old friend."

Danny returned the smile. "Will you consider what I've said?"

Pursing her lips, Dora turned, the hem of her gown barely brushing the floor, and clasped her hands behind her back. She gazed out the window for a moment. "Friend Tucker," she said suddenly, musingly. "You are human. What do you think of all this?"

Tucker looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon. "Me?"

"Yes, you."

"I…" Tucker looked at Danny, searching for assistance, but Danny had none to give. He shrugged helplessly, and Tucker glared for a moment before licking his lips and turning back to Dora. "I don't want to pretend like I know exactly what's going on here," he said nervously, "and...I think it's important that you—and everyone else for that matter—remember that you shouldn't pretend you know everything that's going on either."

Danny held his breath and did not exhale until Dora nodded solemnly, accepting Tucker's opinion as veritable. "You see the wisdom in caution, as Phantom does."

"…Yes?" Tucker said. "I guess so?"

Danny could sense Tucker's discomfort as Dora stared him down. "One day," she said, breaking the tension, "I will learn to take more youth into my counsel. Those not formally trained in politics and war often have the most incredible perceptions."

"Thank you?" Tucker responded.

Turning to Danny, she said, "Perhaps we are hasty to seek you out. I will return to the Zone and tell the others what you have said this night."

"Thank you, Dora," Danny said, and even to his own ears, he sounded far too relieved. "I will come to the Zone tomorrow, to speak to the Council, if you want."

"I will contact you should we need you." Dora floated to the door, and with a respectful nod to both Danny, and then Tucker, she said, "Farewell. I apologize again for disrupting your evening."

"No problem, Dora," Danny said. "Thanks."

The two teens watched Dora disappear through the door, and after a few heartbeats of dead silence, Tucker whipped around to Danny and demanded, "Holy shit, that was one of the Dragon Ghosts?"

"…Yeah?"

"Damn," Tucker said, and after staring for a moment longer at the spot where she'd disappeared, he said, "I hadn't seen her like that before. She's hot."

Laughter bubbled like soda fizz. It was explosive in the shattered silence. Of course that's the first thing Tucker would say to him after everything that just went down.

Mrs. Foley heard Danny's loud laughter and popped her head out of the kitchen. "Oh, your friend left?" she asked, and Danny stopped laughing and stared, wondering who in the world the Foleys even were, to be so casual about having an uninvited ghost appear in their home.

"I'm so sorry about that, Mrs. Foley," Danny said sheepishly. "I promise that doesn't happen often. Dora's…not as cautious as other ghosts. She doesn't understand that—"

"Oh, honey, don't worry about it," Mrs. Foley said. "I just wished I had a moment to thank her. She's a big player on the good side, isn't she?"

Danny blinked and nodded. "I guess…I'll pass that on next time I see her."

"Awesome," Mrs. Foley said. Clapping her hands together, she said, "Well, come on, then! Dinner's ready!"

Tucker bolted right in, telling his mother everything and somehow nothing about what Dora had wanted, which Danny was beyond grateful for.

Danny entered the kitchen and was immediately assailed by the rich, spicy smell of chili. His mouth watered, stomach grumbling. He hadn't realized how hungry he was.

Without so much as breaking up the chatter he was directing at his mother, Tucker pointed out a chair, which Danny slipped into silently. He nearly jumped right out again as a door off the hallway opened. The sound of the garage door closing escaped from the open door before it slammed closed.

"Whoops," came a baritone voice.

"Hon…" Mrs. Foley said warningly.

"My bad! Sorry, it just—" Danny settled back into his seat as Mr. Foley stumbled into the kitchen, his arms laden with a discarded blazer and a briefcase that was doing very little to hold a large stack of papers. Tucker's father noticed him right away, and he cut himself off, his moustache twitching as the grin on his face grew. "Danny! Good to see you, son!"

If Danny had thought he couldn't be anymore overwhelmed by how welcoming and great the Foleys were, he was super wrong. "Hey, Mr. Foley," Danny said.

Mr. Foley eagerly deposited everything in his arms onto the kitchen island and took a seat at the dinner table. Mrs. Foley bustled around, divvying portions into the bowls she'd set onto the table.

"So what's happening?" he asked. "Did you guys end up going to Nasty Burger today, Tuck?"

"Oh, yeah. That kinda feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it, Danny?"

Danny nodded, quietly thanking Tucker's mom when she served him a whopping portion.

"Busy day, then?" Mr. Foley chuckled.

"Well, you just missed Danny and Princess Dorathea of Aragon nearly have a throw-down in the living room," Tucker said conversationally. "So that's the kind of day it's been." Mr. Foley was clearly distracted tucking into his bowl, and Danny aimed an elbow at Tucker's ribs. He avoided the jab expertly. "Why were you working so late, Dad?"

"Your superintendent Dr. Lucas is a needy client," Mr. Foley said, his tone flippant as he reached over the table to pick up a slice of corn bread. "Couldn't get a session in with me during the week, so he insisted we set something up today."

Danny, who was about to take his first bite, dropped his spoon with a hideous clang. "I'm sorry," he said, hardly recognizing his own voice, the pit in his stomach growing into an abyss. "Did you just say Dr. Lucas?"

Mr. Foley nodded. "Real piece of work," he said, putting a big dollop of butter on his bread. "I don't know why he needs a financial advisor if all he does is insist on doing things his way anyway. His brother, though, I like working with. He's a cool guy, even if he's a bit intense for me sometimes. Had a beer with him once or twice."

Danny felt sick. He shouldn't jump to conclusions. He really shouldn't. Lucas was a common enough last name, right? There couldn't possibly be a connection, could there?

He exchanged a look with Tucker, whose eyes were wide behind his glasses, his fingers tapping a stressed beat into the table top. He wasn't the only one, then, who'd recognized the name.

There went his appetite.

Oblivious to both Tucker and Danny's silent and growing unease, Mrs. Foley laughed and finally took her own seat. "Do you want any bread with that butter?" she chastised.

Mr. Foley stuck his tongue out at her and took a bite. As he was chewing, he suddenly paused. "Hang on," he said to his son, mouth full of bread, "what is this about a throw-down in the living room?"

Chapter Text

Dinner was actually really awesome.

Once Danny and Tucker had had a silent, hasty conversation consisting of mostly small head-shakes and imperceptible shrugs, both teens had to make their peace with the fact that there was nothing they could do, or say, until dinner was over. Danny had expected to be a twitchy and moody mess, right up until the moment he and Tucker were dismissed from the table, but Mr. and Mrs. Foley had this…presence. They were incapable of letting a conversation die, unable to so much as let a 'mood' enter their vicinity. It really was impossible for Danny to brood or linger for too long in his headspace, and any rush he felt to get away from the table was swept away. The Foleys had engaging and animated discussions, and it was hard not to be involved in them when the Foleys constantly encouraged participation.

Danny could tell they cared about what he said—from the most astute observation to the stupidest comment—and that did more than he could have believed to put him at ease. They gave him their undivided attention whenever he spoke, and though he usually suffered under the pressure of that level of scrutiny, he felt like he could be himself the longer and longer he sat and talked with them.

It was liberating. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so comfortable outside of his own home.

Mr. Foley laughed a lot, too. He probably laughed more than Danny's own father did, which was saying something. Unlike his dad's laugher, which originated deep in the belly and shook the very walls it was so big and warm, Mr. Foley's laughter popped and danced like a sparkler on Independence Day. When he heard about what had happened with Dora, he actually cried he laughed so hard, and when he wasn't laughing, he was bemoaning the fact he hadn't been there to see it all go down.

"You just want to be able to tell all your friends you met a ghost," Mrs. Foley teased.

"That has nothing to do with it!" Mr. Foley denied, and with perfect comedic timing, he gestured dramatically at Danny. "Besides, I've met one already, haven't I?"

Danny nearly choked. Tucker groaned. "Dad, c'mon. Ghost puns are one thing, but Danny's probably so sick of that joke he—"

The chili finally went down the right pipe, and after a few awkward coughs, Danny began to laugh.

"…Never mind," Tucker finished, giving Danny a disgusted look. "Sometimes I forget you have a cheesier sense of humor than I do, dude."

"Try being half-ghost sometime and see how you do whenever someone makes a joke like that. It's hilarious," Danny said, grinning. "It doesn't get old."

He didn't fully realize what he'd said until well after the conversation moved on to school and how he and his family were adjusting to Amity Park. It had been so normal, and so natural, to integrate Phantom and Fenton like that, that Danny almost stopped dead in the middle of a story he was telling, the dissonance catching up to him in a belated shockwave.

How was it that a single day out with friends could change so much? Once upon a time, he had cringed to hear anyone, even his own sister, make jokes like that. It had taken a long time after his first run in with Spectra to feel comfortable enough in his own skin to make that kind of joke with her. After the Shift, he'd been sensitive and cagey, especially during his first interviews, and at school, whenever a stranger made a snide remark, he hadn't been particularly pleased or comfortable either.

Twenty-four hours ago, Danny would have never dreamed he'd be sitting here, flat-out reminding near-strangers that he was, in fact, not fully human. And now look at him, insisting that those jokes "never got old."

What a weird, weird day.

Danny finished his story detachedly and only phased back into the conversation when he heard Mrs. Foley say, "…ur mom was saying that she and your dad are really happy with the—"

"Wait, I'm sorry," Danny interrupted. "My mom? When did you talk to my mom?"

"Oh, she called an hour or so before you and Tucker showed up," Mrs. Foley said nonchalantly.

"Why?" he asked.

"Moms are allowed to have friends too, you know," Mrs. Foley said, tone reminiscent of a large majority of his past teachers whenever they saw his abysmal performance. Danny's heart constricted, and as he stumbled over an awkward apology, she took pity on him and said, "Danny, hon, I'm playing. I wasn't exactly expecting a call from your mom either."

"So what did Mrs. Fenton call you for, then?" Tucker asked, reaching over Danny's bowl to grab the butter. He was on his third piece of cornbread. Danny scrunched his nose at Tucker, his spoon hovering over his blocked bowl. Tucker just grinned widely at him, unapologetic, and took his time putting the damn butter knife back.

In retaliation, Danny reached forward, brushing up against Tucker's arm, and transferred some of his intangibility to his friend, who yelped when the knife slipped from his now-formless fingers. It fell with a clatter. "Dude!"

Mrs. Foley, who had opened her mouth to respond to Tucker's question, faltered, her mouth hanging open before she caught herself and snapped it shut. Mr. Foley was a lot less subtle, his knees hitting the underside of the table as he jolted in surprise. "Whoa!" he exclaimed.

In the span of a second, Danny's face flushed bright red. He'd totally forgotten where he was. He did stuff like that to Jazz all the time, especially when she was trying to get a rise out of him, and he even pranked his parents now, but that didn't mean he could do stuff like that to other people—in front of other people—who may or may not…

"That's so neat!" Mr. Foley gushed.

Danny's thoughts skittered to a halt. "Sorry," he said on reflex.

Mr. Foley shrugged, taking a casual bite of his chili. "Tucker deserved it for being a brat."

"Thanks, Dad," Tucker said, shaking out his arm.

"You're welcome. What were you were saying, dear?"

The attention was drawn back to Mrs. Foley, who blinked and said, "Oh, um, Maddie called to invite us to go see the Portal activation."

Tucker looked a little stunned. "Wow," he said, impressed. "Your parents don't really mess around, do they, Danny?"

"'Course not," Danny said. "They like you. You and Sam made an impression on them."

"Mr. and Mrs. Fenton only just mentioned inviting us today," Tucker explained to his parents. Turning back to Danny, he added, "I didn't think your mom would go so far as to call, though."

Danny snorted. "What? You really think they'd rather have stuffy government officials, security, and stuck-up 'experts in this-or-that-science-field' there?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Maddie made a very passionate case to make us feel welcome," Mrs. Foley said. "I have a shift at the hospital, but I don't mind you missing school to go, Tucker, if it's something you're really interested in."

Tucker leapt to his feet, shooting both arms in the air. "Yes!"

"But—"

"Aww," Tucker said, and he flopped back down into his seat. "Of course there's a 'but.'"

Mrs. Foley gave her son a no-nonsense look. "This is serious, Tucker. Mrs. Fenton was telling me she suspects there might be some rowdiness, maybe even some violence."

"Oh. That," Tucker said.

"Yes, that. Mrs. Fenton assured me there would be security, but if you're going to go, I want you to follow all of the Fentons' rules."

Tucker nodded agreeably. "Easy."

"Mrs. Fenton also assured me you would be welcome to stay over at FentonWorks if the crowds outside got to be too much, and I want you to text us if that's the case. And if anything out of the ordinary happens."

Danny grimaced, his mood darkening, and sensed Tucker's eyes flit toward him. "Out of the ordinary?" Tuck scoffed. "Mom, I'm going to watch the Fentons open a doorway into another reality. That's pretty out of the ordinary."

Mr. Foley laughed, but his wife wasn't buying it. "Just…be alert. The protestors weren't the only people Maddie seemed worried about."

Tucker caught the note in his mother's tone and sobered up. "Sure, Mom."

"And stick close to Danny."

"That's the worst stipulation yet," Tucker moaned. "He smells like burnt ectoplasm."

"I do not!" Danny said at the same time Mr. Foley asked, "What does burnt ectoplasm smell like? Does ectoplasm even burn?"

Danny and Tucker spent the next five minutes debating whether burnt ectoplasm smelt more like metallic ammonia or sulfuric pennies, until Danny realized there was no way in hell Tucker had smelled enough ectoplasm in his life to make any sort of logical argument.

"When have you smelt ectoplasm anyway?" Danny asked.

Tucker gave him a look. "Bro, you do realize today is still Saturday, right?"

"Um…yeah?"

"You also realize that yesterday was Friday, right?"

"Friday is typically the day before Saturday, yes," Danny said, speaking slowly, sarcastically.

"And you do remember there was a ghost attack yesterday, right?"

Danny hadn't. Had it really only been yesterday?

"We were all worried about you? Because you were…bleeding? Quite a bit? Remember that?"

Tucker must have seen the deer-in-headlights look Danny was giving him, and he sat back. "You worry me sometimes, dude." Turning to his mother, who had a really weird, pinched expression on her face, he asked, "Are you sure you want this ditz protecting me if something goes wrong at the Portal activation?"

Mrs. Foley rolled her eyes at her son. "Says the one who fell up the stairs with a full glass of water this morning."

Danny laughed, and the banter between the Foleys continued until Mr. Foley got a call, drawing him away from the table. Mr. Foley's departure cued the rest of them to break from dinner by nonverbal consensus. Tucker helped clear the plates while Danny stood around uselessly. His hands had been smacked away when he tried to pick up after himself, so he hovered awkwardly while Tuck and Mrs. Foley took care of everything.

When Tucker ducked off to the bathroom for a second, Danny was left with Mrs. Foley, who continued doing the dishes while Danny hung around, fiddling with his phone.

"I would've never believed you got hurt just yesterday," Mrs. Foley murmured suddenly, breaking their comfortable silence. She turned from the sink to look him up and down. "I saw the news, and Tucker was pretty shaken up after everything that happened, but it's…" She trailed off. "Are you okay?"

Danny smiled. "Yeah, I'm good." Mrs. Foley's concerned expression didn't falter, and Danny straightened up from his slouched position. "No, really, I'm great, Mrs. Foley," he said, and he smiled, just to prove to her how much he meant it. "It's been a weird twenty-four hours, but things…really are great."

"You look great," Mrs. Foley agreed slowly, and Danny's grateful she decided not to press him. "Happy. I think Amity suits you."

Danny didn't really know how to respond to that. "Thanks, Mrs. Foley. I…think so too."

Wiping her hands of suds, Mrs. Foley gave him a soft smile, and Danny was stunned, all over again, by how easily Mrs. Foley had welcomed him (and Dora, for Pariah's sake) into her home. He hadn't thought there were people like that in the world, with the ability to accept things without batting an eye, somehow capable of creating a safe space with a single smile.

Some misplaced guilt, buried after last night, rose to the surface. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "Mrs. Foley?"

"Hm?"

"I…"

I'm sorry for allowing Tucker to get in the middle of everything, he tried to say because despite Sam and Tucker's declarations of support, he was still to blame for the Feuder mess yesterday. For putting him in danger by simply associating with me. For getting your entire family involved now. But he couldn't quite manage it. He hadn't realized just how easy he had it last night, when he'd been able to tell Mrs. Manson over the phone just how much he owed her daughter. In person, in front of Mrs. Foley…it was like standing in front of the entire Ghost Zone to give a rallying speech all over again.

Mrs. Foley considered him for a moment, and somehow, she understood. "You've apologized a lot tonight," she mused. "I hope you're not thinking of apologizing again."

"Um…"

"You never have to apologize for who you are in this house, Danny," Mrs. Foley said. "You don't have to apologize for any of it. We're glad to have you, you know."

Danny gave her a tentative smile, stunned into silence, and nearly jumped when Tucker called, "Bro! Come on!"

Grateful for the get-away, Danny gave Mrs. Foley another hasty thanks for dinner! before darting down the hallway where Tucker initially disappeared. He found Tucker leaning against the doorjamb to his room and followed him in silently.

"You planning on staying a bit?" Tucker asked.

Danny realized he had no idea what his plans were. He didn't even know what time it was. Or when he was expected home. He'd had a curfew, before, but that was never followed. Since he wasn't cleared for anything more than a short patrol every night, he and his parents hadn't had the opportunity to sit down and actually discuss new "curfew" rules. And this—being over at a friend's house—was new territory. Did Tucker even still want him around?

"I guess?" Danny said.

Tucker grinned and leaned around Danny to pop the door closed. "Cool. I thought you might want to run out the moment dinner was over to tell your family what my dad said."

"Oh," Danny said. Suddenly exhausted, he shoved some of Tucker's laundry aside to make enough space on the floor to sprawl out. He plopped right down and laid on the ground, eyes on the ceiling. He couldn't find it in himself to rile up his previous anger and revulsion at how twisted this whole thing had become. He only felt numb now. "Ugh. I'm not sure I want to think about that right now."

"Tough," Tucker said. "Do you think the superintendent is related to our man? Operative L?"

"Without a doubt," Danny said, and he laid an arm across his eyes. He fought off a shudder: the mere thought of L, or any of his ilk, getting anywhere near him again made him feel sick to his stomach. "There's no way it's coincidence."

"How do you even know him?" Tucker asked. "It was bugging me the whole time we were eating dinner. Everyone knows the superintendent never actually comes to school ever. He's just a big name and no face to us."

Danny rolled over. "What, really? You don't know?"

"Am I supposed to?"

"No, it's just…" Danny trailed off. "I didn't think it was exactly secret. I met him on my first day at Casper High. He—" A shudder rolled down his spine. "He was there to make sure the EctoSup-racelet—"

"I'm sorry, the what?"

"The EctoSup…" Danny saw the quirk of Tucker's lips and scowled. "I didn't name the thing, okay?"

"Sure," Tucker placated. "You actually had to do show and tell? For him?"

"For a whole room of people," Danny corrected. "Because I'm a liability, you know?"

"Liability my ass," Tucker muttered. "He give you any weird vibes or anything?"

Danny had to think about that. Had the guy given off anything weird? Excluding that business-slick, falsified charm?

"He reminded me of Vlad," Danny admitted, a little bitterly. "So I didn't like him right off the bat, but I didn't get any warning-this-guy-may-be-a-Guy-in-White vibes."

"I mean, you didn't sense any—I don't know—nefarious emotions? Did he seem overly interested in the bracelet or anything?"

Danny slowly sat up. He stared Tucker down. "Nefarious emotions?"

"Well, what adjective would you use to describe a bad guy's—?"

"No, no," Danny interrupted, heartbeat pounding in his ears. "What do you mean by sensing emotions?"

Tucker gave Danny an innocently perplexed look. "Well, you can sense them, right?"

Danny grimaced. He'd never wanted people to know about that particular aspect of his powers. It could probably be considered an invasion—an abuse, even—of privacy, for one, and it was more than a little creepy, even to him, that he could…feed off them, too, if he chose.

(And sometimes when he didn't choose. For most ghosts, feeding just happened, with or without their say-so. More intense emotions were more satisfying than others, which is why ghosts did seek out their favorites, but it's not like the actual act of feeding ever caused any true harm, unless the ghost was a freaking Dementor like Spectra, who did actually drain emotions and energy when feeding. It was disturbing to think about, regardless. It made him feel like some kind of parasite).

He stopped his train of thought right there. Because he'd had enough of underestimating his friends. Because he was sick of it. Tucker and Sam had seen him stick his hand through solid objects. They had both seen him fight. They'd seen him tackle and choke out Plasmius. Hell, they'd flown with him earlier, trained with him, so why would a little thing like snacking on other people's emotions bother them? Comparatively speaking, 'sensing' emotions really was the least of it, wasn't it? Just because he had a weird aversion to it didn't mean they would have the same issue. Considering how chill they were about everything else, what did he have to fear? Besides, sharing this weird side effect was a far cry away from, say, trying to show them just how close (ha) he was to making his own duplicate, which, in his oh-so-honest opinion, was worthy of at least a little bit of a freak-out.

He should know by now his friends weren't going to care, and if they did…well, they were a bit stuck with him now, weren't they?

(Right?)

Danny coached himself to relax and tried for a smile. "How did you know about that?" he asked.

"Doesn't everyone know that?" Tucker responded with a shrug. "I thought that was a thing the movies and myths actually got sorta right. That's why ghosts like scaring humans sometimes, right? That behavior's, like, the basis of the paranormal horror genre."

Even with the mental prepping beforehand, Danny gaped for a moment, and before he could censor himself, he was saying, "I love that you're so casual about it. That you don't think it's really fucking weird I do the same thing."

"It's not any weirder than anything else you can do," Tucker said, flopping forward to turn his Xbox on. "But I doubt it's exactly the same, which is why I'm asking you about it now."

"I don't…" Danny trailed off, struggling to put it into words. "I don't sense them all the time. Usually only when I'm touching someone."

Tucker looked genuinely interested. "Never from a distance?"

"Just the heightened ones. Extreme ones."

"Oh, that's kind of lame," Tucker said. "Does it really do anything for you, then?"

Danny considered it, feeling mildly nauseous. "It's always bothered me," he finally admitted. "So I try to ignore it. Most ghosts can't help but be drawn to innately happy or super depressed people, but intense emotions…do give a bit of an energy boost. And it's like you said: a lot of them really do like the taste of fear. It's a kind of high, I guess."

"Ohh," Tucker said. "I wondered if it went beyond that. I wondered if you might be able to maybe sense betrayal or pure evil or something like that."

Danny actually laughed. "As useful as that would be, no. And as far as Dr. Lucas goes, I just thought he was a dick. He's one of those perpetually smug ass-hats, you know? You can see that easily enough with or without ghost powers."

"Hm." Tucker threw an Xbox controller at him. Danny caught it only on reflex. "So what's the plan?"

"See if Dr. Lucas is on the guest list," Danny responded. "Go from there."

Tucker frowned. He didn't look super pleased with that response. "And if he is on the guest list?"

Danny ran his thumb over the sleek buttons of the controller. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had the time to play video games, and it was nice to have the familiar weight in his hands again. He was really looking forward to blasting shit up. "It doesn't matter," he said. "We'll research their connection and see if he's really a threat."

"Sam can probably help with that," Tucker said helpfully. "All the stuff she did after the Shift? She's bound to have learned a lot about the big players for the anti-ghost side."

Danny nodded. "We'll ask her. Either way, if L wants to use his brother—cousin, whatever he is—as an entry point, we're going to be ready for him."

Tucker's head cocked, and he began speeding through the menus as he set up a new Slayer game. While waiting for it to load, he asked carefully, "So you do think it is a good idea to draw them to FentonWorks?"

Danny clenched his jaw. "I don't know," he said slowly. "But if nothing else, we're going to expose them. If they think they can threaten our progress with the ghosts and then get away with retreating back into the shadows, they've got another thing coming."

~…~

Sat, Oct 22

mothaTucka, sam I am

mothaTucka (sent 8:03 PM): sam

mothaTucka (sent 8:15 PM): oh wait your grounded nvm

sam I am (sent 8:41 PM): MothaTucka? Wtf?

sam I am (sent 8:41 PM): I'm going to kill you. When the hell did you get your hands on my phone?

mothaTucka (sent 8:42 PM): hahaha, better question is how the hell do you have YOUR hands on your phone rn?

sam I am (sent 8:45 PM): Grandma praised my "good behavior." And Mother was feeling merciful after getting a Portal invite directly from the Fentons. So I got my phone back, at least.

mothaTucka (sent 8:46 PM): mrs. fenton called my mom earlier too. your folks going?

sam I am (sent 8:47 PM): Of course. They might not want anything to do with the Fentons, but they wouldn't miss it.

sam I am (sent 8:48 PM): Wait, did you need something?

mothaTucka (sent 8:49 PM): oh, no, lmao, i just wanted to share this with you. danny totally KOd at my place.

sam I am (sent 8:49 PM): I can't say I blame him. Yesterday was insane. He's probably still recovering from all that healing he did overnight.

mothaTucka (sent 8:49 PM): [picture attachment]

sam I am (sent 8:49 PM): And…

sam I am (sent 8:49 PM): Oh my fucking god.

mothaTucka (sent 8:49 PM): [picture attachment]

mothaTucka (sent 8:49 PM): he's completely dead to the world, lol.

sam I am (sent 8:50 PM): How did he even fall asleep in that position? OMG, this is too good.

sam I am (sent 8:50 PM): [took a screenshot]

sam I am (sent 8:50 PM): [saved mothaTucka's picture]

sam I am (sent 8:50 PM): Saving for blackmail purposes, of course.

mothaTucka (sent 8:51 PM): of course. i already have backups, just in case. i'm imagining a whole folder dedicated to this phenomenon.

sam I am (sent 8:52 PM): bless you.

mothaTucka (sent 8:55 PM): oh, and before i forget. i have the BEST story for you.

mothaTucka (sent 8:55 PM): one of the dragon ghosts visited us tonight.

mothaTucka (sent 8:55 PM): and theres a development on L.

[Incoming Call from sam I am]

~…~

Sun, Oct 23

mothaTucka, gh0st w0nder, sam I am

[mothaTucka started a group chat with sam I am and gh0st w0nder]

mothaTucka (sent 10:04 AM): [video attachment]

gh0st w0nder (sent 10:04 AM): I can't believe you

gh0st w0nder (sent 10:04 AM): why do you betray me so

mothaTucka (sent 10:05 AM): because you nearly burnt a fucking hole in my tv.

gh0st w0nder (sent 10:05 AM): I apologized!

mothaTucka (sent 10:06 AM): not good enough

mothaTucka (sent 10:06 AM): besides this shit is gold

gh0st w0nder (sent 10:07 AM): I hate you so much

sam I am (sent 10:21 AM): DANNY

sam I am (sent 10:21 AM): WHAT

sam I am (sent 10:21 AM): [laughing gif]

gh0st w0nder (sent 10:25 AM): LOOK

gh0st w0nder (sent 10:25 AM): I was super disoriented

gh0st w0nder (sent 10:25 AM): I didn't remember falling asleep

gh0st w0nder (sent 10:25 AM): And I had no idea where I was when I woke up

gh0st w0nder (sent 10:25 AM): And Tuck was trying to balance Lucky Charms on my face

gh0st w0nder (sent 10:25 AM): Can you blame me?

mothaTucka (sent 10:26 AM): yes

gh0st w0nder (sent 10:26 AM): [frowning face emoji]

sam I am (sent 10:27 AM): [rolling on the floor laughing gif]

~…~

Sun, Oct 23

mothaTucka, sam I am

mothaTucka (sent 2:34 AM): yo

mothaTucka (sent 2:34 AM): so i was thinking

~…~

Sun, Oct 23

mothaTucka, sam I am

sam I am (sent 9:51 AM): Never a good sign.

mothaTucka: [read 5:39 PM]

~…~

Mon, Oct 24

mothaTucka, sam I am

mothaTucka (sent 12:13 AM): sam

mothaTucka (sent 12:13 AM): sam

mothaTucka (sent 12:13 AM): sam

sam I am (sent 12:14 AM): Tucker it's after midnight.

mothaTucka (sent 12:14 AM): sam i fucked up

sam I am (sent 12:16 AM): Wow. I am so shook, Tuck. Maybe tell me about it tomorrow?

mothaTucka (sent 12:23 AM): no. sam

mothaTucka (sent 12:23 AM): i

mothaTucka (sent 12:23 AM): fucked

mothaTucka (sent 12:23 AM): up

sam I am (sent 12:25 AM): Oh, shit.

sam I am (sent 12:25 AM): Whose body do I need to help bury?

sam I am (sent 12:33 AM): Tuck?

mothaTucka (sent 12:39 AM): sorry

mothaTucka (sent 12:39 AM): its just i did a thing and i'm

mothaTucka (sent 12:40 AM): [freaking out gif]

sam I am (sent 12:40 AM): Are you okay?

mothaTucka (sent 12:40 AM): yeah, i'm just. i don't know. it's a little messed up

sam I am (sent 12:41 AM): Do you need to talk?

mothaTucka (sent 12:41 AM): yes

mothaTucka (sent 12:41 AM): but not now. tomorrow. at school

mothaTucka (sent 12:41 AM): i'm going to try to purge myself of sin in the meantime

sam I am (sent 12:44 AM): Alright. If you're sure.

sam I am (sent 12:47 AM): I'll see you tomorrow, okay?

mothaTucka: [read 1:12 AM]

~…~

Sam entered the computer lab cautiously, unsure of what to expect.

The tone of Tucker's messages last night had set her on edge, and she'd been so unnerved she hadn't been able to fall asleep. The usual peace she tended to find in the stillness and quiet of her parents' house that late at night hadn't been anywhere to be found, and she had spent the night tossing and turning, waking every so often with anxious dreams of hypothetical conversations she would never have, and would never fully remember, in the morning.

It hadn't particularly helped that, while she and Danny had been breaking in the new group chat over the weekend, Tucker had not been, only answering when directly addressed. It also did nothing to calm Sam's nerves when the only text she'd received from him that morning was a single line, requesting her to take a tardy and meet him in the computer lab, just for a few minutes.

Alone.

He hadn't stressed it, but she'd known immediately what he meant.

Essentially: come without Danny.

To make matters worse, Danny himself was MIA. Sam had just been thinking it was strange she hadn't seen either Fenton sibling yet when she'd overheard some of her classmates talking about another ghost attack this morning.

And if that hadn't put even more of a tangible strain on the entire student body after what happened on Friday, she would willingly wear pink for the rest of the week.

For every student who was high spirits, re-enacting and re-telling their side of last Friday's story and eagerly following the current news updates and livestreams, there were at least three other students who kept death grips on their phones, their faces drawn and pale. Sam couldn't even begin to count the number of relieved faces she saw when they received texts from friends and family saying they were nowhere near the fight, that everything was okay.

She hadn't even wanted to try to count the number of people she'd seen crying as they waited for their own texts.

To sum it up? Everything about today sucked ass.

Naturally, it hadn't been easy to put on a face, and it hadn't surprised her in the slightest that even Val, distracted as he was by news of the attack, had managed to catch a whiff of her anxiety and ask her if anything was wrong.

She'd told him she'd only gotten a few hours of sleep. And that she was worried about Danny. Which, really, wasn't a lie, necessarily, but it felt enough like one that guilt had still accompanied it.

When the warning bell rang, Sam had given Val a wave and headed off in the direction of her Art History room before taking a detour through the stairwell and doubling back around. She meandered, waiting for the hallways to clear before finally entering the computer lab like a spy in the night, checking for potential eavesdroppers as she went.

Tucker was already there, fiddling anxiously with his Microsoft Surface. His head jerked up the moment Sam walked in, his fingers posed to swipe away whatever it was he was working on. Recognizing her, he relaxed and said, "Oh, good, you're here."

"Yeah," Sam said lamely.

"Hear anything from Danny?"

Sam shook her head, and Tucker huffed. "It'd be nice if he took a moment to say he was okay. It didn't look like a bad fight—not compared to last Friday, anyway—but even still."

"Even still," Sam agreed. "We'll tag-team him for that later."

"Duh."

Sam took a seat next to Tucker and placed her backpack at her feet. "What's going on?"

Tucker immediately pursed his lips. He looked uncomfortable, almost ill-at-ease, his expression severe. "I did a thing last night."

Sam had to refrain from rolling her eyes. "I gathered that much."

Tucker sighed, and his gaze flicked back to the door. "I regret doing the thing," he said. "But I couldn't just…let it sit. I was curious after everything we learned this weekend, and I guess I wasn't really happy I couldn't do anything about the GIW, so I…did it."

"I know what you mean," Sam mumbled. Once Tucker had called her on Saturday night to tell her about Dr. Lucas' possible connection to Operative L, she'd gone digging through the Internet, looking for every last bit of coverage she could find on the GIW, before and after their disbanding, as well as anything and everything she could find on their school's superintendent. She'd scoured the deep recesses of Tumblr, Twitter, and Reddit, WikiLeaks, blatant anti-Phantom and anti-ghost forums, Wordpress blogs, news sites, anything she could get her hands on.

There were a few assholes who blatantly posted about the GIW and wished they were still around to take care of 'spook scum,' but those posts were dead-ends. And Dr. Lucas' online and public presence was impeccable. Of course.

So all in all, she hadn't really been able to find much of anything that could help the Fentons on Tuesday, and if there was one thing Sam could not stand, it was feeling useless.

She'd had to bite her tongue and practice immense patience that morning. When she wasn't anxious as hell, she'd spent her time looking forward to hearing what Danny and his family had found out over the weekend. Then, of course, he'd obviously gotten caught up in another attack. Considering the Feuders on Friday and the attack this morning, Sam doubted they'd have a single moment of privacy at lunch, so she fully intended on making good on the Fentons' open invitation to follow Danny home.

The Portal activation was tomorrow after all. They needed to know. They needed to prepare.

"So what exactly did you do?" Sam asked, prompting Tucker to continue.

Tucker made a face. "Well, you know that chatroom I stumbled upon last year?"

"What? The underground tech-nerd one?"

"Yeahhhh, that one."

Sam frowned at Tucker's edgy tone. "…why do I get the feeling it's more than a bunch of computer nerds coming together to talk about code and software?"

"Because it is," Tucker admitted. "I didn't realize this until later, but it, um, attracts a lot of different…talents. We think one of the guys is ex-CIA or FBI or something. Some of them test security for some big companies. Others are self-labeled hackers. Things like that."

"Okay," Sam said slowly.

He must have heard the skepticism in her voice. Or maybe the I-am-not-impressed-by-how-sketchy-this-sounds expression on her face was enough to clue him in. "It's not like they do terribly illegal things," Tucker rambled, laughing a little awkwardly, "but yeah, the stuff they do isn't exactly the most legal—it's a little morally gray, you know?—but a few of them have done a lot of cool stuff they're not allowed to talk about in detail, and from what they could tell us—"

"Tucker," Sam interrupted. "Please tell me you're not in trouble because of some random Internet strangers."

"No!" Tucker was quick to say. "No, no, no, it's nothing like that."

Sam huffed. "Then what the hell is going on?"

"This community…we exchange tips and information all the time. We hear things, and we share what we hear. We talk about our projects. We know certain people have certain skills—and interests, for that matter—and sometimes we'll ask each other for feedback. Opinions. I've helped a few of them out, but I've never really asked for anything in return, so I just…put some feelers out yesterday. To see if anyone knew anything about the Guys in White. Or to see if anyone knew what I could do to hunt down the things others don't want us knowing about them."

Sam grew very still, unsure if she was more horrified by how dangerous this sounded or if she was as eager as Tucker had been to take advantage of this opportunity.

"I'll bite," she said. "What did you find?"

Tucker spun his Surface toward Sam, displaying a few screenshots. "At least four of them flung themselves into the project. It turns out a lot of official documents were released to the public when the GIW was taken down, but a large chunk was withheld by the government. Because of it was too sensitive for public consumption. And-or a risk to Homeland Security. A few of the guys didn't like that too much. Others saw it as a challenge."

Tucker pointed out several of the lines from the chatroom. One read, "Fuck the GIW. What do you need?" Another said "asshole government thinks they can keep info from us? oh no sir" and yet another: "sounds like fun. :) standby."

The most frightening one, however, came from a gr4YD3m0n, who DM'd Tucker privately to say: "This is one big bad final boss. You sure you want to mess with the GIW?

When Tucker, under the username for-the-win, responded, "i think the fact you referred to them in the present tense is exactly why i need to mess with the GIW," gr4YD3m0n went offline, only to return a few hours later, say "Touché," and share several zipped files with the main chatroom.

For Phantom, gr4YD3m0n had typed after the last file was shared.

"For Phantom," Sam repeated.

"I think that guy's close to the Shift," Tucker said. "Or, at the very least, he's been involved with ghosts, or impacted by them somehow. Once he committed, it was like someone lit a fire under his ass."

"Seriously?" Sam asked, scanning the saved conversations with growing disbelief.

"Yeah," Tucker said. "It was insane. Those files from gr4YD3m0n were the key to Atlantis. We were able to decrypt everything."

"And what is 'everything,' exactly?" Sam asked.

"Everything, Sam," Tucker said, eyes haunted. "Notes, blueprints, audio journals, correspondence, memos, videos. You name it."

Chills ran up Sam's spine. "Shit," she breathed.

"They had a weird system," Tucker added. "Each…experiment was organized kinda like a medical chart. But they didn't automatically sort their entries chronologically or numerically, like normal people would. They sorted by importance."

Tucker swiped a few screens away and drew up a file titled AlphaPriority_Experiment00_20150321, and Sam almost forgot to breathe.

There was only one ghost the GIW would consider top priority. There was only ever one they cared to pin all of their anti-ghost propaganda on.

"No," Sam said. Suddenly hyperaware of where they were, she spun around, scanning the room as though several people might spontaneously materialize right in front of them. "It can't be safe to have this here," she said. "It can't be safe to be in possession of this at all, Tucker!"

"We're good," Tucker said. "Trust me. We only have to worry about someone walking in on us, and that's highly unlikely."

Sam hovered for a moment on the edge of uncertainty before settling back into her chair, staring at the offending file all the while. "You watched this?"

"I swear I didn't mean to," Tucker whispered. "But it was the first video file on the list, and I just…Once it started, I couldn't stop."

"We shouldn't watch this," Sam said, after a moment of silence.

Danny wouldn't want us watching this.

Tucker didn't say anything. He put his hands under the table and stared blankly at the screen.

I was just flying, Danny had said, his voice echoing, empty and cold, in her memory. It doesn't matter, he'd said. Nothing happened.

…She had to know. She had to know what he'd gone through. She needed to understand.

She reached over Tucker and clicked play.

And immediately regretted it.

The screen was split in three, with two cameras positioned from above, both angling from a different direction and toward the center of the room, and a third camera positioned at what must have been a foot or so off ground level. Sam had approximately two seconds to take in the faintly glowing walls from three different angles before the picture from the ground-level camera overtook the whole screen. There was a stomach-churning spiral and blur of color and light. The blurs solidified with a fierce jerk, and Sam nearly choked on her gasp.

Phantom was a mess. There was something wrong with him, and the cameras delighted in focusing on him from three different angles again. His aura was wonky, fluctuating in a distressingly irregular pattern, and his white hair was wet and matted with filth, falling thickly into his eyes. His face, too, was stained and streaked with grime. He teetered off balance, his equilibrium off, and just as he staggered into the corner of the cell, hitting and practically hanging on to one of the walls for dear life, he toppled over and retched glowing chunks into the corner.

Sam flinched and felt her gut contract, a wave of disgust, horror, and pity overwhelming her, and from one of the cameras, she could see a nondescript box—small enough to nestle in the palms of her hands—sitting in the corner, facing the very same direction Phantom had been released.

He'd thrown up, she realized, nose wrinkling as she gave him another once over. Whatever it was they trapped him in…it made him sick. All over.

Tucker's face was turned away, and Sam grimaced again as Phantom threw up again. He wiped a trembling hand across his mouth and struggled to spit the taste out of his mouth.

"Fascinating," came a disembodied voice. "I wonder…"

Phantom jerked into a battle stance, entire body trembling as he tried to maintain himself upright. His eyes darted around the room, and he slowly backed himself up so that there was a wall at his back and he could have a full view of the whole cell. His sharp gaze finally settled on one of the cameras in the upper corner of his cell, and a shadow crossed his face. He raised an arm, only to draw back and cradle it to his chest with a pained hiss.

"Ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you!" the man trilled. "Any attempt to use your powers will result in a bit of an unpleasant shock."

Phantom's eyes began to dance around the cell again, and Sam watched with horror as a small section of the wall opened, a weird robotic arm reaching through and beelining for the mess Phantom had made in the corner. Phantom, for his part, froze, his entire body tense and ready for fight or flight, as the arm collected a sample and retracted.

If this had been any other situation, Sam would probably have laughed at the way Phantom's expression crossed from extreme wariness into disbelief, his lip beginning to curl in utter disgust. He looked like her mother did every time she saw a dog take a shit on their yard. "What the hell?" he mouthed. What ended up coming out, after a moment of floundering, was: "Where am I? What do you want from me?"

"Come now, Phantom," the man said, an obvious grin in his voice. "You are different than the others. You are smart, resourceful. You know better than to waste time asking dumb questions. You already have some idea of where you are. And you know exactly what I want."

If possible, Phantom paled even further beneath his veneer of bravado, but the look on his face was terrifying. His lips pulled back into a fierce snarl, showcasing every last tooth, and he stood his ground despite how sick he still looked, his aura brightening as the cell around him darkened.

But that's not what Sam zeroed in on. Sam saw how he tried to hide his hands, how his fingers shook uncontrollably. She saw how he was visibly working to keep his breathing steady.

He was scared. To the core.

"Oh, dear. That's not a very nice face. We're not off to a very good start, are we?"

That, it turned out, lit a fire within Phantom. His trembling eased, and he growled, lifting his hands again, obviously to form an ectoblast. His face was screwed against the pain, and he only managed a golf-ball-sized globe of ectoenergy before he couldn't take it anymore, the energy whiplashing back into him. He shook out one hand and rubbed the back of the other across his face. Sam caught a glimpse of the ectoplasm he'd wiped from his nose staining the white fabric of his glove before he swung it out of sight.

"Tsk, tsk. I did warn you," the man chided gleefully. "I've set the voltage to increase every time you make an attempt, just as a precaution. I'm sure you understand."

"Who are you?" Phantom demanded.

"You may call me Operative L. Or Operative, if that's what you prefer. Maybe, once we get a little more acquainted, I'll allow you to call me L."

"Gee, what an honor," Phantom said, sarcasm lacing his tone. He was starting to look better, color-wise, and he was a little steadier on his feet. Sam noticed how his gaze continued to scan the room. There was a plan forming. Probably a desperate and ill-advised one, judging by the grim determination slowly overcoming the fear in his eyes, but a plan nevertheless.

"And as much as I appreciate this foreplay," Phantom drawled. "I didn't ask for your name."

"Look at his hands," Tucker suddenly whispered, and Sam redirected her attention, watching as the fingers behind Phantom's back traced along the wall, which…wasn't a real wall, Sam realized. She'd thought it had been solid, but she could see that whatever it was made of looked almost alive. It rose and fell to Phantom's touch, drawn to him like the filaments of a plasma globe.

"What is that? What is he doing?" Sam asked rhetorically.

Tucker wasn't able to respond. L's moment of silence was over, and he responded to Phantom's question with, "I am the one who captured you."

"You are one of the engineers," Phantom said. "You made that…thing."

"Most astute!" Operative L sounded delighted, and Sam found herself looking at Tucker, who merely shook his head in response to her silent is this guy for real? "The Vortex V2.0 was invented with you specifically in mind, considering our more traditional traps have failed to contain you."

"Vortex," Phantom repeated, wincing. "Cute."

The man laughed, and Sam nearly slammed Tucker's Surface down, the sound setting her teeth on edge in a way that even squeaking balloons and scratched chalkboards could not. "I had heard you were a trip, Phantom, but I didn't quite expect this! It will be most interesting to see what Operative V thinks of you!"

Phantom stiffened. "Operative V?"

"Our resident ghost psychologist," L said cheerily. "We have quite the team of Operatives eagerly awaiting a chance to have a go with you. To learn exactly what makes you…tick." L's tone lost its zany lilt as he trailed off, a daydream-like quality taking its place. "Because youuuu. You, you, you. You are the key. To everything. We are going to have a lot of fun here."

"Yeah," Phantom said slowly, and he drew himself up, eyes blazing with determination. "I don't think so."

"Oh, you're adorable. I love that you think you have a choice, Phantom."

Phantom's smirk wasn't anything like Sam had ever seen before. It was bitter, all vitriol and poison. "And I love that you think you're smart enough to keep me here."

L laughed again, and this time, it sounded even more sinister. "It always fascinated me, how ghosts could have an infrastructure in the Ghost Zone. Libraries, castles, jails…homes. Ghosts are able to phase through buildings in the Real World and yet...your kind are forced into corporeality when in your own world? It was a wonderful riddle to solve."

Sam hadn't known that little tidbit about the Zone, and if she had been anyone else, she would have thought Phantom was screwed. Totally, totally screwed. But Sam knew Danny well enough now to know when he was hiding a smile, and she leaned forward, to the very edge of her seat.

"The cell you are in," L continued, "is composed of a material of my own making, a direct cousin of the compound I extracted and isolated from the walls of several buildings in the Ghost Zone." The arrogance in L's voice was sickening, and she cursed his name under her breath. "You're slippery, Phantom, but you will not be able to escape. Not this time."

Phantom, who had been facing the speaker from which L's voice was projecting, turned deliberately to look right into one of the corner cameras. "Watch me."

It happened so fast, Sam could hardly follow what happened. Phantom screamed, eyes and fists glowing a brilliant blue as he managed to push through the pain and conjure just enough energy to form a single, powerful blast of ice. Frost glazed over the lenses of the upper cameras, leaving the screens viewing nothing but an opaque white shield. L started shouting, his tenor rising into a near soprano as he screeched for backup. Alarms were shrieking, and monotonous voices rang through intercoms, announcing a breakout.

Danny's scream was most prevalent of all, and it took on the eerie tone and crushing force of the most powerful attack in his arsenal: his Ghostly Wail. Through the shaking camera attached to L's Vortex V2.0—the only one that survived Danny's ice attack—Sam saw the tell-tale flash of Danny's transformation and then…

"Sam? Tucker? What are you two doing out of—?"

Oh, shit.

Sam jumped out of her seat, the office chair zipping away from her and crashing into the row behind them, and she spun to find Jazz Fenton entering the computer lab. Tucker fumbled to flip the screen of his Surface down, but it was too late.

Whether she'd seen it or heard it—it didn't matter. What mattered was that Danny's sister recognized it before Tucker could hide it, and any curiosity, any concern about why she and Tucker were playing hooky…that was replaced by an expression so glacial, so fierce, Sam felt her heart plummet.

"What," Jazz asked, her tone sharp and biting, "is going on here?"

Chapter Text

"I…just—" Phantom huffed, losing his patience and hovering as close as he dared. "Would you stay still? Or look at me, maybe? Just a little bit?"

The spirit screeched at him—which, okay, wasn't unexpected, considering he was getting quite close to her chosen Haunt, but still—and darted skittishly away, well within range of where she was tethered but nowhere close enough for him to make any progress with her.

Phantom watched her warily as she began to pace before her Haunt, nearly on her hands and feet, hair defying gravity and swirling erratically around her as she hunched over herself, crawling and muttering in an eerie language only he could recognize.

He sighed. At least she wasn't spitting and shrieking with hurt and rage anymore. Or going after him with her inhumanly long nails. Progress.

Judging by her behavior, she was a new spirit who didn't know who she was, where she was, or what she was, and her confusion fed into her anxiety, which, in turn, poured into the frigid aura surrounding her. With every pass, the gray-faced elderly man she was Haunting pressed back even harder against his family-owned storefront, his body shaking like a leaf in a tornado.

(Said gentleman was a trooper for sticking this out as long as he had, but Phantom could tell he wasn't going to be able to stay still for much longer, no matter how forcefully the Danny Phantom insisted he stay put; don't move. Phantom could see it in his eyes: he was either going to run for it, which would distress the spirit again, or he was going to pass out and possibly crack his head open right here on the sidewalk, which would distress the spirit again. There was no in between.)

Long story short, Phantom needed to get a move on. Better yet, this spirit needed to move on, but to do that, he needed to calm her down, get her to remember herself enough to say what she needed to to the man she decided to Haunt. Or at the very least, get her to tell him to tell her Haunt exactly what she needed to say, so that she could rest in peace.

"Hey," Phantom said, and he lowered his tone, as well as his hands. When he knew he caught her attention, he made a point of planting his feet and crouching low.

In Ghost, willingly removing yourself from the sky and getting low to the ground was the human equivalent of dropping a weapon and showing your hands—it was a surrender, a gesture of good faith and vulnerability. He was putting himself in her hands, allowing her to dictate what would happen next.

She might have been a new spirit, still half-wild, but she could read his nonthreatening body language just as well as Skulker or Clockwork or any of the other ghosts could. She paused, looking at him through her wild mane of hair, and cocked her head at him.

From his peripheral vision, he saw Jazz running crowd control. The moment he had Sensed the spirit and launched himself from his sister's car, he'd yelled at her to stay back, at least until he could calm the spirit down. True to form, she'd ignored him and gone straight to work.

And thank God for that. He would not have gotten this far if everyone had kept crowding.

From an outside perspective, it probably looked like the old man was having a stroke or heart attack. The spirit would have made everyone in the area feel a hell of a lot worse if other civilians had come to his aid, and there's no telling what she would have done if they took him away from her. They couldn't see her, and because she couldn't communicate with them, they wouldn't know any better. Hell, Phantom doubted they fully understood what was going on even with him and Jazz there. Passersby who hadn't been here the whole time probably thought he looked half-insane, coaxing and murmuring at thin air while a very obviously terrified man was about half a second away from fainting on the spot.

He ignored the sounds of the people behind him gasping and whispering. He took a tentative step forward, only to step back when a bloodcurdling hiss rose from her throat. Moving back, he watched and waited until she settled, eyeing him like a hunting dog would a treed raccoon.

"It is alright," Phantom murmured, in highly accented Ghost. He winced. For all that he could understand the language, speaking it did not come very naturally to him. Ghost Writer had had to coach him for hours, over multiple sessions spanning multiple months, to learn how to say a few key phrases and simple sentences. Not that it did much good. He was still laughed at in the Zone for his odd speech, and because not everything translated well from English to Ghost, speaking in Ghost only set him more apart from the others. He didn't do it often. "I am not here... to steal your Haunt. There is... no." Phantom grimaced. "I... have Mine."

"Then leave," the ghost snarled, her words half-garbled. Phantom tried not to smile, to get too excited. The fact he could actually understand her meant he was on the right track. "Unwelcome. Leave."

"No," Phantom said sternly. "I am to…" Shit, there really was no word for 'help' in Ghost. Floundering a little, he settled with, "I am to benefit you."

There was another shrill shriek of disapproval, but she did not move from her spot. She did not attack. He stood his ground, crouching even lower, bowing his head.

After a few moments of silence, she began to rock and croon to herself, and Phantom, without raising his eyes, took it as an opportunity to inch closer. She didn't notice.

"I am to benefit you," Phantom repeated.

"Unwelcome," the spirit said, shuffling back. The man pressed against the wall groaned and shuddered at her proximity, his breath ghosting in front of him.

Sucks, Phantom thought. "I am to benefit your Haunt," he said aloud.

"I Protect MY Haunt! Me! Not you! ME!" Her form flickered as she screamed, aura brightening in her sudden rage. There were several alarmed reactions from the crowd, and Phantom felt another small surge of satisfaction. Some of the crowd must be able to sense her, at least partially, and that was significant. "LEAVE!"

He pretended to be cowed by her declaration. Better to let her feel in control. "See him," he challenged. "See your Haunt and tell me again you Protect him."

"No," she hissed, shaking her head. "Me. Not you. ME."

"See him!" Phantom insisted. "Tell me! Show me! And I leave!"

The bribe worked like a charm. She snarled at him and whirled around, and for the first time since Danny had shown up, she actually looked at the man behind her, the one she was tethered to, the one who she had Unfinished Business with, and stopped cold.

Hook, line, and sinker. The sharp edge of the spirit's projected anxiety filtered away, a natural breeze blowing through and taking all palpable terror with it.

The old man was gaping, tears of fear and grief running down his face, and as the spirit took him in, Phantom grinned, straightening from his crouch.

It wasn't always easy to watch this part—to bear witness to such naked emotion—but nevertheless, this was always the best part of his job.

He could tell the spirit remembered. She knew the old deli man. She'd loved him, spent her life with him, cooked with him and walked alongside him. Her monstrous appearance began to melt away into something more human, something more solid. Teeth retracted, hair fell to her shoulders, her eyes softening and glow dying as she took him in, her memories returning to her in spurts. "Gab…riel," she whispered hoarsely in English.

Phantom couldn't tell if the old man could really see her. He must have caught enough of a glimpse, or perhaps he could just tell. Sometimes, those more attuned to the supernatural could sense them, even if the spirit Haunting them was never strong enough to show themselves. Obviously, this spirit was one of those whose memories were just powerful enough for her to reach him, in whatever way that was.

The old man looked a bit dazed, as though he had just woken up from a deep sleep, the nightmare he'd been living in a hazy memory. His tears had ebbed, something like wonder replacing the visceral fear he'd felt. "Lena?" he asked, hardly daring to believe it.

The spirit reached forward, toward Gabriel, only to be met by the invisible Veil that separated her from him. She frowned, fingers hesitating, and once she realized she could not touch him, realization crashed, and sorrow painted lines across her face. "Oh," she whispered and drew back. A grim sort of smile played at the corners of her mouth.

Phantom had seen this play out time and time again, and he waited. As expected, she turned to him with pleading, yearning eyes, an unasked question lingering there.

Phantom came forward immediately. "What would you like to tell him?" he asked quietly.

Gabriel gawked, gaze bouncing from Phantom to the general direction of Lena's ghost, and he began to cry in earnest again, her name a prayer falling from his lips.

The spirit made a displeased sound deep in her throat and leaned to whisper in Phantom's ear. When she said her piece, Phantom straightened and addressed the old man.

"Your wife is here now," he said kindly. "But not for long. She wants to tell you something. So she can move on."

"Yes," the man croaked. "Yes, yes, of course."

"'Stop blaming yourself, głupku (1). It was time,'" Phantom repeated carefully, word for word. For the next part, Lena coached him gently, and he followed along, as smoothly as he could. "'Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father's house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going' (2)."

"John 14," Gabriel whispered, crossing himself and interlacing his fingers. He murmured something in Polish that made Lena smile, her eyes tender. She reached for Gabriel again, and though the Veil would not let her truly touch him, her fingers traced the shape of his face.

Lena's ghost was beginning to fade now, her aura dimming by the second. "One more thing, dear," she said to Phantom. Her voice floated on the wind.

Phantom nodded and dutifully said to Gabriel, "There is one more thing."

"Yes," the old man whispered. "Anything."

"Tag," Phantom repeated. "You're it."

It wasn't the weirdest thing Phantom had had to pass on to a loved one, but it definitely ranked in his top ten. He delivered it with a grin, as though he were privy to the inside joke, and Gabriel blinked and barked a disbelieving laugh, unraveling his fingers to wipe at his puffy eyes. "Aye-aye, kochanie (3)."

Lena released a single, peaceful sigh, and just like that…

"She's moved on, sir," Phantom said, turning from the spot where she vanished. "She's gone."

Gabriel exhaled shakily, nodding a few times to himself as he pulled himself together. Phantom gave him the time to say goodbye, averting his eyes to give him some privacy with his thoughts.

With a bit of a sniffle, Gabriel finally peeled himself away from the brick wall at his back and surprised Phantom by reaching out to grasp his hands.

"Thank you, son," he said sincerely. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me," Phantom said. "I'm glad I was able to help."

The old man squeezed his hands, oblivious to the chill. "Are you a believer, Phantom?"

Phantom hesitated and then slowly shook his head. His response didn't dissuade Gabriel, who smiled and said, "No matter, lad. I'm a simple man. I believe in love, I believe in family, and I believe in Jesus Christ. I understand these things. What happened today? I don't understand. I doubt I'll ever understand."

"You don't have to," Phantom said simply, because he'd had quite a few conversations with people, religious or otherwise, who tormented themselves by trying to fit their experiences with ghosts into their world view, and he always felt bad for those people. The departed stayed behind for a reason, and it pained him when their messages were heard but not received. It bothered him that some people couldn't let it go and accept the gifts, the warnings, or advice they'd been given.

"I do know a blessing when I see one," Gabriel said, as though reading Danny's mind. His expression became wry. "My Lena always was a bit of a rebel. Of course she'd fight her call to Heaven, just to tell me…" The old man trailed off and released Phantom's hands, a small, nostalgic smile gracing his face. "Whether you believe it or not, you are doing God's work, lad."

Phantom didn't know how to respond to that, so he stammered something that might have been a 'thank you' or 'no problem.' It gave the old man a chuckle, either way, and he said, "Now shoo. Danny Phantom has better things to do than keep company with an old man. Today's a school day, isn't it? And my deli won't run itself with you loitering all day."

"Oh!" Phantom exclaimed, flushing. "Right. Crap. Jazz!"

Jazz turned from the police officer she was talking to and gave him a once-over. Seeing he was ready to go, she whipped back around to shake the woman's hand and rapidly finish up whatever she needed to say. The policewoman took Jazz's place, directing people away from the scene.

Phantom's feet lifted from the ground. "Have a good day, sir!" he said, almost on reflex.

"Bless you, Phantom," the man responded with a brief wave.

Quite a crowd had formed near the deli, and it released a rumbling roar of appreciation when they saw him in the air. Phantom was still flushing when he and Jazz met halfway. "Thanks, Jazz," he said.

"You'd think I'd be used to you flinging yourself from moving cars by now, but it scares the shit out of me every time," Jazz responded. Her gaze slid back to Gabriel, who seemed to notice his on-lookers for the first time and harrumphed in mild embarrassment as he bustled back into his deli.

"Sorry," Phantom said, and he slid an arm around her waist. They took off, and Phantom quickly turned them invisible, ignoring the swell of noise below them.

"It's fine," Jazz said. Once they gained enough height, she pointed silently toward where she'd left her car. "You did good today, Danny."

"Yeah," Danny said, chest swelling with pride. "Couldn't have done it without you. Keeping everyone away? It makes a huge difference, you know."

Jazz smiled, pleased. She managed to get her hand around to ruffle his hair. "Anytime, baby bro."

Danny jolted away, viciously punishing Jazz by allowing them to plummet in a bit of a free fall as he descended to the car. Jazz swallowed a yelp, and when he leveled out to phase them through the roof of the car, she punched him in the shoulder for the stunt.

"Sucks there were so many people," Danny said, rubbing his shoulder as Jazz fished her keys from her bag. "Stuff like this shouldn't be so public."

"Can't control them all," Jazz said logically. "You couldn't help that this spirit decided to manifest in the middle of downtown Amity."

Jazz put her keys in the ignition as Danny transformed, and she winced in sympathy when she saw the developing bruises on his face. "Ouch," she said. "I didn't know she got a hit in."

Danny waved a hand. "My fault. I rushed things. I'm just happy she didn't get me with her claws." Catching sight of the time, he sighed, "Dammit." The warning bell was due to ring in about four minutes, and they were still a solid fifteen minutes away from school. "There goes our good track record. I'd really hoped..."

"Well, it wasn't going to be this peaceful for forever," Jazz said sagely, pulling out from her (very) illegal parking spot and angling back onto the road. "Tomorrow…will change things."

"Yeah," Dany murmured. "One more day of normalcy would have been nice, though."

"You consider this normal?" Jazz asked, jerking a thumb behind her. Danny turned around to see a few vans, decorated with local news station logos, tailing them.

Danny rolled his eyes and settled back into his seat. "Touché."

Jazz continued to survey him from her peripherals, lips pursed. "…It's not going to be like last time, Danny," she added quietly.

"...I know." It could be so much worse, though. Danny fiddled anxiously at his sweatshirt sleeve, and then the Ecto-Supracelet, turning it 'round and 'round his wrist.

Jazz noticed. Of course she did. "I know you're worried about Operative L and the Guys in White," she said, doing that annoying thing she did when it felt as though she could read his mind. "But—"

"I know, I know," he said, slouching in his chair. They'd gone over it multiple times after he'd returned from his impromptu sleepover at Tucker's. And it was repeated every time any one of his family members noticed him starting to get even remotely "on edge." "We can't even be sure anything is going to happen," he repeated.

If there was one thing they'd decided yesterday, after speculating and theorizing and planning on and off throughout the day, it was that. It wasn't sufficient for Danny, not in the least, but with the information they had, that was all they could say with any certainty. Since they had decided to go forward with the Portal activation and keep Vlad's information on the down-low, there was only so much they could do, and there was only so much they could control.

They had reviewed the profiles of all the security guys and press members that were going to be there, but in retrospect, their investigation was redundant: a lot of them had already been vetted by city hall and came with the mayor's Seal of Approval. As far as the Fentons could see, they were clean. As were the paranormal scientists coming in from all over the world. His parents had had to interview some of them rather extensively to narrow down the invite list and weed out the crazies. That only left a few other people mandated by the government (of both the national and local variety), as well as several allowed in by personal invite (i.e. the Foleys and the Mansons) and a few others who were somehow on the list because of their well-respected positions in the community.

That last category included Amity's beloved chief of police, some guy named Larry from the Home Owner's Association, and last but not least: superintendent Dr. Robert Lucas.

To Danny's surprise, Vlad had nothing to say about Dr. Lucas. He couldn't find sufficient dirt on the man. In fact, Vlad hadn't been aware of his existence at all, which meant that whenever Plasmius had been doing his sleuthing and eavesdropping, he'd never actually seen the superintendent and Kyle Lucas together. Not once.

Vlad had been pretty damn confident about that. He'd also been pretty confident that everyone on invite list had not been involved in the meetings he'd dropped in on, but that didn't mean there weren't other meetings, with other people, who may or may not have already been even more deeply entrenched in this emerging Guys in White group than the ones Vlad had seen.

So all things considered, Dr. Lucas wasn't excluded from Danny's Top Priority list—not by a long shot—but it did cast some doubt on his involvement, which was another can of worms entirely.

(Because if Dr. Lucas wasn't the metaphorical "mole," then who was?)

Danny could bat at it all he wanted, but the issue was like a tetherball: it would keep swinging back around with more and more velocity with every punch he shot at it.

He just…didn't want anything to go wrong. Hadn't enough gone wrong already?

"I hope nothing happens. I've gotten used to this," Danny admitted, and it was the first time he'd been able to say it aloud. He hadn't wanted to mention it before, mostly because he hadn't wanted to bring his parents down. The Portal was important—to all of them—and it was a modern marvel his parents deserved every bit of praise and recognition for. It wasn't that he didn't want the Portal to come back online (because he did: it would stabilize the Zone and make things easier on his entire family). It was just that he wasn't necessarily ready for it.

And all that it would bring.

"You don't want things to change," Jazz finished for him. "Again."

Danny stopped playing with the frayed edge of his jacket sleeve. He couldn't remember when he ruined it, but the sleeve was clearly the victim of one of his ectoblasts. "Is that selfish of me?"

Jazz risked taking her eyes off the road for a single moment to look him right in the eye, her brow furrowed in concern. "No. Never, Danny. It's natural. Perfectly natural. I like where we are right now, too. Things have been…they've been good. It hasn't been easy, but it's a far cry from where we used to be. It's been what it should have been, from the very beginning, hasn't it?"

"Yeah." Danny leaned his head back and closed his eyes, relieved to hear that he wasn't alone, that Jazz, too, wished they could hold on to this—whatever this was—for a little while longer. "Remove the paparazzi from the equation and give me a secret identity again, and it would have been the best."

"That part hasn't been all bad, though," Jazz said. "People actually listen to you. Respect you. They didn't always."

"They didn't respect or listen to any of us before," Danny corrected. The outcome of today's "attack" would have been very different, had it taken place a year or so ago. "I guess you're right."

"Good times," Jazz said drily.

"But we had our privacy," Danny mused, eyes on the rearview mirror. The van was still tailing them, and its persistence compounded the dread hanging out in his gut. Today really was going to be hell. "And it was exciting, wasn't it? When we weren't about to die?"

Jazz snorted. "Wow. Way to keep endearing me to the good ol' days, Danny. I really appreciate it." Danny opened his mouth, to explain what he meant, maybe even admit why he was thinking about it at all, but Jazz interrupted him. "It was exciting, some days," she admitted. "But the other days? All I remember is stress. I remember being alone. And afraid."

Danny absorbed that for a moment and dared to ask, "And you're not afraid now? Of what might happen?"

"Not as much as I was before," Jazz said. "Nowhere near as much. We're not alone anymore. We have allies now. We have Mom and Dad. Friends."

Danny caught the suggestion in her tone—the smile in her voice—and he tried to ignore it, his face feeling markedly hot. "Sure, Jazz."

Jazz clucked her tongue and said, "Listen, Danny. I'm proud of you." At Danny's raised eyebrow, she explained, "Sam and Tucker."

"What about them?"

"You trust them," she said, as though that explained everything. "I know how hard that was for you, to let them in."

"…they made it easy," Danny mused aloud, his face now tomato red.

Jazz beamed, and before she could make a Big Deal out of it, he scoffed and said, "C'mon, Jazz, I wasn't that hopeless, was I?"

"Yes," Jazz said, with utter conviction. "You were. I don't think you actually realize."

Danny didn't believe that. Jazz liked to embellish things sometimes, and he'd always been her favorite case study: even when he was little, she'd been way too involved and interested in his social life and its development. Besides, she was giving him more credit than he deserved. "I still haven't told them everything," he admitted.

"You don't have to tell them everything. And they don't need to know everything. You're allowed your secrets, and you're allowed to make more, too, with them. What matters now is that you guys eat lunch together. That you've had them over and that you let them train with you and that you got invited over to Tucker's house and passed out while playing video games with him. Hell, you guys started a group chat. That's been the best part of all this, you know. For awhile, I thought you'd forgotten what it was like to—"

"What? Be human?" Danny interrupted.

Jazz gave him a stern look, looking both deeply offended and somehow admonishing at the same time. "To be Danny," Jazz finished. "I was worried you were so caught up in Phantom you were missing out on being you."

"Last time I checked," Danny joked, pretending to be obtuse for the sake of avoiding her point entirely, "I've always been me. Except that one time. With Sydney Poindexter. And the other time, with—"

"Don't be an ass," Jazz said. "You know what I mean. We can tell how much happier you are here. We've missed seeing that. We've missed you."

Danny didn't deign to respond to that because, yeah, his sister and his parents had obviously been talking about him behind his back, which should irritate him but, really, only mortified him further. It didn't matter that she was right—that if Clockwork offered to change things, so that the Shift never happened, that Pariah Dark had never risen and that no one had had to get hurt, he'd say, without hesitation, Go back? Change it? Fuck no.

It's just this was the Big Deal he'd been wanting to avoid. Because after the weekend, he'd realized something: Sam and Tucker's friendship didn't just make his life better; it had diverted him from the lonely path he'd been on and led him somewhere he never imagined he could be.

It was humbling, when he took a moment to step back and see just how much his two friends had changed him. And for the better. He owed them more than they knew. He owed them more than they could ever know.

Literally. He'd never tell them, not in as many words as he and Jazz were using now. It was far more than a little embarrassing, especially considering he wasn't immune to his obsession for protecting His Own. He realized the paranormalists and ghosts already knew about his general obsession—it wasn't that hard to guess—but that didn't mean he wanted anyone feeling uncomfortable with the knowledge that they, specifically, were feeding into it. He'd rather avoid that conversation entirely.

"Mom and Dad are happier. I'm happier," Jazz continued. "I guess the point I'm trying to make is that no matter what happens tomorrow, we're not letting any of this go without a fight. And I doubt Sam and Tucker will let it go either."

Danny leaned his elbow up on the edge of the window and stared out. They were nearly in the school lot. "Perhaps," he said, and because he was a glutton for punishment—or perhaps just greedy to have his fears debunked—he found himself saying, "I still catch myself waiting for them to get so freaked out they decide I'm not worth it."

"Daniel!" Jazz scolded.

"I'm not saying I think that all the time!" Danny defended. "…Anymore. It's just…everyone has a breaking point, don't they?"

"Not when they're starting to love you as much as we do," Jazz said. "Like I said, we're not about to let the Guys in White or any ghosts take any of this away from us. Not again."

Danny knew Jazz couldn't make promises like that. They'd seen too much shit for that, but even so, for the first time since Saturday, he felt, not relaxed, exactly, but not as stressed as he had been before. He'd have to cling to that feeling, keep it close, if he wanted to make it through the next twenty-four hours without giving himself a hemorrhage.

"And Danny?" Jazz added. "We're not about to let them get you again either."

And just like that, Jazz had crossed a line. His improved mood faltered, and he set his jaw. "They don't have the balls to try it again," he said in complete monotone. "You don't have to worry about me. The Portal is the main concern."

Jazz looked mildly hurt, and she opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it, swinging into her parking spot without a single word. Danny took the chance to see if the vans had followed them in. They hadn't. Thank God for that. "We're not too late," he said, changing the subject none-too-subtly.

"Late enough," Jazz sighed, turning the ignition off. "Let's go."

Once Jazz and Danny collected their things from the backseat, they beelined for the front office, where the receptionist, Ms. Harold, was already expecting them. Her sunny smile dropped as she noticed Danny's face, and she stood from the desk.

"Oh, hon," she said. "Do you need to see the nurse? I'm sure some ice might—"

"I'm fine," Danny interrupted. There really was no need, especially considering the bruises would be gone by the end of the day. "Don't worry about it."

The older woman hesitated for a moment, eyes narrowing as she assessed him closely. "If you're sure, Mr. Fenton," she said slowly.

"I am. Thank you, though."

Ms. Harold still looked uncertain, but she eventually nodded. "I have passes for the two of you," she said, sitting and sliding them across the top of the counter. "Your parents called ahead."

"Oh," Danny said, and it was a little weird. For one, he sure as hell hadn't told his parents they were going to be late, and Jazz probably hadn't either, seeing as they weren't in the habit of doing that yet. The news must have already started circulating, which meant he probably had quite a few texts and calls to return. For another, he'd known the school was going to work with them when the ghosts started coming around more regularly, but this was the first time he'd actually seen those promises made into reality.

So, yeah, weird.

"Thank you," he said, picking up both passes and handing one to Jazz.

"Not a problem, sweetie. Thank you both for what you did last Friday. Now, go on. Have a good day!"

Jazz put a hand on Danny's shoulder and led him out of the front office. "You good, Danny?" she asked in the hallway.

He was still staring at his pass. "Yeah, I think so. I'll see you later, Jazz."

She smiled at him and turned to go, but Danny caught her shoulder before she could and added, "Thanks again. For everything."

Her smile broadened, and she offered her fist. He bumped it. "Anytime, loser."

They turned in opposite directions, and Danny dug his phone out of his pocket to tab through his messages as he walked. He responded to his parents first, ensuring they knew both he and Jazz made it safely to school, before skimming through Sam and Tuck's. To their credit, they both sounded more curious than worried, which was nice, in a way. He responded to them in their group chat and stowed his phone away just in time to find himself face-to-face with his Chemistry room's closed door.

Ah, hell, he had to have a seat all the way on the other side of the room, didn't he?

Despite himself, his heart started to race, his palms beginning to sweat. He coached himself to relax because there was nothing to be anxious about. He'd just stood his ground against a very confused and potentially dangerous spirit. He'd gone face-to-face with some of the nastiest, most powerful ghosts out there and befriended about half of them in the process. He'd beaten Pariah Dark. He could handle the gazes of about twenty-five students. He'd done that before too. Plenty of times.

(Enough times that no one bothered to look up at him when he came in late anymore. Ah, to have that anonymity again).

"Alright, you know what?" Danny murmured. "Whatever."

Bracing himself, he pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside. Mrs. Rickter, who proclaimed on multiple occasions she had the attention span of a squirrel at the best of times, halted mid-sentence and turned to face him. Eyes burned into him, and Danny closed the door behind him, feeling heat rise to his face. There was dead silence for a moment before his chemistry teacher blinked and said, "Well, hello there."

His teacher's greeting broke the spell over the class, most of whom began whispering. A few others, including Mikey, stood from their chairs and called out things like, "Hey, Danny! You're alright!", "We didn't know if you'd make it today!", and "Yikes, dude. You okay?" The boisterousness of the few encouraged the multitude to join in, and Danny, uncertain what to do with himself, flushed even further and exchanged a look with Mrs. Rickter, who keyed into his wide-eyed discomfort almost immediately.

She put her fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly. The entire class settled, and Mrs. Rickter clapped her hands. "Alright, chickadees. I know we're all very grateful that Danny's here and doing okay after what happened on Friday, but this chemistry isn't going to learn itself, unfortunately. Danny," she added, "could you possibly remind the class what Avogadro's number is?"

He was still standing up front, holding his pass uselessly. "Um. 6.022 x 10^23?" he said.

"Units?"

"…Inverse moles?"

"That's right!" She plucked the pass from his hand and set it on her desk. "So, to reiterate for those of you who weren't paying attention the first time: that's definitely going to be on the test. And as a general reminder, please do not neglect units. Ever. You will lose points and drive yourself insane, so it's better to just get in the habit of putting units on everything. Now, we barely talked about the importance of Avogadro's number on Friday, so today we'll review and then start looking at the practical uses of—"

With everyone's attention back on Mrs. Rickter, Danny slipped hurriedly to his seat, swinging his bag around and pulling out his notebook as he went. As he sat, Mikey gave him a bright smile and passed him the blank worksheet he'd saved for him.

Danny slid it his way and saw scribbled across the top, Glad you're okay, bro.

Danny looked up and smiled back.

~…~

Jazz Fenton was a force to be reckoned with.

Sam and Tucker could do nothing but back away from the storm cloud she carried with her as she marched across the lab and lifted Tucker's Surface, eyes scanning the incriminating evidence on-screen.

It wasn't often that Sam found herself dreading the consequences of her actions. She was the type of person who, when faced with a decision, carefully weighed every possible outcome before she went through with any decision she made, prepared to accept whatever fell on her plate. Hell, she pulled out her moral compass and consequence balance when she packed her goddamn lunch every morning. Because of her thorough review of the what-ifs and what-could-happens, she owned her mistakes. She knew she earned those, and she would learn from each and every one of them. She could accept punishment, rejection, and ridicule because she had already foreseen it, in at least some capacity, and all of those possible negative outcomes were hers to overcome. No one else's.

When Jazz turned to stare them down, it was clear to Sam this was one decision she went into effectively blind, and she regretted it with every fiber of her being because if she had gotten Jazz—optimistic, perpetually sunny Jazz Fenton—to react like this, she had definitely fucked up. Big time.

It's strange, how the sweetest people could also be the scariest Sam had ever met. Jazz's gaze bounced back and forth between them, expression stone cold and eyes spitting fire. She wanted an answer to her question and damn if she wouldn't wait them out just to get it.

Seeing no reaction or any sort of willingness on Sam or Tucker's part to speak, she averted her attention back to the Surface and began skimming through the files Tucker and his not-criminal-but-totally-criminal online friends had managed to get their diabolical hands on.

And Sam watched as, with every file she scanned through, Jazz's anger melted into something like incredulity, her eyes widening.

"Where did you get this?" Jazz asked in a whisper.

After a second's hesitation, Tucker opened his mouth but was cut off by Jazz, who whipped back to them and snapped, "You know what? I don't think I want to know."

Tucker deflated, and Jazz continued, "What I do want to know is why. Why you willingly watched…"

"We didn't mean to," Tucker rambled. Sam winced because that was at least partially a lie on her part. She'd known Danny would hate them watching this, but she did it anyway. "I just clicked on it, and I didn't...I mean, it was like…looking at roadkill on the side of the road," Tucker continued. "Or like watching a train wreck. It just—"

Jazz barked a laugh, but there was no light or humor to it. She looked about ready to slap him. "Roadkill? Did you just…?" She struggled to find words for a moment before exploding. "This is my brother. Your friend. An actual human being who got belittled and abused and hurt by these assholes; who actually committed himself to self-injury in a crazy attempt to escape from these monsters because the alternative would have been so much worse, because these dickheads would have taken everything away from him because they think he's less than nothing—nothing more than a thing they can sit and toy with—and all you can do is compare what happened to him…to looking at roadkill on the side of the road?"

The pit in Sam's gut yawned, enveloping her in a rotting wave of guilt.

And then the real kicker. "He trusted you," Jazz accused.

"It…It wasn't like…" Tucker attempted.

Jazz wouldn't hear it, her protectiveness rearing its head like a fucking Gyarados from the depths of a black sea. "He would have told you about this if it was something he wanted you to know, but as it happens, I know he didn't."

You went poking your nose where you didn't belong, Sam read between the lines. You betrayed him, she interpreted further.

Feeling miserable and trying to remember she asked for this—she truly did—Sam set her jaw. "Jazz…"

"You don't get it," Jazz said. "He never wanted anyone to know about this. Do you realize what could happen if this leaked?"

"It's not like we ever meant to—"

"Of course you didn't mean to!" Jazz snapped, sarcasm layering her tone. "That doesn't make having any of this information any less dangerous. For Danny or the ghosts. And it doesn't make you any less stupid for looking at this in public! There are eyes and ears everywhere now, in places we never would have expected. I thought you would respect and understand that, especially in light of what we learned about the Guys in White this weekend! Any of this information could be used against Danny, do you understand that?"

Sam's defensive walls slammed into place. She could accept accusations that she stomped all over Danny's trust—because she did stomp all over his trust, and there was no taking that back—but she would not sit here and take accusations that she was being maliciously neglectful of his, and the entire Ghost Zone's, safety.

She'd advocated for ghosts in every way she could, both before and after the Shift. Hell, do no harm was one of the most base morals Sam founded her entire philosophy on. Jazz implying otherwise? A direct strike against her pride.

"Do you think we enjoyed seeing this?" Sam asked, both incredulous and angry. "Do you think we actively go out of our way to see Danny hurt? Last Friday was terrifying, Jazz! We got a taste of what you and your family have had to go through, and it sucked. It sucked seeing Danny get hurt. What sucks even more is knowing this isn't the last time Danny's going to get hurt and that there's nothing we can do to stop it from happening. But don't think for a single second we're going to stop trying to protect him, even if it means seeing things and doing things normal people can't stomach!"

Jazz stared at her, gaze piercing. Sam did not blink. After the tense moment passed, Jazz turned back to the files. "Where did you get this?" she asked again.

Sensing an opportunity to actually speak without getting chewed out, Tucker stepped forward. "I was trying to dig up more information about the Guys in White," he explained, and Sam approved of his decision to leave his hacker network out of this. "I wanted to see if there was anything that could help us figure out what their game plan is. I wasn't actively looking for anything in particular. Just something. Some dirt, something the feds kept from us, clues...anything. We were trying to help."

"So all of this just fell into your lap, did it?" Jazz muttered.

"...I plead the fifth."

Jazz did not look happy about that at all. Pursing her lips, she leveled an intense look at Tucker. "Have you gone through all of this?"

"No," Tucker admitted.

Jazz flipped the Surface around. Displayed on the screen was a complicated technical drawing surrounded by tiny notes written in a cramped hand. "Ecto-bomb schematics. A single one of these things could probably destroy an entire territory in the Zone." She hit the arrow key, switching to the next one. "They called this one The Drill-B.Y.T. It looks like they wanted to force open their own Portal." Again, she hit the key. Some sadistic asshole sketched what his bear-trap-like invention would look like with a captured ghost inside of it. And from multiple angles. Phantom was very obviously his favorite model. "I don't think this one needs explanation."

She sped through a few others, each blueprint in various stages of completion and each one more disturbing than the last. "Then there's all their notes on the...experiments they ran," Jazz said, her voice trembling. "There's security footage and recorded 'interviews.' There's...pictures. Of remains." She finally met their gazes. "If anyone with less-than-pure intentions touched these files...and if anything happens to Danny..."

"We're not going to let anything happen to him," Sam said, and she shot Tucker a glance. Tucker's brow furrowed, expression dark, and Sam got all the information she needed from that alone. He would either vouch for his hacker friends or he would ensure nothing came of this.

"It isn't going to be a problem," Tucker vowed as well. "And if some ex-GIW operative decides to remodel old ideas..."

"We have an edge on them," Jazz allowed, tone begrudging. "We can reverse engineer. Come up with contingencies." She paused and closed her eyes for a moment. It looked as though she were trying to re-center herself. "You guys can't do this again," she said. "No solo runs. It's dangerous."

"That's rich," Sam said without thinking. "Coming from someone who used to go running around—"

"We're a team now," Jazz snapped, willfully ignoring Sam's accusation of hypocrisy. "Ignoring the content of these files and what could happen if the wrong eyes saw them, we can all get in big trouble for having them in the first place. I get that you want to help. I do. And I'm not discouraging that. I can also see why you went after information on the GIW." Jazz sighed and added sternly, "But doing whatever you did to get all this stuff—taking that risk wasn't your decision to make. If you're going to be a part of this, you need to understand that."

"We understand," Tucker was quick to say.

"You also understand, then," Jazz said, "that you'll have to tell Danny what you've seen. Because if you don't, I will. I won't keep secrets behind his back."

"That's two-for-two," Sam accused drily, stifling her sudden spike of anxiety. "You did a really great job telling him about Plasmius, didn't you?"

To her credit, Jazz winced this time. "That was a mistake," she whispered. "And we're not going to make it again."

Sam could feel the weight behind Jazz's promise, and for the first time, she could feel the gravity of the secrets the Fenton siblings had had to keep, both from each other and from their parents.

She didn't like it.

Tucker had already buckled under the force of this single secret. He hadn't even lasted a full twelve hours before he'd needed to let her in on what he'd discovered. Sam doubted she'd last long either. She wanted to say she and Tucker would have been able to bear that weight together, like Jazz and Danny had Phantom's secret identity, but she knows that's a hard thing to assume because more than anything, she doesn't want to keep secrets like this. Not from Danny and not from his family.

Jazz was right. Teammates didn't lie to each other. They didn't go behind their backs, and no matter how many gut-wrenching scenarios were running through Sam's mind right now about how Danny would react, she wasn't going to let her fear stand in the way of what was right.

There had been enough lies and secrets in the Fenton family. She wasn't about to contribute. She couldn't.

(Even if it meant losing some of Danny's trust. Even if it meant things might change).

"No," Sam agreed. "No, we're not."

Chapter Text

Mikey kept up a steady stream of chatter after the bell rang. Danny ignored the other hoverers, who either remained obstinately rooted in place or gave impatient huffs and left when they realized they couldn't continue standing around without feeling like complete idiots. Danny was petty enough to make a point of gathering his things with meticulous care, which pissed off the people he didn't want to talk to and gave him the opportunity to linger and listen to what Mikey had to say. His classmate was sharp as a whip, and a wealth of information to boot. He had a lot to share about what happened after the attack on Friday was over, and Danny, having not seen the consequences firsthand, wanted to hear about it.

"We almost couldn't believe it was over," Mikey was saying, pushing his glasses up his nose. "We ran those drills, right? So after the initial panic, habit took over, and it all ended up working out okay—no one was hurt really bad (except you, that is) and nothing went wrong, as far as I'm aware—but it was still scary as hell. We weren't prepared for what happened in the interim, you know?"

"You mean...how to wait it out?" Danny asked.

"Yeah, exactly! It wasn't as scary when we could hear the ghosts, funnily enough. We could tell where they were and where they were going then. It was far scarier when it went silent. When you led them outside, we had absolutely no idea what was going on." He caught himself, eyes becoming round as coins. "Not that I'm not grateful!" he said quickly. In his fervor to assure Danny he didn't mean any offense, his glasses slipped down his nose again. "Because leading them outside was definitely the smart thing to do! It was just that—"

"Mikey, chill," Danny said. "I totally get it. I was scared, too."

If it were possible, Mikey's eyes widened even further. "Really?" he asked quietly.

"Sure," Danny said. "Why is that hard to believe? This was the first big fight I've had since the Shift, I'm out of practice, and no one in Amity Park's had to deal with something like this before. The ghosts appeared in the middle of Lancer's classroom. Of course I was scared. I'm not too macho to admit it."

Some eavesdroppers murmured incoherently at the admission, veins of disbelief coloring the overall tone of the room. Mikey, for his part, absorbed the admission and offered a solemn nod, accepting it as truth.

"What happened after you couldn't hear the ghosts anymore?" Danny prompted. "How long did it take before someone came and told you it was over?"

Mikey blinked, gaze unfocused, and Danny had the eerie feeling Mikey was looking right through him. "I...couldn't tell you. It was unreal, how silent it was in the gym the moment we realized the ghosts were gone. It was like everyone had been Petrified or something. At first it felt like I'd been holding my breath for forever, but when your dad showed up..."

"It was like everyone was just as shell-shocked by the fact it was over," someone behind Danny supplied. Danny turned and saw Nathan, Mikey's best friend, staring blankly at some fixed point on the whiteboard. Danny hadn't realized he was waiting on them. "That it had all happened so fast."

"Yeah," Mikey agreed. "I think everyone was too stunned to react when your dad said it was over. We got sent back to homeroom, and it wasn't until after we were all sitting down and waiting around that it started to hit home."

"And then we realized you hadn't come back," Paulina added from the edge of the room. She'd been leaning against the wall near the door, pretending to be more interested in her phone than in the conversation.

"That was when people really started freaking out," Mikey said without shame.

"I'm sorry," Danny said, a little stunned. It was all he could say, but it wasn't enough. He hadn't been enough. Realistically, he knew he couldn't shield everyone—not from the ghosts and certainly not from their own fear—but that didn't mean he'd stop trying to. "Was there...something we could have done differently?" he asked the room in general. "To make it better?"

Mikey stared, and Danny felt heat rise up his neck. "I mean," he babbled, "my dad probably went over everything with Lancer and Ishiyama on Friday, but I didn't hear much about it, and students' opinions matter too."

They didn't seem to know what to say, and Danny couldn't tell if they were baffled by the question because they didn't know how to answer or because they hadn't expected to be asked in the first place, which was a little sad. Shouldn't they know their opinions were even more important than the faculty's? That he and his family wanted to ensure everyone felt as though they were safe?

Danny's dissection of their behavior was interrupted by Mrs. Rickter and several of the students in her next class. She'd stepped out the moment the bell rang and looked surprised to see them still standing around.

"The bell rang, didn't it?" she asked one of her incoming students, whose bright, nearly colorless eyes bore straight into Danny's the moment he looked in her direction. Sudden unease sat like a bad taco in his gut. "I didn't just leave for the bathroom smack dab in the middle of first period, did I?"

When the blonde student nodded and then shrugged, Mrs. Rickter tutted and announced, "First period, as much as I enjoy your company, begone. Fly free. Or stay, by all means, but I'm not writing any of you late passes!"

"Sorry!" Mikey was quick to say, swiping his notebook from his desk. "Crap, Nate and I've got to ruuu—" Sensing the teacher's severe gaze on him, he backtracked and hastily amended his statement to, "Nate and I've got a very fast speed walk to the other side of school! Talk to you later, Danny!"

As Nathan and Mikey sped out of the room, Danny gave Mrs. Rickter a sheepish smile and swung his backpack over his shoulder. She returned the smile, made a shooing motion, and turned her back, reaching for an eraser to provide a fresh slate for her next class.

Several second-period students had already slipped into their seats, but the blonde who'd been staring him down was still standing. Danny made to move past her and grunted when she drove her sharp shoulder into him.

"Watch it, spook," she hissed under her breath, colorless eyes dark with hatred.

The slur slid like a dagger between his ribs, but he pretended to be unbothered, his gaze straight ahead. Paulina, who stood waiting by the door, narrowed her eyes suspiciously and called out, "I'm sorry, is there a problem, Gina?"

Mrs. Rickter turned, arching a brow at Paulina's tone, but Gina had slid into the seat Danny just vacated, her cold expression smoothing over into one of innocent confusion. "No?" she said.

Paulina, obviously fuming but knowing better than to get into it with the teacher right there, glared and spun on her heel. Danny, a little dazed, found himself tailing after her.

He caught up with her in the hall, where she was throwing a hushed tirade in Spanish. The only word he caught was puta before she cut herself off, her sharp eyes catching several juniors staring at her. "What?" she snapped.

"Hey," Danny said as the juniors scattered. He fiddled with his backpack strap. "Um...thanks. For that. You know you didn't have to—"

Paulina took a hold of his arm. "Let's go," she said, as though he hadn't spoken at all.

She yanked him along, Danny stumbling to meet her stride. She began an animated one-sided discussion, and it wasn't until they were halfway down the hall that he realized he not only had no idea what she was talking about but he'd also somehow been trapped into walking with her.

This is so weird, Danny thought as he stared at her. What in the world is going on?

Paulina hadn't walked with him or so much as pestered him since his first day at Casper High, and he'd heard from Tucker who heard from Nathan who was obsessed with Paulina that Paulina and a few of the other popular kids knew exactly how nervous their initial fangirling had made Danny. They had made a vow to keep it cool since.

It was a bit out of character for Paulina to go against her word, and besides, Danny had learned she wasn't exactly known for taking time for other people. She forged her own path and left everyone else in the dust, nerds and ghost-boy celebrities alike.

For a moment, Danny thought it might have something to do with that Gina girl, but he dismissed that when he remembered Paulina had been waiting around for him before Gina showed up for second period.

So why?

It was a bit of a conundrum, and he debated interrupting her, to ask her why she was making a point of indulging in the buddy system today, until she stopped her energetic spiel to cluck her tongue and say, "You know, I don't know how you put up with this."

Danny blinked. "Huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "All of these ungrateful...pinches idiotas. They don't know anything."

For the first time since leaving Chemistry, Danny took stock in his surroundings.

There weren't very many people left in the halls—most of the more serious students scurrying into their second-period classrooms as soon as they could—but those who were taking the time to socialize...

He chewed the inside of his cheek, realizing conversation had been dropping dead whenever he walked by, the gazes on him either ice cold or blazing with quiet appreciation and rekindled awe. Any time someone had started to stare, Paulina had already been glaring or drawing attention to herself instead, flipping her hair and laughing in that charismatic way she knew drew others' eyes.

She'd been acting as a deterrent, he realized. She had been telling them to back off in whatever way she could, staking her claim and announcing to the world I'm with him; don't bug us. But somehow, Danny could tell this wasn't an attempt to bolster her own popularity. She wasn't using him or taking advantage of him, and that meant...

Was she...protecting him?

He had a moment to appreciate a deep swell of gratitude before suspicion took root. He scanned the halls and realized Paulina's reputation alone wasn't cutting the tension building in the air with every step he took.

Something was going on.

"Yo, Phantom!"

And there it was. Right on time.

Danny sighed and turned, the automatic correction on his lips, but found himself getting intimate with a glob of spit that nailed him right on the cheek. Someone's zit-covered face loomed in his vision, and Danny stumbled back. "Where's your intangibility now, freak?" the spitter demanded.

Before Danny could fully register what just happened or even really process the insult for what it was, Paulina was stepping forward, rage seeping from every pore. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded. "How dare you?"

"Fuck you!" the guy who spit on Danny yelled, ignoring Paulina entirely, and somehow, there was suddenly a whole swarm of people surrounding them, crowding and pressing. They didn't touch him, and not all of them were malicious, if the cacophony of disapproving shouts was anything to go by, but they were too close. Much too close. Claustrophobia crept up on him, and he blinked stupidly, wiping the spit from his face with his sweatshirt sleeve.

"We were all getting on just fine before you!" the spit-guy added. "And then you come here and—"

"Hey, shut the fuck up!" someone retorted.

"We'd be dead without Phantom!"

"Yeah, well, maybe we got lucky this time!" another reedy-looking student argued, his voice projecting farther than Danny would have believed. "They're attracted to him, aren't they?"

Spit-Guy was quick on the uptake, and he stepped forward again, his body language screaming aggression. "You draw them here, don't you? You put us all at risk by being here!"

"Hell, by existing!" Reedy-Guy corrected.

Danny nearly shut down then and there.

They weren't wrong.

He hardly felt Paulina maneuvering him to her side and throwing heated insults right back into Reedy-Guy and Spit-Guy's scowling faces. Several other voices rose above hers, most roaring in continued objection of their assault.

"—all your fault!" Another voice called, backing up Spit and Reedy. "You and your family should never have come here!"

"—cursed us—"

"The Shift wasn't Phantom's fault!"

"—frickin' spook—"

"But that stupid Portal is! It's only going to get worse after tomorrow!"

Alarmed, Danny stepped back, unable to offer a single word in his defense. The cool comfort of invisibility called to him, power seeping at the tips of his fingers.

"We never had to worry about getting ripped in half before he came here!"

"—an aberration—"

"Don't call him—!"

"You hardly know what 'aberration' means, asshole!"

"You and your family are going to get us killed!"

"Hey!" someone hollered over the din, and Danny caught sight of Dash's broad figure as he bulldozed his way through the students in the area, Kwan and Matt carving a path behind him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Dash growled. "Get out of here!"

White-faced and shaking, Danny watched as Paulina launched herself forward, providing Dash with fierce backup as she, and several other nameless, frowning faces, continued to stand up in his and his family's defense.

As he did nothing.

The noise became a buzzing in his ears, and he felt himself buckling under the pressure he'd felt growing with every passing day since the Shift. He should have expected this—he knew he should have—but he hadn't, not over the weekend and certainly not after the success he'd had with Leda's ghost this morning, and he was paying for it now. Overwhelmed, he backed himself up to the very edge of the hallway, wishing his tongue would move, that he could help Paulina and Dash and everyone else, that he wasn't so useless against this onslaught.

Someone's classroom door swung open, an authoritative voice ringing through the hallway from around the corner, demanding to know what in the world was going on. Those who knew better than to stick around made quick escapes before the teacher could see them, but the others...

A firm hand grabbed his elbow, and he whirled, nerves fried, hissing when the Ecto-Supracelet nullified the hint of ecto-energy he'd reactively generated. Horror dripped hot and slick in his veins when he found himself face-to-face with Val.

Val released the elbow like he'd been shocked, expression grim and guarded. Danny jerked away, guilt rising like vomit. "Val? I—"

"Come on," he said, and without waiting for Danny, he turned. "Follow me."

Confused and lost, Danny looked back at Paulina, Dash, and their crew, who stood proudly before the teacher heading toward them. "I can't just leave them to—"

"Yes, you fucking can," Val said. "Get moving."

"But—"

"Fenton, get your ass moving, for the love of God."

Val gave him a shove, and Danny was once again stumbling after his classmate. "I...don't understand," he said. "What—?"

Val didn't respond, and the warning bell rang, signaling there was no more than two minutes to get their asses to class. It hardly registered to him. He only went where he was led, and when Val pulled up short in a dead-end hallway very near Danny's next class, he nearly ran face first into a doorframe.

"Thank you," Danny said, more out of reflex than anything.

"I didn't do anything for you," Val said in a terse tone, crossing his arms. "It looked like you were having some kind of panic attack in the middle of the damn hallway. Someone could have been hurt."

Danny opened his mouth to defend himself but fell silent when there was nothing he could say in his defense. If he hadn't been wearing his bracelet, he very well could have hurt or scared someone. "Shit," he said instead, running a weak hand through his hair.

Val's expression softened. "There was talk," he admitted. "I overheard the A-listers. They didn't want you walking alone today."

Danny nodded slowly, heart sinking. "Because of Friday?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Danny sighed. It was exactly like Jazz said this morning: it wasn't going to be this peaceful for forever.

"My dad," Val said suddenly, and Danny frowned, not following the non sequitur. "He does cybersecurity. He worked with the GIW a grand total of one time, and it was one time too many."

"Okay?"

Val huffed, impatient. "What I'm trying to say is that there is a difference, between their extremism and normal people showing a healthy level of caution. What they did was disgusting. I've seen enough of it to know it's wrong. And that back there?" Val shook his head in response to his own question.

It took a moment, but Danny finally realized what Val was trying to say. "Thank you," he said again, and this time, he meant it.

Val shrugged and began to walk off without so much as a goodbye. Danny was left staring at Val's back, wishing he could say something more, but he knew there really wasn't anything Val wanted to hear from him. Everything that had needed be said had already been said, after all.

Feeling inadequate, Danny turned to head into his classroom.

"Hey," Val said suddenly.

Danny stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Will there really be more ghost attacks? After your Portal opens?"

His tone was deceptively nonchalant, but his eyes were fierce and calculating, already on the hunt for a mere hint of a lie.

Danny met his gaze unflinchingly. Danny's parents had already given statistics during their press conference, but they'd been coached by a professional publicist from Town Hall. Even to his ears, they had been a little wish-washy in their attempt to prevent mass panic. They hadn't even been able to delve into the changes the Zone was going through right before their very eyes. Or about how those changes would impact Amity Park. It had been too complicated to explain in a single press conference.

Here, however, Val wasn't going to accept anything more or less than the truth, so Danny gave it to him.

"The easy answer is yes," Danny admitted. "But it's not that easy. We can't predict what's going to happen. The natural portals may start stabilizing, and there may be more opportunity for ghosts to come through, especially the non-humanoid ones, but there's been a change in the Zone. Allies have been open about keeping up the truce, though not all of them will be able to resist a chance to have some fun."

Danny flinched then, uncertain of how Val would respond to his casual reference to the ghosts' tendency to use the Human World as a playground at the expense of humans' safety, but to Danny's surprise, he didn't explode or scowl or anything like that. He merely blinked, stone-faced.

"So...truthfully?" Danny concluded. "I have no idea what's going to happen. None at all."

Val nodded once, a pensive expression on his face as he finally walked away.

Danny watched him go, unsure what to make of whatever the hell just happened, and without warning, the final bell rang. He cursed. Just his luck.

I shouldn't have expected anything different, Danny thought again, racing to his classroom and dusting off his old armor. Might as well brace himself. I really shouldn't have.

~...~

In retrospect, the rest of the morning really wasn't too terrible, but to be fair, it couldn't have gotten much worse.

Intellectually, he knew his attitude was what made it a little rotten, but he couldn't help the negativity from creeping into his thoughts like a gremlin after midnight. He couldn't help that he felt that much more sensitive to the emotions around him the more exhausted and stressed he became or that others' irritability, anger, and anxiety was beginning to feed into his own. That which he usually ignored or snuffed out throughout the day was suddenly that much more potent and distracting, and it did nothing but set his fried nerves alight.

His confidence and sense of security had been shaken to the core by what had happened after first period, and as grateful as he was for the A-lister-of-the-hour who very unsubtly tailed him through the halls, he couldn't help but resent them, too, for making him feel like he had to be on guard, all instinct urging him to turn and fight.

Or flee.

But unfortunately for Danny, there was nothing to fight and nowhere to flee to. He could technically call his parents to come pick him up or maybe even play hooky, but neither of those were preferred options. The very thought of doing so was a little ridiculous. He was being a little ridiculous, ghost instincts or otherwise.

He'd been bullied and ridiculed his whole life. He'd handled it before. He could handle it now.

So he continued to smile at people who caught his eye. He continued to talk to them about what they experienced during the attack. He ignored the people who glared him down. He accepted admiring 'thank you's and tried not to feel too uncomfortable when they made incredulous comments about the injuries he received on Friday, and he brushed off all attempts from those who dared to mention what had happened that morning.

But most of all, he pretended he hadn't noticed that Sam, Jazz, and Tucker were nowhere to be found.

(The A-listers watching his back were nice, but he could have used them—his sister and his true friends. He pretended as though he understood why they hadn't texted him, why they hadn't come to talk to him, to see if he was okay, too).

Despite all attempts to calm himself down and get through the day, he couldn't help remembering that he hadn't felt this alone and hopeless in a long time, not since the Guys in White were at large and his prospects of passing freshman year and keeping himself alive were at their most abysmal. That, he realized, was the major reason he would have really, really appreciated seeing someone he knew would understand.

Someone he didn't have to pretend for.

By the time lunch rolled around, Danny was in desperate need to retreat from everyone and everything. It was starting to get a little too cold out to sit outside for lunch for most students, but that didn't stop Danny from beelining for the nearest doors the moment he could. Reveling in the rush of brisk autumn air, he took a deep, steadying breath, and like a smoker taking his first drag of the morning, he felt some tension bleed from his shoulders.

He'd exited the school near the tennis courts and took the long way around to the usual lunch spot. He was halfway there before he realized he forgot his lunch in his locker, and he hesitated for a fraction of a millisecond before deciding it wasn't worth it and trudging on.

He doubt he'd be able to eat much anyway.

Once he made it to their spot, he immediately sagged against the largest oak and lowered himself to its roots. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate the silence, the sound of fall-kissed leaves rustling above him.

Danny felt his friends before he saw—or so much as heard—them approach. Anticipation, fear, and guilt rolled off them in heavy waves, and the mere force of their collective emotion shoved Danny's head under the swell, forcing him head-over-heels.

Well, shit. This did not bode well at all.

He inhaled sharply and grit his teeth, suddenly nauseous by the battery of emotion. If he wasn't so tired, he might have found it in himself to cry, too. Couldn't he have a single moment to just chill? A few seconds more, just to himself...that's all he really needed. That's it. Whatever was bothering his friends could wait. Just a little longer.

Not for the first time today, he considered going invisible and getting the hell out of there, but again, he dismissed the urge. It was probably better he didn't. He couldn't get into the habit of running from his problems. If Sam and Tucker were going to drop a bomb on him, he'd need to hear it now.

All the sooner to pick up what remained of his sanity (or heart, as the case may be) after getting it blown to metaphorical shreds, right?

Focusing on taking deep, cleansing breaths, he ignored every last critical and negative assumption about why Sam and Tucker currently had auras that turned his stomach. He just...rested, taking the last few minutes before they appeared to collect himself.

Sam and Tucker were dead silent when they finally found him. Danny didn't react at first, head back and eyes still closed. He cracked them open only when Sam settled beside him. She was moving carefully, quietly, a finger to her lips as Tucker squatted to the ground, something sad and fond in her small smile.

They thought he was asleep, Danny realized, and he couldn't help but feel an ache deep in his chest. The out was right there. All he needed to do was capitalize on it. He probably could fall asleep right there and trust that one of them would wake him up when the bell rang again. They wouldn't know any differently.

He didn't take it. He couldn't.

He needed to address this now.

"Alright, what's wrong?" he asked, picking up his head and straightening out of his slouch.

Sam jumped, and Tucker yelped, "Dude! Don't do that! We thought you were totally passed out!"

"I wish," Danny admitted. Taking a chance, he added, "It's a little hard when your best friends reek of dread. Seriously, you're both so on edge, you're putting me on edge."

Sam looked distraught, and Tucker, pained. "Oh, damn," Tucker said. "You can sense..."

"I don't mean to," Danny murmured, leaning his head back again. His heart skipped a beat in time with their freshly renewed dread. "You're just...projecting a lot. What's going on?"

The pair of them exchanged a contrite look. To Danny's surprise, it was Tucker, and not Sam, who stepped up to the plate. "We..." He swallowed and couldn't quite meet Danny's eyes. "We made a mistake."

"Oh," Danny said. That was anticlimactic. His fatigue returned with a vengeance, and he realized that he really did not have any desire to talk about this after all. He could help problem solve another day, preferably after a good night's rest. Or better yet, after the pressure of the Portal activation was lifted from his shoulders. "Okay. Maybe we can talk about it later."

Tucker's eyes widened as though he hadn't expected this sort of reaction at all, and in his uncertainty, Sam took the reins. "I don't think this can wait, Danny," she said. "We need to talk."

Danny sighed and crossed his legs in front of him, propping an elbow on his knee and leaning forward to rest his chin on a loose fist. "Alright," he said.

Sitting completely upright displayed the healing bruises on his face, and Sam winced, hissing in sympathy. She reached forward, as though to trace the discoloration, and suddenly her eyes hardened into steel. "Please tell me those aren't from what happened this morning."

"It wasn't someone at school who did this, if that's what you mean," Danny said. "Jazz and I helped a ghost move on this morning. She was a little feisty before I managed to calm her down. That's why we were so late."

Sam's expression softened, eyes lighting up. "Oh! I read a little bit about that during Art History!" She shifted forward eagerly. "You're going to have to tell me everything. Why do some deceased people leave behind imprints and why don't others? What's the science behind it? What happens to all of the ones who don't—or can't—move on? Where do they go? What happens to the people they haunt? I just have so many—"

"Whoa, Sam!" Danny interrupted, smiling genuinely for the first time since he got to school. Normally, he'd be just as enthusiastic about answering her questions as she was asking them, but he noticed Tucker's expression growing stonier by the second. It was encroaching on the "hostile" end of the irritability spectrum. "I'll tell you later, alright? I think Tucker's about to explode."

"If there is a later," Tucker murmured under his breath.

Sam visibly withered. "Good point," she responded.

"What?" Danny asked. Were they just being dramatic at this point? Danny couldn't tell, and he had little patience for it. "Come on," he said, rolling his eyes and trying to make a joke out of it. "I doubt you guys could have made a mistake so bad that—"

"I got ahold of some information," Tucker blurted. "About the GIW."

Danny perked up. "About their plans?" he asked. "How is that a bad thing?"

"Well, if it's a good thing or a bad thing remains to be seen," Sam said delicately.

Tucker grimaced. "A lot of the information I found was about plans they had. Like, past tense. When they were still active."

Danny faltered, taking a second to process what exactly Tucker was implying. He didn't see much difference, to be honest. Even old information was worth something, especially now that there was a faction of the GIW trying to come out of the sewers. They wouldn't be stupid enough to rely entirely on old plans now that the government was fully aware of all their illicit activities, but that didn't necessarily mean that the GIW wouldn't use them as backbones for new plans.

"I'm still not seeing the downside here," Danny said.

"These were sealed records," Tucker added. "And... shit." He blew out a breath. "Some of the files had details about experiments they ran."

Danny's blood suddenly went cold, lungs constricting and heart clenching. Now, now, he finally understood.

"You guys saw..."

"Yeah."

No one was supposed to know it was real, that it had actually happened. The rumors had been enough. If anyone had discovered what happened when the GIW captured him, if they had looked too closely, it would have been the end of him. At the time he'd been taken, the GIW had already known that humans could phase through objects in the Ghost Zone. It wouldn't have taken them long to connect the dots, to discover that he was somewhat human, too. Or at least, human enough to get through their shields, which would have then led to the development of a shield that would contain both human and ghost.

And if that happened? If they caught him again, with the full knowledge of how to actually contain him?

He wouldn't be here today, that's for damn sure.

But they aren't going to get me again. They can't, Danny reminded himself, slamming down the train of thought. Never again, never.

His secret was out, his family knew, the government couldn't touch him, and he was safe. Hell, he'd told Jazz that very morning that the Guys in White wouldn't have the balls to go after him again. And he believed it. He had to.

So he shouldn't feel as though the world were ending around him. He shouldn't be dumb with terror.

But he was.

And for the first time, Danny was honest with himself: he had been terrified. He'd been scared shitless from the very moment Vlad revealed Operative L was still very much a threat, compounding on irrational fears he was already having about the Portal activation.

Danny hadn't realized he hadn't been breathing until he consciously took a shaky breath and began to hyperventilate, suddenly air-starved. He flinched when he felt someone touch him, immediately reacting by slipping into intangibility and falling through the trunk of the tree. He became tangible on the other side and turned from the pitying gazes of his friends, away from Sam, whose hand was still outstretched.

That was the last straw.

"You were never supposed to see that." The words ground out of his mouth like tires over loose gravel, ricocheting in his sudden anger and hurt.

The pity dropped from their faces, and Danny was struck dumb by the fact that his friends—his best friends, two normal teens from a relatively normal suburb—had somehow stumbled upon proof of his shame and trauma. Because, damn, if they could get to it, who else could?

And better yet...why did they have to seek it out? He'd already told them to drop it, hadn't he? He'd told them that nothing had happened.

(He couldn't deal with it if it suddenly became anything other than nothing, clearly).

There was a reason he blocked it from memory, why he never wanted to think about it or talk about it. There was a reason he never wanted anyone to see it. And Sam and Tucker just...wrecked the careful walls he'd built around his memories of that place, of being trapped in the Vortex trap for hours and hours, of the feeling of vomit stiffening in his hair, the stench of Latex gloves, old ectoplasm, and bleach, the mere sound of L's voice, cooing at him from a room beyond the fluctuating walls of his high-tech ghost shield.

He'd lost something that night. Innocence, confidence, humanity...Whatever it was, it was something he couldn't reclaim, having had it carved away someone who had no respect, no decency, and absolutely no regard for his life.

"Danny..." Sam attempted, her voice laced with regret.

You'd think, after a day of subconsciously feeding on such intense emotions all day, he'd have the energy to keep his own in check, or maybe even keep them active at all. As it happened, after that single flare of anger, of utter panic and betrayal, he felt drained to the core, and he ran a hand through his hair, numb, defeated, and cold. "No one was supposed to see that," he muttered.

God, his parents hadn't even seen that footage. In fact, they didn't even know the video existed at all, and he had every intention to keep it that way. They'd already seen him at death's doorstep after the Shift. They already had to deal with seeing him hurt. He couldn't break their hearts, or scare them, any more than he already had. And will, in the future.

He couldn't let them believe what happened with the GIW was their fault, either.

Jazz had known—he'd talked to her about what happened; he'd had to—but that didn't mean he ever wanted her to actually see what he'd described to her either. She'd dealt with enough self-loathing after the incident for a lifetime. He'd protect her from it, too, if he could.

Danny whirled back to his friends. He had to ask. "Have my parents seen it?" he demanded. "Has Jazz seen it?"

"I...no," Sam said, and she sounded completely stunned. "No, your parents haven't seen it."

"Jazz...caught us watching it," Tucker admitted. "So she may or may not have seen it. Portions of it."

Danny's muscles locked in place as he stared at his babbling friend. "Hang on," he said. "You watched it here. At school. Don't tell me you watched it here."

His friend's faces gave them away, and he couldn't look at them anymore. He lowered his head, driving a toe into the solid ground, a huff of hysterical, disbelieving laughter escaping his lips. "Great, awesome," he deadpanned. "Awesome. Icing on the cake. Anyone could have walked in at any point. That's cool."

"I set out to help you and FentonWorks find something that might help us prepare a little more for tomorrow morning," Tucker explained suddenly. "The last thing we ever wanted was to find this, dude. I would have preferred to have forgotten all about it, but..." He sighed.

"I told you nothing happened," Danny snapped. "And you guys just—"

Sam suddenly stood, drawing Danny's eyes up again. She walked toward him a little hesitantly, and when he didn't move away from her outright, deciding instead to stare and wonder what the hell she thought she was doing, she approached him with more purpose and pulled him into a tight hug.

He wanted to reject the hug. It was an initial, gut reaction, but he found himself taken in by her warmth, a solid lump forming in his throat. Today had been a mess from beginning to end, made worse by the little stressors and anxieties that had only built and built since the Shift, and Danny realized he'd needed this. He needed someone to show him they cared, to ground him, remind him that, maybe, it was okay that he finally hit his breaking point, that it was okay he wasn't handling it very well right now.

He squeezed her back, heat burning at his eyes. She was so tiny, slotted against him, head against his chest, and the thought was so inappropriate for his mood, he almost started to laugh.

"But something did happen," Sam said quietly, pulling away to look up at him. His mood came crashing down again, wickedly reasserting the fact he was still upset with her and Tucker. Very much so.

He stepped away, clenching his jaw, and he ignored the vacuum that appeared between them when she slipped out of his arms.

She didn't look hurt, necessarily, but she did look a little resigned. "We won't mention it if you don't want us to, Danny. We won't push you to talk about it. But you can talk to us about anything, you know that right? We're here for you, okay?"

"Ditto, man," Tucker said. "It's just... we saw it, kind of on accident, and we couldn't just pretend we hadn't seen it. That wouldn't be fair to you, to keep that secret. Jazz also threatened—and lectured—us, so there's that."

"Point is, we get it," Sam said. "And we'll—"

"I'm not sure you do," Danny interrupted softly, and when Sam's violet eyes snapped to him, looking both offended and lost at the same time, he almost wished he could take it back.

But then he remembered she really had no right to make him feel guilty right now.

To his surprise, she didn't get fired up. Instead, she said, "If you gave us a chance, we'd listen. We'd try to understand."

Danny closed his eyes and swallowed over the regenerating lump in his throat. He knew they would listen. He knew, but he pursed his lips and watched, pain lancing his heart, as Sam's open expression began to close off, as she interpreted his silence in the worst way she could.

She thought he didn't trust them.

Danny wanted to tell her it wasn't like that. Even if he was upset and angry, he...didn't want them thinking he didn't trust them because he did. He trusted them so much it was almost intimidating in its intensity. But he couldn't...he couldn't just give this away. This was a secret he harbored with every ounce of self-preservation he had in his body, something he kept so close to the chest it was a second skin.

Almost literally.

Anyone with basic empathy could put themselves in his shoes and imagine what it had been like. Anyone with the merest hint of compassion would know that it was cruel, immoral, and demoralizing, to put another human being in a cage.

But he wasn't a human being, was he?

It was easy to forget, even easier to pretend. He made sure to keep up the pretense: that people thought "halfa" was just some derogatory term the ghosts made up because they knew he wasn't truly one of them. He never corrected anyone's misconceptions about what it meant to be 'half-human-half-ghost.' Hell, he even used the same terminology to describe himself because it was the easiest way to keep others from realizing it was far more complicated than that.

There was no telling what the world might truly think of him, knowing that he essentially belonged to his own species.

He was an experiment waiting to happen, a study subject of enormous potential, a scientific fucking marvel. If he had any less humanity, people wouldn't hesitate to put him in a zoo display and-or clinically and meticulously pick him apart, piece by piece. If he decided it wasn't worth lying anymore and told the world the whole truth, they still might.

So, no, Danny couldn't explain to Sam and Tucker about how he felt, trapped and alone and dehumanized in L's cage, because that would mean explaining what really happened to him when he became Phantom. It would mean telling them that he wasn't just a human kid with ghost powers and perks. It meant he'd have to tell them all of it.

Twice-Born, Pariah Dark had called him. He'd have to explain that, too. As well as the fact that maybe the GIW kind of had appropriate reasons to capture him and study him in the first place, as twisted as that sounds.

Too much was changing too fast, and he wasn't ready to tell them any of it.

"I can't do this right now," Danny said aloud, tone dead.

And feeling like a coward, he finally fled.

(Ha. Some hero he was).

Chapter Text

Sam stared dumbly at the spot where Danny had disappeared. The only indication he'd gone ghost and left was the sudden plummet in temperature. The eerie chill that accompanied his transformation sped down her spine and then disappeared, nearly as soon as it appeared.

She hadn't even had the opportunity to shout his name before he was just...gone.

"That went well," Tucker said miserably from behind her. "I guess it's about what we expected, right?"

"We...didn't even have the chance to tell him we were sorry," Sam realized out loud, and she felt like she'd been slapped.

"He probably didn't want to hear it," Tucker said. "And to be fair, Sam, we don't really deserve the chance to apologize. We haven't been great friends today."

Sam winced. They had both been too afraid to face Danny. Not without the other for backup. And it felt...wrong, somehow, to pretend it was 'business-as-usual' without talking to him about the Guys in White first, even if it meant avoiding him. It had hurt, considerably, to stay away, especially after hearing he'd been spit on and cornered in the hallways. She'd thought she'd needed the time to think about what she wanted to say—about everything—but in retrospect, Sam was kicking herself for being so stupid, for letting herself believe that was really the best way to handle the situation.

She should have known all of her reasons were just excuses for her to indulge in cowardice.

She hadn't wanted to lose Danny over this, but she'd somehow done an amazing job of pushing him away anyway.

What a mess.

"That doesn't mean apologizing isn't the right thing to do," she said, and deciding she wasn't going to stand for it, she stood to her feet. "Let's go, Tuck."

Tucker, who'd just taken a sullen bite of his sandwich, spoke around a mouthful of bread and peanut butter. "Whaaa?"

She took him by the bicep and pulled him up, beginning to walk straight for the school boundaries. "We're following him back to FentonWorks."

Tucker nearly choked on his food and stumbled after her. "You do realize we have half a day of school left, right?"

Sam barked an unamused laugh. "Tucker, neither of us were there for him this morning. Like hell I'm not going to be there for him now, even if he clearly seems to think he can shake us off just like that."

And bless Tucker and his disregard for consequences. He took it all in stride, making a single comment about the grounding they were likely to get under his breath before falling into step right at her side.

She didn't deserve him. Sam didn't deserve either of them to be honest.

They hadn't made it too far before Tuck broke their silence by asking, "You're not trying to prove anything, are you?"

"What do you mean?" Sam snapped. "What could I possibly be trying to prove?"

Tucker backpedaled. "I just mean—"

"All I want is to make sure my friend is okay," Sam said. "I feel like shit, he feels like shit, we all feel like shit, and all I'm trying to prove is that I care. Alright?"

"Alright," Tucker said easily, allowing the subject to drop.

Grateful, Sam took advantage of the following silence and asked, "Don't you think...after everything that happened over the last few months, it was actually kinda about time Danny finally...?"

"Buckled under the pressure? Snapped? Lashed out?" Tucker looked thoughtful. "Yeah," he agreed. "We always thought he was handling everything with superhuman patience and understanding."

Sam didn't acknowledge the pun. It would only encourage him. "We didn't really help matters much," she said instead.

It had almost been worse than she imagined. Seeing Danny shut down like that, his tone as dead as the brown, crumbling leaves under their feet, the light in his eyes flattening into something so cold and dull she couldn't define it in mere words. Whatever it was that he'd done to close himself off? To sever all ties to his emotions like that? It had been unnerving and devastating and just not right. The only sign he still felt anything at all was when his eyes had flared green, when he'd clenched his hands into fists at his sides, all of which betrayed just how angry and vulnerable he'd felt standing before them, stripped bare.

Even then, the emotion came and went in the blink of an eye.

Danny wasn't...that wasn't Danny. Not the one she knew.

And she'd done that to him.

It had scared her because it was confirmation that the things she'd seen in that dumb video were true; because she usually knew what to do when true injustice stood right in front of her, when righteous anger at the world threatened to boil her alive, and this time she didn't; because Danny hadn't deserved this, and despite the self-assuredness and genuine optimism he portrayed to the world, she wasn't convinced he knew that.

She was scared he didn't know what she was willing to give, to sacrifice, for her friends. And for the first time since she met him, Sam was scared he still felt trapped in a time where the secrets were all he had, where he still had to keep his as close to the chest as he could, just to stay alive.

And if that was the case, she wanted to be there for him. Danny didn't trust her? Fine. Whatever. That could sting on its own time. She was going to follow him regardless.

"Don't you think he needs space, maybe, Sam?" Tucker asked.

Sam almost paused. It was a valid question. "No," she decided, plowing on again.

"I think you're wrong," Tucker said. "He's only had a million people bombarding him day in and day out since the Shift, you know. Don't you think he deserves a bit of a break?"

"Sure," Sam agreed, "but we're not exactly going to be bombarding him, are we?"

"Um, yes? I mean...tracking him down while he's not very happy with us counts as 'bombarding' in my book. Why not wait until tonight, after he's cooled down?"

"Because he needs to know we're going to be there, regardless," Sam said.

"He literally just said 'I can't do this right now,'" Tucker reminded. "People who say that and actually quit a conversation normally need a little space, Sam."

"Look, Tuck," Sam said, whirling on him and stopping dead in the middle of the sidewalk, "I appreciate what you're saying, but..." Frustrated, she trailed off. How could she explain that, sometimes, space was the very last thing a person needed? That, sometimes, space gave people the chance to let untruths and insecurities stew and fester? That space could make things worse, rather than better?

Tucker would probably argue that she wasn't the person to decide that for Danny, and yeah, she was pretty arrogant to assume. But she'd also sensed enough loneliness in Danny, enough inexperience with real friendship, to know that she and Tuck would need to keep proving to him that they weren't going to abandon him, no matter what.

If that meant skipping school to track him down? If that meant grand gestures to get it through his thick skull? She'd do it all.

She'd back off the moment she finished her apology, if that's what Danny wanted, but until then...

"I'm still going," she said firmly.

Tucker considered her for a moment and finally started to walk in the direction of FentonWorks. "Alright," he huffed. "If he knocks our heads off with an ectoblast, I'm coming back to haunt you."

~...~

"INTRUDER. INTRUDER. INTRUDER."

Well, that was certainly not the homecoming Danny had been expecting.

Danny, half-phased through the front door, barely had enough time to slip the rest of the way inside before a ghost shield slammed over the walls. He yelped, drawing his tail close, his core pulsing frantically. He would have immediately started laughing at the close call, had the house not started whirring, mechanical arms and ecto-weapons swinging from hidden compartments in the living room as they powered on.

It had been awhile since his parents' inventions targeted him on accident—on accident, being the key words there—and the fact the entire house's new automated defense system was doing so now was hysterical. He did start to laugh, then, because of course this would happen.

Just another day in the Fenton household, clearly.

Danny barely heard the house announcing that he was about to be exterminated. He could probably disarm the room easily enough, but he couldn't do that without throwing a wrench in whatever it was his parents were working on. He threw a complex, layered energy shield up over himself, hoping it would be enough, still giggling like a maniac.

That was how his mother found him, doubled over in amusement underneath his ghost ice-infused ecto-shield. She'd pounded up the stairs from the basement, her goggles askew and ecto-gun ablaze. When she saw him, her fierce expression transformed into one of utter horror, and that made Danny laugh even harder.

"Stand down!" she commanded. "Stand down, FentonWorks! Override Phantom-D-02!"

The house recognized her voice and obeyed her order, the cool voice acknowledging and verifying Mom's identity and withdrawing the weapons without further ado. Danny watched the seamless, elegant movement of the guns and machines with some lingering amusement and no small amount of interest. His parents had really outdone themselves this time. This was a definite upgrade compared to their last house's defense system.

"Danny!" Mom exclaimed, clipping her gun to her belt and rushing across the room.

He dropped his shield belatedly and allowed her to fuss over him. Her hands danced over him, lifting his chin and then running over his sides. "Are you hurt? Did any of them get you?"

"No, no, I'm fine," he said with a broad smile. "Not a scratch on me."

"We haven't calibrated the Fenton Home Defense System to recognize your ecto-signature yet!" Mom said, retracting her hands. "Are you sure you...?"

"I'm fine. It's okay," Danny said. "Promise."

"I'm so sorry, hon. Why didn't you call? You could have been seriously hurt! You weren't supposed to be home while I ran the preliminary tests!" Mom said, her voice growing more and more stern as her initial panic ebbed away. Her concerned expression hardened, realization dawning on her, and Danny's amusement fled entirely. This was more the homecoming he'd been expecting.

"And why is that, Daniel?" Mom asked, eyes sharp. "You are supposed to be at school, young man."

"Yeah," Danny said, and he couldn't look her in the eye. Shoulders slumping, he changed into his human form, and all the stress, betrayal, and defeat associated with it, all that he managed to contain on his flight back from school, was dumped right back onto his shoulders.

Maybe her Mom Instincts were ignited, maybe she could just see something was wrong. Whatever it was that alerted her, Mom dropped the lecture for the time being and pulled him close, wrapping him a hug.

Danny's shoulders quaked, despite his best efforts not to let even that much show. After a few moments, Mom pulled away and led him into the kitchen, sitting him at the table. She drew a chair next to him, rather than across from him, and turned it so that they were face to face.

"Talk to me, sweetie," she said. "What happened?"

Danny had tried to prepare himself for this, but he still didn't really know what to say. He released a shaky exhale. "It...it was just too much, all of a sudden," he murmured. "I had to get out."

"I can understand that," Mom said sympathetically. "A lot has been changing for you, and at a really fast pace, but...Danny, I know you. Something happened. Something specific."

It was times like this that Danny sometimes hated that his parents knew he was Phantom. As much as he appreciated the support, the freedom, he also felt shackled by new expectations and a rekindling trust between them, one that necessitated that he talk about his feelings and anything weird that was going on with his powers or the other ghosts. It wasn't always comfortable, though it was getting easier by the day, and this was no different.

This instance was especially difficult because he couldn't tell his parents what Sam and Tucker had done without revealing the existence of that damn video.

"I was cornered in the hallway today," Danny began. "About being a magnet for the ghost attacks. They were just scared after what happened on Friday, looking for someone to blame, and I get it, but...I don't think I was ready for it."

Mom pursed her lips, looking about as lost and uncertain as he felt. Her reaction did more to comfort Danny than either of them would have believed. "I didn't have anything to say in my defense," Danny mumbled, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. He buried his head into his hands. "It's partially true, isn't it?"

"No," Mom disagreed, reaching out to lay a hand on his knee. "Ghosts aren't seeking you out as a contestant for territory anymore. They know better, and the Truce—"

"Still doesn't make sense to a majority of people," Danny finished. "The Fenton Portal, too. It's not something we can fix right away, Mom. It's going to take time. It's not on them, really. It's just me, this time. I just...couldn't ignore it today."

Mom was silent for a moment. "I'm so proud of you, Danny."

Danny picked his head back up, and Mom smiled tenderly. "You've had so many expectations placed on you since the Shift, and you've done an amazing job juggling everything that's been going on. You inspire me, every day, with how much strength and patience you've shown since all of this started. Your father, too."

Danny swallowed over a sudden lump in his throat. How could he respond to something like that?

"People will think whatever they think," Mom continued, "and you're right: it will take time to change their opinions and fears, but that doesn't give them any right to treat you like they did today. You deserve respect, and it's okay that you needed to excuse yourself from that situation, you do realize that, right? It was the right thing to do."

Danny jerked a nod. "You're not mad, then, that I left school?"

"I...would rather you didn't make a habit of it, especially when we both know you'll be missing class every so often when the ghost attacks start up again. And I would have liked it if you went to the office and called me before flying home," Mom said, "But, no, I'm not mad."

Danny sighed, slumping in his chair, and he stiffened when Mom asked, "That's not all, is it?"

Cursing inwardly, Danny folded his arms and admitted, "I...got into a fight with Sam and Tucker."

Mom hummed, a little furrow between her brows. "About?"

How to say this without giving too much away... "They went poking their noses where they didn't belong," Danny said.

"So they discovered something you didn't want them knowing," Mom guessed. "Was it an accident?"

"No," Danny bit out, lingering fury coloring his tone. "Not really."

"Did they say why they did it?"

Danny vaguely recalled Tucker saying something about trying to find something to use against the GIW, but the fact they found something to use against him instead was all that Danny had really taken from that discussion.

"Tucker did," Danny said slowly. "But I'd already told them to let it go, Mom."

"I don't know what the right answer is here, sweetheart," Mom said, when no more information seemed forthcoming. "I doubt Sam and Tucker meant to betray your trust, but the fact of the matter is, you feel they did. I understand that whatever they found hurt you, too, and it's okay to feel that way. It's up to you to decide if it's worth hanging onto that hurt or not." She squeezed his knee. "It's also up to you," she said, "to decide when it's okay to let go of your secrets."

Danny flinched, reading the words between the lines. "I'm not sure I can, Mom. They've kept me going this long."

"But they've also torn you apart. They still do. I don't expect you to share everything with us, but I want you to be happy, Danny."

"I am happy," Danny argued.

"Then maybe I don't want you to have to pretend you are okay when you're really not. Maybe I don't want you to feel unworthy of your friends because of what you feel like you can and can't say to them. Maybe I don't want the Accident and whatever it means to you controlling yourlife anymore."

"You're starting to sound a lot like Jazz, Mom," Danny accused, feeling utterly called out. Again.

"Your sister is wise beyond her years," Mom said simply.

"We already agreed that we shouldn't tell anyone about the Accident, didn't we?"

Mom arched a brow. "To the general public, yes," she agreed. "But anyone else? That's your choice, Danny. It always has been. You made that perfectly clear, after the Shift."

Danny flinched, and Mom asked, "Is that really what this is about?"

"No!" Danny denied. "Not really. But..." He sighed. "It's always about the Accident, in the end, isn't it? Everything starts there."

Mom contemplated him for a moment. "And here I was under the assumption you'd already told them."

"What?" Danny asked. "Why in the world would I do that?"

"Maybe the better question here is: why wouldn't you?"

Because the Accident was the source of his deepest fears, the root of his inability to finally live and let go. Because it lurked in his nightmares and fed into his insecurities. Because it was a reminder of everything he was, everything he wasn't, and everything he could become.

Because he couldn't.

Danny bit his tongue and avoided his mother's eyes.

Letting others know what really happened was a public safety risk, obviously, and he didn't want the Accident repeating itself. Again. That had been well established at his first interview with Lance Thunder, and people understood that. But it wasn't just that. Talking about anything that left him that raw and open, and so very vulnerable, was more terrifying than standing in front of Pariah Dark, convinced he was going to die for good this time.

He couldn't talk about the Accident. He couldn't talk about his capture. He'd rather be back up on that Tower with Dark, where he could look at his fear right in the blood-red eyes and say not today, fucker.

He'd face any manner of monsters without blinking an eye. His personal demons, on the other hand?

That was different. It always would be.

Mom drew his attention by sweeping his hair out of his eyes, and he almost flinched away. "Don't let a damn thing hold you back, Danny."

"I try not to," Danny muttered, a little hoarse.

"Then what is it," Mom asked, tone pained, seeking to understand, "that you're still afraid of?"

"Pretty much anything I can't handle with a few good ectoblasts and a bit of luck," Danny responded wryly.

Mom didn't really find that funny. "You're more than your ectoblasts, Danny, and you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. Nothing is insurmountable, and even our biggest obstacles look a little less intimidating with the right person—or people—next to us."

Danny slouched. "Yeah, okay. I get it."

Sensing he was done with the conversation, Mom asked, "Will you think about it?"

He didn't have to ask what she meant by that. Hadn't he been thinking about it nonstop since the Shift? Ever since the first day of school, when Jazz asked him to think about the very same thing? Hell, ever since he met Sam and Tucker? What good could more thinking do? He'd left school so that he wouldn't have to think about any of it, after all.

With nothing better to say, he nodded, a little uselessly.

Mom leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, drawing his eyes back up to hers. "We're always rooting for you, no matter what," she murmured.

"Thanks, Mom," Danny said.

She gave him a tender smile and sat back. "Well," she said, clapping her hands together. "I guess now is probably a good time to program FentonWorks to recognize and not attack you next time. Want to come down to the lab and help me?"

Grateful for the chance to get his mind off things, Danny nodded again. "I was thinking I could go check in on the Ghost Zone tonight, too, maybe. Afterwards," he mused. "It's been awhile. I need to see how things are going myself."

Mom didn't look terribly keen on that idea, a weird expression on her face. His family hadn't wanted him going into the Zone while he was recovering, and even now, after being given a clean bill of health from Sleetjaw, she was still hesitant every time he mentioned it.

"Danny," she started slowly.

"You trust them in the lab and Ops Center," Danny pointed out. "You've met with them, too, without me there! You can't think it's a bad idea."

"It's not that. It's just that with the Portal activation tomorrow...and your stamina not exactly—"

"If not tonight," Danny was quick to say, "then maybe this weekend? Just to the Far Frozen? Or Dora's Realm? You, Dad, and Jazz can come with me, even, if you want. We're going to need to see them anyway, after the Portal is activated. The New Council will want to know about the GIW rumors."

"...You're right," Mom said, relenting. "I'll think about it, okay?"

It was a good enough compromise for Danny. "Okay," he agreed. "I'll—"

The doorbell rang, and Danny paused, leaning back in his chair and quirking a brow.

"Who could that be?" Mom murmured.

Danny tensed, suddenly on alert. "I thought we had gates to keep people from just walking up and ringing the bell?" he asked. They didn't want any solicitors, fans, or angry neighbors coming at them with torches and pitchforks. "And don't the lawn guys come on Thursdays?"

Humming distractedly, Mom stood and left the kitchen to answer the door. Danny followed, half a beat behind her. Clearly not impressed by how he shadowed her, she gave him an eye roll and silently shooed him away. He fell back at her command but decided to hover in the archway between the kitchen and living room, just in case.

Mom ignored him in favor of peering through the peephole of their front door. Her expression morphed, something like surprise, and then fond exasperation, replacing the confusion on her face.

She unlatched the bolt and opened the door slowly. "Sam? Tucker?" she asked.

What? he asked himself, stunned stupid. Why were they here? Had they seriously followed him home?

"Hey, Mrs. Fenton." Sam's voice barely made it to him, as deep in the house as he was. He couldn't gauge it.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you two be in school right now?"

Danny could feel Tucker's piercing glare through Sam's back, even from across the room. She didn't seem to mind the weight of it. "To be honest, yes, but can we come in anyway?"

Danny inhaled sharply and went invisible, and as he predicted, Mom didn't ask any questions and opened the door wider, allowing Sam and Tucker to float in through the threshold, where they stood, clearly uncomfortable.

"Sorry to barge in like this," Sam said, hardly sounding sorry at all. Her eyes darted around, on a mission. When her eyes passed right over him, her solid stance deflated a little, and Danny grimaced from his position, anger lancing through his chest.

She should feel bad. The thought came unbidden, and some part of him realized it was childish. He didn't really care.

"No, it's alright," Mom said, closing the door behind her. "Though it probably isn't alright with your parents that you're here right now."

"It's important," Sam insisted.

"So important you couldn't wait another few hours, until after school let out?" Mom pressed, lecturing tone no less severe than it had been when she used it on Danny, not even half an hour ago.

Sam didn't flinch. "Yes."

"...Okay."

Tucker released a relieved sigh and said cheerfully, "You know, you're pretty cool, Mrs. Fenton."

A wry smirk flitted across his mother's face. "I'm still going to inform your parents that you've taken it upon yourselves to skip class, but I appreciate it anyway, Tucker."

Tucker shrugged. "Didn't expect anything less, Mrs. F."

Mom couldn't stop her smirk from broadening then. "What can I do for you two?"

Sam jumped forward immediately. She'd been shuffling in place, impatience so palpable it buzzed through the entire room. "Is..." She licked her lips, suddenly uncertain. "Is Danny home? We need to talk to him."

Oh, no, no, no. No, please. Danny almost revealed himself. Almost. Just so he could tell them to get out right then and there. He didn't know what to say, how to say it without blowing them off, or without blowing up in their faces. And right in front of his mom. He couldn't.

And damn his mother, her eyes flicked directly to where he was standing, watching his friends and mutely trying to communicate how much he didn't want to talk to them. "He's in his room, I believe," Mom mused, eyes twinkling. Danny cursed her silently. "I'm not certain if he'll talk, to be honest with you, but you're welcome to try."

"He doesn't have to talk," Sam said. "He just needs to listen."

"He's not particularly good at that one, either," Mom teased, and Danny grumbled, realizing she was enjoying herself. Not every parent had the opportunity to chastise their kid within earshot, knowing full well they couldn't retort. "But he just might this time."

And now a gentle lecture too. He supposed that was what he got for eavesdropping.

"That's all I need," Sam said quietly. "Thank you, Mrs. Fenton."

Mom smiled, more warmly this time. "Take a right at the top of the stairs. He's the door at the very back of the hall."

Danny bolted, a jolt of panic making it easier than ever to float in his human form, something that had been downright impossible at the very beginning. He shot up through the ceiling and phased through his bedroom floor. The door, blessedly, was already closed, but he turned the lock and settled himself on the floor to rest against the side of his bed.

He listened for them, forcibly ignoring the cloud of emotion swirling around them, and even knowing they were there, he still jumped when a light knock sounded at his door.

Danny didn't respond, instead glaring at the door. Just go, he begged. Please.

"Danny?" Sam called, a wavering hesitance in her voice.

Closing his eyes, Danny leaned his head back and drew his knees up to his chest.

"I..." Sam trailed off and huffed. "You know, I really hope you're in there because if I'm speaking to an empty room, I'm going to feel like a complete idiot."

"I don't think you feeling like an idiot is really important right now, Sam," Tucker said, his tone deceptively light. Danny couldn't tell if the forced levity was because he was nervous or because he was fed up.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "You're right." She took a deep breath. "Danny, I'm sorry."

"We're sorry," Tucker amended.

Danny's eyes shot open, and he stared at the door, chest aching. For? he asked silently. What are you sorry for?

"I wanted to help you and your parents with the GIW," Tucker added, "and I won't say it was an accident, but I truly never meant to find this."

"It was...a huge invasion," Sam said. "And it was thoughtless and awful of us to watch it knowing what it might be, especially after you already told us what you wanted us to know on Saturday. I'm sorry we reminded you of what happened, for bringing it all back, especially in light of...what Plasmius said this weekend. And what might happen tomorrow. Neither of us wanted to do that to you."

"And yet we still did," Tucker said. "Which was shitty of us. Like, really shitty."

"We don't want an explanation from you. We don't want to know. And we don't want it to change anything because it shouldn't, and hasn't, for us. But if it has for you?" Sam faltered. "I'm sorry for that too, and I wouldn't blame you in the slightest."

There was a shuffle, and Danny watched as a flash drive was slipped under the door. "It's all there. Everything I found," Tucker said. "The only copy I have. It's yours. I don't want anything to do with it now. Hopefully there's something there you guys can use, even if it's a bit last minute."

Slowly, Danny unraveled himself and reached across the floor to pick up the drive. It was a sleek thing, still mildly warm from Tucker's grip.

For all the things he figured they'd want to say to him, a genuine apology wasn't exactly one of them.

He had kind of imagined them begging him to come out, to talk to them, to lay it all out and make it all better, somehow. He had imagined them playing on his emotions, appealing to his sense of friendship, guilt-tripping him into giving them another chance.

I'm an asshole, Danny decided. How could I think that?

They...really only came to apologize. And not for what the GIW had done, or for the fact Danny had gotten captured in the first place, or for what he'd experienced during those few terrifying hours.

No, they had only apologized for what they had done.

And that, somehow, made all the difference.

They didn't suggest he was anything less or more because of what the GIW did to him. There hadn't been any dramatic, inspirational speeches, and there had been no vows of vengeance on his behalf, let alone any excuses made about why they'd watched that video. Not a one.

They didn't pity him. They didn't make him feel any more or less embarrassed, guilty, self-conscious, or defensive about getting captured, or about how pathetic and weak he'd been in that video. They hadn't even tried to reiterate that they understood, or that they'd try to understand, if he let them.

It was a shock to his system, to realize Sam really meant it when she said she wouldn't force him to talk about it. Jazz always managed to get him to talk about whatever was on his mind, anyway, despite all claims that he told her of his own free will. She was a smug, manipulative little shit like that, sometimes—using her psychobabble magic on her poor defenseless brother for "his own good."

Sam and Tucker, clearly, weren't like Jazz.

And he felt...relieved?

It didn't erase how pissed he was about the situation, but...what they did suddenly seemed a lot less like an outright betrayal and more like a mistake he could forgive.

(And maybe even forget).

On the other side of the door, his friends were awkwardly trying to wrap up their one-sided conversation, gathering their things and stammering 'see you later's and 'text us later, okay?'s, followed by a duo of 'sorry again's, and Danny was overwhelmed with the sudden realization that this was stupid.

Here he was, practically curled up into a ball in his room, hiding from two people who actually cared about him, like a middle-school girl who reveled in wrapping herself up in her own drama. Who the fuck was this pitiful person even, sitting here on the floor and stewing in his misery, letting his first real friends walk away? And when they knew full well he was right there, listening to every word?

It's up to you to decide if it's worth hanging onto that hurt or not, Mom had said.

Well, here's to the first step.

Danny surged to his feet and phased his head and torso through his door. "Wait."

He almost regretted his decision to burst out of his room without warning when Tuck and Sam froze and spun on their heels, their surprised expressions mirror images of each other.

Humiliation and fear threatened to put him down on his ass, but Danny powered through it. "It was an invasion," he informed them.

"Without a doubt," Tucker said.

"And I really don't like that you guys saw that video."

"Us too," Sam admitted.

"I'm still not happy."

'Not happy' was an understatement. He could probably cook an egg on his face, and he felt like he was about to be sick any second. His heart raced, and he felt both hot and cold at the same time.

But it wasn't like it had been at school. He was on his own turf. He could breathe here, keep the numbness from settling in, prevent himself from going back to that place.

"Valid," said Tucker.

I'm also a hot fucking mess, he almost said. That disclaimer hadn't really been written on his forehead when Sam and Tuck decided to befriend him, so it felt necessary to try to convey it to them now. From the way they were looking at him, though, he didn't need to say it.

They realized. And they didn't care. In fact, he'd be willing to bet that Sam would have immediately responded to his admission with well, who isn't?

Danny studied them for a moment, letting the silence stretch, giving himself a chance to calm down, talk himself out of another fight-or-flight reaction. He tried for a smile instead. It was tired and weak, but it made him feel better, if only infinitesimally. He displayed the flash drive. It wasn't a promise or a bandage for their wounds, but it was something. An olive branch, offered back to its original owners.

"Want to give me a hand with this?"

~...~

When Mrs. Fenton came to check up on them, the three of them were nose-deep in Tucker's GIW files.

Danny had thrown himself into the project, his drive and utter focus encouraging nothing but dedicated participation from both Sam and Tucker. He been nothing but serious and professional after letting them into his room, which was a little cold, to be honest, but it was necessary to drive their progress forward.

To Sam, the atmosphere in the room felt exactly like it would whenever three classmates had to throw their everything into completing a group project worth thirty percent of their grade the night before it was due.

Which, essentially, was what they were doing, though the stakes were far higher and more serious. Sam couldn't complain. They did have a ton of data to look through, and their collective concentration allowed her to avoid her guilt and lingering dissatisfaction with everything that'd been left unsaid after their fight.

All three of them came to a nonverbal consensus not to mention it again. Sam couldn't find it in herself to be too upset about it. Better to move on and forget it ever happened, if that's the route Danny wanted to take.

She and Tucker followed Danny's lead.

So far, they'd found nothing indicating the GIW had an underground faction, or that the GIW had ever had a single plan regarding the Fenton Portal. They hadn't seen a single mention of Operative L, either. They studied file upon file of schematics for new weapons, ghost-hunting gear, and other tech, some of which was both disturbing and fascinating at the same time. Danny very pointedly skipped or outright deleted all files relating to live experiments, and he ran through theories, suggestions, and ideas at breakneck speed.

Sam had taken to a notebook so that she could keep up with some of the ideas and catalogue exactly what they had to work with. Her notes were a mess of sloppy handwriting, vivid lines, and highlighting, but by the time Mrs. Fenton poked her head in, Sam was pretty damn proud of them.

All three of them barely registered Mrs. Fenton's knock when it came, but after the second one, Danny, somewhat belatedly, called for her to come in.

"Oh," Mrs. Fenton said in surprise once she opened the door, looking around at the paper littering the floor. They'd made decent progress in the last half hour. She flicked her gaze to her son, who flipped over in midair to greet her. He'd been hovering comfortably over his desktop so that all three of them could see the screen easily. "What's...all this?"

"Secret GIW files, withheld by the government," Danny said, almost cheerfully. He was in his element, and it was actually pretty amazing, how effectively he built upon, or dissolved, previous contingencies they had already talked about on Saturday with his parents and Plasmius. She'd seen the tactician in him then, but it was another thing entirely to work with him in such close quarters without his animosity, and familiarity, with Plasmius getting in the way.

Mrs. Fenton blinked slowly. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not," Danny admitted, "but once we go through it all, we'll let you and Dad know what we've found."

Mrs. Fenton didn't question it. "Alright," she said easily. "I came to warn Sam and Tucker that their parents are coming to pick them up. Sam, your mom is on her way now."

Sam's blood came to a screeching halt in her veins. With a mumbled curse, she scrambled for her discarded bag and found her phone alight with several missed texts and voicemails.

All from her mother.

"Oh, crap," Tucker muttered as he peered over her shoulder. "Well, it was nice knowing you, Sam."

Sam shot him a look. It wasn't that she didn't realize she was going to get in serious trouble, but she'd figured she'd have a little more time.

And that her mother wouldn't physically come to FentonWorks.

She shot up to her feet, fingers trembling over her contact list. "I'll call her. I'll meet her at home. I can walk just fine, honestly, it's not like—"

The doorbell rang once. Twice. Rapid succession.

Oh, no, no, no.

Mrs. Fenton gave Sam an apologetic look. "I called your parents first, before Tucker's," she admitted. "I didn't have the opportunity to tell you before..."

Sam vaguely heard Mr. Fenton getting the door. She hadn't even realized he was in the house.

Without waiting a second longer, she raced out of Danny's room and out onto the carpeted catwalk to look out over the living room, where her mother stood, petite and bridling with unrestrained fury, looking up as menacingly as she could into Mr. Fenton's face.

In any other circumstance, Sam would have likened the image to that of a kitten trying to intimidate a bear, but this was no time to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Because the moment her mother crossed the threshold, she was spitting vitriol, Mr. Fenton's kind greeting and apology automatically setting her off.

"An apology isn't going to give me back my time or my sanity!" Pamela snarked.

Mr. Fenton murmured something, and her mother scoffed. "Don't make excuses for any of them. If it wasn't for your son—"

Sam didn't want to hear another word. "Mom!"

Her mother cut off immediately, sharp eyes jolting to her position on the upper floor. "You are in a shit ton of trouble, young lady! Get down here!"

Bristling and appalled, Sam descended the stairs, hardly minding the fact that Tucker and Danny's horrified eyes bore into her back the entire way down. Her mother snatched her arm and pulled her close. "That was incredibly irresponsible and downright disrespectful of you, to leave school like that! And without informing anyone? I can hardly believe you! Your father and I raised you better than that!"

"You also raised me to stand up for my beliefs and my friends, no matter the cost," Sam couldn't help but retort. "I'm not sorry for leaving school."

"And that's the problem!" her mother hissed. "You seem to think that the consequences don't matter, and I wonder where you could have possibly gotten that idea from."

Pamela's eyes had slid from Sam to someone standing behind her, and Sam half-turned to see Danny, his expression grim, concerned.

Guilty.

Shit, no, no, no. She did not want him stepping in right now.

"You," was all her mother said in greeting, eyes blazing with accusation. She actually pushed Sam behind her.

"Hi, Mrs. Manson," Danny said politely, staying a good distance away from her. "I'm sorry about the trouble. I didn't mean to—"

"You should be sorry," her mother sniffed, interrupting him outright, and Sam felt more than saw Danny's dad's demeanor shift from accepting patience to cold indignation. "You started this."

Before either Mr. or Mrs. Fenton, or God forbid, Danny, could escalate things further, Sam drew attention back to herself. "Mother, this isn't Danny's fault," she said, her face hot with shame. "I left school. Me. No one forced me to do anything."

"And would you have felt it necessary," Pamela challenged, "had Daniel not left first?"

"What does that matter?" Sam demanded, and it felt like she was rehashing an old argument. "It's not like I followed the cool crowd to go smoking behind the bleachers or something, Mother!"

Pamela was not swayed one way or another. She looked even more furious than before and absolutely done. Sam knew that look. Her mother wasn't likely to listen to another word she said.

"Say goodbye to your privileges, Samantha," her mother said. "You can give the Fentons your apologies now. You will not be going to the Portal activation tomorrow. And I doubt you'll be stepping foot in FentonWorks again."

"What?" Sam exclaimed. She'd been prepared for punishment, but this... "Mom, you can't—"

"I most certainly can," Pamela snapped. "Go on now. We're leaving."

Numb with shock, Sam tried, failed, to look the Fentons in the eye. "I am so sorry," she whispered, voice breaking. "I am so, so sorry."

"Mrs. Manson..." Danny said, stepping forward, but his father halted him in his tracks, placing a huge hand on his shoulder.

Without another word, Pamela yanked the door open and ushered Sam outside. Just before she stepped through the threshold herself, Sam's mother said, to the horrified faces inside, "I don't want to be cruel. I don't want to have to be the bad guy, but I want to keep my daughter safe, and with all due respect, I don't think any of you know the meaning of the word. This was the last straw. I don't want to see you near her again."

The door slammed shut behind them, a resounding silence permeating the area in its wake.

Her mother immediately began stalking toward the car, and Sam stood, frozen in place. Her arm, still clutched in Pamela's grasp, yanked in her socket as she dug her heels in.

"I can't believe you!" Sam shouted as her mother whirled around to see what the holdup was. "You just..." Sam choked on a sob, fighting over the lump that threatened to close her throat off entirely. Tears blurred and burned her eyes. "You just had to make a scene, didn't you?"

"Samantha..." Pamela started warningly. Some of her rage had ebbed, leaving behind someone far too scared and far too desperate for Sam to understand.

Sam tore her arm away. "Don't you dare insist this was for my own good. Don't you dare. Did you even think of talking to me about why I left school today? Did you even consider that it might have been for a halfway decent reason?"

Her mother did not respond, instead clicking the button on her key fob to unlock the car.

"Of course you didn't," Sam muttered. "You never do."

"And you refuse to listen to me!" Pamela retorted. "I was ready to give them a chance after the attack on Friday. I was ready to give them the benefit of the doubt, but—"

"I don't need you to make my choices for me, Mom! You can't just wrap me in bubble wrap! I need to make my own mistakes! And I'll have you know that knowing the Fentons isn't one of them! You say you gave them a chance? Where was it? You certainly didn't give any of us a chance just now!"

"I already told you I don't think they can keep you safe, Samantha! And sure enough, look at what happened because of them. You were lucky to have gotten out of that attack on Friday with just a sprained wrist, and today? Who knows what could have happened during your little foray this afternoon!"

"And I already told you that foray wasn't what you think it was!"

"Then what was it, Samantha?" Pamela demanded. "You ditched school, and you and Tucker told no one where you were going. You could have been kidnapped, mugged, killed in a car accident—or by a ghost, Heaven forbid—and no one would have been any wiser!"

"That can happen to anyone. At any time. You can't micromanage my friendships or my life because of something that might happen!"

"That's not what I'm doing!"

"It certainly feels that way to me!" Sam accused.

Pamela pursed her lips, knuckles white and trembling. "Get in the car. I'm done. We're done. I don't want to hear another word until your father gets home."

Sam wrenched the car door open and slammed it behind her. In the backseat, she closed her eyes and hid her sobs. The car was dead silent the entire drive home.

Chapter Text

“Well, that was intense.”

Danny stared at Tucker. “Do you have to.”

“What?”

“State the obvious.”

Dad huffed a bit of a chuckle, but he was still shaking with rage. He could take every insult to himself and his work without blinking an eye, but implying anything about the family, as a whole, was another story entirely. Danny could only imagine the explosion waiting to happen.

(Literally. Something was bound to blow up in the lab tonight. Dad fiddled with already temperamental inventions and took risks he normally wouldn’t whenever he was upset. Singed fingers were almost definitely a guaranteed, at the very least).

Mom murmured something into Dad’s ear, lacing her fingers into his and giving his hand a squeeze. Danny did not like the expression on her face: he hardly recognized her.

Screw this. They couldn’t affordthis right now. The Portal activation was tomorrow. They had to be on their A-game.

“Just trying to break the tension a bit, dude,” Tucker said with a nonchalant shrug. “You know she’s all bark and no bite, right?”

Danny didn’t agree. Tucker might have known the Mansons for longer than he had, but Danny knew her fear. He could taste it. She felt everything so passionately, and so keenly, it had been hard not to. In fact, Danny wouldn’t be surprised if she were a target for ghosts in the future: her emotions jumped at him like electricity from a live wire, impossible to ignore and brush off.

(Or maybe it was just him. Now that he thought about it, before the Shift, his senses had never been quite so acute, so who knew anymore? He certainly didn’t).

And it sickened him, right to the core.

The last time he’d felt so small and so insignificant, he’d been deep in Spectra’s thrall, laughably inexperienced and overwhelmed by his powers. Pamela Manson, without any sort of ghostly power of her own, had been able to singlehandedly suck him right back to edge of that dark place, where he was absolutely nothing. And no one, reduced to a good-for-nothing spook. Where he accepted he’d always be despised, feared, misunderstood. Where he acknowledged exactly how dangerous he could be, if he lost control. Better off alone, better off...

Danny took a deep breath, shoving the thoughts away. “Let’s just...go back to my room.”

Mom caught his eyes and nodded, a little comforting smile breaking through the emotionless frigidity that had settled over her face. We’re okay. You’re okay, she was trying to tell him. Go ahead. It’s fine.

It really was the furthest thing from fine, but Danny wasn’t in any place to argue. He began to lead the way upstairs, Tucker tailing behind. His friend, however, hesitated halfway up the stairs and turned back to Danny’s parents.

 “She’s wrong,” he said. “About everything. And she’ll see that, sooner or later.”

For a brief second, Danny felt nothing but a deadened, dissociated prick of bitter humor at Tucker’s words—because, honestly, what a joke—but then he caught himself, shame bubbling up to take its place.

He’d never been super cynical before. Vlad had tried to convince him it was easier to survive their world that way, but he’d never bought into it. It wasn’t him. It never would be him.

Tucker wasn’t wired that way either. Danny could tell he believed what he said with every fiber of his being, and taking a deep breath to center himself, he allowed the impact of Tucker’s loyalty to shake lose some of the self-hatred clinging to him like a leech.

People like Pamela Manson...they might not change, but he had to hold on to hope that they would. Because everyone—ghost and human alike—deserved that chance, right?

Danny felt his parents’ eyes on him, but he ignored them. When Danny didn’t seem likely to respond to Tucker, Dad did for him. “I appreciate that, Tucker,” he said, and he put on a smile. “But you shouldn’t worry. We Fentons are made of tougher stuff than that. We never got anywhere by letting the haters get us down.”

Pamela Manson was a little more than a mere hater, but Danny held his tongue. A somewhat strained silence fell over the room, and Danny decided he needed to retreat, just for a little while. “We’re going back to my room,” he said abruptly.

Dad’s expression fell, but Mom nodded in understanding. “We’ll call you for dinner in a little while.”

It was just as well they decided to head upstairs. A slammed door and jangling keys as they were thrown on the counter announced Jazz’s return, and Danny could only imagine what she’d say if she found them all like this.

They’d talk later.  

Once they reached Danny’s room, Tucker flopped back down on the desk chair, pushing halfheartedly off the ground to spin in a lazy circle. Danny closed the door behind him and stared with empty eyes at the mess of notes Sam had been taking. The colored highlighter and spidery writing swam before his eyes.

He couldn’t remember where they’d left off. Numb, he drifted over to his computer, where he shook the mouse and scanned the file that had been left open. It was a detailed sketch of yet another new ecto-weapon.

...Or not?

Danny frowned at it. It wasn’t a typical ecto-gun. At first glance, he might have thought it was a pistol, but it actually had a shape more like a power drill, with a bizarre sort of nozzle in the place of a traditional barrel.

“The hell?” Tucker murmured from over his shoulder. “That’s a fucking bone drill.”

“What?” Danny shifted, allowing for Tucker to scoot the rolling chair up beside him.

“Mom was an OR nurse before she switched units last year,” Tuck said as he took the computer mouse from Danny. “She showed me some of the tools the surgeons have had to use on her patients, once.”

A chill ran down Danny’s spine. “I thought you hated that kind of thing,” he said.

“Exactly. And now you know why. Mom unintentionally terrorized me at an early age.” Tucker grimaced. “But I don’t get it. Ghosts don’t have bones, right? Why the hell would they need one for...?” He scrolled down, revealing a second drawing of exactly what the invention looked like when activated. Realization dawned, and Danny stared at the talon-like hooks sprouting from the nozzle, nausea churning.

Other files had already hinted the GIW wanted to develop the technology to harness the energy of ghostly cores, to study and preserve them, but this...this was the first viable invention he’d seen that might make that possible. And because it was the GIW, of course they’d come up with the most inhumane solution they could.

The date written on the schematics leapt out at him, and Danny had to turn away, shuddering.

It had been designed and uploaded to this drive mere days after his capture and escape from Operative L. He could only imagine what that had meant for him.

“This is disgusting,” Tucker said. His voice sounded off, and he closed the file.

Unable to help himself, Danny stated bluntly, “It’s people like the Mansons who give the GIW their power. So they think it’s okay to do things like this.” He pushed himself away from the desk, any hope of being able to get back into his tactician’s mindset completely annihilated.

“Hey,” Tucker said placatingly. “I know they aren’t nice, and Mrs. Manson was way out of line, but—”

“Fear is so easily manipulated, Tucker.” Danny flopped back onto his bed. “And it’s everywhere. It’s its own force of nature. Why do you think some ghosts thrive off the stuff? Why do you think the GIW had the entire ghost-hunting community eating out of the palm of their hands this time last year?”

Tucker’s expression hardened. “Fine, if that’s the case, then why do you think a new faction of the GIW has any sort of ground to stand on now?” he shot back. “You can’t stand there and point fingers. You’re letting that fear get to you, too, dude. All of us are playing into it. Isn’t that why you told your ghost dragon friend to keep it all on the down-low in the Ghost Zone in the first place?”

Danny winced, the accusation striking him like a slap to the face, and Tucker backtracked. “Not that I blame you,” he said. “It’s smart. Besides, if they were making tech like that—” he jerked a thumb toward the computer screen “—anyone with any sense should be afraid of them.”

“This is a kind of fear that doesn’t always make it easy to see sense,” Danny muttered.

“Then you get it,” Tucker said. “Why Mrs. Manson blew up tonight. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

He didn’t want to, but he did. Now that Tucker called him out, he couldn’t even blame her, really, in the same way he couldn’t really blame the kid who spit on him at school. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last time. There was always going to be someone out there to criticize him, his family, and everything they stood for. There was always a risk his insecurities would come rearing their ugly heads, triggered by a careless comment, a weird look out on the streets. That was the price he had to pay now.

One day, everything would wash off him. He’d just been rubbed raw by the trials of this day, right down to the core, and it stung more than it had any right to right now, but that didn’t mean Pamela Manson’s fear wasn’t valid.

Because it was. It was very valid. Just as valid as his own fears were.

“Yeah,” Danny finally admitted, closing his eyes. “I just...worry.”

“I do, too, bro.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Danny flipped onto his side.

Enough of this. 

“Is Sam going to be okay, you think?” he asked, because focusing on someone else right now was far nicer than stewing in his own thoughts.

Tucker snorted humorlessly. “Naturally.” Danny fidgeted, uncertain, and Tucker took pity on him. “Look, dude, Sam and her mom are always fighting, and this wasn’t even the worst of it. They are too much alike, in some ways, and they somehow don’t get each other at all. It’s bizarre, but it always works out between them in the end. Trust me.”

Danny recalled the way Mrs. Manson recoiled when she saw him, how disgust and fury had roiled within her gut, underlying her visceral fear for Sam. “It didn’t sound that way to me,” he murmured.

“You underestimate Sam,” Tucker said, “but, hey, if it bothers you so much, go talk to her.”

“I couldn’t just...”

Tucker gave Danny an unimpressed look. “Didn’t we go over this already?” Waving dramatically, he said, “Hello? Ghost? Can phase through solid objects? Ringing any bells?”

“But that doesn’t mean I should go around making a habit of phasing into her house whenever I feel like it,” Danny argued, albeit weakly. Sam’s distraught and mortified expression flashed before his eyes. It didn’t occur to him until then that he needed to see her, to tell her he didn’t hold anything against her.

To make sure she was alright.

“Oh, sweet summer child,” Tucker teased. “Good luck with that.”

Amazing, how Tucker’s humor could bring light back into everything. Danny opened his mouth to sass back, but then the implication hit him full force. He flushed, heat flaring up his neck. “Tucker!” he exclaimed, scandalized.

A shit-eating grin spread across Tuck’s face. “I honestly didn’t mean it like that, but it’s interesting to know where your thoughts head, bro.”

Danny whipped a pillow at him, too embarrassed and frustrated to think about throwing anything remotely witty back at him.

Tucker blocked it easily, cackling. “In all seriousness,” he said, once he was done laughing at Danny, “I don’t know how many more times we have to hash this out, but Sam and I? We’re not going anywhere, and with this possible GIW shitstorm we’re going to find ourselves in? We’re in this fight with you, no matter when or where you phase in.” He smiled and held up his fist. “Team Phantom, right?”

Team Phantom. Danny was the one who’d called them that, back when they’d been playing around in the backyard. It seems like a lifetime ago now, that he said that. 

Without hesitation, Danny bumped Tucker’s fist. “Team Phantom,” he agreed. “Thanks, Tuck.” His voice, humiliatingly enough, wavered. He cleared his throat. “Truly.”

“Always, dude.” Sensing that was about as much sentimentality as Danny could handle for the night, Tucker flipped back to the desktop and clicked. “My parents are probably due to show up any moment now. How about we try to get a little further in this?”

Danny scanned the next image on his computer screen: it looked like some sort of energy emitter. Key words like “vibration of molecules” and “trans-dimensional frequencies” popped out at him from the attached notes, and he snorted. “I don’t know how much more use we’ll get out of this,” he admitted tiredly, pointing toward the screen. “This guy’s clearly read too many Flash comics.”

Tucker cocked his head and read the notes himself. “Pseudo-science,” he agreed, tabbing through the next few attached files. “You know...there’s no data to back up the claims that this thing would actually breach into the Ghost Zone. It’s all conjecture.”

A pit opened up in Danny’s stomach, but it closed just as quickly. “It’s not the only one,” he said, sighing. “Damn.” He had been too focused on what and why. Motivation was kind of his bread and butter. The how part...the how was what would have made any of these inventions a true threat, and he was so absorbed by the potential these files had, he'd disregarded that entirely. He couldn't really be mad; it was a shot in the dark in the first place. “I’m not going to say that some of these things won’t work, but a lot of them...”

“Are conceptual, with no proof of functionality. We didn’t see a single one of these engineering projects actually tested, did we? Which means there’s a high chance these are probably all rejected ideas, and never actually put into production,” Tucker finished. He sat back in his chair. “Whelp, that’s nice. So much for our leads.”

“At least we know one thing for certain,” Danny said drily. “The GIW were really interested in having their own personal access to the Zone, destroying ghosts, and using ghost core energy to their advantage.”

“And of course that’s nothing we didn’t already know before,” Tucker said. “What about all the other stuff? The...?”

“The live experiments?” Danny asked dully. “I’ll hand that stuff over to my mom. She’d be able to understand it better than I could. If there’s anything worth knowing, she’ll let—”

The doorbell rang, cutting Danny off. Tucker winced. “That’ll be my folks,” he said, standing up. “Time to face the music, I suppose.”

Danny followed, a grimace on his face. “I never apologized, did I?” he asked. “For getting you in trouble with your parents?”

“That wasn’t on you,” Tucker said easily. “Besides, it’s not like—”

“Tucker!” Mrs. Fenton called.

“Yeah, coming!” he shouted back. He turned to Danny and offered a small shrug. Unafraid of what waited for him downstairs, he sauntered out of Danny’s room.

Mrs. Foley, dressed in royal blue scrubs, was in deep conversation with Danny’s mom when they stepped out onto the landing. Her gaze flicked up to them once she noticed them, but her attention did not stray from whatever Mom was telling her.

Tucker had the grace to look sheepish as he approached their parents. “Hi, Mom,” he said once he and Danny were at the bottom of the stairs.

Mrs. Foley looked him over, and to Danny’s surprise, he received the same treatment, nothing but concern in her gaze. “Are you two alright?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Tucker said simply, and some tension drained from Mrs. Foley’s shoulders. She looked exhausted, and a little spike of guilt drove into Danny’s gut. “Sorry for worrying you.”

Mrs. Foley frowned. “I would have been a lot more worried if your father hadn’t already fielded the school’s first call,” she lectured. “You should thank Mrs. Fenton, too, because Lord knows you couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone and tell me and your dad where you were. You’re very lucky, young man.”

Tucker winced. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Foley’s severe expression cracked, warmth flooding back into her face. “Are you sure you two are alright?”

Despite the fact she was addressing both of them, she was definitely looking at Danny this time, eyes piercing. Clearly, he wasn’t going to get away as a silent observer. She needed verbal confirmation from him, too.

“I am now,” Danny said, with a weak smile. “Sorry, Mrs. Foley.”

Tucker shot him a sharp look, and something fractured further in Mrs. Foley’s expression. “Oh, hon, it’s not your fault for having a bad day. We all have those. That doesn’t mean what you and Tucker and Sam did was okay or that you’re all off the hook, but we do get it.”

Danny stared at Mrs. Foley, somewhat uncomprehending. It shouldn’t surprise him after he’d met her and Mr. Foley a few nights ago, but it still struck him just how kind these people were. A surge of fondness and gratitude nearly overpowered him, and his smile became more genuine.

Were that more people in the world like the Foleys, capable of banishing the bad taste left behind by people like the Mansons with their compassion alone.

“Sooooo, Mom,” Tucker said, looking at his mom and batting his eyelashes. “Since we’re all okay and you’re not too mad, I suppose that means I’m not forbidden from coming back for the Portal activation tomorrow?”

Mrs. Foley pursed her lips, unamused by her son’s antics. “No, you can still go,” she said, and when Tucker’s face brightened, she mercilessly cut him down with, “But you aregetting detention with Mrs. Tetslaff.”

“Oh my God,” Tucker said, horror dawning. Danny had to struggle not to laugh, knowing just how much Tucker despised his gym teacher. Even standing in her presence was enough to make Tucker inwardly cringe. His passionate rants about her, and the exaggerated stories of every last humiliation he tended to endure whenever he was in her class, had given Sam and Danny a good laugh more than once. “You did not.”

“Oh, you bet I did,” Mrs. Foley said.

“For one truancy?” Tucker whined. “How is that fair?”

“Don’t give me that, young man. I think it is very fair. It didn’t take much, too. Just a little suggestion in the right ear, and...”

“You are pure evil,” Tucker accused. “Conspiring with Mr. Lancer like that.”

“And you’re going to put me into an early grave,” Mrs. Foley countered. “Retribution, my dear son.”

Tucker spluttered, and when Mom noticed Danny’s quirking lips, she said sternly, “I wouldn’t laugh. You and Sam are joining him on Friday, Daniel.”

Danny’s humor curdled, but he wasn’t necessarily bitter. “That’s fine. I accept that.”

Mrs. Foley was still very much enjoying her son’s dismay when she took Tucker by the shoulders and squeezed. “We should be going. Tucker has to apologize to his father, and I need to get to the hospital soon.”

Mom nodded. “It was nice to meet you in person, Angela. Hopefully next time...”

“We’ll get coffee,” Mrs. Foley said as she nudged Tucker to the door.

Mom’s smile brightened the entire room, and she slipped around the Foleys to open the door for them. “Sounds good. Have a good night, you two.”

“See you tomorrow, Danny,” Tucker said. “Bright and early.”

“See ya.”

The door hadn’t even fully shut when Danny heard from behind him, “She’s wonderful.”

Jazz was standing behind them, leaning up against the archway between the kitchen and the living room. Behind her, textbooks and notebooks lay sprawled across the table, her decrepit Dell laptop perched at the forefront.

“Yeah,” Danny said, and a knot that had been twisting and tightening in his chest since Mrs. Manson’s departure began to loosen. “She is.”

Mom’s hand ran across Danny’s back, and she squeezed his shoulder, rubbing her thumb in comforting circles into his trapezius muscle. “How’s Dad?” he asked.

“Running the security and safety checks one last time,” Mom said with a sigh.

That wasn’t quite what Danny asked, but the sigh alone was enough of an answer. “I’ll go check on him.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Mom said, pulling him back before he could step away from her. “It’s enough that your father is obsessing over the last-minute details. You, on the other hand, are banned from the lab until tomorrow.”

Danny’s mouth popped open, and Jazz began to laugh. “Mom,” he protested, trying not to whine.

“Danny,” Mom returned, mimicking his tone. When Danny scowled at her, she smiled, and Danny could see the exhaustion settling in the shadows of her face. “Between Sunday and today, we’ve run the checks and protocols more times than necessary. We have our plan. It’s going to be fine. ”

“She’s trying to say that you’ve already psyched yourself out enough,” Jazz summarized. “And so has Dad.”

“Thanks, Jazz,” Danny said drily. “I really needed that clarification.”

“You know it, bro.”

“What I’m trying to say, Jasmine,” Mom amended, “is that we've had enough doubt thrown at us today, and tomorrow is going to be stressful enough. For all of us. So enjoy the night off. Rest well. We need to be at our best tomorrow.”

Most of his initial protest tapered off right away. Mom was right. If she had said this a few hours ago, Danny would not have hesitated to make a scathing, sarcastic comment about looking nice for the cameras, and he probably would have made a serious point of ignoring her in favor of running through the protocols himself again, but right now, he...had no desire to. No real need to.

He knew better than to pick a fight about this, anyway. It wasn’t worth it, and to be honest, he was sick of feeling anxious, sick of feeling like shit. He was tired of it. Done.

Because whether he liked it or not, the cameras were going to be on them, for the rest of their lives. Everyone was going to be watching tomorrow. People were going to be there, in their lab, and the GIW were going to be potential threat. There was nothing he could do about any of that now. What would happen, would happen.

But what he could do was help maintain their united front. So he would.

And sleep. Sleep sounded marvelous and far more productive than wasting his time worrying over the GIW, and the Portal, and whatever else could go wrong tomorrow.

Detachedly, he realized that this, in fact, might just be one of the last nights he would be getting a full night’s sleep for the foreseeable future. With the Portal active, and the prospective stabilization of the Zone, who knew what sort of schedule he was going to be keeping in the next few weeks.

Somehow, that thought didn’t upset him. Not like it had this morning, when he confided in Jazz that he wasn’t sure he was ready for more change. In fact, this was one of the first times he found he could feel some semblance of excitement about the Portal activation, rather than dread.

The fight this morning with that old Polish woman’s spirit had reminded him. He missed this. Acting as Phantom. Actually being needed. Hell, he even missed some of the ghosts. And as far as the Portal went, he couldn’t wait to see Tuck and Sam’s faces when...

His fledgling enthusiasm blinkered out like a dying ember. Sam.

God, her face when Mrs. Manson led her out of FentonWorks. The tremor in her voice when she apologized to him and his family for her mother. Danny felt a deep pang of sympathy, of understanding.

“Okay, Mom,” Danny agreed, a little belatedly, his thoughts miles away.

Mom blinked, looking a little surprised. It was almost as if she expected an argument, which, considering his track record since their move to Amity Park, wasn’t exactly an unfair assumption. “Oh,” she said. “Okay, then. Right.” Leaning over to kiss him on the forehead, she said, “I’m proud of you, Danny.”

“Yeah, Mom,” Danny said, and though he sounded flippant, he hid a smile. “Will you check on Dad, then, now that I’m banned from the lab?”

“Already on my way.” Mom turned toward the basement door, but then stopped short. “Oh, also, I completely charred dinner, so leave your order with Jazz. We’re getting take-out from that Asian place on 32nd.”

Danny burst into laughter and only laughed harder when Mom scowled at him. “Okay, sorry, I won’t laugh. I couldn’t do any better, I know, I know.”

Mom grumbled and disappeared, closing the door behind her and leaving Danny and Jazz alone.

“It was disgusting,” Jazz said. “You should have seen the pan. There was no salvaging it. Mom didn’t even try. She just sighed at it and threw the whole thing away.”

Danny snickered. “Priceless. Nice to know some things never change.”

“Hm,” Jazz agreed, and it was more thoughtful than anything. Danny knew what that meant.

“What?” he asked a little defensively, instantly on guard.

Jazz studied him for a moment. “You’re looking...” she trailed off. “Better,” she eventually decided upon. “Better than you were this morning.”

 “Oh,” Danny said. He considered it. He didn’t necessarily feel better, but maybe that was just exhaustion wiping away all his remaining fucks. 

“Mom told me what happened. I’m glad you were able to talk to Sam and Tucker,” Jazz said, a little carefully. “About what happened a few months ago.”

She was fishing, Danny knew, and he snorted, folding his arms. “I’ve forgiven them, but that doesn’t mean I talked to them about it. Any of it.”

Jazz nodded, but she didn’t look disappointed or upset by the admission. To her credit, she also didn’t push. “I know you already told me about what happened, a little, but if you ever do need to talk...”

“Yeah, I know,” Danny said. Swallowing some of his pride, he added, “And I know I will, sometime. Today made me realize that I’m not as over it as I thought. But...not now. Maybe not for awhile. I’m done with today.”

Jazz offered a warm smile. “That’s enough,” she said.

Gratitude blossomed, and he gave her a weary smile. “Think you can stall dinner for me for a bit?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Why?”

Danny pursed his lips. “I need to take care of something really quick.”

Her eyes danced, and there was a little smirk twitching at the corners of her mouth, causing Danny to fight off another blush. Seriously, how did she do that? Read his mind like that? It was downright embarrassing, that he couldn’t hide anything from her.

“Whatever,” Jazz said eventually. “I’ll give you another half-hour before I order. I’m hungry and won’t be able to last past six, so don’t be late. Singapore noodles for you, right?”

“ThanksJazzyou’rethebest,” Danny rambled, and he leapt up the stairs two at a time.

The moment he was back in his room, door locked, he wrestled several old drawers open and dug around for one particular item. Finding what he was looking for, he grinned and gripped it in a loose fist.

Sam hadn’t let him sit alone in his misery this afternoon. Hell, she had been at his side from the very beginning, standing against her parents and their anti-ghost ideology even before they officially met.

Dinner and sleep could wait, just a little while longer. It was time for him to return the favor.

~...~

“Don’t you turn your back on us, Samantha! We’re talking to you!”

They have been fighting for an hour now, ever since Sam entered the house and found her father lying in wait, like a fucking predator, and they were no closer to understanding, much less compromising. Her throat was sore from screaming, and her eyes stung with repressed tears. She needed to get away, to get out. Not a single one of them was thinking clearly, much less communicating anything but anger, anger, anger, and she had been about to make the adult decision and retreat for the time being, until at least one of them could discuss this without losing their fucking heads, but for this, Sam found herself halting in her steps.

 “‘The true hypocrite,’” she quoted in a numb voice, “‘is the one who ceases to perceive his deception, the one who lies with sincerity.’ André Gide.” She spun around. “Give me one good reason I should stop and listen.”

Pamela’s face was a mask of ice, but her father, who was doing most of the yelling now, purpled with fury, more so from Sam’s lack of respect than the actual topic of the argument, probably. Sam couldn’t keep track any longer, and she was tired. “You don’t speak to us like that, young lady.”

“What else would you call what you’re doing, Dad?” Sam demanded. “I will accept detention with Tetslaff. I will take responsibility for leaving school. But how can you sit there and tell me you are both going to the Fentons’ Portal activation tomorrow, despite all the bullshit—”

“Language, Samantha!”

“—you’ve been spewing about my safety and how dangerous the Fentons are—”

“That is not—”

“But isn’t it?” Sam demanded. “You don’t want me to go because you don’t trust the Fentons, you tell me I can’t be friends with Danny anymore because you don’t trust him, and yet you’re willing to risk going to FentonWorks yourselves? Why? It doesn’t make sense, Dad!”

“We—”

Sam crossed her arms, scoffing, “After the shit Mom pulled tonight, I doubt the Fentons would so much as let you take a single step into their house tomorrow, anyway.”

Pamela stepped forward and snapped, “The mayor invited us after the Fent—”

Sam barked a malicious laugh. “Wow, and because the mayor gave you a second invitation, it just makes everything magically okay? It just erases the fact you insulted the Fentons in their own home?”

“We have a responsibility to this community to—”

“And I don’t? You were the ones you taught me to fight for what I believe in! And you know exactly how I feel about the ghosts and the Fentons, about what that Portal means to everyone in Amity Park! God forbid you have plans to discredit the Fentons, or perpetuate Guys-in-White ideology...”

“That is not what we—!”

“Look at it any way you want!” Sam argued, throwing her hands up. “Whatever! You still have no right to go back there after what you said to them tonight! And even if you hadn’t insulted them in their own house, you’re still hypocrites! Both of you. I thought we had an understanding about the Fentons. I thought you trusted me to—”

“That is not what this is about, Samantha!”

“That is exactly what this is about!”

“You are behaving like a child,” Mother said, because that was such a great comeback. Really.   

Sam snarled. She was beyond sick of their inflated sense of self-importance, of their presumptions and close-mindedness and everything in between. She was so furious and disgusted that she was about seconds away from throwing up. “Better a child than whatever you are. I’m done. I can’t stomach any more of this.”

And she stomped up the stairs, vindictively ignoring her parents as they shouted after her. Her bedroom door slammed with a satisfying crack behind her, and she didn’t even care that her parents might make good on their previous threats to remove her door.

There were worse injustices in the world that could use her attention.

They didn’t follow her upstairs, much to her surprise. Relief flooded her, and without hesitation, she flung herself onto her bed, pulled a pillow up to her face, and screamed as loud as she could. Tears dampened the material, and she sat there, crying, allowing herself to finally, finally break down the way she wanted to. Needed to.

She didn’t understand why they couldn’t understand. This was important to her, and they were so blind they didn’t even realize...

It wasn’t even about the damn Portal anymore. She was disappointed she was being forbidden from going, not that that was going to stop her from trying to sneak out and go anyway, but she could live without being there, truly. What she couldn’t live with any longer was this...suffocation. This idea that Sam was in more danger in the Fentons’ company than out of it. The fear that all of her parents’ promises about trust and defense classes and attempts to keep the household together had all just been a pack of lies meant to humor her, to control her.

And tonight....it felt like a culmination of every fight they’d had since the Shift—about the Fentons, about ghosts, about the future of Amity Park—and this time...

This time it didn’t feel as though they would be able to find their way back to common ground ever again.

Sam’s shoulders quaked, and once she started shaking, she couldn’t stop, the tremors running through her entire body. She was hollowed out, wrung dry of every last ounce of energy she could spare, and she wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take.

It killed her to admit it, even to herself.

At some point, she must have slipped into an exhausted sleep because a sharp sound—a knock—has her bolting upright in bed, disoriented and stuffy and feeling even more wretched than she had been feeling before her nap.

She rubbed her wrecked eyes and blinks harshly. The sun had set some time ago, and the house was dead silent. A second knock drew her eyes to her balcony, and after a moment of confusion, she launched herself out of bed, taking her fleece blanket with her and wiping at her face as she goes.

Danny was floating out on the balcony, and she must have looked like absolute shit because when he saw her, his aura dimmed and flared, the smile on his face sliding off like melted butter.

Sam wasn’t sure what she wanted to say to him. She couldn’t even tell if she was glad to see him, or if she didn’t want to see him at all. Part of her ached, and another screamed, and she found herself deciding not to do anything at all.

But even before she made that decision, Danny was already inviting himself in. He phased through the window, and Sam allowed him to. He didn’t say anything, instead looking her up and down once, and stepping right up to her to envelop her in a quick hug.

He was going to let go, Sam could sense it, but she gripped him around the back and did not let him go.

He stiffened in surprise but eventually relaxed. “I’m so sorry,” he said to her, echoing voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t know what he was apologizing for. He had nothing to apologize for.

“I won’t accept that,” she said into his shoulder. Despite the chill he radiated in his ghost form, Sam only began to feel cold when she finally stepped away from him. She shrugged her fleece blanket over her shoulders, closing it around herself like a cloak. “And I would apologize, too, if I thought my parents deserved the courtesy of another apology from me on their behalf, but as it happens, they really don’t.” She drove the heel of her hand across her sticky cheek. “I am sorry you have to see me like this, though,” she said, with a hint of self-deprecating humor.

“You’re fine,” Danny said, a little lamely.

She snorted. It was sweet of him to lie. “Why are you here?” she asked.

Phantom’s green eyes bored into her. “Why did you follow me home from school?” he asked.

A genuine seed of warmth sprouted in her, and suddenly she didn’t feel so empty. “Touché,” she murmured. “But...” The words were sour in her mouth, and she felt as though she had to spit them out. “I think you need to go.”

“I will if you want me to."

I don’t want you to, Sam thought, and she stared down at her bare toes, unable to look him in the eye. “You have to. Neither one of us can afford to get caught right now.”

“Worth it,” Danny said immediately. “I want to respect your parents’ opinions, but I also can’t afford to give a damn anymore.”

Sam looked up then, and she was transfixed, despite herself, by the determination on Danny’s face. She'd missed seeing that life there, and it amazed her, that he could reclaim it so readily after what had went down earlier today. “As easy as that?”

“I wish,” he admitted, but his eyes did not lose their brilliant spark. “But maybe the more times I say it, the easier it will be.”

“I hate this,” she said, scrubbing at her eyes again. “I’m amazed you can even look me in the eye right now. You, the ghosts, your parents...you don’t deserve the shit they give you. I can’t stand it.”

“No one ever deserves it,” Danny agreed. “And I’m not about to let the GIW, or your parents, or anyone else think I do. Not again." Sam sniffed a bit in response, trying to feed off his confidence, to little affect. "You know...It's going to be okay, Sam.”

“How do you do it?” she whispered. "How do you know?"

“I don’t,” he admitted. “But having you and Tuck and my family—that makes the difference.” Tentatively, gently, he smiled. “That’s why I came to see you. To make sure you knew that.”

“...Knew what?” Sam repeated, a little dumbly.

“You’re not losing a friend over all this shit.” When Sam stared at him, speechless, his soft smile grew into a boyish grin. “I’m part ghost. We’re known to be a little possessive, you know. So unfortunately for you, you’re stuck with me.”

And just like that, the hollow part of Sam was full again, swollen to the brim with affection, and she laughed.

What had she done to deserve him?

Danny looked at her like he could read her mind, and before she could have the grace to feel a little embarrassed about it, his attention was drawn elsewhere. He dug something out of his belt. “I can’t stay long—Jazz is stalling dinner for me right now—but I wanted you to have this.”

He flipped it to her, and she caught it deftly. It was a wristlet, not unlike the suppression band Danny had to wear to school, but thinner, and with a few simple buttons on the side. “What is this?” she asked.

“A way in,” Danny said. “If you want to risk it tomorrow morning. I can help get you in, of course, but if you want to avoid your parents...” He nodded toward the device. “This isn’t quite invisibility, but...”

Without thinking twice, Sam slipped the band onto her wrist and smashed the button. Immediately, the air around her shimmered, and she twisted her arm before her, amazed to see her bedroom set through her arm.

“Whoa,” she said, and she started to grin. “This is incredible! ”

“That’s the prototype,” Danny said. “So it may still be a bit glitchy, fair warning. I’ll need to get one for Tucker, too, eventually. And Jazz’ll probably kill me, because she was supposed to get this one back when I was done messing with it, but in any case—”

Sam stopped him from babbling by putting a casual hand on his upper arm. “Danny.” He stopped, blinking at her with those expressive green eyes of his, and she said, “Thank you.”

“So you’ll be there tomorrow?” Danny asked, a little shyly.

“I’ll be there,” she promised, and with a tap, she disabled the device, the illusion dissolving in a ripple of color. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Awesome,” he said. “You’ll have to text me when you’re there, so I can phase you into the house. The rest’ll be up to you.”

Sam smiled, and it felt sharp and devious and right. Just as it should. “Now, go on. Get out of here, ghost boy,” she said, making a shooing motion with her hand. “I know you want to adopt a ‘fuck-the-consequences’ stance with my parents right now, but I’m dead on my feet and don’t need any more drama tonight. We’ll save that for tomorrow.”

“Alright, alright,” Danny said, gracefully floating up into the air and slipping over to her balcony doors. “I’ll see you later, Sam.”

She watched him go, but before he could disappear into the night, she stopped him again, random impulse driving her to keep him there, just a second longer. “Hey, Danny?”

He paused halfway through her window and quirked a brow.

And naturally, she blanked.

“Thank you,” she ended up saying again. For the bracelet. For coming. For not giving up. For forgiving me. For being there. For all of it. “Really.”

His smile was blinding. “Anytime, Sam.”

Chapter Text

There are people downstairs.

Danny's eyes flew open, and he scrambled up in an ungraceful flail of fabric and limbs. His bedroom was dark, a hint of muted light spilling in from underneath the door and from the streetlight outside. Disoriented, he fumbled for his phone.

It was nearly five in the morning, and through his haze of confusion and exhaustion, it took him a moment to remember why he was awake at this cursed hour.

Today was the day.

And naturally, he'd overslept.

Because of course he did.

The fog threatening to drag him back into sleep dissipated instantly, and Danny fumbled around his room. He collected his HAZMAT and underclothes, cursing under his breath and turning invisible as he darted from his room and across the hall to the shower, which was blessedly unclaimed. He passed Jazz on the way. She stared through him with bleary eyes and, having just seen his bedroom door swing wildly open and shut, raised her coffee mug in his general direction, a silent "good morning."

Guests and his parents' colleagues weren't due to arrive until seven, with the broadcast beginning at eight, but Danny had wanted to be awake before the camera crew and security guards showed up. He'd totally meant to oversee the final preparations and help set up. Judging by the growing noise and thudding of heavy equipment, he was very, very late.

After taking what had to have been the quickest shower of his life, Danny flew—literally—down the stairs, securing the last of the straps across his chest and shoulders as he went. The HAZMAT and the utility belt, full of FentonWorks weaponry and tools, were kind of redundant considering his powers, but Danny had decided late last night that, barring any emergencies and despite public expectation, Phantom would not be making an appearance today.

The Portal was the ultimate expression of his family's passion for the paranormal sciences, as well as a revolutionary piece of technology, and today, Mom and Dad meant to showcase and share that with others. Today was his parents' day. It was FentonWorks' day. Despite the Portal's role in his creation, Phantom had no place here, and he refused to let Phantom's popularity outshine his parents. Today, Danny was a Fenton, first and foremost. He wouldn't let anyone forget it.

He just hoped he wasn't making the wrong choice.

(Judging by the expression on Vlad's face when he saw Danny, he certainly thought so).

Danny had to skirt around a few hustling people to make it to the kitchen, where his parents had set up a spread of bagels, fruit, and breakfast pastries for everyone. Vlad was seated at the table already, watching the commotion as he picked at a plate of food. His lip curled when he saw Danny headed his way, eyes sharp and assessing.

"I don't want to hear it," Danny said immediately.

"Perhaps you need hearing it," was Vlad's response.

Danny scowled and ducked his head into the fridge. "No thanks."

Danny didn't need to have Vlad in his direct line of sight to know the other halfa's eyes flashed red. He could sense the minute shift in the temperature in the room, a light chill lacing down his arms.

"Don't let your abominable pride get in the way of what's truly important here, Daniel," Vlad lectures.

Well, we're off to a great start, aren't we?

Danny bit his tongue, withholding a number of retorts, and emerged from the fridge with the milk jug. He raised a brow. "Is there something you haven't told us?"

Vlad made an annoyed tsk sound with his tongue against his teeth. "Of course not."

"Nothing new?"

Vlad's frustration grew. "No."

Danny sighed. There really was nothing more frustrating than feeling helpless and a step behind everyone else. He was used to that, at least: it was kind of his constant state whenever he was up against a new ghost or a new villainous plot from one of the usual suspects. Vlad, however? Vlad was often the brains behind said plots. He was clearly well beyond his usual realm of experience. Danny would have found the irony amusing, but as it happened, his nerves were doing enough somersaults for the both of them.

But that was neither here nor there.

"Then put the hackles away, and let's focus on getting through today," Danny said absently, reaching up into one of the cabinets for a glass and pouring himself some milk. His main attention was back on the people outside the kitchen, and on his mom, who was directing them into the lab, where he figured his dad was supervising. She was in her element, her attitude both professional and personable. In her hand was the Fenton Ecto-Wand, which his parents built to recognize ecto-residue or any ecto-powered machinery. With all the movement and equipment passing hands, it would alert them if anything unauthorized—or potentially destructive—was being smuggled into the lab.

Danny took a deep breath and released it slowly. He'd done enough worrying, he'd realized, and now that today was the day, it wasn't worth it anymore. What was going to happen, was going to happen. It was kinda like coming to the conclusion that cramming the night before a big final was a bad idea. No amount of last minute studying could truly help him anticipate what might be on the test: he'd just have to depend on what he'd learned in the past, his common sense, and any studying he'd done beforehand and trust that that'd be enough.

You're better than good enough, his dad had said the night after his first interview with Lance Thunder, the night his nightmares returned.

You're better than good enough.

"And that includes behaving as normal as possible," Danny added to Vlad. "Just like we discussed this weekend. Can't draw the GIW out if they suspect we're on to them, right?"

"I'd rather we engage and eradicate without all this cloak and dagger business," Vlad admitted in a dark undertone.

"That's funny, Vlad," Danny responded drily."The hypocrisy here is hilarious, but, hey, welcome to my world." He raised his glass in a mock salute and chugged to the last drop.

Vlad merely rolled his eyes. With a dismissive flap of his hand, he turned his attention back to his food and said, "Why don't you go make yourself useful and sniff out what you can from our crew out there, hm?"

"I'm not a dog."

"And thank Pariah for that. Dogs are disgusting, slobbering—"

Danny walked out on him, swiping a doughnut as he went. The moment he left the kitchen, he felt better, and he was nothing but grateful when his mom caught sight of him and flagged him over.

"Oh, good! Danny! We could use some help over here!"

Danny stuffed the last half of his breakfast into his mouth and jogged over to the entrance to the basement, where several crewmembers were struggling to manipulate a bulky piece of equipment through the door. When they saw him approaching, Danny heard the volume of their voices lower.

"...shouldn't bother your son to—" one of the men was saying to his mom.

"Nonsense," Mom said in response, brushing off his concerns. She smiled brightly over the man's shoulder and gestured Danny closer. Danny came to a stop next to her, gaze tracing the door and the positioning of the equipment. Whatever it was, it was oddly shaped, and it caught against at least three different places against the doorframe. "Danny doesn't mind."

Even if he did mind, he most certainly didn't want to listen to Mom bemoaning a wrecked doorframe in their months-old house. "I don't," Danny agreed easily.

The first man didn't flinch, but he hesitated long enough that Danny could sense the distinct wariness wafting from him.

Here we go, Danny thought wearily.

"Hey," said someone from the other end of the equipment. The man was a fair bit leaner than his colleague—younger, too—and he stood straddling the first and top stair, his knuckles white around the metal in his hands. What little Danny could see of his face was reddening rapidly. "We either need to move or set this down, dude. No in-between."

"No, really, Raj," the uneasy man argued. "We could go back around." To Mom, he asked, "You mentioned a garage-level entrance, ma'am?"

"Are you fu—reaking serious, Dave?" Raj snapped. "And get this back through the front door? No. I veto."

"Okay, fine. Fine. Maybe if we twist it, we can—"

The thin man's eyes went dead. Absolutely desolate. Danny exchanged a look with him, and without waiting to hear Dave's full plan for fitting their monstrosity through their basement door, he brushed his hand against the metal, transferring his intangibility as he did.

"Bless," Raj immediately sighed in relief. Dave, for his part, yelped at the odd sensation, a visible shudder rolling down his spine. He would have dropped his end of the equipment, had Danny's powers not also reduced some of the load.

"Sorry," Danny said cheerily, feigning complete obliviousness when Dave realized what happened and his face drained of color. He cast a wild-eyed and panicked look in Mom's direction. For what? Danny couldn't say. Mom wasn't paying a single iota of attention as it was, and Danny's grin became a little sharper. "May feel a bit cold."

"Who cares?" Raj asked, his mood significantly improved. He leaned around the equipment to peer at one of the spots where it disappeared into the wall. His smile grew. "Look at that. This is so wild. Dave, Dave, isn't this wild?"

Dave didn't respond. In fact, he looked like he was about to be sick. Danny would have taken a little pity on him and moved them along, but Raj's simpleminded delight was catching, as pure and unbiased as a child's. "I don't understand how we're still able to hold it up when it's...whatsit called?"

"Intangible?" Danny supplemented. "Easy. Because I've made you intangible, too."

Dave shot a baffled look in Danny's direction, and then cast his gaze over himself and the metal in his hands. His body language screamed not normal what is happening not normal don't like.

"But then how are we standing?" Raj asked excitedly. "Why aren't we sinking through the floor? Are the soles of our feet still tangible? Are—?" A look of realization crossed his face, and he gasped. "Noooo. Dude, are we floating?"

"Uh, I guess we're sort of—"

It was a rhetorical question, Danny supposed, because Raj continued to chatter over Danny's explanation, the stick and snap of his chewing gum accenting his words. He started to move backwards down the stairs, forcing Danny and Dave to follow. Danny's feet left the floor, and he hovered through the wall in order to maintain contact with the entire party. He listened politely to Raj as he marveled over ghost physics, offering 'hmm's and 'oh, for sure's at appropriate intervals.

"You don't have to listen to him," Dave muttered to Danny about halfway down the stairs. Danny couldn't tell if Dave was apologizing for his partner's overwhelming enthusiasm or if he was commiserating with Danny for having to listen to him ramble. Perhaps it was both. Or neither. Dave's attention seemed to be less focused on where he was placing his own feet and more on the fact Danny wasn't placing his feet anywhere. His uneasiness wasn't so pungent now, off-set by a hint of hesitant curiosity and secondhand embarrassment. "He'd go off on a barnyard door if it meant he could hear himself talk."

"No worries," Danny said amiably, half-distracted by the sight of his waving father, who was standing with Lance Thunder on the observation deck. Dad wasn't usually a morning person, but his energy was at an all-time high. Danny smiled his good morning, warmth flooding him when Dad's pride-bright eyes lit up and he mouthed, alright, kid?

Danny was just about to nod in response when Raj said, "—both of us were in Chicago when it all went down, you know. It was—"

"Raj," Dave interrupted in a hiss. His mildly thawed demeanor went frigid again, and Danny came to a dead halt, a little taken aback.

"What?" Danny asked. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah," Raj said happily. They'd reached the bottom of the stairs, and Danny's feet hit the floor. A few other members from Thunder's crew flocked over to them immediately to offer their assistance. There were several grunts of surprise as Danny withdrew his power and the equipment's full mass rematerialized in their hands.

Raj watched with wide-eyed fascination, but after wiping his hands on his pants, he focused again, grabbed Dave by the elbow, and grinned. "Us camera men got pretty close to the action," he continued, jostling Dave's arm. "A lot of storm-chaser types were put out there to cover the battle. We were the only ones who had the balls to do it. A lot of amateurs volunteered, too! It was really neat to work with them."

Danny's interest piqued. After the Shift, he'd talked to all manners of people, but he couldn't say he'd spoken to many of the cameramen or photographers who'd been out there right alongside him and the other fighters.

"That's absolutely incredible," he said honestly. From his understanding, these people had gone out there without weapons, without gear—armed with their wits, their cameras and tape recorders, their ambition and spines of steel—and all in the name of providing people with news real-time. "A lot of people depended on you guys, you know. Especially once it was clear they had to make a decision to evacuate or stay put."

Raj beamed with pride. "Definitely. I was on the ground crew. Dragon detail. Dave, though? He was up in the—"

"Raj."

"—'copters," Raj finished. Noticing Dave's disbelieving glare, he shrugged and said, "What? It's hardly a crime to talk about the roles we played. We're here now because of it! Watching history in the making! And to think, you were supposed to be off today!"

Dave fidgeted and muttered something under his breath, but Raj was distracted by a sharp command from another colleague. He skipped away with a flippant apology and a promise to catch up later, leaving Danny alone with an increasingly awkward Dave.

"Well," Danny said, a little stiffly. "I'm going to go see if my mom needs any more help. You good?"

Dave started and offered a nod, but as Danny moved to pass him by and head back upstairs, the other man said, "Wait."

Danny halted, turning with a sigh. Dave's fidgeting was even worse than it was before, and Danny didn't know what to make of it, let alone any of the other odd behavior he'd portrayed in the last few minutes. Danny wasn't sure he wanted to know. And considering the fact Danny didn't believe the guy had any truly malicious intent, he didn't really want to care.

How people felt about Phantom and his abilities was their business.

"Look," Danny said, as kindly as he could, "I really should—"

"I need to apologize," Dave blurted, face flushing.

Danny blinked and took another second to survey the cameraman closer, allowed his senses to expand.

It wasn't extreme wariness Danny Sensed, like he'd initially thought. Or fear, necessarily. No, Dave reeked of regret. Of anxiety and sleepless nights and something weighing heavily upon him. So heavily, Danny could taste the deep exhaustion fogging his emotions.

Suspicion rooted before Danny could stop to think rationally. The hairs on his arms began to rise, and he knew Dave could feel the impact he was making on the room, too. The man took an unconscious step back, his courage failing, and it was then—when Danny caught himself liking that a GIW suspect was responding to him that way—that he realized what he was doing.

He backed off immediately, disgusted with himself. He wasn't any better than the GIW, jumping to conclusions like that. "I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I didn't mean..." He stammered for words before settling on a weak, "I just don't understand why you're apologizing?"

Dave shivered, shaking off the cobwebs of cold Danny'd cast over the room. "I...you really don't know?" he asked in a quiet, nervous voice.

"...Am I supposed to?"

"Oh," Dave said. "Um." He shuffled his feet a little, looking as though he wished he could borrow Danny's intangibility and sink through the floor. "I...I was the cameraman."

At first, Danny didn't get it. He wondered, wildly, if Dave thought he was dumb or something, or if maybe Dave was a little touched in the head. Of course Danny knew his occupation. Raj had just mentioned it, for one, and Dave wouldn't be here, unloading what looked like half of Lance Thunder's studio, if he wasn't one of Thunder's crew. What in the world...?

But Dave kept talking, the words spilling from him now that he'd unlocked them. "I really wasn't meant to be here today. I'm covering for someone else. I didn't think I'd even have the chance to ever...I mean, I probably could have reached out to you, but I—the studio had my name kept out of it entirely, and when my boss offered me legal protection, just in case, I took the out. I guess that makes me a coward, for letting my fear of retribution get in the way of what was right. And—"

"Oh my God." The pieces started fitting together. Danny wasn't sure how he was feeling. What to feel. He was at a loss for words. "You—you were the one who...? You were that cameraman?"

"We were filming live," Dave admitted. "I didn't realize what was happening. What exactly I was filming. Not until..."

"It was too late," Danny finished lamely.

This was surreal. This man was accidentally responsible for everything. Had his camera been angled a different way, had a stray ectoblast nicked his lens, had any number of tiny things happened to interfere with that camera...They wouldn't be here. Now. In this moment. And Danny's secret identity would have still been just that: secret.

Danny had never expected to be confronted by this person, not because he totally understood why Dave would actively avoid him and his family but because it never once crossed his mind.

The world couldn't be that small, could it?

"Yeah," Dave agreed, voice trembling. "I..." He licked his lips and made a valiant attempt to meet Danny's eyes. "For what it's worth, I am truly sorry. All I wanted was to see it happen. To see the Ghost King go down. Everything else was..." He shook his head. "It...was supposed to be a victory. For all of us. I never intended...all this. I never wanted to get acclaim for it either. Not like this. And never at the expense of a kid. Every time I see that damn clip play, I'm forced to remember that your life changed irrevocably because of me, and I'm so, so sorry."

He must have said everything he wanted to say. His shoulders slumped downward as he heaved a relieved sigh, and a sense of peace had descended over him, his guilt assuaged by satisfaction that he'd done all that he could.

It really ate at him, Danny realized, amazed. He means it.

"I forgive you," Danny said, and when Dave looked up at him in surprise, he could only offer a helpless shrug. "I don't...There is nothing to forgive, in the end, is there?" he tried to explain. "I mean, my life changed the moment I became Phantom, and yeah, it changed again after everyone saw what you filmed, but..." 

"I—you don't blame me?" Dave asked when Danny trailed off, incredulous.

Danny stared past Dave, toward the yet-to-be activated Portal. It looked almost exactly as it did the day of the Accident.

The Portal and Dave. A sleek, gaping hole in the wall and this random dude. Two felled dominos previously lined up along the same weird, ectoplasm-infused track that was his life.

Funny thing about dominos. Their fall could be inconsequential or spectacular, but no matter how hard the push bringing them all down, you had a choice: you could leave them in ruins...

Or you could build something new.

If anything, I should be thanking him, Danny thought. He probably should say so, but the emotions behind the words were too big, too important, to give away.

"Why would I?" Danny asked, numb and tingling all over simultaneously. A piece of himself had been unlocked, unshackled. An odd sensation washed over him, and he couldn't keep the revelation from his voice when he said, "My life wasn't ruined, you know? What happened up on the Tower wasn't your fault. I can't even say the blame rests entirely on Pariah Dark's shoulders either. I was the one who decided to do what I did, and no one could have predicted what'd happen after that, least of all me or you. Besides," Danny added, "it really was only a matter of time that I was outed, anyway. If not by you, then by someone else. We're cool. Truly."

Dave stared at him for a moment before gracing him with a real smile. It was a little weak with lingering nerves, but he looked like a completely different person when he smiled. "You're something else, kid."

Brushing off the compliment, Danny started back up the stairs, with Dave following behind. "You know what the weirdest part of this is actually?" Danny asked over his shoulder.

"Feeling as though I might be able to sleep through the night again for the first time in months?" Dave asked, deadpan and blunt. "Or maybe seeing my elbow disappear through a wall earlier? That was pretty weird."

Danny laughed. "Not quite."

"Enlighten me, then. What's weird to a Fenton?"

"I never—" Danny admitted with a grin "—never in my wildest dreams—thought the person who blew my identity to the entire world would be named Dave."

"We're about to leave."

"Okay."

Tense silence reigned, thick and interminable. Sam's spoon clinked against her cereal bowl. There was maybe a raisin or two left swimming in the almond milk. It took some effort to remain focused on her breakfast, to keep herself from turning to her mother and offering her something more than passive disinterest. It took even more effort not to think about the prototype Danny had given her, as though even thinking about it and where it sat in the bag at her feet would alert her mother to her plans.

"...I expect you to be home directly after school today."

"Okay."

"I..." Her mother hesitated again. "Do you need a lift? We can—"

"I'm taking the bus."

Pamela paused, and Sam didn't understand why she was still hovering. Why she didn't just go. Perhaps her mother didn't trust her—which, fair—but, really, this was starting to feel genuinely awkward. Whatever her mother needed to say, it wasn't like her to hold back. Especially in the wake of a big argument.

It was weird enough that Sam's skin leapt and crawled. She wanted to break her cold shoulder and ask, but that really defeated the purpose of being mad and maintaining her position in said argument.

Perhaps this was a new tactic to get Sam to bend. If that was the case...it was extraordinarily effective.

Sam resented it.

"Alright." Pamela's keys jangled in her hand, but she still didn't move from where she stood. "We'll see you later this afternoon."

This time, Sam couldn't ignore the hesitation. If Pamela was going to leave without addressing the elephant in the room—or extending the olive branch or whatever this was—Sam would spend the rest of her day wondering, and she didn't want that, even if it meant starting another fight about the Fentons or the ghosts or the Portal or anything, really.

She spun around before she could think twice. "Can I help you with something else?" she asked, a little more ice in her voice than she fully intended.

Pamela's eyes narrowed at her tone, but to Sam's surprise, her mother didn't rise to the bait. Her long, manicured fingers fiddled with her purse strap. "I'm just waiting for your father."

Sam called BS, so she decided to poke the tiger. With a very audible scoff, she slipped off her chair and took her dishes with her. "Whatever."

Pamela bristled visibly, but after a deep breath in, the incensed expression on her face smoothed, and she sighed. "I don't want to fight, Sammie," she murmured, exhaustion roughening her voice. "I'm so sick of fighting with you."

Sam's attitude dissolved in an instant, and she looked up from the sink. This was no trick, she realized. Pamela looked tired. She was dressed to impress, her pantsuit more befitting of a board meeting presentation than the Fentons' Ghost Portal activation, and her eyeliner was on point, lips painted and perfect, not a hair out of place. But even Pamela's usual chic armor couldn't hide the fact there was a light missing from her eyes.

Cautiously, Sam dropped her defensive shields. "I just..." She struggled to find words and settled with, "Mom, seriously, please tell me you're going to apologize to the Fentons before you invite yourselves into their home today."

Pamela removed her sunglasses from where they were propped on her head and spun one of the temples back and forth between her fingers. "I...I intend to."

"What?" Sam asked, uncertain if she heard correctly.

Her mom's lips twitched a little at Sam's flabbergasted reaction. "I've been thinking about what you said last night."

This wouldn't be the first time Pamela tried to find common ground with Sam after a fight, and usually it ended up with another point of contention coming to the forefront and opening yet another can of worms. Sam braced herself for disappointment. "Okay," she said, a little hesitantly.

"It's—I realize I may have been a little out of line yesterday," Pamela admitted. "You have to understand: when we got the call that you hadn't been in school, can you imagine what kind of thoughts were going through my mind? It wasn't just ghosts. It was pedophiles and kidnappers and ransoms and a whole manner of dark, dark things. You scared me, Samantha, and when I found out how mundane the real reason was...I'm afraid I lost it."

"Maybe a little," Sam agreed.

It was meant as a light joke, and maybe it was risky, considering her mother never responded well to jokes made at her expense, no matter how subtle, but Pamela took it with good grace, a hint of self-deprecating humor twisting the quirk to her lips even further. "I may not approve of everything the Fentons do and what they represent," her mother continued, "but it was unfair to take it out on them." Her eyes moistened, and her voice became tremulous. "I can't lose you, Sammie."

Sam's chest felt as though it was being cracked open like an egg. This was familiar—this overprotectiveness. They'd come close to reconciliations like this one so many times before. They'd given and taken and compromised, reached some level of understanding only to backslide again and again, but this time...

This felt different.

Was her mother possessed? What in the world...?

"You won't," Sam promised, not for the first time.

Pamela snorted wetly, rolling her eyes to the ceiling to collect herself. "No one can make promises like that, Sam. Not even the ghosts, for all their permanency."

"But we can prepare," Sam said. She closed her eyes, a tension headache beginning to form between her brows. God, she was tired too. She'd been tired. Tired of the same old song and dance. Tired of being misunderstood, of defending herself day in and day out. Of every last variation of this argument and every last time it all blew up in their faces. "We can train. We can accept change. We can stay vigilant and be the best we can be. We can do everything right, and you're right, maybe it won't be enough, but at least we'll have been out there, giving it our damnedest before we're taken down."

"I suppose," Pamela murmured. She tossed her hair back so that it fell behind her shoulders. "Personal safety is paramount."

Sam didn't have the energy to put any vitriol or poison in her tone. It was impassive when she pointed out, "But only on your terms, right?"

Pamela didn't respond, but the look on her face was enough. She was upset, rather than angry. "And so we go in circles again. I'm getting dizzy, Sam."

Then stop spinning the carousel, Sam wanted to say.

But isn't that what you're doing too? another part of her whispered.

"Me too," Sam ended up admitting quietly. Something like guilt curled tightly in her gut. "Mom, I—"

"Hon?" came a sudden call from the front of the house.

Her mom dabbed at her eyes and sniffed, setting her shoulders. She was perfectly collected by the time Jeremy popped his head into the kitchen.

Sam's father was no fool, but he was wise enough not to address it. "Ready?" he asked.

"Of course, dear."

Pamela turned back to Sam, a mildly apologetic smile on her face. Clearly, Sam's punishment wasn't being alleviated, but it was enough that Sam understood, maybe for the first time, that her mom never liked grounding her.

"We'll talk when I get back, okay?" Pamela said, and in that moment, her tone reminded Sam of Mrs. Fenton.

"Okay," Sam repeated softly.

And that's how Sam found herself wrapped in a bony hug.

This is a fresh start, Sam thought, somewhat stiff and stunned in her mother's arms. A new beginning. For real, this time.

"I promise," Pamela reiterated, squeezing Sam lightly and releasing.

Sam watched her retreat to collect her things. She didn't know how to feel about it, or why this time it was so different, but this...this was a good thing, wasn't it?

No, it was. Definitely. It had to be. Sam should be ecstatic, exuding gratitude, and sending every prayer of thanks she could to the Lord above for this new hope. She shouldn't want to question what happened in the last twelve or so hours to shift her mother's perspective on its axis just so.

(But it did mean she needed to question whether or not it was worth the risk to sneak out now).

It physically pained her, but this truce was too fragile, too new and too honest. Testing boundaries now, right after this conversation, would ruin whatever budding understanding was developing. Her mother had made an effort—a genuine effort to avoid their usual head-butting—and the very least Sam could do was return the favor.

And assuming she went to the Fentons' and did get caught? There was no telling how that would impact their relationship now. If Sam thought it irreparable and broken before, there'd be no salvaging it if she went through with this. Not this time.

That didn't change the fact Sam needed to be there for the Fentons. It was more than a desire to see the Portal. More than scientific fascination. This was about her friend, as well as Amity Park and the Ghost Zone as a whole.

Whether you lived inside or outside Amity; whether you were ghost or human, the GIW was a threat to everyone.

Maybe...maybe if Sam explained the GIW situation to her parents...they'd be lenient?

"Wait," Sam blurted, mind scrambling to find a way to succinctly and effectively convince her mother.

Pamela was already halfway out the door. With her purse slung over her shoulder and sunglasses at the ready, she turned back around and pulled her hair back behind her ear. Her sleek Bluetooth headset caught the sunlight, glinting.

Sudden annoyance flickered through Sam at the sight of it. Surely her mother didn't have work so important that she couldn't leave the headset behind? Jeez-us.

"I won't be convinced to let you come, Samantha," Pamela said without prompting. The apologetic look was back, but her tone was unyielding. "I know it means a lot to you, but you're still grounded."

Sam bit her lip. "And I understand that, but—"

"No 'but's. I'm sorry." She flipped her wrist to check her watch, cursing under her breath. "We have to go," she said to Jeremy. "We're already running late."

"Just waiting on you, dear," Jeremy said in a long-suffering tone.

Pamela sent Sam a look that clearly read can you believe this? before waggling her fingers and escaping from the kitchen, unwilling to stop when Sam tried, once again, to call out, "But there's something I need to—"

"We'll talk when you come home from school, Sam!" Pamela promised again over her shoulder.

Frustrated and absolutely certain her mother wouldn't respond well to being chased down, Sam turned to her father. One last attempt. "Dad, please, I think there's—"

"I'm sorry, Sammie," Jeremy said, rummaging around in the pantry and emerging with a bagel clenched between his teeth. "We' 'ee ya wa'er!" he tried to say through a solid wall of bread, and after a wild scramble for the jacket he had hanging on the back of a kitchen chair, he flung it on. In his haste, he knocked something out of his ear. He reached up to the side of his head and stuffed it back into place.

Pulling the bagel out of his mouth, her father tapped his ear and said, "Whoops. Can't lose that. Your mother'd kill me."

Honestly? Sam wondered, completely baffled. Him to?

"I thought you hated those things," she blurted. "When'd you get it?"

True to form, Jeremy pulled it back out of his ear and gave it a little grimace. It...wasn't like any Bluetooth device Sam'd seen before. It was smaller. Unobtrusive. More like a wireless earbud than an actual headset. "Recently," Jeremy answered with a shrug.

"Why, though?" Sam asked, completely uncomprehending.

It wasn't that uncommon for her parents to bring work with them wherever they went, and very often on days off, but surely at least one of her parents meant to pay attention to the Portal activation? Hadn't they wanted to go? Made a point of going, even?

And they couldn't tell their coworkers they were going to be "away from their desks" for it? Seriously?

Anger spluttered and popped like hot oil, but she tamed it down and tried to focus on what was important here. Potential GIW sabotage definitely overruled her parents' work-alcoholism and lack of common courtesy.

"Well, that's a funny story, actually. They're new tech, and the other day, we were—"

"Jeremy!" Pamela called from the garage. "Let's go!"

"Shit, sorry, I'll have to tell you about it later, Samantha."

"Wait," Sam said, a little desperately, "I really need to talk to you about—"

But her father was gone before she could finish. "Coming!" Sam heard him shout halfway down the hall.

"Shit," Sam echoed in a hiss. She kicked out at the nearest table leg in pure, childish irritation and half-screamed a groan.

What was she going to do now?

She spun on her heel and squatted to reach for her bag and hunt around for the invisibility prototype device Danny had given her. She pulled it out and twisted it between her hands, staring at it as though it could give her all the answers.

A pro/cons list began compiling in her mind. Danny had said the device was glitchy and far from perfect. Would there be enough people at FentonWorks to hide her in plain sight if necessary? Probably not, given what she remembered of the Fentons' guest list. Even with the additional police officers, security, and newscast members staffing the event, it was a huge risk: there still weren't enough people there to assume she could successfully use a crowd to her advantage.

And assuming the device didn't fail, how much use would she really be to the Fentons if she had to stay invisible the whole time? And should all this stress and anxiety about the GIW prove to be unwarranted, would she even be able to enjoy herself and learn a thing or two from the Fentons about their work?

Sam gnawed on her inner cheek, and she sat back on her haunches, resting the prototype on her lap.

She...she told Danny last night she wouldn't miss it for the world.

For a fleeting, selfish moment, Sam cursed her mother for deciding to choose now, of all times, to call another truce. It was making it impossible not to feel bad about going behind her parents' backs. She couldn't maintain any sort of moral high ground when the decision she wanted to make would most definitely weigh on her conscience.

She needed to decide soon. If she left any later, she wouldn't make it in time.

Still frustratingly torn, Sam gritted her teeth. She surged to her feet and set the FentonWorks prototype down, swiping her empty cereal box off the counter with the other hand. She toed at the foot pedal of the trash can as she removed the plastic bag from the cardboard.

And froze.

The box slipped from nerveless fingers, a spray of tiny bran crumbs exploding at her feet.

Personal safety is paramount, her mother had said.

Staring up at her from the top of the trash, half hidden by a grapefruit peel and some coffee grounds, was some black packaging and an envelope emblazoned with a single, distinctive insignia.

A stylistic V.

Well, it's a funny story, her father had said.

Vladco.

Chapter Text

Danny picked up on the first ring.

"Yo, Tuck, where are you?" A sudden, loud ka-lunck resounded through the lab, followed by an intense flood of light. The heat of it seared at the back of Danny's neck, and in an attempt to duck out of the blinding spotlight, he nearly stumbled right into a technician carrying a thick roll of cable. Danny mouthed a sorry at the harried technician and quickly got himself out of the way before he could make himself more of a nuisance.

"We're nearly all set up here, I think," Danny continued. He squinted against the glare of lights, tracking the movement of Lance Thunder's sound and lighting crew. With the exception of a few last-minute tests, it seemed like everything was in place and all the cameras were ready to roll. He tried not to think about how that fact alone made his palms damp with nerves. "And my parents' guests are due to show up any second now."

"Yeahhhh," came Tuck's drawling response. "'bout that..."

When Tucker trailed off, an ominous feeling draped itself over Danny's shoulders, followed quickly by a flicker of anxiety.

Did Tucker change his mind about coming today? Did he decide it wasn't worth coming?

(Or that it was too dangerous to?)

"Is everything okay?" he asked. His calm tone did not match the flutter of his heartbeat.

"What? Oh, yeah, bro, everything is fine."

He still sounded remarkably cagey to Danny's ears. Rolling his eyes up to the lab's high ceiling and trying to mitigate any potential disappointment, he heaved a sigh and teased, "You overslept, too, didn't you?"

Tuck spluttered on the other end of the line, and that, alone, was how Danny knew his momentary panic was completely unfounded. "How dare," Tuck whined. "I'll have you know—" He cut off abruptly, and Danny heard a chiding, indistinct murmur come through the line. "Yeah, yeah, sorry, Mom."

"Oh, hey, Mrs. Foley," Danny said.

"Danny says hi, Mom," Tucker relayed. There was another pause, and Tucker said, to Danny, "She says hi back, and she wants me to politely ask if you happened to see the crowd outside FentonWorks."

The moment Danny heard the word 'crowd,' he was on his way upstairs. "Ah, no," he admitted, mounting the stairs two at a time. "Can't say I have. But I'm about to."

"A'ight."

Tucker went silent as Danny popped out of the basement, which was concerning enough in it of itself. Tucker and silent didn't usually belong in the same sentence.

Since almost everyone else was still setting up in the lab, the first floor was mostly vacant. Vlad was the sole exception. He sat on the edge of one of their living room couches, looking like he had just swallowed a lemon. The older halfa didn't say anything, but when he caught Danny's eye, he made an agitated gesture toward the second floor. Danny nodded and turned the corner to race up yet another flight of stairs.

Once he reached the top, he was immediately greeted by the sight of his mom, Lance Thunder, and Jazz standing on the catwalk, looking through FentonWorks' higher windows so they could see out past the driveway and ring of landscaping hiding most of FentonWorks from view.

Without taking her eyes off the street, Jazz sidled over to make room for him. He stepped up to the banister and looked outside.

The cul-de-sac was swarming with people. Signs of various materials dotted the group. Most were made of cardboard, of poster board, of things people had found lying around the house. Even from this distance, Danny could see that a lot of them were done up with aggressive lettering and, less commonly, violent imagery bisected with morbid slashes of color.

DEAD IS DEAD, one read. THEY DON'T BELONG HERE, another read.

GET SPOOKED, SPOOKS was clearly a fan favorite.

Others went a step further, painting themselves like scenes out of a horror movie. A whole group of protestors wore powder white faces, heavy makeup-ringed eyes, and fake blood. Another group wore nun and priest outfits. Danny didn't have to be close to know their signs displayed out-of-context Bible verses. Several others were cosplaying as...haunted Ghostbusters, for a lack of better description, their signs depicting a warped and disturbing version of the original Ghostbuster insignia.

Most of Thunder's cameramen and a few other interviewers were out there, roaming amongst the protestors. Each had a security detail on them, but it didn't look as though the precaution was necessary. In fact, there was a pretty distinct and respectful line between the Fenton property and the group of protestors, which allowed for plenty of room for vehicles to pass through.

"Ah," Danny finally said, for lack of anything better to say.

"Yeah. 'Ah.' So..." Tucker trailed off before plowing ahead, blunt and clipped, "Mom's parked a couple of blocks away. She didn't want to let me wade through all that by myself. And to be honest with you, I don't fancy it much either."

Danny swallowed harshly, shame turning his stomach inside-out. This, he supposed, was what it looked like to be his friend. "For good reason," he muttered.

It came out a little more bitterly than he intended, which caused both his mom and Jazz to turn. Mom pulled him to her side, just briefly, for a side hug. He didn't have the presence of mind to be embarrassed by the casual contact. Jazz was pressed against Mom's other side, and Lance Thunder looked as though he had enough on his mind as it was. He was paying the Fentons next to him no attention, instead talking into an earpiece, probably in the midst of helping direct his team, or at the very least, listening in to what reports they were making down below.

"They'd be here, regardless," Mom murmured. Her tone was flatter than she probably meant it to be. "Phantom or otherwise. We expected this."

He blew out a steadying breath and leaned out of her hug, refocusing on what he could do rather than stewing in regrets about what he couldn't. It was an uphill battle. "Where are you?" he asked Tucker again. "I'll come get you."

"You'll be okay? To come out, I mean?"

Danny tried not to think about the fact there was probably an ecto-weapon or two out there, and he had to remind himself he knew the specs for all of the anti-ghost devices available for public consumption. He should—would—be able to keep himself and Tucker well out of their range.

And since he definitely didn't want to think about any GIW hiding amongst the crowd, he made another joke instead. "Well, yeah?" he scoffed. "What'll they do? See me?"

Tucker snorted. "Okay, point made, ghost kid. We're over at the corner of Birch and Torchwood. Near that little walking trail? And the pond?"

Danny knew the place. "Be there in a few."

He hung up, and in response to his mother's raised eyebrow, he explained, "I need to go get Tucker."

Mom smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh, good," she said, gaze skirting around him to look back out at the protestors. Stress stiffened the line of her shoulders, seeped into the edges of her fading smile. "I worried he might have gotten caught up in it all."

"I don't think anyone's going to want to miss this," Danny said, and judging by the mild surprise on his mom's face, she hadn't expected him to read her worries so clearly. "It looks like security is doing its job."

"Yes, they are," Mom said distractedly, without looking at him. She went silent for a moment before adding in a small, thin voice, "I'm sorry, Danny. I'm so sorry."

"Why?" Danny asked. "It's not your fault. It isn't anyone's. You just said—"

Mom shook her head, cutting him off. "This was almost us."

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Danny rejected them viscerally, tearing himself away from her. Jazz heard, too, and made a strangled noise that reflected exactly how he felt about the whole situation.

He faced his mother with a deep frown. She'd never let anything like this bother her before, and besides that, he'd thought his parents had forgiven themselves for everything that happened before the Shift. He thought they knew he had already forgiven them a long time ago. "Mom, no—"

"Yes," his mother interrupted again. The look on her face implied she would obstruct anything he could have said to convince her otherwise. Her eyes glinted with unshed tears. "It could have been."

Jazz and Danny exchanged a look, and Danny said firmly, "But it isn't." Mom finally tore her eyes off the crowd outside, and he added, "And it won't be."

"That's why we're here, isn't it?" Jazz said. "That's why we're doing this. To show them better."

Mom stared at them, and perhaps it was the reminder of their achievements with the Portal, perhaps what they were saying got through to her, but something gave. Her second smile, though weak, seemed a little more solid to Danny. More real. Perhaps because it wasn't made in an attempt to hide anything. "Be careful out there, Danny."

It was an obvious attempt to change the subject. Danny would allow it, only because this wasn't the time to hash it out. His mom knew that just as well.

Pessimism didn't often stick well with a Fenton, anyway.

To brush of her concerns and lighten the mood a little further, he said, "Me? I'd be a poor excuse for a ghost if I couldn't make it there and back without being seen."

To emphasize his point, he smirked and flickered out of visibility. He slid around to Mom's other side, only to pop his head right back into view to startle her and Jazz.

Jazz, as expected, leapt out of her skin. "Danny!" she exclaimed in a hiss. "Honestly? We have a guest."

(Thunder, for the record, was still so focused on the cameramen outside, and on the arrival of a few cars to the scene, that he didn't notice at all.

Danny could say all he wanted about the man and his inexhaustible energy, but he was pretty damn good at his job. He wasn't sure he'd trust anyone else to be here, running the "show" for FentonWorks).

"He doesn't seem phased."

"Daniel, focus," Mom said, unamused by the prank and the pun. "I don't want to see you hurt."

I don't want to see anyone hurt, Danny heard.

"Yeah, I know," he said, sobering. "I'll be right back. Promise."

"No dawdling," Mom ordered. "If you're not back in five minutes, I'm sending Vlad out to get you."

That was no idle threat. Danny pulled a violent grimace, and Mom looked satisfied by his obvious distaste. Turning to his sister, she said, "Jazz, let's go get your father and have him ready. It's almost time."

"I'll be back soon, then," Danny said, saluting the pair. With the barest flex of his mind, he became entirely invisible again and stayed invisible, even throughout his transformation.

This time, Thunder caught sight of his bodiless head disappear, his words trailing off and jaw going slack with childlike awe. To his mom and sister, he gaped and asked, "Did you just see...?"

Normally, Danny would be well on his way to avoid seeing any more of Thunder's reaction. He'd probably be hot-faced and panicky, moth wings the size of bear paws fluttering in his chest. He'd probably be cursing himself for the lapse in judgement, on top of that. But despite how it normally felt when he expressed a minor power in front of an outsider, this felt...different.

Because Jazz, too, was looking at the space where he disappeared, just a few centimeters off from where he was floating, and it was her reaction that made him pause.

She was smiling like the sun, like pride incarnate.

It took a moment to realize why.

Actively using and maintaining his abilities mid-morph used to be an absolute impossibility. No, worse—it was a pain in the ass. Sure, he'd learned to morph so quickly it looked like a seamless transition, but that's all it was: an illusion.

It was enough. It had to be enough.

Jazz had thought otherwise. And once his opponents became more skilled, ruthless, and powerful, he had to concur.

He and she had spent a lot of time trying to train him to morph while invisible, while intangible, while maintaining an ectoblast charged in his palm. It was a matter of personal safety, Jazz insisted. To Danny, it was also a matter of control, of ensuring the best possible outcomes for everyone he was trying to protect, but he'd never quite managed it. Not consistently, anyway.

Funny. Thinking back on it, he couldn't quite remember when that had changed. When it had gotten so...

Effortless.

In that moment, he could accept Lance Thunder's awe without the usual self-deprecation and sense of imposter syndrome. He could accept it without the constant echo of the word freak in his mind.

Because, for the first time in awhile, he felt it too. Awe.

He'd come a long, long way since the Accident, hadn't he?

With his optimism rising, Danny sped upward and through the ceiling. He turned his back on the protest below immediately, unwilling to ruin the upswing in his mood, and he angled himself in the direction of the local park, four streets away.

Mrs. Foley was parked in her RAV4, engine off. Danny soared down and banked at the driver's side window. Not wanting to frighten either Tucker or his mom, he allowed a few ectoplasmic sparks to snap at his fingertips to draw their attention.

Mrs. Foley caught sight of them almost immediately and fixed her gaze somewhere well over Danny's left shoulder. He rapped lightly on the windows with his knuckles—an affirmation that he was there and a gentle request to come in.

To his amusement, she graciously unlocked the car doors, and Tucker, following her lead, leaned across the backseat, clearly with the intention to get the door for him.

He's pretty sure incorporeal snickering wasn't the best way to introduce Mrs. Foley to his alter ego, but he couldn't help it. He phased through the door, trying his best to avoid direct contact with Tucker out of a sense of somewhat-misplaced courtesy, and snickered the entire time.

"No need, Tuck," he laughed as he settled into the vacant seat and returned to visibility. "I appreciate it, though."

Mrs. Foley, to her credit, didn't gasp audibly, but even from where he sat in her backseat, Danny saw her chest rise, as though she was keeping a whole breath captive in her lungs. In the rearview mirror, he saw her studying him.

Tucker proved to be an excellent distraction. With a dramatic groan, he sat back and said, "That's embarrassing. I will get used to this, I swear."

"It's cool," Danny said, and he meant it. "My family does the same thing, sometimes. We all have habits we can't shake. And not all of them are bad. Especially considering, well..."

"How weird you guys are."

Danny was thinking more along the lines of "I had been human for most of my life, and my family thought so too until only a few months ago," but that was as accurate of a summary as Danny could ask for without getting into the nitty-gritty of it. "Thanks, Tuck," he said sarcastically.

"Just tellin' it like it is, bro."

When Danny looked back up to Mrs. Foley, she was smiling, just like she had when he first met her. Like he wasn't casting a chill or a full-body glow in her car. And exactly like she would smile at her son's best friend, like he had earned that place in her son's life, and therefore became someone who mattered in her life, too.

He may look like Phantom right now, but in that moment, it didn't matter. It was amazing, how much she could put him at ease with a single smile.

Placing a hand on the shoulder of the front passenger seat and twisting to face them, Mrs. Foley met his eye directly and said, "Thanks for doing this, Danny."

"Thanks for letting Tucker come," Danny returned. "It's been a bit..."

"Hectic, I imagine," Mrs. Foley finished once Danny trailed off.

"Just a day in the life of a Fenton," Danny said.

The light in Mrs. Foley's eyes faded, as did her smile. She worried at the corner of her lower lip. Earnestness filtered into her voice when she said abruptly, "Tucker told me about the Mansons."

"Oh." Danny tried to moderate his reaction, and he avoided further eye contact. His gaze flicked out the window, where a few ducks swam lazily at the edge of the pond closest to them. In the chaos of the morning, he hadn't realized he hadn't heard from Sam yet, and now that it was on his mind, his core pulsed and yanked in anticipation, the urge to check his phone nearly overpowering. He hadn't even managed to update Tucker about the plan before passing out the night before. Unless Sam had informed him herself, Tuck was completely in the dark. He daren't look at Tucker to see if he could discern which was the case. "Yeah."

If Mrs. Foley was suspicious, she didn't show it. Perhaps his distraction was enough to pass as dejection.

Whatever the case, her tone softened when she said, "I...can't make excuses for the Mansons. Nor can I for all the people outside FentonWorks right now. But...for all that it matters, please know you and your family aren't alone. Whatever happens after this Portal is activated? Tucker's dad and I? We support you and what your family's doing."

"He knows that, Mom," Tucker said, sounding both confused and exasperated.

To her son, she said, "It doesn't matter. After seeing what is out there, after hearing all those awful things they were shouting, you can't tell me you don't want to make your opposition perfectly clear. I would have never forgiven myself if I drove off without saying something."

Danny did know how she felt—not every family would have been as cool as they were about Dora's impromptu visit the other day—but hearing her say so was an affirmation he didn't know he needed. If anything, he felt even lighter, bolstered by gratitude.

It was nice, the reminder that a single genuine person was worth far more than hundreds upon hundreds of scared anti-ghost protestors. He wondered if it would ever get old—the high of acceptance, the ecstasy of knowing he had a much larger support system than he ever expected he'd have.

"Thanks, Mrs. Foley."

"Alright, then," Mrs. Foley said, her inherent brightness returning to her. "Best of luck. I'll want to hear all about it later." To Tucker, she added, "Please behave yourself."

"What?" Tucker demanded, his pitch raising in mock indignation. "Behave myself?"

Mrs. Foley tutted at him. "The Fentons will have some very important people over today. Please don't pester them." At the disgruntled look on her son's face, she amended, "Too much. I know you're looking forward to learning more about ecto-physics and engineering today, and I don't expect you to sit idle and not ask questions. But do not forget that you will be on camera, at one point or another."

"Yes, yes, fine," Tucker said, waving her off. "I promise I won't embarrass anyone or otherwise dishonor our family name by bothering anyone who doesn't want to be bothered. Happy?"

"Very."

Tucker grabbed Danny's arm. "We're going now."

"Bye, Mrs. Foley," Danny said.

"Bye, you two. Be safe!"

Danny wrapped his arm more snuggly around Tucker, and after casting them out of visibility, they slipped through the backseat and out through the trunk of the RAV4. Tuck only shivered once, far more comfortable being under Danny's power than he could have believed, considering Danny had only just begun to share his powers with his friends.

"So?" Tucker asked once they were clear of his mom's car. "Anything new since last night?"

"Nothing about the GIW," Danny admitted. "We've vetted the security teams and the news crew. The guest list looks as clean as it ever did, and with the Ecto-Wands my parents developed, no one'll be able to sneak anything in. Or out. There's nothing to do at this point but wait and see."

Danny couldn't see Tucker, but he imagined his friend was looking in the direction of his voice. "Alright," he said easily, after a beat of silence.

"I'm starting to think I may have overreacted. A bit," Danny said, even as tendrils of foreboding stirred in his chest.

"Shut up. You don't really think that. And neither do I," Tucker reassured. "Vlad Masters was afraid, too. If nothing happens today, then nothing happens, but that doesn't mean it won't sometime later."

"I guess," Danny said. "To be honest, it's all probably just wishful thinking on my part. I've had a million other things on my mind this morning."

"Understandably. A lot of the people coming today used to actively hunt—um... you, right? Like your parents?"

He didn't need the reminder that not everyone was going to be as accepting as his parents. Or that this meeting was going to leave him vulnerable in a lot of ways.

He took a deep breath. It'd be fine. What was there to be afraid of, anyway? He'd probably already faced the worst of it, hadn't he? And who would dare insult the Fentons' son when it could mean severing ties and losing good relations with two of the most prominent members of the community?

Besides, he could take whatever they threw at him. He had Lance Thunder and all his peers at Casper High to thank for preparing him so thoroughly.

"Yep," he said simply.

"Have any of them showed up yet?"

Danny looked down. "I think they're showing up now."

He and Tuck were approaching FentonWorks now, and below, amongst the crowd, security was directing a few cars around to the back of their private property, where his parents indicated people could park for the duration of their presentation.

Tucker whistled under his breath. "That is a lot of cameras," he noted. "More than I thought."

"Is that going to be okay?" Danny asked. "There'll be more inside. The activation isn't happening right away, so people are being encouraged to...mingle."

"Oh, the horror."

"I don't know what to expect," Danny continued, pretending as though he didn't hear the jibe. "But I do know they...probably won't leave me or my family alone."

"Because you guys are going to be saying all the interesting things. You're the people of the hour," Tucker said, and though there was a missing duh in the statement, his excitement overpowered it. "Don't worry about me, bro. I don't need to be entertained or babysat. I'm here for the duration. And Sam's here in spirit, I'm sure."

"She may actually be here for real."

"What? How? She's been AWOL since yesterday. I figured her phone and internet privileges were revoked."

"Oh, fuck," Danny cursed. "I hope not. I gave her something last night that'll help her sneak out. But not in, necessarily. I didn't even give her proper instructions on how to get in through the back, if she needed to."

"You gave her something? To sneak around?" Tucker cooed. "How romantic."

Danny somehow managed to drive his shoulder into Tucker's to shut him up. Tucker cackled like the agent of chaos he was, but suddenly...

The sound of his friend's mirth was lost amongst a flash of sharp, gutting emotion rising from the crowd outside FentonWorks.

Danny hadn't been close enough to Sense the emotion of the crowd, before. Fear and anger, he expected, and it was easy enough to block out, even with the emotions tumbling around and feeding upon each other. The taste of them was like battery acid coating his tongue, but these, he had practice avoiding and tolerating.

This was different. It was just off enough to feel like a gaping hole in the bramble, like a missed stitch in a knitted scarf. Obvious for one second and then...

He might have been invisible, but the hair on the back of Danny's neck rose with the sensation of being watched.

"Danny?"

Danny blinked and realized they had stopped directly above FentonWorks. "Sorry, I just—" He squinted at the crowd, trying to find the source of the odd gape in the swell of emotion around him, but his eyes alighted on a head of bleach blond hair. A flood of purposeful emotion—not quite anger but tasting like something equally righteous and fierce—swept through the tangle. "Hang on," he frowned, distracted, trying to make sense of what he was Sensing and seeing, "is that Dash?"

Sure enough, it was Dash who had just strode onto the scene, and he wasn't alone. Paulina and her friends stood flanked by a good majority of the football, soccer, and basketball teams, with Dash at their head. The art kids and marching band kids and everyone in between huddled in smaller groups nearby, not quite fitting in with the jocks but very obviously standing with them in a show of solidarity, baring signs that stood in direct opposition of those on the other side of the crowd.