Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rush hour in Amity Park. Danny stared out the passenger side window and folded his arms.

"You'll like this therapist, Danny," said Maddie from the driver's seat. "Dad and I met with him earlier today."

Danny kept his body turned from her.

"He definitely knows what he's doing," continued Maddie. "You can just tell from talking to him. And he's also got this full head of fluffy blond hair straight out of the eighties." She sighed dreamily.

"Yes," said Danny, still looking out the window. "Because good hair is so important in therapy."

Maddie fell quiet. Danny tightened his folded arms.

"Danny, I know you're unsure about this—"

"I'm not unsure. I definitely don't want to do this."

"I know. But I really think this could help you."

Danny glanced at her with just his eyes before turning to face forward. "I just don't understand," he said, looking down at his lap. "Do you think something's wrong with me?"

"No, of course not, sweetheart."

"Then why are you making me do this?"

"I just think you're… You seem to be struggling. You seem stressed, overwhelmed. Especially since starting high school."

"But isn't high school kind of difficult for everyone?"

"No. I mean, yes, it is, but… You didn't use to…"

She frowned. Danny fidgeted.

"What? I didn't use to what?" he asked.

"All right, well, I guess I'll just say it." Maddie tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. "Your grades are terrible. You always look so tired no matter how early you go to bed or how many after-school naps you take. You're often in your own world, distracted, distant. You go out a lot with your friends, but Dad and I usually don't know exactly where you are, and you are always cutting curfew so close—"

"But I do make it back before curfew."

"Not always. You've been late many times."

"Yeah, like a few minutes, maybe."

"Half an hour or an hour late is a few minutes to you?"

Danny sank back against his seat.

"Curfew is not a negotiable time, Danny," said Maddie. "It's a firm cutoff. And the time we expect you to be home each night is very reasonable."

Danny shrugged.

"And school is definitely not negotiable. I get calls and reports about you being late or even skipping a class altogether. You're lucky you haven't been suspended yet."

"I've been working on that."

"It's still not good enough."

Danny scowled.

"You're also a lot more jumpy these days," Maddie went on. "More nervous, more easily startled. And I thought it was Dash at first. I hoped it was just Dash, that maybe that was why you would skip class sometimes. But even after talking to the principal and his parents about it, you're still...like this."

She glanced at him. Danny did not meet her gaze.

"And… You just… You don't smile as often as you used to." Maddie sighed. "And I so miss your smile, sweetheart."

Danny lowered his head and dug his nails into his arms still folded against him.

"Something is going on with you," said Maddie softly. "I have no idea what, but you're going through a hard time. Your teachers have noticed it, too. I get emails from them." She paused. "Are you going to deny that you're going through a hard time, Danny?"

Haunting memories and agonizing regret over bad decisions made in ghost battles. Terrifying thoughts and paralyzing fears about ghost hunters capturing and torturing him. Dark introspection about the ultimate enemy he could still become. Hitting him all at once.

"No," muttered Danny. "I can't deny that." He straightened. "But I can figure it out on my own. I don't need therapy."

"I've been letting you try to figure it out on your own for a year and a half now. You've only gotten worse, not better," said Maddie. "So we're going to try something else now."

He knew that tone. He knew that expression. And he knew her accusations were all sound and that he could never adequately argue against them.

"How often do I have to do this?" he asked in defeat.

"Every Monday."

"Every Monday?"

"Yes."

"Are you kidding me? I don't want to do this every Monday!"

"I'm not giving you a choice, Danny." Maddie pulled into a lot and parked facing a small two-story building. "I almost decided to have you go twice a week, you know."

"Oh, well, how thoughtful."

"Hey, watch that tone." Maddie unbuckled her seat belt and gave him a disapproving look.

Danny recoiled slightly. "Sorry," he mumbled. He unbuckled his own belt. "But what makes you think this will even work?"

"I don't know if it will work, but I think it's important to try."

Danny shook his head and moved to open his door but stopped when he noticed his mother was still in the car. He turned to find her staring at him pensively.

"Look." Maddie sighed and held up her hands. "How about we just try this until school's out for the summer? That would be a fair trial."

"School won't be out for like two months!"

"Danny, I'm offering you a deal here, okay? Can you just work with me, please?"

Danny thinned his lips and waited for her to continue.

"If, by the time school is out, you think therapy is not helpful and you really don't want to continue, then I won't make you go anymore."

Danny considered this offer. With an ending in sight, maybe he could do this, especially if it would make her even just a little less disappointed with him.

"Okay," he said simply. He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his calendar.

Maddie brightened, then turned serious again. "But you have to give this a fair try. You have to be respectful and cooperate with the therapist. Otherwise the deal is off, and I'll make you continue."

"Fine, fine," muttered Danny, still looking at his phone calendar. "But how about until the week before school ends? I mean, the last week is finals week. I need to study. I don't want to be overwhelmed that week."

Maddie narrowed her eyes and scrunched her mouth. "Right. You're going to study," she said with a sarcastic edge.

Danny gave her a sheepish look. "Well, I mean… That would make it an even eight sessions."

Maddie exhaled loudly and opened her door. "Fine, okay. The week before school gets out." She met Danny outside by the hood of her car. "But then you absolutely have to study that Monday during finals week."

"Sure thing." Danny placed his phone in his pocket.

"Actually, let me have your phone." Maddie held out a hand to him.

"What? Why?"

"You won't be needing it for the next hour. I don't want you to have any distractions."

"Oh, come on. I promise I won't use it."

"Danny." Stern. Her hand didn't waver.

With a loud and irritated sigh, Danny pushed his phone into her hand. She put it in her purse and then began to lead him toward the building.

Danny cocked his head as he read the name above the door. "Amity Pizza Parlor? Wait, is this a pizza restaurant?"

Maddie gestured to a set of stairs nearby. "The therapy offices are on the second floor."

Danny stared at the metal steps. Maddie prodded him forward and up. He gave in and allowed her to guide him.

Eight weeks. Eight sessions. Eight hours. He only had to do this eight times.

Manageable.

Chapter Text

Upstairs, Danny looked around the waiting room of the counseling center while Maddie checked in with the receptionist. Cozy, warm lighting, plants in the corners, eclectic statues of animals, magazines on tables next to sofas and chairs. A young woman sat in one of the chairs, a slender hand under her chin, faint tears glittering in her eyes.

"We're just a little early," said Maddie, walking back to him. "Your therapist will come out here when he's ready for us."

She sat down and invited him to sit next to her. He slouched in his chair and looked anywhere but at the downtrodden woman sitting across from them.

A well-built man entered the room and looked around. "Maddie!" He walked up to them with a very friendly, very dazzling smile. "Hello again."

Maddie stood. "It's been a while, hasn't it? A whole few hours," she said with girlish inflection. She returned his smile with slightly lidded eyes.

Danny also stood and raised a brow at his mother's expression before turning to the therapist. He had been expecting some stuffed-shirt tweedy spectacled middle-aged shrink, but this guy… This guy was young and tall and fit and muscled and tanned and blond. So very blond.

Danny looked at his mother again. She was wearing more makeup than usual.

"Danny." The man extended a hand to him, and Danny automatically took it. "I'm Brandan Cross. Great to meet you."

"Good to meet you, too," said Danny with forced enthusiasm to appease his mother's scrutiny.

"I'll wait out here." Maddie reclaimed her seat and clasped her knee as she looked up at the two of them. "See you in an hour, sweetheart."

She smiled at him. Danny wordlessly turned from her and followed the therapist out of the waiting room and down a hall.

"Here." The therapist opened a door into his office. Danny stepped inside and composed himself.

Just an hour. Just one hour. And then he'd only have to do this seven more times.

He took a seat on the couch while the therapist sat across from him in an office chair a polite distance away. Danny leaned back with folded arms and stared out the window next to him at the street full of traffic.

"Is the temperature in here okay for you?" the therapist asked. "Too hot? Too cold? I can change it."

Danny continued to look out the window. "It's fine."

A silence hung between them for a few seconds.

"Well, I'll go ahead and start this off," the therapist said. "First, if you've already forgotten my name, you can call me Brandan."

Danny curiously turned to face him. "You want me to call you Brandan? Not Dr….whatever your last name is?"

"It's Cross. And no, no. Just Brandan, please. For one, I'm not a doctor. I might get my doctorate someday, but for now, I've just got my master's degree."

Brandan gestured to a diploma hanging on the wall behind him. Danny eyed it, unimpressed.

"And for two, I prefer being on a first-name basis with my clients, even my young ones." Brandan raised a playful brow. "You're not used to calling adults by their first names, are you?"

Danny thought of all the adults in his life. The only one he referred to by first name was Vlad, and that was because he had zero regard for that demented Froot Loop. "No. I guess not."

"Your parents taught you well. You've probably been raised to give more respect to those older than you, right?"

"Yes."

Another lull. But Danny would be damned if he was going to initiate any conversation. He'd gladly spend the entire session in silence.

"Well, Danny," said Brandan, "I'm sensing that you're feeling resistant."

Danny leaned back with narrowed eyes.

"And it's perfectly understandable. It wasn't your idea to come here, right?"

Danny bit back a scoff.

"So here's how we'll start," said Brandan. "I'll tell you a little about myself, and then I'll tell you about my approach, and then I'll tell you my one rule. You can ask me questions at any time. Sound good, Danny?"

"Fine," said Danny, though he wasn't sure he liked the way Brandan used his name so familiarly.

Brandan proceeded to describe his educational background, years of experience, and areas of expertise. Danny did his best to appear to be paying attention, keeping his eyes locked with Brandan's the entire time.

Depression. Anxiety. Brandan's emphasis on these words sank into his subconscious. His mother had mentioned meeting with this guy earlier. What did she tell him? Did she think he was depressed or anxious?

Did he somehow think he wasn't?

"The technique I use is called cognitive behavioral therapy. Have you heard of it?"

The sudden prompt startled Danny back into awareness. "Oh, uh...no." He hadn't even properly heard what Brandan was asking him about, but he was sure that would be his answer anyway.

Brandan smiled at him, a smile that almost seemed knowing, a perceptive smirk. Danny gritted his teeth behind pressed lips in response.

"Basically, I want to help you develop coping strategies and change any thinking errors you have," said Brandan. "Truthfully, everyone has their own thinking errors. Even I do. But sometimes we need help to identify them so that we can correct them."

Danny stole a glance at the clock on the wall.

"I work on my own thinking errors all the time," continued Brandan. "I'm not perfect at it, and I probably never will be. It's hard."

Danny wasn't sure what this guy was trying to get at by admitting to having psychological issues of his own. Trying to come across as any normal flawed human being? But weren't therapists supposed to be perfectly emotionally stable so they could properly treat the instabilities of their clients?

"But listen, Danny." Brandan leaned forward. "Thinking errors really are normal. Annoying, yes, but they really just show how intelligent and complex we as humans are."

Danny raised a brow.

"Here." Brandan grabbed a calculator from the desk behind him. "This calculator. Would you call this a simple or complex machine?"

"Uh… I guess simple?"

"Right. How often do calculators break? How often do they malfunction?"

"Not very often, I guess. I mean, unless you drop them or spill water on them."

"But they don't typically break or malfunction on their own, right?"

"I guess."

Brandan placed the calculator back on his desk and gestured to his desktop computer. "How about computers? How often do they malfunction? How often do they break or slow down or crash or overheat?"

Danny shot him an irritably confused look.

"More often than a calculator, right?" prodded Brandan.

"Yeah. I guess." Could this guy get any more boring?

Brandan laughed. "Way more often. Sometimes for seemingly no reason. It'll work fine one day and then the next won't start up at all. Or you'll restart it and the operating system is wiped out. Or your browser will just crash. Or you'll get a Blue Screen of Death."

Danny pondered this, all of the technological mishaps in his ghost fighting alone. The more advanced technology certainly could be fickle at times. Even Technus and Skulker were two of his easier enemies to beat for this reason.

"The more complex something is, the easier it is for something to go wrong. When something is that complex, even the most minuscule error can cause a complete meltdown." Brandan pointed to his head. "The human brain is the most complex machine there is, so complex that we still don't even fully understand it. It breaks down more easily and more frequently than any computer. The smallest error can drive us insane, the tiniest crack can shut us down. Depression and anxiety and a plethora of other mental issues are rampant in this world because our complexity makes us so susceptible to such problems. We try to look through our coding, try to fix our bugs with medication or logic, but so often we just end up creating more lines of errors."

Danny lowered his gaze as he considered this analogy.

"Even the smallest change in our physiology or psychology can have huge effects on our perceptions and well-being. The smallest error can completely overtake us. And the big changes? Those can prevent us from ever going back to how we used to be or from ever being what might be classified as 'normal.'"

A mutation in his DNA, a jolting shock from his parents' ghost portal that rewrote his molecules. Just how much had that changed him apart from the obvious physiological alterations? New confidence and pride and strength but also new stress and worry and fear. This one modification, this one error in his chemical makeup had indeed overtaken him. He couldn't look at people the same way anymore, not even his parents. Especially his parents. He was not the same trusting person he was before. He was constantly suspicious that everyone just wanted to use him. He was frequently consumed by thoughts of ulterior motives of those he encountered.

Even this guy. Just what did Brandan really want from him? Just what did Brandan really want to do with him? To him? Because there was no way this guy actually wanted to help him. No one ever really did. They all just wanted to hurt him. They were all out to get him. Even his friends kept urging and goading him to keep fighting ghosts and berated him whenever he used his powers for himself or chided him when he admitted he sometimes wished he didn't have these powers.

"Does that make sense, Danny?" asked Brandan.

Danny slowly nodded, his gaze still down. "I think so, yeah."

Brandan reached for a pen and notepad from his desk. "I'd like to give you an opportunity to speak now. Do you have any questions? Is there something you'd like to say?"

Danny shrugged. "Not really."

"That's fine. I don't mind steering our conversation—" He paused, smiled. "—or lack of it. But I just have one rule."

Danny waited.

"It's a rule I adhere to myself. Whatever you do say, I need you to be one hundred percent honest. You are more than welcome to decline to answer a question or to stay quiet. You don't have to confide something in me if you don't want to. I will never force you to speak. But if you do choose to speak or answer a question, whatever you say must be the truth." Brandan looked at him seriously. "Okay?"

Danny frowned. "How will you know if I'm telling the truth?" And more importantly, how could he know if Brandan was telling the truth, too?

"I'm going to trust you," said Brandan. "And like I said, if you don't want to tell me something, that is absolutely fine. Just tell me you'd rather not answer. I won't pressure you, and I won't judge you. But I'd rather you not answer than lie."

Danny held back a smirk. An excuse to stay quiet? Done.

"I don't expect you to be an open book," Brandan continued. "It's not my goal to make you tell me everything that is troubling you. My goal is to help you recognize your own personal thinking errors that are hurting you and help you find ways to overcome them so that they no longer prevent you from being productive and happy."

He could be productive. He could be happy. He didn't need therapy for that. What a waste of his time.

Just eight times eight times eight times eight eight eight eight—

"And I want to assure you that anything you say here will be kept confidential. Whatever you tell me is not going to get to your parents or anyone else."

Danny eyed him skeptically.

"I've already talked about terms of disclosure with your parents, and they've agreed to only get general reports about your progress and well-being. Any personal or specific things we talk about here will be strictly kept between you and me." Brandan raised a solemn right hand. "You have my word."

"Okay," said Danny. But did he really believe it? This guy was an unnerving enigma to him, nothing like what Danny thought a therapist would be like. Intelligent and composed, stylish and modern, attractive and youthful, down-to-earth and pleasant.

Or at least that was the façade he wanted Danny to accept.

He could not discern what was really going on in Brandan's head. After about a year and a half of ghost fighting, he had become pretty good at determining motives and trustworthiness and agendas of ghosts and humans alike, but he could not figure out what Brandan's game was here.

And there had to be some sort of game going on. There just had to be. And Danny wasn't about to let himself get played.

"My role here is that of a facilitator," said Brandan. "Your success is mostly dependent on you, Danny. If you want to improve, if you want to find healthy coping strategies, if you want to regulate your emotions, then you'll be able to. But you are the one who will have to put in the most effort here." Brandan raised his hands. "I'll help you. I'll be right here for you when you need me. Your family and friends will be there for you, too. But you are in charge of any progress you make." He smiled. "For many, that can be discouraging because they just want their therapist to give them an easy cure. But really, it's empowering. You may not have control over the obstacles in your life, but you do have control over how you approach and respond to them. No one and no thing can bring you down unless you decide to let it bring you down. I'm just here to help you find the best ways to deal with your obstacles."

Oh, jeez. This guy. This guy.

Danny had to turn away. What even was this guy? Looking like some bronzed Greek god from a George Michael music video and trying to sell him on this pseudo-intellectual nonsense? Acting as if he had any idea what Danny was dealing with? Exactly what kind of "obstacles" was this guy even referring to? Surely not the hordes of ghosts and even humans (his own parents) that wanted to kill him or lock him away.

Because yeah right, like he could just choose to not let any of that "bring him down."

"Danny?"

"Hmm?

"What's on your mind?"

Danny turned back to face Brandan. "Nothing," he mumbled.

"Danny, you need to be honest with me," Brandan reminded him somewhat sharply.

Danny flinched at the disapproving tone. "Fine. I'd rather not say."

Brandan wrote something down. Danny narrowed his eyes, wondering what assumption this guy was making about his declining to answer.

"All right." Brandan looked up at him again. "Is there anything you would like to talk about, or would you prefer I choose what we talk about?"

"You can choose," said Danny flatly.

"Okay. How about we start with your family?"

"My family?"

"Yes. I've already met your parents. You have a sister too, right?"

"Yeah. She also likes this therapy crap." Danny groaned at his blatant disrespect. His mom would kill him if she knew. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"It's all right," said Brandan. "Do you have a good relationship with your sister?"

"Yeah. We're fine."

Brandan wrote a note. "And what about your parents?"

"What about them?"

"Do you feel you have a good relationship with them?"

"I think it's...a normal relationship." Danny considered saying more but stopped himself. If Brandan wanted something more specific from him, he'd have to do the work himself and ask more specific questions. He wasn't about to make anything easy for this guy.

"It's very interesting what your parents do, very unusual," said Brandan. "They're quite famous for it, too. Ghost research. Ghost hunting."

Brandan paused long enough that Danny was forced to meet his gaze to get him to continue.

"What do you think about that?" asked Brandan.

"What do I think about what, exactly?"

"Well, are you interested in ghosts at all?"

Danny stopped himself from crowing, restrained a scoff. "No more than anyone else in this town."

"So you don't share your parents' enthusiasm for ghosts?"

"Does that surprise you?"

Brandan shrugged amicably. "What do you think about your parents' interest in ghosts, then?"

"I think...it's fine. I don't know."

"Is it fine?"

Danny opened his mouth, but no reply came out.

"Is that really the truth?"

Danny hardened his gaze. "You said you would just trust me to tell the truth."

Brandan looked down at his lap briefly. "You're right. I did say that. Forgive me, but your tone just seemed to suggest the opposite of your answer."

Danny threw up his hands with a glance at the ceiling. "I am fine with their interest in ghosts. I just don't know why you're asking about it. What does this have to do with anything?"

Brandan tented his fingers. "Well, if you really want to know, I was hoping to just start out easy, a topic that wasn't too focused on you, something I thought you'd be comfortable with. But this is the most I've been able to get you to talk so far, the most animated you've been, the strongest response you've given. So clearly, there's something about this topic that incites something in you. Am I correct there?"

Danny seethed and literally bit down on his tongue to prevent his stupid self from saying anything else. He had to breathe, had to calm, had to control himself.

He had to get Brandan off the topic of ghosts somehow because indeed, nothing incited him more than ghosts. They were the bane of his existence, the only thing he ever seemed to think about anymore, the one thing that was causing him the most pain and preventing him from living a normal life.

He had to play this game right.

"All right, yes," he said evenly, thickly. "Ghosts are a bit of a touchy subject for me." No use denying it now. He couldn't revoke his overreaction. "Before anyone even believed in ghosts, I was teased and bullied for having parents who believed in them, and so… I guess even today when everyone now believes in them, I still don't really like talking about them."

Brandan's brows lowered. "And are you feeling like you just can't get away from the subject? Because after talking to your parents, it's pretty obvious they are completely taken with ghosts. Probably a day doesn't go by that they don't mention ghosts, right?"

Danny only nodded. Why couldn't this guy just drop it already?

"They seem particularly set on one specific ghost." Brandan smiled. "I got the feeling they could talk on and on about him if I let them."

Danny shrank down. Don't say it, don't say the name—

"Phantom? Danny Phantom? Same first name as you, coincidentally."

Danny shuddered but tried to hide it by straightening up.

"But I can't say I blame them for being so interested in him," said Brandan. "He really is unlike other ghosts, isn't he? Other ghosts want to do us harm, but Phantom doesn't seem to have that inclination. Rather, it seems he wants to—"

"What does Phantom have to do with me?" interjected Danny, holding back his irritation as best he could. "Why are you talking about him?"

Brandan blinked with mild surprise.

"I told you I don't want to talk about ghosts," said Danny more quietly.

"Is there something you do want to talk about?"

"Just anything else. Seriously."

Brandan pressed his lips and began writing something on his notepad.

Danny leaned forward. "What are you writing?"

Brandan stopped and looked up. "Just notes to myself."

"About me?"

"Does it make you uncomfortable? Would you rather I not take notes?"

Danny shut his mouth.

"It just helps me remember things so I can review or think things over later. But if you'd rather I didn't, I won't."

Great. Just great. This guy was way too nice and gave Danny no justification to hate him.

He breathed and composed himself, actually thought before answering for once. "It's fine. I'm sorry."

Brandan set his notepad back on the desk behind him. "Are you sure there's nothing you want to talk about right now?"

Danny closed his eyes and nodded.

"Not even just a word or two about how you're feeling at the moment?"

He shook his head.

"Okay. Well, would you be at all willing to talk about why you're here?"

Danny opened his eyes and waited for Brandan to elaborate.

"I know you're not here because you want to be here," said Brandan gently. "You're only here because your parents are making you come here, correct?"

Danny said nothing, didn't even move.

"Danny, do you know why your parents want you to talk to me?"

Danny remained silent. But so did Brandan. And he seemed content to stay quiet until Danny made some sort of reply.

Well, that was just fine, then. He didn't want to talk anyway, didn't want to divulge or confide or—

His mom would be so disappointed in him. So upset. She had made a deal with him. He had agreed to it. Grudgingly, yes, but nevertheless, he accepted her terms. She wouldn't hold up her end of the deal if he didn't hold up his.

Yes, he knew why his parents wanted him to talk to this guy. They thought he was struggling with something. And it wasn't like they were wrong.

He nodded.

"Do you think you need to be talking to me?" asked Brandan.

"Are you asking me if I think I need your help?" asked Danny.

"My help." Brandan shifted his weight. "Or help in general. I know what your parents think, but I want to know what you think."

Danny's breath hitched with a sudden thought far too vivid: his parents in this room talking to this guy about him.

"What my parents think?" he echoed in a tentative whisper.

Brandan paused. "We can talk about that if you want. Would you like me to tell you what they said to me about you earlier?"

What his parents said about him earlier?

His grades are terrible, not that he could ever be the student our perfect genius daughter is, but lately he's been doing even worse in school and he's often late or he skips class and all he can ever say is that he didn't mean to or he forgot or he didn't hear the bell and he's so worn out all the time even though he does NOTHING, like seriously he doesn't even have a job or extracurricular activities and he's obviously not doing homework and he just plays with his friends all day and sometimes all night, maybe it's drugs, could drugs make him this way? He's just such a disappointment and he needs to be fixed and we're tired of trying to fix him ourselves, so can you fix him?

"No," rasped Danny. "Don't tell me what they said."

He lowered his head and held his arms close to him.

"Danny?" Brandan sounded concerned. "Would you mind telling me what you think your parents might have said?"

Danny shook his head.

"All right, well, going back to my original question… Do you think you need any help?"

Danny relaxed his grip on his arms and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. "Doesn't everyone?"

"Is that a yes?"

"I don't know."

Brandan said nothing. Danny said nothing for a while as well, but this silence only left him alone with his thoughts, thoughts that didn't want to stay only in his head, thoughts that wanted to be voiced to justify his sullenness with this whole situation in case this guy decided to tell his mother how surly he had been.

"Look, I'm not about to tell you I'm doing fine or that my life is great," said Danny in quiet surrender. "I'm not going to say I'm handling all of my problems okay. But…"

He looked out the window. He wondered if there were any ghosts out there already causing trouble, any ghosts waiting to strike just to cause him grief.

"I don't know if I need help. I think...I can deal with it on my own. I want to do it on my own, honestly."

"Why do you feel that way? Why do you want to do it on your own?"

"Because...I brought these problems on myself."

He had gone into that portal of his own volition even though he knew he wasn't supposed to. He had cursed himself and the town due to his own ignorance, and it wasn't fair to place that burden on anyone else. He already felt guilty enough dragging Sam and Tucker through the stress and headache and prison of his ghost-fighting responsibilities.

"So, to clarify, you don't want help because you believe you created these problems for yourself," said Brandan.

Danny nodded.

"Do you think you don't deserve help? Because you feel that your problems are your fault?"

Danny shrugged.

Brandan said nothing for a long moment, pressed fingertips under his chin as he thought. Danny looked down at his lap, his shaking knees, his wringing hands.

"So you're punishing yourself for the problems you have in your life because you think they're your fault," said Brandan. "Danny, I guarantee that this is a thinking error."

Danny raised his eyes.

"It's a natural inclination people have. We all want to explain the pain and trouble in our lives somehow. Makes it easier to bear if we can blame it on something. It appears you have decided to blame yourself."

"I didn't decide—"

Danny stopped himself from revealing too much. Brandan waited expectantly, but Danny only shook his head.

"This blame you've put on yourself allows you to justify it," said Brandan carefully. "You've justified the pain in your life by convincing yourself you deserve it. You want to deserve it because this justification helps you cope with it, accept it. You want to believe that you're not just suffering for no reason. But it seems the only reason you've been able to come up with is your own shortcomings. And that is definitely a cognitive distortion you are struggling with."

What could this guy possibly know about him? About what was going on in his head? Danny glared at him with fuming agitation. This guy had no idea what his problems were. This guy had no idea what had happened to bring on his problems. He didn't just decide to blame himself. That was in no way a distortion of how it all began.

"You don't know anything about me or my problems," said Danny.

Brandan nodded. "You're right, I don't. And I'm not going to ask you for specifics right now." He swiveled in his chair and pulled a book off of his desk. "But let's go over some thinking errors together, okay?"

He turned back to Danny and scooted in a little closer than before. Danny instinctively tried to move back but could only press himself into the couch.

Brandan cracked open the book and flipped through the pages. "I'm going to name them and explain them to you. You can ask questions or comment about anything. You can share whatever experiences you want related to these thinking errors." Brandan smiled at him. "Or you don't have to say anything. All I ask is that you consider them and be honest with yourself about them even if you don't want to share anything with me. There's no point lying to yourself."

Danny made no reply and simply waited.

"So, just to define what it is, a cognitive distortion, also called a thinking error, is a misperception about ourselves or the world around us," said Brandan. "Our minds all have their own individual ways of making us believe something is true when it really isn't, and these inaccurate perceptions seem powerfully rational and logical and just so real. So real that it is difficult for most of us to identify them on our own. But once we know what they are, they become easy to spot. I'm going to go over the ten that are considered the most common."

Ten. Wow, that sounded like it could take forever.

Danny glanced at the clock and sighed to himself. Not like he had anything else to do for the next half hour.

"The first cognitive distortion is polarized thinking," said Brandan, looking down at his book. "Also called all-or-nothing or black-or-white thinking. Essentially, this is characterized by thinking anything short of perfection is failure. If you don't do something completely right or completely to your satisfaction or the satisfaction of others, you think you've simply failed altogether." He raised his eyes. "So for instance, getting anything less than an A on a test might be seen as a failing grade, even if it's a B plus. Or getting second place in a contest out of many participants is regarded only as a loss."

Danny looked off to the left as his mind almost involuntarily pored over these words and feelings from his past and present.

He wasn't as smart as his sister. Therefore, he was an idiot.

Paulina and Valerie both rejected him. Therefore, he wasn't good enough for any girl.

He didn't always win his battles. Therefore, he wasn't a real hero.

That aptitude test, the CAT. Anything less than the results his sister got would've made him a complete and utter disgrace, nothing more than a failure. He almost destroyed the whole world over it.

"Anything you want to say, Danny?" asked Brandan.

He shook his head.

"All right. The second thinking error is overgeneralization. This means making a definitive and broad conclusion about the future or the patterns in your life based on a single negative incident. You expect some sort of bad thing to happen again and again simply because it happened once already. For example, if you find someone who doesn't like you, you believe that others will also dislike you and that there is no point in hanging out with anyone. Or you get a low score on a test that you studied hard for and assume it is useless to study for any other tests because you will always get low scores no matter how hard you try."

There was no way he could get a good grade on the CAT by just studying on his own because studying never helped him before. He had to cheat if he wanted a good grade.

Paulina hurt him and Valerie hurt him and now surely all girls would hurt him. He hadn't even tried asking a girl on a date since freshman year. Not like they'd say yes anyway. And also not like he had time. He had countless dates with ghosts to get through first.

"Third is filtering. This is when you focus entirely on the negative aspects of a situation, even if it's just one negative aspect, even if there are many positive aspects as well. You don't see the positive at all, only the negative. You might give a performance, sing a solo in a competition. The judges give great remarks and just one bit of criticism, but that small bit of criticism is all you focus on, all you can think about. You dwell on it so much that you can't even recall that there were any positive comments made at all."

At the end of the night, he'd return home after yet another bout of ghost-fighting. And he'd usually win, yes, but the mistakes he made and any defeats he might've had were the only thoughts in his head as he tried to drown himself in sleep that sometimes refused to rescue him.

And his parents always seemed disappointed in him. Never proud of him.

Or...had he just forgotten that sometimes his parents were proud of him? Why was it only disappointment that he could recall?

"Fourth is disqualifying the positive. A good thing might happen to you, one good test grade, one goal met, but you perceive it as a fluke or that it doesn't really mean anything or that you don't deserve it. Or someone might compliment you but you dismiss it immediately and assume the person who gave you the compliment either has an ulterior motive or that they simply don't know you that well."

Danny stifled a derisive chuckle.

Brandan looked up from his book. "What?"

Danny kept his gaze to the side, sardonic smile tugging at his lips. "Nothing. Just… No one ever compliments me. Even my parents think I can't do anything on my own. Obviously. Since I'm here."

"Well, that sounds like filtering right there. You're so focused on the criticisms you get that you don't even recognize or remember compliments."

Danny's smile faded. Damn it. He played himself right into that.

"Fifth thinking error is jumping to conclusions. You assume something negative even with no sufficient evidence to support it. For example, you believe that someone is upset with you only because they are not talking much to you. You are sure your teacher will dislike your essay before you even submit it." Brandan paused. "Or you are sure your parents think you can't do anything on your own simply because they decided to have you speak to a therapist."

Danny opened his mouth to make a retort but quickly closed it, exhaling sharply through his nose.

"Have your parents ever expressly told you they think you can't do anything on your own?" asked Brandan.

"No. They wouldn't."

"Then how do you know they think that?"

"I can just tell. They don't have to say it."

"Because you can read their minds?"

Danny pressed his lips tight. God DAMN this guy.

"Where were we?" Brandan scanned his book again. "Sixth is catastrophizing. You exaggerate the significance of negative events or aspects, perhaps a small mistake you've made or a flaw in your personality. You give great weight to your failures and weaknesses and little to your successes and strengths. You focus more on the worst possible outcomes than you do on the most probable outcomes. For example, you might refuse to ride in a plane because you are worried the plane will crash even though plane crashes are rare and unlikely."

Danny tensed, seized up.

The worst possible outcome—

His greatest enemy—

That future could still happen, couldn't it? He was still there. He still existed. So didn't that mean he could still turn into—?

Was that darkness and weakness still inside him, waiting for him to surrender the control of his body?

"Hey."

Danny raised vacant eyes to Brandan.

"How are you feeling right now?"

Danny clutched his upper arms. "I'm fine."

"Please don't lie to me."

"I'm not—aren't you supposed to just trust me?"

"I'll trust you as long as your body language matches what you say."

"Well, if you're so sure you know what I'm feeling, why even ask? Are you now reading my mind? Jumping to conclusions of your own?" Danny glared fiercely at Brandan.

Brandan blinked and was silent for a moment. He then chuckled amicably. "Touché."

Danny's scowl deepened, latched on tight to his grating teeth.

"All right, then. You're fine. I'll accept that." Brandan looked down at his book.

Danny watched him scan the words on the page. "But you don't believe me."

"Don't be reading my mind, Danny."

Danny held in a growl. The nerve of this guy. That edge of amusement in his tone.

"Let's continue, then. Seventh is personalization. This is when you perceive everything happening around you, particularly what others around you do or say, as either your fault or an attack against you as a person. If a teacher gives you criticism on an assignment, you might interpret it to mean that they think you are unintelligent. If a classmate mentions you're looking tired, you might think they are reprimanding your sleep habits or physical upkeep. If a friend of yours is struggling, you might think you are a bad friend for allowing it to happen or for not being able to help. You might also blame yourself for things that are not actually your fault or that you have no control over at all."

Lancer criticized his schoolwork all the time. And he definitely thought Danny was an idiot.

And so did his sister. All her little hints, her use of big words around him, her unsolicited advice.

Not that either of them were wrong.

And the ghosts in the town. That was definitely all his fault, completely. He had no idea it would happen when he switched on the portal and he wasn't even the one who built the portal but it was his fault and now his penance was to fight the ghosts until they finally backed off but of course they would never back off.

Just as well. He deserved it.

"Can we talk about this one, Danny?"

Danny looked at Brandan attentively but made no reply.

"You mentioned earlier that you believe all of your problems are your own fault, that you alone are to blame. Can you think on those problems for a moment?"

He already had been and he didn't want to anymore.

"Do you really think all of them are under your control? That you really did cause all of them one hundred percent?"

Yes.

But he said nothing.

Brandan waited for a considerable length of time. Danny did not relent his silence.

"Danny, I really want you to think about this one some more," said Brandan gently. "Some things might be your fault, yes. But not everything going wrong in your life can be your fault. It's just not possible."

Somber, Danny looked at Brandan. "If you knew what my problems are, you would understand."

Brandan did not respond but held eye contact.

"My problems… You couldn't even… I promise you've never talked to anyone who's had my problems," said Danny in a low voice. "My problems are...unique. To me. To only me. And I know you're not going to believe that, but it's the truth."

Even to him, his ghostly identity was entirely fantastic and hard to believe. So what made him think anyone else would believe it? Certainly not this guy. This guy probably thought he was just another typical moody teen who was convinced he was special and that no one could ever understand him.

"I do believe you," said Brandan very quietly.

Danny blinked.

"And I hope you'll tell me more specifics about these problems someday. But although your problems very well might be unlike anything I've ever heard of or anything anyone else has ever encountered, I promise that combating your distortions can help you face your problems." Brandan smiled at him. "And if you'll let me, I'd really like to try to help."

Danny ducked his head, raised his shoulders. He wasn't even sure what he was feeling, what this guy was making him feel. But he didn't like it.

Brandan lowered his eyes to his book again. "Eighth is emotional reasoning. This is when you believe that your feelings, especially the negative ones, are an accurate representation of how things really are. If you feel stupid or that you're incapable of doing something, then you assume that means you really are stupid or incapable. If you feel great fear when riding a roller coaster, then you assume that means roller coasters really are dangerous and should be avoided. If you feel you aren't retaining anything when studying for a test, you assume that means studying is hopeless and won't help you."

Danny scrunched his mouth in thought.

"What's on your mind?" asked Brandan.

"It's just… I mean, sometimes our feelings are right, aren't they? Are you saying we should never trust our feelings?"

"I'm saying we need to try to view things more objectively and not be so blinded by what we are feeling." Brandan shrugged. "But you are correct. Sometimes our feelings are right. But certainly not always."

Danny thought some more. How would he describe his feelings lately?

Jumpy, anxious, unsure, suspicious.

And what did feeling this way mean?

Well… It meant that his life was currently dangerous, full of enemies who could ambush him at any moment. Even here in this office.

And...that wasn't inaccurate, was it?

Sure, his enemies didn't always attack. There were the days when they would leave him and the town alone.

But always feeling on edge… It had to mean something. He definitely didn't use to feel this way, so it just had to mean that his life was dangerous now. And that was certainly true. Even this guy wouldn't disagree if he just knew.

And how did he feel now here in this office?

Irritated and somewhat attacked.

This whole therapy thing was just a waste of time. This wasn't going to help him. If anything, it would just make things worse. He wouldn't be feeling this way if it was providing any sort of benefit.

"Can I go on, Danny?"

Danny looked at him.

"Or do you want to think about this one more?"

Danny shrugged. "Go on."

Brandan nodded. "Ninth is labeling. This is when you judge a person's entire character based on just one action or characteristic. Could be yourself or someone else. For example, if someone cuts in front of you in a line, you call that person a jerk without knowing anything else about them. If you make a mistake or misunderstand something, you are quick to call yourself an idiot. If you fail at one task, you judge yourself a loser."

If he didn't do well on that aptitude test, he'd be a failure. He just had to cheat, he had to. There was no other choice.

Anytime he hurt Sam or Tucker, ignoring them or blowing them off. Dragging them into his ghost-fighting, constantly putting them in danger. Why did they still like him? He was such a bad friend.

And his ghost powers. So strange. So creepy. He was a freak.

He didn't like this. He didn't like what this "therapy" was making him think.

He clutched his arms to himself and stared down at them. "There's just one more, right?"

Brandan looked at him with a frown. "Yes. Just one. Are you okay with me going over it?"

Danny nodded.

"Any chance I can get you to tell me how this is making you feel?"

He shook his head.

"All right. I'll go over this last one, then."

He braced himself.

"Tenth is should statements. You might use should statements to reprimand yourself for your shortcomings or for something you feel you failed at. As you can guess, such statements involve the word 'should.' If you do poorly on a test, you might think to yourself, 'I should study harder.' If someone corrects you on something, you might think, 'I should have known that.' When you're sitting around doing nothing, you might think, 'I should do something. I shouldn't be so lazy.' Such statements directed toward yourself result in guilt or shame. And if you are making these statements to yourself frequently, that guilt and shame become constant feelings."

Danny turned his attention to the window again. The sky was darker now.

I'm a Fenton. My parents are smart. Jazz is smart. I should be smart, too. I should be doing as well in school as Jazz does.

I'm clueless. Sam and Tucker keep telling me I am. Why am I so clueless? I shouldn't be so clueless.

And Sam and Tucker do so much for me. I should do more for them. I should stop letting them down.

And I should stop letting my parents down.

I want to study astronomy in college. But I'm bad at math. Why is that? I study and I try. I should be better at math.

I'm tired. It's late. But I should go out and take care of any ghosts.

But I should also get more sleep so I can stay awake during class tomorrow.

I shouldn't have made so many mistakes during that ghost fight. That should've been an easy win for me.

I've had my ghost powers for a year and a half now and I still suck. I should be better at this. I should at least be able to duplicate myself by now.

The town still doesn't completely trust Phantom. My parents still don't trust Phantom at all. I should do more to prove I'm not an enemy.

I should…

I shouldn't need therapy. I shouldn't need any of this. I should be stronger.

"Danny? Danny."

Danny turned from the window to face Brandan again.

"Is there anything you want to say about any of this?" asked Brandan. "Questions? Comments?"

Danny shook his head and glanced at the clock.

"We are indeed just about out of time," said Brandan. "So if there's nothing you want to say, I'd like to give you an assignment."

Danny narrowed his eyes. "Assignment? Like homework?"

"Yeah, basically. I don't want you to just do nothing this week with this new information. I want you to be thinking about it and how much it might be cropping up in your daily life."

"What exactly is this assignment? I have real homework, you know."

Brandan gave him a smile so infuriatingly pleasant. "Nothing difficult. I wouldn't ask you to do something that I think might overwhelm you."

Danny suppressed a curt response and waited for Brandan to continue.

"I want you to be aware of your cognitive distortions this week and try to recognize them when they occur." Brandan stood with his book and walked over to a printer in the corner. "I'm going to make a copy of these pages for you so you can remember them."

Danny watched Brandan place the book on the scanner bed but said nothing.

"I want you to keep a tally of every time you experience one of these distortions. So either on your phone or in a notebook. However you want to do it. Although a notebook might be better so that you can record them in school as well. I'm sure your teachers don't want you using your phone during class." Brandan handed Danny a couple of warm printed pages. "You don't need to date them or anything. All I want you to do is make a list of the errors and put a mark next to each one when you experience it. Just from now until next Monday."

Danny took the pages and eyed them warily. He imagined tearing them up, tossing them out the window of his mom's car or destroying them with an ectoplasmic blast.

"Okay?" said Brandan. "Does that make sense?"

Danny looked up at Brandan. "Is this something you're going to want to see?"

"I would like to see it, yes."

Danny skimmed over the descriptions of all the thinking errors. "So you want me to keep a tally of each time I experience one of these things."

"Yes."

"These distortions."

"That's right."

"But what if it's not a distortion? How can I know for sure? Like this last one, the should statements. What if I think that I should do my homework? I mean, what if that's just true and it's not a distortion? Or this personalization one. What if someone does say something to me and it is meant to insult me as a person?"

Dash. Dash always had some snide remark, and it was never just a mild slight. He'd surely have something crude to say to Danny tomorrow.

"What if it's not a thinking error?" demanded Danny. "What if it's just real?"

Brandan's expression softened. "I want you to count every instance that makes you think anything similar to the distortions there. Even if you're not sure. Even if you truly believe it's not a distortion. Mark it anyway."

Danny scowled at the printed pages.

"Our time is up. But will you do this, Danny?"

Danny folded the pages and gave a mute nod. Yes, he would do it. He promised his mother he would give this stupid therapy thing a fair try. He had made that deal with her. And if he wanted her to hold up her end, he had to hold up his.

He stood and placed the folded pages in his back pocket, then followed Brandan out the door to the waiting area.

"Well?" Maddie eagerly glanced from Danny to Brandan. "How'd it go?"

Brandan smiled at Danny. "It went very well. I'll see you next week, Danny."

Danny wanted to walk off without a word. But his mother was right there and would surely reprimand him for being so rude, especially to an adult—

—jumping to conclusions—?

And, well, he really shouldn't be so rude, the guy was just doing his job—

—should statement—?

"Ah, yes," he finally stammered. "See you next week."

Brandan gave him a small wave before heading back down the hall.

Outside, Danny numbly followed his mother down the stairs toward the parking lot.

"So tell me about it!" Maddie sounded cheerful. "What did you think of him? What did you talk about?"

Danny walked in step with her but kept his eyes down. "Can I have my phone back?"

"Oh, yes." Maddie rummaged through her purse. "But I want to know, sweetie! Tell me your thoughts! Do you think this might be helpful?"

"Mom."

Danny stopped walking. Maddie also stopped and frowned.

"If you're going to make me do this, then please don't make me talk about it."

Calm and even, he tried to sound polite. He looked slightly at the ground and not directly at her, but he could see her studying him on his periphery.

Maddie was quiet for a long moment before handing him his phone. "Okay," she said in almost a whisper.

He flinched at the small twinge of hurt in her tone. But what could he tell her anyway? She wanted good news, and he had none to give her. He hated the entire therapy session, hated everything that had happened. He definitely didn't think it had any value at all. Nothing useful or worth his time had happened that entire hour.

—filtering—?

In the passenger seat of his mother's car, he checked his phone calendar.

Seven more times.

Chapter Text

Class was almost over. But for once, Danny wanted the minutes to drag as long as possible. This classroom was so much more preferable to that guy's office.

But time never did stop for him when he wanted it to. Clockwork didn't like him that much.

The bell rang at last. Danny sluggishly walked with Sam and Tucker to their lockers.

"I'm starving," said Tucker. "Let's hit up the Nasty Burger."

"Can't we go somewhere cultured for once?" asked Sam. "It's not like we have to go somewhere within walking distance anymore, remember? I've got my car."

"Yeah, like I have enough money to go anywhere else," said Tucker.

"Fine, fine." Sam rolled her eyes and shut her locker, placing her bag on her shoulders. "At least they have decent veggie burgers."

Tucker squared his bag on his shoulders as well. He then frowned at Danny, who hadn't even approached his own locker. Sam followed Tucker's gaze and also frowned.

"What's up, Danny?" asked Sam. "You're not usually this slow."

Slow? What did she mean by that? Did she think he was being lazy? Or inconsiderate?

Personalization.

Danny hastily threw his books into his bag, using intangibility to place other items in his locker. "Sorry. Um, just—well, you guys can go to the Nasty Burger without me. I can't go anyway."

"Why not?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, you didn't get detention today, did you?" asked Tucker.

What? Why would he ask that? Did he just think Danny was always getting in trouble for something? That detention was just the most likely reason he'd be unable to hang out?

Personalization again.

"No," said Danny, though detention sounded so much more tolerable than therapy. "My mom's just picking me up right now."

"Again?" asked Sam. "Didn't she pick you up last Monday?"

"Um, yeah. She wants to take me shopping. For clothes."

"Again?"

Danny concealed a wince. Right, he already used that excuse. How could he forget? He was such an idiot.

Labeling.

"Yeah. More clothes," stammered Danny. "Can never have enough clothes. According to my mom, anyway."

He smiled. Sam and Tucker only stared back with puzzled expressions. But he couldn't tell them the truth, couldn't tell them where his mom was really making him go this Monday afternoon. What would they say? What would they think of him? They'd probably think he was weak and they would pity him and—

Jumping to conclusions. He did that so often. Another tally for that one.

He didn't want them to know. The whole situation was far too embarrassing.

Outside in the school courtyard, they parted ways, Sam and Tucker heading to the student parking lot and Danny heading to the curb where a line of cars helmed by parents waited to pick up students. He located his mother's car and approached it but stopped when he noticed Maddie sitting in the passenger seat.

"Mom?" He came up to the passenger side as Maddie rolled down her window. "What are you doing?"

"I want you to drive to the office," said Maddie with a smile. "You have your permit, right?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Great, get in!"

Danny looked over at the steering wheel and could feel his neck burning. Driving. With his mother. He couldn't. No. She'd just get angry with him and hit him again, and he just couldn't handle that today.

Overgeneralization. She only hit him one time, the very first time he drove with her. Why did he always think that was somehow going to happen again?

And he definitely deserved it. He had been a class-act jerk and provoked her. He shouldn't have done that.

Should statement.

"Do I have to?" he asked.

"Yes," said Maddie simply but firmly. "You're going to be turning sixteen next week. You really need to be practicing more so you can pass your driving test on the first try this time."

Danny flinched at the comment. Her choice of words and emphasis were all too clear to him. A few months prior, she had been disappointed when he failed the written test to get his permit the first time and almost livid when he wasted her time yet again and failed a second time. He managed to pass the third time but somehow still got five of the questions wrong. After all that extra studying and seeing the test two times before, he should've been able to get a perfect score but he was still such a failure—

Polarized thinking. Should statement.

He pulled in a breath and moved to the other side of the car, putting his bag in the back seat before climbing into the driver's seat. He checked the mirrors, adjusted the seat, any little thing he could think of to stall.

But he couldn't put it off forever. His mother would start yelling at him to hurry up if he didn't get going soon.

Jumping to conclusions. Again!

And he had been driving for months by now. He could do this. It wouldn't be far. Just a couple miles.

He shifted the car into drive and cautiously checked around him before pulling out into traffic. He gripped the wheel with both hands, nine and three, no way he was going to give his mom any reason at all to criticize him.

"Take a right here," said Maddie.

A red light. He came to a complete stop before the intersection, pulled forward just enough to see oncoming cars, made the turn smoothly and safely.

"Good job, sweetie."

Danny's mouth twitched with a forced smile. He wished she wouldn't comment on his driving at all. Good, bad, he would just prefer not to hear it.

She continued giving him directions, turns and merges and speed limit reminders. "Slow down" and "it's clear so you can get over now" and "the light's about to change, don't try to run it." Danny hyperfocused on her words, on the cars around him, on the road. He had to do this right, couldn't make her mad, didn't even have the space in his head to determine which thinking error this was.

He drove at the speed limit no matter how many cars tailed and passed him. The memory always pushed into his mind even as he tried to repress it. That first time he drove with her. He had been so tired of her yelling at him and making him feel like even more of a failure than his teachers and classmates had ever made him feel. He had slammed on the accelerator, went over and far beyond the speed limit, ran a stop sign, didn't brake until—

He tried to swallow it back down. The mark she had left on his face at the end of that first driving lesson lasted only a day, but he was reminded of it every time he took the wheel with her in the passenger seat.

He pulled into a parking space in front of the pizza restaurant that shared its top floor with the therapy offices and shifted the car into park, a sigh of relief escaping him. Made it. Somehow, he had gotten through this. And she wasn't mad at him. Biggest relief of all.

"Good job, Danny," said Maddie cheerfully. "Right between the lines, too! You didn't even hesitate this time."

Danny shrugged and looked down at his lap. "It's gotten easier."

Maddie checked the time. "We're early. We can just wait here for a bit." She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a wrapped sandwich. "Here. I got this for you. Why don't you eat it before you go in?"

A sandwich. What kind? Didn't matter. There was no way it'd feel good in his stomach right now.

"That's all right. I'm not hungry." He switched off the engine and opened the car door, stepping out amidst the pizza restaurant's wafting smell of greased-up cheese and tomato sauce that made his gut lurch.

Maddie met him as he started up the stairway to distance himself from the awful smell. "Danny, wait! Lock the car first."

He looked down at the keys in his hand. Lock the car, of course. Stupid, stupid, so unbelievably—

Labeling, you dumbass.

Labeling again, moron.

He clicked the lock button and handed the keys to Maddie, then proceeded the rest of the way up the stairs.

"Danny, are you sure you don't want to eat?" Maddie walked behind him, still holding the sandwich in her hand. "You don't have to eat all of it. Just half? Or maybe I could buy you some pizza when you're done?"

Danny stopped outside the therapy office door and shook his head. "I'm fine, Mom. I ate a lot at lunch."

He gave her his best smile, the most genuine he could muster. She studied his face for a long moment.

"Did you really?" she asked softly.

Danny's smile fell away. What was she implying? Did she think he wasn't eating enough? Did she think he was too thin? Did she think he looked bad?

Personalization.

"Yes," he said. "Really. I'm good until dinner."

He tried to smile again. Maddie studied him a moment longer before slowly nodding.

"All right." She held a hand out to him. "Let me have your phone, then."

Danny groaned and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and placing it in her hand. She put the sandwich and phone in her purse.

"Ready?" she asked him.

Danny pulled the door and held it open for her, following her inside. There was no one crying in the lobby today. Besides the receptionist, they were alone.

All right. Just seven more times. And in an hour, it would be just six more times. In an hour, he'd be a quarter of the way done with this.

Chapter Text

In the waiting area, Danny hunched over in a chair beside Maddie, his hands shaking on his knees. He prayed for a delay, for the client before him to go long. Anything to reduce the length of his session.

But Brandan appeared in the lobby right on time. "Danny." He came closer. "Good to see you."

Danny stood and forced himself to say it was also good to see him. Couldn't be rude in front of his mother. She would be embarrassed and would lecture him later about showing respect to adults.

Jumping to conclusions… Why was he still doing this, identifying his cognitive distortions? Surely he could stop now. But after doing it all week, it was almost like a tic.

His mother and Brandan exchanged some words, strings of sounds he didn't care to pay attention to, and then he was following Brandan, walking behind him into his office and onto his couch.

Brandan closed the door and sat in his office chair facing the couch. "So, how are you doing, Danny? Anything you want to go ahead and talk about? Anything that happened this past week?"

Danny shook his head, no words, not even a vocalization.

"Is there anything happening this coming week?" asked Brandan. "Something we can frame this session around?"

This guy was really trying. Danny had to give him that. "I don't know. I don't think so. I mean, apart from my birthday."

"Right, I saw that. You'll be sixteen. Any exciting plans?"

"Maybe. I'm sure my family has something in mind."

"But you must be planning on doing something with your friends, right? A party, maybe?"

"No, I don't have birthday parties anymore. But I'm sure we'll do something." Danny looked off to the side. He really didn't know what he'd be doing for his sixteenth birthday. He still wasn't convinced he'd even make it to that day.

Turning sixteen just didn't seem like a real thing that could happen. And he had no idea why.

"All right," said Brandan. "You'll have to let me know next week."

Still looking away, Danny shrugged.

"Well, if you don't mind me moving this along." Brandan shifted in his chair. "Did you keep track of all the cognitive distortions you experienced this past week? Did you tally them on a piece of paper?"

Danny's nerves locked up. Yeah, he had done the stupid assignment, but only because he promised his mom he would.

He nodded.

"Did you bring it with you?"

The folded notebook page had been a constant presence in his pocket all week.

He nodded again.

"Can I take a look at it?"

He really wanted to say no. This guy would surely take one look at the page full of marks and finally realize he was completely screwed-up and beyond any help.

Still jumping to all the conclusions.

But he instead pulled out the sheet and handed it to Brandan, deciding that refusal to comply would only make him look worse.

Brandan studied the dozens of tally marks in silence for what felt like forever. Danny watched the second hand of the clock on the wall tick, tick, tick.

"All right." Brandan looked up at him. "So what did you think of this assignment? Easy, hard? Did it give you new perspective about anything?"

It sucked and it only made him realize just how damaged his head was. "I don't know. I guess it was okay. Kind of...interesting. I guess."

"Interesting how?"

"Just… I just had no idea how often I was experiencing all of those distortions on a daily basis."

"Did identifying them help you see them as errors and not as actual indicators of reality?"

Danny's eyes narrowed in thought.

"When you caught yourself thinking one of these errors," continued Brandan a little more slowly, "were you able to talk yourself out of it knowing that it was a distortion and not necessarily true?"

"I didn't try to do anything with them," said Danny flatly. "I just marked them like you asked me to."

Brandan inclined his head. "Fair enough. But that is something I would like you to start trying this week."

Danny shrugged and nodded in nonchalant agreement.

"But to help you out, let's go over your most prevalent distortions and discuss ways you can dismiss them or view them as they actually are, okay?" Brandan looked down at the notebook page in his hand again. "We'll start with your most commonly marked distortion here. Did that one surprise you at all?"

"I didn't actually count the tallies," said Danny. "What was my most common one?"

"Do you wanna take a guess?"

Danny looked at the paper in Brandan's hand warily.

"You must have an idea of which distortion you were marking up most often, right?"

"I guess…" Danny's eyes darted across the floor a few times as he thought. "I mean, it seemed like I was jumping to conclusions a lot."

"Hey, nice remembering." Brandan tapped the page a couple times. "That was indeed your most commonly tallied thinking error."

Was this guy really congratulating him? Seriously? Danny made a small roll of his eyes but said nothing.

"So let's talk about this one a little more." Brandan leaned forward and propped his elbows on his thighs. "Jumping to conclusions. That's when we assume we know what people are really thinking about us without them saying anything. Or we guess how they'll react to something we say or do, which might make us too afraid to do anything at all."

Danny nodded. A recap. Fine. Whatever took up time.

"So can you give me any specific examples of when you jumped to conclusions this week?" asked Brandan. "Since you apparently did it so often, you must remember at least a few times."

Oh, yeah. He remembered. He had done it at least a dozen times that day alone.

"I don't really want to talk about them," said Danny.

Brandan frowned. "Are you sure? Is there not even one you'd be comfortable talking about?"

Danny shook his head.

"Okay." Brandan's brow pinched in thought. "Then how about an example from someone else?" He put a hand to his chin. "How about...the town?"

Danny's bottom lip stuck out at this rather oddly abrupt suggestion. "The town?"

"Yes. The town. And the conclusions they've jumped to about ghosts."

Danny quickly inhaled but otherwise kept still.

"In particular, the conclusions they've jumped to about our most famous ghost," Brandan continued. "Danny Phantom."

"I told you last week I don't like talking about ghosts," said Danny.

"I know. I remember. They're a bit of a tender topic for you." Brandan gave him a small smile. "So would you rather talk about one of your own experiences from this past week?"

Danny fumed. What an asshole

Labeling—

SHUT. UP.

"So," began Brandan, "about the town jumping to conclusions about Phantom—"

"What about Phantom?" snapped Danny. "What conclusions about him can you possibly bring up? Do you actually know anything about him? Does anyone?"

"Well, that's what I'm trying to—"

"I just don't see how this is relevant to anything." Danny rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It's just...stupid. You can't possibly think Phantom is a good example here."

"You seem to have some strong opinions about him." Brandan smiled. "Care to let me in on some of them?"

Danny said nothing for a long beat, then mutely shook his head. He was saying way too much. He needed to calm down.

"I was just referring to how the town originally assumed that Phantom had malicious intent," said Brandan. "Public approval of Phantom was very low. All of the ghosts in the past only caused destruction and mayhem, so naturally, everyone jumped to the conclusion that Phantom was also set on harming people."

Danny looked out the window and tried swallowing to loosen his tight throat.

"Even though Phantom never did anything malevolent, everyone just jumped to that conclusion without question. But now? We've gotten to know Phantom better. We've only ever seen him do good things, protect the town, fight off rogue ghosts. And so many people have changed their minds about him as a result and realized that initial conclusion wasn't founded on anything substantial. It was only a distortion, not an accurate representation of reality."

All that he did, the fights and fits, the hostility and hysteria, the missteps and misunderstandings. All that he went through, the scratches and scrapes, breaks and bruises, aches and anguish. He endured them all from the beginning and yet it took so long to convince even just one person he was not an enemy.

But so many were still unconvinced he was good. Even his own parents believed he needed to be eliminated. Or at least taken away and strapped to a table for torture and experimentation.

Even though he hadn't done a single thing to warrant any of these reactions or accusations.

Yes. People had been jumping to conclusions about him since the beginning. And no, none of them were fair conclusions.

They were...distortions.

God, he hated that this guy actually did know what he was talking about.

"So let's talk about how this distortion about Phantom could maybe be undone," said Brandan.

"Why Phantom?" asked Danny testily. "Can't we just make up a distortion and talk about that instead?"

"We could, but I think it's better to use a real example instead of a hypothetical."

"Well, then why don't we talk about one of your distortions? Since you said everyone has them. And you even admitted you have them."

"I want it to be an example you yourself would be familiar with—"

"And why the hell would I be familiar with anything having to do with Phantom?"

The silence that followed his sudden rise in volume was deafening. Danny shifted back into the couch and tried to conceal his panic.

This guy didn't know he was Phantom, did he? This was just another conclusion he was jumping to, right?

"Or...or any ghost," Danny offered more quietly. "I mean, why would you think that I would be familiar with any example having to do with ghosts? Because my parents are career ghost hunters? Because I've grown up in a family where ghosts are often the main dinner conversation?"

"Actually, I was only referring to Phantom's infamy turned fame," said Brandan. "Everyone in this town is familiar with him and his rise from perceived enemy to lauded hero. Wouldn't you agree? Phantom is certainly our most popular celebrity. We actually have tourists who come here hoping to catch a glimpse of him. That's what I meant when I said it's something you're familiar with."

Danny held his arms and lightly dug his nails into his skin.

Maybe he really did have a problem with jumping to conclusions. It sure would save him a lot of unnecessary anxiety if he could just get this under control.

"I still don't want to talk about him," said Danny. "It's just… I'm sorry, but I hear enough about him from my parents. They're...kind of obsessed with him."

Brandan crossed an ankle over his knee. "Do you have any thoughts about him, Danny? Is he a hero or villain in your mind?"

Well, wasn't that quite the question to be posing to him of all people?

"I don't really have any thoughts about him," said Danny. "I… I don't really know what he is. I only know what other people think about him."

"Do you really?"

Danny eyed Brandan with confusion.

"You can't read their minds, can you?"

"Weren't we just talking about how everyone in town used to think of Phantom as a villain but now they think of him as a hero?"

"Yes, those are the poll results. But do you have any actual idea what the people here as individuals think about him? Can you really know that?"

Danny looked out the window, at the hundreds of people driving by that he had surely saved from some sort of ghost attack but had never actually met and probably never would.

"Not jumping to conclusions means not assuming you know exactly what others are thinking about anything." Brandan clasped his knee. "Including their thoughts about someone that isn't you."

Danny turned back from the window and stared at Brandan very hard.

"So, anyway," said Brandan. "Back to our discussion of how to overcome this distortion about Phantom—"

"Wait," said Danny. "Can we, um… I mean, can I give an example from my own life instead?"

Brandan blinked a couple times before nodding. "Absolutely. Of course."

"How, um… How specific does it need to be?"

"The more specific, the better, but tell me as much or as little as you want."

Danny thought back to earlier that day. So many times he jumped to conclusions, so many choices for an example.

"Okay," Danny began. "So I have two really good friends: Sam and Tucker. And today, they wanted to hang out after school like we usually do. But I couldn't hang out today because...well, you know." Danny held out a hand to indicate the office setting, somewhat bitterly. "But when they asked why, I didn't tell them the truth. I lied." He paused. "I didn't want to tell them that I had to go to therapy."

Brandan nodded, his brow furrowing.

"I didn't want to tell them because...I'm pretty sure that they already think that I need help," said Danny. "And if they find out I'm seeing a therapist, I just worry that'll only make them feel like they were right all along about me. And then maybe they'll just think I'm really weak and…I don't know. Sick in the head, like a head case"

Brandan clasped his hands loosely under his chin. "What makes you think they think that about you, Danny? Or that they could ever think that about you?"

Danny tensed. "Um… Well, I mean, I sort of told you last week that...I'm struggling with a lot of things, things I don't want to get into. But Sam and Tucker know about those things, and they're often trying to tell me to relax or take a break. Like they always think I'm really tired and overworked and stressed."

"Have they specifically told you that?"

"Well, no. But it's pretty obvious since they're always telling me to chill, don't you think?"

Brandan looked down at the tallied sheet in his lap with a small smile. "That would be a personalization." He met Danny's gaze again. "But we'll talk about that one later."

Danny hung his head and said nothing.

"But assuming that your friends will think you're weak or a head case if you tell them you're getting therapy." Brandan nodded. "Yes, that is jumping to a conclusion. So I have to ask, have your friends ever told you that they think you're weak? Like directly?"

Danny chewed the inside of his cheek. "No…"

"Have they ever told you they think you're sick in the head or mentally ill?"

"No."

"Have they ever told you they think you could use some professional help?"

"No. They've only just kind of hinted at it."

"But did you ask them to clarify these hints? Have you ever gotten them to specifically explain what their hints mean?"

"Well...no."

"Why not?"

"I guess… I was afraid that I'd be right. I was afraid that they really would tell me that they think I'm a head case."

"You were afraid." Brandan paused. "It's remarkable how much power a distortion can have, how it can make us afraid to interact with others or do anything at all."

Danny shrugged.

"But do you think your friends would continue hanging out with you if they thought you were sick in the head?"

"I don't know. I mean… I guess so since they still do."

"Danny, your friends probably don't think that about you at all. All of the perceived hints, all of the things you're sure they're thinking about you, they are almost certainly thinking errors. And based on all these tally marks you have here, jumping to conclusions is something you do a lot, something that is probably preventing you from doing a lot of things." Brandan's tone turned grave. "Something that's probably making you feel pretty unhappy a lot of the time."

Danny shrugged again. What did this guy know, really? He had never met Sam and Tucker. He didn't know about the things they said to him sometimes regarding his bloodshot eyes or unbalanced walk or irritable mood. Okay, sure, maybe they didn't think he was crazy, but they definitely thought something about him.

"So let's talk more specifically about how we can repair this incorrect and damaging line of thinking, how to stop ourselves from jumping to conclusions," said Brandan. "The first step is to identify the cognitive distortion, because you obviously can't stop yourself from jumping to conclusions if you don't even know you're doing it in the first place." Brandan held up Danny's tally sheet. "You've been doing that all week, and I don't want you to stop doing it now that the week is over. You don't have to mark it anymore, but you should still identify it when it happens."

Danny said nothing. It made sense. No objections.

"Once we recognize that we are jumping to a conclusion, our next step is to examine all the evidence. Can we definitely prove our conclusion is correct beyond a shadow of a doubt? Most of the time, we can't. So I asked you for evidence to support your belief that your friends will think you are weak or mentally unwell. You tried providing some evidence, but there were no specific quotes you could present to me that definitely proved your friends could ever think such a thing about you."

"Okay, fine. You're right," said Danny. "They've never actually said anything like that specifically. But they've also never said they think I am mentally healthy or that I don't need professional help. So am I just supposed to assume that they do think I'm mentally healthy unless they specifically state otherwise?"

"No," replied Brandan with a firm shake of his head. "That would still be jumping to a conclusion. Usually when you jump to a conclusion, it's something negative that tears you down and keeps you from doing something or trusting someone, but it can also be something that gives you a false sense of entitlement or achievement. Both can be damaging in different ways. You can't fix a negative conclusion by replacing it with a positive one."

"Okay, so then what am I supposed to do?"

"The goal is to not jump to any conclusion at all," said Brandan. "But of course it's not an easy task. People who struggle with this distortion are often never able to fully stop jumping to conclusions and instead have to train themselves to ignore the conclusions and not act on them. But you should never stop trying to completely stop jumping to conclusions."

Danny exhaled loudly.

"So now that we've gone over the steps for fighting the thinking error in general, let's actually walk through them for your specific example," continued Brandan. "Again, step one is to identify the thinking error, and assuming what your friends might think if they knew you were seeing a therapist is indeed an example of jumping to a conclusion. So you're already doing great with the first step."

Danny shrugged. This compliment didn't mean anything. Brandan was just trying to flatter him to get him to open up more or establish some sort of bond.

Disqualifying the positive.

And also jumping to a conclusion—

STOP

"The next step is to identify the evidence that you believe supports the conclusion. So I asked you whether or not you've ever heard your friends say they think you're not well, and those are exactly the questions you should be asking yourself. Consider the basis of your conclusion and determine if its foundation is actually substantial or not. Ask questions like 'is that what he actually said?' 'Did I really hear her say that?' 'Do I really know this for sure about them?' You will probably find that your answers to these questions are not upholding your conclusion at all."

"Still doesn't mean it isn't true," Danny muttered.

Brandan sighed and held up his hands. "You know, yes, you're right about that. There is always a chance that the conclusion you've jumped to is true. But if you always assume it's true, you're just going to paralyze yourself. You don't want to be hindered by a negative conclusion that you have no direct proof for. Your goal is not to prove or disprove a conclusion but rather to push aside the conclusion entirely and not let it control you."

Brandan paused for a short moment. Danny said nothing as he waited, his gaze low as he considered these words.

"Once you've identified your evidence, your next step is talking through it. Either dismiss each point of evidence as unsubstantial or come up with a positive alternative for each negative idea or thought. So getting back to your example, you jumped to the conclusion that your friends would think you're mentally unwell if you were to tell them that you're talking to a therapist. However, since you have not actually told them yet, the evidence for your conclusion is based solely on your fears and feelings. Because you have no control over your friends' thoughts and certainly cannot ever truly know them, this evidence can only be dismissed as unsubstantial. It cannot possibly prove your conclusion."

Danny's teeth ground together as he tried to think of some counter. It just didn't seem correct to him and yet he couldn't find a problem with the premise. He'd have to think about this one. Maybe he could ask Jazz.

Wait, did Jazz know he was in therapy? Had his mom told her? He really hoped not. Jazz already thought he had major mental issues and this would only affirm that for her and then she'd probably insist on asking him all about his sessions and then giving insight of her own or maybe she'd actually praise Brandan's stupid advice or techniques.

Great, he was doing it again. He really did have a problem with jumping to conclusions, didn't he?

"When you've talked yourself through the evidence," said Brandan, "your next step is to examine the negative conclusions you've jumped to and see if there are some positive conclusions that can fit your situation instead."

"Didn't you say to not jump to positive conclusions either?" asked Danny irritably.

"I did, yes. The point of this step is to not jump to a positive conclusion but to prove to yourself that a negative conclusion is not the only possible explanation. You want to reason through and admit that okay, yes, this negative conclusion could be accurate, but this other positive conclusion could also be the truth. And because you can't know for sure which is correct, there is no point in obsessing over the possibility that the negative conclusion could be right."

"Okay, so…" Danny sighed. "I'm supposed to think about other positive conclusions but I'm not supposed to jump to them either. Is that right?"

Brandan grinned, looking proud. "Not only is that right, but you also asked me if it was right so that you could know for sure instead of jumping to a conclusion about my meaning. You're already on your way to beating this one."

Danny suppressed an eye roll, his lids fluttering just slightly with the effort.

"So what are some positive reactions that your friends could have if you told them about how you're seeing a therapist?" asked Brandan.

Danny hesitated. "You want me to come up with something?"

Brandan nodded.

"I… I don't know."

"Come on, Danny. Just think. Imagine it in your head. Something positive."

Danny's bottom lip protruded in thought. He still couldn't imagine his friends reacting with anything other than pity and concern for his mental state, but if it would get this guy to finally move on, he was sure he could think of something.

"I guess maybe they'd…" He shrugged. "They might find it...interesting."

"Interesting how?"

"The process. The techniques. I don't know, maybe they'd just be curious about what happens here."

"Okay. That's positive enough. But what if they think therapy is a good idea?"

Danny frowned. "But that wouldn't be a positive reaction."

"Why not?" asked Brandan. "Would you rather they think it's a bad idea?"

"Well, yeah," said Danny, his voice getting louder. "In fact, that's probably the best I could hope for, if they told me that my mom's crazy for making me go through all this and that I don't need therapy because I'm fine and it's a stupid idea and a waste of my time every Monday afternoon."

Brandan folded his arms and leaned back in his chair but did not reply. Danny lowered his head and wrung his hands.

"I mean, that would be better than them thinking therapy's a good idea," he said more quietly.

"But why wouldn't you want them to think it's a good idea?" asked Brandan. "Why is that not a positive reaction to you?"

"Because I told you, I don't want them to think I'm a head case that needs it." Danny dug his nails into his jeans. "I want them to think I'm fine without it. I want them to just like the way I am already."

"But they can think you're fine without it and still think it's a good idea, Danny," said Brandan gently. "They could just want you to feel better because they care about you, not because they don't like the way you are currently."

Danny didn't answer, didn't believe it.

"And you know what else," began Brandan, his tone becoming more playful, "they might also be a little envious."

Danny looked at him curiously.

"A lot of people wish they could talk to a therapist, but they either don't have the means to or they are too afraid to." Brandan smiled. "So that's another positive outcome that could happen."

Danny considered this as his gaze fell to the floor. Sam and Tucker certainly did go through a lot right alongside him, but they weren't nearly as screwed up as he was.

"So I want you to work on that this week," said Brandan. "Whenever you jump to a conclusion, recognize it first, talk through the evidence, and think about other possible positive explanations. The goal is to accept that you can't really know what others are thinking for sure, positive or negative, but it is also important to show yourself that a positive explanation is always possible. And that's why you can't let yourself become trapped by the negative conclusions."

Danny continued staring at the floor. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's not easy. And not everyone is able to completely stop jumping to conclusions. But you can definitely find ways to not let it control you."

Danny thought for a moment longer before leaning back into the couch and raising his eyes to meet Brandan's.

"Do you want to talk about this one more?" asked Brandan. "Or do you want to move on to your next most frequent thinking error?"

Danny breathed out. "Move on. Which one is it?"

"Do you want to try to guess what it is?"

"Not really."

Brandan nodded. "That's fine. Your next most frequent thinking error is personalization. Is that surprising to you, or does that seem about right?"

The events of the past week flashed briefly in Danny's head. "Yeah. I guess that seems right."

"As a review, personalization is when you interpret what someone says or does as somehow being related to you," said Brandan. "More specifically, you interpret it to be an attack against your character or you think it's somehow your fault. For example, if a friend is venting to you about a low score they got on a test, you might personalize the outrage and believe that they are blaming you for the low score. Or you might even actually think it's your fault, like perhaps you were a bad friend for distracting them or not helping them study more often. Or if a teacher tells you that you look tired, you might personalize it and think they are implying that you don't take care of yourself."

Danny nodded his understanding.

"So let's talk about a specific example for this one." Brandan gave him a small smile. "Preferably one of yours if you'd be willing to talk about yourself again."

"What's my other option?" asked Danny. "Are you gonna try to make this about Phantom again for some reason?"

Brandan's smile widened. "Would you like to talk about Phantom, Danny?"

God, he hated this guy.

"No," said Danny. "I'll think of something." He perused his memory for his own example. He had dozens to choose from that had occurred in just that day alone.

What's up, Danny? You're not usually this slow.

Sam had said that earlier. It sounded to him like she thought he was being rude or that there was something wrong with him, like he was sick.

You didn't get detention today, did you?

Was Tucker legitimately asking this out of curiosity? Or was it an accusation?

Danny, are you sure you don't want to eat?

And what did his mom mean by that? Did she think he was underweight or scrawny?

"Wait," said Danny slowly. "Isn't this sort of the same as jumping to conclusions? I mean, assuming that when someone says something to you that it must mean they're insulting or attacking you."

"They're certainly related," said Brandan. "There's a lot of overlap with these thinking errors. The key difference is that with personalization, you relate everything to yourself negatively. Even if someone says something that has nothing to do with you, you twist it in your head to somehow be about you or your fault. For example, if you go out to eat with a friend at a restaurant and your friend orders something he ends up not liking, you might feel bad about it even though you didn't cook the meal or tell him what to order. You might feel guilty that your food tastes fine, or maybe you're the one who chose the restaurant. Essentially, you personalize the comment and end up feeling bad for something you didn't do."

Danny quietly contemplated and did not look at Brandan.

"Or…" Brandan paused. "Maybe when a ghost invades your school or some other place where you are, you might feel like you're somehow to blame for it."

Danny looked at him in panicked alarm. What the hell? How did this guy know? This guy this guy?

"Your parents are ghost hunters," Brandan elaborated. "They've been dabbling in the supernatural your whole life. Perhaps you feel a connection to ghosts that others don't, and so when a ghost appears or attacks, perhaps you personalize it and imagine it appeared because of you."

Danny's mouth was hanging open and he knew he needed to close it but this guy was absolutely right, he did think it was always his fault when a ghost appeared but not for the reason Brandan was suggesting.

"No," said Danny, his voice scratching. "That's not why I think it's my fault."

"Then why do you think it's your fault when ghosts attack?"

Danny was about to sputter out some excuse when he stopped and realized that oh crap this guy had caught him. This guy had totally led him right into a trap and like the complete dumbass he was he fell for it.

Labeling.

"I don't think it's my fault," said Danny. "I misspoke."

"Oh? What did you mean to say?"

Danny glared at him. "I told you before. I don't want to talk about ghosts."

"Yes. You did say that. Can you tell me your reason again for not wanting to talk about ghosts?"

"Why do you need a reason?" yelled Danny. "I just don't want to! I get enough of ghosts at home and school and everywhere. I don't need it here, too."

Brandan was quiet for a long time. He finally nodded. "I apologize."

Danny crossed his arms and pressed himself back into the couch.

"Let's get back to talking about personalization, okay?" said Brandan. "Is it all right if we talk about a personal example of yours?"

Danny pressed his lips, then eased his muscles. "Fine," he said in a low voice. "I guess… Earlier today, right before I came here, I was with Sam and Tucker by our lockers—"

"Hang on." Brandan held up a hand to stop him. "We can definitely talk about this example you're about to bring up, but would you mind if we first discussed a different example of yours?"

Danny looked at him warily.

"I want to talk about something you brought up during our last session," said Brandan. "Something you said that is definitely an example of personalization."

Last session? Last week? He couldn't remember what he had said the previous Monday. He waited for Brandan to continue.

"You admitted to me that you are indeed struggling with problems but that you want to deal with them on your own," said Brandan. "You stated that it was because you felt you had brought the problems on yourself. Do you remember telling me that?"

The memory flashed through his head. Yes, he remembered saying that. And he still felt that way. All of the ghost attacks, the sleepless nights and countless bruises, the ghost hunters relentlessly pursuing him, none of that would be happening if he had just left his parents' ghost portal alone.

"You put yourself entirely at fault," said Brandan. "You blame yourself for many if not most or maybe even all of your problems. And for that reason, you seem to feel you don't deserve help." Brandan paused. "At least, that's the implication I gathered. Am I in the right area there, Danny? Can you tell me?"

Danny. He really hated how this guy kept using his name so familiarly.

"I don't want to talk about this," said Danny darkly.

"All right. We can discuss a different example," said Brandan. "But can you at least just tell me if my interpretation is correct?"

"No!" shouted Danny. "You're not. You're completely wrong. Quit trying to act like you know me. You don't know me. You don't know what's going on in my life. You couldn't even begin to understand my problems and whether or not they're my fault." Danny caught his breath. "Why don't you take your own advice and not jump to conclusions about me?"

Brandan looked down at his lap briefly before meeting Danny's gaze again. "I know it might seem a little unfair, but it is actually my job to try to form some conclusions to help both of us talk through some issues and situations together."

"Then you really suck at it."

Brandan's face was stoic. Danny normally would've regretted his harsh words but he just couldn't bring himself to care right now. This therapy was a waste of his time and his parents' money and it could never actually help him because he wasn't about to tell this guy what his problems actually were. Nothing good could possibly come from this guy knowing he was Amity Park's most wanted ghost.

Just thank God his mom wasn't around to hear him speak so rudely to an adult.

"Maybe I am wrong," said Brandan simply. "But that's why I try asking for clarification." Brandan leaned forward in his chair. "So you say I am wrong. Does this mean you don't think many or even all of your problems are somehow your own fault?"

"I'm saying—" Danny paused, debated finishing his sentence or not. "I'm saying that...yes, I do think my problems are mostly my fault but that it's not an example of personalization."

"And why do you think it's not an example of personalization?"

"Because my problems really are mostly my fault." Danny's voice suddenly lost its strength. He cleared his throat in an attempt to regain it. "This isn't a distortion."

"Danny," said Brandan gently but firmly, "that is impossible. Not all of your problems can be your fault."

Danny's head was clicking and buzzing with some sort of erratic energy. How dare this guy keep using his name and talk down to him as if he were some simple child. "Okay, Brandan. Obviously I know that not all of my problems are my fault. But the biggest problems in my life definitely are, and no one can help me with them." He glared at Brandan. "Certainly not you."

"I am positive that not even all of your biggest problems are entirely your fault," asserted Brandan calmly. "And I'd really like to help you see that yourself. Because I think this might be hurting you more than you deserve."

Hurting him. More than he deserved. This guy couldn't possibly even begin to understand the hurt he endured on a daily and nightly basis. And Danny definitely wasn't about to discuss it with someone who saw him as just a moody histrionic teenager.

Jumping to—

NO he was not going to reason through this right now. There was no distortion here. This guy absolutely thought he was being overdramatic. He was making that quite clear.

"What makes you think your problems are all your fault?" asked Brandan.

"I'm not going to explain it to you," said Danny firmly. "But I know what I'm talking about, better than you do. I know my problems and I know what caused them. But I'm not going to talk about them with you."

"Is there just one example you could share with me?" Brandan's expression softened. "I'm very curious, Danny. It's not that I don't believe you, but I've never had someone so adamantly insist that his problems are all his fault, especially not someone of your age. I usually get teens blaming others for their problems, so I'm very interested to know more about you and why you feel so strongly about this."

"I already told you no. I'm not going to discuss any of my problems with you," said Danny. "You said I didn't have to talk about anything I don't want to. This is something I don't want to talk about."

"Can you tell me why you don't want to talk about them?"

"No!" shouted Danny, springing into a straighter sitting position on the couch. "How many times do I have to say that?"

"I'm not asking you to discuss the specific problems. I only want to know why you don't wish to discuss them."

"I know what you're trying to do. I'm not stupid." Danny held up a frustrated hand, not sure if he wanted to clench it or punch something. "I was all set to give you an example of personalization that happened today. I don't know why you insisted on this stupid example, but I am telling you that I do not want to and will not talk about it. So just drop it and leave me alone."

There was no response for some time. Danny lowered his hand as he watched Brandan contemplate.

"All right," said Brandan at last, slowly. "If you really don't want to talk about it, then I will let it go. Can we talk about the example you were about to give me, then?"

"No," said Danny irritably. "Now I don't want to talk about anything with you."

Brandan sighed and checked the clock. "I suppose we are out of time," he said quietly before looking at Danny again. "Can I say just one thing?"

"If I say no, will you not say it?"

"I'd probably still say it."

Danny shrugged and gestured for Brandan to continue.

"Like I told you before," said Brandan, "part of my job is to pick up on certain cues and draw some possible conclusions so that we can discuss ways that you can face and overcome your difficulties. I know that might seem contrary to how I'm telling you to not jump to conclusions, but for my part, it's the only way I can help you. And I do not automatically assume my conclusions are correct. That's why I aim to discuss my thoughts and conclusions with you candidly."

Danny glanced at the clock. This was so close to being over but not quite.

"So here is my thought to leave you with, and I just want you to consider it, please," said Brandan. "It seems that you are personalizing your struggles and problems. You seem to think that everything bad that is happening to you is because you keep screwing up or doing the wrong thing. And that further leads you to believe that you deserve all of your struggles and problems, which is keeping you in this endless cycle of guilt and misery."

Danny's muscles twitched, screaming at him to just get up and leave already.

"And I would really like to help you get out of this cycle, Danny," continued Brandan. "I'd like to help you see that not everything is your fault and you don't deserve the pain you're going through."

"Stop," said Danny. "Just stop. Can I go now?"

Brandan quickly scanned the time. "We still have about ninety seconds here—"

"I doubt anything important is going to happen in the next ninety seconds."

"Danny—"

"Brandan, I'm done. I want to leave."

He had planned on staying closed up, but now that his volume was already raised and the words were tumbling out with such ferocity, he couldn't stop them from continuing to pour out and build in intensity.

"I'm really sick of you acting like you know anything about me when you really don't. I'm sick of everyone doing that to me. My sister, my mom, even my friends. None of you know what I'm actually going through. You especially don't know what I'm going through or even anything about me at all. You don't know and you could never understand."

His words latched in his throat, coming out choked and strained.

"You couldn't even begin to understand," he said more quietly.

"How can you know that for sure, Danny?" asked Brandan. "Why won't you give me a chance to try to understand?"

"Because I'm not like the other people you see here, the other teens you talk to." Danny's voice regained its strength. "No one on this entire planet is like me or has my problems. No one. You can't understand or help me because you've never talked to anyone going through what I'm going through. You've never read about someone like me in any of your psychology books."

He stood, unable to stay seated any longer. Brandan calmly remained in his office chair.

"And you definitely can't help me if you're just gonna insist that you somehow know my situation better than I do." Danny glared at him. "Don't tell me I have a distorted view of what's going on in my own life. You can't possibly know that."

Brandan's mouth opened to say something, but Danny shook his head and stomped past him. Out the door, down the hall, toward the waiting area, his whole body stiff with heated rage. So much hate, so much hurt.

And he still had to do this SIX MORE TIMES God damn it!

Out in the waiting area, Maddie stood as he approached. She smiled, but then frowned. Danny worriedly tried to interpret her reaction.

No, don't, you're not supposed to jump to conclusions—

He quite honestly didn't care about that anymore. That guy's advice meant nothing to him now.

"Where's Brandan?" asked Maddie. "Did he not walk out with you?"

Danny froze, unsure what to do or say. He couldn't tell his mom he had stormed out of the therapist's office. He couldn't let her know just how rude he had been.

He pulled in a breath and calmed his flitting nerves. "Oh, he's just—uh—I mean, the time was up, and he said I could just—"

"Maddie, hey," said Brandan as he strolled up to them. "I just had to file some papers real quick."

Maddie's frown quickly turned up again. "Everything go okay today?"

Danny hung his head and averted his eyes. His mom was so going to yell at him once Brandan told her what had just happened.

"Everything went great," said Brandan, smiling. "I'll see you next week, Danny."

Danny stared at him, his mouth slightly open. Even as Brandan walked away and disappeared down the hall, he still couldn't believe what had just happened.

He had thought for sure Brandan would tell his mom how disrespectful he was.

He had jumped to that conclusion.

And he was...wrong?

His mouth closed as his jaw clenched. Just what was this guy's game?

He couldn't stand not knowing what Brandan was really thinking or trying to do.

Maddie placed a hand on his back to lead him outside and gave him his phone as they descended the stairs. Danny gripped it tight, his arm shaking.

"So? Anything you want to tell me?" asked Maddie. "Or do you still not want to discuss it with me?"

She smiled at him, looking so motherly and hopeful. Danny turned away from her so she couldn't see his irritation.

"No," he said as calmly as he could. "I don't want to talk about it."

She nodded and pulled him in for a hug, kissing the side of his head and rubbing his upper arm. Danny let her but did not return the affection.

He hated this. He hated having to come here. He hated this guy SO. DAMN. MUCH.

He glanced at his mom out of the corner of his eye as she drove them home. He certainly didn't hate her, but he hated that she was making him do this. He hated that she had so little confidence in his own abilities and that she thought he was so broken and in desperate need of help that she was forcing him to keep meeting with this guy that he absolutely hated.

Jumping to conclusions. Let's examine the evidence—

No. Why should he? Why should he bother trying to take any of Brandan's dumb advice?

Because you promised Mom you'd give therapy a fair try. That was the deal you made with her.

But what was the point in giving it a fair try? It was a waste of time. It wasn't going to help.

He glanced at his mom again. She was too focused on the road to notice.

Why was she making him do this?

He unlocked his phone and scrolled through his calendar.

Six more times. Could he really get through six more sessions with that guy's infuriating voice and arrogant insistence that he somehow knew a thing about what Danny was really going through?

Maybe he could if he stopped taking it seriously altogether. His mom would never know, and he didn't care if Brandan could tell. He would just lie and deny it.

This forced therapy was just not worth it.

Chapter Text

Out on the streets, patrolling late at night. Danny didn't even know what kind of animal this ghost was supposed to resemble. A tiger? A wolf? Some sort of weird cross between them?

All he could definitely be sure of was that its claws were sharp and they hurt.

The ghost slammed a paw across his face, tearing a gash in his cheek. Danny cried out and held a hand to the wound, ectoplasm dripping between his gloved fingers.

He was so done with this. He was so tired and he just wanted to sleep.

He aimed a heavily concentrated ecto-ray at the ghost. The ghost howled and slammed into a nearby building, pieces of its walls cracking and falling to the asphalt below. Danny aimed a Thermos at the ghost and sealed it inside.

He hovered there for a while, panting and shaking. The building was significantly damaged. Great, he had wrecked more public property. More reason for everyone to hate him. Nice going, dumbass.

There were at least a couple thinking errors in those thoughts, but he had sworn off Brandan's stupid advice for combating cognitive distortions. Now he was no longer reflexively identifying them. It certainly did him no good anyway.

He checked the time on his phone, ignoring the notifications for missed calls and texts because they were probably all from Tucker and Sam, nothing important.

It was well past midnight. On a school night. The weekend was already over, and he'd have to be up and ready for school in a few hours.

Monday. The beginning of yet another week.

But hey…

It was after midnight. It was officially Monday now. Which meant he had made it to his sixteenth birthday.

He hovered a little longer, somewhat stunned and numbed. He had been so sure he wouldn't make it to this milestone, and yet here he was, sixteen and still here, still alive.

He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

He flew toward home, feeling more and more exhausted. Was he more sleep-deprived than he realized? When was the last time he had actually gotten not just enough sleep but good sleep? Sleep that was deep and restful and energizing? When was the last time he woke up without wishing he could just stay in bed forever?

Maybe he needed to take a night off. Maybe for his birthday, he'd treat himself by going to bed early for once.

He phased through his window and sighed in relief as he morphed back into his normal form and set his cell phone on his nightstand. He hid his Thermos under his bed, too tired to go down to the basement lab now to release the captured ghost. He wasn't even sure he had the energy to change into his pajamas or brush his teeth.

He flopped down on his bed and pulled his blanket over him, nestling into his pillow. He could feel himself drifting off almost immediately.

His light suddenly switched on. Danny moaned and squinted in the assaulting brightness.

"Danny, where the hell have you been?"

Danny immediately shot up into a sitting position. Maddie stood over him with hands on her hips, her eyes fiercely narrowed, her mouth austerely curved downward.

Danny winced and looked down at his lap, fumbling with his blanket. "I—well—"

"What happened to your face?" she asked sharply, her tone a mixture of anger and concern.

Danny placed a hand on his left cheek, the memory of the ghost creature scratching him resurfacing, the dull pain immediately returning. Dried blood from the wound was caked below on his jaw and neck.

"I, uh—" He hadn't had time to plan a story, had completely forgotten the injury had happened at all until just now. "I—I was walking home and it was dark and… There was this tree with low-hanging branches and I walked right into it. I mean, one of the branches cut my face."

"A branch did that?" asked Maddie, furrowing her brow and pursing her lips.

Danny nodded and shifted under his blanket. Maddie continued to study him before sighing and stomping up to him.

"Come on. Get up." Maddie grabbed his arm and pulled him out of bed. Danny stumbled after her out of his room and into the bathroom across the hall. She turned on the faucet and ran a small towel under the water.

"You know your father and I only let you go out on school nights because we trust you, right?" She dabbed the wet towel at his face and neck, gently rubbing away the blood. Her touch was so soft and motherly, but her tone was stern and frustrated. "We expect you to come home by nine on school nights, and if you're going to be even a little late, you have to text us and let us know."

Danny kept his gaze down on the sink. "I—I'm sorry, I just lost track of—"

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" Her voice began to shake. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? I've been up all night waiting for you because I couldn't sleep until I was sure you were safe."

Danny thought about the cell phone he had just placed on his bedside table, about the notifications for missed calls and texts he ignored. Stupid.

"You know when your curfew is on school nights." Maddie ran the towel under water again with a small amount of soap before raising it back up to his face. "You've been pushing it for a while now, you've been late so many times—"

"Not that late usually!" insisted Danny. "And I haven't been this late since—"

"Late is late," said Maddie sternly. "A few minutes, a few hours, doesn't matter. I've told you already that curfew isn't negotiable." She glared at him. "Maybe your father and I need to stop trusting you so much."

Danny flinched. "Mom, I—"

"No, don't bother." Maddie opened the bathroom cabinet and pulled out a tube of antibiotic cream and a bandage. She applied the cream over his cut. "I don't want to hear any excuses or apologies. You're not getting out of this one."

Danny obediently kept his mouth shut and waited for her to continue.

Maddie placed the adhesive bandage over the gash and pressed it to his face. "You're grounded until further notice. I don't know how long. I'll have to talk it over with your father. But you're not allowed to go out at all for a while."

"What? But—"

"You heard me. But I don't even know if I should really bother. You never seem to change no matter what we try to do with you."

Danny winced. Was she starting to see him as a lost cause beyond all help? Was he only a major disappointment to her?

Of course he was. Why else would she be forcing him to go to therapy? She clearly thought more drastic measures were needed if he was going to somehow be fixed and become someone she could be proud of.

"I really am sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to—"

"You didn't mean to get caught." Maddie shook her head. "Don't, Danny. We'll talk about it tomorrow. Just get some sleep so I don't get teachers telling me you fell asleep during class again."

She swiftly marched out of the bathroom, leaving him in lonely, haunting silence.

What a great start to his birthday.

…

In the last class of the day, Danny dropped his head on his desk and waited for the starting bell. Students chatted and milled around him, getting situated at their own desks.

"Mr. Fenton." Lancer was suddenly standing beside him. "You're not planning on sleeping during my class again, are you?"

Danny lifted his head. "No, Mr. Lancer," he said quietly.

Lancer frowned. "What happened to your face?"

Danny touched the bandage on his cheek. "Just a cut. It's nothing."

Lancer studied him a little longer before walking back to the head of the classroom. Danny then took notice of the two desks in front of him that were still unoccupied.

Sam and Tucker had said they had something to do first and that they'd meet him in class, but they were cutting it awfully close. The bell would be ringing in less than thirty seconds.

At last, his two friends entered the classroom, Tucker holding a covered tray in his hands. Danny watched them curiously as they approached.

"Happy birthday!" they chorused as Tucker set the tray in front of Danny and uncovered it to reveal a large white cake with decorative green frosting and blue iced lettering that also wished him a happy birthday.

Danny stared at the cake, a few other students crowding around him and vocalizing their excitement. He knew he needed to say something, but no words were coming to mind. The bell rang, covering for his stunned silence.

"Lancer said we could bring in a cake for you," explained Tucker as he began placing candles on the cake.

"Hey, I also said you could not light candles in the classroom, Mr. Foley," barked Lancer from behind his desk.

"We're not," insisted Tucker with a small whine, hiding a lighter behind his back. "We're just gonna pretend."

Danny continued to stare at the cake, at the arrangement of the candles, all sixteen of them.

"I… I don't know what to say," he stammered.

"Well, you're sixteen now," said Sam. "It's a pretty big deal. And just so you know, I allowed it to be non-vegan just this once."

Danny smiled at her. "Are you going to have a piece?"

"Of course not." Sam rolled her eyes. "But you deserve something you'd actually like."

"Yeah, vanilla cake with buttercream frosting," said Tucker. "Your favorite, dude."

"Ooh, it's so pretty," gushed Paulina from behind him. "Are we gonna sing to Danny?"

Danny covered his eyes. "Oh, God, please don't."

Tucker grabbed his shoulders and playfully shook him. "It would embarrass him, so of course we're gonna sing."

Danny sank low in his seat. "Okay, then don't record it."

"Oh, I'm recording it," said Sam, holding up her phone and directing it at him.

Danny uncomfortably sat at his desk while everyone in the class began singing to him in loud, off-key voices. His face grew hotter and hotter as the song continued, but he tried to smile in good nature. When the song finally ended, Danny inclined his head in relief.

"Okay, dude, make a wish and blow out the candles," said Tucker.

"But they're not lit," said Danny.

"You still deserve a wish!"

Danny's mind churned. Did he deserve a wish? Had he earned having a wish granted?

He didn't think so.

He leaned over and pretended to make a wish, then just as he was about to pretend to blow out the candles, Tucker whipped out his lighter and lit the one right in front of him.

"Hey, what did I tell you?" yelled Lancer.

Danny froze for only a moment before blowing out the single candle. Everyone laughed while Danny leaned back feeling even hotter than before.

"Mr. Foley, I'll be seeing you during lunch tomorrow for detention," said Lancer sternly.

"Fine, fine," said Tucker, then dropping his voice to whisper to Danny, "Totally worth it."

Using a plastic knife, Tucker cut the cake into pieces while Sam served them on paper plates with plastic forks, for once not lecturing anyone on how all of this plastic cutlery was bad for the environment.

"Man, Fenton, this is good," said Dash from his desk with a full bite in his mouth. "For once, I'm really glad you were born."

A few people chuckled and playfully agreed with him. Danny smiled weakly and ate a small bite of cake to appease Sam and Tucker.

But as Lancer began his lecture, Danny could only think about Dash's words.

Was he himself glad that he was born? Disappointing his parents, struggling to get good grades, painfully zapping himself and then feeling obligated to fight off all the ghosts he had accidentally given easy access to the town? Constantly worrying about the safety of his friends and family? All of the injuries and trauma he couldn't even seek professional medical help for? The failures and near deaths?

If he had been given a choice to be born knowing that this was going to be his life, would he have accepted it?

He had no idea.

After class, Danny headed out the classroom door with Sam and Tucker. Tucker carried what was left of the cake.

"Hey, guys, I didn't say it before, but…" Danny gave them a genuine smile. "Thanks for bringing in a cake for me."

"You should probably be thanking Sam," said Tucker. "It was her idea."

"But we both paid for it," said Sam.

Danny exhaled in amusement. "You guys are great."

"So, we still going to the game center today?" asked Tucker. "I'm so psyched to play laser tag."

"Yeah, I miss beating both you boys at laser tag," said Sam. "It's been way too long."

"Now, Sam, maybe you should go a little easy on us this time," said Tucker. "Or at least Danny. I mean, it is his birthday."

"Yeah, you've finally joined the sixteen club." Sam elbowed him gently. "Now we're all the same age again."

"Our spring chicken is all grown up," teased Tucker.

Danny rolled his eyes. "I'm only a couple months younger than you two."

"And you always will be," said Sam with a smirk. "All right. Let's get our stuff and go!"

Danny slowed, remembering with horror that it wasn't just his birthday.

It was Monday.

And he was grounded.

"Um… I can't hang out today," he said, staring down at the floor.

"Huh? Why?" asked Sam. "It's your birthday! Of course you can hang out, can't you?"

Danny winced. "Um, well… I'm kind of...grounded."

"Grounded?" echoed Tucker. "On your birthday?"

"What happened?" asked Sam.

"Um…" Danny still couldn't look at them. "I came home pretty late after patrol last night, and my mom...kind of noticed. And was pretty pissed off." He sighed. "I didn't mean to come home late, but, you know, I can't just quit fighting ghosts just because it's close to curfew." He pointed to the bandage on his face. "I told you that's how I got this, remember?"

"You did tell us," said Tucker. "But what I don't get is why you didn't tell us last night you were going out on patrol."

"Yeah," agreed Sam. "Why don't you tell us you're going out to fight ghosts anymore, Danny? We could've helped you out and made sure you got home before curfew."

Danny studied his friends as he quickly tried to come up with an answer that would satisfy them. Not the truth; they wouldn't like the truth. If he were to confess that he felt guilty asking them to put themselves in danger just to help him or even just to keep him company during lonely ghost-fighting nights, they'd scold him and be offended for sure.

And no, this was not jumping to conclusions. This was just what he knew for sure would happen, and he just didn't want to deal with his friends' scrutiny and disapproval. Certainly not on his birthday.

"It was a school night." Danny shrugged. "I honestly thought it'd just be a quick look around the town. I didn't plan on being out for more than an hour. So I just didn't want to bother you guys. I didn't expect there to be as many ghosts as there were."

"But that's the point," said Sam. "You don't know if there will be more trouble until it happens, and if you tell us, then we'll be there to help if it gets rough!"

"We want to be there for you, Danny," said Tucker. "I mean, aren't we supposed to be a team? Didn't we all agree to fight and take these ghosts back to the Ghost Zone together?"

Danny had no answer to give, no words at all. All he had was guilt, guilt for ever asking them to risk their lives, guilt for breaking up their team dynamic even if it was because he wanted to protect them just as much as he wanted to protect the rest of the town.

"Hey." Sam touched his arm. "We can talk about this later. Let me drive you home, okay? And maybe we can talk to your mom about letting you go out with us. I mean, she wouldn't deny you some fun on your sixteenth birthday, would she?"

"Ooh, yeah, I'm so good at begging." Tucker straightened his bag on his shoulders. "I can be very persuasive, you know."

Sam and Tucker started talking strategies as they led the way out of the school. Danny stayed behind, sweating over how he was going to tell them he couldn't let Sam drive him home. His two friends stopped and turned back to look at him when they realized he wasn't following them.

"Danny? Come on, let's go!" said Sam.

"I...can't go with you," mumbled Danny. "My mom's picking me up."

"Your mom?" Sam frowned. "She's picking you up again?"

"Is she taking you to the mall to get even more clothes?" quipped Tucker.

"No, she, um…" Danny played with his backpack strap. "She's just taking this whole grounded thing seriously. She wants to make sure I come straight home after school."

"She won't even let Jazz take you home?" asked Sam.

"No. Just, ah...just her." Danny checked the time on his phone. "I should go meet her before she gets mad."

"Okay, we'll go with you," said Sam, sounding determined. "We'll talk to her and beg her to let you hang out with us for at least a couple hours. She's just gotta let you celebrate your sixteenth birthday!"

"Yeah!" exclaimed Tucker. "Time for my best pitiful puppy dog eyes."

Tucker practiced his expression on Sam, who playfully shoved his shoulder.

"Save it for Mrs. Fenton, techie," she teased.

Sam and Tucker again started heading toward the exit. Danny ran after them in a slight panic.

"No!" he cried, bringing them to another stop. "No, she… She's not gonna change her mind, guys. Really, don't bother trying."

"Your mom isn't that heartless," said Sam.

"And even if she is, it's still worth a shot," said Tucker with a shrug.

They began walking again. Danny moved in front of them to block their path. "Seriously, guys, I don't want to make her even more upset."

"Well, we could at least ask if it'd be all right for us to hang out with you at your house," said Tucker.

"Yeah, she might at least let us order a pizza and watch a movie," said Sam. "And then you can be fully grounded the rest of the week!"

"No," said Danny more firmly. "No, just… It's not going to work, guys. I'm really sorry. We can do something for my birthday another day, okay?"

Sam cocked her head. "You really don't even want us to try? You've never had a problem with us trying in the past when you were grounded."

Danny said nothing. Sam and Tucker remained quiet for some time as well.

"Is there some other reason you don't want us to try talking to your mom about this?" asked Sam gently.

Danny considered his options. He couldn't keep this from them forever. What excuse would he give them next Monday when his mom came to pick him up again? Or the Monday after that?

He might as well get this over with.

"I'm, um…" He rubbed his upper arm. "My mom is… She's been making me see a…"

He knew the next word but wished he didn't have to say it. But there was no backing out now. He could see Sam and Tucker staring at him from the periphery of his vision but he still couldn't meet their gazes.

"A therapist," he finished with a small break in his voice.

Sam and Tucker were quiet a little longer, giving Danny's skin plenty of time to flood with heat.

"A therapist?" echoed Sam. "For something specific, or…?"

"Just—um—nothing really specific, honestly." Danny's skin certainly wasn't cooling down. "My mom is just worried about me—you know, like my grades and how tired I often am. And I can't tell her the real reason why I've been struggling with things the past year and a half. So as far as she can tell, I'm just a troubled teen who needs help figuring out how to deal with stress and depression. I can't exactly tell her that there is no way therapy is going to help me."

Sam and Tucker exchanged looks. And Danny didn't like them.

"But maybe it can help you, Danny," said Sam. "I mean, you have been… Well, you definitely aren't as happy as we remember you being before you got your ghost powers."

"Yeah," agreed Tucker. "I mean, um… Yeah, your problems are definitely not normal, but maybe a therapist could still give you some advice that might help you out."

Danny's heated skin was now bristling. "So you two agree that something's wrong with me? That I need professional help?"

"No, Danny," insisted Sam with a grimace. "We don't think anything's wrong with you at all. We're only saying—"

Danny shook his head. "I can't do this right now."

He power walked away and exited the school, selectively choosing not to hear Sam and Tucker if they were calling for him to come back, too agitated and humiliated to turn back even if he did hear them.

This therapy had been completely stupid so far, and now he had proof. It hadn't been a cognitive distortion at all to think his friends would agree that he needed the help if he were to tell them about therapy. Brandan had been wrong. That guy was probably wrong about everything, so why should Danny even bother?

He headed toward his mom's parked car by the curb, his limbs shaking as he yanked the car door open and dropped hard into the passenger seat.

"Danny?" Maddie frowned at him. "You doing okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine."

Danny shrugged. Maddie put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb.

All that could be heard for some time were the muffled traffic sounds outside the car.

"Can we just go home?" asked Danny at last.

Maddie kept her eyes on the road. "No. I'm taking you to therapy."

"But I really don't want to go to therapy, Mom."

"I know you don't. But we made a deal, remember?"

"But it's my birthday!" blurted Danny desperately. "And you've already grounded me, so can I at least just skip therapy today? Please?"

"I know it's your birthday, Danny. But it's also Monday, and we can't just reschedule."

"Then don't reschedule. Just cancel."

Maddie shot a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "What's going on? Why are you acting like this?"

"I just—" Danny huffed. "I just really hate therapy and I don't want to go, okay? It's bad enough I can't even hang out with Sam and Tucker on my own birthday."

"And whose fault is that?" asked Maddie with a tone so stern it actually made Danny flinch.

"I…" Danny looked down at his lap. "I know I broke curfew last night, but I really didn't mean—"

"You always say you didn't mean to, and yet you keep doing it," said Maddie. "Do you really think you deserve any special favors from me? Even if it is your birthday?"

Danny kept his gaze down. Jerk. What an asshole. First he snapped at Sam and Tucker, now he was asking for favors from his own mother after upsetting her so much.

"No," he said quietly.

"It's things like this that make it all the more important that you see someone, Danny. You keep breaking my trust, and I don't know what to do with you anymore," said Maddie. "And since you won't open up to me about anything, maybe someone else can help you. Someone who knows what he's doing. A professional."

Danny hung his head. Any anger or irritation he had felt before was replaced with shame and guilt. His mother's trust was definitely not something he took lightly. All he ever wanted was to make her happy, make her proud to have him for a son.

Instead, he was a failure. Totally and completely. A terrible friend, a terrible son.

"I really am sorry," said Danny. "And you're right, I don't deserve any special favors. It's just… I really don't like therapy, and now Sam and Tucker know that I'm in therapy, which is just so embarrassing, and—"

He stopped himself. Excuses probably weren't what his mom wanted to hear right now.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry for breaking curfew. I won't do it again."

Maddie switched on her turn signal and checked for cars.

"You can apologize to me by keeping up your end of the deal and actually giving therapy a fair chance," said Maddie coolly.

Danny could not find the strength to reply or even nod.

Should he really still bother giving therapy a fair chance? He knew he'd eventually break his promise not to break curfew again, possibly even this very night if there was a ghost that really needed his attention. What was one more broken promise at this point?

The car pulled up to the pizza restaurant that was situated below the therapy offices. Maddie turned off the engine and unbuckled her seat belt.

"You don't have to go up with me," said Danny quietly, handing her his phone. "I can just go up on my own, and you can pick me up later."

"No." Maddie took his phone without missing a beat and put it in her purse. "I want to make sure that you actually go and don't skip out on it."

Danny kept his eyes down, unable to look at her at all, his upper chest zinging with weighted shakiness.

Perhaps he should just resign himself to always being a major disappointment to his mother. Maybe this would all be easier if he stopped worrying about making her happy.

It wouldn't even be all that selfish. It would just be surrendering to his inability to do anything right. Why even try to be the son she wanted when it was clearly impossible?

"I wouldn't skip out on it," he insisted with a small tremor. "I just thought that...that maybe you'd rather go shopping or run an errand instead of waiting for me."

He unbuckled his seat belt and opened the car door.

"But it's okay, fine, I'll just—"

He climbed out of the car and walked swiftly toward the stairs leading up to the therapy offices. He might've heard his mother calling after him, but he didn't stop or turn to check. He didn't have a face to show her right now.

He threw open the door of the office floor and attempted to compose himself as he approached the receptionist sitting behind her desk.

"Hi." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "Checking in for Brandan."

"Oh, yes, of course. Danny, right?" The receptionist looked at something on her computer screen. "He'll be with you shortly. Go ahead and have a seat."

"Actually, can I use your bathroom?" Danny cleared his throat again and raised a shaking hand to his neck.

"Sure." The receptionist gestured the way. "Just right down this hall here. It'll be on your right."

Danny tried to mumble a thank-you but the words stuck. No time to try again; he had to be out of sight by the time his mom came up. He was sure he caught a glimpse of her walking in as he dashed down the hall and entered the men's restroom.

He leaned over the sink and stared down at the porcelain, gripping the edges and not allowing himself to glance up at the mirror at all. His knuckles were jittering, his elbows twitching.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't talk to that guy again. It was his birthday and his mom was mad at him and therapy was so stupid and would never help him because he didn't have normal problems. His problems were nothing like anyone on this entire planet had ever had to deal with.

He could just leave. He had that power. He could fly straight up through the ceiling and go somewhere far away.

And then what? Just never return home? Because of course his mom was going to find out he had skipped therapy, and then she'd not only never trust him again but probably force him to continue therapy for even longer.

As it was, right now, he only had to do this six more times.

He pulled in a breath and straightened up, then left the restroom. He still couldn't bring himself to face his mother in the front lobby, but perhaps he could just wait here instead. He leaned against a wall with his shaking hands in his pockets.

It wasn't long before Brandan came strolling around the corner. "Oh, Danny! I was just coming to get you. Ready?"

Danny nodded and pushed off from the wall to follow Brandan to his office, but Brandan did not move.

"You doing okay?" Brandan's head tilted as he studied Danny with a frown. "Did you cut your face?"

"It's nothing. I'm fine," said Danny quietly.

Brandan paused a moment longer before leading the way to his office. Danny shuffled behind him.

At the very least, this would make his mom happy. And even if it was his birthday, making her happy was more important to him.

Chapter Text

"Go ahead and have a seat," said Brandan as he closed his office door.

Danny dropped onto the sofa, his whole body feeling heavy. His head fell back, eyes directed at the ceiling. He wasn't sure he could straighten his neck even if he tried. He didn't feel like he could support it right now.

"Hey, what's going on?" Brandan sat in his office chair and leaned toward Danny. "Can we talk about what you're feeling now? Did something happen?"

Something. Everything. His mom was upset with him and didn't trust him to ever become what she wanted and was maybe going to give up on him altogether. And could he blame her? Maybe he just needed to give up on himself, too.

Danny kept his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes.

"Danny? Can you tell me what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk," said Danny, not moving at all.

Brandan did not speak for a moment. "All right. Take your time. Talk when you're ready."

"No," said Danny. "I'm not going to be ready. I don't want to talk."

Another short silence.

"That's fine," said Brandan. "We don't have to talk."

Danny could hear Brandan shifting in his chair, then no sound at all except the tick tick tick of the clock on the wall.

The muffled breeze whistling past the closed window.

Brandan's steady breathing. Danny's own strained breaths that shook through his core.

"Well, you can talk if you want," muttered Danny, folding his arms against his body.

"No," said Brandan. "I don't want to talk right now either."

Brandan's shoes shuffled against the carpet.

Danny's jeans scraped over the couch as he moved his leg.

And the clock kept tick tick ticking.

So slowly.

Maddening.

Was Brandan upset with him, too? Was this why he wasn't talking? Was he disappointed in Danny? Just like all of the other adults in his life?

Brandan had told him it was fine if he didn't want to talk and yet this definitely felt like the opposite of fine.

"Look, I'm just not sure this is going to work, okay?" blurted Danny.

Brandan looked at him but did not say anything, didn't even open his mouth.

"Like I just don't want to waste your time." Danny's voice trembled slightly. "Or anyone's time. I just feel like I'm wasting everyone's time."

He looked down at his lap and gripped the fingers of one hand, crushing them.

"Even my mom's time since she has to drive me over here. And then she actually waits for me. I don't want to waste her time. I don't want to waste anyone's time."

"Why are you so convinced this is a waste of time?" asked Brandan. "Because you think it won't work? That you won't succeed? That you won't get better?"

Danny did not look up.

"It's never a waste of time to give therapy a try, Danny," said Brandan gently. "Talking to someone, talking to me, it will never be a waste of anyone's time. I want you to understand that. Even if it doesn't always have the exact outcome we want, it is always worth the time. Because there's no way to know if this is what you need otherwise. No matter what happens, we will all learn something valuable along the way."

Danny hunched his shoulders and gripped at his jeans.

"I wish I could tell you that I have had only perfect success with my clients," Brandan continued. "But I have to be honest and tell you that some people have given up. Some people have ghosted me, just stopped showing up one day, stopped answering my calls or emails. Some people have been talking to me for years and have not progressed as much as they had hoped. Some have even regressed. I wish I could tell you therapy is a perfect process, that it's a perfect cure, that it always works. But that's not the case. There is still so much we do not understand about human psychology, and everyone is just...so different."

He paused. Danny tentatively raised his eyes.

"I cannot guarantee you or your mom will get what you are hoping for. But I can guarantee you will get something out of it, some sort of valuable information. Even if the information is just that you need something other than therapy. And even if you have trouble believing you are not wasting your time, please believe me when I say that you can never waste my time here." He raised his arms in a gesture indicating the room. "This is what I'm here to do. Even if it doesn't always work out, this is my job. Talking to you is what I'm meant to do, what I want to do."

Danny balled his hands into fists, tapping his knuckles against his thighs a couple times.

"Okay, Danny?"

Danny nodded.

"Is there something else on your mind you can tell me?"

Danny shook his head.

"We do have plenty to talk about already," said Brandan. "More cognitive distortions to go over. But you really don't seem to be in a good place right now. Can you at least tell me if that is true? Even if you don't want to tell me why?"

He was definitely not in a good place. He was in a terrible place. An awful place. He hated being here, hated being stuck in this room, stuck in this life, wanted to go home but then he'd still be the same disappointment there, could never escape this definitely not good part of him.

Danny allowed himself to nod. Brandan hummed his understanding.

"It's your birthday today, isn't it?" asked Brandan. "April third?"

Danny lowered his eyes.

"But I guess you haven't been having the best birthday, huh?"

Danny thought back to just a couple hours ago, the cake Sam and Tucker had brought to class just for him. He had forced himself to eat the entire slice they cut for him but it felt so heavy in his stomach.

And his mom didn't even care. She made him come here anyway. Because he had disappointed her by breaking curfew yet again.

It was his own fault he wasn't having a great birthday.

He didn't deserve one.

"It's been okay so far," said Danny.

"Has it really?"

Danny shrugged. "Yeah, I mean, I didn't even think I'd make it to my sixteenth birthday, so the fact that I'm still here today… I mean, that's pretty okay. I guess."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Brandan. "That you didn't think you'd make it to your sixteenth birthday. Can you tell me what that means? What did you think might happen to you before today?"

"I…" Danny could feel heat in his face. He wished he hadn't said anything because he was sure this was going to sound stupid. "I don't know. I guess I thought I'd just...die. Somehow. Before today."

"Is there any reason you thought that? Have you been sick at all?"

"No," Danny stammered. "Not...really, it was just...a feeling I had. I just didn't think I'd be alive today. I couldn't imagine me making it to this day."

He directed his attention out the window. All the people in their cars going through the motions of their own day, doing what they had to do to make it to the next.

"Did you want to be dead before today, Danny?" asked Brandan gently. "Was this more than a feeling? Was it a desire?"

Danny creased his brow. He had never wondered this before. He had simply been unable to imagine a future past this day, but was he disappointed now that it had come after all?

"I don't think so," he said. "I… I don't think I wanted to die, no."

"Are you relieved that you're still here, then?"

"I… I don't know how I feel about it. I don't feel relieved but I'm also not sad. I just feel confused, I guess. And surprised. I just didn't expect this day to come. I had been so sure that somehow it wouldn't." He paused. "And now that I'm here, I don't know, I just… I don't even know where to go from here. I don't understand why whatever force there is decided I should keep staying here. To keep disappointing my parents? To keep failing in school? To keep being the weird loser girls never want to date? To keep being useless at everything?"

Brandan was staring at him intently. Danny shrank back and shut his eyes tight.

"I'm sorry," mumbled Danny. "I shouldn't have said all that."

The clock tick-tick-ticked away a long silence.

"How long were you feeling this way?" asked Brandan. "How long did you have this belief you wouldn't make it to your sixteenth birthday?"

Danny searched his memories. He didn't remember feeling this way in middle school, but he definitely remembered thinking it before his fifteenth birthday.

But before the portal incident…

No, he didn't remember thinking it before he got his ghost powers. It was definitely after that event. But how long after, he couldn't say.

"I guess maybe a year and a half?" offered Danny. "I don't know for sure."

"Was there something that happened around that time? Something that could be related?"

He became less human. He became a target. So many wanted him imprisoned and enslaved. So many wanted him dead.

Danny shrugged. "Not that I can think of."

Brandan appeared to be thinking hard. Danny squirmed under the scrutiny.

"I mean, I started high school around that time," said Danny, hoping Brandan wouldn't pry beyond this excuse. "Maybe that was it?"

Brandan reached for a notepad and pen on his desk. "Yes, high school is definitely a common starting point for those sorts of thoughts in teens."

He wrote something quickly. Danny frowned.

"Oh, sorry, is it okay if I write some notes?" Brandan looked up from his notepad.

"I guess," said Danny dully. "It's your job."

Brandan returned his eyes to his notepad and wrote a few more lines before setting it down in his lap and looking up at Danny again. "Shall we resume our discussion of your cognitive distortions from last week? We're on your third most frequent one."

Danny furrowed his brow. That was it? Brandan was done talking about how he thought he'd be dead by now? He was just going to drop it like that?

Brandan gave him a wary look. "Unless you want to talk about this more instead? How you didn't think you'd make it to today?"

Danny quickly shook his head. "No, no, I don't. I just thought—" He shook his head again. "No, I don't want to talk about it more."

Brandan pulled out Danny's tally sheet from between the pages of his notepad. "Do you remember what your third most common cognitive distortion was?"

"No. I told you, I didn't count them."

"Fair enough. It's labeling. Does that surprise you at all?"

Danny's thoughts returned to his conversation with his mother in the car less than half an hour ago.

Jerk. What an asshole.

A failure.

A major disappointment.

All the labels he had applied to himself because he really was such a useless person.

"No," he said softly. "I can't say it surprises me."

"Do you want to tell me why it doesn't surprise you?"

Danny shook his head.

"Let's remind ourselves of what this thinking error is real quick," said Brandan. "Labeling is when you apply a label to someone for just one thing they do or say. You might label someone a 'jerk' if they bump into you in the hallway without apologizing. You might label someone else 'stupid' if they make a small mistake or do not know something you feel they should know."

Danny nodded his understanding.

"You can also apply labels to yourself," continued Brandan. "You might call yourself a 'loser' if you fail at something."

Danny nodded again. Yes, that sounded much more like him.

"Are there any examples of labeling you've done you'd like to discuss?" asked Brandan. "You said it doesn't surprise you, so you must have some examples that you remember."

loser failure idiot freak

"I don't really want to talk about mine," said Danny.

"Could you maybe tell me why you don't want to talk about them?"

"I—I don't know," said Danny more snappishly than he meant to. "I just don't want to talk about them, okay?"

"Do they make you uncomfortable? Do you not like thinking about them, or do you just not want me to know?"

Danny glared at Brandan but did not answer.

"All right, all right," said Brandan, showing his palms in surrender. "We don't have to talk about anything personal to you. Let's maybe talk about labels relating to, hmm…"

Brandan cupped his chin and appeared to be thinking. Danny curiously waited.

"Danny Phantom."

Danny's stomach dropped.

Brandan nodded. "Yes, I think that's a great one. Danny Phantom gets a lot of labels, doesn't he?"

"Why—why—" Danny breathed and steadied his words. "Why him? Why?"

"Do you have a problem with talking about him?"

"Yes!" shouted Danny. "I keep telling you I don't want to talk about him, about ghosts, not when I hear enough about them from my parents."

"But you won't give me any personal examples to work with."

"Yeah, so? Why don't you use some of your own? Or maybe just make them up?"

"Labeling isn't one of my frequent cognitive distortions, to be honest with you. And it would really be better to discuss something authentic."

Danny seethed. "Well, why does it have to be Phantom?"

"Because I think he's a good subject for a discussion of labeling," said Brandan. "So unless you want to offer your own examples, I'd like to continue with talking about labels that might be applied to Phantom."

Danny couldn't hold back a pout as he crossed his arms.

"You seem to have some strong feelings about him," said Brandan. "Is there some other reason apart from your parents' work why you don't want to talk about him?"

Danny shook his head. "No, just—whatever, talk about him if you want, I guess. If you're so obsessed with him."

"Would it bother you if I were obsessed with him?"

Danny did not reply.

"I don't know how much you really know about Phantom or if you keep up with the news stories about him," said Brandan. "I only know them because I try to stay up to date with what's going on in the town—that and my brother is a weather presenter for the local news station. But I remember when Phantom first became widely known, he was immediately labeled an enemy."

Danny's nerves twitched.

"Do you remember that, Danny? The exact label applied to him was quite extravagant. 'Public ghost enemy number one,' they called him."

Danny suppressed a sharp inhale. Yes, he remembered. Of course he remembered. How could he possibly forget how terribly he failed at the one good first impression he absolutely needed to make because he was stupid and hopeless and—

And it didn't matter that Walker set him up for that disaster. He probably would've still somehow turned the town against him all on his own because he was a reckless incompetent useless idiot.

"All based on just one incident," said Brandan. "The one thing he did, allegedly attacking the mayor, the one thing no one even really saw him do. But that was enough for officials to brand him with such a serious label, enough to make everyone in town believe it was true."

"Yeah, well." Danny shrugged. "I guess people just believe everything they hear on the news."

"Did you believe it?"

"Does it matter?"

Brandan did not answer right away. He then smiled and hummed to himself. "Well, anyway, as Phantom has become popular, as he's done more heroic things, saved the town and its people on multiple occasions, that label has changed. He was once labeled harshly for just one incident, an incident many now believe might have been some sort of conspiracy or misunderstanding, and now he's widely labeled a 'hero' for more recent things he's done."

"Is it still a bad thing even if it's a good label?" asked Danny.

"Well, the idea is that thinking errors are always bad no matter what, but I certainly couldn't say that a label that might make someone feel more confident or good about themselves is a bad thing necessarily," said Brandan. "I would say it comes down to how the one being labeled perceives it. If it goes to their head and makes them narcissistic, maybe it's not such a good thing. But if it helps them be more involved with the world, gives them the confidence to do something they'd usually be afraid to do, maybe that's not so bad."

Danny recalled how when he had been labeled an enemy, his confidence in his abilities crashed. He wanted to give up, he wanted to stop. Because maybe they were right and he wasn't helping anybody.

But the few times when someone called him a hero—his classmates, random strangers, even Dash or Paulina—he suddenly felt like he could do anything, that he was the perfect one to protect the town. The only one, even.

"Just imagine how that would make you feel, Danny," said Brandan. "If someone called you their enemy because of just one thing you did that they didn't like, maybe even something you didn't mean to do, something you wish you could take back."

Valerie hated his ghost half. She called him her enemy all because of one thing he did that really wasn't his fault. He didn't mean to ruin her life; in fact, he was trying to help her. Why couldn't she believe he was sorry?

"But then imagine being called a hero," said Brandan. "How might that change your perspective of yourself? Of your abilities? Or do you think you'd even believe it? Do you think—"

"Stop."

Brandan closed his mouth.

"I don't want to talk about Phantom anymore." Danny hunched over. "Please. I don't want to."

There was silence for a short moment.

"All right," said Brandan. "Let's continue our discussion on labeling. I think we have enough examples, unless you'd like to give me some of your own."

Danny shook his head, almost feverishly. He wished he could just get up and go home but then his mom would be even angrier with him and he really didn't mean to make her angry, he was so sorry, why did he keep screwing up?

"As we did with the two thinking errors we went over last week, let's talk about how we can work on improving this type of thinking," said Brandan. "How to train ourselves to stop labeling people and judging their entire character based on one action."

"What if it's not one action?" murmured Danny, not really intending for Brandan to hear but of course he did.

"What do you mean?" asked Brandan.

"I mean—" Danny sighed, really wishing he hadn't said anything. "I mean, what if it's not just one thing I do that's stupid? What if—like—everything I do is stupid? Am I not then an idiot if everything I do is stupid?"

"Labeling can sometimes apply to actions, too," said Brandan. "I can pretty much guarantee that there are things you do that aren't stupid and you just think they are for some reason. Possibly because you've already labeled yourself an idiot and so you just automatically think everything you do is idiotic, not the other way around." He leaned forward. "Do you have any specific examples of something you've done that you thought was—"

"No," said Danny firmly. "No, I don't want to talk about me. What about—what about—Dash. He's shoved me around and punched me and called me names so many times. Is it wrong of me to then label him a bully?"

"Dash." Brandan's face became serious. "Your mother mentioned him to me, but she said she called the school about him. Is he still bullying you, Danny?"

Danny shrank back. "No," he stammered. Not a complete lie. Dash had stopped physically hurting him to avoid getting kicked off the football team, but the taunts and jeers and names… No, those hadn't stopped. But no way was he going to tell Brandan or his mom or anyone that. Dash and all his other jock friends already made fun of him for having his mother come to his rescue the first time; he didn't need more of that.

"I want you to know that I am not asking you to excuse behavior like that from anyone for the sake of not labeling," said Brandan softly. "That's not the sort of labeling we're talking about here. I'm talking about labeling someone or yourself for something that doesn't actually indicate anything, especially by itself. And I'm definitely not talking about labeling someone for a very serious action, such as violence or assault."

Danny did not reply.

"Is Dash still hurting you, Danny?"

Danny shook his head.

"You remember not to lie to me, right?"

"Yeah, I remember," snapped Danny.

Brandan held out his palms. "All right. Well, to actually answer your question, the answer is no, it's still a cognitive distortion to label yourself an idiot even if you do a hundred stupid things in a day. Because you're applying the label to yourself and not the actions. And a lot of the time, you're probably wrong about labeling the actions as stupid, too."

"And what if I'm not wrong? What if they really are just stupid things I do all the time?"

"Well, there are probably some other thinking errors going on there that are only making you think that. Emotional reasoning, jumping to conclusions, catastrophizing. If you give me an example of something you've done that caused you to label yourself an idiot, we could pick it apart and see what the root thinking error might be."

Danny groaned. "No, no. Just… No, I don't want to do that, okay?"

Brandan smiled. "Of course it's okay."

Danny suppressed another groan. This guy was just too damn nice.

"Getting back to how we can begin overcoming this particular thinking error, the first step is always to identify when we are labeling something. And as pointed out before, you are already pretty good at that." Brandan held up Danny's tally sheet. "Although I wish I could say identifying it is the hardest step. It's actually the easiest."

Danny couldn't disagree. Even within the first couple hours from when Brandan went over the cognitive distortions with him, he was already identifying them in his thoughts. So easy if not annoying at times.

"Once you've identified that you're labeling yourself or others, your next step is to examine the evidence for why you feel a label applies," said Brandan. "Let's say you took a math test and failed it, just completely bombed it. You get the test back with a big F on it and you immediately think, 'Wow, I am an idiot.'"

Danny said nothing.

"Is that an okay example?" asked Brandan.

"Yeah, it's fine," said Danny curtly.

"So when you apply that label to yourself and then identify it as a cognitive distortion, you need to determine what your evidence for the label is. In this case, the only evidence you would have is the F on the paper, nothing else."

"Seems like some pretty good evidence to me."

"Well, that's the next step," said Brandan. "Talking through the evidence, deciding if it is actually substantial or not. Do you really think failing one test means you are completely stupid?"

"Yeah, probably," muttered Danny.

"But even the most intelligent people in the world fail tests sometimes, Danny. Even I have failed tests."

Danny snorted. "Yeah, that doesn't really prove anything to me, sorry."

"I'm sure your parents have probably failed tests, too. Or perhaps your sister?"

Danny's smirk vanished. "No," he said quietly. "Fentons only get A's. That's what my parents always say."

"Have you ever asked them?"

Danny shook his head. But he was sure that they had never failed before, that he was the only failure in the entire family.

"What about your friends?" asked Brandan. "Have they ever failed any tests?"

Danny thought for a moment. "Tucker has, yeah."

"And do you think he's an idiot?"

"No, of course not. He's really smart. He just—" Danny cut himself off, realizing he was playing right into what Brandan was trying to tell him.

"One failed test is not by itself evidence that someone is an idiot, right?" pressed Brandan gently. "It's not substantial, is it?"

The back of Danny's neck grew hot but he refused to nod.

"So once you have determined that the evidence for the label is not substantial, the next step is to see if there are other possible explanations for the failing grade that do not indicate you're an idiot," said Brandan. "Maybe you could've gotten a good grade but just didn't have enough time to study. Maybe you just don't have a very good grasp on math but you are knowledgeable in other subjects. Or maybe you are skilled in other areas of math but just not the specific kind of math on this test."

"Okay, but what if it's not just one test?" asked Danny with a bite. "What if I fail every test?"

"That still doesn't mean you're entirely an idiot," said Brandan. "All it means is that you failed those tests. And that's all you can take it to mean at face value. You can try to come up with reasons for why you keep doing poorly on tests, but I guarantee the reason isn't because you're an idiot, Danny."

Danny checked the clock. Far too much time left.

"Is this something you do, by chance?" asked Brandan. "Do you not do very well on tests and then call yourself an idiot because of it?"

"I don't want to talk about me," said Danny, attempting to keep the cracking emotion out of his voice because YES tests were hard for him and he hated them and a test was the entire reason his soul darkened in an alternate timeline where he nearly killed everyone.

"All right," said Brandan with a small sigh. "Maybe we should move on to the next thinking error. Unless you have any questions about labeling?"

Danny shook his head.

"Or an example of labeling that you have actually done this past week?"

Danny shook his head even harder.

Brandan referred to Danny's tally sheet. "Your fourth most common thinking error actually ties in quite nicely to labeling. Wanna take a guess what it is?"

"No," said Danny. "I really don't."

"It's polarized thinking," said Brandan. "You remember that one, right?"

Danny nodded.

"Do you want to review it for us?"

Danny shook his head.

"Polarized thinking is also commonly referred to as all-or-nothing or black-or-white thinking," said Brandan. "It refers to the idea that everything can be categorized as either good or bad with nothing in between. For example, it's very common for highly academic students to see only A's as 'good' grades and that a B-plus is the same as an F."

"A B-plus is a good grade to me," said Danny. "I'm happy with anything above a D, honestly. It's my parents who want me to do better."

"Yes, perhaps grades are not a source of polarized thinking for you," said Brandan. "That is just one of the easier examples people can understand. It can also mean getting second place in a contest out of hundreds of participants and still feeling like a failure. Or fumbling just a couple notes in a song and considering it a bad performance. Maybe being unable to complete a task on your to-do list and deciding your entire day was wasted because of it. Or feeling your relationship with someone is over because of one argument."

Danny's gut dropped. That last example was just a little too keen. His friendship with Sam and Tucker seemed so much weaker to him now after the events from earlier. Now that they knew he was in therapy, now that they had confirmed they thought it could be beneficial to him, now that he had been so angry with them as a result. He wasn't sure he could ever face them again.

"I'm hesitant to ask," began Brandan with a smile, "but would you be willing to give me an example of any polarized thinking you might have from this past week?"

"Are you gonna try using Danny Phantom again as an example if I don't?" asked Danny wearily.

"Well, why not?" Brandan leaned back in his chair. "I think he'd be an excellent example. He's mostly done good for this town but when he does one thing seemingly out of line, suddenly he's considered completely evil and an enemy—"

"Stop," said Danny. "Just stop, please."

He was tired now. Tired of being angry, tired of fighting, tired of trying to get Brandan to stop being so irritating.

He wanted to sink into the sofa.

"I do have examples," said Danny in monotone. "My sister is a genius. I'm not. I'm always being compared to her, and it just makes me think I'm an idiot."

Brandan nodded. "Okay. That's a good one to start with. So—"

"And this girl. Valerie. She went out with me a couple times but then suddenly told me she didn't want to be with me. So I feel like I must be—I don't know—ugly or repulsive or something."

"Oh, okay, that's a good one, too—"

"And when I drive with my mom, I feel like I'm the worst driver ever when I forget to turn on the blinker or cut a corner too close and she yells at me." Danny paused. His voice cracked when he spoke again. "God, I hate when she yells at me."

Brandan hesitated. "Danny, are you—"

"And I could tell you more," said Danny. "But I don't want to."

Brandan said nothing.

"I don't want to talk anymore. I don't want to be here anymore. I just want to go home." Danny closed his eyes. "Maybe celebrate the rest of my birthday by sleeping. Going to bed really early sounds nice."

Brandan did not speak for a few moments. "Did something happen with your mom today, Danny? Did she yell at you?"

Danny could only stare at Brandan, not sure what to do or say next.

"You don't have to tell me about it," said Brandan quietly. "But I'm here to listen if you do."

Danny sat motionless for several tick-tick-ticks of the clock. He wondered what information Brandan was able to gather just from him being frozen like this.

His body restarted with a shudder. He fell back into the couch, feeling drained and far too tired to resist anymore.

"I broke curfew last night," said Danny just above a murmur. "I tried to sneak back into the house, but she caught me."

Brandan gave a small nod but did not say anything.

"She's caught me before," said Danny, his eyes glazing as he recalled the incident. "But this time was different. This time, it was like...she wanted to give up on me. Like she was just done with me. Like she didn't want to keep waiting for me to get better or stop disappointing her because she no longer believes I'll ever stop disappointing her."

His nails dug into his thighs through his jeans.

"I just feel like I'm not what she wants," murmured Danny. "I feel like I can never be the kind of son she's actually proud to have."

"Hmm." Brandan nodded a few times. "And what kind of thinking error is that?"

Danny shot him a glare. He just confessed something so difficult for him to say out loud, and this was how this guy chose to respond?

"Come on," said Brandan gently. "Do this for me, won't you?"

Danny relented with a sigh and lowered his gaze. "Jumping to conclusions."

"And?"

Danny pressed his lips but breathed in sharply, recalming himself. "Emotional reasoning. I guess."

"Oh, definitely."

Danny shot him another look. Okay, yeah, he knew he struggled with this, but he didn't exactly want this guy so enthusiastically confirming it.

"Anything else?" asked Brandan.

Danny blinked and sank back into the couch.

"I'm sorry to hear that this happened between you and your mom," said Brandan, his pleasantry fading into something more serious, sympathetic. "Would you mind telling me why you broke curfew last night? Maybe we could start our discussion there."

Fighting ghosts. Getting his face torn open. That's what he had been doing.

"I was just out. Does it matter?" asked Danny testily.

"It just might help me get some perspective," said Brandan. "By any chance, did you get that injury on your face while you were out last night?"

Danny reflexively placed a hand over the adhesive bandage on his face, his heart beating fast. "I—no—it's just a cut. It's nothing."

"All right, all right. You don't have to tell me what you were out doing last night when you broke curfew," said Brandan. "But is it okay if we talk about what happened between you and your mother afterward?"

Danny lowered his hand. "I mean, I already brought it up. Can't take it back. So I guess so."

"You feeling like you're not what your mother wants for a son is indeed jumping to a conclusion and emotional reasoning," said Brandan. "But let's talk about how it's an example of polarized thinking since that's the thinking error we're on right now."

Danny began trying to work out how this was an example of polarized thinking before deciding he was far too tired. Brandan was just going to tell him anyway, so why bother?

"As I said before, polarized thinking is also called all-or-nothing thinking. Either it's all completely perfect or it's a complete failure; there is no in between," said Brandan. "In this case, it seems you feel that because you're not a perfect son, you're a complete disappointment to your mother. Because you make some mistakes and do things that upset her, you feel you must not be good enough for her."

Danny blinked down at his lap a few times.

"Am I correct on that, Danny?" asked Brandan. "That is what you said, isn't it?"

"I don't know. Maybe I didn't really mean it quite like that."

"Do you want to try explaining it to me again, then?"

Danny ran a hand across his mouth, tugged at his lips. "I don't—it just seems—I feel like I always screw things up with her. With everyone. But especially with her."

His fingers traveled to his neck, his throat, pinching at the skin as if to loosen and unstuck whatever was clinching it.

"It's not just one or two mistakes, it's all the time. Every day. Another failed quiz, another late assignment, another teacher emailing her to let her know how bad I'm doing. Another mistake while driving, another missed curfew. That look she gets on her face when she realizes once again I'm just nothing like her, that I'm not into what she's into or good at what she's good at, that I'm not as smart as she is, that I'm just lazy and won't ever be anything like her."

He ducked his head and covered his face with his hand. The examples and all the ways he knew he was not what his mother wanted kept coming and filling his head but he didn't want to say them anymore, just wanted to hide them, hide himself.

"Okay, so you have some reasons why you think you make her unhappy," said Brandan. "Can you try something else for me? Tell me three things you do that you know make her happy."

"Three things I do that make her happy?"

"Yes. You don't think everything you do makes her unhappy, do you?"

"Well, no, I mean—I guess obviously not everything I do makes her unhappy."

"So can you tell me three things you do that make her happy?"

Danny's mind blanked, numbed. "Ah—I—"

"Okay, how about just one thing?" said Brandan. "One thing for now; we'll start easy."

Easy? He thought this was easy?

Danny turned over incidents and reasons in his head. When was the last time he had made his mother happy? Proud? When was the last time she smiled at him because he actually did something she appreciated? When was the last time he did his chores without being asked? When was the last time he got an A on a test without forcing her to spend money on a tutor or without her grounding him until he actually studied?

He slowly shook his head. "I… I can't…"

"You can, Danny," said Brandan gently. "You know you can think of something you do that makes her happy. You know there are reasons why she loves you."

His mother did love him. He knew that.

But he had no idea why or what he did to deserve it.

And he had no idea how he was going to make anything up to her because he didn't want her to be mad and he just wanted her to know that he was sorry he wasn't as smart as Jazz but he really was trying his best but then maybe he wasn't trying his best maybe he could do better maybe he just needed to try harder—

He sucked in a breath to fight back the burn in his eyes. "I don't want to do this anymore."

"Don't want to do what anymore?" asked Brandan.

"This—this—" Danny gestured to the space in front of him, not sure what he was trying to indicate but it was definitely this.

"I don't know," Danny tried again. "I just don't want to talk anymore."

He clutched the front of his shirt in an attempt to relieve the pressure in his chest. Brandan didn't say anything for a moment.

"We can end a few minutes early. It's probably close enough." Brandan checked the time. "Yes, I think that might be for the best. It is your birthday, after all."

Danny didn't move right away, not sure if Brandan was really serious or not.

"Come on. I'll walk out with you and say hi to your mom." Brandan pushed his chair back as he stood and opened the door for Danny. He smiled at him, waiting.

Danny stared at the door, wondering why Brandan was being so nice to him. What did he do to deserve any kindness at all?

Danny looked down at his lap and scratched at his jeans. "Hey, um… I'm sorry for what I did last week."

Brandan blinked. "Hmm? Last week?"

Danny groaned quietly. Was this guy really going to make him say it? "Yeah, you know, when I… I yelled at you and then walked out. I'm… I'm sorry. I was just mad."

Brandan kept quiet for a moment before closing the door and returning to his chair. He rolled the chair forward, just a little closer to Danny.

"I appreciate that," said Brandan. "Really. But you are allowed to feel however you want here. You know that, right? That's the whole point of you being here. This is your time."

Danny tightened his arms against his stomach but said nothing.

"I want you to always be honest about how you're feeling when you're here," said Brandan. "Even if it means you might lash out at me. At least you weren't trying to hide it from me."

Gawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwd, why couldn't this guy just accept his apology or simply tell him it was okay and that it didn't matter anymore like a normal person?

Danny couldn't even look him in the eyes. "I still feel bad about it."

"I understand," said Brandan. "Thanks for letting me know." He stood again. "I'm really looking forward to talking to you some more."

Danny eyed him warily. "You are?"

"It's as you said," said Brandan. "You're not like my other clients, even just other teens I've worked with." He paused, gave him a warm smile. "I'm very interested to see what comes up next here."

Brandan opened and held the door. Danny rose to his feet from the couch, giving Brandan a curious glance as he walked by and out of the room.

Out in the waiting room, Maddie stood as Danny and Brandan approached. Danny searched for any signs of the anger and frustration from just an hour before, but she seemed much calmer now. Maybe her smile was somewhat tired?

No, he shouldn't be jumping to that conclusion, he knew that…

Maybe he could just ask her if she was still mad at him in the car.

Or maybe he could just ignore everything that happened before and hope she wouldn't bring it up again either and he could try to salvage the remainder of his birthday. Going to bed early without fighting any ghosts, getting some sleep and not waking up in pain, that actually sounded like a decent birthday to him.

"How did it go?" asked Maddie.

"It went great. As always," said Brandan.

It went great? Was Brandan always just going to lie for him to his mom?

Maddie's expression changed from tired to relieved. Danny definitely preferred seeing that.

Brandan turned to Danny with a smile. "Happy birthday, Danny."

"Oh." Danny nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."

"See you next week."

"Yeah. See you."

Maddie placed a gentle hand on Danny's shoulder and guided him out of the waiting room. Danny wondered who Brandan was going to talk to next now. Would Brandan just forget about him in the next hour? Would he have to reread all his notes next Monday just to remember exactly who this Danny Fenton was and what his issues were?

Danny wasn't even sure if it would be more comforting if Brandan really did remember and care.

Chapter Text

On the walk down the stairs and to the car, Maddie did not try to talk to him. Danny wondered if he should say something. What would make her happy? Should he tell her something that happened in the therapy session?

But he didn't want to tell her.

But he could, maybe, if it would make her less mad at him. If it would make her just a little less disappointed in him to know she wasn't wasting money and time on this therapy.

Except she definitely was wasting money and time on it. But he could maybe make her believe it was somehow helping him.

Danny lowered himself into the passenger seat of Maddie's car and buckled his seat belt. Maddie slipped into the driver's side and started the engine. Still so quiet. Should he wait for her to ask something first? Should he wait for her permission to speak?

She turned to him with a sigh and stroked the hair on the back of his neck. "I know Brandan said it went great," she said softly. "But what did you think about the session today?"

Her touch was so gentle, so kind. He could almost cry with relief that she didn't seem mad at him. "It was...okay," he stammered. "Um, yeah, not...not too bad."

"I'm glad to hear that."

She smiled.

Actually smiled.

He smiled back.

She pulled him a little closer and rested her chin on his head. "I feel really bad about what happened earlier."

Danny stayed still in her embrace. An apology of his own was caught in his throat, but he wasn't sure how to get it out.

"I know you didn't want to do this. And I know it's your birthday. It means so much to me that you still did it, but I really wish I was nicer about it." She gripped him tighter. "I do care about your birthday, sweetie. Your birthday means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me."

So much emotion was building, shaking his chest. "I know," Danny murmured.

Maddie released her hold and held him at arm's length, her hands sliding down his shoulders. "You're still grounded, but I don't want you to think I care more about punishing you than celebrating another year that you've been with us." She touched his cheek. "With me."

As a child, Danny used to giggle whenever his mom touched his face like this. But now as a teen, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to such affection.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for what happened, too."

Maddie hummed and traced her fingers behind his ear. She then faced forward and backed the car out of the parking spot. "Well. Let's go home, then."

The drive home was quiet but not unpleasant. Danny fired off a dozen comments in his head, anything that he thought would maybe make his mom even happier, but he could not bring himself to say any of them out loud. A few came right to the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them back once he started considering the possible responses she might have. He didn't want to risk ruining anything.

He knew this was a cognitive distortion, but he really didn't want to figure out which one right now.

Maddie pulled up to the curb in front of their house. Danny got out of the car and stared at the ground as he walked toward the front door. He wished he could just go to bed now. Maybe his mom would let him skip dinner if he said he was tired. Or maybe she'd let him eat it in his room. Maybe she could at least let him have that on his birthday.

Maddie placed a hand on his shoulder. Danny almost jumped at the contact but then relaxed and allowed her to guide him and even open the door for him.

The rich smell of vanilla instantly hit his nose. Was someone baking? Who? His dad only ever burned things and Jazz always studied for hours after school.

He walked ahead of Maddie into the kitchen. Jack, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker were all there crowding around the counters and oven.

"Danny! You're home!" cried Jazz, holding a mixing bowl with stray bits of frosting stuck in her hair.

"Surprise!" cheered Sam and Tucker.

Danny stared at them. "What are you two doing here?"

"Your mom called and told us to come over for your birthday," said Tucker.

Maddie came up behind Danny and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Yeah, so we decided to bake you another cake!" said Sam. "It's in the oven right now."

"I helped!" Jack beamed.

Danny worriedly glanced at the oven.

Jazz laughed. "Don't worry, he just put it in for us. But look!" She showed him the fluffy contents of her mixing bowl. "Homemade frosting! You wanna try some and tell me if you like it?"

Jazz grabbed a small spoon and scooped up some frosting. Danny took the spoon and placed it in his mouth. The sugary fluff ebbed over his tongue and lingered so sweetly even after he swallowed. "Wow, that's good."

"Really? You like it?" said Jazz.

"I do." Danny licked the spoon clean. "You really made that yourself? You didn't buy it like that?"

"Yup, I found a recipe online and gave it a shot!" Jazz took the spoon from him and tossed it in the sink.

Danny looked at the mixing bowl in Jazz's hands, at Sam checking on the cake in the oven, at Tucker and Jack loading dishes into the dishwasher.

"You guys didn't have to do all this, you know," said Danny.

"Of course we did!" said Tucker. "It's your birthday, dude."

"And we wanted to," said Sam. "You and Tucker tried to bake me a cake on my birthday, so I feel like the least I can do is show you how to do it right."

"Hey, that wasn't our fault," said Tucker. "You wanted a vegan and gluten-free cake. You know how hard it is to make a cake without eggs, milk, and flour?"

"It's not hard at all, tech boy."

Danny smiled as his two friends engaged in their normal mock banter.

After dinner, Danny once again had to endure everyone singing to him as he sat at the kitchen table in front of his frosted vanilla cake. All sixteen candles were lit this time. Their warmth licked at his chin and cheeks.

"Okay dude, wish for something good," said Tucker. "Like maybe the newest Firefight to get an early release."

"You can wish that on your own birthday," said Sam.

"My birthday's already passed!"

"Now, now, you kids remember we don't like to promote superstitions like that. We're scientists in this house." Maddie stood behind Danny and patted his shoulders. "But go ahead and blow them out, sweetie."

Danny glanced at Tucker's face. He was raising and waggling his eyebrows, a silent nudge for him to go ahead and make a wish anyway; his mom would never know!

But he had already made it to his sixteenth birthday. Did he really deserve anything beyond that? His next birthday? His eighteenth birthday? That seemed like a big one.

Before, he couldn't imagine this day at all, hadn't been sure he even wanted to get to his sixteenth birthday. But now, with everyone beside him and sharing this moment, he was glad he was still here.

And maybe it would be nice if he could keep going a little longer.

He wished to make it to his eighteenth birthday and blew out the candles.

Afterward, Danny, Sam, and Tucker headed upstairs to Danny's room.

"Just one hour," Maddie called after them as she rinsed cake crumbs and frosting off each plate in the sink. "Then Sam and Tucker have to leave. It's a school night and you're still grounded, Danny."

"Thanks, Mrs. Fenton!" called back Sam and Tucker.

In his room, Danny moved his desk chair to be closer to Sam and Tucker on the bed. They presented their gifts to him, each wrapped in the same galaxy wrapping paper.

"We wrapped them together before we came over," explained Tucker.

Danny opened Tucker's gift first, a black and white gaming headset with LED lighting.

"You're always asking to borrow mine when we play together at my house, so I thought you should have your own!" Tucker grinned. "And this one has lights that change from blue to green! I thought it was fitting for you."

Danny took the headset out of the box and placed it over his head and ears. "How do I look?"

"Awesome," said Tucker.

"Really good," said Sam.

Suspicions that they were just being sarcastic or teasing him crept into his mind, but that was a thinking error, he knew that.

Disqualifying the positive.

Danny opened Sam's gift next, a mini sandbox playset that resembled the surface of the moon.

"It comes with little shovels and rakes and moon rocks that you can dig for," said Sam.

"And little spacemen too!" Tucker picked up one of the astronaut figurines and inspected it.

Danny held up the figurine that resembled his ghostly alter ego. "Did this really come with it?"

"No, no, I made that myself." Sam took the Danny Phantom figurine from his hand and set it in the sandbox, right on the edge of one of the moon craters. "Now Danny Phantom can go to the moon whenever he wants."

Danny chuckled fondly at the sight of himself on the moon's surface. Maybe someday that could be real.

"He looks amazing," said Danny. "I forget that you're a really good artist sometimes."

"Thanks," said Sam with a modest smile. "Anyway, it's supposed to be good for meditation. You know, relaxing."

Meditation? Relaxing? Was she trying to hint at something? Did she think he needed to calm down?

Jumping to conclusions.

Right, yes, he couldn't just assume he knew what Sam was trying to say beyond her actual words. What were the steps that Brandan gave him again?

Identify the thinking error. Done. Then examine the evidence. Sam said the sandbox set was good for meditation and relaxing. That was all.

Talking through the evidence. Sam didn't say directly she thought Danny needed to relax. She didn't even mention him or say his name. She was talking to him, sure, but her words were only about the sandbox playset.

Examine the conclusions and come up with possible positive alternatives to his negative conclusion. She was simply telling him the benefits of the playset. Those benefits would be good for anyone, not just him. Everyone could benefit from something that helped them relax. She wasn't saying that he needed it more than others. She was just making conversation, just letting him know.

"Danny?" said Sam.

Danny blinked. "Hmm?"

"You zoned out for a minute there, buddy," said Tucker.

"Oh." Danny shook out his head. "Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about something…" He paused, hesitated. He hadn't been sure before if he wanted to bring up his therapy again. But they knew now, and he still had five more sessions, five more times he'd have to tell them sorry, he couldn't hang out because he had to go to therapy.

He had to just tell them. Get it out there. He had to know what they really thought about it.

"Something my therapist told me," he finished quietly.

No one spoke for a moment.

"We didn't mean to say earlier that we think you need therapy," said Sam.

"Yeah," said Tucker. "It came out wrong."

"We don't think anything is wrong with you, Danny," said Sam.

"I know." Danny propped his elbow on one of his desk chair armrests and pressed his forehead into his palm. "I know you didn't mean it that way. And I'm really sorry I yelled at you. It's just been so...stressful. Having to do this each week, having to talk to this guy."

"How many times have you seen him?" asked Tucker.

"Three. And I have to go five more times before my mom will let me quit."

"That doesn't sound too bad," said Sam.

Danny groaned. "I just hate it. I hate how I feel when I'm there. I hate how he keeps picking at things I don't want to pick at. And I know maybe you guys don't think something is wrong with me, but my mom does. She's really hoping I'll come out of this better." He slumped in his chair. "And I don't want to disappoint her when I get done with that eighth session and I'm still the same useless unhappy son to her."

"Don't say that, Danny." Sam frowned.

"But it's true," Danny insisted. "I can't tell the therapist about my real problems, like how I'm tired all the time because I'm up all night fighting ghosts. Or how I'm always paranoid that some ghost hunter is going to catch me off guard."

"Okay, but none of that makes you useless," said Sam. "You know it doesn't."

Danny looked at the floor and said nothing.

"Well, even if you can't talk about your ghost problems, I at least hope your therapist can convince you you're not useless." Sam leaned back on her hands on Danny's bed.

"So you do think I could use some therapy?" asked Danny, not feeling angry this time, only curious and defeated.

Sam blew out a hard breath through her lips. "Not because I think anything is wrong with you, just because… Well, I think sometimes talking to someone who knows what they're doing isn't a bad idea."

"Yeah," said Tucker. "Maybe he can't help you with everything going on in your life, but there might be one thing you'll get out of it when you're done. Maybe even two things!"

"And listen, tell you what." Sam hunched and leaned closer to Danny. "My parents have been talking about having me see a therapist, too. I could get them to do it, and then we'd both be seeing someone! Then you wouldn't be doing it alone."

"I would not want to be your therapist, Sam," said Tucker with a laugh.

Sam glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Tucker held up his hands in surrender. "Nothing. It means nothing."

Danny smiled. "Thanks, Sam, but you don't have to do that for me. I only have to do it five more times, and then it'll be over." He shrugged. "And maybe you're right. Maybe I'll get one thing out of it."

"Or two!" said Tucker.

"Sure. Maybe two things."

"And we'll always be around to hang out afterwards," said Sam. "Except for the times you're grounded, of course."

"Yeah, try to get grounded a little less often if you can," said Tucker.

Danny chuckled. "I'll try."

A knock sounded at the door before it opened. Maddie stood in the doorway. "Time's up, kids. Danny needs to get started on his homework."

Sam and Tucker got up from the bed. "Thanks for letting us come over, Mrs. Fenton," said Sam.

"Thanks for coming. Do you two need rides?"

"Yeah, actually, that'd be great!"

Sam and Tucker wished Danny a final happy birthday before leaving the room with Maddie. Danny leaned back in his desk chair with a sigh and looked around his room, at all the gifts from his family and friends on his bed.

He had really done it. He had made it to and now past his sixteenth birthday.

And it ended up not being such a bad birthday after all.

Chapter Text

Danny frequently checked the clock throughout the day. Checking the clock seemed to make time go so much slower, and he really hoped that somehow the late afternoon wouldn't come at all.

In the cafeteria, he picked at his taco salad with his fork, stabbing and moving its contents around and around.

"Dude, are you just gonna play with your food all lunch period?" asked Tucker.

Danny looked up. "Hmm?"

"You know, you could try out the vegan option instead," said Sam. "I'd even buy it for you if you want."

"No, this is fine," muttered Danny. "I'm just not feeling that hungry."

"Is something on your mind?" asked Sam.

Danny shrugged.

"Maybe it's something you could talk over with your therapist," offered Tucker amicably. "Aren't you seeing him today?"

Danny flicked a sliced black olive in his direction. Tucker moved to the side as it sailed past his head.

"Oh." Tucker looked back over his shoulder at the olive on the floor. "I'm guessing that's maybe the reason you're not feeling so hot, huh?"

Danny propped an elbow on the table and pressed his fingers against his face. "I've never hated Mondays as much as I do now."

"But it's only five more times, right?" said Sam. "That's just a little over a month left."

"Yeah, but now that Jazz knows too, she won't stop bugging me about it. And I've been grounded all week, so I haven't been able to get away from her." Danny groaned. "She keeps telling me why therapy is actually really great and that I'm actually really lucky to be seeing one. Yeah, I'm so very lucky that Mom and Dad think I'm the broken child in this family who needs it while she's perfect and doesn't need it."

"Danny, I'm sure that's not what Jazz meant," said Sam.

"Yeah, Jazz loves all that psychotherapy stuff," said Tucker. "I could see her thinking you're the lucky one to get to talk to a real therapist, something she wants to be."

"And I really don't think your parents think you're broken while Jazz is perfect," said Sam.

"Well, they sure know how to make me feel that way," Danny muttered. "Always praising her grades right in front of me."

"She gets better grades than all of us," said Tucker. "Like, better grades than anyone at this school. It's not just you she has beat there."

"Yeah, yeah, she's really smart." Danny forced a breath through his closed lips, creating a small raspberry sound. "She keeps trying to tell me all about what exactly cognitive behavioral therapy is, too, like why it's effective, why it works, why I should trust it and give it a try. But I really don't care how it works. So far, I just feel so…frustrated every time I'm there, like there's just no way this is going to help me somehow convince my parents I'm not broken."

"Oh, Danny," sighed Sam.

Danny winced. Great. Now he was disappointing her with his unhealthy, self-destructive thoughts. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

A lie. But she didn't need to know that.

Danny rested his arms on the table and slumped over them. "I just really liked it better when Jazz didn't know I was getting therapy."

"Did you like it better when we didn't know either?" asked Sam, her mouth tugged down in a somber frown.

Danny looked at his two friends, remembering when he had to make up excuses for why he couldn't hang out with them the first couple Mondays.

It was still a little embarrassing that they now knew his mom was forcing him to see a therapist, but it was a relief to not have to lie anymore.

And now he had two people to hear his venting and complaints. Two people who really understood him and what his real problems were, problems he could never actually talk to his therapist about.

"No." Danny smiled. "I like it better that you know now."

Sam and Tucker also smiled.

"We can get some fries after you're done," said Sam.

"And burgers and milkshakes!" said Tucker.

"You guys should really try the vegan alternatives one day," muttered Sam.

"Not a chance," said Tucker.

Danny groaned. "I might still be grounded today, guys. I asked my mom this morning if I was ungrounded yet, and she just said she'd have to think about it."

Sam pouted. "We got lucky last week, but I'm not sure Tucker and I could charm her into letting us hang out with you today."

"Yeah, no birthday this time. Just a regular Monday," said Tucker.

"Regular Monday for you guys, maybe." Danny glanced at his phone. "I just keep hoping to get a text message from my mom saying my therapist had to cancel or something."

"Sorry, Danny," said Sam. "If there was some way we could get you out of it, we would help."

Danny chewed the inside of his cheek. "No. You guys can't get me out of it. But maybe someone else can."

"What, get you out of therapy?" asked Tucker.

Sam eyed him. "What are you plotting?"

Danny shrugged and forked up a bite of his taco salad, suddenly feeling much hungrier. "Oh, you know, same ol', same ol'. Just something I do pretty much every day."

"Why is that not at all comforting?" Sam shook her head.

"It's not something that's gonna ruin your chances of getting ungrounded today, right?" asked Tucker.

"I'd rather be grounded another week than go to therapy today."

"Man, I kind of wanna meet this therapist of yours." Tucker laughed. "I wanna meet the guy that can get under your skin this much."

"He's more annoying than the Box Ghost and Klemper combined."

"Whoa, you serious? Damn, dude. If that's true, I can see why you'd want to get out of it somehow."

"But what are you gonna do?" asked Sam.

"Well, you two know I can count on you for anything, but there's one other person I can always count on, too," said Danny.

"Who?"

"Lancer."

Sam groaned. "Danny, don't do anything stupid, please."

"Nothing more stupid than what I normally do."

Over the next few hours, Danny actually hoped for a ghost to float into the school and terrorize some students or a teacher. For once, he would gladly welcome an actual excuse to be late to class. But when no ghost had shown itself after his second to last class of the day, he knew he'd just have to find his own way to be late for English with Lancer.

Maybe just a quick flight around the town. And if he ran into any ghosts, well, he couldn't just leave them. He'd have to fight them off.

About twenty minutes after the bell for the final class had rung, Danny walked down the empty halls toward the English classroom, carefully watching for any hall monitors because it had to be Lancer who reprimanded him and no one else.

Danny smirked as he stood outside the closed classroom door and listened to the muffled drawl of Lancer's voice. He was a true rebel now. He certainly deserved detention for real this time. Not like those other times when he didn't mean to be late to class.

And he'd definitely take hanging out with Lancer over Brandan any day.

He looked at his phone. He was now twenty-two minutes late for class. Perfect.

All eyes turned to him when he opened the classroom door. Danny normally hated this part when all of the students stared at him and he would give them a sheepish smile, but he merely shrugged and waited patiently for Lancer to address him.

Lancer stood at the front of the class with an open textbook in his hand. "Mr. Fenton. I was starting to think you were going to skip out on my class entirely."

"Oh, I'd never do that, Mr. Lancer," said Danny.

"Mind telling me your excuse for being so late this time?"

"Just had some other things to do and lost track of time, sir."

"Is that so?" Lancer shook his head. "See me after class and we'll talk about it in detention."

The students jeered and gasped and giggled while Lancer gestured for Danny to take his seat. Danny kept a straight face until he reached his desk, returning the smirk from Tucker and shrugging off the disapproval from Sam.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and held it discreetly under his desk to text a short message to Maddie: Got detention with Lancer after school. Can't do therapy today. Sorry.

He dropped the phone into his lap, his muscles relaxing. He wouldn't have to see Brandan's dumb face or stupid fluffy hair after all, not until next week. And maybe he could just get detention again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his phone screen light up with a new message. He slipped the phone into his pocket and ignored it.

After the final bell, Danny was actually excited to go to detention. Each step felt so much lighter as he walked down the hall toward his locker with Sam and Tucker.

"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd actually try to get detention from Lancer," said Tucker.

"Detention beats therapy, trust me," said Danny.

"Does it really?" asked Sam. "I mean, wouldn't you rather just talk about stuff for an hour than study or do homework or whatever else Lancer makes you do in detention?"

"I have to study and do homework anyway," said Danny. "Might as well be forced to do it in detention."

"But weren't you telling us last week how maybe you could get something out of therapy?" asked Sam. "You only have to go five more times, right?"

"Sam, come on, don't ruin this for me." Danny phased his arm through his locker and pulled out his backpack. "If you met my therapist, you'd understand why I don't want to see him today. After three weeks in a row, I just need a break."

"All right, all right," sighed Sam. "But I still think you should give it a chance."

"I am giving it a chance." Danny stuffed everything he needed into his backpack and zipped it up. "Just not today." He slung his backpack over his shoulder. "I better get going to Lancer's. I'll just end up getting detention tomorrow too if I'm late."

"Have fun in detention, I guess," said Tucker, smiling and shaking his head.

"I'm sure your mom isn't going to unground you now." Sam rolled her eyes. "So see you tomorrow, Danny."

Danny gave a small wave and headed back down the hall to Lancer's classroom. He still couldn't get over how easy this was. Why hadn't he thought of this before? He could probably get Lancer to give him detention every Monday.

When Danny reached the classroom, he frowned at the closed door. Lancer usually kept his door open when he was expecting someone for detention. At least, that had always been Danny's experience. Surely Lancer hadn't already forgotten he had given Danny detention?

On the other side of the door, Danny could hear Lancer speaking. He turned his ear to the door and tried to make out any words, but Lancer's voice was unintelligible and muffled.

After waiting another minute, Danny knocked on the door. He could hear Lancer say something else, then the scraping of his chair on the floor, then footsteps. Danny straightened up as the door handle clicked and the door swung open.

"Mr. Fenton, sorry to keep you waiting," said Lancer, his expression appearing much kinder than Danny would've expected.

"That's okay." Danny peered inside the room. "Is someone else here? I thought I heard you talking."

"Yes, on the phone." Lancer held the door open and gestured for him to step inside. "Let's chat for a moment."

Danny entered the room. "Just a moment? You want me to do independent study the whole hour?"

"No. Just take a seat."

Danny dropped his bag beside the front center desk and sat down. Lancer stood before him and leaned back against his own desk.

"Mr. Fenton." Lancer paused. "Danny."

Danny winced. He hated when Lancer used his first name because it meant he was going to say something serious.

"I want you to go to therapy today."

Danny stared at Lancer. "What?" He shook his head. "How do you…?"

Lancer gestured to his desk phone. "That was your mother on the phone."

Danny's facial muscles twitched. "She told you?"

"She sent me an email during class and asked me to call her." Lancer smiled. "I guess you were pretty quick to text her you received detention, weren't you?"

Danny thinned his lips.

"She asked me to rescind your detention so you can attend therapy instead," said Lancer. "And after telling her the details of why you received detention, it became apparent to both of us that you may have purposely been late to my class just so you could get detention and skip therapy today."

"What—no—I mean—I wouldn't do that," sputtered Danny.

"So you weren't late to my class on purpose?" Lancer raised a brow. "Does this mean you do want to go to therapy today?"

Danny hunched his shoulders and stared down at his desk. No point in lying now. "No. I don't. I… I really hate it, Mr. Lancer. And I don't feel like it's helping me." He exhaled deeply. "I just hate being in that guy's office so much."

"I understand," said Lancer. "Therapy is often not very fun. Perhaps especially for someone your age."

Danny tentatively raised his eyes. Lancer continued to lean against his desk but bent his upper body forward.

"But your mother—and I—feel that therapy is too important for you to miss," said Lancer. "So I am letting you out of detention so you can go."

Danny blinked a couple times. "You really think therapy is important for me? That I…need it?"

Lancer thought he was broken, Lancer thought he needed fixing, Lancer would rather get rid of him and hand him over to a professional who might be able to actually do something about him instead of wasting time in detention never getting better never improving going nowhere—

He was doing it again, jumping to conclusions. Brandan wasn't kidding when he said that was Danny's most common thinking error.

What was the first step again? Examine the evidence. What did Lancer actually say? Therapy was too important for him to miss. Right, yes. He didn't actually say Danny needed it.

"I'm not saying you need therapy," said Lancer. "But therapy can help anyone. Everyone."

Danny propped his elbow on his desk and pressed his face into his palm.

"You're a good kid, Danny," said Lancer. "I know I get stern with you sometimes, but you have a lot of potential. When you really do try, you do well. You ask very interesting questions that make me think, questions no one has ever asked me before. And I appreciate that about you."

Danny uncovered his face and looked at Lancer warily.

"But I can see you're struggling," said Lancer gently. "You come to class late, you don't turn in assignments, you don't study for tests. You keep getting low grades not because you're unintelligent but because you just don't seem to want to try."

There it was. Danny knew Lancer was going to throw a wrench in this somehow.

"I get it," grumbled Danny. "I'm a bad student. I know. You've been telling me that forever. My parents and Jazz have been telling me that, too."

"No, Danny, I didn't say that," said Lancer, his voice getting a little harsher. He softened again. "And if I've ever made you feel that way, I'm sorry. Admittedly, I thought maybe you were just lazy at first, but the more I've gotten to know you, it seems more like lack of self-esteem."

Danny crossed his arms and slumped in his seat.

"And I would love to see if therapy can help you feel more confident in yourself," said Lancer.

Danny groaned and rubbed his knuckles against his forehead.

"Your mother said she'll be waiting out at parent pickup like usual," said Lancer, walking around his desk to sit in his chair. "You should probably get going."

Danny did not move. He stared at his desk's surface, at the barely legible curse word someone had etched in the corner and someone else tried to scratch out.

"But I don't want to go," he said quietly. "I'd really rather just stay here in detention."

"Well, if you're so intent on it, you could do detention with me tomorrow instead."

Danny glared at him. Lancer smiled back with that same infuriating pleasantness Brandan so often displayed.

Fine. Once again, just another person not on his side. Just another person who wanted therapy to fix him already.

Jumping to—

YES he knew, okay, he knew he did that one a lot.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and stormed out of the classroom.

Maddie's car was waiting for him at the curb. Danny could see her staring at him as he approached.

Guilt hit him hard. He had already betrayed her trust the week before by breaking curfew. Now what would she say about him getting detention and almost missing therapy because of it?

He opened the passenger door. Maddie did not smile at him as he lowered into the seat.

Great. Now he was never going to be ungrounded.

Maddie put the car in drive. "You really thought you could get out of therapy that easily, huh?"

Danny wrung his hands.

"I was half surprised you actually did get detention." Maddie chuckled. "I thought maybe you were lying and just said you did."

Danny looked at her face. She was smiling now. "Are you mad at me?" he asked.

"No," said Maddie. "A little disappointed, especially since you actually were late to class. But I'm not mad. At least you came to the car without me having to go find you."

This didn't make sense. She wasn't going to yell at him? But he felt so guilty, so bad. Shouldn't she be upset with him for trying to break their deal?

"I know you don't like going to therapy," said Maddie. "I don't blame you for trying to get out of it. But please don't do anything like that again, okay?" She adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. "I definitely don't want you doing anything on purpose to get in trouble at school."

Danny stared ahead at the traffic in front of them. His teeth rubbed against his inner bottom lip.

"What is it?" asked Maddie, glancing at him.

Danny shook his head. "Nothing."

"No. You seem confused about something. I can tell."

Danny shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought you'd be mad, I guess."

Maddie didn't speak for a moment. "I was frustrated when you texted me," she said. "But when I spoke to Mr. Lancer, it made sense why you did it." She sighed. "I really wish you didn't see therapy as a punishment, Danny."

Danny folded his arms and held them close to his body. "You're probably not going to be ungrounding me anytime soon, huh?"

"You did get detention for a legitimate reason, so I probably shouldn't."

Danny sank in his seat.

"But as I said, I know why you did it. And I know you've been going through a hard time with this therapy, and I don't want to keep contributing to any depression when I'm hoping that therapy will help you feel better." Maddie paused. "Seems counterproductive to keep you grounded if it's just making you more miserable."

Danny studied Maddie's face but could not discern her expression in profile.

"I'll tell you what," said Maddie. "If you have a good attitude with the therapist today and actually listen to what he has to say, I'll unground you. You can hang out with Sam and Tucker after you're done. I'll even drive you to the Nasty Burger or wherever you three want to meet up."

Danny straightened. "Really?"

"Yes," said Maddie. "But you have to promise to be good for Brandan, okay?"

Danny stopped himself from making a face. "Yeah, okay, fine."

"I'm serious. I'm going to ask him how you were, and if he tells me you weren't cooperative, then you're still going to be grounded."

"All right, yes." Danny took out his phone and started typing a group text to Sam and Tucker.

Maddie parked the car near the familiar pizza restaurant and held out her hand to him. "Phone, please."

Danny groaned. "Mom, come on, can't I just keep it?"

"What did I just get finished saying? About how you need to have a good attitude if you want me to unground you?"

Danny winced and looked down at his lap. "Sorry," he muttered.

He handed her the phone. Maddie placed it in her purse before opening her car door. Danny followed after her toward the pizza restaurant and then up the stairs to the therapy offices. Maddie checked him in at the front desk and took a seat in one of the waiting room chairs. Danny stood nearby, leaning against a wall.

"You can sit with me while we wait, Danny," said Maddie, patting the armrest of the chair next to her.

Danny glanced at the beginning of the hallway leading to the offices.

"We're a few minutes early," said Maddie. "Come sit with me."

Danny stood a moment longer before taking a seat next to her, hunching over. Maddie squeezed his shoulder.

"Thanks for doing this, sweetie," she said quietly.

Danny gave her a small smile.

Brandan entered the waiting room a few minutes later. "Danny! You ready?"

Maddie rubbed Danny's back. "He's ready."

Danny stood and walked toward Brandan.

"I didn't hear it from you," said Brandan. "Are you ready?"

Danny hesitated. His mom was still right behind him in earshot.

He put on his most practiced smile. "Ready."

Brandan studied him for a moment before also smiling and gesturing for Danny to lead the way. Danny did not look back once at Maddie as he headed down the hall to Brandan's office.

Chapter Text

"So how was your week?"

Danny forced himself to sit up straight on the couch even though he really just wanted to sink into it.

"Fine," said Danny. "Fine."

"Yeah?" Brandan also sat up straight in his office chair. "What was so fine about it? Did you have a good birthday last week after we talked?"

"Yeah." Danny nodded. "Yeah, it was good. Fine. Got some good stuff."

"Like what?"

"Some Dumpty Humpty concert tickets. A couple video games. My friend got me this sandbox thing that looks like the surface of the moon. Because, um, I like astronomy, not sure if I ever told you that."

Brandan nodded but did not respond immediately. Danny became uncomfortable keeping eye contact and looked at his lap instead.

"You can relax, Danny," said Brandan. "It's just us."

Danny blinked and looked up.

"You seem a little on edge," said Brandan. "Am I wrong?"

Danny's muscles froze. He looked at his lap again.

"Is there a reason you're acting this way?" asked Brandan. "Did something happen with your mom again?"

Danny tensed. "Again?"

"Last week, you had broken curfew and you expressed your belief that nothing you did made your mom happy," said Brandan. "Did anything like that happen again?"

Danny's knees knocked together, his thumbs ran over his index fingers.

"No," said Danny. "No, I didn't… I didn't do anything like that again."

Brandan nodded. Danny waited for him to respond, something to cover the sound of the gusting AC that kicked in just then. But Brandan kept quiet while maintaining eye contact. Danny looked him in the eyes for as long as he could until a car honked outside and Danny pretended the window was far more interesting.

"Are you comfortable talking about your mom?" asked Brandan. "Or am I wrong and the way you're acting has nothing to do with her?"

Danny watched the cars outside for a while, debating how to answer, hating how there was just no hiding anything from this guy.

"I'm still grounded," said Danny. "From last week when I broke curfew. But my mom said that she would unground me if everything goes okay today." He shrugged. "So I don't know. I guess I just don't want you telling her I was in a bad mood or something when you talk to her later."

"Hmm. I see," said Brandan. "If you have a good attitude here, your mom will lift your restriction. That's a common thing I hear young clients tell me about their parents, that they are promised rewards for being compliant and obedient."

Danny said nothing.

"Your attitude here has always been just right, perfectly fine," said Brandan. "You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't tell your mother otherwise. Because that would be a lie."

"Really?" Danny chewed the inside of his cheek. "What if I started cussing you out or something?"

Brandan laughed. "Well, that would certainly be shocking coming from you. I'd probably be pretty amused."

Danny pouted as Brandan's laugh tapered off.

"But Danny." Brandan cleared his throat. "Is this really about getting ungrounded?"

"What else would it be about?"

"Could it maybe be more about wanting to please your mom?"

Danny frowned and crossed his arms.

"Or not wanting to make her angry?"

"Why would it be about that?"

"So you're not worried about making her angry with you again?"

Danny stared him down for several seconds. Brandan stared back. Danny deflated with a sigh.

"Maybe a little," he said quietly.

"Hmm." Brandan pressed his fingertips together. "Did something new happen between you and your mother today? Before you came here."

Danny released a long sigh. Several seconds ticked by.

"I tried to get out of coming here," said Danny.

Brandan's eyes widened just a little. "Oh?"

"Yeah, I…" Danny huffed. "I was late to class, so my teacher gave me detention. Like I was late on purpose, I mean, and I knew Lancer—my English teacher—would give me detention for it. He's always looking for excuses to give me detention, you know? Like he enjoys it."

"Hmm. And what thinking error would that be, Danny?" Brandan gave him a wry smile.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. But it just feels that way to me. I just have this feeling he's out to get me."

"And what thinking error is that?"

"All right, all right, I get it." Danny shook his head. "So I show up late and I don't even try to give him a good excuse like I usually do, so he gives me detention for today after school."

"Like you usually do?" Brandan pressed his lips and looked down for a moment. "Are you late to class often?"

"I—well, yeah, but I'm working on it."

"But not today, I suppose?"

"No, because I was trying to get detention."

"And is detention truly more preferable than seeing me?"

Danny glared at him. "Yeah, I think I would rather do some extra homework with Lancer than sit here and have you pick at everything I say."

Brandan shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Just doing my job."

Danny wanted to bite back but reeled himself in. He had to be good, had to be good, couldn't actually trust that this guy wouldn't report a bad attitude to his mother.

"Yeah, I know," he said quietly. "Sorry."

Brandan did not reply.

"But anyway, I texted my mom to tell her I couldn't go to therapy because I got detention. And I guess she called Lancer and told him—" Danny paused. "See, I was trying to keep this all secret, but she told him I needed to go to therapy instead. And he agreed with her, I guess. Because he also thinks I really need therapy."

"Did he tell you that?" asked Brandan. "Did he use those exact words?"

Danny groaned. "No, okay, he didn't. I actually talked myself through that thinking error earlier right when it happened."

"Really? You did?" Brandan's eyes lit up.

"Yeah. And what he actually said was...that therapy can help everyone." Danny paused. "Which means he thinks it can help me. Like I would benefit from it. I mean, doesn't that still sort of mean the same thing? That I need it?"

"Only in the way that everyone needs it for something," said Brandan. "It doesn't target you as someone who needs it more than others."

"Then why doesn't everyone get therapy?"

"Well, isn't that the million-dollar question?" Brandan chuckled. "Many people just can't afford it or think they're too busy. Or they don't want to admit they could use someone to talk to. Or they just don't want to talk about what is troubling them."

Danny folded his arms and dug his nails into his elbows as he looked out the window.

"What are you thinking now?" asked Brandan.

"I don't know." Danny shrugged. "I mean, you just weren't there. You don't know what he said."

"Then tell me what he said."

"He was just trying to be nice about it." Danny kept his gaze out the window. "You know, like he even started with some compliments. Telling me I'm a good kid, I ask questions that make him think, that he appreciates having me in his class or whatever. But then he brought up all the stuff I do wrong, how I'm always late to class and I don't do my homework and I don't study enough and my grades suck because of it."

"Which thinking error—"

"I know!" barked Danny, looking at Brandan again. "I know it's filtering, okay? It's focusing on the bad things he said and ignoring the good things. But it's kind of hard to not filter that when your teacher is telling you you're a bad student because you're lazy."

"Did he—"

"No, he didn't use that exact word, of course not. But he did say that he thinks I'm doing bad in school because I don't try hard enough."

Danny sank back into the sofa, feeling tired all of a sudden.

"He actually specifically said he does not think I'm lazy," said Danny. "He thinks I don't try hard enough because I don't have enough confidence in myself to do better. And he hopes therapy can help me develop that confidence."

Brandan hummed but said nothing, instead writing something down on his notepad.

"And then my mom… She wasn't even as mad as I thought she'd be when she found out I got detention on purpose," said Danny. "She didn't yell at me or scold me or even ground me for longer. But then I guess I shouldn't be surprised. She did tell me before that she wasn't sure there was a point in punishing me for anything anymore. Because I just never learn, I guess, I just continue to disappoint her. It's why she's trying therapy now, because she doesn't know what else to do with me."

He sighed deeply, shakily.

"My mom and now my teacher…" Danny looked at his lap. "They just think I need more help than what they've tried with me before. Detention, yelling at me, grounding me—none of it works. They think there is just something so wrong with me that now they need to take things to the next level to get through to me, to make me change."

"Which thinking error is that?" asked Brandan.

God. This guy.

"Jumping to conclusions, yes," said Danny. "My most common thinking error."

"It really is," said Brandan with a tiny smirk.

"Yeah. Well. Glad to hear you think something's wrong with me, too," muttered Danny.

"I didn't say that." Brandan's face became serious.

A few seconds of silence passed.

"I know I do that a lot," said Danny. "Jump to conclusions. Assume my teachers and parents and everyone all just think I'm a big failure and disappointment. But I just feel like it's true. Not just that they think it, but I feel that…that I really am a failure and disappointment."

Danny picked at a loose thread in the couch.

"And my mom—lately, I just feel on edge around her all the time. Like I'm never doing enough, like I'm doing all the wrong things. I hate when she walks in on me playing video games or just sitting around doing nothing, like I know I should be doing something productive like homework or chores, but I'm not, I'm just being lazy. Like even though I'm not doing anything actually wrong, I still feel like I'm doing something bad when she walks in the room, like I need to cover up and do something else. Except I never know what. I don't know what I can do to make her happy, to make her think I'm not just a waste of space."

"Do you really think she thinks that about you?" asked Brandan.

Danny tried gripping the loose thread with his fingers, but it was too short for him to get a good grasp on.

"Maybe not. But I definitely feel like a waste of space." He shrugged. "And if she doesn't think that, well, maybe she should. Because maybe it's true."

"It's true because you feel that way?"

Danny did not answer.

"You know what I'm going to ask next, right?"

Danny sighed. "Emotional reasoning."

"That's exactly right."

Danny gave up on pulling out the thread and folded his arms.

Brandan retrieved Danny's tally list from his desk. "Coincidentally, or perhaps not coincidentally, emotional reasoning is your next most frequent cognitive distortion."

Danny groaned. "Of course it is."

"Do you want to summarize it for us as a reminder?"

"No, but I will if you ask me to."

"To make your mom happy?"

Danny's eyelids fluttered.

Brandan smiled. "I can summarize it for us. It's fine."

Danny breathed out in relief.

"Emotional reasoning is as it suggests: when you use your emotions to reason or explain something," said Brandan. "If you feel a certain way about something, then you conclude it must be an accurate understanding of what is happening. 'If I feel it, then it must be true.' For example, a shy person may feel great distress at a crowded party and conclude that all parties are therefore no fun at all and that they could never enjoy going to one. Or someone who is very afraid of dogs may take that to mean dogs really are dangerous and should all be avoided. Or if someone feels like they are disappointing their loved ones, they believe that it really must be true and that their loved ones must be feeling the same way."

Danny hummed understanding, not caring to acknowledge that he caught the pointed drift of the last example.

"So this is where I'd normally ask you if you'd like to give an example of when you had this thinking error." Brandan smiled. "But you already gave some examples we can talk about."

Danny pursed his lips.

"Are you good with talking about them in more depth?" asked Brandan.

"Would you really not talk about them if I said no?" asked Danny.

"I would respect your wishes. I'd just bring up some hypotheticals instead." Brandan tapped a finger to his chin. "There's a lot of emotional reasoning I've heard people have in regard to ghosts. Ghosts like Phantom. People and ghost hunters who just feel he's dangerous and so assume that he must really be—"

"God, just stop, please," said Danny. "You can use my examples."

Brandan chuckled. The absolute nerve of this guy, knowing how to get him to agree to actually talk about himself.

"Let's start with the one concerning your teacher," said Brandan. "You said that you feel Mr. Lancer enjoys giving you detention and that he's out to get you."

"You remember I said all that?" asked Danny.

"Well, I wrote it down." Brandan held up his notepad.

"'Course you did," muttered Danny.

"You feel like he's 'out to get you,' your direct quote," said Brandan. "But he has never actually said this to you, correct?"

"No, I—" Danny huffed. "Yeah, you're right, it's just a feeling I get. Because he seems pretty damn happy about giving me detention, like he actually smiles when he catches me doing something wrong and tells me to report to detention later."

"He smiles every time?"

"Well, no. But—"

Brandan looked at him kindly, pleasantly, patiently. Danny halted before releasing a sigh.

"I feel uncomfortable in his class most of the time. I hate even just walking into his class. I just get on edge and wonder how I'm going to screw up this time, what is it I'm gonna do that sets him off today." Danny paused. "I feel so much better when the bell rings and I can finally get out of his sight."

"You feel uncomfortable with him and you feel better when you get away from him," said Brandan. "And so you believe this to mean that he does not like you and is looking for reasons to give you detention."

Danny slowly nodded.

"You recognize how this is emotional reasoning, right?"

Danny released a breath and slowly nodded again.

"Well, good. That is of course the first step, identifying the thinking error," said Brandan. "And you remember the second step, right?"

Danny cleared his throat. "Examine the evidence."

Brandan lifted a hand palm up, gesturing for him to continue. "So what's the evidence to examine here?"

"Okay. Well." Danny thought for a moment. "He really does give me detention a lot. Like at least once a week."

"Mmm hmm. And so how is that on its own proof he enjoys doing so?"

"I—" Danny threw up a hand and then dropped it on his thigh with a slap. "I mean, who does that? Who just gives one student that many detentions?"

"A teacher who keeps catching one particular student breaking the rules." Brandan raised a brow. "You told me yourself that you're frequently late to class."

Danny reddened and scowled.

"So if you're frequently late, doesn't it stand to reason that you'll get frequent detentions because of it?"

"I'm not late that often."

"Does he give you detention for anything else?"

Danny's eyes rolled up briefly in thought. "Um…yeah. I guess."

"Can you tell me?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

Danny blew out a defeated breath. "Falling asleep in class. Failing a test that he wants me to retake. Not turning in homework. Being disruptive during class. Breaking beakers."

"Beakers?"

"Yeah, in my science class. He's also the vice-principal, so he sometimes gives me detention for things that happen in other classes."

"I see. So bottom line, he gives you detention for things other than being late," said Brandan. "And do you feel these are legitimate reasons to get detention? Do you ever disagree with his decision to give you detention?"

Danny slumped and pouted. "Well, the beakers were an accident. I didn't mean to break them."

"How did you break them, if you don't mind me asking?"

Danny thought back to when his ghost powers were new and he had trouble controlling when his intangibility kicked in. The beakers fell through his hands, crashing to the floor. All thirty-four of them in a month's time.

"Why do you want to know?" asked Danny, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Just sounds like it might be an amusing story," said Brandan. "Is it?"

"Not really. I was just a klutz. I was banned from handling any fragile school property." Danny lowered his voice to a mutter. "Not that I cared. Just meant I didn't have to do any of the science experiments anymore."

"It sounds to me like maybe you did care," said Brandan gently.

Danny hardened his eyes, doing his best to keep them from glowing. "I didn't."

Neither said anything for some time.

"So broken beakers aside," began Brandan, "do you think being late, falling asleep during class, failing tests, not submitting homework, and disrupting class are not good reasons to get detention?"

Danny watched the toe of his shoe tap against the carpeted floor a few times.

"I guess they're good reasons," he mumbled.

"I'd be inclined to agree," said Brandan.

Danny shot him an unamused glare. Brandan only smiled.

"So if you do these things often," said Brandan, "does it make sense that you'd get detention often?"

Danny huffed. "So you're on his side?"

"We're trying to determine whether we can logically conclude that your teacher enjoys giving you detention based solely on the fact that he gives you detention frequently," said Brandan, staying calm.

"Okay, I get it," said Danny testily. "That evidence doesn't check out. I can see that."

"Right. It just doesn't support the conclusion on its own."

Danny did not reply, feeling defeated.

"So what else have you got for me?" Brandan lightly clapped his hands and leaned forward. "What other evidence can we examine?"

Danny fought back a scowl, hating how eager Brandan seemed. He checked the clock and sighed.

"Sometimes he smiles when he catches me doing something," said Danny, still looking at the clock and not at Brandan. "Like an 'oh I've got you now, Fenton' kind of smile."

"Like a smirk?" asked Brandan.

"Yeah, like he enjoys it."

"That is the impression you get? That's how it appears to you?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Jumping to conclusions, mind reading, I know."

"You're doing great."

Danny shook his head and crossed his arms.

"Smiling certainly can indicate enjoyment," said Brandan. "So this is evidence that might give us pause. When this occurs, we want to see if we can come up with alternative interpretations of the evidence."

"You mean, like he might be smiling about something else?" asked Danny.

"It could've been a friendly gesture," said Brandan. "Your teacher might have been trying to lighten the mood, make you feel a little better."

Danny snorted. "Yeah. That's it. You've solved it." He shook his head. "Lancer doesn't care how I feel."

"Is that a conclusion you're jumping to? Or has he actually said that?"

"Are you going to point it out every time I state something I think?"

"Well. That's what I get paid for."

Ugh. This guy. Danny checked the clock again and grimaced.

"Another reason for the smile could be that your teacher wanted to show that he actually wasn't angry or upset but was still obligated to give you detention," said Brandan. "Or perhaps he just found whatever you did to be amusing."

"Amusing?" Danny scoffed. "Yeah, I'm sure he does find it funny when I fail a test for the hundredth time."

Brandan massaged his forehead. "We really have our work cut out here, don't we?"

Danny pouted.

"Finding amusement in your actions does not necessarily mean he enjoys or wants to give you detention," said Brandan. "Perhaps it's his own way of coping with it, finding some silver lining and hoping that giving you detention will motivate you to improve."

Danny shrugged and looked down at the armrest of the couch.

"Do you have friends that ever get detention?" asked Brandan. "Do you ever laugh when they tell you what they did to get it? It didn't mean you actually enjoyed their misfortune, did it?"

Danny recalled a time in math class before the bell rang. Tucker was singing the lyrics to a very crude song and didn't realize how loud he was being until Mr. Falluca swooped down and ordered him to report to detention that afternoon. Tucker's eyes were huge and Danny laughed so hard his mouth hurt.

"I really don't think that's what it is with Lancer," said Danny quietly.

"But do you have any actual proof that says otherwise?"

Danny said nothing.

"He may not even know you feel this way," said Brandan. "I wonder if he would feel bad if he did know."

Danny raised a brow. "Do you think I should tell him?"

"That is up to you," said Brandan. "But most teachers I have worked with have told me they would want to know if any of their students were feeling uncomfortable in their presence."

Danny scratched an itch on his head.

"So now that we've determined there isn't any hard proof that your teacher enjoys giving you detention," said Brandan, "let's continue to the next step: finding possible positive conclusions to reach instead of negative ones. Can you think of anything Mr. Lancer has done that might instead suggest he enjoys helping you succeed? That he is not out to get you but perhaps there to help you?"

Danny sank into the couch. He thought for some time before speaking. "Okay. Well. I guess there have been times when he decided not to give me detention. Times when I was late or didn't turn in homework that he just let slide." He softened. "Once he even said that the principal was thinking about suspending me for all my absences and tardies. So he decided to cut me a break to get her off my back."

"So he was looking for ways to help keep you in class," said Brandan.

"I guess so." Danny ran a fingernail along the seam of his jeans. "And I guess… Sometimes he gives me extra help with homework. Or he lets me redo tests or assignments."

"So he chooses to spend that extra time to help you," said Brandan. "When he could just go home or get his other work done. That sounds like someone who wants to help you succeed."

"Or someone who just wants to get me out of his class eventually," quipped Danny.

"Well, I think all teachers eventually want their students to move on out of their class," said Brandan without missing a beat. "That means they've done their job well."

Danny shrugged.

"From everything you've told me, Mr. Lancer doesn't sound like a teacher who dislikes you," continued Brandan.

Danny said nothing.

Brandan sighed. "Would you mind if we went over your other example of emotional reasoning?"

"What example was that?" asked Danny, not actually trying very hard to recall.

"The one about your mom."

Danny tensed and squeezed one hand in the other.

"You said that you feel like you're never doing enough or that you're doing something wrong whenever she's around." Brandan looked down at his notepad. "You feel like you need to cover up what you're really doing and do something else to make her happy. And you said quite specifically that you feel like a waste of space and so maybe she's not wrong to think you are, too."

"You wrote all that?" said Danny, eyeing the notepad with a grimace.

Brandan flashed the page of notes. "I've gotten pretty good at shorthand. I can write a ton of things quickly."

Jeez. This guy. Fine. Danny waited for Brandan to go on.

"So first, you understand how this is emotional reasoning, right?" asked Brandan.

"Yeah," said Danny, his tone flat but not rude. "I think it's true because I feel that way. My reasoning is based on emotion and not logic or anything anyone actually said."

"So then what's the second step?"

Danny sighed. "Examine the evidence."

"Want to run us through it?"

"I…" Danny groaned. "No. Look, I get this one. Can we just move on to something else?"

Brandan cocked his head. "What do you mean, you get this one?"

"I mean I already know the answers to all of the questions you're going to ask," said Danny irritably. "My mom has never actually said that she thinks I'm a disappointment. She's never said that I'm wasting space. In fact, she says the opposite sometimes, that she loves having me around."

Danny slumped over.

"I just have a hard time believing it," he mumbled.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe?" asked Brandan.

Danny shook his head. "I don't want to talk about this one anymore. Please."

"Why don't you want to talk about it?"

Danny tried gesturing, flailing, anything to indicate that he didn't have the words to explain why he just wanted to stop talking about his mother. God, this guy.

"Is it tough being the son of a ghost hunter?" asked Brandan.

"What?" Danny scoffed and raised a brow. "Why are you asking that? Where did that come from?"

"I'm just trying to understand a little more about your relationship with her."

"But what does her being a ghost hunter have to do with me and my feelings?"

"It's a big shadow, isn't it?" Brandan swiveled in his desk chair. "She's regarded as a ghost expert and frequently in the spotlight, sought after for guidance and assistance in keeping the town safe from ghosts. Do you feel it's a lot to live up to? Like there's a Fenton family legacy you need to uphold? Do you feel if you don't achieve that same level of greatness and fame your mother has that you are not living up to her expectations?" Brandan paused. "Do you have the same expectations for yourself?"

"I don't know what I expect for myself." Danny's throat strained as he struggled to get the words out.

"Okay, let's just keep it simple with your mom," said Brandan. "Do you think falling short of her achievements will make you a disappointment in her eyes?"

"It—It's not just hers, you know? Jazz—my sister—she…" Danny stared at his knees blankly, his hands resting on his thighs. "She's always been so much better than me at everything. Teachers love her and always tell my parents how great she is and how they wish all their students were just like her." His fingers curled against his jeans. "They never talk about me that way."

"Are you present every time your sister's teachers or your own teachers talk to your parents?" asked Brandan.

"I don't need to be," blurted Danny, more snappishly than he intended. "My parents tell us all about what they say later. And all Mom ever tells me is that my teachers once again emailed her to say I'm not turning in homework or trying hard enough or 'hey, Danny failed another test, maybe you should get him some extra help.'"

He collapsed back into the sofa, his eyes stinging with tears that he was sure Brandan could see because Brandan noticed everything. No point trying to hide anything from this guy.

"I don't know," muttered Danny. "It's just, in the end, no matter how much you try to convince me that my emotional reasoning about being a disappointment is just a thinking error, my mom's still the one making me come here every week. She's never made my sister go to therapy. Just me."

"Your mom cares about you, Danny," said Brandan softly but firmly. "Have you considered that maybe it's not her who needs to see you differently but rather you who needs to see yourself and therapy differently?"

Danny looked off to the side, out the window.

"That's what I'm here to help you with," continued Brandan. "All these cognitive distortions you have. Because you're so trapped in this distorted world you've imagined is all around you. I want to help you break free into reality, Danny. So you can start feeling good again."

Danny couldn't bring himself to look at Brandan as his throat closed up.

"Because you're not feeling good right now, are you?" said Brandan gently.

Danny felt something breaking inside of him.

He couldn't remember the last time he felt "good" or "happy," whatever either of those words even meant anymore. Ghosts threatening him, bullies mocking him, teachers reprimanding him, his sister pitying him, his parents expecting so much from him—

"No." Danny's voice was low and hoarse. He covered his eyes with his hand and lowered his head. "I don't feel good at all."

He had no idea why he said it, who he was even really admitting it to—the therapist or himself?—but it was out now and he couldn't take it back.

He felt sick and empty and lost all the time now.

And he could no longer remember what it was like to not feel this way.

Danny kept his head down and face covered, unable to look at Brandan right now.

"We're running out of time," said Brandan after a few moments of silence. "And you don't have to talk right now if you don't want to. But do you mind if I say something about your next most common thinking error?"

Danny shrugged, his face still covered.

"It's filtering," said Brandan. "You remember what that means, right? When you focus on only the negative aspects of a situation and completely ignore anything positive, even if there are far more positive aspects and maybe just one negative. All you can see is the negative when you filter out all the positives."

Danny kept his face hidden but nodded his understanding.

"Even if this isn't your most common thinking error, it's apparent this one really permeates your life," said Brandan. "You get so focused on the negative things others say about you—whether or not they actually did say them at all in the first place—and then don't even remember the positive things they might've said."

Danny uncovered his face but kept his eyes on the floor. "No one ever has anything positive to say about me."

"That's not true. I have many positive things I can say about you."

Danny raised his eyes to meet Brandan's and cocked a brow. "Like?"

"Well, I look forward to meeting with you each week," said Brandan. "I can't say that about all my clients, I really can't. And you're certainly very perceptive. You understand difficult concepts very quickly. All of the thinking errors, you got what they were all about right away."

"Okay, but you said before that I always focus on the negatives and my view of reality is distorted," said Danny. "So maybe I don't understand them as well as you think I do. Maybe your reality is the distorted one, not mine."

Brandan sighed. "See? It's like you didn't even hear anything else I said. You filtered it all out."

Danny huffed, raised his hands, let them fall with a smack onto the couch. Great, fine, this guy just called him out again, wonderful.

"I guess I'm just fucked up, then," said Danny with a small roll of his eyes.

"You're still doing it, Danny."

Danny looked off to the side and folded his trembling arms. His throat felt heavy.

"And going back to your teacher…" Brandan glanced at his notepad. "You said that he said you're a good kid, you ask him questions that make him think, that he appreciates having you in his class. And you even admitted that you knew you were filtering out all the positive things he said."

"Because I just don't understand why he would say all that," said Danny. "He's never said anything like that to me before. It didn't make sense."

"Do you think he was lying?"

"I—" Danny huffed. "I don't know."

A beat of silence.

"Do you feel uncomfortable accepting compliments, Danny?" asked Brandan.

Danny ducked his head. "No. I can accept them. If I believe them to be true."

"And how often do you believe them to be true?"

Danny kept his head down.

"Let's try something." Brandan leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. "I'm going to give you a compliment, a sincere one, and I just want you to say thank you, all right?"

Danny shifted in his seat. "It'll depend what you say."

"No, it won't," said Brandan firmly. "Because I promise that whatever I say, I'm going to mean it. So all you have to do is accept the compliment."

Danny's muscles tightened all over his body. But he managed a nod.

Still leaning over, Brandan unclasped his hands, tenting and touching his fingertips to his chin. "You are very likable. You have a natural ability to draw people in and can make friends with just about anyone because you can adapt so well to different people's personalities. You're the kind of person others become fiercely loyal to. Because they just like you so much."

Danny stared at Brandan, trying to make sense of everything he just said.

"Danny?" prompted Brandan.

"But I don't have many friends at all," said Danny. "I have two—I mean, I think it's two—"

He paused to think. Valerie?

"Maybe three at the most?"

Jazz? No, sisters didn't count, did they?

"Yeah, really just two," said Danny.

"Danny," said Brandan. "This isn't what I asked you to do."

"But this is stupid!" protested Danny. "You barely know me."

"I know you enough to know I enjoy talking to you," said Brandan. "I think you're very likable. And as I said before, I really look forward to seeing you each week. You don't think I'm lying, do you?"

"Even though I'm usually not in a good mood when I'm here?"

"Well, most of my clients aren't in good moods. It's the reason they come to see me. It doesn't bother me at all."

Danny inhaled hard through his nose and glanced at the time. Brandan probably wasn't going to let him go until he did this.

He let out his breath and relaxed his shoulders. "Fine. Thank you."

Brandan smiled, looking so very pleased with himself. "Good. Very good, Danny. Let's try one more."

Danny looked at Brandan, then at the clock. "Isn't the hour over?"

Brandan also looked at the clock. "Almost. We have a couple minutes. And I'd like you to try at least once more before you leave."

Danny sighed and grumbled, "Okay, fine."

Brandan tapped his fingers together in thought before speaking. "The things you are willing to do for others—even those who may not be very kind to you in return—are nothing short of extraordinary."

Danny stared at him for a long time.

"What?" he finally asked.

"Do you need me to repeat it?" asked Brandan.

"No, I heard you. But I don't understand."

"You have an amazing capacity to help others, Danny. The things you do for them are incredible."

"What are you talking about? I have no idea what you mean."

"Just accept the compliment. That's all you need to do."

"No. Not until you explain what you're referring to."

Brandan only smiled. Danny studied his face, trying to decipher what was hidden behind his pleasant expression.

One question blared in his head over and over: Does he know? Does he know? Does he know?

Did Brandan figure out his ghostly secret? Or was this some kind of therapy trick?

Danny swallowed and asked as calmly as he could, "Do you have any specific examples of how I help others?"

Brandan did not speak for a moment. Then he stood. "We're out of time."

Danny blinked, then also stood, slowly, never taking his eyes off Brandan.

"Until next week," said Brandan.

He opened the door and held it. Danny did not move right away.

What do you think you know about me? he wanted to ask.

But instead, he quietly shuffled past Brandan out into the hall and headed toward the lobby. He could hear Brandan walking behind him.

Maddie stood and slung her purse over her shoulder as Danny approached. "How did it go?" she asked.

Danny opened his mouth to answer but stopped when he saw she was looking at Brandan and not him.

"How did he do?" asked Maddie.

Brandan gave Danny a quick glance before smiling at Maddie. "He was a pleasure to talk to. As always."

Maddie beamed. "I'm so glad to hear that."

Brandan inclined his head before turning and disappearing down the hall. Danny stared after him.

"I'm so proud of you, Danny." Maddie placed an arm around him and kissed the top of his head. "So proud."

Danny blushed, aware of the other people in the room looking at them now. "Does this mean I'm not grounded anymore?"

"Yes, definitely." Maddie pulled Danny's phone out of her purse and handed it to him. "You can text Sam and Tucker if you want to meet up somewhere."

Danny stared at the dark phone screen, suddenly not sure what he wanted to do. He followed Maddie out through the main door and into the sunlight, down the stairs and past the pizza restaurant to her car.

"So where do you want me to take you?" asked Maddie as she unlocked the car and opened the driver's side door. "Nasty Burger?"

Danny joined her in the car and clicked his seat belt into place. He set the phone beside him, its screen still dark. "Actually, I think… I think I'd rather go home now."

Maddie frowned. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," said Danny. "I'm just tired. And…" He looked back up at the therapy offices through the car window. "I have a lot to think about right now."

"Anything you want to talk about? With me?"

Danny hesitated before slowly shaking his head.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Maddie reached over and stroked his cheek. "I know sometimes I get mad at you for things you do. But I'm always ready to listen if you ever want to talk."

Danny turned from the window to look at Maddie. She was smiling kindly.

"Yeah," said Danny, not returning the smile. "I know."

They each fell quiet for some time.

"Do you think therapy is helping you?" asked Maddie. "Even a little bit?"

Danny looked up at the therapy offices again.

"I'm not sure," he said.

Maddie started the car. Danny picked up his phone and opened his calendar, scrolling through the coming Mondays.

Halfway there. Just four more times now.

Chapter Text

"Nope, you're wrong," said Tucker.

"Oh, I'm definitely right, tech boy," said Sam.

The bell had not yet rung for homeroom to begin. Danny slumped at his desk next to Sam and Tucker and stared straight ahead. Students all around them chattered and laughed with each other. Their homeroom teacher was up at the front of the room, a glazed look in her eyes as she stared at something on her computer screen.

"Nothing beats the first two Mars Emperor films," said Tucker firmly, sitting up straighter as he glared at Sam.

"Mars Emperor III is absolutely superior," said Sam with a toss of her hair. "The first two movies were just so straightforward and simple, there was no substance to them. The third one explored social commentary about regressives and problematic norms. It was relevant and fresh."

"But that's exactly why it ruined the franchise," said Tucker, his tone heated. "The first two movies captured the heart and essence of the original comics. The third one made it political for no reason."

"The first two movies were for children." Sam shrugged. "So I'm not surprised you'd like them more."

"They are not for children, they are straight masterpieces." Tucker nudged Danny. "Dude, back me up here."

Danny blinked and fixed his gaze on Tucker. "Hmm? What?"

"Mars Emperor I and II," said Tucker. "They were better than the third one, right?"

"Don't let him pressure you into saying something you don't believe, Danny," said Sam. "You know the third one blows the first two out of the water."

Danny's eyelids fluttered as he tried to remember what those movies were even about. He shook his head. "I don't know, guys. I honestly didn't really like any of them."

He sighed and slumped even more in his seat. Sam and Tucker exchanged looks.

"You know how I can tell it's Monday?" asked Tucker with a grin.

"How?" asked Sam with a smile.

Tucker leaned over and clapped his hands on Danny's shoulders. "Because Danny's in a bad mood again!" he sang.

Sam snickered while Tucker playfully rocked him. Danny shrugged him off.

"Very funny," grumbled Danny.

"Hey, I'm just trying to lighten things up," said Tucker, holding up his hands with palms out. "And you can't deny that it's true. You've been crabby the past few Mondays."

"So therapy isn't getting even a little more tolerable for you?" asked Sam.

"Shh!" Danny raised a finger to his lips, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest as Dash strutted into the room, shoulders back and chest puffed out. He caught Danny's eye and smirked at him before strolling to the back of the room and taking a seat.

"Sorry." Sam spoke in a whisper now. "I didn't mean to say that so loud."

Dash was looking at him again. Danny ducked his head and pretended to scribble something important in his notebook. His racing heart did not slow until the bell rang and the teacher began the homeroom hour.

Danny had nearly forgotten about Dash by the time homeroom ended and the next bell signaled the start of the first passing period.

"Was anyone else falling asleep in there?" asked Tucker with a yawn out in the hall.

"Were you up all night playing Doomed again?" teased Sam.

"Why do you always assume that?" whined Tucker. "I'll have you know, I'm a very responsible student."

Jumping to conclusions, Danny thought to himself. Only this time, it wasn't his own thinking error he was identifying. He chuckled.

"What's so funny?" demanded Tucker with mock offense.

"Nothing." Danny shook his head. "I'm just glad I can always count on you two to act the same. Makes Monday feel more normal."

Sam put her arm around him and patted his shoulder. "We're glad to help, friendo."

Danny smiled, feeling warm and light in her embrace.

"Hey, Fentonoid," called a voice behind him.

The pleasant warmth vanished, replaced by a chill. Danny turned to find Dash in a power stance with his arms folded, smirking at him.

"What is it, Dash?" asked Danny in flat monotone.

"My buddy Mitch told me about your new job," said Dash, his words sounding far more like a taunt than a statement.

Danny creased his brow, exchanging glances with Sam and Tucker before going back to Dash. "My new job?"

"Yeah. The pizza place on River Road," said Dash. "What was it, Amity Pizza Parlor?"

Danny's heart pounded, the rest of his body iced over. Oh, God. That was the name of the pizza restaurant right below the therapy offices.

"Yeah, Mitch said he's seen you there a few times now. Like last Monday," said Dash. "Is that your shift? Every Monday?"

Jumping to conclusions.

"I don't work there," said Danny.

"Then why have you been there so much this past month? 'Cause God knows you're not eating there. You're a twig."

Labeling.

"Your friend was mistaken," said Danny, trying to keep his voice calm but his lips were trembling. "Whoever he saw, it wasn't me."

"Nah, he said he saw your mom with you, and there's no mistaking her. Your mom's one of the hottest MILFs in town."

Danny growled and clenched a fist. Sam grabbed his wrist before he could raise it and whispered in his ear, "Don't, Danny."

"Did your mom make you get a job at the pizza place?" asked Dash. "She was picking you up after your shift, wasn't she? 'Cause you can't even drive yet and still need your mommy to do everything for you."

Danny shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He started to walk away, but Dash moved in front of him. Danny was only a couple inches shorter than Dash now and didn't even have to tilt his head to make eye contact like he used to.

"I need to get to my next class, Dash," said Danny irritably.

"Today's Monday," said Dash. "Would I see you at the pizza place if I went there after school?"

Danny's heart nearly stopped.

"Don't you think it'd be fun?" asked Dash. "I'd love to have you wait on me, Fentina. Please tell me you're a server there. Or a busboy, I can work with that, too."

"I don't work there, Dash," said Danny firmly, but he couldn't get his voice to stop shaking.

"Then why are you there every Monday?" demanded Dash with a sneer.

"Lay off already, Dash." Sam stepped in front of Danny, balling a fist. "How many times does he have to tell you he doesn't work there?"

Dash raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, cool it, Fenton's girlfriend. I'm not trying to start any fights here."

"Then run along." Sam waved a hand to dismiss him. "Go to class."

"All right, all right, I'm going." Dash gave Danny a final look, a slight waggle of his eyebrows. "See you this afternoon, Fentgeek." And then he was gone, down the hall and around a corner.

Danny waited until Dash was completely out of sight before clutching at the front of his shirt. "Oh, God. He's going to find out. Oh, God—"

"Hey, take it easy," said Tucker, holding onto his shoulder.

"But what am I going to do?" asked Danny. "If he really does show up, then he'll see me going up to the therapy offices. And you know he'd never let me live that down."

"Relax," said Sam. "Tucker and I will figure something out."

"Yeah." Tucker nodded. "Maybe we could head over there too and keep him busy so he doesn't see you."

"That could work. I do have my car," said Sam. "That's actually a really good idea, Tucker."

"Hey, why'd you say it that way? All my ideas are good," whined Tucker.

Personalization.

"I don't know, guys," said Danny, rubbing his arm.

"Don't sweat it right now, Danny," said Sam. "We still have hours to figure this out."

Danny grumbled his agreement. But worry and panic continued to gnaw at his nerves during his next class and all through lunch and right up until the final bell signaled the end of the school day.

"Don't worry," said Sam. "Seriously. We'll find a way to take care of Dash for you."

"Yeah. You just go and have fun," said Tucker with a wry smile.

"Fun. Right." Danny groaned. "Guess I can't keep my mom waiting."

He left Sam and Tucker behind, heading toward the parent pickup area. He kept his eyes to the ground, hoping against hope that Dash wasn't around and wouldn't see him, please don't see him and come up to him and harass him, please just leave him alone and let him get through another agonizing hour of therapy in peace because there were only four more sessions, just four more and then he'd be free—

"Danny!" someone called out to him. A buoyant, gorgeous voice that always made his heart quiver. Paulina's voice.

Danny stopped as Paulina ran up to him, wearing her cheerleading uniform and flashing the pearliest, sweetest smile. Star was by her side, arms crossed and scowling.

"Oh, hey, Paulina," said Danny, trying to sound casual and not at all like a total dweeb still crushing on her. "Hey, Star," he said more warily.

"Hey, freak," said Star coolly.

Labeling.

"Don't mind her." Paulina waved a dismissive hand in Star's direction. "Danny, where are you going?"

"Uh…" Danny looked off in the direction of the parent pickup area. "Nowhere."

"Oh, good! So then can you fill in for the mascot at the game tonight?" Paulina clasped her hands. "Please? You were so good at it last time, and Jamie broke his ankle, so he can't do it."

Danny inwardly groaned. He actually hated donning the Casper High Raven mascot suit. He had been reduced to a sweaty bruised mess the last time he wore it.

But he couldn't just say no. Not to Paulina's protruding bottom lip and pretty teal eyes.

"Tonight? What time?" asked Danny.

"The game's at six," said Paulina. "We're trying to show more support for the volleyball team."

"Volleyball? Not football?" asked Danny.

Star snorted and shook her head.

"Oh, my God, you're so cute." Paulina lightly grazed his upper arm with her fingers. "No, it's not football season right now. It's spring."

Her touch made him melt, but he forced strength into his legs to stay upright.

"Oh, sure. Obviously." Danny rubbed his neck. "I knew that. No football in spring. Of course."

"So will you do it?" asked Paulina eagerly.

"Uh…" Danny scratched his head and looked at his shoes, kicking at the ground. He looked up again at her beautiful pouty expression. "Yeah. Six. Okay, I'll be there."

Paulina squealed. "Thank you, thank you!"

She threw her arms around him. Danny felt himself burning up in her embrace, her chest pressed to his. He saw Star roll her eyes.

"Okay, let's get going!" Paulina tugged on his arm and started leading him back to the school.

"What?" Danny held his position. "Didn't you say six?"

"Yes, the game's at six," said Paulina, her tone now sounding urgent. "But we need to practice our routine first. You only have a couple hours to learn it!"

"But I…" Danny looked off toward parent pickup again. "I can't go with you right now."

"Why not?" Paulina's eyes were round.

"My mom's, um… She's waiting for me. She's picking me up."

"To go where?"

"To go…shopping. For clothes." Danny groaned as soon as the words were out. His go-to lame excuse of shopping for clothes with his mom, great. Too late to come up with something better and not completely embarrassing now.

"Aww." Star smirked. "You still go shopping with your mom? That's adorable."

"Uh. Yeah." Danny could feel sweat prickling the back of his neck. "And I really need to get going to meet her, so—"

"Can't she take you tomorrow?" cut in Paulina.

Danny blinked. "Tomorrow? Uh, no, she can't. She's busy the rest of the week, so it has to be today."

"Well, then can't she wait until next week?" asked Paulina, sounding more desperate. "Look, the girls are all counting on me to find someone, and you're the only other guy who has experience wearing the mascot suit. We need you, Danny! Our routine will be a total bust without you."

Polarized thinking.

She was still holding his arm. Danny wished he could say yes, yes, Paulina, of course he would do it just for her. He would so much rather hang out with her and all the cheerleaders than talk for a whole hour with that guy again.

"I don't think she'll let me get out of this," said Danny. "Sorry."

"Where is your mom? Let me ask her," said Paulina.

Danny grimaced and was about to tell her it wasn't a good idea but stopped short, remembering how Dash said he was going to show up at the pizza restaurant to possibly catch Danny there.

Paulina puckered her lips and batted her eyes. "I can be very persuasive."

Oh, yes. He knew that about her. So very well.

And what if she could somehow use her bubbly Paulina charm to convince his mom to let him practice the cheer routine with the rest of her squad? What if he could avoid Dash easily by simply not being there at all today?

"It's worth a try," said Danny with a slow nod.

"Yes, it is!" Paulina tugged his arm again. "Is she at parent pickup? Let's go!"

Star laughed but did not follow them as Paulina led Danny by the arm to the parent pickup area. Maddie's car was at the curb in a line of other cars with parents at the wheel.

"Wait. Paulina." Danny pulled his arm out of Paulina's hold. She stopped and turned back to him, waiting. "Let me talk to her first, okay? I'll try to explain it to her."

"Okay," said Paulina. "But if she doesn't go for it, tag me in, got it?"

Danny headed for the car. Maddie rolled down the passenger side window as he approached.

"Who's that girl you were with?" asked Maddie with a smile. "A cheerleader? She's cute."

"Oh. Yeah, she is," said Danny, trying to keep his tone casual.

"Is she a friend of yours? Or something more?"

"Um. Neither, really."

"But she was holding your arm pretty tight there."

Danny glanced back at Paulina. She waved at him. "Actually, she was just asking me for a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

Danny rested his elbows on the window sill, leaning inside. "That's what I want to talk to you about."

"Well, get in and we can talk about it on the way," said Maddie, putting her hand on the gear selector.

"But this favor is something she wants me to do right now."

"Right now? But you can't. You have therapy today."

Danny's heart raced with panic as he spoke in a low whisper, hoping Paulina didn't hear anything. "I know, I know, but she says there's no one else to fill in for the mascot and she's desperate."

"Fill in for the mascot?"

"Yes. See, she's the cheer captain, and there's a volleyball game tonight that the cheer squad is going to be at, and I guess their normal mascot guy broke his foot or his arm—I don't remember what exactly—and I've filled in for the mascot before, so she wants me to do it tonight."

"Okay. Well, I can drop you off later tonight."

"She says I have to practice first." Danny was losing this battle. He knew he was. He wasn't sure why he was still trying except God he really didn't want to go to therapy right now and even more so he really really didn't want Dash to catch him there. "I guess there's a whole routine and I need to be part of it. Like I'm not just going to wear the costume, I guess."

"You're going to be one of the cheerleaders?" Maddie gave him a very wry smile.

Danny's neck started burning and he really hoped it was just the sun. "No—I mean, just for today—if you let me go, that is." He looked at her weakly, hopefully. "It'd be good exercise."

"And you get to hang out with a bunch of pretty girls," Maddie teased.

Now Danny's face was burning. "Well, that's certainly a perk." He smiled sheepishly, not bothering to deny it because maybe that would somehow be enough to convince her. She was always asking him why he never went on any dates.

Maddie chuckled and looked out the front window for a moment before turning back to him to say something. But at that point, Paulina bounded up next to Danny, also leaning in through the window.

"Hi, Mrs. Fenton!" Paulina's tone was extra bright. "I'm Paulina Sanchez, one of Danny's classmates and the captain of the cheerleading team. I don't think we've ever met, but I of course know all about you already. You're the town's leading ghost expert."

Paulina extended her open hand to Maddie. Maddie shook it, looking a little bewildered.

"So we really need Danny here—" Paulina placed her hands on Danny's shoulders and lightly shook him. "—to fill in for our mascot since our normal mascot person broke his ankle in a freak cheerleading accident."

"Oh, my," said Maddie, clutching at her jumpsuit zipper.

"Oh, don't worry, the girls and I will be very gentle with Danny." Paulina giggled. "If you let him do it, I mean. I know you're here to take him shopping, but I'm just really hoping that maybe you could wait and take him next week instead? He'd be such a big help."

Maddie furrowed her brow. "Shopping?" she echoed.

Danny gave her a pleading look, mouthing for her to please just go along with his lame excuse, please please please don't tell the prettiest and most popular girl in school that he was supposed to go to therapy that afternoon.

Maddie gave him a knowing smile.

"Please say he can come practice with us right now, Mrs. Fenton," said Paulina.

She clasped her hands in supplication. Maddie studied her for several quiet moments before releasing a long sigh.

"I know you're just trying to get out of shopping," said Maddie, raising a brow as she looked at Danny. "Because I know how much you hate it even though you really need to do it."

"Oh, totally agree with you there, Mrs. Fenton," said Paulina, pinching Danny's sleeve. "Danny always wears such baggy clothes. He really needs something more stylish and that fits him better."

Danny held in a pout and tried not to personalize her comment.

"But it can wait until next week, can't it?" asked Paulina. "Please?"

Maddie was looking at only Danny now. He gave her his best hopeful, pleading smile.

"All right," said Maddie. "You can go practice with the cheerleaders and skip shopping today."

Paulina squealed and clapped her hands. "Thank you, thank you, Mrs. Fenton! Okay, Danny, let's get going, the girls are all waiting."

"Hang on, Paulina, I need to talk to Danny alone for a quick moment," said Maddie.

"Of course, sure." Paulina flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I'll meet you at the gym, Danny."

Paulina waved before running back toward the school. Danny stared after her, mesmerized by the shine in her hair as it swished behind her.

"Danny," said Maddie, bringing his attention back to her. "I'm only allowing this because I've been asking you to get involved in more extracurricular activities, and this one will give you some social interaction and exercise, too. But if you try to use this same excuse next week, I will just reschedule your appointment for a different day." She paused, thinking. "Maybe I should ask Brandan if he has any other openings this week."

"No!" said Danny quickly. "No, I won't skip next week. I promise."

Maddie studied him. "You know that I still expect you to see Brandan at least four more times if I allow you to skip today, right?"

"But that wasn't the deal!" cried Danny. "We never agreed on eight sessions. We agreed that I would attend therapy until the last week before school gets out."

"I know we did, but this changes our deal."

"No, it doesn't." Danny shook his head. "Please, Mom, just let me have this. Please just keep it until the week before school gets out. I swear I won't skip anymore after today."

Danny made his eyes as big as he could and stuck out his bottom lip. Maddie's mouth quivered until she broke into a snicker.

"Your dad gives me that same look." Maddie pressed a finger between her eyes. "He knows I have a hard time saying no to it."

"So yes?" Danny dropped the expression. "I still only have to attend therapy until the week before school gets out?"

Maddie sighed and stared out the front window for a moment before turning back to him, her face very serious.

"Answer me one question. Honestly." She looked right in his eyes. "Do you feel therapy might be helping you? Even just a little?"

Danny blinked and leaned away from the window. Did she really want an honest answer to that question? Was an honest answer the correct one to give?

And what even was his honest answer? Did he actually know?

"I… I'm not sure," stammered Danny. "It's certainly making me think about things differently." He pressed his lips and looked down, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I don't know what answer you're hoping to hear. But I am trying to do what Brandan's been asking me to do."

He curled his fingers over the car windowsill, his eyes still down.

"If that's at all good enough for you," he murmured.

"Of course it is, sweetheart."

Danny looked up to see Maddie smiling kindly at him.

"All right, you win," she said. "You can stop going to therapy the week before school gets out. And I won't make you go any other day this week to make up for missing today."

Danny threw open the door and climbed into the car, wrapping his arms around Maddie and giving her a squeeze.

"Thank you, thank you!" Danny pressed his cheek to hers. "You're the best."

"Oh, how I've missed seeing you this happy." Maddie rubbed his back. "But if I do this for you, you need to promise you'll let me schedule your driving test for this weekend. You can't keep putting it off."

Danny groaned and pulled out of the hug. "Oh, Mom."

"Hey, whatever happened to me being the best?"

Maddie pouted playfully. Danny smiled and sighed.

"Okay, okay. I'll do the test this weekend," he said.

"Good to hear." Maddie stroked the hair right above his ear. "Now go on, get going. I need to call up Brandan to cancel the appointment."

"I'll get dinner on my own," said Danny, climbing out of the car and shutting the door. "I'll see you later tonight after the game."

Maddie was already dialing a number on her phone and waved to Danny as she rolled up the window. Danny watched her through the tinted glass a moment longer before turning and heading back to the school.

He pulled his own phone out of his pocket and typed a text to Sam and Tucker: Mom's letting me skip therapy today. No need to distract Dash anymore.

What? No way! texted Tucker.

Why is she letting you skip? texted Sam.

Danny ignored the question. No need to set Sam off by telling her that Paulina wanted him to join the cheer squad for the afternoon.

Still heading toward the gym, he opened his phone calendar and scrolled through the upcoming weeks.

Just three more therapy sessions now.

Chapter Text

"Danny, can I have your fries?"

Danny rested his head in his hand with his elbow on the cafeteria table. He looked across at Tucker. "Hmm? My what?"

"Your fries," Tucker articulated more clearly, pointing to the pile of fries on Danny's tray. "I might as well take full advantage of your Monday blues and eat whatever you don't want."

Danny pushed the tray over to him. "Fine. Whatever. Eat it all."

"I still can't believe your mom let you skip therapy last week," said Sam.

"Why?" asked Danny, lifting his head. "Because you think she should've made me go?"

"Danny." Sam frowned. "That's not what I meant."

Danny groaned and pressed his palm against the bridge of his nose. "I know. I'm sorry. I was jumping to conclusions. You didn't actually say that. I'm still really bad at that one."

"'That one'? What do you mean?" asked Sam.

Danny shook his head. "Nothing," he muttered.

"It's just your mom is usually so stubborn," said Sam, sounding apologetic. "I'm just amazed you were able to get her to change her mind."

"I didn't change her mind," said Danny. "Paulina did."

Sam scowled. "Of course, it just had to be her."

"Oh, man." Tucker grinned. "I'm not surprised. Paulina could probably convince me to do anything, honestly."

"Think she could get you to jump off a cliff?" asked Sam.

"Okay, maybe nothing like that, but I think I might actually eat your grass garbage if she insisted I should."

"Has anyone ever told you how easy you are, Tucker?"

"Hey, Danny would do anything for Paulina, too. Right, Danny?"

Danny folded his arms and slumped in his chair, shrugging.

"Is everything okay?" asked Sam. "I know it's Monday, but you seem more down than usual."

Danny sighed deeply and stared at the table for a few quiet moments. "It's not about therapy this time," he finally said. "My mom made me take my driving test on Saturday."

"Oh, that's right. How'd it go?" asked Tucker. "Did you get your license?"

Sam elbowed him. "Tucker, really?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "No, I did not get my license."

An awkward silence. Sam and Tucker waited for him to continue, staring at him with sympathy. Or was it pity? Danny had no idea but he knew he couldn't jump to conclusions either way. They were looking at him and waiting; that was all he knew for sure.

"I really didn't want to do it." Danny directed his words to the table. "I knew I wasn't ready. Even before I took the test, I just had a really bad feeling about it, like something bad was going to happen."

"Something bad like what?" asked Sam.

"Like I was going to crash the car or run someone over or bang up another car when parallel parking," said Danny. "I just had all these ideas in my head of what could go wrong."

"Did any of that happen?" asked Tucker.

"Well, no," said Danny. "I mean, apart from the worst parallel park job ever when I hit the curb and majorly scuffed the car's paint job, no. The lady testing me actually just told me to give up and stop trying after it was clear I was never going to get it. I'm surprised she didn't stop the whole test sooner with how much I had been screwing up before that."

"I'm sure you didn't do that bad," said Sam.

"Oh, no, I did," said Danny. "I really did. It was that bad. And I screwed up from the very start. Like literally the first thing I did, I pulled out of the parking spot and started turning too soon and clipped the back corner of the car next to me."

"Ooh," said Sam under her breath.

"I felt so stupid," said Danny with a groan. "The test barely started and I had already completely fucked it up."

"I'm sure they wouldn't have failed you for just that," said Tucker.

"But it wasn't just that," said Danny. "Everything after that—I mean, it just never got better. I kept trying to make up for that shitty start, but I just couldn't. I sped up to get through a yellow light but it turned red right as I got there so I had to run through it. I didn't stop at a crosswalk when there were people wanting to cross. And I didn't stop before the stupid white line when I was making a right turn at a red light."

Danny folded his arms on the table and buried his face in one elbow.

"Everything that I could've possibly done wrong, I did," he grumbled without lifting his head.

"I get it," said Tucker. "My driving test was pretty brutal, too. I kept taking turns too fast, I was so jerky. And I'm pretty sure I forgot to use my turn signal a couple times. I really think I just barely passed."

"Barely passing is still passing," said Danny testily, lifting his head. "I didn't even do that. I failed, Tucker."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way," said Tucker, shrinking back. "I know it's not the same."

"Yeah, Danny. That's really rough," said Sam, her tone kind. "I don't even know what else to say except…that sucks."

Danny sighed, slumping over with his elbows on the table. "I didn't even know how to tell my mom I failed. I just didn't want to see that frustrated look on her face again, like when I failed the written driving test not just once but twice."

"How did she take it?" asked Tucker.

"She wasn't happy," Danny grumbled. "She says she's gonna have to make me practice more often."

"Well, that's okay!" said Sam. "You can practice more and try the test again later."

"Yeah, I think you can take the road test, like, three times at least," said Tucker.

"Why would I take it a second or third time?" asked Danny. "Just so I can fail again and disappoint my mom even more?"

"You're not gonna fail next time." Sam brushed his hand with her fingers. "You'll get it. I've seen you drive; you're a good driver."

"Obviously not." Danny pulled his hand away. "I actually did try my best, you know. It's not like I half-assed it."

"No one's saying you did," said Sam.

"And that's what my best got me," said Danny. "Failure. I honestly don't even see the point in trying again."

"Danny, lots of people fail the road test their first time," said Sam. "But they take it again and pass later. It's common, it's normal."

"But I don't even need to drive," said Danny. "I can fly wherever I want."

Tucker laughed. "You gonna tell your mom that?"

Danny groaned and shielded his eyes with one hand. "I don't know what I'm gonna tell her. I just can't take that test again. I'm so sick of failing everything I try."

"You know, maybe it's a good thing you have therapy today," said Sam.

Danny uncovered his eyes and shot her a warning look.

"Look, I'm sorry," said Sam. "But if Tucker and I can't convince you that failing your driving test isn't the end of the world, then maybe your therapist can."

Danny sighed. "I know, you're right. These are thinking errors. I know they are and yet I can't stop doing them."

"You've mentioned that term a few times, thinking errors," said Tucker. "I'm still not really sure I get it."

"They're just ways of thinking about the world that aren't actually true," said Danny. "But when you convince yourself that they are true, that's when it's a thinking error."

"Like thinking you'll never pass your road test just because you failed once?" asked Sam with a knowing smile.

"Yeah, all right, I get it," said Danny. "I probably will end up talking about that with him today. Especially since he does like to talk about real examples from my life." He rolled his eyes. "And when I refuse to give him a real example from my life, he just tries to talk about an example related to ghosts instead. Or one ghost in particular: me."

"You, as in Danny Phantom?" asked Tucker, raising a brow.

"He doesn't know that's you, does he?" asked Sam, sounding worried.

"Wait, or did you tell him?" asked Tucker.

Danny hesitated before answering, remembering Brandan's very odd compliment to him during their last session.

The things you are willing to do for others are nothing short of extraordinary.

Danny's skin prickled. But Brandan never explained what that meant, and he wasn't supposed to jump to conclusions. There was no evidence that Brandan was referring to his vigilantism.

"I don't think he knows it's me," said Danny. "I think he's just seen that I get annoyed when he brings up ghosts or Phantom, so he does it to try to convince me to cooperate with his mind games." Danny scowled. "And it usually works. God, I can't stand that guy."

"That just makes me want to meet him even more," said Tucker with a wide grin.

"I know, I just have to see this guy that can get such a rise out of Danny for myself," said Sam.

"Okay, sure, you want me to ask him if he's accepting new patients?" asked Danny, narrowing his eyes.

"Aw, dude," said Tucker with a pout.

"And I said I'm willing to get my parents to sign me up for therapy, too," said Sam. "That offer's still on the table. Although I don't think they'd let me see the same therapist as you."

"No, it's fine. You don't have to do that," said Danny. "I don't need my best friends suffering through therapy with me so I can feel better about it." He sat up straighter. "I only have to do this three more times anyway."

"Really? Just three more times?" said Tucker. "That went fast."

"Only because you haven't been the one going," Danny muttered.

"Here's to three more times." Sam raised her glass of plant-based milk. "You've got this, Danny."

"I just wish my mom would let me quit therapy now," said Danny, resting his elbow on the table and pressing his face into his hand. "Because nothing's changing. I'm not getting any better."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Sam.

"Well. Do I seem any different to you two?"

Sam and Tucker exchanged glances, shrugging.

"I'm still having all these thinking errors, these cognitive distortions," said Danny, more to himself as he looked down at the table. "And I just don't see how that could possibly change in just three more sessions." He paused. "Or ever, really. If nothing's changed in over a month, why would it ever change?"

Silence. Danny looked up to find Sam and Tucker frowning at him.

"What?" asked Danny.

"Nothing," said Tucker, rubbing the back of his neck.

"We just…don't know what to say to cheer you up," said Sam.

Guilt stabbed through Danny's chest. He made his friends put up with so much for him. And yet between risking their lives to fight ghosts and listening to him vent his frustrations, they continued to stick right by his side, never even hinting that they wanted to quit or leave him to do it all alone.

"Sorry, guys. I know I haven't been much fun lately, but I'll be better tomorrow. I promise." Danny smiled as genuinely as he could. "Tuesday's definitely my new favorite day of the week."

"Hey, it's all right," said Tucker, picking up one of Danny's fries. "I like getting to eat pretty much all of your lunch every Monday now."

"And things will get better, Danny," said Sam. "You'll see."

Danny nodded but didn't actually believe her.

After the final class of the day, Danny walked to the parent pickup area and sighed when he saw his mom sitting in the passenger seat of her car. She rolled down the window as he approached.

"I have to drive?" asked Danny, his tone sinking with his heart.

"Yes, of course," said Maddie. "You obviously need a lot more practice."

Danny held in a scowl. He obviously needed it—did she really have to say it that way?

"You didn't forget your permit today, right?" asked Maddie.

"I have it," said Danny irritably.

"Then get in, let's get going."

Danny lingered a moment longer before walking around to the other side of the car. Arguing with his mother was always useless, and he really didn't want to give her any more reason to be cross with him.

The drive to the joint pizza restaurant and therapy office building was easy, uneventful. Danny kept his hands in proper position on the steering wheel at all times, drove right at the speed limit, stepped on the pedals evenly and slowly for smooth braking and accelerating, watched for all possible obstacles, made all the right defensive decisions.

And he stayed quiet the whole time. No conversation at all, only focus.

Danny pulled into a parking space in front of the pizza restaurant near the stairs leading up to the second floor where the therapy offices were located. He put the car in park and took his foot off the pedal at last, dropping his hands off the steering wheel, his muscles relaxing. He hadn't even realized how much he had tensed during the drive.

"That was good, Danny. See, you can do it when you really concentrate," said Maddie, smiling at him. "Now why couldn't you drive like that for the test on Saturday?"

Danny looked down at his hands in his lap. "I don't know," he mumbled.

"Well, hopefully with more practice, you'll feel confident enough to drive this well next time you take the test." Maddie held out her hand. "Let me have your phone, please."

Danny pulled his phone out of his pocket and gave it to her without a word. She put it in her purse and zipped it up.

"I have some errands to run," said Maddie, "so you'll need to go up and check yourself in. But I'll be back in an hour to pick you up."

"Okay," said Danny quietly, not looking at her.

"Are you doing okay, Danny?" Maddie reached toward him and stroked the hair behind his ear.

Danny mustered a half smile. "Well. Even if I'm not, at least I'm about to go get some therapy, right?"

Maddie frowned. "Oh, Danny."

"What?" Danny chuckled. "That's why you're having me see someone, isn't it?"

"But you know that you can still talk to me too, right?"

Her thumb brushed his forehead, then she cupped his face with her hand. Danny stayed still a moment before covering her hand with his.

"Of course I know that," he said with his most sincere smile.

Maddie's thumb caressed him a couple more times before she also smiled and pulled her hand back. "Okay. Go on up. I'll be back later."

They both unbuckled their seat belts and got out of the car. Maddie crossed over to the driver's side while Danny headed toward the stairs leading up to the therapy offices.

But he stopped dead when he saw the car parked on the other side of his mother's car. A sleek black Mustang with red tire rims.

Dash's car.

He had seen it in the student parking lot so many times now, had watched Dash sneering at him from behind its wheel as he drove by.

Of course Dash's parents would get him a freaking Mustang.

And it was right here.

Which meant—

Danny ducked and got out of the way of the pizza restaurant's window, not daring to look through it in case Dash was right there. Shit. He had forgotten all about Dash possibly coming to pay him a visit at his "new job" after he successfully convinced his mom to let him skip therapy the previous week.

He needed to text Sam and Tucker, tell them to get over here right now to distract Dash or somehow convince him to leave.

But his mom had his phone. And she was already pulling out of the parking lot.

And even if he were able to ask for his phone back, what would he tell her? That he lied to her when he said Dash had stopped bullying him? That Dash was actually here right now looking to torment him and he needed to ask Sam and Tucker to stop him?

Dash would possibly get kicked off the football team if Maddie reported his bullying to the principal again. And Danny knew Dash would definitely take that out on him.

But even worse than that, he'd never hear the end of it if Dash found out his mom was making him talk to a therapist every week.

Danny stayed still, watching the door to the pizza restaurant. But no one came out.

If Dash was inside, then he must not have seen Danny.

Danny turned and darted up the stairs toward the therapy offices. He could only hope that Dash would give up trying to find him and leave before the hour was over.

Chapter Text

After checking himself in with the receptionist, Danny took a seat in the waiting area and tried to calm his shaking nerves. He placed his hands on his knees in an attempt to keep them still.

But Dash wasn't here. Dash hadn't seen him come up here. Because if he had, he definitely would've followed Danny up and appeared already to give him a hard time.

He didn't need to worry right now. He was safe for at least another hour. And hopefully Dash would be gone by the time he went outside again.

But he couldn't stop glancing at the door, panicking, expecting Dash to barge in and look right at him with that familiar sneer.

For once, he couldn't wait for Brandan to come and get him.

"Danny!" Brandan greeted him, strolling into the waiting area. "It's been a while. I missed seeing you last week."

Danny raised a brow. "You did?"

"Of course! I like talking to you."

Danny didn't believe it. Surely Brandan just said that to all his clients, just a technique to build rapport or something.

Disqualifying the positive. He knew he was doing it but that didn't make it any easier to believe Brandan's words.

"Is your mom not here today?" asked Brandan, looking around the room.

"No," said Danny. "She's running errands. She'll pick me up later when we're done." He glanced back at the door again to check for Dash, not even realizing he was doing it.

"Are you waiting for someone else?" asked Brandan, also looking at the door.

Danny snapped his attention back to Brandan and shook his head. "No. No one."

He started heading toward the hall. Brandan seemed to take the hint and moved in front of him, leading the way to his office. Once there, he held the door open for Danny. Danny walked past him with a mumbled "thank you" and took a seat on the familiar couch. Brandan sat across from him in his office chair, like usual.

"So your mother told me last week that you weren't coming in to see me because you were filling in for your school's mascot at a game," said Brandan. "That sounds fun. Was it?"

Danny thought back to the previous Monday when he was practicing the cheer routine with all the pretty cheerleaders who he wanted to believe were flirting with him. But there was no way that could be true, they all thought he was a dweeb.

Jumping to conclusions. Fine, all right, none of them actually said that, and they were truthfully pretty nice to him. But he couldn't conclude they were flirting either, they were just…nice. That was all.

"It was okay," said Danny.

"Is that something you normally do?" asked Brandan. "Fill in for the mascot?"

"No. I was asked to do it. The normal guy who wears the costume broke his ankle." Danny folded his arms and looked down at his lap. "I actually hate wearing that costume. It reeks, and I get so sweaty."

"Then why did you do it?"

Danny looked up at Brandan, furrowing his brow.

"If you hate wearing the costume so much, why did you agree to wear it?" asked Brandan.

"Because…I was asked to."

"That's the only reason?"

"What are you trying to get me to say?"

Brandan paused before speaking. "Would you have agreed to do it if it hadn't been on a Monday?"

Danny huffed. "Are you asking if I agreed to do it to get out of going to therapy?"

"Thanks for not jumping to that conclusion and asking for clarification instead," said Brandan with a nod. "Yes, that is my implied question there."

"And why do you think I would do that?"

"Well, as I recall from our last session two weeks ago, you tried to get detention so you could skip therapy but were unsuccessful. So did you try some new way to skip and your mother accepted it?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Look, the prettiest girl in the whole school asked me to do her a favor, and I said yes. That's it. But fine, if you really want to know, I was happy to have a valid excuse to skip therapy. And my mom's been wanting me to socialize more and do more extracurricular activities, so she couldn't really say no."

"So you still don't like speaking with me?" asked Brandan. "You still think therapy isn't helping you? That it's a waste of time?"

"Well, do you think it's helping me?" Danny gestured to himself. "I mean, I don't feel any better."

Brandan smiled. "Do you remember the thinking errors we discussed in our last session?"

Danny chewed the inside of his cheek. "Filtering. And emotional reasoning."

"Great memory," said Brandan. "And do you also remember what emotional reasoning is?"

Danny hesitated, already knowing exactly where this was headed. "Believing something to be real just because you feel a certain way."

"Or if you don't feel a certain way," said Brandan. "So when you say you don't 'feel' any better, do you think that means you definitely aren't doing better?"

Danny tried to come up with evidence beyond his feelings, desperately searching his memories. He finally groaned, leaning forward and covering his face with one hand. "I don't know."

"Well, from what I'm seeing," said Brandan, "you are certainly doing better."

Danny looked up.

"You're more aware of your cognitive distortions than before," continued Brandan. "And you're more receptive to what I have to say. You're opening up to me a lot more now, willing to share more of what you're really feeling." Brandan smiled. "Even if that sometimes means you yell at me."

Danny narrowed his eyes and pouted.

"See? That's what I'm talking about," said Brandan, gesturing in Danny's direction with an open hand. "You were so closed off to me in the beginning, but now you're more willing to show me exactly how you're really feeling when you're here."

"I don't see how that proves I'm doing any better."

"Perhaps you're not feeling happier or more confident just yet, but you've already taken so many important steps that will eventually get you there."

Danny shrugged. "If you say so."

"Therapy's never a quick fix for anyone, but I promise you're doing great," said Brandan. "And I've been telling your mom the same in my weekly reports."

Danny sat up a little straighter. "Wait, you've been telling my mom that I've been doing good?"

"Yes. Of course. Because it's the truth."

"Have you told her that…that you think therapy's been helping me?"

"Yes." Brandan tilted his head. "Is that a problem?"

Danny thought about the deal he made with his mom, that if after eight sessions he felt that it really wasn't helping him, he could quit.

But if Brandan was telling her that he thought therapy was helping Danny, would she still honor their deal and let him quit? Or would she insist that he had to continue anyway?

"Danny? Everything okay?"

Danny blinked and looked up. "Yes. Fine."

Brandan frowned. "Are you telling me the truth?"

Danny flinched, shaking his head a little. "Sorry. I just don't want to answer that," he said quietly.

Brandan nodded. "All right. Thanks for letting me know."

Danny couldn't stop himself from quickly rolling his eyes. God, why did this guy always have to be so polite?

"So is there anything you do want to talk about right now, Danny?" asked Brandan.

Danny shrugged.

"Nothing, huh?" Brandan smiled. "Then maybe you can tell me about this girl who asked you to wear the mascot costume."

Danny quirked a brow. "What about her?"

"You admitted that you agreed to wear the costume to get out of therapy," said Brandan. "But you also said that this girl who asked you was 'the prettiest girl in school.' So were you also hoping to impress her?"

Danny scowled, then sighed. "Maybe," he mumbled.

"Just maybe?" asked Brandan playfully.

Danny groaned and let his head flop back on the couch. "It doesn't matter anyway. She's way out of my league."

"What makes you say that?"

Danny huffed, raising his arms and then letting them fall back down on the couch. "Because it's Paulina, she just—is. She's beautiful, she's popular, she's a cheerleader—I mean, a guy like me doesn't have a chance with her."

"And what exactly is 'a guy like you'?"

"You're not seriously asking that, are you?" Danny sat up straighter and looked at Brandan. "I mean, you were in high school once, weren't you?"

"Sure," said Brandan. "I went to my ten-year reunion just last year."

"Then you should know that cheerleaders are only interested in jocks or really tall guys with muscle," said Danny. "I'm just some scrawny geek who doesn't play any sports way at the bottom of the social ladder."

"You're making a pretty big generalization about cheerleaders there," said Brandan. "Paulina is her own person, an individual. She has her own taste in what she finds attractive. How can you be so positive that you're not someone she'd be interested in?"

"Because we've gone out a couple times before."

Brandan raised a brow, smirking. "You've gone out a couple times? Like on dates? More than once? And you're still trying to tell me she could never be interested in you?"

"It's not what you're thinking," said Danny. "The first time, she was just using me to get back at Sam for calling her shallow."

"Paulina told you that?"

"Well, no, of course not."

"Then how do you know that?"

Danny thought back to that night when he picked up Paulina for the school dance, the whole fiasco with the ghostly amulet that turned the wearer into a dragon. "It's really complicated, but Sam later told me that Paulina told her the truth about it. And Sam wouldn't lie to me about something like that."

"But then Paulina went out with you again," said Brandan. "So did she change her mind about you?"

"No." Danny groaned. "The second time, she… She wasn't herself."

"What does that mean?"

Danny recalled the very first kiss he almost had with Paulina, right before he found out she was being overshadowed by a ghost girl using him once again to get revenge. Because apparently girls only ever wanted to use him.

"It's a long story, really hard to explain." Danny lowered his eyes. "But she was never actually interested in me either time. And she never will be, so I don't really know why I agreed to fill in for the mascot. It's not like I could ever change her mind about me."

His head fell back as he looked up at the ceiling.

"I don't even bother asking girls out anymore," he muttered. "I'm just tired of being rejected."

"Have you been rejected a lot?"

"Well. There was another girl I was really into. Valerie. We also went out on a couple dates." Danny sighed. "But then she called it off, said she just wanted us to be friends. And that was it."

Danny looked out the window. Why were all of these memories still so painful? Would he ever get over this heartache?

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Brandan gently. "I know how hard that can be."

Danny continued looking out the window, at all the cars passing by on the busy street.

"You say that you don't ask girls out anymore because you're tired of being rejected," said Brandan. "So do you think that because a couple girls in the past rejected you, every girl in the future will also reject you?"

Danny shrugged. "It seems that way."

"That's perfect."

Danny turned away from the window and frowned at Brandan.

"That leads right in to your next most common thinking error." Brandan grabbed Danny's tally sheet from off his desk. "You can probably guess what it is, right?"

Danny didn't have to think long. "Overgeneralization?"

"That's right." Brandan held up the tally sheet and pointed to a row of marks. "Do you want to summarize it for us right now?"

"I actually don't," said Danny, his tone dull.

"Well. Then I guess I'll do the honors. As I usually do." Brandan set the tally sheet in his lap. "Overgeneralization refers to when you take one negative thing that happens and make predictions about the future based on it. As an example, if you try out for a sports team but don't get picked, you then believe that you will never be good enough to be picked and never try out again. Or if you fail a test you studied for, you might assume that studying is a waste of time because you'll just fail again. Essentially, you view something as a pattern that's going to keep happening forever even if it's only ever happened to you once or twice."

Danny nodded.

"So what's our first step here to combat this particular thinking error?" asked Brandan.

Danny slouched, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Identify it," he muttered.

"That's right," said Brandan, sounding pleased. "And we already have a personal example of yours to work with. Or do you have another example you'd like us to discuss instead?"

"I don't really want to talk about any of my personal examples."

"Well, we certainly don't have to talk about your own examples." Brandan tapped his chin with one finger. "I'm sure I could come up with something about Danny Phantom."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Again with Danny Phantom. You're as obsessed with him as my mom is."

"Does her obsession with him bother you, Danny?"

Danny scowled. "The example where I overgeneralize my experience with girls is fine."

"Thanks," said Brandan. "It really is perfect."

Danny shrugged.

"So we've done the first step," said Brandan. "We've identified the thinking error as overgeneralization. Because you've experienced a couple rejections, you perceive that as a pattern that will continue for every girl you meet rather than just two isolated incidents. So now, what's step two?"

"Examine the evidence," said Danny automatically.

"Right," said Brandan. "We need to take a look at the evidence that this rejection will be a pattern that continues into the future. So what's the first piece of evidence?"

Danny pursed his lips. "I mean, don't you already know? We literally just talked about it."

"Yes, but I'm trying to get you to do more of the work this time," said Brandan. "Will you do this for me, please?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice, Danny. But I hope that you would choose to try to get better at reframing your thinking errors."

Brandan smiled at him, so politely. Almost infuriating.

"Fine," said Danny. "First piece of evidence is Paulina rejecting me not just once but twice."

"Hmm." Brandan nodded. "Next piece of evidence?"

Danny furrowed his brow. "You don't want to talk through this one first?"

"We'll save that for step three; let's just gather all the evidence first."

"Okay." Danny looked up for a moment, thinking. "Valerie seemed really into me for a while. Like I was all set to ask her to go steady with me. And then she just…calls it off, says she just wants us to be friends." He paused. "But even that never really happened. We don't talk or hang out anymore. I don't even get texts from her anymore."

"Have you tried texting her?"

"I used to. But she started giving really clipped responses, and then she just kind of…stopped replying at all."

Danny clutched at the front of his shirt, trying to somehow ease the ache in his chest. This was so dumb, he and Valerie never even kissed. He shouldn't be feeling this way about her.

Should statement.

HEY knock it off, wrong thinking error right now.

"And that's it, right?" asked Brandan. "That's all the evidence you have for this thinking error?"

He sounded almost dismissive, like the examples Danny gave really were just so insufficient.

And he couldn't let Brandan win that easily.

"Actually, no," said Danny, straightening up. "There's more evidence."

Brandan raised a brow. "Really?"

"Yeah," said Danny. "I was asked to judge this beauty pageant at our school once, and that entire week, all the girls were fighting for my attention, giving me gifts, going on dates with me. At least half of them made out with me, some even let me get to first base."

"Sounds like a fun week," said Brandan, smiling.

"Yeah. It was." Danny paused. "And then after the pageant was over, they just…went back to pretending I didn't exist." He looked down at his lap, turning his hands over. "They were all just trying to win me over, hoping I'd choose them as the winner. And once it was done and I no longer had anything to offer them, they just…rejected me."

He suddenly had no idea why he thought he should admit all of this. Why did he think this would somehow make him the winner here? Why did he want to prove to Brandan that he wasn't actually overgeneralizing anything and this, for once, was real?

God, he wished it wasn't real.

"That's tough," said Brandan. "I'd have a really hard time not overgeneralizing that experience either."

"So you still think I'm overgeneralizing?" asked Danny. "Even with the multiple examples I just gave you?"

Brandan folded his arms and exhaled through his nose. He stayed quiet for a few beats before speaking again. "It's harder to accept that a conclusion is an overgeneralization when it's happened more than once. More than a couple times, even. But that doesn't mean it's definitely going to happen every time you form a connection with a girl. It doesn't prove there's a pattern that's going to keep happening no matter what you do."

"How many times does it have to happen before you'd consider it a pattern?" asked Danny, not intending to be rude.

Brandan stared at Danny a moment before smiling softly. "I don't think there's any magic number of times something can happen before you can definitely say it's a pattern."

Danny threw up his hands and let them fall on the sofa with a thud. "If it's not a pattern, then why does it keep happening to me?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"Well, that's the next step," said Brandan. "Talk through each example, examine the context for each, see if there's something that can explain why they happened the way they did that doesn't have to do with something you did." He smiled. "I have a hunch that all of your examples had some very unusual circumstances that were out of your control."

Danny raised a brow. "What makes you say that?"

"Because after talking to you a few times now, I otherwise can't imagine why you'd be unable to keep a girl's interest."

Danny lowered his gaze. "You still don't know me that well."

"Maybe. But I also know you better than you think I do."

Danny looked up again, no idea how to respond.

"So walk me through each example," said Brandan. "The first time Paulina rejected you, what were the circumstances?"

"Sam called her shallow," said Danny. "Paulina didn't like that, so she thought Sam maybe had feelings for me and decided to go to the school dance with me as revenge, thinking she was stealing me from Sam. And then when she found out later that Sam actually didn't have any feelings like that for me, she decided to dump me." He paused. "Or at least, that's what Sam told me that Paulina told her."

"I see," said Brandan. "So if that is true, it sounds like it was never really about you. Paulina wasn't rejecting you, she was never actually serious about being with you in the first place."

Danny pouted. "That doesn't exactly make me feel better."

"Sorry." Brandan chuckled. "I just mean that it's nothing you did, you were just caught in the middle of petty teenage girl drama. You didn't deserve what happened, what she did to you."

Danny thought back to that moment when he asked Paulina to the school dance, the ghostly amulet that fell out of his backpack and the way Paulina's eyes lit up when she saw it, so of course he had to give it to her. But when he later realized the amulet turned her into a dragon every time she got angry, he had to take it back.

"Maybe I did deserve it," he murmured.

"Why would you say that?" asked Brandan.

"Well, I gave her this…necklace she really liked," said Danny. "I guess I was trying to bribe her to get her to go to the school dance with me. But then I found out that it—uh—actually belonged to someone else, so I had to ask for it back." He rubbed his neck. "She didn't really like that, especially when I told her it belonged to another girl." He paused. "I told her it belonged to Sam, actually. And it made her pretty mad."

"Hmm. So it's possible she already felt rejected by you first," said Brandan.

"That also doesn't make me feel any better."

"Heartbreak is hard to deal with." Brandan smiled, but he looked somewhat sad. "Believe me, I know."

Danny tilted his head, wondering what heartbreak of his own Brandan might've been recalling.

"But bottom line, it sounds like your first relationship with Paulina wasn't built on anything real to begin with," said Brandan. "You had no control over what she did because her reason for going out with you wasn't about you at all. Even if she was hurt when you asked for the necklace back, it was perhaps more a blow to her ego and not because she actually wanted you to like her."

"Yeah," said Danny in a low voice. "She was just using me."

"Which wasn't your fault, Danny."

Danny looked down at his lap and dragged his nails over his jeans.

"So what about the second time Paulina rejected you?" Brandan shifted in his chair. "Talk me through what happened there."

Danny looked off to the side, wondering how he could possibly explain how Kitty overshadowed Paulina in order to trick him into dating her.

"She was forced to go out with me," said Danny. "I mean, she didn't actually want to go out with me at all, but another girl made her do it so she could make her own boyfriend jealous. And then as soon as that other girl left her alone, Paulina was able to call it off." Danny looked over at Brandan again. "So we were both being used."

Brandan's brows pinched. "How was forcing Paulina to date you supposed to make the other girl's boyfriend jealous?"

"Uh, well, I guess somehow it made sense to her," said Danny, his mouth feeling dry.

"It's a rather interesting story," said Brandan. "Definitely not what I was expecting. Do you often get involved in strange drama like this?"

Danny smiled, sheepishly, awkwardly. "Yeah, I kind of do. Just, uh…for reasons I can't really tell you."

"But it sounds like this was once again something out of your control," said Brandan. "Once again, Paulina's reason for being with you wasn't about you. You were just caught in the middle of someone else's feud."

"Yeah," said Danny. "I guess so."

"So there's no ongoing pattern here so far," said Brandan. "Just highly unusual circumstances each time. At most, you could say there's a pattern when you try to date Paulina, but it's not a pattern you can apply to all girls."

"But she's not the only one who's rejected me."

"Right. Yes. So tell me what happened with Valerie."

Danny sighed and flipped through the memories in his head, trying to find the right words. "Valerie had gone through a lot before we started dating," he said quietly. "Her dad lost his job, and… Well, it was kind of my fault." He paused. "But she doesn't know that."

"Was it actually your fault, or are you personalizing something again, Danny?" asked Brandan.

Danny recalled that day at Axion Labs when he was chasing Cujo the ghost dog through the facility, breaking through the high-tech security system Valerie's father had developed and destroying thousands of dollars' worth of equipment.

"I, uh, broke some things where her dad worked," said Danny. "Some very expensive things, and his boss fired him because of it." He rubbed his upper arm. "But no one knows it was me who did it."

"Is this more of that drama that seems to follow you around?" asked Brandan with a smile.

"You could definitely say that," said Danny, also smiling. "But anyway, Valerie and her dad had to move out of their house into a small apartment, and Valerie took on some part-time jobs to help her dad out."

He still remembered that first time he saw her in her new ghost-hunting suit, the way she so viciously pursued and attacked him as Phantom, screaming at him.

"Her dad eventually got his job back, but Valerie was never the same person as before," said Danny. "We went out a couple times, but then she suddenly called it off right when I was thinking things were getting serious between us."

She hated Phantom, but when he was just Danny, he could never forget the way she smiled at him, how she listened to anything and everything he had to say and even laughed at his corniest jokes, like she really found him interesting and just enjoyed being with him.

"She said her life was too complicated for us to be anything other than friends," said Danny, lowering his gaze. "But then she never really talked to me again after that."

"You really have had a rough time with girls, haven't you?" said Brandan, sounding sympathetic.

Danny shrugged and kept his eyes down.

"But once again, this sounds like something out of your control," Brandan continued. "Let me ask: Is she dating anyone right now? To your knowledge, has she ever dated anyone else after you?"

Danny sucked the inside of his cheek as he tried to remember if he had ever seen Valerie showing affection to another person in the Casper High halls or anywhere else around town. But no, she was almost always alone when he saw her.

"I don't think so," said Danny. "I think she's stayed single this whole time."

"Then it sounds like her decision to call off the relationship had nothing to do with you," said Brandan. "She might've done the same with any other guy. It was about her and making a choice for herself. It probably wasn't because she just didn't like being with you."

Danny groaned and pressed his palm to his forehead. "I just really liked her."

"I can tell," said Brandan. "But I hope you can see how you can't overgeneralize based on this example either."

Danny sighed and lowered his hand. "I just wish I could take back what I did. If we could've gotten to know each other before her dad lost his job, before her life became so 'complicated,' maybe things could've worked out."

"Things are what they are, Danny," said Brandan. "You can't know for sure how things might've worked out if the circumstances were different. Imagining an alternate past isn't going to help you."

Danny lay his head back against the sofa. "I know, I know," he muttered.

"So what about your last example? The girls in the beauty pageant you judged," said Brandan. "Walk me through that."

Danny's eyelids fluttered briefly with the memory, how Dora the dragon ghost princess disguised herself as the host for a beauty pageant at Casper High, how she picked Danny to be the judge, how it was all a ruse to find a bride for her brother in his isolated Ghost Zone kingdom. Danny had been so caught up in all the attention the contestants were giving him that he couldn't even see what was really going on.

"It's another case where they were all using me, I guess," murmured Danny. "But the thing is, I knew they were using me. And I actually liked it. I encouraged it, even. I took advantage of how badly they wanted to win." He paused. "It's just, I had never been popular with girls before. But I guess I was just using them, too. They baked me cookies, they did my homework, they wanted to be with me." He blushed. "And as I said before, many of them actually made out with me. Like it was nice to have girls hanging on me instead of ignoring me."

"I can certainly understand that," said Brandan.

"Yeah." Danny looked down at his lap for a moment, twisting one of his fingers. "So I just kept letting them use me like that, but when the time came for me to pick a winner, I… Well, I didn't choose any of them." He smirked to himself, rolling his eyes as he recalled that whole fiasco. "I actually ended up choosing Sam as the winner."

"Sam? Really?" Brandan smiled. "How did the other girls take that, choosing your own friend to be the winner?"

"They weren't happy." Danny laughed, but it felt hollow. "And honestly, what did I expect, right? Of course none of them would want anything to do with me after that."

He held his elbows and looked off to the side.

"Maybe if I had picked one of them to be the winner, maybe that girl would've still liked me," he said.

"That whole situation was just setting you up for heartbreak, Danny," said Brandan. "There was no coming out on top in the end because you could only choose one girl to be the winner, meaning the other girls were going to be upset no matter what. And the one girl you might've chosen other than Sam, there's no way to know how she might've treated you after winning."

Danny sighed. "You're right."

Brandan smiled, straightening in his seat. "Really? You actually think I'm right for once?"

Danny shot him a quick glare before sighing again. "I can just see now that…that all those situations, those rejections, they were…unusual. And I know I can't just avoid girls because I'm too afraid of getting rejected again." He paused. "Because then I'll never find anyone."

"Exactly," said Brandan. "And honestly, I wish I could tell you that there was some magic way to avoid heartbreak, but there really isn't. Because you can't control what other people do." He rubbed his upper arm, his hand moving under the short sleeve of his polo shirt. "But not giving love a chance because you're afraid of getting hurt again—I mean, it's just no way to live."

"Have you ever had your heart broken?" asked Danny, trying to discern Brandan's body language and the clouded look in his eyes.

Brandan stopped rubbing his arm and clasped his hands in his lap. "Oh, yes. I daresay that's a universal human experience, and I have many clients who make that exact same overgeneralization and swear off love and relationships altogether. But overgeneralizing something like that just means you end up alone. And I don't think that's what you want, is it?"

"No," said Danny, shaking his head. "But what happened to you?"

Brandan didn't respond right away. "Maybe someday I'll tell you." He swiveled in his chair and leaned forward. "But for now, this is your hour, not mine."

Danny nodded his understanding and looked out the window, thinking for a moment. "I know I have a problem with overgeneralizing," he said quietly. "I do it with a lot of experiences I have."

He often had trouble motivating himself to study because he always seemed to fail any test he did try to study for. Why bother doing all that work just to get the same low score?

And ghosts, he always assumed every new ghost he encountered was set on hurting or using people in his town, selfish and obsessed entities that just wanted to destroy or take over the human dimension. But that wasn't always true, many ghosts were harmless, even altruistic, simply wanting to exist in peace. And yet he was still on his guard and sometimes punched first before asking questions.

And driving…

"Like whenever I drive, I'm always thinking back to the first time my mom took me driving and it was a complete disaster," said Danny. "I did everything wrong and she yelled at me."

She hit him too, but Danny opted to leave out that detail.

"So now every time she makes me drive, I panic and try to get out of it," continued Danny. "Because I don't want to do everything wrong and make her mad again. Even though actually, I usually drive just fine. It was just that first time that I really screwed up."

"Are you overgeneralizing the mistakes you make when driving?" asked Brandan. "Or how your mom might react?"

"Both, I guess," said Danny. "Because it happened when I took my driving test too, like I panicked because I was worried about doing everything wrong like I always do."

"You took your driving test?" Brandan grinned. "How did it go?"

Danny groaned. "I failed. Of course I did."

"Now why would you say that?"

"Because I always—" Danny stopped himself and rolled his eyes. "Okay, yeah, I can see I'm overgeneralizing again. But the very first thing I did was pull out of the parking spot and hit the car that was next to me, so from there I just felt like…what was the point, you know? I already failed with just that mistake alone; there was no way the examiner was going to give me a pass even if I did everything else right."

"Hmm. You think so, huh?" asked Brandan, smiling and folding his arms.

"And it's not like I tried to do everything else wrong, but I did," said Danny. "I ran a red light, I didn't stop at a crosswalk, I couldn't even parallel park."

Danny slumped on the couch, his arms falling limply next to his thighs as he gazed up at the ceiling. He hadn't expected to tell Brandan any of this, but venting felt so good that he couldn't stop once he started.

"I don't see the point in trying to get my license ever again," he muttered. "I just feel like there's no possible way for me to ever pass." He paused. "But I know that's overgeneralizing. I know I can't just never try again just because I failed so horrifically the first time."

"You're right," said Brandan. "You can't let that one bad experience hold you back like that."

"But if my mom didn't force me to take it again, I'm honestly not sure if I would." Danny sat up straight again and sighed. "That's usually what happens: Someone makes me do something that I'm afraid of screwing up again, and…sometimes, it eventually works out."

"I'm glad you have people who can push you to do things even when you're feeling held back by an overgeneralization," said Brandan. "And I hope eventually that you can start pushing yourself to do those things by reframing your bad experiences and not seeing them as a pattern you're doomed to repeat over and over."

Danny nodded, not looking at Brandan. He really hoped so, too. It wasn't like he enjoyed having so little confidence in himself.

"I think we've said enough about this thinking error for now," said Brandan, checking the time. "Would it be all right if we moved on to a new one?"

"Okay," said Danny, also looking at the clock.

"Wanna guess what it is?"

"I don't even remember which ones we haven't discussed yet."

Brandan laughed. "Yeah, we've gone over quite a few now." He picked up the tally sheet. "Next is catastrophizing. Remember that one?"

"Yeah," said Danny. "That's when you think the world's gonna end just because one little thing goes wrong."

"Right, making a mountain out of a molehill kind of deal," said Brandan. "Getting into more detail, it's when you look at a negative event or happening and imagine it to be a much bigger deal than it is. A hypochondriac may get a headache and believe that it's a symptom of a brain tumor, even if it is highly improbable. Or someone who makes a small mistake at work becomes convinced they're going to be fired over it. Or a religious person may interpret a particular natural disaster as the beginning of the end of the world, like you said. Basically, it's when you get unnecessarily worked up about the worst case scenario instead of recognizing that it's probably not going to get as bad as what you're imagining."

Danny nodded in understanding.

"And it doesn't have to be a negative event," continued Brandan. "It can be a character flaw, too. Not just something that happens but something about you. For example, someone who feels awkward and nervous around people might catastrophize that to mean that they're incapable of making friends. Or someone who has trouble focusing on schoolwork might catastrophize that to mean they're going to fail the whole class." Brandan paused. "Or someone who struggles to get straight A's like his sister might catastrophize that to mean he'll never amount to anything, that his parents will forever view him as an embarrassment and disappointment."

Danny looked at Brandan, his heart racing. Brandan smiled pleasantly.

"Do you ever feel that way, Danny?" he asked.

Memories flashed through Danny's head, all the times his parents raved about yet another A that Jazz got on her latest test while Danny stood right next to her, afraid to announce that he got a D on his own test.

"I can't remember a time when I didn't feel that way," murmured Danny.

His teachers, too. Lancer never even looked surprised when he handed Danny his latest graded essay with a large C or D drawn at the top in red.

"Every new semester, I think 'this is it, I can do it this time,'" said Danny. "I think that I can study and do all my homework on time and at least get all B's this time, maybe a few A's if I really try. But then I always get that first C or that first D, and…it's like it's all over. I feel like I can never come back from that, like I've totally ruined my grade average for the whole semester and there's no point even trying to raise it with better grades. I just give up."

Danny could feel his throat closing with emotion, his chest tightening.

"And my parents just get more and more frustrated and try grounding me or tutoring me, but it just never seems to work. And then they give up on me, too. And I end up just barely passing the class like always." He paused. "And they reward Jazz for her good grades at the end of the semester, usually with a raise in her allowance or taking us to her favorite restaurant. And I always get nothing. Because I don't deserve anything for just passing; that's not an achievement."

"Are you often so concerned with what your parents think of you?" asked Brandan.

"Yes," said Danny, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. "It seems like…so much of what I do is for them. Or sometimes what I don't do."

"What do you mean by that?"

The day he got his ghost powers, he wanted to tell his parents. He meant to tell them. But he was so afraid of what they'd say, how they'd react, what they'd do to him. He needed them more than ever in that moment and yet couldn't bring himself to make them angry. And now it was far too late to tell them what happened.

"I just mean…that I lie to them," said Danny. "All the time. They don't even know it, but I'm just so scared to tell them the truth."

"The truth about what?"

Danny hesitated. "I can't tell you that."

Brandan folded his arms but did not respond.

"But there have been so many times that I've put pressure on myself to be what they want." Danny paused. "Or to keep them together."

"Keep them together?" echoed Brandan, raising a brow.

"Yeah," said Danny. "I worry about them getting a divorce sometimes."

"Why is that something you'd be worried about?"

"Because it's almost happened before," blurted Danny. "Or, at least, I mean… I thought it almost happened. Because my dad forgets my mom's anniversary every year, and one time my mom seemed so mad about it she went out of town. And then my dad followed after her, and I remember just cleaning the whole house like crazy because I didn't want my mom to be any angrier at my dad if she came home and it was a mess."

"Danny, you really put that on yourself?" asked Brandan.

"I didn't know what else to do." Danny clutched at his shirt. "I don't know, I was freaking out. My mom actually used the word 'divorce,' and I—I was scared."

"But you know it wouldn't be your fault if they did get divorced, don't you?" asked Brandan.

"No, but it was," said Danny. "I mean, it almost was. I—I thought it was. Because my dad actually got my mom a gift and then I—I was so stupid—I lost it." Danny paused. "And I thought…that was it. That I had destroyed everything, that my dad wasn't going to be able to give my mom that gift and they'd end up getting divorced because of it."

Danny shuddered, breathing deep and trying to calm his fluttering chest.

"And I really thought it would be all my fault," he whispered.

"That definitely sounds like catastrophizing, Danny," said Brandan. "In addition to some pretty serious personalizing."

Danny bent over and covered his face with his hands, unable to respond.

"Danny?" prodded Brandan.

Danny shook his head and sat up straight again, uncovering his face but not looking at Brandan. "Sorry. This isn't the example I want to talk about right now. It's just…a little too personal. I guess."

"That's all right," said Brandan. "We don't have to talk about it. But I must admit that it does concern me, Danny. And I hope you can see how that is definitely several thinking errors at work."

Danny shrugged, still not looking at Brandan.

"If you don't want to talk about it right now, I encourage you to walk through it on your own sometime," said Brandan. "And if you change your mind and would like me to help you reframe that experience, I'll be here for you."

Danny's shoulders tensed but he did not reply.

"But we do still need to go over a personal example of catastrophizing," said Brandan. "Is that all right with you?"

Danny paused before nodding.

"Do you have a personal example in mind?"

Danny shook his head.

"Well. When you were telling me about how you failed your driving test, you mentioned that when you first started the test and hit the car next to you while pulling out of the parking spot, you were sure you already failed with that mistake alone." Brandan raised a brow. "Remember telling me that?"

"Yes," said Danny.

"You said even if you did everything else right, you didn't think there was any way the examiner would pass you."

"You remember all of that?"

"I have to have a good memory to be in this profession."

Brandan smiled pleasantly. Danny suppressed an eye roll.

"You see how that's an example of catastrophizing, right?" said Brandan. "Is it all right if we walk through it?"

"Okay," said Danny in monotone.

"That takes care of the first step, then," said Brandan. "We've identified your belief that you already completely failed the exam simply because of one mistake in the very beginning as an example of catastrophizing. You made that one mistake a much bigger deal than it probably was."

"But that wasn't the only mistake I made," said Danny. "It was the first of many."

"But don't you think it's possible that you were already so defeated and convinced that you ruined the whole test that you weren't able to focus enough to do better on the rest of the test?" asked Brandan.

"I—" Danny scoffed. "Maybe. I don't know."

"I think you do know, Danny."

Danny glared at him, not appreciating the accusation despite Brandan's kind and polite tone.

"Did you continue to try your very best after making the first mistake?" asked Brandan.

Danny sighed and leaned over slightly, pressing the knuckles of one hand against his forehead. He could still remember that very moment he pulled out of the parking spot and clipped the back of the car next to him, the dread in his stomach, the zing in his chest. And he wanted nothing more than to phase out through the roof and fly away because there was no way he could come back from that.

"No," he muttered. "I just wanted to quit right then and there. And maybe I would've if I didn't think my mom would be pissed."

"You really care how your mom feels about things, don't you?"

Danny lifted his head and stared at Brandan, blinking a couple times.

"So let's examine the evidence now," said Brandan, swiveling in his chair and switching the crossed position of his legs. "What evidence might support this catastrophizing?"

"Well," said Danny dully. "I did fail the test."

"Mmm hmm. What else?"

"And the examiner kind of sucked her teeth when it happened, like 'oh, that's not good.' And she had to get out to look at the damage before we could get back to the test."

"Okay. Anything else?"

Danny thought for a moment. "I guess that's it."

"Good, good." Brandan nodded. "So talk me through each piece of evidence, starting with how you did in fact fail the test."

"I—" Danny huffed. "What else is there to say about that? I failed."

"But did you fail based solely on that one mistake?"

Danny's chest deflated as he sank into the couch. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"No, Danny. Come on, you have to talk through this," said Brandan. "Let me make this easier for you. Do you think you're not allowed to make any mistakes when taking the driving test? Do you think they only give licenses to people who drive one hundred percent perfectly?"

Danny pressed his lips. "No. Obviously they must allow some mistakes or else no one would ever get their license."

"Exactly," said Brandan.

"But it probably depends on the mistake, right?" said Danny. "I mean, I think running a red light might be enough on its own to fail you."

"But all you did was tag the back of a car while pulling out of a parking space," said Brandan. "Would you really put that in the same category as running a red light?"

"I…" Danny shrugged. "Maybe?"

"Danny, did tagging the back of that car endanger anyone's life?"

Danny kicked at the floor with the toe of his shoe. "No," he mumbled.

"Then don't you think it's possible that you might've still passed the test if that had been the only mistake you made?"

Danny didn't answer for a beat. "I guess."

"You basically doomed yourself," said Brandan. "You truly believed you had already failed after that first mistake, and then you fulfilled that prophecy because you were so worked up about it. You even said that you didn't see the point in continuing the test after you made that mistake."

"No," said Danny. "And I don't really see the point in taking it ever again."

"So you're overgeneralizing it, too," said Brandan.

Danny sighed.

"So we've debunked that first piece of evidence," said Brandan. "Even though you did fail, it probably wasn't based solely on that first mistake."

"Yeah, I definitely made tons of other mistakes," muttered Danny.

"You'll do better next time."

Brandan smiled at him. Danny stared back but did not return the smile.

"Let's go over the next piece of evidence," said Brandan. "You said the examiner acted like your mistake was a really bad one and had to get out of the car to assess the damage. Did she actually say that the mistake was enough to fail you?"

"No," said Danny. "She didn't actually say anything at all, she just sucked her teeth and then got out of the car to look."

"And then she got back in the car?"

Danny hesitated. "Yes…"

"And why did she get back in the car?"

"Um." Danny scratched his neck. "To continue the test."

"And why was she letting you continue the test?"

Danny stared at Brandan, who simply smiled back at him.

"Because…" Danny shrugged. "I mean, it just started."

"But if you had already failed, why would she waste her own time by letting you continue?"

No answer came to Danny's head immediately, his mouth hanging open with no words to say.

"Do you think it's possible that she allowed you to continue because hitting the back of that car wasn't enough to fail you?" asked Brandan. "That she was allowing you to continue because she believed you could still pass and get your driver's license?"

"I… I don't know," mumbled Danny. "Maybe she was just letting me continue out of pity."

"Okay, maybe," said Brandan. "That could be true, I suppose. But do you agree that there is also a positive explanation for it?"

Danny thought for a moment. "I guess it's possible."

Brandan lightly clapped his hands. "Okay. Making progress here."

Danny sighed and lowered his gaze to the floor.

"What's on your mind?" asked Brandan.

"I don't want to take the test again," muttered Danny. "My mom's going to make me take it again, but I just…really don't want to."

"Are you overgeneralizing or catastrophizing right now?" asked Brandan, checking the clock. "We have some time to talk through this real quick."

Danny groaned. "I hear what you're saying, about not overgeneralizing or catastrophizing. I really do. I get it. But…" He paused. "I just really don't want to fail and disappoint my mom again. I just can't do that to her a second time."

"You say you don't want to disappoint your mom," said Brandan, "but what about you? Would you feel disappointed if you failed again?"

Danny considered the question sincerely, quietly thinking it over before responding. "I really don't need to drive. I, uh… I have another way I like to get around instead."

"What other way?" asked Brandan.

Danny's mouth twitched upward for a brief second. Flying. He really loved flying. Didn't matter if it was at night beneath the stars or during the day with the sun on his back. Soaring through the air always felt magical, spectacular.

Why would he ever want to drive when he could fly?

"Just… It's a different way." Danny cleared his throat. "So, I mean, I guess I'd maybe feel like a loser if I failed again, but I don't think I'd be disappointed about still not being able to drive on my own."

"I see," said Brandan. "So your main concern is how your mom might react and not the failure itself."

Danny drew up his tensed shoulders.

"Have you always been this concerned with what your mom thinks of you?" asked Brandan.

Danny hesitated. "I just feel like I kind of owe it to her to…try to be what she wants."

"Why do you feel you owe that to her?"

"Because…she's always looking out for me." Danny gripped his elbows. "She's done so much for me, and she's never made me do anything that she didn't truly feel was best for me. Making me get my license, I know that she's just doing it for my benefit, not hers. She thinks I need it."

"Have you told her that you don't think you need it?" asked Brandan.

Danny shook his head. "She wouldn't understand. She wouldn't believe it. It's… It's just really hard to explain."

Brandan hummed but did not try to ask for elaboration.

"And I hate wasting her time," said Danny, his voice breaking. "Or her money. Which is why I hate coming here."

"Because you think you're just wasting her money here with me," said Brandan, a statement and not a question.

Danny nodded.

"So you don't believe me when I say that I think you've been doing better since you started talking to me?" asked Brandan.

Danny sighed. "I don't know what to believe."

"Wouldn't you rather believe me than not believe me?" asked Brandan. "Don't you want it to be true? You do want to improve and feel better, don't you?"

"I do," said Danny quietly.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Danny," said Brandan. "I really wouldn't."

The silence that followed was still, somber. Danny could not find any words to respond, nothing formed in his head. Only a strange contemplative feeling he couldn't describe.

Brandan glanced at the clock. "Our time is up. I look forward to talking to you again next Monday."

Danny mustered a nod but still couldn't speak.

Maddie was not waiting out in the lobby. Outside, Danny didn't even check to see if his mother's car was waiting for him in the parking lot and started heading down the stairs, one at a time, slowly, his mind still turning over everything from his conversation with Brandan.

wouldn't you rather believe that maybe you are getting better?

He still hated therapy. He still wanted to quit once he satisfied his end of the deal with his mother.

But did that mean he actually hoped to get nothing at all out of therapy? Did he really want to be right about therapy not being able to help him?

He didn't actually want to remain so broken and miserable.

So why was he so resistant to possibly being proven wrong about the usefulness of therapy?

Danny neared the bottom of the stairs, his shoes thudding on each step. The door to the pizza restaurant just a few feet ahead of him pushed open from the inside. Danny raised his head and froze when he saw who walked out.

Dash tugged at the front of his letterman jacket, straightening the seams on his shoulders as the restaurant door swung shut behind him. He looked forward before turning his head and finally noticing Danny.

"Fenturd." Dash's eyes traveled up the stairs behind Danny, dawning with realization as he smirked. "Oh, I see. You're not working at the pizza restaurant here. You're seeing a shrink, aren't you?"

Danny couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He stared at Dash, his chest pounding, nerves tingling all over.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dash's Mustang still parked in the same spot. How could he have forgotten he saw it earlier? Why didn't he check to see if it was still there before he started heading down the stairs?

"Aw, is life just so hard for little Fenton?" asked Dash with a mock pout. "Does therapy help him cope with all the bullying and rejection from girls every single day?"

Danny sucked in a breath and forced himself to move, hopping off the stairs and heading toward the parking lot at a brisk pace.

"Hey, Fenton, where are you going?" Dash started following him. "Don't you want to tell me all about how therapy is helping you?"

"Leave me alone, Dash," said Danny without looking back.

"Aw, come on, don't be like that." Dash was still walking behind him. "I really want to know."

The front driver side door of Maddie's car opened as Danny approached, and Maddie stepped out. "What's going on here?"

Danny halted, and he could hear Dash just a couple steps behind him doing the same.

"Dash?" Maddie frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Mrs. Fenton!" Dash smiled. "You look lovely today."

"Cut the flattery and answer my question," ordered Maddie.

Dash pointed a thumb back toward the restaurant. "I was just grabbing a slice when I saw Fen—Danny here and just wanted to say hi."

"That's all, huh?" Maddie put her hands on her hips.

"Yeah, we're practically buds now," said Dash. "Right, Danny?"

Danny kept his head down and said nothing. But he could feel his mother studying him very hard.

"Get in the car, Danny," said Maddie. "And Dash, don't think for a second I won't call your parents and the school if I ever see you here bothering my son again."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mrs. Fenton," said Dash.

Danny opened the front passenger side door and caught Dash grinning at him, giving him a small wave. Danny ignored it and climbed into the car. Maddie lowered herself into the driver's seat next to him.

"Danny." Maddie's tone was concerned but firm. "Is Dash still bullying you?"

Danny shook his head. "No, Mom," he muttered.

"Danny, I need you to tell me the truth."

"Can we please just go?"

Dash was still watching them through the front windshield. Maddie put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking lot.

"What was Dash doing here?" asked Maddie. "Did he know you were going to be here?"

"Kids at school like the pizza here," said Danny. "It was just a coincidence that he saw me."

"What did he say to you?"

"Nothing."

"Danny."

"Nothing," Danny said more forcefully. "Things have been a little tense between us ever since you reported him, but he really doesn't hurt me anymore."

Maddie's lips thinned as she put on her turn signal and watched the traffic for a few silent moments. Danny shifted in his seat, his stomach fluttering. The last thing he wanted was for his mom to call the school again and get Dash in more trouble. If Dash ended up being kicked off the football team for this, Danny knew he would be blamed. Dash would maybe even get the whole football team to come after him.

And it wasn't like he was actually afraid of Dash or the other jocks. He knew that he could use his ghost powers to get away or fight them off easily. But he wanted to avoid that situation at all costs. He could not risk anyone discovering his powers.

He'd probably sooner allow Dash to beat him up. Because that was better than the Guys in White taking him away for experimentation.

Or his own mother might—

Danny shuddered, not wanting to think about what Maddie might do to him if she were to discover he was a ghost hybrid. Most of his nightmares were of him waking up in the basement lab strapped to an examination table with his mother's orange goggles leering down at him.

"It really is fine, Mom," said Danny. "Things between me and Dash are fine."

"Would you tell me the truth?" asked Maddie. "If he was still hurting you?"

Maddie kept her eyes on the road ahead. Danny glanced at her before also looking out the front window.

"Yeah," he lied. "Of course."

Maddie sighed deeply. "I hope you're more honest with your therapist than you are with me."

Danny's gaze snapped back to her, but she still wouldn't look at him. Danny held his elbows and turned his whole body away from her to look out the side window.

Have you always been this concerned with what your mom thinks of you?

Yes! Danny wanted to scream back. Because don't you know she might kill me if she discovers something about me that she doesn't like or understand?

He didn't want to keep lying. But it was the only way he could protect himself. From Dash. From ghost hunters. From her.

Especially her.

Chapter Text

Lunchtime at Casper High. Danny caught a couple students looking at him from the next table over. They quickly turned their backs on him after he shot them a glare.

"Danny, relax," said Sam. "No one is talking about you."

Danny watched as another student walked over and greeted the two students he thought had been looking at him. They both scooted over so their friend could sit between them.

Maybe they really were just watching their friend walk toward them. Maybe they really weren't looking at him at all.

Danny turned his attention back to Sam and Tucker. "You're right, I know. I'm jumping to conclusions, I'm personalizing, I'm emotionally reasoning, I'm—"

Danny groaned and buried his head in his arms folded on the table in front of his lunch tray.

"God, I'm a mess," he said, his voice muffled.

"You're not a mess," said Sam. "You're just human."

"Half human," corrected Tucker.

Sam glared at him. Tucker smiled apologetically and stabbed at his food with his fork.

"But I mean…" Danny raised his head and rubbed the back of his neck, keeping his gaze on the table. "I've been doing all this therapy and I'm still making all the same thinking errors."

He picked up a french fry from his tray, still warm and coated with salt. He brought it to his lips but then set it back down.

"I just don't know why Dash insists on making my life miserable," he muttered.

"Telling everyone you're in therapy was pretty low," agreed Sam. "Not that I'd expect any better from Dash."

"Even worse, he's been taking credit for it," said Tucker. "I've heard him bragging about how he's the reason you're seeing a therapist."

"What an ass." Sam rolled her eyes. "Only Dash could be proud of hurting someone that much."

"Honestly, I wish it were true," said Danny. "Like I wish Dash could be my biggest problem right now. I'd love to go back to when I was just worrying about when Dash might stuff me in my locker again and not if Skulker might kidnap me and skin me alive."

Tucker shuddered. "I still get sick thinking about that."

"Yeah, me too," said Danny. "Dash is just a small annoyance compared to my ghost problems."

"Especially after your mom reported him to the principal," said Tucker. "He hasn't touched you at all since then."

"But I know he hates me for it," grumbled Danny. "Even though I begged my mom not to, he hates that he can't physically hurt me anymore. Which is why he was only too happy to tell the whole school I'm in therapy. Words are all he has to hurt me right now."

Danny picked up another fry and succeeded in putting it in his mouth this time. But it tasted almost rancid on his tongue, nothing he actually wanted to swallow. He forced it down with a hard gulp.

"And now that the entire school knows, I just feel like that's all anyone's been talking about," he said with a gloomy sigh.

"They're not talking about it," said Sam. "I promise they're not."

"I know, I know, this is just emotional reasoning, but—" Danny groaned.

"Which one is that again?" asked Tucker, a bite of food in his cheek as he spoke.

"Emotional reasoning is when you believe something is true just because you feel something," said Danny, pinching and massaging his neck.

"Oh, right." Tucker swallowed. "Like if you feel afraid whenever you're in a crowded public area, you believe that to mean you really are in danger and something bad will definitely happen."

"Yeah," said Danny somewhat curtly, not wanting to engage the topic any further. He would soon be talking about thinking errors in great detail with Brandan that afternoon; he didn't need it right now.

"But I really haven't heard anyone talking about you," insisted Sam.

"Even if they're not actually talking about me, they still know I'm seeing a therapist every week." Danny flicked at the food on his tray. "And that's not much better."

"I don't know why you're so bothered about this," said Sam. "Like half the kids at this school are in therapy, too."

Danny raised a brow.

"Okay, maybe half is an exaggeration," said Sam, "but it's a lot more than you think. You're not the only teen whose parents have forced them into therapy."

"Yeah, but they're not going around telling everyone about it," said Danny. "It's still a secret for them. Seeing a therapist isn't exactly the kind of thing you brag about."

"Speaking of bragging, Dash and his football buddies are headed this way," said Tucker, using a fry to point over Danny's shoulder.

Danny tensed. "Do I have time to bolt out of here?"

"Nope," said Tucker.

"Hey, Fentonia!"

Danny groaned and wished he could crawl under the table but forced himself to sit up straight and turn toward Dash and a couple of other jocks in matching letterman jackets.

"What do you want, Dash?" snapped Sam.

"Still need your girlfriend to speak for you, Fenton?" asked Dash. "Your therapist hasn't helped you figure out how to man up?"

"What do you want, Dash?" asked Danny himself this time, though his tone was flat and uninterested.

"It's Monday," said Dash. "Monday's the day you see your shrink, isn't it?"

Danny narrowed his eyes but otherwise did not respond.

"I was just telling the guys here that I think it's really great you're finally trying to get some professional help," said Dash. "I mean, it can't be easy being you. I know I'd probably want to kill myself if I had to be a scrawny freak like you."

The jocks all whooped in agreement. Danny could see the vein in Sam's temple pulsing as her face reddened and teeth clenched.

"What are you gonna talk about with your therapist today, Fenton?" asked Dash, his tone mockingly inquisitive. "Are you gonna tell her about this right now, about how your big bully was mean to you at lunch?"

"Danny's therapist is a guy," said Tucker. Danny shot him a fierce glare, causing Tucker to wince and shrink back.

"Oh, sorry, my mistake." Dash sneered. "Of course Fenton would be seeing a guy."

"I didn't choose him," muttered Danny.

"Did your mommy choose him?" Dash laughed. "Of course she did. She has to do everything for you, doesn't she? She even had to come in and take care of your big mean bully for you."

"I didn't tell her to do that, Dash," said Danny, fighting back a ghostly flash in his eyes.

"So what did you tell her, Fenton?" Dash's smirk faded, his expression turning angry. "You must've told her something about me. Why else would she report me and get me nearly kicked off the football team?"

Danny locked eyes with him, not backing down but saying nothing because he wasn't about to say that it was actually Jazz who finally told their mother what Dash had been doing to him since the start of freshman year.

The jocks surrounding Dash were now quiet, murmuring and whispering with each other as Danny and Dash continued their staredown.

"Dash, that's enough." Sam slammed her fists on the table and stood. "Get out of here."

Dash broke eye contact with Danny and scoffed in amusement as he met Sam's stare instead. "Fenturd's girlfriend coming to his rescue again, is she?"

"Lay off, Dash," barked Sam. "Don't make me report you to the principal."

"Hey, I'm allowed to talk to Fenton," said Dash. "I'm just not allowed to touch him."

Dash made a big show of hovering his hand over Danny's shoulder, waving it around his back. Danny scowled and leaned away, causing the jocks to laugh.

"What you're doing right now is still bullying," spat Sam. "Now shove off."

The jocks whooped and buzzed mockingly. Dash stared at Sam a moment longer before smirking and leaving the table without another word, all the jocks in tow.

"Jeez, Dash really is the biggest asshole," said Tucker.

Danny pushed his lunch tray away, too glum to eat another bite.

The day wore on. Normally, Danny wanted Monday classes to go as slowly as possible to psychologically delay his therapy session, but with Dash sneering every time they passed each other and all the whispers exchanged in the hall that he was just sure were about him, he couldn't wait for the final bell to ring.

Especially since Dash just had to be in his last class of the day.

"I'm passing out a short story to everyone right now," said Lancer, moving up and down the columns of desks and handing each student a printout. "I want you to read in groups of two. Feel free to read with someone next to you or move around the room to read with whomever you like."

The room filled with noise and commotion as students chattered and moved their desks to be next to friends.

"Mr. Lancer, is a group of three okay?" asked Sam, raising her hand but not waiting to be called on.

"Two," reiterated Lancer. "With Mr. Kwan absent, there's an even number of you today. You and Mr. Foley can be partners while Mr. Fenton can read with someone else."

Sam and Tucker gave Danny apologetic looks. Danny shrugged and smiled. He then looked around the room, watching as Paulina quickly paired up with Star. He sighed, wishing he had the nerve to talk to her without waiting for her to approach him first.

"Pssst, Fenton," whispered Dash from a couple desks behind him.

Danny shut his eyes, breathing to calm himself.

"Fenton," Dash called a little louder.

"What do you want?" snapped Danny, turning around in his seat.

Dash flashed him a toothy grin. "Wanna be my reading buddy?"

Danny scowled and turned to face forward again.

"Aw, you're not still mad at me after what I said at lunch, are you?" asked Dash. "Kwan's at the dentist today, so there's no one left. It's just us two."

"I'm not reading with you," said Danny without turning.

"Come on, don't be like that." Dash's desk legs scraped the floor as he pushed his desk forward.

Danny jumped out of his seat and placed his hands on Dash's desk, stopping it from moving any closer. "I said no."

"We have to, Fenton," said Dash. "Groups of two, and we're the only two left."

"I don't care. I'm not reading with you," said Danny, gritting his teeth.

"Well, well!" Dash laughed. "Someone's pissy today. It's a good thing you're seeing your shrink after class, isn't it? Because you could certainly use an attitude adjustment."

Dash started pushing his desk again, but Danny pushed back, matching his strength. Dash's brows furrowed as he tried pushing harder, but Danny kept the desk in place with ease.

"Fuck off," hissed Danny in a low voice. "Fuck off and leave me alone."

Dash gasped and raised his hand. "Mr. Lancer, Danny just cussed me out with a word I dare not repeat in the classroom."

"Mr. Fenton, is there a problem?" asked Lancer from his desk, sounding very tired and irritated.

"No problem that his therapist can't fix, I'm sure," jeered Dash, loud enough for everyone to hear.

All eyes were on them now. Danny could hear whispers and murmurs that he knew for sure were definitely about him.

And it was enough.

"Fine, Dash, you win," said Danny, taking his hands off Dash's desk. "Everyone knows I'm in therapy now. Everyone knows I'm just so fucked up in the head that I have to get professional help for it."

A few students gasped, but the whispers had disappeared, nothing but silence. Even Lancer was too stunned to speak, his eyes wide as he watched.

"I mean, is this what you wanted?" continued Danny. "For everyone to see me as weak as you see me?" He turned one way and then the other, looking at all the faces staring back at him, holding out his hands to acknowledge them. "Yes, everyone, it's true, it's just as Dash has been saying. I'm seeing a therapist. Please pity me or laugh at me or talk about me behind my back because that's what Dash here wants. And apparently he's not going to leave me alone until he gets exactly what he wants."

Danny turned his focus back to Dash with a mirthless scoff of laughter. Dash's eye was twitching, a look of discomfort replacing his arrogant smirk.

"God, I wish I knew what you wanted," said Danny. "I just want to give you everything you want from me so that maybe you'll finally fuck off and leave me alone."

"Mr. Fenton," boomed Lancer's drawling voice.

"I know, I know, Mr. Lancer," said Danny, holding up his hands. "That's probably detention for the rest of the semester. But I can't go today because, as you and everyone here now know, I have to go see my therapist right after school."

"Danny," said Lancer more quietly. "Can you step outside with me a moment? And Mr. Baxter, I will be seeing you right after class for detention."

"Mr. Lancer, I have football practice today," said Dash. "Coach won't allow it."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I will speak to Coach Evans and tell him exactly why you'll be late," said Lancer.

Dash's eyes widened with brief surprise before hardening into a glare at Danny.

"Mr. Fenton, please," said Lancer, gesturing toward the doorway.

Danny did not hesitate and swiftly headed toward the door, not even glancing at Sam and Tucker as he walked past them.

"The rest of you, please start reading that story," said Lancer as he followed Danny out of the room.

Danny leaned against a wall, staring at the floor as Lancer closed the classroom door and joined him.

"Danny?" Lancer's voice was calm. "Are you all right?"

Danny was shaking with anger and frustration, and now as realization about what he just did dawned on him, humiliation as well. He shook his head, afraid he would start crying if he tried to speak.

"I know you've been going through a difficult time lately," said Lancer. "And I normally would write you up for an outburst like that, but given your circumstances lately and your past with Dash, I'm willing to let this go this time."

Danny breathed out, nodding his thanks.

"But I need you to be honest with me right now," said Lancer. "Is Dash still bullying you? Is he hurting you at all?"

Danny breathed again, settling his nerves and opening his throat up enough to speak. "No," he said quietly. "I—I'm sorry, I got carried away in there. I shouldn't have yelled like that."

"Danny—"

"I was just—Dash saw me coming out of my therapist's office last week, and now he's told everyone, and—I don't know. I know I shouldn't be so embarrassed about it, but I am." He drew in another shaky breath. "I really, really am."

Lancer waited a moment before replying. "I understand," he said. "Therapy is a very private thing, and Mr. Baxter made it public without your consent."

Danny folded his arms tightly against his body as he hunched over.

"You can come back inside whenever you're ready," said Mr. Lancer. "Or if you'd like, you can head to the office and see if you can speak with our school counselor."

Danny nodded his understanding but knew that there was no way in hell he was going to speak with the school counselor, not when he still had to speak with Brandan as soon as school was over.

"And I won't report this as I said, but I will have to send an email to your mother," said Lancer.

Danny looked up with wide eyes flooding with panic. "Mr. Lancer, no, please don't—"

"You know I have to," said Lancer. "I'm just being kind and letting you know ahead of time."

Danny tried to stammer out some kind of plea, but Lancer only shook his head and reentered the classroom. Danny stared at the closed door, frozen, catastrophizing what would happen once his mother found out what he had done.

Ground him or call the school and demand Dash be permanently kicked off the football team and then Dash would come after him and would have no reason to restrain himself—

Damn it, he had just gone over this thinking error with Brandan last week and was already failing at combating it.

Which was another thinking error—which one, more catastrophizing or was it polarized thinking—?

He couldn't even think straight because oh God why did he have to make such a scene in class?

He shouldn't have. He should've just kept his mouth shut and read that stupid story with Dash.

The minutes ticked past, and Danny couldn't bring himself to go back into the classroom or head to the office and explain himself to the principal or guidance counselor. So instead he sank to the floor and hugged his legs, burying his face in his knees as he waited for the bell to ring.

When the bell at last rang, Danny jumped up and sprinted away from the classroom, too ashamed to let any of his classmates see his face for the rest of the day. He couldn't even face Sam and Tucker again. God, what did they think about his tantrum?

No, no, he wasn't supposed to jump to conclusions—

But he couldn't help it. Were they as embarrassed as he was? Embarrassed they could have a friend prone to such emotional outbursts that needed correction in therapy?

He shouldn't have done it, he should've controlled himself, he should he should he should have—

He hurried to his locker, anxious to collect and organize all of his things before Sam and Tucker could get there. He would then head straight to the parent pickup area before anyone could see him. The hall was already filling with students but he didn't see any of his classmates yet.

He phased his hand through his locker and grabbed his backpack. Quickly, quickly—

"Fenton!" Dash's voice called from down the hall.

Danny seized up, his heart skipping a whole beat.

Faster, faster—

He slung his backpack over just one shoulder—no time to get the second strap on the other shoulder—and headed at a brisk pace toward the school's main doors.

Almost, almost—

Dash slid in front of him, blocking his path to the doors.

"Fenton, wait," said Dash. "I just wanna talk."

"Well, I don't," said Danny, trying to move around him. "My mom's waiting for me, and I can't be late for therapy, you know."

"Fenton, please." Dash put a hand out to stop him but was careful not to actually touch him. "Come on, just give me a minute."

"Shouldn't you be getting to detention?" asked Danny, narrowing his eyes.

Dash sighed, looking down at the floor and shaking his head. Several students walked past them, staring at them curiously before exiting the building.

"Yeah, I need to get back to Lancer's classroom," said Dash, sounding defeated. "But I just wanted to ask you something first."

Danny widened his stance and crossed his arms, admittedly curious.

"Uh…" Dash rubbed the back of his neck, tugging at the collar of his letterman jacket. "Okay, look. Just tell me. Do you talk about me? With your therapist?"

Danny blinked. Of all the questions he might've expected Dash to ask, this was nowhere on his list. "Do I talk about you?" He shrugged, scoffing. "Honestly, no."

Dash cocked his head. "Really?"

"Really," said Danny with a curt nod.

Dash looked relieved at first, but then he scowled, almost looking offended. "Well, why not? Maybe I just need to leave a bigger impression on you."

He balled one hand into a fist and popped it into his other open hand. Danny rolled his eyes.

"Dash, is this really what you wanted to say to me?" asked Danny dully. "Is this really the whole reason you chased me down?"

Dash hesitated, lowering his hands and stuffing them in his jacket pockets. "Well, um… I mean, I know I've been saying it to a lot of people, but I'm not, um… I'm not really the reason you're in therapy, am I?"

Danny raised a brow.

"I just don't think my coach would like hearing that," said Dash, looking at the floor. "I mean, if that were really true."

"Do you want it to be true, Dash?" asked Danny. "Would that be like unlocking the ultimate achievement as a bully?"

Dash groaned. "Damn, Fenton, you are not making this easy for me."

"You've never made anything easy for me, Dash."

An uncomfortable silence buoyed between them. Students continued shuffling around them and pushing through the main doors outside, laughing and chatting about mundane topics.

"No, Dash," Danny said at last. "I'm not in therapy because of you or anything you did. Believe it or not, I have bigger problems than you."

Dash's brow knitted. "You do?"

"Yeah," said Danny. "You're not even on my list of top ten concerns. I barely think about you outside of school."

"What other big concerns could you possibly be dealing with, Fenton?"

Dash looked genuinely curious, but Danny shook his head.

"You have nothing to worry about," said Danny. "I have no intention of trying to get you kicked off the football team." He paused before adding, "Not that I owe you that."

"No," said Dash. "I guess you don't."

More silence between them, more students bustled around and past them.

"Are you going to tell your mom what happened in class today?" asked Dash. "And at lunch? I mean, are you going to tell her what I said to you?"

Danny shook his head. "No."

Dash released a huge breath of relief.

"But Lancer said he was going to email her about what happened in class," said Danny. "And I can't stop him from doing that."

"Shit," Dash muttered. He looked down at the floor, tapping his foot a few times. "All right, look, this isn't an apology, but I just wanted to catch you before you left to let you know that…that I'm going to lay off of you for real now."

Danny frowned, not sure if he was hearing right.

"So can you just maybe tell your mom I said that?" Dash scratched the back of his head, his other hand shoved deep in his jacket pocket. "Just so maybe she won't call the principal or anything when she finds out about today?"

Danny paused before slowly nodding. "Yeah. Sure. I'll tell her."

Dash sighed. "I do miss whaling on you. You always had the best reactions, the funniest comebacks. I think I remember hearing you say to your friends once that you were my favorite, and it was true, you know?"

"Am I supposed to be flattered?" asked Danny.

"No," said Dash quickly. "I'm just saying—I mean, you were always worth seeking out. I could always count on you for some fun." He shrugged. "In a weird way, I kind of thought of us as friends."

Another silence fell between them, a softer one this time. Dash's expression was sober, and Danny stared at him, studying him.

Then Dash's mouth twitched, and Danny could feel his own mirroring. Dash snorted, causing both to burst into laughter.

"I had you going for a minute there, didn't I?" asked Dash with a wide grin.

"For a minute, yeah," said Danny, also grinning. "Just a little confused."

"But I wasn't lying about whaling on you being the most fun for me," said Dash wistfully. "I do actually miss that."

"Yeah, well, I don't," said Danny, his grin drying.

"Aw, you cut me deep, Fenton." Dash theatrically put a hand to his chest.

"Danny!" called a couple of voices. Danny turned to find Sam and Tucker running up to him, their faces lined with worry and alarm.

"Are you okay?" asked Sam. "You never came back into the classroom."

"And then we tried finding you, but you weren't at your locker," said Tucker.

"What's going on here?" Sam narrowed her eyes at Dash. "Is Dash bothering you again?"

Dash held up his hands, palms out. "Take it easy, Fenton's girlfriend."

"I'm not his girlfriend," Sam spat. "Just because I care about Danny doesn't mean we're dating."

"It's fine, Sam," said Danny, looking at Dash. "Dash was just leaving. He doesn't want to be late for detention, after all."

"I really don't," said Dash, inclining his head. "And you've gotta get to therapy, Fenton."

"Ahaha, that I do," said Danny with a wry smile, pointing a finger gun at Dash.

Dash smiled back and gave him a small salute before walking back toward the halls, his chest out and head high as usual.

"What was that all about?" asked Tucker.

Danny chortled and shook his head. "I have no idea."

He pushed through the school's main doors and stepped into the sunshine, the fresh spring air. Sam and Tucker ran after him, flanking him.

"Danny, are you okay?" asked Sam. "I mean, after what happened in the classroom. You were super pissed."

"Yeah, I've never seen you yell at anyone like that," said Tucker. "Not even ghosts."

"Everyone was still talking about it when the bell rang," said Sam. "And then we saw Dash bolt out of the room, and we were worried that he was looking for you."

"Well." Danny shrugged. "He found me."

"What did he say to you?" asked Sam. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No," said Danny. "Really, Sam, nothing happened. It's fine, I'm fine. Dash was just telling me that he's going to stop picking on me for real now."

"For real?" echoed Tucker. "Like, for real for real?"

"That's what he said."

"Do you believe him?" asked Sam.

Danny thought for a moment, his mouth drawing into a pout. "Yeah," he said. "I think I do. That felt pretty final."

Sam frowned, tilting her head. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, really," said Danny. He turned to face Sam and Tucker fully, holding out his hands and bowing slightly. "Now if you'll excuse me, Dash was right. I need to get to therapy."

A few students turned to stare, but Danny didn't even care who heard him say it anymore. They all knew he was in therapy now; it was done and he couldn't change it.

He had to move on.

He left Sam and Tucker without another word, walking with his head and eyes up. He spotted Maddie's car in the parent pickup area, then he saw Maddie sitting in the passenger seat.

He checked that his learner's permit was in his pocket before opening the back door to set down his school bag and then opening the front door to climb into the driver's seat.

"Getting you to drive isn't going to be a fight today?" asked Maddie as she watched him adjust the mirrors and buckle his seat belt.

"Nope," said Danny, shifting the car into drive and checking for traffic before pulling away from the curb.

"Well, how was school?"

Danny hesitated before answering, but judging from her chipper tone, it appeared that Lancer had not yet sent her an email about what happened in class with Dash.

"It was okay," he said, not sure if he was being honest or not. The day had been rough, but he really did feel okay now. Laughing with Dash had somehow lightened his mood, loosened his tight nerve endings.

Laughing with Dash, he had never thought such a thing could happen.

"Nice stop," said Maddie as Danny came up to a stop sign at a four-way intersection. "Very smooth."

"Thanks." Danny smiled. "My mom's been making me practice."

"And I was right to, wasn't I? Mom always knows best, you know."

Danny thought back to when Maddie first found out about Dash bullying him, how he was furious at Jazz for telling her and even more upset when his mom insisted on reporting it to the principal. Danny had begged her to not do it, assuring her that he was fine and Dash really wasn't hurting him that much.

But he wasn't fine back then.

And now Dash had at last promised to stop targeting him.

Maybe his mom really had been right about that after all.

"You were right, Mom," said Danny, nodding. "I should've been practicing more all this time. Maybe I would've passed my test if I had."

Maddie reached over and squeezed his knee. "Don't feel bad about that, Danny. You're not the first to fail, and you won't be the last. You're a great driver."

Danny glanced down at her hand on his knee before returning his eyes to the road.

"I'll schedule another test," said Maddie, putting her hand back into her lap. "Whenever you feel ready to take it. I'll let you decide this time, just let me know."

"Next year?"

"Within reason, Danny."

"Okay, then maybe after finals. I'll be done with therapy by then, too. I'll be good to focus on the driving test completely."

Maddie did not respond, and her silence felt quite pregnant.

"What?" asked Danny, not taking his eyes off the road.

"I've been getting progress reports from Brandan," said Maddie. "And I even met with him in person last week to discuss how you've been doing."

Danny's gut twinged.

"He says your sessions with him have been very productive," Maddie continued, "that you've opened up about a lot of very hard topics."

Danny bit the inside of his lower lip in an attempt to keep a straight face. His grip tightened on the steering wheel.

"And I've been seeing some improvement, too. In your attitude, in your willingness to do certain things you were hesitant about before." Maddie paused. "I know we made that deal that you only have to attend therapy until the week before finals, which means that next week would be your last therapy session."

Danny pulled up to a red light and turned his head all the way to the left, away from her, checking for traffic before turning right.

"Danny," said Maddie gently. "Next week doesn't have to be your last session. Do you think maybe you'll want to continue after all?"

Danny finished making the right turn before answering, not at all considering the possibility that he might want to continue but trying to decide the best way to tell her.

Once the turn was complete, he figured he might as well be direct and honest.

"No," he said. "I definitely do not want to continue. Honestly, if I could quit today, I would. But we made a deal, and I'm not about to break it now."

Maddie sighed deeply. "And I of course will also honor it. I guess I'm just hoping that you might change your mind by next week."

Danny said nothing, didn't even shrug. He could see the sign for the pizza restaurant coming up at the next turn.

"I'm just so proud of you for working so hard and doing this for me." Maddie rubbed his back, and Danny could hear the smile in her voice. "I hope you at least still don't hate me for making you do this."

"I never hated you," said Danny. "I mean, Mom, I know you're always looking out for me and anything you make me do is because you think it's good for me."

Maddie hummed. "That's right. I'm your mama, and I will never stop worrying about you and making sure my sweet boy is happy and healthy."

Danny rolled his eyes and chuckled as he pulled in to the parking lot for the pizza restaurant and therapy offices. "Mom, you don't need to say it like that."

"You've always been a good boy, Danny." Maddie leaned in and kissed the side of his head. "I couldn't be prouder of you."

She unbuckled her seat belt, but Danny stayed still, contemplating her words.

"You couldn't?" he echoed.

"Mmm mmm," said Maddie, shaking her head. "Why? Do you think I could?"

Danny wondered if she might feel a little less proud of him when she finally read that email from Lancer.

And then he recalled her words from just moments earlier, about how she hoped he would change his mind and continue therapy.

Would that make her prouder? If he kept trying to get better for her?

Would she maybe forgive him for his outburst in class if he agreed to keep talking to Brandan each week?

He wordlessly handed his phone to her and unbuckled his own seat belt. Outside, she wrapped her arm around him and led the way upstairs.

Could he maybe continue therapy for his mother's sake and not his own?

In her embrace, Danny was sure he could make her prouder if he just stopped being so selfish.

Chapter Text

Two more times. He only had to do this two more times, Danny reminded himself as he waited next to Maddie in the lobby. Today and next week and then that was it. No more therapy, no more Brandan. He would have his Mondays back.

Maddie was busy looking at something on her phone. Danny kept glancing at her, sure that he would recognize it in her face if she had received an email from Lancer about Danny's outburst in class.

"What?" Maddie lowered her phone. "Why do you keep looking at me, sweetie?"

"Oh! Um, I didn't realize I was." Danny felt a blush blooming in his cheeks and turned away to hide it.

"Is there something you want to say?" asked Maddie.

"Um." Danny shrugged. "No. I mean, well, yes—but maybe later. After therapy."

"Brandan's not here yet," said Maddie. "We have some time now if you want to tell me."

Danny shook his head. "No, no. Later would be better, really."

Maddie smiled softly and gently rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, honey."

She went back to looking at her phone, and Danny prayed to whatever God there might be that Lancer would wait at least a couple more minutes to send that email during his therapy session. It would maybe give his mom a chance to cool down before she brought it up with him.

"Danny!" Brandan appeared in the waiting room. "And Maddie, hi! Good to see both of you."

"Always good to see you, too," said Maddie, her tone bright and just a little flirty. "Danny, I'll be waiting here when you're done."

Danny nodded and followed Brandan down the hall to his office. Once inside, he took his normal seat on the couch. Brandan shut the door, grabbed a notepad from his desk, and sat in his chair.

"So how are you doing today, Danny?" asked Brandan, clasping his hands and placing his elbows on the chair armrests. His notepad rested in his lap.

"Uh. Good." Danny shrugged. "Fine. You?"

Brandan smiled, almost looking like he was laughing. "I'm also good. Thanks for asking."

Danny nodded and waited for Brandan to say more, but Brandan's smile only grew wider in the few silent seconds that followed.

"So that's the polite way to answer that question," said Brandan. "Most people don't actually want an honest answer when asking how someone is doing, after all. But here, I very much do want an honest answer. So…" Brandan leaned toward Danny. "Are you really doing good today, Danny?"

Danny contemplated the question more seriously, looking out the window at the traffic in the street below.

"Yeah, actually," he said slowly. "I mean, I wasn't doing so great earlier today—this whole week was kind of rough—but right now, I feel…okay."

"Hmm." Brandan steepled his fingers. "Care to tell me about your week, why it was rough?"

Danny fidgeted with his hands in his lap, not sure if he was ready to tell Brandan about Dash's incessant taunting all week.

"Did you take your driver's test again?" asked Brandan.

Danny looked up. "No. Not yet. My mom said I can wait until school's over to try again."

"Okay. Hmm." Brandan tapped his index fingers against his chin. "Did Mr. Lancer give you detention for anything this week?"

"Uh—" Danny's eyelids fluttered as he recalled how Lancer strangely did not give him detention for his outburst in class. "Actually, he's been a lot nicer to me lately."

"All right." Brandan pursed his mouth. "Did your mom catch you sneaking out of the house again?"

"I—no," said Danny, not a lie because although he snuck out several times that week to go on patrol, his mom never did catch him.

Brandan pressed his lips as he tapped his fingers again. "Did you try asking Paulina or Valerie or some other girl out on a date and they said no?"

Danny's face started burning. "What? Why would you even ask that?"

"Well, are you going to make me keep guessing, or are you going to tell me why your week was rough?" asked Brandan, laughing.

Danny sighed and looked down at his lap, debating what to say. But at this point, he had already opened up so much to Brandan, what would it hurt to just tell the truth now?

And besides, he only had to see this guy one more time after this. Then never again.

"Dash found out I'm seeing a therapist," said Danny quietly.

Brandan nodded, staying quiet for a few moments before speaking. "Dash, yes. We haven't talked about him much, but your mother has mentioned him to me."

Danny held his elbows and tensed up.

"You've had quite a history with him, haven't you?" said Brandan.

"You could say that."

"Can you tell me about it?"

Danny creased his brow. "Tell you what? My history with him?"

Brandan nodded.

Danny sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him, propping his heels up on the carpet. "I don't even really know how it started anymore."

"But you must know when it started, right?" said Brandan. "When you first met him."

"Well, yeah," said Danny. "It was the start of freshman year. And we had a couple classes together."

Brandan hummed and leaned back, clasping his hands across his middle.

"And, uh… Well, I remember when he first spoke to me," Danny continued. "Our teacher was having us play some kind of icebreaker game, and when it was my turn, I introduced myself as Danny Fenton. Nothing else, just that. But everyone recognized my last name immediately."

"Right, yes, your family is very well known in Amity Park."

"We are now, I guess, now that my parents have been more involved in the anti-ghost initiatives. Plus they're like best friends with the mayor."

"Really? Mayor Masters? I did not know that."

"My dad will tell you all about it, but it's not something I'm proud of," said Danny, rolling his eyes.

"And why's that?"

Danny shook his head. "Anyway, everyone knew my name because our house has this huge neon 'Fenton Works' sign that you can see from like a mile away. So embarrassing, but I have not been able to convince my parents to take it down or at least not light it up at night."

"Ah, yes," said Brandan. "That sign is quite famous here. Everyone knows it."

"Yeah. Imagine everyone knowing exactly where you live. Like I try to give someone directions to my house and they're like 'you live under the Fenton Works sign, you don't need to say more than that.'"

Brandan laughed. "I can see why you wouldn't like that."

"And that's why everyone recognized my name. Including Dash. And the very first thing he said to me was…"

Danny conjured the moment in his mind, the way Dash leaned over his desk with both arms propped on top of it and smirked at him. He was the biggest student in the classroom, the tallest and most muscular. Danny discovered later that he had started school a year late, but even being only a year older, he seemed as big as the upperclassmen.

"Uh, he said…" Danny swallowed. "'Fenton, I know that name. My dad says you're a bunch of freaks that actually believe in ghosts.'"

Brandan's expression softened. "How did hearing that make you feel?"

"Um…" Danny shrugged. "Back then, no one really believed in ghosts. They weren't yet appearing in our town on a daily basis like they do now. So kids used to actually tease me all the time because they thought my parents were just…crazy ghost hunters. And I didn't know what to believe myself. My parents had never even seen a ghost, and I definitely hadn't ever seen one. So when kids would make fun of me or my parents, I didn't know what to say back."

"So it wasn't just Dash who teased you for your parents' interest in ghosts?"

"No. But he was the worst for sure. And while most kids eventually got bored with teasing me, he never left me alone."

Danny tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling, crossing his arms over his middle and tapping his fingertips against his elbows.

"It started out small," said Danny. "Just in class. He'd call me stupid nicknames, just dumb changes to my last name like Fenturd or Fentoenail."

"Does he make plays on other students' names?" asked Brandan. "Or just yours?"

"Just mine as far as I'm aware." Danny smiled ruefully. "I have this joke that I'm his favorite."

Brandan hummed and gestured for Danny to continue.

"Anyway, as I said, at first he only bothered me in class, but then he started coming for me outside of class," said Danny. "During passing period or at lunch. Before school or after school by my locker. And in the beginning, he would just make fun of me for something, but then he started taking it out on me whenever something made him angry, like getting a bad grade on a test or losing a football game or a girl rejecting him for a date."

"Did he ever get physical?"

Danny rubbed the side of his neck. "Um. Yeah, he did."

Silence followed. Danny waited for Brandan to ask another question, but Brandan seemed to be thinking as his eyelids lowered.

"It wasn't anything that bad," said Danny. "He stuffed me in a locker a couple times, but I was able to get out really easily—" Danny's heart raced with fleeting panic at his casual reference to his ability to turn intangible. "—uh, because my friends would get me out right away. And he tried to make me eat his underwear once. And mud, although Sam insisted it was actually food."

"Has he ever hurt you?" asked Brandan.

Danny hesitated. "He's punched me a few times. Not that hard, though. I mean, not usually enough to leave bruises."

"Not usually? So he has left bruises?"

"Um…" Danny swayed his head side to side. "Like once or twice, maybe."

Brandan's lips thinned, his brows drawing low over his eyes.

"One time that I bruised… It was in class. Around the time of that meteor shower we had." Danny reflexively rubbed his upper arm, not even realizing he was doing it. "He punched me in the arm during class. Lancer was right there and…he—Lancer, I mean—he didn't even care." Danny exhaled, a little shaky. "I mean, okay, a ghost crashed through the ceiling right after Dash punched me, but even later, Lancer never said anything about it. Dash never got in trouble for it."

Danny breathed again, still shaky. He rubbed both his arms now.

"No one cared what Dash was doing to me," he said quietly. "My mom didn't even know until this past year, my sophomore year. But all throughout my freshman year, everyone just ignored it and let Dash get away with it. And Dash knew that. He seemed to make it into a game, trying to find the worst thing he could get away with."

The words were coming on their own, spilling over without his conscious effort. So much he had been holding back, frustration and anguish he had never even shared with Sam and Tucker.

"You know, Sam complains about how her parents are always on her case, trying to control everything she does," continued Danny. "But at least they pay attention to her, you know? They care about what's going on in her life even if they hate her lifestyle choices. But my parents don't care. My teachers don't care."

Not just Dash. Ghost fighting, too. Limping through the halls between classes but no one stopping to ask him if he was okay. Unable to do a single push-up due to a badly sprained wrist and his gym teacher clicking her tongue in disapproval but never asking him why he couldn't do it. Sam and Tucker carrying him into the house so obviously unconscious but his parents never asking what happened, oh God, was he all right, should they take him to the hospital?

Even just a few weeks ago, Danny had come home in the middle of the night with a big cut on his face, and his mother cared far more about grounding him for breaking curfew. She didn't even press him for the truth about what happened, she just accepted his bullshit story about a tree cutting his face. Or, perhaps worse, if she didn't believe him, she didn't care.

His eyes stung and he closed them, willing the tears to stay inside even if his words kept coming out.

"No one cares," he whispered.

"You feel neglected and ignored very often," said Brandan gently, "don't you, Danny?"

Danny opened his eyes but did not look at Brandan, staring at the floor instead.

"Did you ever report Dash's behavior to anyone?" asked Brandan. "Did you ever tell your parents? Your mom?"

Danny released a slow exhale. "No," he said. "I never told anyone. Jazz saw Dash shoving me around a couple months ago and told my mom about it. That's when she called the principal."

Brandan nodded. "I see."

"I know I should've told someone sooner," said Danny, almost apologetically, "but I was—I don't know, I guess…embarrassed? Too embarrassed to tell anyone. I didn't want anyone to know."

Brandan nodded again.

"He…made me feel weak," said Danny. "I hated that. I didn't want anyone to see me that way. Weak. A victim." He shuddered. "I don't want to be a victim. I don't like feeling helpless. I can't be helpless. I have to be—"

He stopped himself before he could say more, because he couldn't explain something like this to Brandan, his obligation to be the hero this town needed, how Danny Phantom had to be strong, always, never weak.

"I'm just not sure what I did to make him hate me so much," said Danny. "To make him target me every chance he got. I never did or said anything to him. I just don't get it."

"Bullies often target those who are different or small or—and please forgive me for using this word, I know you don't like it—appear weak," said Brandan. "Victims don't necessarily do anything initially to anger a bully. Bullies just enjoy the thrill of exerting power and dominance, and they usually choose victims who are easy to hurt."

Danny remembered how Dash quite literally loomed over him in freshman year, how small he felt every time Dash stood next to him. Danny was currently in the middle of his growth spurt and had grown several inches in the past year alone, standing now just a couple inches under six feet.

But he still remembered how Dash's entire shadow could cover him from head to toe. And each time Dash looked down at him with that predatory sneer, Danny hoped and hoped and hoped that he had his father's genes buried somewhere inside him and one day he would be taller than Dash. Maybe. God, he hoped.

"He does think I'm easy to hurt," said Danny softly. "He thinks he can push me around and do whatever he wants with me. To me."

"That doesn't make you weak, Danny," said Brandan. "It just makes him a bully. It says nothing about you."

"But maybe I was weak," said Danny. "Because why didn't I try to stop him? I should've tried. I should've done something about him sooner." He spoke rapidly. "I should've stood up to him instead of just letting him do whatever he wanted to me. Because I did let him, I let him."

Danny pressed his heels into the floor, rubbing his knuckles against his knees.

"And I shouldn't have. When I saw no one else would help me, I should've tried to help myself. I shouldn't have waited for my mom to finally do something." Danny's fingers curled under, balling into fists over his thighs. "But maybe I was just too weak, too afraid to do anything. A coward."

Brandan shook his head. "Danny, that's not—"

"But I guess… I mean, everyone else was letting Dash get away with it, so I thought maybe…that's just what I had to do, too. That must've been the right thing to do because all the adults were doing it," murmured Danny. He looked at Brandan. "That sounds stupid, doesn't it?"

"No, Danny," said Brandan, looking very serious. "It doesn't."

Danny popped one of his knuckles, then a second, slowly.

"It's not stupid to look to adults for the right thing to do," said Brandan. "You've been told your whole life to respect adults, and when they fail to help you, to protect you, that doesn't mean you did anything wrong or that you don't deserve their help. Adults make mistakes and bad judgment calls, too. Sometimes on accident, sometimes willfully." Brandan paused. "I hope you can see that I am here to help. I won't ignore you if you need my help, Danny."

Danny rubbed one elbow. Brandan sounded sincere but he still wasn't entirely sure he trusted Brandan. If he even could trust Brandan. He had been tricked so many times now, by both humans and ghosts, adults and kids his age.

He knew Brandan had done nothing to hurt him. Yet. He also knew how quickly that could change.

He remembered how he actually liked Vlad the first time he met him. It seemed so impossible now.

"I just need to know for sure," said Brandan gently. "Is Dash still hurting you? Can you tell me the truth about that?"

Danny stared at Brandan, studying him, wishing he could know what was going on in that feathery blond head of his.

"No," said Danny. "He hasn't physically hurt me since my mom called the school."

"Not physically, but is he still hurting you in other ways?"

"Well. When he found out last week I was going to therapy, he made sure everyone knew all about it and that it was all because of his personal handiwork."

"Bullies often feel pride when they see their victims break down or fall."

"But it has nothing to do with him," said Danny firmly. "Why I'm here in therapy, I mean. He tried to take credit, but I told him it had nothing to do with him."

Brandan smiled. "I'm sure that bruised his ego a little."

Danny did not smile back.

"Did you tell him the real reason you're in therapy?" asked Brandan.

Danny tensed. "No."

"Do you trust me enough to tell me the real reason?" asked Brandan. "Why you've been feeling the way you feel? What you've really been struggling with?"

Danny's tensed muscles froze up completely. The thought of confiding in Brandan ran through his mind, the ache for relief to just tell him already, all about Phantom and his real problems, problems that completely eclipsed school bullies and rejections from girls and disappointing his parents and teachers.

The thought was fleeting. Thankfully. He shook his head, coming back to his senses because revealing his ghostly secret to anyone was crazy, just insane.

"Um. Anyway." Danny cleared his throat. "Dash tried to mess with me today and I told him off. In class, in front of everyone. And I think he's going to leave me alone for real this time."

"You told him off?" said Brandan, eyes widening. "Really?"

"Yeah." Danny chuckled. "And Lancer actually gave him detention instead of me."

"You say that almost with disbelief," said Brandan. "You really didn't expect Mr. Lancer to have your back like that, did you?"

Danny blinked, thinking for a moment. "No," he said, somewhat bewildered. "I didn't. It's not a conclusion I ever would've jumped to."

"Which is why it's better not to jump to any conclusions at all about people."

Brandan smiled at him pleasantly. Danny could feel his own mouth tugging to mirror Brandan's.

But he wasn't ready to admit that maybe Brandan was actually right this time.

"So yeah, Lancer had my back for once," said Danny, "and I think when Dash saw that he couldn't get away with messing with me anymore, he decided to finally back off for good. Like I think he's doing it for himself, not for me—he really doesn't want to get kicked off the football team—but you know, I'll take it. Still a win to me." He paused, furrowing his brow. "Is that still jumping to conclusions? Saying that he did it more for himself than for me?"

"It's all right to speculate and make guesses," said Brandan. "We would never get anywhere if we could never speculate. The idea is that you do not want to act or treat someone a certain way according to only speculation."

Danny brushed a couple knuckles against his chin.

"But I'm glad to hear that you feel things will be better between you and Dash from now on," said Brandan.

Danny sighed. "I just wish I stood up to him sooner. I should've."

"You really think that?" asked Brandan.

Danny nodded. Brandan wheeled his chair over to his desk, grabbed Danny's thinking error tally sheet that was lying on top of a stack of papers, and then wheeled back to the middle of the room in front of the couch.

"Well." Brandan read over the tally sheet, pinning it on top of his notepad with one thumb. "I could not ask for a more perfect way to transition into a discussion of your next most common thinking error."

"Is it should statements?" asked Danny, his tone flat.

"Why, yes," said Brandan, smiling. "How did you know?"

Danny rolled his eyes, but he also smiled. "Let's do it, then."

"Would you like to explain this cognitive distortion for us?"

"Seems pretty self-explanatory, doesn't it?"

"It does indeed," said Brandan with a chuckle. "Should statements are any statements you make about yourself or others that include the word 'should.' People often use them to berate themselves for their flaws or when they believe they are capable of doing more or better."

"Right," said Danny. "Like when I flunk a test and my parents tell me I should try harder."

"Do you ever say that to yourself, Danny? That you should try harder?"

Danny looked down.

"You can't change what your parents or teachers say about you," said Brandan. "You can only change what you say and how you feel about yourself."

"But I could change what they say, couldn't I?" asked Danny. "If I do what they think I should be doing."

"But that's only a Band-Aid," said Brandan. "It only covers up what's on the surface. Doing what they think you should do won't make you feel better in the long run until you address how you feel about yourself."

Danny blew out a breath. "Then I guess maybe I don't get the problem with should statements. I mean, isn't it a bad thing if I flunk a test? Shouldn't I try or study harder so I don't flunk again? It's not wrong to say I should study harder, is it?"

"Well, it's not that—"

"Isn't that just life? Making the best choices based on what we should or shouldn't do?" Danny held out his hands, palms up. "'I should help that person,' 'I shouldn't steal,' 'I should tell the truth,' 'I shouldn't kill people.' I mean, aren't all of those things just true? Aren't there things good people just should do for the betterment of society or whatever?"

"I'm not saying that there aren't things people should or shouldn't do," said Brandan. "Of course there are. But should statements become a thinking error when you make a bad choice and then beat yourself up over it. And when you do this frequently for the same should statement over and over—such as 'I should study harder so I don't keep failing my tests'—it creates this constant feeling of guilt and shame every time you think about studying or taking a test, and it can really wear you down and make you even less motivated to actually do anything differently."

Danny thought this over, because yes, he never actually felt inclined to study even when he knew he should, even when he told himself he should. The fear of failing and the guilt of sitting around doing nothing, dreading that inevitable red F marked on his paper. He could never focus, couldn't concentrate, couldn't get his mind to actually do the work and just actually study for once.

I should I should I should and yet he spent more energy on telling himself what he should do instead of actually doing it.

"So what do I do about it?" asked Danny. "I mean, how can I stop obsessing over what I should or shouldn't do and just…be okay with what I can do?"

Brandan grinned, almost cheekily. "Same thing you do for all the other thinking errors, Danny."

Danny groaned and fell back on the couch. "I should've expected that."

"Another great should statement right there!"

"Fine, whatever. Let's just get on with it."

"Is it all right if we use your personal example?" asked Brandan. "The one about how you feel you should've done something about Dash much sooner."

"Um." Danny chewed the inside of his lower lip. "I mean, if you think it's a good one."

"Of course it's a good one," said Brandan. "It's authentic. And it's yours."

"Then…" Danny shrugged. "I guess it's okay."

"Really?" Brandan smiled. "No resistance this time? Are you starting to feel more comfortable with me, Danny?"

Danny narrowed his eyes. "I can still change my mind, you know."

"I certainly don't want that," said Brandan with a small chuckle. "So the first step is to identify the thinking error. You understand how feeling like you should've stood up to Dash earlier is a should statement, right?"

"It's literally a statement that has the word 'should' in it," said Danny dryly.

"Yes, good observation," said Brandan. "But more than that, it's a statement including the word 'should' that passes judgment on your actions. You see that too, I hope?"

"Yeah, I see it," said Danny. "Because I feel bad that I didn't stand up to Dash sooner. I feel like I made my life unnecessarily harder for myself."

"Excellent analysis," said Brandan. "Pretty soon, you're not going to need me at all anymore."

"Not soon enough," grumbled Danny.

"Sorry, didn't catch that," said Brandan. "Were you by chance reminding us what the next step is after identifying the thinking error?"

"Examine the evidence," said Danny more loudly.

"Right. So what is your evidence for this belief that you should've stood up to Dash sooner?"

"Well. Pretty sure he would've stopped messing with me a lot sooner."

"Pretty sure, but you can't be positive, can you?"

"Well, obviously I can't be positive. Not unless I went back in time to test it." Danny imagined flying to Clockwork's lair and asking for another time-traveling favor. "Which I guess I could."

"You could?" Brandan gave him a funny look.

Danny blushed and shook his head. "Ah, no, I was joking." He cleared his throat. "Bottom line, no, I can't be positive that Dash would've stopped messing with me sooner if I had stood up to him sooner. But it's a possibility, right? I mean, that's what happened today."

"Of course," said Brandan. "But it's not the only one. Just because that was the outcome that happened today doesn't mean it would've been the same outcome in the past. There are other possibilities."

"Like what?"

"Well, you tell me. I want you to do most of the work here, you know." Brandan shifted the position of his legs. "Think. What else might Dash have done in response to you standing up to him?"

Danny thought some more, sighing in defeat. "He might've laughed at me," he muttered. "He might've started doing…worse things to me."

"Bullies often enjoy when their victims try to stand against them," said Brandan with a small nod. "Sometimes it's even what they're hoping for, what they're waiting for. As long as they continue to feel more powerful, they enjoy getting the opportunity to make their victims feel even more inferior, crushing them when they try to show strength." Brandan paused. "Especially when they try to show strength."

"Are you saying the only sure way to stop a bully is to show them you're the stronger one?" asked Danny. "Make them afraid to mess with you ever again?"

Danny thought back on all the times Dash shoved him against the lockers, the times Dash actually stuffed him inside one back when he was smaller.

And each time, Danny imagined blasting him away with ecto-energy, landing a well-formed punch just to see that look of shock and maybe even fear on Dash's face.

"Because I'm stronger than I look," said Danny. "I could've hurt him. I could've made him stop."

Brandan did not say anything until Danny locked eyes with him.

"If someone is genuinely threatening your safety or life, of course it's all right to defend yourself," said Brandan quietly. "But trying to beat back your bully with excessive force can turn you into something you don't want to be."

A memory of fighting his future dark self made Danny shiver.

"Did Dash ever threaten you that severely?" asked Brandan. "Did he ever make you feel unsafe? Like your life was in danger? Or at least your physical health?"

Danny stared at the floor and slowly shook his head. "Just some bruises," he whispered.

"Nothing that caused bleeding?"

Danny shook his head again.

"I'm here to listen if you want to tell me more about what he's done to you," said Brandan gently.

"Yeah. I know."

Neither said anything for several long moments. Danny kept his gaze to the floor.

"Is there any other evidence for this thinking error?" asked Brandan at last, his tone shifting.

"Well." Danny raised his eyes. "My mom ended up calling the school about Dash anyway. So I might as well have just done it myself earlier, right? Why did I have to wait for her to do something?"

"Do you think it's a bad thing that your mother had to do something about Dash for you?" asked Brandan.

"Well, it was kind of embarrassing."

"Kind of?"

"No, actually, it was a lot embarrassing." Danny grimaced. "It made me feel weak. It made me look weak."

"How so?" Brandan's eyes widened slightly, his brows pinching.

Danny held out his hand in a gesture toward Brandan. "Everyone was giving me that exact same look you are now. Teachers, classmates—just everyone. Like they pitied me. Or some of them even laughed at me."

"Who laughed at you?"

"Other jocks. Dash's friends. Dash himself."

"So other bullies who think like Dash."

"I guess so. Maybe. But if I had done something sooner, they wouldn't have laughed or pitied me."

"You know you can't know that for sure, Danny."

"Yeah, all right, jumping to conclusions, but they definitely all think I need my mom to take care of me now."

"You can't know that either."

"But isn't it true?" spat Danny, whipping his hand out in the direction of the lobby where Maddie was waiting for him. "My mom did have to take care of me."

"You're still a kid, Danny," said Brandan. "It's okay to let your parents help you. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Yeah, okay, I'm a kid, but I'm not a little kid," said Danny irritably. "It just made me feel like a little kid when my mom called up the principal and Dash's parents. And Dash already called me puny all the time, so it just made him see me as even smaller and weaker. And yes, he did say that." Danny saw Brandan's mouth open and pointed a finger to stop him from asking the question Danny knew was right on his tongue. "I'm not jumping to conclusions on that. Dash made it very clear to me that he thinks I'm a baby for having to get my mom to protect me."

"I see," said Brandan. "So do you feel that by having your mother handle the situation for you, you missed your opportunity to prove to Dash that you're not just a weak, helpless victim?"

"Yes," said Danny quickly before he could think. "I mean, maybe? I don't know." He sighed. "I just wish it didn't happen the way it did."

"But didn't you get your chance to prove your strength today?" asked Brandan. "Didn't you stand up to him today and show him you're not weak?"

"I—yeah. I guess."

"And you said that although Dash stopped hurting you physically after your mother reported him, his verbal taunts continued. But you feel that you were able to convince him to stop all his harassment completely today, correct?" Brandan leaned forward. "So doesn't that mean your actions had more impact than your mother's? Don't you think that proved to Dash that you are strong and not helpless? That you can in fact stand up for yourself and you don't need your mother to do it for you?"

Danny considered this. Because it was true that Dash only stopped the physical assaults so he wouldn't risk being seen by other students or leaving any noticeable bruises or marks on Danny's skin. But Dash never let up on the teasing and the insults and the jeers that still etched Danny's self-esteem and made him feel like he couldn't possibly be a hero for anyone. Because those left scars no one else could see, and Dash could continue to get away with them as long as Danny continued to just take the abuse and not defend himself.

But Danny had defended himself now. Something no one else could have possibly done for him, not his mom or his friends or his teachers. He alone had fully stopped the abuse, and he would not allow Dash to ever hurt him in any way again.

"Yeah, maybe," muttered Danny. "But I just think I should've done it sooner."

Brandan smiled. "Getting a little circular here."

"Well, do you disagree? I'm asking honestly," said Danny. "If you don't agree that I should've done something sooner, then do you think I actually did the right thing when I didn't stand up to Dash and just waited for my mom to do it first?"

"I'm not saying what you did was right or wrong," said Brandan. "I'm saying that what you did was what you did, and you don't need to beat yourself up over it and fantasize how things might've been better if you had done it sooner."

Danny frowned and tilted his head to look up at the ceiling, leaning back into the couch. "I guess it can't be changed now," he murmured.

"Right," said Brandan. "It doesn't matter what you should've done in the past because this is where you are right now. It doesn't help you even a little bit to stress over whether you made the right choice or not."

Danny nodded, saying nothing as he continued to stare at the ceiling.

"So that was a great example of a should statement about the past that was keeping you stuck on a past version of yourself, filling you with shame and frustration," said Brandan. "But many should statements happen every day in the present moment. 'I should clean my room.' 'I should study harder.' 'I should get better grades.' 'I should do more volunteer work.' 'I should stop being so lazy.'"

"Those statements seem true enough to me," said Danny.

"Maybe," said Brandan. "As you were saying earlier, there are some things we expect people to do, rules we expect people to follow for a functioning society. But the thinking error is not about the truth of the statement. It's about how it's affecting you when you say it. If a should statement fills you with guilt and shame when you fail to actually do it, then it's important to reevaluate how you talk to yourself."

"But why is it a bad thing to feel guilt or shame about not doing something you should do?" asked Danny. "I mean, why shouldn't you feel bad about being lazy or getting bad grades or not helping someone who needs you?"

"The problem is that should statements tend to be discouraging far more often than they are encouraging," said Brandan. "Tell me, how often have you actually been able to improve your grades just by saying you should get better grades and berating yourself when you get a D or F? Or when your parents have told you that you should do better?"

"Not often," Danny admitted.

"There are far more constructive ways to actually improve yourself, to accomplish the goals that are important to you," said Brandan, his tone softening. "Beating yourself up for not doing what you think you should be doing is only ever destructive."

Danny released a long sigh. He knew Brandan was right. Deep down, he knew it. But he also knew this was going to be a difficult thinking error to overcome. He had been beating himself up for not meeting certain expectations for so long now.

"Do you have any other examples of should statements?" asked Brandan.

Danny blinked, almost startled by this sudden question. "Uh… I don't think so. I mean, nothing as interesting as the Dash one."

"Really?" Brandan's eyes widened just slightly. "I would think someone like you would have many other very interesting examples."

Danny's facial muscles twitched. "Someone like me? What does that mean?"

"Well, you certainly don't have a typical teenage life," said Brandan, "what with your parents being active ghost hunters and all." He paused. "You know, I've been wondering if you've ever fought or hunted ghosts yourself. Have you? Because that would be very exciting, I would think."

Danny stared at Brandan, his heart pounding, his head screaming.

Does he know? Does he know? If he doesn't know, then what does he know?

"Sure you can't think of any other good should statements there?" asked Brandan.

Danny's mind zipped over his own ghost fighting, his mistakes and failures that shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't keep happening but they did, over and over and over.

I'm so tired but I should go out on patrol anyway.

I'm still sore from yesterday's fight but I should go out again to find and capture any rogue ghosts.

It's my fault these ghosts are infesting this town so I should be the one to capture and return them all to the Ghost Zone.

I shouldn't keep letting Sam and Tucker risk their lives when they have no ghost powers to protect themselves. I should be able to fight these ghosts on my own. I should be strong enough for them, for everyone.

"I don't want to talk about ghosts," murmured Danny, his eyes still glassy with the memories, Brandan just a blur in the background.

"I know you don't, Danny," said Brandan just above a whisper. "And I won't make you. But I am here to listen when you are ready to talk about ghosts. I hope I can earn your trust on that."

Danny's focus converged as Brandan's image sharpened in front of him. "My trust on what?"

Brandan shrugged and stood, setting his notepad on his desk chair and ambling over to the window. He folded his arms as he looked outside at the bustling traffic.

"I wonder if Danny Phantom ever experiences this same thinking error," said Brandan calmly, thoughtfully. "If he feels he should protect the town, if that's why he does it. Because he feels like he should be a superhero." He paused, not moving at all, still looking out the window. "I wonder if he ever takes a break to just be himself. Not a hero, just…Danny."

Danny's mouth fell open, unable to get any words out. He stared at Brandan, who continued to stay turned away from him, seemingly fixated by whatever was outside.

"What?" he finally managed to squeak out.

Brandan unfolded his arms and glanced at the clock. "Oh, we're a minute over, sorry about that. I know how much you like to end right on time."

He picked up the notepad lying on the seat of his chair and placed it on his desk. Danny watched him, glued to the couch. When Brandan opened the door for him, he did not get up.

"Is there something you still want to talk about?" asked Brandan. "I have another client coming in a few minutes, but I'd be happy to talk with your mom about setting up another appointment this week. Or I can give you my email address if you'd like."

"No, I definitely don't want to talk anymore," said Danny with a shake of his head. "I just—I mean, is there something you want to talk about?"

Brandan cocked his head. "Me?"

"Yeah." Danny wrung his hands. "Something you want to tell me?"

Brandan chewed the inside of his cheek. "Hmm. Maybe next week. When we have more time."

"But there is something?" asked Danny anxiously.

"There might be," said Brandan with such infuriating nonchalance. He used an open palm to gesture out the door. "Shall we?"

Danny pouted and narrowed his eyes. This guy…

But he got up from the couch and marched past Brandan out into the hall and toward the lobby where Maddie was waiting.

"How did it go?" asked Maddie, standing and slinging her purse over her shoulder as she looked only at Brandan.

"Danny can tell you," said Brandan.

Maddie turned her attention to Danny, who felt his ears and face redden.

"Uh—fine," stammered Danny. "Just, uh… Yeah, it was fine."

"Fine," echoed Brandan, smiling. He waved goodbye and disappeared down the hall leading to his office.

Danny followed Maddie out of the lobby and down the stairs to her parked car. His heart thudded twice per step, wondering if Brandan knew his secret and if he was planning on telling his mother. Or had he perhaps already told her?

Danny climbed into the passenger seat while Maddie sat in the driver's seat and set her purse in the compartment between the two seats. But instead of starting the car, she turned to Danny. Danny froze, his heart quickening even more.

Oh, God, Brandan did tell her, oh God, this was it, oh God oh God oh God he wasn't ready oh God—

"I got an email from Mr. Lancer while you were talking to Brandan," she said.

Danny's heart stopped. He had already forgotten all about his outburst in English class just a couple hours earlier.

He braced himself for a lecture. But Maddie smiled.

"I'm so proud of you for standing up to Dash," she said, her tone warm and soft.

She leaned toward him and kissed his forehead, her lips lingering on his skin a little longer than usual. She then pulled back, handed him his phone, smoothed a lock of his hair behind his ear, and started the car.

Danny's fingers closed around his phone but he didn't even look at it, still frozen with his eyes on his mother, the memory of her loving kiss still on his forehead.

Today was just full of surprises.

Chapter Text

An ecto-ray was heading right for Sam. Danny watched from high in the air above her.

"Sam!" he cried.

Sam gripped her ecto-gun to her chest and lunged out of the way just in time, the blast of ghostly energy hitting the ground and upsetting the dirt beneath the grass.

"I'm good," Sam called up to Danny, shaking out her dark hair that shimmered in the moonlight.

"Just keep wearing it down, dude," called Tucker. He held up a Fenton Thermos. "I'll be ready."

Danny put a hand over his racing heart. Maybe he should just tell Sam and Tucker to go home. It had to be well past one or two in the morning by now. They had been chasing down this same ghost for the past couple hours and only just now were able to engage it.

The ghost shrieked and raised its fists in the air, a hulking ectoplasmic entity that resembled a bear crossed with a gorilla. Danny remained in the air and aimed several blasts of ecto-energy at the ghost, but it dodged them all, running around in circles and using its fists as extra feet for speed.

"You know, I think I can handle this one from here if you two want to get to bed," said Danny, flying lower so Sam and Tucker could hear him. "We do have to get ready for school in a few hours."

"Danny, we're in this together," said Sam. "We're not going to bail on you now."

"Yeah, and besides, who else is going to monitor your cell phone to make sure your mom isn't trying to figure out where you are?" asked Tucker, holding up Danny's phone. "No messages, by the way. She's probably sound asleep."

"It's just—you two look exhausted," said Danny.

"So do you, dude," said Tucker. "You look way worse, trust me. When was the last time you got more than four hours of sleep in one night?"

Danny tapped his chin. When indeed?

"Guys, pay attention!" yelled Sam.

The rogue ghost was charging toward them at breakneck speed. Sam and Tucker ran out of the way while Danny bolted from the ground and iced the grass in front of the ghost. The ghost slipped and fell onto its back, sliding right into a tree with enormous force. The tree was uprooted and toppled over into the street, right in the path of an oncoming helmeted rider on a motorcycle.

Danny put both arms forward and melded his legs into a tail for maximum speed as he raced toward the motorcycle, whose rubber wheels were already squealing against the asphalt as the rider turned the bike sharply and began to lay it down. Danny rushed forward, picking up the rider in his arms before he hit the ground and sailing in the air a few dozen feet. Danny heard the motorcycle slam into the tree behind them, the sound of wood cracking, glass breaking, metal crushing.

Danny could feel the rider shaking in his arms, his rapid breathing. He flew back toward the wrecked motorcycle before willing his legs to return as he descended and landed on the ground. The rider removed his helmet, and Danny instantly recognized the feathery blond hair.

"Holy shit," he and Brandan said together as they stared at each other.

The motorcycle's engine rumbled, pitifully groaning against the felled tree. The enemy ghost lay unconscious nearby. A car stopped a short distance down the road, then another. The drivers left their cars and came running up to them, asking if anyone was hurt, one saying she was calling the police.

Great. Just what Danny needed right now. Why were there always people out every single ungodly hour of the night?

Danny turned back to Brandan, who was now holding his helmet under one arm. "Er—sorry about your motorcycle…citizen," he said, using his best superhero voice. "You have insurance, right?"

"Yes, of course. I just hope they cover ghost attacks." Brandan's eyes fell on the monster ghost still lying on the grass, the spectral ice below it gradually melting. "That thing's not going to attack me if I go turn off the engine, is it?"

"Oh—um—of course not," said Danny. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

Brandan hesitantly approached his motorcycle. Danny noticed Sam and Tucker staring at him from behind another tree nearby. Danny glared at Tucker and pointed to the knocked-out ghost. Tucker snapped to attention and aimed his Thermos at the ghost, sucking it inside in a vortex of light.

"I really hope this didn't total my bike," Brandan groaned, stepping away from the now silent motorcycle. He pulled off his gloves and took his phone out of the inner pocket of his black riding jacket. "I just finished paying off the loan three months ago."

Danny stared at him, still not believing that his own therapist was right here right now. And that he came on a motorcycle, no less. This guy, seriously.

"What are you even doing out this time of night?" asked Danny.

"Maybe I should be asking you that," said Brandan, using his phone to snap pictures of the crushed motorcycle. "Won't your mother be worried about you?"

Danny could feel the ectoplasm draining from his face. "My mother?"

"Yeah, I mean, you're what, fifteen? Sixteen?" Brandan stepped to the side to take a picture from a new angle. "Or do ghosts not have mothers?"

"Erm—some of us do," stammered Danny. "But, uh…not me."

"Really?" Brandan looked up from his phone. "Well, I can't believe the first time I get to meet the great Danny Phantom, he's saved my life." He looked at his motorcycle again. "Apart from my bike, it's been a pretty lucky night for me."

Danny's face chilled as ectoplasm returned to it in a flood. "You really shouldn't be out this late at night. This is when ghosts are most active."

Brandan smirked. "I don't live by should statements."

Danny cocked his head and frowned.

More late-night onlookers stopped their vehicles and ran up to them, forming a small crowd. Danny nervously kept his distance as they began snapping photos and recording videos.

"Danny Phantom, Danny Phantom!" they cried. They became bolder, sticking their cameras in his face, demanding a comment, a word, a selfie or two or seven—

Danny turned himself invisible and bolted into the air. The crowd beneath him whined and cried for him to come back, aiming their phone cameras at the sky.

Danny scanned the ground for Sam and Tucker, but they were no longer hiding behind the same tree. He located them some distance away near another tree, looking a little out of breath as if they had just been running. Their scooters were nearby, haphazardly thrown on the grass earlier when they had been chasing down the rogue ghost.

"Guys, you okay?" asked Danny, landing beside them and changing back into his street form so his ghostly glow wouldn't attract any unwanted attention. He could still hear the muffled shouts and chatter of the crowd in the distance.

"Yeah." Tucker held up the Thermos. "Got the ghost."

"Did you know that guy?" asked Sam, holding her ecto-gun in both hands. "The guy on the motorcycle."

"Um…" Danny rubbed his neck. "Yeah. He's, um…my therapist."

Sam's and Tucker's eyes practically bulged out of their heads.

"That was him?" cried Sam.

"No way!" Tucker laughed. "You weren't kidding about his hair. How do you think he gets that kind of volume even under a helmet? Hairspray? Blow-drying?"

"What was he even doing out this late at night?" asked Sam.

"God, I don't know," moaned Danny. "Just my luck."

The sound of police sirens. Danny peeked around the tree to see the blinking red lights of a cop car at the distant scene. A couple silhouettes appeared to be speaking to each other.

"I think there were at least a couple witnesses," said Tucker. "Hope they don't try to say it was your fault." He shook his head. "You probably should've just turned his whole bike intangible."

"And found a better way to stop that ghost," said Sam, turning up her nose. "I'm pretty sure uprooting a public tree is a felony."

"You're not 'pretty sure' of that," griped Tucker. "He just knocked it over, he didn't take it anywhere or destroy it."

"I didn't knock it over," insisted Danny, pointing at the Thermos in Tucker's hands. "It was the ghost. How was I supposed to know he was going to slide right into the tree?"

"Ice is slippery," retorted Sam. "What did you expect to happen? And now that poor tree had to pay for it."

"Its roots look fine," said Tucker, sneaking a peek at the scene again. "They can just put it back in the ground, I'm sure."

A tow truck with a flatbed arrived to take Brandan's wrecked motorcycle away, but the crowd had not yet cleared. Danny could still hear faint snatches of his name now and then: Danny Phantom was here, Danny Phantom did this, we don't know where he is now but it really was him, Phantom Phantom Phantom!

"Let's get out of here," said Danny, changing back into his ghost form and taking the Thermos from Tucker. "I'll get this ghost back to the Zone."

Danny hovered in the air and watched as Sam and Tucker grabbed their scooters and rode away into the night. Danny glanced back at the collision scene.

It just had to be his therapist. Thousands of people in this town and it just had to be this guy.

He turned himself invisible and took off toward home.

…

At school the next day, Sam, Tucker, and Danny opted to enjoy their lunches outside in the warm spring sunshine. Danny heartily chowed down on his spaghetti and meatballs, much to the confusion of Sam and Tucker.

"You're in an unusually good mood for a Monday," said Tucker.

"Yeah," said Sam, sipping her iced tea. "I thought you'd still be a little rattled over the incident with your therapist last night. Or early this morning, I guess."

"I was, but then I remembered that today is my last therapy session," said Danny. He slurped up another bite of spaghetti and swallowed it down. "I will never have to see that guy's dumb blond hair and stupid polite smile ever again after today."

"Don't say that," said Tucker with a smart grin. "You might have to save his life and wreck his motorcycle again."

"But he won't know it's me if that happens again." A wet noodle slapped the corner of Danny's mouth, which he dabbed at with a napkin. "No more psychoanalysis of literally everything I say. I'll be free of all his mind games."

"You're sure he doesn't know?" asked Tucker. "I mean, he didn't seem at all starstruck like most people when you swoop to their rescue."

"And don't you think it's a little weird that he brought up your mom?" asked Sam.

"A little weird, no." Danny chortled. "That guy is a lot weird. He's always saying things like that to psych me out."

"But why would he try to psych out Danny Phantom if he didn't know it was you?" asked Sam.

"It must be a therapist thing. I mean, Jazz does it all the time, too." Danny rolled his eyes. "It must make him feel smart or something, to always be in therapist mode, to psychoanalyze everything and everyone. He saw a teenage ghost out late at night and was curious if I had a mother who might be worried about me."

"I don't know, Danny." Sam sucked her teeth. "I think you need to be careful what you say when you're with him."

"Yeah, Jazz with all her psychoanalysis figured out you're Phantom and you had no idea for months," said Tucker.

"True," said Sam.

"Guys, can you chill?" asked Danny. "I mean, yeah, there have been a few times when I wondered if he knew, like last week—"

"What happened last week?" asked Sam.

I wonder if Danny Phantom ever takes a break to just be himself. Not a hero, just…Danny.

Brandan's words echoed in the back of his head, but Danny pushed back on them. He had been so worried and stressed after last week's therapy session, but then the next morning came and his mother didn't say a word. And then the rest of the week continued and she never mentioned anything about him moonlighting as a half-ghost superhero.

"He just said something weird," said Danny. "But if he really did know, don't you think he would've told my parents by now?"

Sam and Tucker paused before shrugging in concession.

"Don't ruin this for me," said Danny. "I only have to be careful one last time with him, and then he's out of my life forever."

Danny gulped down the last of his spaghetti and sighed with content. Sam and Tucker both stared at him, their heads at a slight tilt as they frowned.

"What?" asked Danny. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"So you really are going to quit therapy after today?" asked Sam.

"That's the deal I made with my mom, yeah," said Danny. "I have to go until the week before finals. And that's this week."

"And she said you could quit if you feel it's not helping you, right?" said Sam. "So are you saying you don't feel like therapy's helped you?"

Danny glared at her. "Where's this coming from? You know I've done nothing but complain about therapy this whole time."

"Oh, we know," laughed Tucker.

"Yes, we do know, but…" Sam cleared her throat. "I mean, you really don't think it's helped you even a little bit?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Maybe a little bit, sure, whatever. But not enough that I think it's worth it."

Sam and Tucker looked at each other, an exchange that Danny did not like at all.

"You two don't think it's actually helped me, do you?" asked Danny irritably, trying not to sound too betrayed.

"Hmm." Tucker shrugged. "Maybe not. I mean, you still get really moody and broody all the time."

"Tucker." Sam elbowed Tucker before returning her focus to Danny. "I've just noticed that you seem more willing to talk things out, like you're not as quick to pass judgment about things. And just look at what you were able to do with Dash!"

"Yeah, he really hasn't bothered you at all since you finally told him off," said Tucker, bobbing his head.

"But my therapist didn't do that," snapped Danny. "That was all me."

"Of course it was you, but you never had the confidence to stand up to him like that before," said Sam.

"And Lancer didn't even give you detention," said Tucker. "Things seem to be better between you and Lancer, too."

"Lancer just feels bad for me," said Danny, unpleasant heat rising up his neck. "That definitely wasn't anything my therapist did."

"But going to therapy did help make these improvements possible, right?" asked Sam.

"I—whatever, maybe," said Danny. "If you want to say that it indirectly helped some areas of my life get a little better, then fine. I guess I can't argue with that."

Sam and Tucker looked at each other again.

"But I don't care," said Danny, scowling at their reaction. "Even if therapy has helped me, I just can't stand that guy. And today is finally the last day I have to see him."

"Hey, if it means we can get Fun Danny back on Mondays, then I'm all for it," said Tucker, raising his milk carton in Danny's direction before chugging half of it down.

Sam made a face. "Tucker, can you at least show some respect for the poor cow that milk was stolen from?"

Tucker swallowed and sighed as he lowered the carton, a thin line of milk foaming over his upper lip. "I think the cow would be happy to hear her milk is giving me strong bones."

Sam threw a napkin at him. Tucker laughed and used it to wipe his mouth.

Danny relaxed again, digging into the side of green beans that came with his spaghetti because he was determined to keep up his good mood.

It didn't matter if everyone else thought he should continue therapy. He kept his side of the deal with his mom, and it was his decision alone if he wanted to keep going.

And he definitely just wanted this whole thing to end so he could fully enjoy the upcoming summer break.

After the final bell, Danny said bye to Sam and Tucker before heading to parent pickup. He held his head high with a little bounce in each step. He wasn't looking forward to seeing Brandan but it was just one more time, one more hour, and then he was free.

He couldn't possibly be in a bad mood now.

Maddie was sitting in the passenger seat as Danny approached, but he didn't mind at all. Sure, fine, he could drive to his last therapy session, why not? If he could make it this far, he could do anything.

Danny placed his backpack in the backseat before moving around to the other side of the car and getting into the driver's seat. After adjusting the seat and mirrors, he put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb, smoothly accelerating and getting up to speed. He sat up straight, his eyes bright as he looked forward.

"You're in a good mood," said Maddie. "Did something good happen at school today? Ace a test? A girl agreed to go out with you?"

Danny laughed. "I wish."

"Then what is it?"

Danny glanced at Maddie before returning his gaze to the road. "Well, you probably don't want to hear it, but this is my last day of therapy, and I'm just glad it's finally here. I'm glad I can finally be done with this."

Maddie fell quiet. Very quiet. Too quiet.

Danny didn't like it at all.

"It, uh…" Danny cleared his throat as he came to a stop at a red light. "It is my last day, right?"

"It is if you want it to be."

"I do."

Maddie sighed, quiet again until the light turned green and Danny drove through it.

"I know we made a deal," said Maddie, "but I do think therapy has helped you. Don't you?"

"Oh, Mom, you're not going to make me keep going, are you?"

"No, of course not. But won't you answer my question? Don't you think it's helped you?"

Danny thought back to all the times he was able to not only identify his thinking errors but also sometimes successfully talk through and combat them. But so what? Did that really matter? He didn't feel any different or better. And even if he did, could he really say for sure it was because he had been speaking to Brandan the past few weeks? What if he started feeling worse if he continued therapy?

"I don't know if it's helped me," said Danny. "But if it has, I don't feel like it's been worth it."

Danny pulled into the parking lot and parked in a spot near the stairs leading up to the therapy offices. He switched off the engine and stared through the front window at the stairs, suddenly apprehensive, wondering if maybe this wouldn't be his last time climbing these stairs after all.

"We made a deal," said Maddie, bringing his attention back to her. "You've kept up your end, so I will keep mine." Maddie gently touched his shoulder. "But you have to wait until after you're done with your session today before you make that final decision about whether or not you want to continue seeing Brandan. Promise me you'll wait until then to decide."

Danny looked down at her hand on his shoulder. "I'm not going to change my mind," he said, quiet but resolute.

"It's okay if you don't, sweetie." Maddie smiled and stroked his shoulder a couple times. "Great job driving today."

Danny felt a soft glow of warmth in his chest. "Thanks," he said, realizing only after he said it that he actually just accepted a compliment.

you really don't think therapy has helped you even a little bit?

NO this didn't count. Big deal, he accepted one compliment. That didn't mean anything. He wasn't about to give therapy credit for that.

Danny and Maddie both got out of the car and met in front of the hood. Danny handed her his phone and started heading toward the outside stairs leading up to the second floor. Maddie placed the phone in her purse but did not follow him. After a few steps, Danny turned back to find her staring at a red Mercedes-Benz parked just a couple of spots away.

"That's a nice car," said Maddie, perhaps to herself more than to Danny. "I've never seen this car here before. I wonder whose it is."

She looked at Danny, who was still waiting near the stairs. He gave her a puzzled tilt of his head.

"Oh, I have some errands to run," said Maddie, gesturing to her own car. "You've proven to me before that you'll go see Brandan even if I'm not there with you." She smiled. "I trust you."

More glowing warmth entered Danny's chest. "Oh—uh—okay," he stammered.

Maddie walked over to the driver's side of her car. "I'll see you in an hour, sweetie."

"Uh, right." Danny nodded. "Yeah, okay. Bye, Mom."

Maddie waggled her fingers at him before opening the car door and climbing inside. Danny watched her start the engine and then pull out of the parking spot, and then she was gone.

Danny turned back to look at the stairs leading up to the therapy offices. No one around, no one to force him to go up.

He really could just leave. Why bother going at this point? What was one last session going to do for him?

He stood there for several silent moments, the sun beating down on his head.

But he wasn't actually debating going up or not. Because his mother trusted him.

Of course he was going.

Danny climbed up the stairs to the second floor and opened the door into the main lobby of the therapy offices. He approached the front desk to check himself in.

"I'll let Brandan know you're here," said the receptionist with a smile. "Go ahead and have a seat."

Danny nodded and chose an empty seat that faced the hall he knew Brandan would shortly be emerging from. He looked around the waiting room, noting the familiar faces he had been seeing almost every week although he did not know any of their names. A middle-aged couple with grey hair, their hands clasped between them. A man in a crisp business suit, his hair swept in an obvious comb-over. The young woman that he saw crying when his mother brought him in for his first session seven weeks ago. She was not crying today as she read a long novel held in one of her slender hands.

Danny couldn't help noticing that he was the youngest one here. He wondered what brought the others here, what compelled them to seek help. Because they were all adults and surely their mothers weren't forcing them into this. They were here because they wanted to be.

Well. After today, he would be able to make his own choice about continuing therapy, too.

The others in the waiting room were each retrieved by their therapists, one by one, ushered away and down the hall. Danny frowned at the clock above the receptionist's head. Brandan usually came to get him by now; it wasn't like him to be this late.

A man's voice began booming from down the hall with a charismatic flair that was somehow familiar. Danny furrowed his brow, trying to pin down the voice because he had definitely heard it before.

Two men appeared at the end of the hall and began walking toward the lobby, both of their voices sharing an oddly similar cadence. Danny recognized the second voice as Brandan's, but he still couldn't quite place the first voice.

The receptionist looked up as Brandan and another man entered the lobby, her cheeks rosy with a blush as she smiled, looking almost starstruck. It didn't take long for Danny to realize why once he finally had a face to connect with the mystery voice, a voice that he had heard so many times on the local news reporting the weather and, more recently, ghost activity in town.

It was pretty obvious now who owned that red Mercedes-Benz in the parking lot.

Danny rose to his feet, hardly believing that Action News reporter Lance Thunder was right here in the waiting area of the therapy offices. And talking to Brandan, of all people. But now that they were together, the resemblance between them was striking: perfectly coiffed hair the exact same shade of blond, similar toned physiques, the same angular jawline. The only notable difference was their height, as Brandan was a couple inches shorter than Lance.

"Oh, hey, before I go, did you get Mom anything for Mother's Day yet?" asked Lance.

"Yes, of course," said Brandan, sounding irritated. "Seeing as it's next week."

"Great. Can I pay you back for half and say it's from both of us?"

Brandan narrowed his eyes. "I'll just buy something else for her and say it's from you. You can pay me back."

"Thanks, Bran." Lance clapped a hand on Brandan's shoulder. "I owe you."

"Yeah, I'll keep the tab open," muttered Brandan.

Lance began heading toward the front door but stopped when he noticed Danny staring at him. Danny immediately closed his mouth, only realizing just then that it was hanging open. He sheepishly looked down at the floor and balled his hands into fists, knocking them lightly against his thighs.

"Say…" Lance pursed his lips and scratched his chin, looking Danny up and down. "You're the Fenton kid, aren't you?"

"You know me?" asked Danny, bewildered.

"Well, I know your parents. We've interviewed them multiple times for ghost segments on Action News." Lance grinned. "Your mom's quite the looker."

"Lan, you have a girlfriend," scolded Brandan.

"I can still appreciate an attractive woman when I see one," said Lance dismissively. He turned back to Danny. "Are your parents around right now? I'd love to get their input on a ghost-related topic for a story we're covering."

"What story?" asked Danny, tilting his head.

"Lan, you're not supposed to talk to anyone here except me," said Brandan, stepping between Lance and Danny. "This is why I don't like you visiting me at work."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Lance pointed to Danny. "Is this your patient?"

"I don't have patients, I have clients," said Brandan snippily. "Now I really do need to get back to work."

"I'll probably grab some pizza downstairs before I head back to work," said Lance, checking the time on his gold wristwatch. "I'll see you later, Bran."

Lance gave Danny a quick wink as he walked past him toward the exit. Danny watched him leave, waiting until the door fully closed behind him to look back at Brandan, who was scowling. Danny opened his mouth to speak, but Brandan held up a preemptive hand to stop him.

"Don't ask," he grumbled.

He turned on his heel and nearly stomped down the hall toward his office. Danny followed after him, a dozen questions bubbling in his head.

Chapter Text

In Brandan's office, Danny took a seat on the couch while Brandan moved his desk chair in front of the couch. Danny looked around the room, at the pleasant landscape paintings on the wall, the bookshelf in the corner filled with psychology books, the window overlooking the traffic on the main road outside.

This was the very last time he ever had to look at any of this. As familiar as it had all become, Danny was ready to never be in this room again.

"So, what's on your mind today, Danny?" asked Brandan, shifting in his chair.

Danny looked at the door, imagining the hallway beyond it and Amity Park's weather reporter walking toward the lobby with Brandan, talking about Mother's Day gifts. "Uh—I know you said not to ask, but is Lance Thunder your brother?"

Brandan groaned. "Yeah. He is."

"But isn't your last name Cross?"

"You don't think Lance Thunder is his real name, do you?" Brandan rolled his eyes. "His real name is Landan Cross. He just wanted to use a name with more zing when he became part of the Action News team, a name people would remember." Brandan shrugged. "And it worked. Everyone in town knows his name."

Danny tilted his head. "Not to jump to conclusions, but you don't seem to really like him."

"Oh, we've just had our tiffs," said Brandan. "Typical sibling quarrels, you probably understand."

Danny thought about how he and Jazz were very different people who often didn't see eye to eye on things, all of the times Jazz tried to butt into his life because she was convinced if he just followed her advice, he'd feel better or do better or whatever.

"Yeah, I do," said Danny, nodding.

"But he's still my brother," said Brandan. "So even if he gets on my nerves, I can't just write him out of my life. At least not while Mom is still alive." He scowled in the direction of the lobby. "I just really hate when he visits me at work. I've told him so many times not to do that, but he never listens. Or more likely, he just doesn't care. He's used to just doing and getting whatever he wants."

Brandan's scowl deepened, his folded arms tightening against his middle. Danny frowned, wondering if something more than "tiffs" had happened between him and Lance.

"What was he doing here today?" asked Danny. "Does he just like to see you?"

"Oh, no, he never visits without some kind of reason," said Brandan. "Apparently the Action News team wants to run a story about my encounter with Danny Phantom last night."

Danny's gut lurched. "What?"

"I told Lan I'd do it only if he's not the one interviewing me."

"But what—ah—you saw Danny Phantom last night?"

Brandan blinked, then smiled. Danny tried to look completely surprised, like this really was brand-new information to him.

"I thought you didn't like talking about Danny Phantom," said Brandan.

Danny reddened. "Oh—well, no, I don't, but I can't help but be a little curious."

Brandan raised a brow while Danny kept the straightest face he could. To his relief, Brandan shrugged and relaxed his expression.

"I suppose anyone would be curious," said Brandan. "We all know who he is, but few of us have actually seen Phantom face to face, let alone been personally rescued by him."

"He rescued you?"

"Yeah. I was coming home late last night from a date." Brandan smiled, a dreamy glint in his eye as he looked up toward the ceiling. "He asked me to stay overnight, but I figured I should be responsible and get some sleep before coming in to work this morning."

"Right, yeah, sure," said Danny, nodding.

"I was on the road heading home when this huge ghost monster—not really sure what it was, kind of looked like a weird bear creature with gorilla arms?" Brandan raised his arms in an imitation of the ghost. "Anyway, it slammed into this tree on the side of the road and toppled it over into the street right in front of me. I had no time to go around it, I knew I was going to crash right into it."

Danny nodded again, recalling the turn of events in his own mind.

"But then this other ghost swooped in out of nowhere and picked me up." Brandan made a whooshing gesture with one arm. "Flew me out of the way right before I hit the tree. And it was Danny Phantom. I mean, can you believe it? Totally saved my neck."

"I—yeah, wow," said Danny. "That's crazy."

"Phantom took off pretty quickly after that, but there were a few witnesses, and some people caught a few pictures and videos of Phantom before he left," continued Brandan. "Lan recognized me in the pictures uploaded to social media and said that Action News wanted to cover the full story, so that's why he was here."

"So this was last night?" said Danny. "You're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Brandan held out his arms as if for Danny's examination. "Not a scratch on me."

"What about your motorcycle? Was it totaled?"

Brandan broke into a very wide, very smug grin as he folded his arms and reclined in his desk chair. Danny's stomach dropped, wondering what horrible mistake he had just made.

"I didn't say I was riding a motorcycle," said Brandan, his tone cheeky.

Danny froze, his mind trying desperately to restart. "Uh—ah—well, you just seem like a motorcycle kind of guy."

"Oh, do I?" Brandan's grin somehow widened even more.

"Yeah, you've told me that you have a motorcycle before."

"No, I've definitely never mentioned it."

"Well—but I'm pretty sure I've seen a motorcycle parked here before and I just assumed it was yours."

"I never ride my motorcycle here. I always take my car in case someone needs a ride at the end of the day."

Danny and Brandan locked eyes a moment longer, Brandan still smiling while Danny's skin prickled with sweat.

"Danny, how did you know that I was riding a motorcycle?" asked Brandan.

Danny groaned and covered his face with both hands, slumping back into the couch. Brandan did not pester him to speak and waited in silence.

"Fine, all right." Danny dropped his hands and sighed in defeat. "I know because…I was there."

"Mmm hmm." Brandan nodded.

"I was there because…" Danny paused, stalling for just a second longer. "I'm Danny Phantom." He blinked, chuckled, rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I… I am. I'm Danny Phantom. It sounds so ridiculous to just say it like that, so simply. But it's true."

"Thank you for telling me," said Brandan, his smile now sincere and kind.

"You already knew, didn't you?" said Danny. "When you asked me about my mom last night, you knew exactly who I was."

"I just remembered how you had gotten in trouble before for breaking curfew on a school night," said Brandan. "I didn't want you getting grounded again."

"But how long have you known?"

"Hmm." Brandan stroked his chin. "Since our third session, I believe."

Danny's jaw dropped. "That long?"

"Well, I had a hunch from the beginning. Even before we first spoke, I knew there was some sort of connection between you and Phantom. Same first name, your parents being professional ghost researchers and particularly obsessed with hunting down Phantom. I had an inkling the first session, was pretty sure the second session, absolutely positive the third."

"But—but—" Danny sputtered, trying to organize the firings in his brain. "But why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"I wanted you to tell me when you were ready," said Brandan. "And besides, I dropped plenty of hints."

Danny lowered his gaze and thought to himself a moment. "A few weeks ago," he murmured, "when you tried to make me accept that really weird compliment."

"You remember what I said?" asked Brandan.

Danny looked up, his eyes glazing with recollection. "You said that the things I'm willing to do for others are extraordinary." His eyes snapped into focus on Brandan. "Were you talking about me protecting the town from ghost attacks?"

"What else?" asked Brandan with a shrug.

"I really wasn't sure," said Danny. "Especially since…I don't think what I do for the town is extraordinary at all." He looked down at his hands, flipping them over. "I screw up all the time when I'm fighting ghosts. I destroy public property. I piss off law enforcement." He paused, smiling wryly. "I uproot trees and wreck motorcycles."

"Yeah, I do wish you could've saved my bike somehow," said Brandan with a small but amiable chuckle.

"I could've," said Danny, his smile dropping as he looked up at Brandan. "I could've—I should've turned both you and the motorcycle intangible. Then you would've just gone through the tree with no problem."

"That's a should statement, Danny," said Brandan with gentle rebuke. "And you were able to save me. That's what's important, that's what counts more than anything. I can always get another motorcycle, Danny. And that tree, I'm pretty sure they'll be able to put it back in the ground. And if not, they can plant another one."

Danny sighed and shook his head. "It's just… Sometimes I think I do a lot more harm than good. And what kind of hero am I even when I do save lives when I so often just make a big mess?"

Brandan smiled, looking quite pleased.

"What?" asked Danny warily.

"You just always find the perfect way to set up a discussion for thinking errors. And this next one is also your last one." Brandan grabbed the tally sheet from off his desk. "You know what it is, right?"

Danny stared at the piece of paper with scrawled marks all over it. Right, yes, this was still supposed to be therapy.

"It's disqualifying the positive," said Brandan. "Your least common thinking error out of the ten, but it still has a decent number of tallies."

"Oh," said Danny, not sure how else to respond.

"Want to summarize this one for us?"

"You've asked me that ten times now and you still don't know my answer?"

"Hey, I finally got you to admit you're Danny Phantom, didn't I?"

"You didn't do that. That was just me being stupid."

"You could've said that you saw pictures of the wrecked motorcycle on social media. A lot of people uploaded photos of it."

Danny's mouth opened and then closed. Brandan widened his eyes and tilted his head, smiling pleasantly.

There was just no winning with this guy, was there?

"Fine, fine," groaned Danny. "I'll try summarizing it this time."

Brandan pumped a fist. "Yes! Two for two!"

"Has anyone ever told you you're really annoying?"

"Oh, yes. Many times."

Danny sighed and rolled his eyes. "Disqualifying the positive means… Well, it's like when a good thing happens to you or you do something good and you write it off like it doesn't matter or you don't really deserve it. Like you think the good stuff just doesn't count, but for some reason you think all of the bad stuff does count."

"Good, good," said Brandan. "What are some examples of that?"

"Um…" Danny thought for a moment. "Like when you get a good grade on an essay but you think it was just luck or the teacher didn't actually read it that closely."

"Right," said Brandan. "So you can't accept that you actually really did write a good essay and deserve a good grade. You think that there must be some other reason why it happened."

"Or when someone asks how you're doing and you think they're just being polite and don't really care how you're feeling," said Danny. "Or if someone says something nice about you, you think they're just trying to flatter you to get you to do something. Or you think they wouldn't say that if they got to know you better."

"Exactly right," said Brandan. "When you disqualify the positive, you are rejecting a good experience because you invent some reason why it's not real or why it's just a fluke and doesn't count. You have trouble accepting that you deserve to have good experiences or that you really are capable of doing good."

Danny nodded, popping a couple of knuckles on one hand in his lap.

"Are you okay with us talking through one of your personal examples?" asked Brandan.

Danny shrugged. "I guess I have to be now."

"You don't have to be okay with anything, Danny," said Brandan. "But talking through a personal example is the best way for me to help you. And I do want to help you."

Danny hesitated, looking down at his lap, trailing his fingers along his upper thighs. "I want to believe that." He looked up. "I know it would be disqualifying the positive if I didn't believe you, and I don't want to do that. I want to believe that you really do like talking to me each week and that you're not just putting up with me for the money."

Brandan nodded, his expression serious. "It's true that I get paid to talk to you. And it's true that I probably wouldn't be here talking to you if I didn't get paid."

Danny looked down again, sighing.

"But that doesn't mean I don't sincerely want to help you." Brandan placed a cupped hand over his heart. "I genuinely care about you, Danny."

Danny didn't respond for a few moments. "Well." He shrugged. "Like I said, I want to believe it."

"Hmm." Brandan placed both feet flat on the floor as he leaned forward. "You are correct that it would be disqualifying the positive to assume that my only reason for trying to help you is so I can get paid. But I'd really like to talk about a different personal example right now if that's all right."

"You mean what I said earlier about how I don't think protecting the town from ghosts is some 'extraordinary' thing I do?" asked Danny dully.

"Precisely," said Brandan. "I find it extraordinary. Hundreds of others find it extraordinary. Why do you disqualify that positive?"

Danny rubbed one palm over his face. "I don't know. I just feel like I should be better at using my powers by now and I just still suck after a year and a half of fighting ghosts."

"Have you ever failed to save the town from a ghost threat, Danny?" asked Brandan.

"That's really not an easy question to answer."

"The town's still here, isn't it? No one's been killed during your ghost battles, have they?"

"A few have almost been killed."

"But 'almost killed' means they're still alive, right?"

Danny folded his arms and sank back into the couch.

"All right, let's back up." Brandan crossed his legs. "First step of combating a thinking error, what is it?"

"Identify it," muttered Danny. "Which we've already done."

"What exactly did we identify?" asked Brandan.

Danny groaned. Fine, whatever. He only had to play this game one more time anyway. "I'm disqualifying the positive when I say that I don't think anything I do with my ghost powers is actually that good or helpful."

"Good, good," said Brandan. "Next step?"

"Examine the evidence."

"What's the evidence here?"

Danny sprawled his arms out as he stared up at the ceiling. "There's too much. I don't even know where to start."

"Okay. Well." Brandan thought for a moment. "Why don't we start at the beginning?"

Danny tilted his head back down. "The beginning?"

"Well, you weren't always a ghost, I'm assuming," said Brandan. "I am admittedly curious about how Danny Phantom came to be."

"Hmm." Danny folded his arms, debating for only a moment because at this point, he might as well tell Brandan everything. "Well, to make a very long story short, my parents made this portal that was supposed to open up into the Ghost Zone, but they couldn't get it to turn on. And then one day, my friends and I were down there just goofing off when Sam said I should go check out the portal. And so I went inside and somehow switched it on and it electrocuted me and…" He paused. "Well, it somehow turned me into a ghost. But not completely. Just…half ghost."

"It electrocuted you?" Brandan frowned. "That sounds painful."

Danny looked down at his knees, his nerves bristling with the memory. "It was," he said softly. "The most pain I'd ever felt."

The pain shocked him everywhere all at once, piercing every inch of him, inside and outside, vibrating his bones and contracting his muscles, burning his skin and stopping his heart.

"I couldn't scream or move," Danny continued. "I was just stuck, and I couldn't make it stop. The pain—it just kept going and going, and I couldn't make it stop."

He released a breath, not even realizing he had been holding it. He placed a hand against his shaking chest as he tried to calm himself.

"I thought I was going to die," he whispered.

"But you didn't," said Brandan.

"No." Danny slowly shook his head. "I blacked out, and when I woke up, Sam was crying and Tucker was yelling my name and my veins were just burning with—something. I was no longer being electrocuted, but I still couldn't move or even talk for a long time."

Brandan nodded. He was not taking any notes at all as he listened intently.

"When I was finally able to get up," Danny continued, "I looked at myself in a mirror and…I was horrified. And scared." He paused, remembering the first time he saw his glowing green eyes staring back at him. "I definitely wasn't thinking anything positive about it then."

"Of course not," said Brandan gently. "No normal person would feel anything but horror and fear after something like that. That's certainly not disqualifying the positive or any other thinking error."

"Well." Danny chuckled mirthlessly. "Glad to know one thing about me was normal in that moment."

Brandan also chuckled.

"I didn't even know what to do with myself at first," continued Danny. "I somehow figured out how to change back to my normal appearance, but I still had all these weird ghost powers. And I wanted to tell my parents, I really did. I meant to tell them, I tried to tell them. So many times. But I was just… I was afraid."

"Because your parents are ghost hunters," said Brandan.

Danny nodded, his eyes misting.

"Did you really believe they wouldn't accept you?" asked Brandan. "Did you believe they would hurt you? That they wouldn't try to help you?"

"Okay, yes, I know I was jumping to conclusions," said Danny bitterly. "And they always tell me how they'll support me no matter what I do, how they'll always be there to help me no matter what situation I get myself into. But I was afraid to test that. I was afraid that…maybe they only meant that as long as I was human. Maybe being a ghost would change their minds."

"Now that is disqualifying the positive," said Brandan.

"Whatever, fine," grumbled Danny. "Point is, I didn't tell them. But I still had these weird ghost powers that just seemed to have a mind of their own. I'd just randomly turn invisible or fall through a chair. And my eyes would just flash green sometimes."

"Sounds difficult," said Brandan.

"It was," agreed Danny. "And I had no idea what to do with these powers. I had no idea if they were even safe, if they were slowly killing me or not. I knew my parents were the only ones who could help me figure out how to get rid of them, but…" He sighed, rubbing one elbow. "I just felt so alone."

"But you weren't alone. You had your friends, didn't you?" asked Brandan.

Danny nodded. "Right, yes. Sam and Tucker. They were also freaked out at first, but they stuck with me. They tried to help me find ways to control my powers."

"It looks like you have them under control now."

"Mostly. But it wasn't easy. I still remember my first big ghost battle. It was this lunch lady that was obsessed with making sure everyone at our school was eating meat."

"I remember seeing footage of a huge ghost monster made of meat. Didn't look like any lunch lady I'd ever seen."

"Yeah, that was her. And I was somehow able to wear her down and capture her inside a Thermos." Danny smiled. "And it felt good, when it was finally over. I mean, it felt good to use my powers to protect everyone. And in that moment, I thought that my powers could maybe have a purpose after all. Like maybe I didn't need to get rid of them."

"So that's when you decided to become a superhero," said Brandan.

Danny chewed the inside of his cheek. "It sounds kind of dumb when you say it that way, but yeah. I guess."

"You're just disqualifying the positive when you say that," said Brandan. "It's not dumb, it's what you are. A superhero is how everyone sees you."

"But I wasn't trying to be a superhero," said Danny. "I just knew that me turning on the portal was the reason the ghosts kept invading our town, so I felt like it was my responsibility to stop them from hurting people."

"You 'felt' that way?" Brandan raised a brow.

"I—" Danny groaned. "Okay, maybe it is emotional reasoning, but that doesn't mean it isn't true. I did turn on the portal and so therefore it is my fault that all the ghosts are coming through it."

"But you're not the one who created the portal," said Brandan. "Why isn't it your parents' fault?"

"Well, they try to stop all the ghosts, too," said Danny, "but they're not as good at it as I am. I mean, they just don't have ghost powers like I do."

"Which makes you a superhero," said Brandan.

Danny scrunched his mouth. "But isn't that labeling?"

"Technically yes, but labeling is really only a thinking error when you base it on just one event or circumstance. But you've proven yourself, and you do have actual superpowers." Brandan shrugged. "It's no more a thinking error to call you a superhero than it is to call me a therapist."

"Yeah, well, you obviously worked hard to become a therapist," said Danny, gesturing to the framed diplomas and certifications on the wall behind Brandan's desk. "I don't think I've earned the superhero label."

"You don't think you've worked hard?" asked Brandan.

Danny sighed. "I don't really know what I've been doing, honestly. It just seems like I keep getting really lucky each time I catch a ghost."

"Saying it's just luck and not acknowledging your skills or talents is in fact disqualifying the positive, Danny."

Danny shrugged.

"Well, let's talk through an example," said Brandan. "Tell me about a time you caught a ghost through what you believe was just luck."

Danny chortled. "Take your pick, there are so many. I mean, what's a ghost invasion that you remember? We can start with that."

"Hmm." Brandan thought for a moment. "Well, one invasion that definitely sticks out in my mind is when hundreds of ghosts attacked our town all at once. And then you—Danny Phantom—supposedly attacked the mayor. Not Mayor Masters, the mayor before him. Mayor Montez."

"Oh, right." Danny narrowed his eyes. "That."

"I'm assuming that's not what actually happened, is it?" said Brandan.

"No." Danny sighed, remembering all too well when Walker and his goons possessed several people in the town to turn everyone against him. "Basically, the mayor was being overshadowed by an enemy of mine that was trying to make the whole town afraid of me." He paused. "And it worked."

"Right," said Brandan. "They called you 'public ghost enemy number one.' Now that's labeling."

Danny grumbled under his breath.

"Labeling is a very common thinking error," Brandan went on. "Powerful, too. People are quick to label other people based on very little evidence if any at all, and they're quick to believe labels that others or the media insist are true."

"They all definitely believed it," said Danny. "No one saw me as a good ghost for a long time, not until I later saved the town from Pariah Dark."

Brandan opened his mouth, but Danny put up a hand to stop him.

"No, don't, it's a long story," said Danny. "Not one I want to get into right now."

"But not everyone was afraid of you from the beginning, right?" said Brandan. "Not everyone hated you or thought you were evil."

"No, there were a few people who thought I was good," said Danny. "But they don't count."

"Why not?"

"Well, my friends kind of have to be on my side. That's what friends do. Same with my sister, she's just family. She definitely doesn't count."

"You really think your friends and sister don't count? You think how they feel about you isn't important?"

Danny groaned. "I didn't mean it like that. I just mean that they already knew who I was even before I was a ghost, so of course their thoughts about me didn't change."

"But were they really the only ones?" asked Brandan. "Was there anyone that didn't know who you really were that still thought you were good?"

Danny furrowed his brow. "There were a couple, I guess." He chuckled. "Dash, if you can believe it. He was one of the first people to idolize me. And Paulina too, she was actually impressed when I saved her and said that I was a 'friendly' ghost." He paused. "She even fell in love with me. With Phantom, I mean."

"That must've felt good," said Brandan with a smile.

"It did," agreed Danny. "But she still thought Danny Fenton was just a dweeb. Dash, too. I mean, it was nice that Dash and Paulina were able to see the good in one half of me. Certainly better than them hating all of me."

"Hate is a strong word," said Brandan.

"Well, it doesn't matter what they really think about me," said Danny. "They're just two people, what they thought about Phantom didn't make any difference for my image. The media and the cops and all the amateur ghost hunters popping up—they didn't care, they all still wanted to take me down because they were all convinced I was dangerous."

"It made a difference to you, didn't it?" asked Brandan. "Didn't it make you feel better about yourself? Even just a little?"

Danny crossed his arms. "Not enough to matter."

"You see how that's disqualifying the positive, right?"

Danny narrowed his eyes but did not look at Brandan.

"No matter how small they are, good things matter, Danny," insisted Brandan. "They always do."

Danny scoffed. "What, and bad things don't?"

"Bad things do not always matter, no."

Danny turned his eyes back to Brandan with a skeptical glare.

"Good things make life worth living," Brandan explained, "so they're always important, they're always worth acknowledging. But the bad things, if they're small enough, it's often better to brush them off, ignore them. Someone cutting you off in traffic, as long as no one was hurt, it's better for your mental health to just let it go and not flip them off. But someone allowing you to merge in front of them, that's worth giving them a friendly wave."

"I still don't like driving," muttered Danny.

"But you see the point I'm making, right?" Brandan held out his hands. "Getting upset over bad things offers no benefit to your soul, but finding joy in even the tiniest good things is highly beneficial."

"So I should just ignore the whole town thinking I'm an enemy?" asked Danny snappishly.

"Well, I wouldn't call that a small thing," said Brandan. "Always acknowledging the positive does not in turn mean you should always disqualify the negative. It's still important to evaluate the overall significance of everything that happens and react accordingly."

Danny sighed. "I get what you're saying, really. But the bad things just seem so much bigger than the good things right now."

"Both bad and good things are going to continue happening to you," said Brandan. "It's the reality of life. So I encourage you to cherish all the good things."

Danny sighed again and looked away.

"You've been dealt a very difficult hand," Brandan went on. "And sure, maybe you make some mistakes when you're dealing with ghosts. Maybe you could've done things better after a particularly difficult encounter. But there is always a much bigger picture to consider."

"Like what?" Danny brought his gaze back to Brandan.

"Like how there are people who trusted you and saw Danny Phantom as an ally from the beginning," said Brandan. "And they probably convinced others to believe the same, and that helped the public opinion about you change for the better later on."

Danny shrugged.

"Or, speaking more personally, when you saved my life last night," said Brandan. "You weren't able to save my motorcycle as well, and perhaps you could've found a way to beat that ghost without knocking over the tree in the first place. But you were able to save me in time, and that does matter to me, Danny. And I would hope it matters to you, too."

"It does," said Danny softly, his eyes becoming round.

"It's really easy to disqualify the positive when you get stuck on all the negative," said Brandan. "Combating this thinking error means appreciating the good things that happen no matter what they are. Don't discard them as not meaning anything. They always mean something."

Danny nodded, grateful that he was able to save Brandan because he couldn't imagine the intense guilt he'd be feeling if he hadn't acted quickly enough.

"We have some time left," said Brandan with a quick glance at the clock. "I'd like to go over one more example of disqualifying the positive from your personal life if you have one. Your personal life as Danny Fenton as opposed to Danny Phantom, that is."

Danny pressed his lips.

"Is that all right?" asked Brandan.

"I guess so," said Danny, remembering how in his first few sessions he absolutely hated talking about real examples from his life with a total stranger.

But Brandan wasn't really a stranger anymore, was he?

"Can you think of anything?" asked Brandan. "Maybe something that happened this week?"

Danny looked away and thought for a moment, about that day, his conversations with his friends and his mother. He brought his gaze back to Brandan.

"Did my mom tell you that today is my last day of therapy?" asked Danny.

Brandan paused before responding. "She told me about the deal you two made. How you agreed to try therapy until the end of the school semester, and then at that point, you could decide if you want to continue or not."

"I don't want to continue," said Danny simply but not rudely.

"It is your choice to make," said Brandan, not sounding at all offended. "The deal you made with your mother was fair."

In the past, Danny might've been annoyed by just how damn agreeable and pleasant Brandan was being, but in this last session, he was just glad Brandan wasn't trying to change his mind.

"My mom and my friends want me to keep seeing you," said Danny. "They all think therapy has been helping me."

"Sometimes those on the outside can see things that we ourselves are too close to see," said Brandan. "But what do you think?"

Danny sighed. "I think…maybe it's helped a little? I mean, I've been catching myself making thinking errors and sometimes I am able to talk through them even if I can't stop myself from doing them in the first place."

"That's normal," said Brandan with a nod. "And expected. Many people are unable to stop cognitive distortions from happening internally, but they are able to stop themselves from externally reacting to them."

"But I still feel…down on myself." Danny paused for a long moment. "Depressed." He wrung his hands and averted his eyes. "I don't really like using that word because it alarms people, especially my mom. But…even after talking through things with you and understanding how these thinking errors disrupt and control my life, I just…still don't feel much better than I did before I started coming here."

"Also normal," said Brandan. "We've only been talking eight weeks."

Danny glared at him. "I get what you're trying to say, that I'm not incapable of feeling better just because it hasn't happened yet, that it takes time for everyone." He crossed his arms. "But I'm just not sure the little progress I've made here has really been worth it. It doesn't really seem to matter much in the big picture: My grades still suck, everyone at school still thinks I'm a freak, I still get beat up every night fighting ghosts, my parents still talk about how they want to capture and dissect me—"

"Oh," cut in Brandan, his eyes wide.

"Changing how I feel and understand things doesn't stop all the bad things that keep happening to me. And some of them are really bad things." Danny could feel tears pushing behind his eyes. "And I can't just stop being Danny Phantom, I'm the only one who can protect this town from ghosts."

"I believe that," said Brandan softly.

"So all this therapy and trying to feel better about things or see them as they really are and not as cognitive distortions, it just doesn't seem to matter. I don't get the point."

Danny sniffled and ducked his head.

"I'm sorry, I just don't," he forced out through his tight throat.

Danny massaged his knuckles into his knees, holding back his tears because he didn't want to cry in front of Brandan, couldn't let him see just how weak and scared he really was. He gulped in a shaky breath as the threat of tears faded and he lifted his head to find Brandan looking at him with tears shining in his own eyes.

"You are going through so much, Danny," said Brandan. "I understand why you would think trying to feel better is a futile effort. I understand why you would disqualify all of the positive progress you have made here, because no matter how much you combat these thinking errors, you can't stop other people, including your own parents, from hurting you."

Danny scratched his cheek and looked away.

"And I can't stop them either," said Brandan, sounding pained. "Not without revealing your secret."

Danny stared out the window, at each car passing by on the street below, wondering about the drivers and passengers inside, how many of them he would recognize from the times he might've saved them from ghosts.

He turned his head back to Brandan.

"Are you going to tell my parents?" he asked. "My mom?"

Brandan sighed and swiveled in his chair. "Normally, I would have to. Normally when a young client confesses to me that they are being actively harmed, I am obligated to report it."

Dread spiked through Danny's chest.

"But in your case…" Brandan's brows pinched, his bottom lip protruding. "I fear that reporting it would only make things worse for you."

Danny frowned and tilted his head.

"This isn't just a simple case of child abuse. If the police or the government were to find out that you're Danny Phantom—as in, not entirely human—I'm sure you'd be taken away for experimentation." Brandan's expression turned forlorn. "And then I definitely would never be able to help you."

"So you really do want to help me?" asked Danny sincerely but not without some skepticism.

"I do, Danny." Brandan's tone was solemn. "Honestly, even if you stopped seeing me after today and I no longer got paid to talk to you, I'd still offer to give you my number so you could reach out to me if you ever wanted to talk through something."

"Really?" asked Danny, raising both eyebrows.

"Of course," said Brandan. "If nothing else, I hope I can help you to stop disqualifying my commitment to you and your well-being."

Danny stared at him. "But you've only known me a couple months. How can you care about me as much as you say you do?"

"You cared enough to save me last night even though you barely know me," said Brandan. "You didn't even know Lance Thunder was my brother until less than an hour ago."

"I didn't even know the guy on the motorcycle was you until you took your helmet off," said Danny somewhat sheepishly.

"Exactly," said Brandan. "You cared enough to save me even though you didn't have any idea who I was. And you don't know all the people in this town, do you? Yet you obviously care about all of them enough to risk your life for them every day."

Danny lowered his eyes and chewed the inside of his bottom lip as he mulled this over.

"Or…afterlife?" Brandan scratched his head. "Is 'life' correct to say in your case?"

Danny laughed, relieved by the break in tension. "I'm not really sure how to describe what I am. I try not to think about it."

"Well. Maybe that's something we could explore together if you decide you want to continue therapy."

Danny's mirth faded as he gritted his teeth and looked down at his lap.

"What's on your mind?" asked Brandan.

"I don't know," murmured Danny. "I know you and my mom, my friends—even my teacher—really think therapy will help me, but…it just seems so impossible to me." He lifted his head. "I don't even remember how it feels to be happy. I can't even imagine feeling anything other than…this ever again."

He gestured vaguely to himself with one hand, then let it drop against his thigh with a small slap. He sighed, shaking his head.

Brandan was quiet for several moments before speaking. "Do you remember a few weeks ago when you told me you couldn't see yourself making it to your sixteenth birthday?"

Danny furrowed his brow and nodded.

"How did you feel when your sixteenth birthday finally came and went?"

Danny blinked and looked up at the ceiling. "I felt…confused. Not happy or relieved, just… I didn't understand why I was still here." He paused, his brow creasing deeper. "But honestly, lately I've been thinking…that maybe I won't make it to my eighteenth birthday. I mean, once again, I just can't imagine it. I'm not even sure I want to imagine it." He shivered and lowered his head. "Is that weird?"

"No," said Brandan kindly. "That's actually a very common thing that people do when they are suffering."

Danny cocked his head.

"They create deadlines for themselves," Brandan explained. "They can't imagine their suffering ever ending, so they write their own endings, often some milestone birthday that they believe will somehow bring death and thus the end of their suffering."

Brandan leaned forward in his chair.

"You didn't want to live past your sixteenth birthday because you were afraid your suffering would just continue if you did," Brandan went on. "And now that that deadline has passed and you're still suffering, you've created a new deadline for yourself because you still desperately want to believe your suffering will end someday, but the only conceivable end to you is nonexistence, death. So you cling to it."

Danny nodded, not even fully aware he was doing it.

"And if you're still suffering by the time you turn eighteen, you might create a new ending for yourself," said Brandan. "And when that deadline passes, you might create another. And you might keep creating those endings until your suffering actually does end."

Danny's gaze fell as he pondered this information, almost astonished that someone was actually able to explain his feeling in this regard, something he had never been able to understand before.

"I'd really like to help you find a better ending for your suffering," said Brandan. "If you choose to keep seeing me, that is."

Danny warily raised his eyes. "You're not going to tell anyone I'm Danny Phantom if I choose not to come back, right?"

"You mean like blackmail?"

Danny lowered his eyes again.

"That's something you've dealt with before, isn't it?" said Brandan gently. "I would never do that to you, Danny."

Danny rubbed his arms but did not look up.

"And legally, I'm only obligated to report illegal or harmful activity involving Danny Fenton," Brandan continued, "not Danny Phantom."

Danny scrunched his mouth as he lifted his head.

"This really isn't about the money for me," said Brandan. "This isn't about my job. This is about you. You deserve to feel better, Danny. And I want to help you get there if I can."

Danny stared at him in silence.

And then his mouth twitched into a smile.

Brandan mirrored his smile. "What?"

Danny chuckled. "You're just so…nice."

Brandan also chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I've heard that before. My ex-wife used to tell me I'm too nice." He lowered his hand. "Do you think I'm too nice?"

Danny shrugged. "Maybe that's a good trait for a therapist."

Brandan said nothing, smiling pleasantly.

"But… It's more than you being nice," said Danny slowly, cautiously. He looked down at his hand and curled his fingers in. "I just…haven't felt this in a long time."

"Haven't felt what?"

"Hope."

Danny's hand balled into a light fist as he lowered it onto his thigh. "Because maybe I really can feel better. Maybe there really is a way. And maybe coming here, the little progress I've made… Maybe it does matter." He paused. "Maybe it has been worth it."

"Do you think it could still be worth it?"

Danny pressed his lips.

"Listen, if the progress you've made is enough for you, that's okay," said Brandan, holding out a placating hand toward him. "You don't have to keep pushing yourself to get better; it's not something you 'should' or 'shouldn't' do. It's just something you need to decide if it's worth it to you personally to continue."

Danny inhaled, somewhat shakily.

"You are free to stop seeing me if you wish," said Brandan. "I'm not going to hold your secret over your head. It's entirely your choice if you want to come back next week." He smiled. "But I do hope to see you again."

Brandan stood and held out a hand, wordlessly inviting Danny to also stand. Danny slowly rose to his feet and followed Brandan out the door, down the hall, to the lobby where Maddie was waiting for them.

"You will never believe who I ran into in the parking lot!" chattered Maddie excitedly as she jumped up from her chair. "Lance Thunder! He was coming out of the pizza restaurant as I was walking up the stairs. Isn't that wild?"

Brandan's mouth curved upward, but his eyes did not change. "So wild."

"He wanted to get my thoughts on the Danny Phantom sighting last night," said Maddie. "What are the chances of seeing him here, right?"

"That is quite the unexpected encounter," said Danny, holding back a chuckle.

Maddie placed the strap of her purse up on her shoulder. "Well, anyway, how was it?"

She was looking right at Danny. Danny furrowed his brow and glanced at Brandan, but Brandan gestured for him to go ahead and answer.

"It was…good," said Danny. "Really good."

"I agree, it was really, really good." Brandan smiled and lightly touched Danny's shoulder. "Bye, Danny."

He waved to Maddie and walked away. Danny watched him vanish down the hall, almost stunned.

Was this really the last time Danny would ever see him?

No "see you next week" this time, just "bye." As if Brandan were making the decision for him.

But did he really want it to be the last time?

Maddie wrapped an arm around Danny and gently guided him out of the waiting room into the sunshine outside. Danny craned his head toward the sky, enjoying the spring warmth on his face.

"So is this really it?" asked Maddie as they started down the stairs together. "Do you want this to be your last day for sure? Should I definitely cancel the session scheduled for next week?"

Danny thought hard as he walked down the stairs beside her. "Yes," he said when they reached the bottom.

Maddie took her arm away from Danny's shoulders, but she did not look disappointed as she smiled at him.

"Because finals are next week," Danny continued. "I really should study. But maybe I could come back the Monday after that."

Maddie's face lit up. "I could set it up for every other week from now on if you want."

Danny smiled and nodded. "That might be good."

Maddie pulled him into a hug and kissed the top of his head. "And you are free to stop coming anytime you want. Just let me know."

Her hand rubbed his back. Danny sighed, allowing himself to enjoy her embrace for just a moment before stepping away.

"Thanks, Mom," he said softly.

Maddie cupped his face with one hand before heading to her car parked nearby. Danny glanced up at the therapy offices on the second floor of the building before following her.