Chapter Text
From the day he'd become the soul protector of Amity Park, Danny had known that the chances of him dying young were incredibly high—much higher than that of a normal teenager. Not that anyone expected a teenager to die young, but when it did happen, it was much more likely to be from a car accident, an illness, or a drug overdose.
But Danny wasn't a normal teenager. Far from it. And, while he expected to die young, he definitely hadn't thought that that day would be today.
But, as he drifted listlessly through the Ghost Zone, ectoplasm oozing from a gash in his side, a decently-sized cut on the side of his head, and a blood-blossom-based poison coursing through his veins, Danny realized it very well could be. He also wondered if this was what death felt like: the struggle to get a nice, deep breath—or any breath, really—the sensation of inhaling shards of broken glass, and fatigue so profound it was like his body was made of lead. If this wasn't death, he didn't know what was.
What had led him to this moment, that was a long story, one he was beginning to doubt he'd have time to tell—Hell, he wasn't sure he'd even make it back home before pain and exhaustion dragged him under—but he'd certainly try. He at least had to say goodbye.
Goodbye...
The word sounded so final.
Danny hated it, so much so that just thinking it sent chills down his spine.
Or perhaps that was just his body going into shock. As if to confirm that suspicion, the chills evolved into uncontrollable shivers, and he could've sworn his heart was beating slightly out of rhythm. These things he took as a sign that the poison was spreading quickly.
Desperate to keep warm, Danny crossed his arms over his midsection, careful not to disturb the gushing wound in his side. He should really be putting pressure on it, but frankly, he was too exhausted. Even floating felt like too much effort. To his disappointment, the change in position did little to stabilize his temperature. Instead, it set his nerves on fire.
Danny wanted to blame the Guys in White for all of this. Really, he did. But a small, stubborn part of him kept insisting he should've seen it coming. He knew they'd only wanted to incapacitate him. The plan had been simple: hit him with their "new and improved" tranquilizer dart, restrain him, and bring him in for questioning, but that's not how it had turned out. Instead, he was left fighting for his life in the infinite realms of the Ghost Zone.
At least, he thought he was fighting for his life. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it seemed.
He could hope, right?
A sudden coughing fit overtook him, each cough wracking his frame so violently it aggravated his wounds, causing him to groan softly. When it didn't stop, he brought his hand to his mouth—more of a reflex than a conscious movement—and covered it until the fit was over. When he pulled it away, palm trembling, he noticed with a sinking feeling the splatter of green and red on the fabric of his suit, both substances a stark contrast to the ghostly white color of his glove.
It was always as bad as it seemed.
Ectoplasm and blood? This meant both halves of him—the human half and the ghost half—were affected by the poison. How? He honestly didn't know, but he couldn't help but wonder if the GiW had done this on purpose or if it was just blatant stupidity on their part.
He still hadn't a clue as to how they'd ended up in the Ghost Zone in the first place or how they'd tracked him down, but even so, Danny should've been more careful. In his defense, though, he wasn't used to their technology actually working. Sure, their weapons left a few minor injuries on occasion, but this? This was something nobody saw coming. And how was Danny supposed to know that this "new and improved" tranquilizer dart was actually just liquified Blood Blossoms in disguise?
Although, thinking back on the whole "idiot" thing, it should've been no surprise that things were taking a turn for the worse. To expect the GiW to know that prolonged exposure to Blood Blossoms was lethal to ghosts was equivalent to expecting Plasmius to give up on marrying his mother.
Also, ew.
On the bright side, they weren't following him anymore. He couldn't remember if he'd succeeded in escaping or if they'd let him escape, but right now, he didn't really care. They weren't here, so it didn't matter. He had enough to deal with right now.
Like, for example, staying conscious. His condition was most definitely worsening. He could feel it in the way his head spun like a hamster on a wheel, the way he could hardly breathe, the tremors, the agony in his bones.
These symptoms, on top of his physical injuries, all came together to create one undeniable truth: his life was at stake.
As a superhero, that was a fairly common occurrence, but not in this way, and never had anything carried an urgency as great as this, a desperation to get back home.
He had to get home. He couldn't really explain it, but something in the pit of his stomach told him he just had to.
Perhaps some part of him knew, and accepted, his fate, but that didn't mean he wanted to die. Accepting death was one thing. Wanting it was another.
And he didn't. There was nothing about this that he wanted.
But if death was coming, he wasn't going to meet it without a goodbye.
At this point, though, Danny was just barely managing to steer himself in the right direction, and with each passing moment, the pull of unconsciousness grew stronger and stronger. Danny started to believe he'd never make it home, that this is where he would die, left to be a corpse floating through the Ghost Zone, for eternity—or until someone found him.
Wow. That was dark.
What was worse, though, was that the idea of closing his eyes was beginning to feel less like surrender and more like bliss.
That image of a corpse was closer to becoming a reality.
Or…wait, wasn't he already a corpse? Possibly. Probably. He was half ghost, so…technically, yes, he was.
Corpse…ha, that rhymes with horse, Danny thought to himself, then he started giggling hysterically.
After a few moments of this unexpected bout of incoherency, the ghost boy shook his head, realizing that this behavior was bordering on delirium—another sign that he was deteriorating rapidly. The movement immediately upset the cut on his head—as well as every other part of him—causing him to groan. He rubbed the cut gently, as if that would somehow alleviate the pain.
That's when the familiar sight of the ghost portal swam into view. By some miracle, he'd made it. And a miracle it was, given that his vision was now so blurry colors and shapes were beginning to look like the same thing.
Just get through the portal. That's all you've gotta do, Fenton
His eyelids were starting to flutter with the strain of keeping them open.
Almost…home…
Home, where Sam awaited his return. Home, where he'd be free to succumb to the darkness.
But is that really what he wanted? What if he didn't wake up?
Danny was only seventeen. He really wasn't ready to die. He didn't think he'd ever be ready to die, but with how much his body hurt right now, and with how difficult maintaining consciousness was, he was positive he didn't have a choice in the matter. Death would come whether he wanted it to or not.
The bone-shattering impact of slamming head-first into the wall of his parents' lab shocked Danny out of his thoughts. He couldn't help but grunt softly as he landed on the floor in a crumpled heap, his whole body throbbing in protest, particularly his head and side wounds.
They'd taken this personally, apparently.
"Danny!" came Sam's worried yet oh-so-soothing voice.
Sam's voice, a more than welcome sound. Not only was it comfortably familiar, but it also gave him something to focus on other than the pain. But there was something…different about the way she spoke, almost like she was angry.
"Danny!" she repeated.
That was when it clicked. That wasn't anger. That was fear. It was carefully hidden beneath a thin layer of anger—her attempt to mask her true feelings. This was a kind of fear he'd heard many times before but never with her, which is probably why he hadn't recognized it at first. This meant his condition was every bit as bad as he'd thought.
"Danny, can you hear me?" Sam murmured gently. Her voice was much closer this time. "Open your eyes for me, Danny."
He felt a warm palm cup his cheek with a gentleness he didn't know she possessed.
Wait, his eyes were closed? When had they closed?
Mustering up every last ounce of strength he had, Danny peeled his eyelids apart to see Sam's face hovering just a few feet above his. He took note of how everything was fuzzy, so much so that he was a little surprised he could even recognize her.
Then, she carefully pulled him into her arms, cradling him close like a mother would a frightened child.
He winced when it upset his injuries.
"Sorry!" she apologized. "Danny, what happened?"
Eyes at half mast, Danny peered up at the goth girl, realizing with a skip in his heartbeat that she was…crying?
He'd never been hurt enough to make her cry.
Not once.
"S-Sam?" he slurred.
Just that one word expended more energy than he had to give, but this was his chance, the moment he'd been waiting for.
This is my chance to say goodbye.
But everything he wanted to say versus what actually came out were two very different things.
"…'m…'m sorry…" he huffed out breathlessly.
In an effort to resupply his lungs with oxygen, Danny drew in a shallow, wheezing breath, but that only succeeded in pissing off every body part involved. As if in rebellion, a few very harsh coughs erupted from his chest. When they stopped, he was left gasping for air. Distantly, he compared this experience to that of a fish out of water.
Maybe he should quit going fishing, because this was cruel.
"Danny, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong!" Sam's arms tightened around him. She stared down at him, eyes so wide he could see the whites.
"They…shot me," Danny rasped. "Poison….t-tranquilizer…"
His chest hitched with a stuttering breath.
This is wayyyy more difficult than it should be.
He sighed softly. "B-But 's…okay," he whispered, a weak smile tugging at his lips before continuing, "...'cause I g-got my…goodbye…"
For a moment, Sam simply stared at him. Then, all the color drained from her face.
"No." The word came out barely above a whisper. "No. No! Absolutely not!" Sam shook her head violently, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "Don't say that. You don't get to say that." Her arms wrapped around him even tighter
It felt almost…protective, like she was trying to shield him from anything and everything that wanted to hurt him.
Danny's smile started to fade then, consciousness threatening to abandon him. Again. His eyelids started to close of their own accord, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fight it anymore.
"No, Danny! Stay awake!" Sam demanded.
He could feel her fingernails digging into his skin, a desperation he recognized but could do nothing to ease.
She said more, but her voice was so far away now, echoey and muffled, like it was coming from the other side of a tunnel. He felt guilty again, wanted to apologize again. Apologize for being so careless. Apologize for putting her through this. But he couldn't. None of his body parts were listening to him anymore.
The last thing he was aware of was Sam screaming.