Was inspired to write this for some unknown reason. If you like, let me know what you think in the reviews. Thanks and enjoy! :)

Danny bit back a whimper as he felt the cool metal drag across his skin again.

He felt a drop of water hit his chest and he fluttered his eyelids open.

"D-Don't cry, Tuck," he struggled to say, his own mind swimming with the possibilities of what was going to happen to himself.

The two were behind The Nasty Burger, one giving medical attention to the other.

They'd been fighting ghosts all night, but within the last five minutes or so, Danny had taken a blow to the chest and couldn't maintain altitude.

He crashed behind the restaurant and Tucker quickly biked to where he'd seen his friend fall.

"I-I can't do this, man. I was never great at stitching you up," he gave a sniffle and tried to wipe away the tears that were clouding his vision. "I can't get in contact with Sam and if we don't get you help soon y-you're gonna die, Danny," he bit back another sob. "I'm trying, I'm really trying."

"You're doing the best you can," Danny whispered, closing his eyes again, wincing as the needle pulled his skin together.

"God. There's so much blood, and i-it's all mixed with ectoplasm," Tucker exhaled, his hands shaking. "C-can't we get your parents? Tell em you were hurt by a ghost or something? Oh god, Danny, there's so much bl-" he broke off, gathering up his strength and trying in vain to sew him closed again. "Please, don't die. I'm sorry, I'm so s-sorry."

"It's not your fault, Tucker," the halfa replied quietly, his eyes closed, his breathing uneven and uncertain. "You're doing everything you can. Don't beat yourself up."

Tucker continued stitching his best friend's skin together, his fingers sliding in the slick blood and ectoplasm.

"We had a good run. You and I. We've been best friends for what…four years? Six years?" Danny asked.

"Something like that," Tucker mumbled. "And let's try to get it to at least eight before you do something stupid like this again. T-try Sam's number again. Or call your sister. Please?" he asked his friend.

"Dude. My sister is in her college dorm, probably asleep. You know, about eight hours from us right now?" Danny gave another wince, the pain biting and sharp.

"Please, dude, you're going to die,"

"I'm already half-dead," Danny gave a weak chuckle. "What does it matter if the living half joins? Hmm?"

"God damn it! Stop talking like that!" Tucker jerked the needle through his best friend's skin, trying to close the gaping wound on his chest. "I'm trying to save your life and all you can do is make jokes, a-and you're always talking about how you laugh in the face of danger, but I'll have you know I will kick your ass if you ever do it again. Do you hear me? I will kick your ass," he paused, his hands shaking and lifted his eyes to his best friend's face.

Danny lay there on the pavement, underneath a gray sky, his breathing no longer uneven – for no breath was coming at all.

His eyes stared unfocused up toward the sky above them. His mouth was slack, and his heart had stopped beating.

Tucker let out a scream. "No! Come on buddy, you're not doing this to me! You are not dead, Danny!" he pumped his best friend's chest repeatedly, the blood covering his hands and running down the sides of the ebony haired teen's body.

"No!" he sobbed out, bringing his shaking hands to his head and dropping his face into his hands.

It wasn't fair. Danny was his best friend. And he was so young. Why'd he have to die? This wasn't fair.

It couldn't be fair….

Tucker looked up from his hands, tears still running down his face. Slowly, he moved his shaky fingers to his friends forehead. He traced the scar between his eyebrows that he'd gotten when the two went skateboarding together in their freshman year of high school.

He kept telling Danny to be more careful when going down the ramps, so he tried to prove to Tucker that he could handle anything by going down a stair railing.

The injury he sustained needed ten stitches. And earned them both a lecture from Mrs. Fenton.

A twinge of sadness hit Tucker and he smiled bitterly. "This isn't fair. I'm the one who's supposed to die, remember? I always said I was too young to die…" he took a breath and quietly spoke, "Seems like you should have been the one to say that."

He moved his hand from the scar to his eyelids, gently closing them.

"I'm going to miss you," Tucker sniffled, dropping his gaze to the ground, trying to figure out why it felt like the injury had shifted from his friend's chest to his own.

A flash of light startled the boy and he looked up at his friend's body.

Where Phantom laid moments before, Fenton now laid. His white shirt stained with blood and ripped where his jumpsuit had been.

Tucker sniffled and added. "Both of you,"