There were plenty of things in life more frightening than facing down a suspect who had a gun in the bottom of an old parking garage. Gibbs had faced down a fair few of those things. Having a man run toward him, gun raised - He was focused, had his own gun raised and lined up for the perfect shot, was shouting for the man to freeze, but fear didn't enter much into it.

The man didn't stop. Gibbs squeezed the trigger at the same time the man fired. A third shot echoed from behind Gibbs.

The bullet whistled over his left shoulder towards the stairs. The suspect's body went down, one hole neatly in the center of his forehead, one not far off. Tony was getting better.

Blood pooled from the body.

Unfortunately, their suspect, too focused to even realize he was dead, had kept running, body or no body.

Gibbs had never been hit by a ghostly bullet, and he didn't intend to start now. He snatched the salt pouch from his waist and flung it at the oncoming spirit.

Most people assumed the little plastic pouches were just little bags made to be opened so that agents could throw a handful of salt at a dangerous ghost.

Most people were wrong.

The pouches were held to the belt by velcro so that they'd be easily detachable, and there was no flap to open them with. They were weighted for throwing and designed to burst on impact.

The pouch hit the suspect in the chest and burst open. A clump of salt sprayed onto his sweatshirt and fell down onto his jeans.

To someone alive, it was nothing. But to a ghost, there was no such thing as "just" clothes. It was all part of the same essence.

The salt burned like acid through the first layer of essence. The man screamed and fell to his knees. His hands frantically pawed at the small white grains.

The salt got on those too. His arms started convulsing and flickering. Every time they became temporarily less substantial, the salt fell further through until it was hopelessly embedded.

Gibbs couldn't afford to look away in case the spirit was still dangerous. Even if it wasn't, some things needed to be witnessed. Rule 49.

There was a strangled, gagging sound from behind him, and his heart twisted.

"Look away, Tony," he said quietly but firmly. "You don't need to see this."

He could hear Tony stumble down the last few steps. "Boss - "

The screams stopped echoing off the concrete pillars of the garage and faded into small, pained whimpers. The man was curling in on himself. Clawing at his arms as he moaned.

Gibbs' jaw clenched, but he didn't look away. The man seemed smaller now. Fainter.

He was fading. Good. The last thing Gibbs wanted to do was have to hit him again.

"He needs help, Boss," Tony pleaded. "You don't let suspects bleed out. Why's this different?"

Because if there was a way to keep a ghost locked up, they hadn't found it yet. Because once salt got that deeply embedded, there was nothing to be done but to watch and remember the consequences and the cost of what he'd done.

The pain must have finally been too much. He was gone. Salt rained to the floor.

He turned to Tony. The kid might still have been in the form of his agent, but he'd never seen Tony's eyes so wide and young.

"Tony," he started hopelessly. How was he supposed to explain this to a kid?

Except Tony might still have the mind of a child, but he had thirty years of hard experience twisted into it. Not quite a kid, not quite a grown up, and definitely not someone that could be predicted.

The lost look vanished from Tony's eyes, and his agent was back, mouth quirking up in a bitter half smile that could have won an Oscar but didn't fool Gibbs. "Not quite like the horror movies, huh, Boss? I was expecting him to shrivel up like a slug. Hey, remember that scene in Ghost Blood when the cop throws the french fries in the ghost kid's face? The special effects were awful, but I gotta admit, the screaming was right on - " Tony'd ducked away from his outstretched hand and was edging around the small pile of salt like it was lava.

"Tony!"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to disturb the body, Boss. I know better than to get on Ducky's bad side." He crouched beside the body and cocked his head. "Maybe less Ghost Blood and more Ghost Blood II." He scratched at something on the side of his head. "You know - "

Gibbs narrowed his eyes and stalked forward. "Tony," he said, voice deceptively soft. "What's that on the side of your head?"

Tony glanced up at him, surprised. "Oh, bullet clipped me earlier. I've been trying to get it out, but it's being stubborn. Think Ducky can get it for me?"

"You have a bullet in your head, DiNozzo!" Gibbs exploded.

Tony blinked at him. "Yeah, so?"

"You're lucky you weren't - " Weren't what, killed? He'd been there and done that. The bullet wound probably didn't even hurt.

Somehow that just made him angrier.

Tony grimaced. "It kind of itches. Mind going ahead and calling Ducky? We'll need him for the body, anyway."

Gibbs bit back the string of curses that wanted to escape and punched in the numbers on his phone to call Duck with more force than was strictly necessary.

"Ah, Jethro! What - "

"Got a body," he growled. "Is Gerald in today?"

"Yes, why?"

He bit back another string of curses. Gerald didn't know. "Never mind. Just bring something to dig a bullet out with." He snapped the phone shut.

There wasn't even any blood. Tony could probably conjure some up if he thought about it, but he hadn't bothered to. Why would he?

He could have lost Tony today. Would have, if the kid had been anyone other than who he was. And the kid was just nattering on about movie references with that shiny fake smile like he didn't have the first idea just how badly he'd scared him.

He yanked the NCIS cap off his head and shoved it on Tony's. "Wear this so Gerald doesn't see when he and Duck show up."

Tony grinned up at him. "Just like in - "

"It's not a movie, Tony!" Gibbs' yell finally cut Tony off. "It's not some game. This isn't fake blood. These aren't fake guns. This is real. There are real consequences. Being able to shrug off a bullet to the head doesn't change that!"

The fake grin slid off Tony's face like his third wife's cheap makeup had in the rain. "I know that, Boss," he said seriously.

Gibbs glared at him. "Do you? Because you sure aren't acting like it."

"I do," Tony insisted. "He got hurt. You could get hurt. Just because I can't get hurt doesn't mean other people can't. I know that."

"You can't get hurt," Gibbs repeated disbelievingly. "You can't get hurt. Well, no, Tony, you've got nothing to worry about. Unless Gerald sees Duck pulling that bullet out of your head, of course. Or unless someone switches out the sugar and the salt in the coffee one of these days as a joke, and you drink some by accident."

"You don't let me drink coffee," Tony pointed out in what he probably thought was a reasonable voice.

"And these?" Gibbs yelled, ripping his spare salt patch off his belt. Tony flinched back. "They train us to be careful with our guns, but its free range out there with these. What's the harm if an agent gets hit by one by accident? They'd get more damage in a food fight. You gonna be able to shrug one of these off?"

Tony looked down. He poked his own pouch gingerly, like it might go off at any moment.

"Well?" Gibbs demanded. He knew full well he was being too harsh, but he couldn't seem to stop. It could all too easily be Tony one day, thrashing on the floor until he finally broke. Didn't Tony get that?

"No, sir," Tony said with exaggerated respect. "Sorry, sir. Shall I go check his car for the evidence we originally came for, sir?"

They didn't say a single unnecessary word to each other for the rest of the day.

Ducky dug the bullet out of DiNozzo's head without too much trouble. Gibbs stared at it for a good thirty seconds before snapping out of it and getting back to work. There would be a lot of paperwork to do for this one. There'd been a shooting and an exorcism. Legal was going to have a field day.

The drive home was . . . quiet. Too quiet. He was used to a chattering Tony slowly shedding the veneer of agent and slipping into a younger and younger self until he was a bubbling ten year old bursting through the door and clamoring for supper.

This Tony just stared out the window and picked at his plate.

Ghosts didn't need to eat, but they liked to, and it gave them a burst of energy. It might not be dangerous for Tony to skip supper, but it worried him.

Rule 6: Never say you're sorry. He wasn't about to start breaking that rule now, but he'd hoped making Tony's favorites would smooth things over between them without having to say a word.

Guess not.

He still tucked him into bed in what had once been the guest bedroom and was now filled with toy cars and posters of Magnum. If his dad came over, he'd think Gibbs had gone and gotten him another grandchild and neglected to mention it.

He sort of had. Good thing his dad wouldn't be coming over anytime soon, then.

His dad. Three ex-wives. He had a long list of people he'd pushed away, most without meaning to.

He couldn't afford to do it again. Not with Tony.

He stood in the middle of his kitchen for a long minute. He'd gone through it with a fine tooth comb when he'd first brought Tony home. It was amazing how many things had salt in them. Of course, he'd never had much food in here in the first place, so it hadn't taken him long to go through it.

There was more now, all carefully checked. That didn't quite stop him from getting the urge to check it all again anyway, but he did manage to stamp it down. He was being ridiculous. Tony was safe.

He almost headed down to his basement to work on his boat, but there was bourbon down there, and if there was one thing he couldn't afford to do around Tony, it was drink.

"My father was normally too drunk to hurt anybody."

He hadn't missed the "normally" part of that sentence either.

Anthony DiNozzo Sr. had a lot to answer for, but thinking about that wasn't helping his urge to head to the basement, so he growled and headed upstairs to bed.

He was still staring at the ceiling two hours later when the door creaked open and a small flashlight flicked on. The beam danced across the bed. A small worried face was visible for a moment before the eyes widened and the flashlight quickly clicked off.

Gibbs sat up. "Tony?"

" . . . Yes?" he finally answered.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "You should be asleep."

"I can't sleep."

Gibbs frowned. "Nightmare?" After the day they'd had, he wouldn't blame him.

"Noooo . . . "

"What's the problem, then?" He kept his voice gentle as he worked his way around to where Tony was clutching the doorframe, flashlight still in one hand, and a booklet under one arm.

Tony rocked back and forth. Gibbs' frown deepened. He flipped on the light and crouched down in front of him. "Tony?"

"I, uh. Never sleep. Can't. Ghost thing." He shrugged uncomfortably.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "It's never stopped you before."

Tony winced. "Yeah, uh. About that. I kind of just . . . liked-it-when-you-tucked-me-in." The last words came out in a jumbled rush. "It was nice. I've been. Um. Sneaking up to read the NCIS regulations and stuff." He waved the handbook under his arm in explanation. "'Cause I want to be good at this. Like, really, really, good at this. Only tonight I was thinking about earlier and about how you could get hurt, and about how I could get hurt, and I guess I just wanted to make sure . . . " He trailed off. "Which was stupid. Obviously. I'll just . . . Go back to bed now. Sorry." He started backing away.

"Hey, hey! Easy there. It's not stupid, Tony. None of it."

Tony looked up at him hopefully.

Gibbs took the handbook and flipped through it. "You've been reading through this every night?" That took some dedication even for a seasoned agent. This stuff was as dry as dirt.

Tony nodded.

"That's good work, Tony." He set it down on the floor.

Tony's grin lit up the room.

He could leave it there, he knew. Tony was happy. He'd never bring up the argument again.

But . . .

"I'm sorry. About earlier."

Tony's eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard me," Gibbs grumbled.

"What about Rule 6?"

"There are exceptions to every rule, kid."

Tony's eyes took on a considering light. "Every rule?"

The eyebrows went up.

"Right. Sorry. Er, I mean - " Tony floundered for a moment before pulling out another grin. "Night, Boss!"

The grin couldn't quite hide the shadows still in his eyes though, so Gibbs caught his arm before he could go. "I won't let what happened today happen to you," he told him.

Tony swallowed. "You can't be sure about that."

"I protect my people," Gibbs reminded him. "I'm going to protect you, Tony."

"But what if the one I carry breaks by accident? What if someone throws a french fry at me?"

"Tony. Trust me."

Tony took a deep breath, looked at him, and nodded. "Okay."

"Good. And Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Your pouch has sand in it, not salt. Abby made sure of that."

"Oh. Huh." He frowned. "What if I need to fight another ghost?"

"That's what mine's for."

Tony considered that and apparently deemed it acceptable because he nodded. He picked his handbook up off the floor but hesitated before doing anything else. "Um, Gibbs? Can I read in here tonight?"

"Daddy, I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you and Mommy tonight?"

Tony was already backing away. Gibbs could practically see an apology forming in his mouth.

"Sure, kid. Just don't start reading regulations out loud. My dreams are weird enough as it is."

Tony brightened. "Oh! Did you know there's a rule about not being allowed to wear iron jewelry when visiting a witness in case there's a registered ghost on the premises?"

"I said don't," Gibbs grumbled. That didn't stop him from swinging up onto the bed. "Night, kid."

"Night, Gibbs."

Strange how he dropped off to sleep not ten minutes after that.


A/N: Quote in italics about Tony's dad from episode "Chained". As far as I'm aware, the movies referenced aren't real. I just figured that in a world with very real, very prominent ghosts, horror movies might be a little bit different. And scarier, both for living people and ghosts.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for your incredible response! I wasn't sure anyone would be interested in this admittedly strange little AU, but it was too interesting an idea to work with to pass up, and I've been blown away by your reviews.

Next up, Kate comes into the picture. Chapter's already written and just needs to be edited, so it should be up soon.