The warehouse floor pressed into Danny's cheek, cold and filthy. The grime of a thousand shipments coated the cement, ancient sawdust and the dull, faint odor of rusted metal, mixed with musky rodent droppings. Danny's own smells—blood and ectoplasm, sweat and greasy food—seemed rank and invasive by comparison. He couldn't lift his head; it throbbed mercilessly, like his skull had come apart and was slowly grinding itself back together. His hearing had gone strange too.

It was a shock when black boots came into his line of sight.

"This is a trick. Isn't it, Maddie? That other ghost. It's made some kind illusion… Messed with our heads..." Jack's voice cracked, rough with anxiety and something else Danny couldn't quite place.

The boots stood in front of Danny for a moment, shifted—then were replaced with a pair of blue-clad knees. Mom. Mom was sitting there, looking at him. Not saying anything. Judging him. For everything.

Maddie said nothing. Jack rambled on. "It could be a psychotropic drug, some strain of ghost hallucinogen we're not familiar with. Programming us to see our worst fears. I mean, our son… a ghost…" The last word choked off into something like a sob. Danny heard Jack's pacing feet stomp away, further into the empty space of the dark warehouse.

A hand touched his head. He gasped and flinched back violently—half in pain, half in terror.

"Danny." Danny squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he had the strength to just disappear. A warm hand was placed on his shoulder and he flinched again, unable to hold back the tiny whimper as the wounds on his chest and broken rib burned at the contact. "Danny, look at me, sweetie. Look at me."

I can't… He pulled away, curling into himself against the wall. Cornered. Like a pathetic animal.

He heard her sigh deeply, and the hand disappeared. After a moment footsteps moved away from him, and he could hear Mom and—Maddie and Jack talking quietly on the other side of the room.

The fear dulled, leaving a yawning loneliness instead. Her silent rejection somehow hurt worse than any angry words she could have flung at him.

Danny shivered and pressed a hand weakly against his chest. Fresh pain answered back, lancing across his ribcage. Warm blood welled between his fingers and dripped down to join the growing puddle on the floor.

Would they just... leave him there? Danny's aching brain tried to unravel that possibility, but he couldn't see anything further than the darkness in front of him. He was alone. Their voices were fading out, but he didn't know whether it was his hearing, or because they'd already gone.

The only thing in his line of sight were the chains. They were empty. That was something, at least.

"Danny?" It took more effort than it should have to turn his head toward his mother's voice. Footsteps again, but growing louder this time. A hand reached down to tilt his chin up—he didn't have the strength to pull away.

"Jack..." He felt himself drifting. Their faces were hazy outlines, haloed by the distant daylight. Fingers held one of his eyelids open for a moment, then tensed. "...concussion ...get him home. Quickly."

Danny tried to mumble a protest as strong arms yanked him up off the floor, but nothing more than a whisper of pain came from his throat as the movement jostled his wounds. The world became slow, quiet.

Nothing.

Danny woke slowly, disoriented and stiff. His mind, lost in a fog that tried to pull him back into the abyss, crept unwillingly into the cold, harsh, bright reality—

He gasped and jerked—something bound his legs, his arms—he fought against them but it was useless. Trapped. Ice seeped into his veins and his eyes shot open, half-expecting to see cold metal and stony faces silhouetted by blinding surgical lights.

Danny blinked.

His bedroom ceiling came into focus, dotted with glow-in-the-dark stars. The late afternoon sun spilled in through the curtains, outlining the familiar clutter in a soft light. Danny was in bed, twisted hopelessly in his sheets.

Oww... He brought a palm up to massage his temple, wincing as pain erupted in his side. His eyes slid down to see thick patches of gauze on various parts of his bare torso. A sigh left his lungs as memories flashed through him.

Right. Spectra. The warehouse. His parents.

Danny peered blearily around, examining the room, and felt a weird mix of pain and relief when he found no one. He was alone.

If he was smart, he'd go back to sleep. It was probably a stupid idea to even consider getting up and moving around, but then he had never claimed to be a genius. He kicked off the sheets and wrapped one arm—the good one, since his left shoulder still burned with that dull, deep ache of a recently re-located shoulder—tightly around his bandaged chest. With a lurch he was up.

"Oof—" Down again. Flat on his face, mashed into the carpet. Spazz.

He dug his fingers into the rug as the world spun like a sadistic tilt-a-whirl. The hammering in his temple jumped to an explosive pounding. He saw stars with every beat and nausea tightened in his throat. Danny rested his head against the floor.

Once the roaring in his ears died down and he was less distracted by the idea he was about to throw up, he began to notice a flicker of noise from somewhere below.

Someone was shouting.

"—ow the hell were we supposed to know? Your brother never told us anything—"

Danny jerked his head up and sat back on his knees, aching with a pain that wasn't entirely physical. He didn't want to hear this. They weren't... they weren't supposed to be down there fighting. Because of him.

Exhaustion and pain hadn't really given him a chance to process anything before he'd passed out. He knew being exposed had always been a possibility—one that he'd never wanted to happen, not like this—but the idea had been buried in the back of his mind, sealed away under the adrenaline of fights and monotony of overdue homework. Now, faced with the stark, cold reality, it collapsed onto his shoulders.

They knew.

Cold metal pressing into his temple, his mother's white, horrified face—nausea rolled in his stomach—the pounding in his head made the edges of his vision quiver. He lurched to the side, retching.

Danny slumped against the bed, squeezing his eyes shut. Bile and blood permeated the air, like rot and acid. Disgusting. He shuddered and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand; it was disgusting… he was… disgusting.

Something banged downstairs; Danny started. This time he could hear Jack's angry rumble drowning out his sister's insistent tone.

"...dead, Jasmine!"

That wasn't fair. It wasn't right. They shouldn't be yelling at Jazz. She wasn't the one who was...it wasn't her fault.

Jazz's voice rose above his father's. "-bullshit! This is why he never told you!"

Danny clutched at his head, taking a steadying breath. The only reason they were fighting was because his parents were mad. Furious, even. At him. He'd always thought… They were supposed to be accepting… but… to suddenly spring it on them, just like that? He'd showed his ugly side, the thing that fought other inhuman things.

Fear trickled down his spine. He curled his arms around his chest protectively, suddenly self-conscious, embarrassed. What did they think of him? What would they do?

"—Mom, wait!" He jerked his head up, suddenly terrified—footsteps pounded up the stairs.

Danny's eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet, stumbling as light-headedness nearly drove him back to his knees. He gasped for air against the pain throbbing through his broken ribs. Staggering back against the wall just as the door slammed open, he was already yanking at the cool fibers of intangibility—

"Danny, wait!" Jazz.

Danny hesitated. He risked a glance upward to see his mother standing tense in the doorframe, Jazz hovering behind her, face pinched with worry. Maddie's arm rested in a white sling; the other hand sat firmly on her hip—against the holster of a plasma gun, he noticed numbly. She made no move to approach him.

He licked his lips, pushing words past the burning in his throat. "I—I wasn't...I..."

"Danny," Maddie said quietly, taking a step into the room. Her eyes fell on the puddle soaking into the rug next to the bed, brows knitting with—what? Annoyance? Concern?

"Don't—" he rasped, pressing himself against the wall. Maddie stopped in her tracks. "Don't come closer, or I'll..." Dizziness rolled through him and cool intangibility melted away. His knees buckled and he found himself listing sideways. "Don't come closer," he said again, miserably, as if just his voice could protect him.

He should have known. If Clockwork had taught him anything, it was that the future had no guarantee. He'd been so stupid to count on it. The room took another sickening spin. As it blurred out of focus he realized he was falling. He was going to hit the floor again, hard. Stupid.

"Danny!"

A strong hand kept him from crumpling against the floor. He closed his eyes to keep his head from swimming—Jazz had called his name, but the fingers that gripped his arm… they were covered in a thick, rubbery Hazmat glove.

He glanced up tentatively. Mom pulled him to his feet and steadied him, helping him to the bed. "Easy," she murmured, "you should probably sit down."

Danny gave in, slumping on the mattress. A long, heavy silence reigned as he tried to find his voice. He found himself staring at her knees again, eyes fixed on the scuffed teal fabric. "Are you mad?" he asked softly. "Do you hate me?"

The hand that was reaching for him paused. Each tick of the clock was like a nail hammered into his chest.

Then Maddie sighed, and moved to sit next to him in the bed. He flinched as her arm snaked around him, but she squeezed him tight as if she hadn't noticed. "Yes, sweetie, I'm mad. I'm furious. But..."

His heart jumped up to jam in his throat.

Jazz took a step toward them. "Mom, you—"

"Why don't you check on your father?" Maddie said softly, but with no room for argument in her tone. "I think we'll be alright here."

As his sister's footsteps retreated, anxiety crawled up Danny's spine. It was ten times worse with his mom's arm around him. His chest ached, and it wasn't from the cut or the broken ribs. The arm made him feel safe, warm… wanted. That was a lie. He had to remember that.

"Danny." He started a little at her voice. She was gazing off at the far wall, lips pursed. "I'm mad," Maddie repeated. Her hand began to stroke his shoulder, soft and soothing. "But I don't hate you, sweetie. I never could."

His breath caught in his lungs.

"I just want to know one thing," she said, voice hardening. He tried not to cringe. The hand on his shoulder stilled, tense. "The… the destruction. The robberies – the terrorizing people... Why?"

"It wasn't me!" The words tumbled from him before he realized it. "I mean, technically it was, but…" He closed his eyes, taking in a shaky breath.

His mother squeezed him just a little tighter. "I'm listening."

Danny swallowed, looking away. "The robberies—they... there was this guy that could control ghosts. I couldn't..." He shut his eyes, shame washing through him. "The damaged buildings were just… messy fights. And..." he shrugged, looking down at his hands. "Terrorizing. I don't know. Some people are just scared of me, I guess."

Like I'm scaring you, he thought, and that added another twist to the knot in his stomach. "I'm a ghost. Who wouldn't be scared?"

"People who know better. Or should." She paused, running her fingers gently through his hair. "Your father and I—"

"He's scared of me, isn't he? Dad is."

"Danny… that's not it."

"Or... it's more like he… he hates me." Danny swallowed hard, remembering Jack's words in the warehouse. "The ghost me, that is."

Our son, a ghost…

"He's confused," she said firmly. A gloved finger tipped his chin and he found himself face-to-face with her for the first time. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, but clear. "Why wouldn't he be, when you never told us any of this?" She studied him, the slightest hint of a frown creasing between her brows. "You're the one who's scared, Danny. What are you afraid of?"

Danny shut his eyes. He couldn't look at her. "He wanted to kill me," he whispered, swallowing. "He had a gun to my head. He would've pulled the trigger if you hadn't—"

"But he didn't," she stressed, dropping her hand to his knee. "I made sure of that."

"Would you have done that if I hadn't just saved you?" there was a harsh ring to his voice, but he could hide it. "Do you know what it's like," he croaked, nails digging into his palms, "to have someone want to murder you so badly that they make it their life's profession?" He finally looked up, eyes boring into hers. "To spend every waking moment worrying that you'll—that you'll screw up and end up dead from some careless mistake?"

"You didn't have to live like that! If you'd told us, we'd—"

"What. Believe me? A ghost?" Danny gave a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah, right. You'd think I was being possessed or impersonated or something." His eyes narrowed. "I can't be trusted, right? Because -" He shuddered, feeling his own ghostly chill. "I'm not all human anymore."

The door swung open. Jack stood there, larger than life, his face cast in shadow. Danny jumped, his heart hammering in his ears—how could he not notice someone coming up the stairs? Where was Jazz?

Maddie rose and took a step toward him. "Jack…" He shook his head once sharply, and she fell silent.

In three long strides Jack towered over the bed. It was easy to forget how big of a man Jack Fenton was. The whole room seemed smaller in the face of his broad frame. His face was a stony mask, eerily unsmiling.

Primal instinct overrode common sense. Danny scrambled back, adrenaline masking the pain flaring from his side. His heartbeat thudded wildly in his ears as he pressed his back against the headboard.

Jack sagged, like a scarecrow with the pole taken out.

"Is that what's in your head, Danno?" he muttered, and sank onto the edge of the mattress. The bed groaned in protest.

Danny inched away, shoulders tense, avoiding his father's gaze. "You tried to…"

A heavy sigh. "I know. But you were—were," Jack waved his hands. "You're a ghost! The ghost. The ghost boy."

"Yeah." Danny twisted his fingers around the rails of the headboard. The cool metal seemed to anchor him; this was his room, his parents—nothing had changed from this morning, not really. Only that now they knew, and he couldn't hide anymore. "Yeah Dad, that's me." He tried to grin. "Took the family profession to a whole new level, huh?"

Jack merely stared, an oddly-pained look etched into his gaze. Danny's faint smile vanished, and he trailed his eyes back down to his knees. "Sorry. I just… I guess that's kinda messed up."

Jack shook his head, raking a hand through the greying streaks in his jet-black hair. "It's alright… son. You don't have to—it doesn't have to be this way. I can fix this, Danny." He glanced up at Maddie. "We both can."

Maddie shifted. "Jack, I don't think that's..."

"Mads, you know we can do it." Jack took in Danny with one broad gesture. "We've dealt with ghost sickness before, this is just—"

Danny felt the blood rush to his face. "Dad! I'm not—I'm not sick, okay? This is who I—" he stopped short, noticing the greenish gleam that had sprung up around his fists. "What I am," he ended uncertainly.

"My son is not dead," Jack snapped, making Danny flinch. Jack took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and lowered his voice. "You're not dead. I know that. We all do."

Jack's eyes were locked on Danny's clenched fists. Danny curled them into the sheets self-consciously. "But you're saying that you're not… human." Jack leaned back and exhaled heavily through his nose. "How is that even possible?"

"...I don't know," Danny whispered. He scrubbed at his eyes, grimacing as the movement sent pain stabbing into his skull. His head felt like it was ready to split open. "I don't know, Dad, I'm just—it just is."

He dropped his hands to his lap, meticulously leaving the fingers open. Risked a glance at his father.

Da—Jack was studying him with an intense focus that looked strange on his father's affable face. Then he realized where he'd seen it. Whenever Jack was inventing… or dissecting something, he'd get that bright glimmer in the eyes, mixed with an uncharacteristic seriousness. Like Danny was some kind of problem that needed to be solved, fixed…

Danny felt his cheeks burn. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall. It felt like he was taking a test that didn't have an answer. Multiple choice, except he wasn't one of the options. Ghost, human. Dead… or not. None of the above.

Why was he so tired? His head felt like it was ready to split open, pain pulsing against his eyelids with the images of their cold gazes burning into his mind. The swollen knot at the base of his skull throbbed mercilessly.

Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes and he dug his fingernails into his knees fiercely. The stuffy feeling that came with it just added to the jackhammers destroying his brain. His head just hurt too much… too much to think...

The bed rocked as Jack stood up suddenly. Danny held his breath, stiff, eyes closed. Heavy footsteps moved away. The door creaked open. Thudding boots faded down the stairs.

Danny's eyes flew open. He stared at the cracked door, stunned. He'd—he'd just left, just like that. Where was he…

"Oh Jack," Maddie sighed.

tbc...

Haiju

Aaand the second chapter is up! One more to go. Thanks so much for your reviews, it's awesome to know that you're enjoying our collaborations. We certainly had fun putting this one together. Enjoy!

Anneriawings

Yoo, 'tis Anneria. Enjoy this lovely angst-sodden chapter we've cooked up for Phanniemay. It technically counts as a submission for Jack day, right? Right?