I don't own Danny Phantom.

Enjoy!

'He could see the light of the sirens, but he could not hear them.'

The lights burst against his closed eyelids. He knew what they were, having grown accustomed to the red, blue, red, blue following him every time he fought now. Always there, always flashing, always with a deafening rising and falling siren. No matter how many times he heard it, he never could get used to the sound.

Strange. This time, he could see the lights, but there was no sound.

Maybe there was, he just couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear much of anything, actually. It wasn't totally surprising; a bomb had just gone off not fifty feet from where he had been standing, closely followed by a building collapsing. He wasn't surprised.

Okay, maybe he was a little surprised. Or shocked, that was probably a more accurate word for what he felt. Men in blue suits rushed around the scene around him, some carrying large medical supply kits, others stringing up caution tape, and still others trying to herd the steadily growing crowd of bystanders to a safer place. Danny sat off to the side, perched on a curb, his knees bent and drawn up close to his chest. He propped his elbows up on his knees and threaded his fingers together. He knew, however distantly, that he probably looked a true mess. They had seen him change, seen the flash and the rings of light and watched him make the change from ghost to human. He remembered flashes of pale faces, sideways glances. Maybe it was something about his expression, but for whatever reason they chose not to bother him with questions.

They left him sitting there, bleeding and covered in a fine film of grime, and they told him to wait. Or he thought they did; he could see their lips moving and their hands gesturing, but he heard nothing but a dull roar. He just dropped where he was standing.

He glanced up at the mountain of rubble that had been a warehouse earlier that evening. He'd been stupid, so stupid, to think he could handle Walker there on his own. It was a stroke of pure idiocy to not call for backup. Then again, perhaps it was a stroke of luck; his escape was so narrow, the edge of death so close, he was not positive that the exchange would have ended as well as it did if Tucker or Sam had been there with him.

He shuddered at the thought of his best friends buried in the rubble. How horrific it was, the thought of Tucker lying motionless in the dust, glasses cracked and hanging from his face; or Sam, in all her beauty, eyes open and glassy and half-buried in that building. He screwed his eyes shut.

Maybe when he managed to get his wits about him enough to leave, he would go to their houses. Just to be sure. He did that sometimes. Sam was the only one to catch him in the act, and instead of chastising him or yelling at him she invited him inside. The thought of curling up in her bed beneath her thick comforter with her lying just a few short inches away sent a sudden, unexpected burst of warmth through his chest. He could almost smell her; he had yet to meet another person who smelled quite so consistently like lilies right after a heavy rain. He licked his lips.

Sound was returning to him now, ever so slowly; at first it was just a few mild pops in his left ear. But then he yawned and the pop was large and painful in both ears. He winced and clapped his hands over his ears involuntarily, like he did when he was a child and he would hear his father curse at a failed invention. The sirens were definitely there now, louder than he had ever heard them before. When did that fire truck pull up behind him?

He could hear voices in the crowd now, but only those who were yelling. Strange. Why are they yelling? He glanced back, curiosity getting the better of him, and scanned the crowd. Their faces blended together, and not a single one of them was looking at him. Wait...no. One was looking at him. One face, twisted in fear, red from crying, or running, or screaming, or all three, framed by chin-length jet-black hair. She was struggling against a large police officer. He had a beefy arm around her middle, holding her back, stopping her from crossing the caution line, but she seemed not to notice him. She was screaming his name. Danny!

"Sam?" His voice sounded rough and raw. He stood without meaning to and ran a hand through his hair nervously. He felt the urge to cry upon seeing her. The police officer restraining her glanced back at him and saw the recognition in his eyes. He immediately withdrew his arm from around her.

She dove beneath the caution tape and ran to him so fast she was a blur. The force of her body hitting his nearly sent him falling backwards, but he managed to keep his footing. The shock of seeing her there, in the middle of the night, made his brain work slowly. He felt his arms rise to circle around her shoulders, his right hand clinging lightly to her left shoulder and his left flattened against her ribcage. He thought maybe she was crying, because her shoulders were heaving and he heard a strange heaving and moaning sound he had never heard her make before.

"What happened?" She demanded sharply with a voice that cracked with emotion, yanking away from him so suddenly it almost hurt. Her face was red and wet; she was definitely crying.

"Walker," was all he could say.

"Why didn't you call me?" She was almost shouting. Tears were still streaking down her face but the fury in her eyes made him want to cower away from her like a child. He could not find his voice; he merely averted his eyes and shrugged weakly. "You scared me to death, I thought...I thought..." She shuddered and breathed heavily through her mouth, as if she had just run a long distance.

"They saw me," He said hoarsely. He kept his head down, but he peered up at her through his lashes. "They saw me change."

Her expression softened immediately, though he knew better than to think she was no longer angry. "Who did?"

"Cops," He mumbled. "I was just...I couldn't..."

She pursed her lips and turned them to the side, glancing at a passing officer. "What did they say?"

"Nothing...yet," The urge to cry was getting stronger, the lump in his throat near impossible to speak around. "Sam...I'm scared,"

She studied his face through bloodshot eyes and chewed her swollen lower lip. He waited, hands clenching into fists at his side, while she scanned the police officers on the scene. He could practically see the gears in her head turning.

"Okay...don't worry about it. We'll...we'll figure something out. Did you say anything to them after you changed?"

"No. Maybe...I don't know, I can't really remember," He felt incredibly pathetic.

"That's okay. Really, it's okay," She lifted her hand and squeezed his forearm. "Try not to think about it right now, okay? I'll think of something, I'll help you. Don't be scared."

He was still scared, of course, but the idea of Sam helping him - of Sam keeping him safe - sent that same burst of warmth he had felt in his chest exploding through his entire body. He had just enough sense left to seize her upper arms and yank her toward him before the dam broke in his mind. He thought that maybe he was hurting her, so hard was his grip around her, but he could feel her hands on his back. His entire body was wracked with sobs.

Jazz would say it was the ultimate release of the emotions he'd kept so carefully in check for the three years he'd had his powers. She would tell him that he had been close to breaking for weeks now - that an emotional breakdown was inevitable, and he was stupid to think that he could resist it. She wouldn't be surprised to learn he'd finally suffered that breakdown upon nearly dying, getting discovered, and being yelled at for being stupid and not calling for help. She would want to sit down with him, to talk it out, to put the emotions into words and to write those words in a carefully documented and researched analytical paper. Such was his relationship with Jazz.

Tucker would say Danny had been whack for weeks. He would say that Danny was too scary, or emotionless, or whatever other adjectives came to mind at the time. He would say that Danny had changed. And it was true, and not altogether negative; Tucker would shudder if he thought about the Danny that was before the accident trying to protect Amity Park. Tucker would offer to listen, would smile awkwardly if Danny accepted the invitation, and would stumble through a generic "it gets better" speech at the end. Tucker was not good with emotions. Such was his relationship with Tucker.

Sam did not say anything. Not even a soothing "I'm here now, everything's okay." She merely stood there, her arms firm around his back, holding his entire body weight up as he collapsed against her. She lifted her hand and tangled it in the hair at the place where his head and neck converged when he turned his face into the crook of her shoulder. She was his solid point, his foundation, holding him steady and upright while a hurricane of emotions threatened to drown him. He thought maybe once he heard her sniffling, as if she, too, could feel the emotions shredding his insides to messy tatters. Like maybe, by standing there and breaking down in front of the entire Amity Park Police Department, he was transferring some of the fear and pain he'd been feeling for years to her. Somehow, the lack of speaking made it feel far more intimate than anything he had ever experienced. He couldn't do this with just anyone. Such was his relationship with Sam.

He couldn't really remember when the officer approached them and told them they could go home, under the condition that Danny would come back to the police department headquarters the following day. Danny did not move from his position even though his neck hurt from being bent at such an awkward angle for so long; Sam's chest vibrated against his when she murmured her agreement.

Danny allowed her to shift her arm down around his waist - grip still firm - and usher him away from the scene. He kept his eyes down on the ground as they walked, refusing to look up until they were standing at the passenger's side of Sam's car. She opened the door for him and waited until he was inside, seat belt buckled, before closing the door and jogging to the driver's side. When she slid in and started the car, she reversed out of the parking lot, shifted the car to drive, and immediately took his hand. He wanted to cry again at her touch.

He didn't have the strength to argue when they pulled up outside of Sam's house. "My parents are out of town and my grandma's basically in love with you, so it won't be a problem if you spend the night," She said quickly when she opened his door. He heaved himself out of his seat, blinking slowly with heavy lids, allowing Sam to take his hand again and lead the way to the front door.

He didn't remember climbing the stairs, or walking through the doorway to her bedroom, or mumbling that he would shower in the morning if she didn't mind, or changing into the clothes she offered him. He remembered wondering when she got his clothes to her room, but it didn't matter; all that mattered was that she was folding the sheets down and gesturing to the side of the bed he slept on when he was caught checking on her.

The moment Sam slid into her side of the bed, he hooked an arm around her waist and dragged her closer to him. He ducked slightly when she swung an arm over his head, allowing her to pull his head down to the crook of her neck. It was comforting, so comforting, to be held. The little hero in the back of his mind was embarrassed, though; he was supposed to hold her. He was supposed to comfort her. He wasn't supposed to need comfort or protection. He was supposed to give those things.

"Just relax, okay? We'll worry about it tomorrow. I won't let anything happen to you."

Hero be damned. He believed her.