So I when I wrote this I was thinking 'what if Undergrowth never turned up as a convenient target to practice burgeoning ice powers on' and then I thought 'wow, these elemental ghosts sure are dedicated to spreading their element' and I swear I didn't mean to angst officer, it just happened. This is actually a companion piece to a fic called Incandescence with, you guessed it, fire core Danny, that I submitted to Nathanlame as thanks for writing the Divergence fic. Come to think of it, I should probably post that here too, hang on.

oooooo

Danny shivered under the covers, miserable. It didn't matter how he tossed and turned, how many blankets piled up over him, how many heaters were currently going full blast in his room; he was still awfully, paradoxically cold. He hadn't been able to feel his fingers for the past hour, and rubbing them together with worries of frostbite did nothing.

Mist plumed out and faded in front of him, but he didn't bother moving except to shudder and pull the covers closer around him. It wasn't a ghost, it was just whatever was wrong with him that made him colder than the surrounding air. The first false alarm hadn't been fun. Despite a cough so phlegmy it made the lungs of whoever heard it squeeze in sympathy he'd spent a good afternoon running around what felt like all of Amity trying to find the nonexistent specter.

And not flying, because trying to go ghost had resulted in this turn for the worse. He sneezed, and the bed actually moved back a few inches as the dresser beside it gained a thick lacquer of jagged ice. He stared at it in alarm.

When Jazz came in with a bowl of hot soup for him he was gone, leaving only a room covered in ice that was hissing where it had settled on the heaters, and an open window coated in hoarfrost.

ooo

Danny ran aimlessly, puffs of mist streaming behind him like a steam train and a rhythmic crunching greeting each numb footfall as it coated the grass beneath him with frost. Each breath felt like knives, and the lack of feeling had started to spread up his limbs. In retrospect, going outside at night in this condition had been a bad idea, but panic about his secret's discovery, overshadowed by the fear of freezing everything in the house drove him forward, trying to find an open space where he couldn't hurt anyone.

It didn't help that the snow was thickening, despite only starting to fall no more than half an hour ago. Snow, in summer. He could tell he was somewhere with trees, and that was about it. His foot met a puddle that froze solid even before it touched it, and with a cry he slipped and fell forward in an impressive display of flailing limbs, coming to rest dazed in the center of a rapidly widening circle of ice.

He should get up and keep going. He had no idea how far away he was from houses. And yet he didn't want to move. He was tired, bone tired, and it was getting harder to think and surely he could just rest here for a bit? He fought to keep his eyes open, vaguely recalling from various picked up sources that falling asleep in these conditions came with a very real chance of not waking up, but it was a losing battle. Before he slipped away entirely he made in desire of survival the choice he had been instinctively avoiding, and went ghost.

Cold so cold it felt like he'd been set on fire flooded through every inch of him, and made things exponentially worse.

ooo

He woke up slowly, pleasantly, feeling well rested for perhaps the first time in so long he'd almost forgotten what it felt like. He'd had a nice dream, although about what he couldn't exactly remember, and he was no longer cold. Or rather, he was cold, very cold actually, but it didn't hurt. In fact it comfortably cocooned him the way warm covers did, and similar to those Saturdays he'd slept in he was absolutely fine with not moving and just enjoying this half asleep border state before real life decided to kick down the door.

Real life took the form of a small burst of pain, no more serious than a papercut or splinter but like them all the more irritating for it, and he sent a burst of energy to the site as one would scratch an itch. Satisfied when it stopped, he made to roll over, and realized he couldn't.

His eyes shot open, or rather they would have because they couldn't either. In a process that had gone unnoticed until now, the muscles in his chest, or whatever passed for muscles in ghost form, twitched as they tried to expand and draw in nonexistent air, a process that was increasing in speed as panic flushed whatever seeping drowsiness remained out of his system.

He struggled and strained, but whatever was encasing him would not give an inch. Forcing himself to calm down, his facsimile heart racing to almost human levels, he turned intangible. Phasing through the stuff was like moving through treacle, but at least he could move. It seemed reluctant to let him go, and as the minutes ticked by he became increasingly worried. He wasn't accidentally phasing into the ground, was he? He wouldn't fall for who knows how long and come out the other side of the earth? But no, he could see sunlight or something approaching it coming through his closed eyelids, and eventually the feel of air moving through him told him he was free.

He became solid, and opened his eyes to find the point of a skyscraper sized spire of ice perilously close to his stomach. Lesser spikes circled it, and were in turn circled. It looked like a wintery bomb had gone off in Amity Park's park, forming an icy flower, and as he looked outward with increasing horror it hadn't stopped there. For a block or so from the park cars and houses and streets and people could be seen through the crystal clear substance, frozen in transparent amber. Nausea surged up his throat and he fought it back down.

He turned invisible and swooped lower at a commotion on the eastern side. Someone had taken a sawblade to one of the smaller ice spires on the outskirts, so that's what that was, and was sobbing in pain because that sawblade and the arms that held it were now frozen solid to it. Others had been trying to get him free, but it was refusing to melt and any hot water poured onto it had simply frozen as well. Once again, Danny had to force back rising bile. He'd done this, and it had been as easy as swatting a fly.

He placed unseen hands on the man's shoulders and sent intangibility into him. Once again the ice was reluctant to let go, but he ignored it and pulled him free, whereupon he was immediately surrounded by people with warm blankets. The sawblade stayed where it was.

He wasn't sure if the people fully trapped in the ice were still aware, and seeing their frozen expressions and wide eyes of fear, he really really hoped they weren't, but he resolved himself to getting every single one of them out of the mess he'd put them in. He refused to entertain the thought they were dead. It was just like cryogenics, right? People could survive a long time in ice, he was sure he'd heard somewhere. He dove in, and the hard part began.

The ice surrounding him was calming. Soothing. While it wasn't a struggle to stay alert, it was tempting to just stay inside, letting living ice spread outward from him to cover and preserve the entire town as in a snowglobe, to keep it safe and his forever. It terrified him that part of him thought this was a good idea. He shook his head and shook it off as much as he could, and found the nearest citizen. They had been crossing the street, and looked like a deer caught in headlights. The part of him he was doing his best to ignore was annoyed that she hadn't been caught unawares so as to create a more accurate snapshot.

Pulling her free was just as difficult, but he snarled and wrenched and shoved his anger and shame and guilt into this one task and finally got her into the open air, panting. She wasn't breathing, and he desperately tried to remember how CPR went. He performed it as best he could as her form started to thaw in the sun, and people began to gather and stare. In the end he stood, and rubbed his eyes on the back of a white glove, and walked robotically back towards the ice. There were others to get out.

He started outwards and worked inwards, and what finally broke him was the sight of someone far closer to the epicenter than they should have been, scarf wrapped around the bottom half of her face, orange hair streaming out behind her, teal headband and brown coat and one hand outstretched towards where he'd been.