Get Up
Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom.
Lying on the ground, he couldn't open his eyes. The back of his head felt wet and there was something dripping nearby. For one moment he thought it was raining, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be inside. It couldn't rain inside.
'But it always rains in the movies when the hero dies,' he thought idly, his mind barely managing to form a coherent thought, and he half-laughed, half-coughed at the stupidity of it. All these years he'd fought the good fight and never gotten seriously hurt before, but now . . . It was supposed to be a quick, easy battle. It was supposed to the kind of fight that he liked best, the kind where he barely fought at all, and yet as he'd entered the room he'd gotten his head smashed in by something, some ghost. Was it Skulker? Technus?
"As long as it wasn't the Box Ghost," he mumbled, but the words came out garbled as he tried to focus.
"Did you . . . Oh, my god," whispered someone, a girl . . . was it Sam . . .? No, the voice wasn't quite right. This belonged to someone older, and besides, Sam wasn't supposed to be here right now. She was at something . . . a charity dinner or something . . . He couldn't remember.
"You're alive! Oh, thank god, you're alive!" cried someone, grabbing him, and he wished he could tell them to stop. Whatever she was doing hurt so badly, and there was more rain—no, not rain, tears—dripping unpleasantly onto the back of his neck. "I thought you were dead, after Ghost X—er, I mean, Skulker—hit you . . . there's just so much blood . . ."
'Oh, it's Jazz,' he noted idly. Even after all these years she had trouble getting the names of the ghosts right.
"I'm okay," he mumbled, not meaning it at all, but he was spitting out so much blood as he tried to talk that the words didn't matter much at all. He really hoped he wouldn't have to go the hospital after this . . . he hated hospitals, especially after that ghost bug incident.
"Look, I know it's tough, but you need to stay awake, okay?" she told him. "I don't want to move you right now. I'm not sure if—I'm just—you're hurt really badly."
'Understatement,' he thought bitterly, and if he could've shaken his head, he would have. "Where's Skulker?" he tried to ask, worried that the ghost was still hovering nearby and might hurt Jazz, but it was stupid to try. Nothing he was saying sounded like words at all.
"I—Look, Tucker, I don't know what you said," Jazz whispered, and hearing his own name shook him somehow. Until she'd spoken it, he couldn't actually remember what his name even was. "But Danny's still out there fighting, and we need to get this defense system down or to at least recognize Danny's ecto-signature so he can get in here and save Dani from Vlad. I managed to catch Skulker in the thermos so we don't have to worry about him anymore, but Tucker . . . I can't get this system down, and I'm-well, I'm just no match for Vlad. You're the only one who can crack this defense, and I know that you're hurt, but Tucker, if we don't figure this out, then Danny's going to get hurt, too."
'I can't . . .' he thought, letting out a long groan. His brain could barely function right now, the pain was so bad, and he wasn't sure he could even open his eyes. There was no way he could get a shield down. Danny was going to have to figure something else out, make some other—
"Tucker!" came a shriek in his left ear, and he let out a low moan as Danny's voice echoed painfully through his head. "I can't hold off these guys much longer! If you don't get that shield down then we're all doomed!"
Doesn't he know I'm dying?' wondered Tucker idly, but then he realized that Danny probably had no idea. There was no way his sister would tell him that in the middle of a ghost fight. If Danny got distracted by something like Tucker dying, then there would be more than one corpse on the ground at the end.
"Tucker!"
"He's a little busy right now, Danny! We're doing our best, but you're going to have to hold on a little longer!" said Jazz, and Tucker was amazed at how much better she'd gotten at lying. If he hadn't been lying half-dead on the ground, then he would've believed her, too.
"Damn it, Jazz, we don't have any longer!" snapped Danny, and Tucker wished he could tell him to shut up. His voice hurt so much as it echoed through his head, and it was making it hard to sleep. No matter what Jazz said, resting was the only thing Tucker wanted to do now. After all, hadn't he done enough? Wasn't dying to save the day enough?
Of course, the day hadn't actually been saved yet, and that was the problem.
"Tell Tucker to hurry up before we're all dead!" snapped Danny.
"It's a little late for that," mumbled Jazz, and cracking open an eye Tucker could just barely make out Danny's big sister looming over him, her orange hair hanging in a loose mess since somewhere along the way her headband had gotten lost. There was something strangely beautiful about the way her hair cascaded around her face even though her eyes were puffy and red from the tears. "Please, Tucker, please, get up. Or tell me what I need to do. Or something. I don't know what I have to do."
"I can't," he mumbled, coughing.
"Come on, Tucker. I wish—I wish I didn't have to ask this of you, but you can do this, okay? You just need to get up. You're a techno-geek, a genius, the best hacker I've ever met, and you're the only person who can do this right now," she said, leaning in close, and he felt something cold and metallic shoved into his hand. Even without looking, even as messed up as he was, he knew what it was:
Susan. His precious, precious PDA, fourth of her name, and the most powerful piece of tech that he owned.
"Sit . . . me . . . up . . ." he sputtered slowly, hoping that if he took his time then she might understand.
"Tucker . . . your injuries are really bad, if I move you like that—"
". . . dead . . . anyway," he chuckled, or at least he tried to but it mostly just sounded like he was grunting. ". . . but . . . save . . . Danny . . ."
"Tucker . . ."
"NOW!" he snapped, or rather, hissed, for he could barely speak, and he felt Jazz's hands grab him and slowly do as he commanded. Even though he knew she was trying to be gentle, her fingertips felt like knives driving into his sides as she forced him up, and her gently leaning him against the wall felt more like he'd been slammed in the back by a semi when his spine touched the cold surface.
Ignoring it as best he could, he moved his fingers over his PDA, operating more on touch than on sight. He was as skilled at navigating his device as Jazz was at taking tests, and he knew that he'd done most of the work to break through Vlad's system beforehand. It would only take opening the right files, linking up to the billionaire's systems . . . had he plugged in the hard line before he'd gotten attacked? He thought he had, but he wasn't sure.
"Line?" he whispered to Jazz.
"Lie? Tucker, I've been lying to Danny this whole time already," she said, "and I'm obviously not going to tell him the truth until we're done with this. He wouldn't be able to take it if you—"
"No," he muttered, shaking his head, or at least he tried to . . . somehow, he didn't think it moved at all. "Line."
"OH!" Jazz lifted something and moved it into his fingers. "Yeah, Tucker, it's in. And, um . . . there's something on the screen. It's asking to initiate?"
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Tucker laughed. Of course it would just be a button. All that screaming, all of Jazz's making him sit up and suffer, all of Danny's frustration as he held off Vlad's minions, and all that needed to be done was for him to click 'yes.' Jazz could've done it, easily, but she'd been too nervous about messing with his tech or too worried about him to realize it.
"Yes," he mumbled.
"Yes?" she repeated, and Tucker gave a half-hearted groan. It was the best he could do, and Danny's triumphant "Ha!" over the headset told him that it had obviously worked and that Jazz had pushed that magic little button.
"About time! Jeez, Tucker, you're getting rusty!" chuckled Danny, oblivious, and tears ran down Tucker's face as he passed out, his mind idly wondering if the last thing he'd ever hear from his friend was a lame quip about how he'd lost his touch.
A/N: Someday I'll write a cheery one-shot again . . . Someday . . .
