This had been a tremendously bad idea, hadn't it?

Jazz's initial screams had died to whimpers once she'd given up trying to get away, no doubt realizing that fighting would just risk one or the other of them being caught in stone, but the way she looked at him….

He thought she'd be fascinated to have proof of ghosts.

Instead, she looked terrified, far more than he'd ever expected she might be, considering he hadn't told her anything yet. The confusion on her face made more sense. Maybe he shouldn't tell her everything? He didn't want to worry her more. Sam and Tucker had taken it okay, he supposed, but even they didn't know everything, didn't know about the shifter, and—

"What…what's…." Jazz trailed off, shook her head, and looked at Johnny. Both he and his motorcycle let off a faint glow in the dark, which both offered up their only light and made the shadow beneath their feet look deeper. Wherever they were, there wasn't a window. Storage room of some sort, maybe. Not a room that was intended to have people in it on a regular basis, not without something that could be used as a fire exit. "You're a…a ghost?"

Johnny just raised an eyebrow. "You were expecting something else?"

"I wasn't expecting a ghost," Jazz murmured as she fumbled for a seat on some boxes. Danny sneezed as dust rose off of them, which of course drew her attention back to him. "What's going on?"

"Uh…surprise, Mom and Dad were right and ghosts are real?"

She closed her eyes, though her show of exasperation ended a second later when it was her turn to sneeze into her elbow. She sniffed. "This isn't a joke."

Something in her tone made his next quip die on his tongue, and he swallowed. "Yeah. I know. It's…it's really not." He glanced at Johnny, who had crossed his arms and settled back on his motorcycle to give Danny as much space as he could in a place where they were practically on top of each other. Jazz and Johnny had taken the only feasible seats, but Danny was fine with that for now. "That's why I'm not joking. Like I said, ghosts are real. Mom and Dad are right. And while some ghosts are friendly, others…aren't. Which is why we're here."

Jazz frowned, fixing her gaze on him and repeating, "What's going on?"

The steel was back in her tone. Oh joy. "You know how Mom and Dad were saying that there was more ghostly activity around lately?"

"Yeah, a few nights ago at supper. They said it's been climbing slowly for weeks. Why?"

"Their readings aren't wrong."

"Danny. Stop dancing around whatever it is and just tell me."

"There's a ghost out here, somewhere, who can…look like anyone. Including me. I haven't been home for…. I dunno. Two days now?"

Before Jazz could turn her shock into words, Johnny let out a low whistle. "You pissed off a shifter?"

"I guess."

"Why'd you let them through?"

Danny turned to stare at Johnny. "You're going to go on about that, too? No," he added as Johnny opened his mouth, "don't, I don't want to hear it right now." Turning back to Jazz, he said, "Have you seen me since I was getting ready for bed a couple nights ago?"

"No." Jazz's voice was suddenly small, quiet. "I only saw your note, and that some of your things were gone." When Danny didn't say anything, she added, "We thought you'd run away. Mom and Dad were searching through town, and they called the police, and…." Her breath caught. "They put out an Amber Alert just before supper today. Dad was convinced you never would've run, not without even telling Sam and Tucker."

Danny swallowed. "Just Dad?"

"It was your handwriting. You do that funny thing with your Gs that the rest of us can't mimic." Her voice cracked, and she didn't meet his eyes. "And you've been acting weird recently. Weirder than usual."

Danny rolled his eyes. "There's a shapeshifting ghost out there who wants to use me and threatened to hurt everyone who helped me."

Johnny coughed. "Could've said that earlier."

Danny didn't bother to turn this time. "Would you have just left me there if you'd known?"

Silence, aside from Jazz's deliberate breaths as she tried to calm down. It didn't sound like it was working. A detached part of Danny figured he should be reacting like that now, two seconds away from melting into a blubbering mess after everything that had happened. It wasn't like he hadn't panicked earlier. This was different, though. He wasn't alone anymore. He had help, and he had to look after Jazz. Choosing to tell her anything had put her in danger, but it shouldn't—hopefully—be more danger than seeing him would have already thrown her into.

"No." Johnny didn't sound remotely uncertain, which was a good thing for Danny. "Being with Kitty is worth the risk."

"Good. Because your job is to protect Jazz until this is over."

"I didn't sign up for—"

"I said I'd try to help you with Kitty if you helped me." He just wanted to sleep, or curl and cry, but he couldn't do that until he at least tried to make sure Jazz was as safe as she was going to be. "I'm way more likely to be successful if I'm not stressed about what that shifter might do to my sister."

"A second pair of eyes would help if I'm going to be looking for trouble."

"You have a second pair of eyes. Shadow. He's got eyes, doesn't he?"

Jazz reached out and grabbed his hand. Danny grimaced as his knuckles compressed under her grip but didn't pull away. "What are you involved in?" Her voice was a whisper again.

He didn't know. That was the worst thing. He didn't know exactly what he was involved in because he didn't understand it, and he'd certainly never asked for it.

But he knew when it had begun.

He remembered pain. The scent of smoke and seared flesh. The taste of ozone on his tongue. Ringing in his ears. Darkness, before his vision came back. Some moments of it were sharp; others were vague or gone altogether, just cobbled together and filled in from what Sam and Tucker had told him.

He remembered Sam's tears, stinging as they wet his skin.

He remembered Tucker fighting to keep his lunch down as he grabbed the lab's first aid kit.

He remembered cool cloths pressed to hot skin, a steady murmur of words that he couldn't make out. He remembered panic and worry and trying to figure out how they'd explain when they made the call. He remembered finally finding the words to tell Sam and Tuck he'd be okay. Finally feeling stronger and convincing them they didn't need to call anyone, didn't need to tell anyone exactly what had happened.

He remembered Tucker joking that while they might not have found ghosts, Danny looked like the walking dead. Sam's nerves had been too frayed to find it funny. She'd told Danny that he actually looked better than he had when he'd first stumbled back out of that hole in the wall. Tucker had even agreed.

Thinking back on it, Danny knew it wasn't just that it should have been much worse. He should have been dead, not back on his feet and frantically trying to clean up all evidence of their being in the lab within the hour.

"The shifter wants something from me," Danny said slowly. "I don't entirely understand it, but I'm useful to him."

Johnny snorted, causing them both to look at him. "No kidding, kid. You're useful to all of us."

"How?" Jazz asked, and this time she was focused on Johnny, not Danny. "He's not supposed to be useful to some ghost. He's just supposed to be my little brother."

"Becoming a gatekeeper doesn't mean he's not your little brother. Just means he's a little more connected to me and mine than you'd think to look at him."

That wasn't much more helpful than what Sidney had said, but— "A gatekeeper? Not the gatekeeper?"

"More than one gate. More than one gatekeeper. Not that every gate has a keeper."

"Meaning?" That was Jazz again, taking the words right out of Danny's mouth.

"What it says on the tin." Johnny considered Danny for a few seconds, ignoring Jazz's spluttering. "You're newer to this than I'd thought. I'd just assumed it had taken a while for the rumours to reach me, but you don't know what you're doing, do you?"

Truer words had not been said.

Johnny smirked when Danny didn't answer. "That's the real reason why you don't want to bring Kitty through, even though she could help."

"Bring her through from where? How?"

"From the other side or whatever you want to call it." Johnny kept his attention on Danny even as he answered Jazz's question. "Let me just tell you about her. My Kitty, she knows this town like the back of her hand, and from what I saw earlier, not enough has changed to make that knowledge irrelevant. She'd be damned useful to you right now."

"I'm not going to get lost in my own town. I don't need a guide." That wasn't what Johnny meant, though, and Danny knew it. He just knew the nicer bits of Amity Park. Way more than the surface bit a tourist would see but not the parts of it most people ignored or pretended didn't exist, the parts he might need now to survive.

He wasn't convinced Sidney had much knowledge of that, either, for all that he'd managed to find Danny after the shifter had moved him.

"You want to know good places to hide?" Johnny countered, smiling like he'd already won because he knew perfectly well that Danny did want that. "She's the one who showed me this place. She knows how to keep a low profile. How to avoid people and spot a tail. Years on our side have sharpened those skills. This wouldn't be her first encounter with a shifter, either, if you wanna talk to someone who's danced this dance before."

Something inside of Danny twisted.

He knew that feeling, like his stomach had flipped and he was about to be sick.

No. No. This could not be happening now, not in front of Jazz, he wouldn't let it.

"I don't want to do anything until I get cleaned up." And a drink out of the faucet. Not because he thought water would settle anything—it hadn't in the past—but because now that it was within the realm of possibility, he was really thirsty. Danny pulled free from Jazz and edged around Johnny to the door.

The ghost didn't say anything as he watched Danny fight with it for a moment before reaching out to lay a hand on the metal. The door still looked solid, but it melted beneath Danny's fingers. Intangibility, just like before.

"Thanks," he muttered before slipping through to the hallway and squinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. He was feeling better already, maybe because he'd finally gotten out of that room.

He'd been in the library before, but he'd never been in the basement of the library before. Holding his breath, he couldn't hear anything beyond Johnny and Jazz's murmured conversation, so he picked a direction and started walking. There was probably a washroom on this level, if only for staff, so— There.

Danny locked himself inside and then went to stand over the sink, clutching the porcelain edge as he stared at his reflection. He was cleaner than he'd expected. Maybe all the dirt and whatnot had come off earlier when Johnny had taken them inside. He turned on the tap and filled his cupped hands to splash water on his face before taking a few slurping mouthfuls, since the water felt good on his face.

Granted, finally being able to drink again made him think he should at least try to relieve himself in case things went south, since a toilet was infinitely superior to a pail in his opinion, but once he was done with that and could smell the soap on his hands, he couldn't really deny the fact that Jazz was right. He needed a shower. He could smell himself. So, while it wasn't the most dignified thing in the world, Danny gave himself a quick sponge bath with a nice wad of paper towel and tried to scrub at his shirt with soap and water. Better to be soaking wet for a little bit—unless Johnny decided to help him—than to smell like where he'd been the last few days. After those cuffs—

Wait.

Danny let his shirt fall back into the sink and stared instead at his wrists, which weren't remotely chaffed, let alone rubbed raw. Come to that, the rest of him didn't feel that bad, either. Tired, yes, but not stiff now that he'd been moving. He didn't ache all over anymore. He wasn't sore like he'd nearly had his arm wrenched from its socket. He bore no scrapes from where he'd hit the gravel or pavement, either. Not so much as a bruise, let alone a swollen black eye.

And, okay, he'd noticed that, painful as it was when a ghost was coming through, it didn't affect him for long afterwards. His throat and jaw and whatever else were usually fine in thirty seconds if not five, even if it felt like longer. He'd always just assumed that was a ghost thing, a side effect of whatever it was. He'd been grateful for it.

But despite dodging Dash at school, he'd never noticed that other things just didn't…show.

Or last, if they did show.

The bags under his eyes were still there—they must have been what Jazz had been looking at when she'd told him how terrible he looked—and thinking about the headache he'd had before brought back a twinge of it, but it was nothing like it had been.

It was nothing like it should be.

"This has been happening to me ever since the accident," Danny murmured. It had been happening, and he'd never realized. Never noticed. Neither had anyone else, not even Sam or Tucker; they would have said something to him, would have pressed even before he'd told them that he was the reason behind the surge in ghostly activity—of animals, mostly, until more recently.

Animals had been better.

He had to focus. This healing was a good thing. He'd never wanted anyone to see any signs of the truth, and healing this quickly meant those signs disappeared faster. Not to mention, he'd never been hurt and not wanted to feel better. So, that was a win-win. Still something he'd need to be careful of, though. He had no desire to answer any questions as to why his body did this if he could avoid it, especially if his parents were the ones asking.

And earlier. When he hadn't wanted to fall, he hadn't. So, maybe, he could not-fall now.

Danny closed his eyes and jumped, but his feet came back to the floor as reliably as ever. Repeating the process did not change the result, not even when he tried varying it. Feeling foolish, he put his shirt back on and hoped the shock of coolness would keep his cheeks from flushing too much.

That meant his so-called powers amounted to healing (useful) and mustering up enough power float once in a blue moon (less useful).

This would be so much easier if Sidney had explained stuff. Or if Johnny's explanations hadn't been so circular, which come to think of it had been one of Sidney's problems. Danny was pretty sure Johnny was doing it on purpose, though. He wanted to see his girlfriend again, and Danny was—somehow—the key to that.

No, not the key.

The passageway.

He would not consider himself a gatekeeper to this passageway until he could actually control it, which at this point seemed like it would never happen. He'd only gotten lucky a handful of times. And if the shifter got their way, who knew if Danny would survive the experience. Well, no, that wasn't fair. He'd survive; if the shifter viewed him as a resource, they probably wouldn't be happy if he died. He just might not have any quality of life afterwards. The shifter had made it abundantly clear that they basically only needed Danny to be semi-conscious for whatever they were planning.

"Not gonna happen." It made him feel better to say it out loud. Sure, it was easier to be brave when he wasn't facing down the ghost that would happily torture him, but he could pick Jazz's brain for ideas now, and that helped a lot. "I've got two ghosts who are on my side," he told his reflection, "or at least more on my side than the shifter's side, and they can help me figure this out. They have to if they ever want to go back." Assuming they would want to go back. What if they decided they liked it here? Was he going to be stuck with them?

No, Johnny had said there were multiple gateways. They could always find another way back.

Meaning Johnny could find another way to get back to Kitty, or to bring her to him, instead of waiting around for Danny to figure this out when all he'd promised to do was try, not succeed. Johnny might even consider the help he'd already given payment enough in exchange, especially if Danny didn't cough up what was necessary to keep his end of the bargain. Literally. Ugh. He was not going to think about that again. It was not going to happen right now. But if Johnny decided to just give up and abandon guarding Jazz….

No. Danny would have to find some way to keep him here. Was a ghost's word binding? Johnny wouldn't tell him, but maybe Sidney would, once he showed up.

If he showed up.

"I wish my parents had a normal profession," Danny said to the mirror. He really was losing it, wasn't he? Talking to himself that way was worse than talking to himself in his head. His parents weren't to blame for this, anyway. A bit, probably, but definitely not entirely. Danny had known better, even as he'd gotten himself into this mess. He'd never really considered that one of his parents' inventions might kill him when they were all targeted towards ghosts.

He hadn't thought that there might be something worse that could happen to him than instant death, either, but he'd never imagined having to deal with something like this, having to fight someone wearing his face—or, more likely, the face of someone he cared about.

He'd figure this out. He was going to get rid of that shifter, somehow. He couldn't afford to lose.