A/N: Wow this chaps even longer! Sorry about so much Danny POV, kinda needed to get the story going OTL I think we're about halfway done Arch 1/3
Warnings: Some pretty graphic description about suturing, other various injuries, swearing
"I'm falling in deep
Do you already know my love is after you
I'm writing letters in my head
I sign my name but never send
All of my thoughts are you
All of my mind's on you"
Meg Myers, After You
When Danny woke up, he knew instantly from years of experience that he was concussed. Groaning, while rubbing the heel of his palm into his eye, he tried to focus the other one to no avail. The ceiling of his bedroom, including the ceiling fan that was off but looked like it was on, was all blurry and moving. When he removed his hand from his face, it took him way longer than normal to realise Tucker and Sam were hovering beside the bed.
"How'd we get here?" he asked, voice sounding slurred to his own ringing ears. Which was another tally under the 'definitely hit my head too hard' list, along with the dizziness that was marginally fading.
Tucker opened his mouth to answer, but Sam shot him a glare that had his mouth clicking shut. He pushed up his glasses, slightly embarrassed.
"What was the last thing you remember?" she asked.
It took him longer than normal to digest her words and sort them out in his head. It was a relatively easy question that had his brain running in a tight circle. Me? Remember? Last thing? Me, a teenager in high school. Remember, being at said highschool. Last thing? That's where his brain stopped and ran in place for an absurdly long amount of time. There was the panic as he was late to school, the appreciative surprise at Lancer wanting to actually help him with his school work, and the dread at peeking into the cafeteria as soon as he felt the cold breath release from his mouth. Now that he was thinking about it, the cafeteria puzzle started to pull itself together. He remembered the strange ghost lady who had freaked out about the menu change, the exhaustion at all the intangibility despite him trying to increase his stamina, the impact of him sailing into the ground and then into the wall, and lastly, him sucking her into the thermos and attempting one last stunt of intangibility to get his friends rid of the meat. Danny was lost in thought about the battle when he heard Sam call his name. She sounded professional and calm, almost like a real nurse. His mom had sounded like that when he got hurt, but it often had a tone of reprimand. There was none of that here.
"Sorry, what?"
"What was the last thing you remember?"
"Uh, defeating that Cafeteria Lady and also getting my ass handed to me. I passed out, right? After using my powers on you?"
At that, Tucker exploded, not able to keep it in anymore. He only lowered his voice when he saw Danny flinch at the sudden volume. "Do you know how long it took you to get up when she threw you into the wall? You even told us you hit your head! Why wouldn't you tell us you were exhausted?"
Danny gave him a wry smile, unused to being reprimanded for admitting defeat. Whether it was 'homework' or physical training, his parents had always pushed him past his limits until he was sure he would break. There was never a reprieve when they were on the road together; everything was a constant evaluation. He knew he had been tired, but he also knew he wasn't down for the count. He just grossly miscalculated on how far the fumes he'd been running on would get him. That didn't seem like an appropriate response, judging by Tucker's burning stare.
"I thought I could do it. Plus, it would have been suspicious if you guys had walked out of there covered in that stuff." His mouth was just spilling out his thoughts at this point, and he melted at their fond expressions. "And! I have supernatural healing! Besides, that mess in the caf is gonna be some real shit, but I am sorry. I won't do that again unless I know I have the energy for it."
"It's alright, Danny. It's unusual for concussed people to pass out long enough for them to get carried home, but I guessed it might be because of energy loss." Sam said, patting his hand fondly, but cautious like she wasn't sure really how to touch people. He slowly pushed himself up the bed, revelling in what a hilarious picture that would have made.
"Also," Tucker, cut in, "You are so right about the cafeteria, man. It was like a meat bomb went off in there. Ishiyama is going to be livid!"
"That's… the principal, right?"
"Yeah, she's a real pushover when it comes to bullying and the star football players, like Lancer. But when it comes to pranks and stuff like this, her punishment is long, lecturing assemblies."
Danny's upper lip curled. He was familiar with those, and those kinds of things hurt his brain. With no attention span and an overactive imagination, Danny often got stuck in scenario loops when he had nothing else to do. They could be good; ideas and plans that were actually beneficial to his health and future or, they could be bad. Bad scenarios that could be sometimes without merit, that only served to wind his anxieties higher. Rarely could they be productive and give him good ideas were he ever in those situations. More often did they end with self-deprecation and outcomes he would be ashamed to tell anyone. Adding in the fact that he now had more ammunition for bad versus good, especially with the knowledge he was now the very creature his parents hunted, he would be willing to spend less time alone with his thoughts.
"So, what do we do with the thermos?" Tucker asked.
Danny thought about it for a minute. His brain was starting to work smoother, but he could already feel the onset of a headache. His arm was still sore from where he'd landed the first time, and there were dull aches from where she had hit him, but other than that and his head, he wasn't feeling all that bad. Physically, at least. There was a dull ache where his core rested in the centre of his chest. There lied another problem. It took energy to fire the thermos, energy he had needed to keep from passing out.
"I'm sure my parents made something that can release them back into the Ghost Zone," he hoped, "Now that I know the thermos works, I have a little more faith in them. If not, I can make one myself. That might be better, that they don't know I'm catching and releasing ghosts."
They both looked content with that answer, relieved that they wouldn't be carrying around a ghost that they would rather encounter only the once for long.
"I did have to focus my… ghost energy? To the thermos, to get it work. I don't know how I knew that, but I knew it needed it for the beam. That's why I'm not sure I have to be worried about the original blueprints. I don't think they'll get it to work without that external power. It wouldn't hold."
Tucker was quiet for a minute, stroking his chin. Finally he adjusted his glasses and spoke. "Do you think you could concentrate your energy into something, like a battery, over time? Then you'd have stored energy so you'd never have to worry."
Danny thought about it, "Yeah, that seems possible. I did transfer energy into the thermos, and it's made mostly out of regular, organic material. The only thing special about it is the containment technology. I guess we just hope whatever I'm putting the energy in can handle it."
"My dad's got some gaudy old gold chains he'd never miss. That's a good conductor."
"Sam! You can't steal stuff from your dad!"
"Well, I've already stolen it in case they ever disown me so I'd have something to melt down. What!"
They all laughed at her. Danny knew it wasn't right, but if Sam said he wouldn't miss it, Danny thought it wouldn't hurt. Besides, the two of them finally looked the most relaxed since he'd woken up. He was seldom to ruin it because he couldn't accept a gift. Sam spoke, and the underlying lilt of anxiety was gone. "So we now have a way to capture ghosts, we have to work on your limits for your powers, precisely how much it drains you to do stuff to us. I assume that's what made you so tired?"
"I… may have overestimated how much energy it would take to use it on others, yes."
"We should also set up an obstacle course or something to work on your teleporting or whatever." Tucker added.
"You saw me do that, huh?"
"It was pretty memorable how you flew yourself directly into her foot and then managed to go through the wall."
"Twice," Sam chimed in, "You totally flew yourself into her fist too."
"I did that on purpose! I just… didn't respond quick enough."
"Add reaction time to the list," Sam said, before brightening as if she remembered something, "Oh! Could you understand her?"
"Who, the ghost?"
"Who else? I mean, she was speaking English when she still looked, uh-"
"-Like a nice old lady?"
"Yeah, sure... But when she was yelling at you near the end, it was all staticky and mumbly."
"Almost like a mix of a radio noise, insect clicking, and deep-sea creature sounds." Tucker said.
Danny gaped at them, thoughts slowly piecing together. Not only did ghosts have their own dimension and biology, they also had their own language that Danny now understood.
"I wasn't speaking it back to her, was I?"
"No, but- do you think you could've?"
"The journal you gave me, in the drawer."
There was the sound of it sliding open and shut and then the rustling of pages. "What are we- oh."
"I've already been writing in it, subconsciously. I've never heard of a language being intrinsic, other than like, body language. But to answer your question, I understood her. I didn't even know she switched languages."
"This might be a positive, Danny. You were worried about us calling by your name, and this way, whatever the ghosts say to you will stay confidential. If you begin to talk it back, everything will be coded and you won't worry about saying something you don't want anyone to overhear."
Danny thought about this, seeing the positive, but also the negative. Always the negative. "I just don't want to be so comfortable with it I write it on my homework, or say it by accident."
"We can practise writing, and you can always do digital reports. Or if you ever speak it, you can always say it's like pig-latin, or whatever." Danny nodded, comfortable with a backup plan.
"So what did she say?"
"Something about me being a hatchling, which is what I assume they call the freshly deceased ghosts, and then she was asking me about my heartbeat. Nice to know even to ghosts I'm not normal."
"What's normal anyway..." Sam said.
Tucker nodded, "You know what's not normal? Hatchlings! Do you think they really hatch from like, eggs? Fully grown?"
"That sounds pretty wicked, actually!"
"Yeah, wicked gross…" Sam said, and they all laughed. Suddenly, one of their phones rang. There was no guess as to who's played Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit. Sam dug it out of her back pocket, scoffed when she saw the display and answered. The emotionless voice and annoyed expression told Danny it was one of her parents. From what he'd heard from her talking about them they were very conservative, wealthy beyond their own means with no grace of benefaction, and had little regard for her or others. The only person in her home with whom she had a loving relationship was with her Grandma. Sam addressed her as Nanny and spoke with a soft, loving tone; the exact opposite of how she was talking now.
"Hello, Father."
There was a short stern voice talking on the other end that had her biting her lip to keep from laughing. "Yeah, I'm hanging out with my two boyfriends. I'll be home in a bit."
She hung up the phone on that note. She released a sigh before laughing at their expressions. "What! It drives him up the wall to know I hang out with guys. It's not my fault he jumps to conclusions!"
"You really do nothing to help yourself, y'know." Tucker said, shaking his head.
"Would he ban you from seeing us or something?" Danny asked.
"What can he do, pull me out of school?"
"You shouldn't say stuff like that," Tuck warned. "You know how things happen in Amity. Next thing you'll know, you're being shipped off to some girl's boarding school."
"What?" Danny said, confused.
"It's an old thing, with families who have been here for generations. Foley's are one of them. Sam's parents moved her when she was what, three? So people like them don't believe when we say odd things happen here. Dreams, visions, wishes coming true. Not always pleasant stuff, either."
"I have to admit, I was skeptical," Sam said, "But as soon as you start reading into things deeper, the less coincidental it seems. It's like the city does it's best to sweep stories like that under the rug, but they can be found. Like, Casper High for example. Ghost reports have dated back to before the 1940's, always the same things mentioned and usually in conjunction to that locker."
"So, that kind of stuff has been popular here since before my parents. Seems odd to think that they've always been here. Guess it makes sense, 'cause supernatural exploration has been on my father's side for generations, and they're from here."
"Why do you think we believed you so quickly when you said your parents were ghost hunters?"
Sam's phone chimed as a text came in. She looked at it and sighed. "I'm sorry, Danny, I have to go otherwise he'll really start tripping. Go get some water, try to stay away from strenuous brain activity-"
"-Yes, I know how to deal with a concussion-"
"-No ghost experiments tonight, and if you can try to keep track of how long it takes for your symptoms to go away. It'll be good to keep track of how long it takes your ghost healing for various injuries, though if we could keep that to a minimum, that'd be fantastic."
Danny smiled and shook his head, fondly exasperated. It was nice, if different, to have friends who cared.
"I'll walk her home. G'night, Danny, feel better!"
Danny didn't write poetry.
He often wrote in journals - Jazz always called them diaries and he hated it, but she was right in the very definition of the word. A private, daily record. When he so often remembered to do it, it was such a thing. So writing for himself was a very different, very real personal thing.
Poetry seemed to be the same thing, to his dismay.
The following week after the Cafeteria thing, school was a complete mess. Math was easy, back when the equations didn't look like a bunch of squiggles that moved around. It wasn't bad when he could hold the paper up to his face, but reading the board was a crapshoot. It took a week for the symptoms of his concussion and energy-fatigue to go away, so gym class was terrible. He changed into his gym clothes in the bathroom stall because the bruising on his chest lasted longer than he'd expected. The logical reason was because he drained himself of his powers, ergo the lack of healing powers. There were more negative consequences to the drain than he'd thought there'd be. His core would pulse, the chill in his chest a constant reminder of his mistake, his human body ached and his ghost body seemed leaden, on top of his brain not functioning normal.
Furthermore, it seemed that flyers were being passed out in the Ghost Zone, if the influx of his ghost breath was anything to go by. Sam gave him shit for fighting through his concussion and against her doctor's orders of rest. It's not like he preferred to get his semi-coherent ass kicked by sentient octopi, vultures, and other various ghost animals. They seemed to be getting more and more cognizant and humane; Danny nearly had a heart-attack (if it was possible) when the bird he'd been trying to suck into the thermos one night swore back at him. Not just in ghost-speak, oh no, definitely in English. A distinct, Southern accent and Danny didn't even want to know what Texas was like in the Ghost Zone. So whether it was due to his concussion or his sleepless nights that seemed to be him chasing ghosts more and more, he didn't even notice the blend into October. How could he, when he was too busy figuring out how to shoot ectoblasts, or at what speed flying in his ghost form did his legs disappear into a wisp of air? That wasn't mentioning the paranoid feeling of being watched for the last week or so. Which had nothing to do with Sam and Tucker's training; they thought by randomly throwing stuff at him he would get better reaction time. So when he went to class one day and saw the date on the board, it caught his attention. It should feel monumental to him; living in a place for a whole month, but it was all overshadowed by his new abilities. There was no excitement, there was no new sudden revelation or stability from it. If anything there was something akin to disappointment, or maybe dread. A month in one place and he had so irrevocably changed his entire life past a point of no return.
That revelation was nothing compared to the dismal nightmare that was his English assignment. The class had until the end of next week to write three different poems and read one in front of the class. That was probably the worst thing Lancer could have asked of him. Sharing something personal with peers who he didn't know, who didn't give a rat's ass about him? Was he trying to humiliate him? He crumpled up the draft piece of paper and shot it into the trash can, which was about half a football field away and aimed from up in his Sycamore tree in the far end of the park. It hit the rim of the can's top, bouncing into the hole in a great green flash of flame. Approximately 3.6 seconds later, also to Danny's great stab of depression, the whole top of the trashcan burst into a great burning mass of ectoplasmic fire, lid blasting off like a rocket ship landing a good twelve feet away.
"Great!" he groaned as he pulled out his pen and pondered over what to write next.
"Hey!" a familiar voice yelled. He looked up sullenly.
Sam rode in on her bike, silver shining in the streetlights. Reflective lights burned in his eyes like a burst of hot air from an open oven. Darn migraine. He was so preoccupied with rubbing his palms as hard as he could into his eye sockets, he didn't see the furious scowl on her face. A scowl which only worsened when she realized he wasn't paying any attention to her. She brought her bike to a stop and began digging around in her purse. When she finally pulled out what she wanted, a lipstick container with an obnoxious Fenton logo wrapped all the way around the cap, a sadistic grin crossed her face.
Danny was flinching and had an arm thrown up to protect his face before he knew what happened; the tree branch next to him exploded by a green blast . He stared as the branch crashed to the ground. He blinked at Sam, whose face was now twisted in a surprised grimace.
"Hey!" he yelled back at her.
"I didn't expect it to do that much damage!" she yelled back. They both stared at the two green burning piles, which quickly burnt out into smoldering piles that stunk of oranges. Sam pushed her bike over to Danny, who flew down and met her halfway. It was close to nine in the evening, so Danny didn't worry about park-goers seeing him.
"Sorry, I was kind of preoccupied. My english homework isn't going well," he sighed, rubbing the back of his head. All it did was ruffle his silver hair, which began floating upwards like he was underwater.
"Doesn't mean you can literally shoot it into the trash." She placed her other hand on her hip, "And I'm sorry I hit the tree," he stared. "Shot at you" she corrected.
He gave her a small smile, "I'm sorry too. Let me transform back, then we can walk together." He gestured down to his feet, which seemed more content to float a couple inches off the ground. Due to his strange ethereal glow and the silver hair, he stood out like a sore thumb at dusk. He floated back to the base of the giant tree, checked both ways before concentrating on the cold energy beside his heart until the rings at his waist appeared. The light ghosting of energy chilled his skin as the rings travelled across his body.
He walked back over to her, kicking lightly at the grass with his sneakers, thinking of what to say. Sam spoke first, probably sensing his unruliness.
"So how is your draft coming?" she asked, pushing her bike. They set off at a slow pace, an awkward air tense between them.
This subject was one Danny would like to drop, but answered the question regardless. "It's… okay, I guess. It frustrates me," he admitted.
Sam seemed surprised at this, "Why?"
"I don't know, I just… don't want people to judge me, I suppose."
"Well, that's kind of the thing about poetry. It's not like you're writing an autobiography. You can be as vague as you like and still get your feelings across."
Danny thought about this, just staring up at the stars. The silence didn't feel so awkward anymore now that they'd been talking, but Danny couldn't help feeling like he was… exposing a little of himself to Sam. A little more than he was used to anyways. To him it seemed like he was always struggling with his feelings and the lump of guilt that came with it made it hard to get words out. He was closer to Tucker and Sam than he'd been with anybody, and his brain was beginning to struggle. It was getting harder and harder to differentiate if his feelings towards them were strictly friendly, or something else he wouldn't dare admit.
That also scared him somewhat. A lot.
"Don't you think that there will always be someone who can read between the lines?" Danny asked, looking at Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam seemed transfixed on her bike handles and she twisted the rubber covers with her hands. This was the only indication Danny had that she had heard him, and he wrung his hands as he waited patiently.
"Maybe, but if somebody paid that much attention to you like that, wouldn't you want to know?" She said smoothly, having no idea what her words did to Danny's heart. He didn't want to look at her, knowing heat in his face telling him exactly what he looked like, but did anyways to gauge her expression.
She had her lips pursed cutely, but other than that she didn't wear anything else but a neutral expression. She didn't look all that internally conflicted like how Danny currently felt. This only served to make him all the more nervous, but he'd wanted what she truly thought.
"Yes," he admitted softly. If only it was you or Tucker, was the thought before he could stop it.
Sam didn't look surprised, but she looked at him with honest eyes. "Then you have no reason to be afraid." A pause.
"How are you and Valerie?"
His small smile slipped off his face in an instant. Is that what she thought he was talking about? This whole time? Had he totally shat the bed on not telling them really what happened between them, and by that, he meant that he was relieved when she broke it off?
"Uh, not good, I think. I walk her home from work once in a while, but she's been really busy working so I haven't seen her much." And it's usually me who initiates it, he didn't say. It came out a lot smoother and detached than he really felt. Either he was becoming an excellent actor or he was really faking it until he made it.
"Oh, that's…" Sam trailed off, not looking at him. Clearly he had stumped her there.
"Sad? Lame?"
"No!"
"Pathetic? Just a little bit commiserable?" he said, bumping her shoulder. She laughed a bit, pushing him back.
Danny smiled, the first genuine smile he felt he'd had in a long time and with a burst of courage, "I got some booze back at my place, should we call Tuck and-"
Kaboom!
A blast hit the ground beside them, tearing up the grass of the already damaged park, the earth trembling beneath their feet. Above them floating in the late evening sky was an unfamiliar ghost, the barrel of his huge blaster aimed right at them.
"There you are, Ghost Child! I have been looking for you!" the giant animatronic ghost sneered, teeth bared.
It was a mechanical voice with a deep baritone that vibrated to his core. His words were spoken in ghost speak, and the feeling laced in the words told Danny it was an insult woven in a compliment; like it was annoying that Danny somehow evaded him, while also impressing him. In an instant, Danny recognized the feeling as the same as he'd been sensing for the last week when he felt like he was being watched. Danny didn't know why his ghost sense hadn't tipped him off; or maybe it had and Danny had mistaken it for all the lower-level ghosts he'd been catching. Whatever it was, he had dropped the ball. The ghost stared at him with focused malice and the energy Danny could feel from his ecto-signature (which he was only beginning to understand, as it was something like a radio-wave and difficult to translate) said that this was a powerful ghost. Powerful enough that his own energy hummed in response, expecting a bloody fight. It was like revving an engine in response to a challenge at a red light.
Danny didn't have the energy for this, nor did he have any idea what he was up against. Did he risk a fight that could have consequences just for a slight insight for what this ghost wanted?
He could feel Sam's eyes on him, waiting for a response or maybe direction. He was getting faster at deciding the best course of action, his brain quickly working through the pros and cons of almost every decision. A. It was a Thursday, closer to the weekend which would be good if he got injured. B. Danny hadn't had much of a challenge since the Meat Lady, and the pressure of getting stronger tugged on his core almost constantly. He needed to be strong enough to protect his friends, protect his family and new city. This decision only needed those two points.
"Go home, Sam. I'll distract him. See you tomorrow?"
"Are you sure you'll-"
"I'll be fine. I'm just gonna test him out and then head home. My place has that ghost shield so he can't follow me in. Don't worry!"
She still didn't look convinced, but he could see when she realised she wouldn't be any help by the slump of her shoulders.
"Okay, see you tomorrow. There better not be a scratch on you!"
Danny did the smart thing and didn't promise anything, just gave her a grin as he focussed back on his core. Focussing on the anger of being interrupted in the middle of asking her to hang out, the cold burned through him in a flash and he was a ghost again. He waited to watch her bike away before focusing on the ghost's position in the sky. Faster than the ghost could process, Danny was beside him and using the momentum of his flash-flying to spin in a roundhouse kick. The back of his calve connected with the ghost's chestplate and Danny could see the surprise in ecto-fire in the eye holes of the metal skull-face with the ridiculous burning goatee before he blasted him to the ground.
And the battle begins.
Jazz had noticed multiple strange things about her brother lately; not just the fact that he had made two inseparable best friends in a month, but how he seemed to be tiptoeing around. Danny was always a lightfoot, trying to sneak things past, well, everyone and pass problems off as sarcastic remarks, but she knew something was up. For one, though she knew that he had these new friends (her parents, when she did finally see them, would not stop bragging about them to her outward elation and inward dismay; she still didn't have any of her own, but that didn't mean she couldn't be happy for him), she had not met them once. In a whole month! Well, she had 'met' them, but if one could call walking in on two people pretty much dragging her brother up the stairs an introduction, sure!
The other strange things were more inconspicuous; things her parents did not speak about, and Jazz suspected, did not even notice. There were dark bags under his eyes every day, already four times this week had she woken up to him pacing in his bedroom next to hers, and twice he had slipped up about mentioning an outing- friendly in nature-, but always stopped and changed conversation before mentioning who he was with.
That was definitely the weirdest.
Jazz didn't know what the other two things indicated (stress of some sort), but Danny had done nothing but also brag about his new friends as if he knew she had none of her own. So if one includes Danny's consistent need to be a petty, insistent little brat of a brother, the fact that he cuts off his bragging means he's hiding something, most likely a girl, most likely a Date. Jazz smiled at the thought. She vowed that she would try to squeeze something out of him tomorrow, but would leave it to him to tell her if he didn't crack.
It seemed like moving here was turning out to be the best thing for him.
The next day, she questioned that.
It started normal- the soft chimes on her phone went off at quarter to five every weekday for her classes at seven thirty, and she was showered and dressed with an hour to spare plus commute. She was nothing if not a strict creature of habit and routine. That was what made this incident even more stark to her in its absurdity because Danny was definitely not. She quietly padded down the stairs and into the kitchen, still drowsy as she prepared a bowl of cereal, she turned and nearly dropped it. Danny was sitting there at the table in the middle of the room, staring at her, eyebrows raised. Jazz just stared, boggled.
"Good morning," he said, taking a bite of his toast, as if her entire world hadn't just flipped.
Never once, ever in her life, had he awoken and been ready before her. He may've been awake, but he could never string two words together until after breakfast. She knows 'never say never', but this. This was a constant throughout her entire life, as steady as her parent's obsession. Not only that, but she hadn't seen him there at all and she would have walked around him. She was tired, but she wasn't groggy enough to miss a long gangly teenager like him sitting in the middle of the kitchen. Danny dwarfed everything he stood around, much like their father. Plus, Danny liked his sleep and that worried her more. He still looked tired, the smudges under his eyes getting darker every passing day. That cemented her fear until it pushed all thoughts of his odd appearance out of her mind and instead. Instead, her mind was spinning with all sorts of questions, but suddenly she couldn't latch onto any of it. For once, Jazz Fenton, Master of Quick Comebacks, was stunned into silence since meeting Danny's friends. It took her the time to put milk in her bowl before she could come up with anything that wasn't among the lines of 'what the fuck, lil bro'.
"Playing too many video games?" she chided. He only rolled his eyes, but didn't respond. No snide remarks back? Double weird. Jazz sat at the table and thought for a minute, taking a bite. She decided to test to see if he was really as deficient of sleep as he looked.
"A girl called last night, asking for you."
Danny scoffed, carrying his plate to the sink. His face was an infuriating mix of disappointment reading Nice Try and a mocking sneer. "She wouldn't call the house, she has my number."
He froze as his words seemed to sink in. "Fuck," he said before retreating out of the kitchen like a scurrying mouse. Jazz could only laugh at his back.
She hadn't seen him all day after that, he wasn't even home for dinner, opting to send her a text to tell mom and dad that he would be out with Sam and Tucker until curfew. If she even saw them. It infuriated her, how their parents took the excuses so easy coming from her, versus him calling them himself. Jazz couldn't help but feel maybe she was covering for him before shaking her head. She was supposed to be working on her essay before bed, it wasn't the time to be thinking about Danny and his possible girlfriend. Who was she kidding anyways? Danny was almost eighteen and perfectly responsible enough to… not get a girl pregnant. Right? Mom and Dad had the talk with him, right?
She snarled and pushed her laptop away, resigning to the fact that she wouldn't get anything done tonight. It was foolish of her to think that her parents had that much responsibility. She looked at her clock; it was almost ten o'clock (Danny's curfew) and he still wasn't home. Jazz went and sat on her bed, watching as the clock ticked closer and closer to his deadline. She had to think about what she had to say to him that didn't start with the topic, y'know, sex. Jazz didn't think that Danny had ever even gotten to first base, which was first, gross, and second, kind of helping his case for not getting a full safe sex seminar. Wait, no it wasn't. Scratch that.
The clock just changed to ten when she heard the front door slam open, eloquent as always. True to a tee, their parents were often quick to be around when they did something unfavorable. She heard mom's quiet passive-aggressive tones and could almost feel her father's disappointed stare. It was short lived; Danny was protesting that he was still technically on time and deserved credit for trying. It fell quiet after that, Jazz not being able to hear the words, if there were any. She didn't hear any footsteps up the stairs, just her parent's drudging down in the basement so the knock on the door startled her. How could such a tall person be so quiet (and move so fast, her brain holding the notepad asked).
"Come in."
Danny entered, looking more scattered than she expected. He never wore his leather jacket anymore ("Y'know, trying to be more vegan." had been the excuse then, and WHAT), and was now switching to t-shirts and tartan, flannel long-sleeve shirts. He had worn that jacket non-stop for years, so him taking it off was another thing on her list. It was as if she was watching her brother slowly unpeel infront of her eyes, becoming someone she didn't recognize. Jazz noticed that Danny's sleeve was ripped for some reason; she could tell even though he rolled them up to his elbows. The tense shoulders made her nervous and he was hiding his hands in his pockets, which had been a childhood habit to hide his bitten nails. His hair was dishevelled more than normal, and he just looked… frustrated. Tired. A familiar sight lately. She couldn't help but pat the bed. He reluctantly sat next to her, his stiff posture remaining even in sitting.
"Are you going to tell mom and dad?"
"What, that you might be dating someone?"
"As if you don't know yet, smarty-pants."
"Real mature. To answer your question, no. My turn," Danny groaned loudly, "You know about safe sex, right?"
"My God, please stop." He went to leave and she reached for his arm, he was already so fucking far away.
"Danny, seriously, you know the important shit, right? Like precum could get a girl pregnant and 'pulling out' isn't a thing, and- what the hell- Danny, your arm!"
The arm she had grabbed, the one with the ripped sleeve, was soaking wet and when she pulled her hand away it was stained with a thin sheen of red. The blood blended right in with the red patterned fabric; it was beginning to trail down his forearm until he muttered a curse and lifted it to stop it from dripping onto the floor. She was still in shock from the feeling of his sleeve in her grip, as drenched as a wet towel. He was out the door and into the bathroom down the hall in seconds. Jazz trailed after him in a trance with her damp hand out in front of her, unsure of what was happening. There was no way he hadn't felt the chill of cooling blood, or whatever wound had caused that much. Right? She watched as he gingerly took off his long sleeved shirt and Jazz couldn't help but wince when she saw how the fabric peeled off his skin away from the three inch gash on the back of his bicep. It looked long and deep, done by something sharp judging by the way it wouldn't stop bleeding. Danny grabbed a hand towel, wetted it and used it to wipe away the blood that just wouldn't stop coming out.
"You're going to need stitches." She blurted out.
"Shut up, would you? I've had mom's first aid course!"
"Don't tell me to shut up! How did you get that?" she spat, getting heated. She was beginning to really feel scared for him. "Does it have something to do with you pacing and not sleeping?"
He looked at her bewildered, "Pacing? What are you talking about? And are you going to help me or do I have to sew this myself?"
She didn't answer, just stared. The longer she looked into his face, his blue eyes burning, the deeper it sunk that he wasn't kidding. He had no intention of telling mom and dad or going to the hospital. Her brain instantly reminded her of the time she found him strapped to the goal post in elementary, but his eyes weren't the same. He was scared then, ashamed of what had happened like it was his fault. This time was different. He was going to do this with her help or not. Her brain supplied her with another hilariously morbid picture of Danny trying to do it himself with a sewing needle instead of the curved one used for sutures. In this scenario, the bathroom was covered in blood and Danny passed out before the second stitch. She shook it from her head.
Jazz gently pushed him away from the sink, and washed her hands. "You wouldn't be able to reach it anyways. Grab the first aid kit."
He gave her a crooked grin, but grimaced when the skin became taut as he reached for it on the wall with the wrong arm. She watched, entranced, as the blood ran down into the crook of his armpit and down his side when he stubbornly grabbed the kit anyways and pulled it down. She had to forcibly tear her eyes away to close and lock the bathroom door. He put it on the counter, sat on the toilet and began disinfecting it when she passed him the wipes while she pulled out a pair of gloves, the needle, needle holders, thread, and forceps out. She knew that Danny trusted her; he wouldn't have let her in the bathroom if he didn't. Unless, he was afraid she would have run straight to mom and dad if he didn't make her an accomplice. Her hands were shaking and she couldn't thread the needle, and she couldn't meet Danny's eyes, and what if it was another bully, or a mugging, or a-
His hand rested on her arm above her glove, stilling it. She looked at him, and his face was blurry, but she could still see the expression on his face was apologetic.
"You don't have to, Jazz. Just, please don't tell mom and dad, ok? It was just the wrong place, wrong time and I don't want them to be mad at me."
"Come on, Danny, they won't be mad!"
"I don't want to tell them what happened, okay? And I don't want to lie either. It'll never happen again, I promise,"
Jazz looked at him for probably another minute. He looked sincere, and when had he perfected the kicked puppy dog look? She was also still skeptical of the whole situation, but at least he was being honest with her. More importantly, he was opening up to her. Now, two secrets had begun to separate them from their parents. If she was being honest, that was only since they moved here. There were stops in the past ten years that had parts that they kept to themselves, if only just to keep their parents from wanting to situate in some of the scary places in America or do something reckless. Staying in the Grand Canyon for weeks did not sound appealing to them at twelve and thirteen, and still didn't appeal to them now. She understood his words before he even said them.
"I want to stay here," he whispered.
Jazz took a deep breath and gently pushed him so he was sitting with his arm in the light. She focused on the needle and thread and got it through in one go. "It's gonna hurt, you know."
"We've done this once before."
"Yeah, with mom looming over me and blocking out all the light."
She gripped the needle with the holders and thanked the Gods that she had watched so many extra videos on suturing. She decided that it would be best to do a simple running suture instead of having to tie it off each stitch. Another thing she hadn't forgotten when she watched the videos and read the books was how different it is to suture a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding versus stitching a cadaver or synthetic skins. She gripped the one side of the separated skin with the forceps before pushing the needle through before continuing through the other flap, pulling until there was about an inch left of the thread, before tying it off. If she wasn't so focused on how this was her brother, she might be satisfied how the skin pulled together. Danny was stiff in the shoulders, but was keeping his arm loose. He didn't even twitch when the cool metal of the scissors touched his skin as she cut the tail end of the knot shorter. She went back to where she started about half a centimeter over and duplicated the bites, before pulling it taut and doing it close to twenty times over. When she got to the end of the wound, she became very aware of how sweaty her hands were inside the gloves and that his shoulders were shaking, slightly, but still. The final stitch wasn't pulled tight so she could use the loop to tie a square knot. It took longer than it probably should have, but her gloves were slippery with his blood, and she had to pull the thread that was in his skin around her thumb while she threaded it with the end before pulling it tight. She had to tie it three more times to make herself believe that it wouldn't come undone in his sleep before cutting the end off.
All in all, it seemed to be the most stressful half an hour of her entire life, and the male members of her family weren't exactly coordinated. Short story, not the first time Danny or her Dad had pretty serious injuries in the middle of nowhere, but usually super glue solved those problems. She removed her gloves before grabbing antiseptic wipes out of the first aid kit and using it to clean away the blood that had finally seemed to cease flowing. Once she could see it was clean and not looking too shabby for her first solo operation it seemed she could finally breathe. Jazz had to sit on the edge of the tub when her knees began to feel weak. Danny was looking at her with bleary eyes, but his face was awed.
"Don't sleep on it, wash it twice a day, and there's some Neosporin in the kit. You might want to wrap a bandage around it if it rubs against your shirt too much."
"You're amazing."
She lightly punched his good arm, "Shut up."
"Don't tell me to shut up," he mimicked as he stood up. He used his other arm to pull her up and practically fully support her all the way to the bedroom. They ended up sitting on her bed like they were not too long ago. It seemed like everything had changed since then, despite nothing really changing. Jazz was suddenly exhausted; she felt how he looked.
"Thanks Jazz. I owe you one."
"You don't owe me anything, just… don't let it happen again, okay?"
He didn't respond, but she saw him nod. "Can... I ask you a question now?"
"I don't recall you answering mine."
"Yes, I know both those things. I had the foresight to look into safe sex and all that entails, please no more questions about it. My turn." A pause, and she could see in his face that he was nervous. What he had to be nervous about after what had just happened, she had no idea. "You wouldn't care if I liked guys, right?"
Jazz stared, bewildered. Never in her life had she ever seen that coming; not because she didn't think Danny as capable, but because she would have thought the answer would have been obvious. "No, Danny! I wouldn't care."
"And if I liked girls and guys?"
"Like, bisexual? No, Danny, I wouldn't care. You're my little brother."
"And... polyamory?"
"As long as it's honest and both people know, I don't see a problem."
"You're the best big sister ever, y'know. Especially when you're stabbing me with a needle or equally painful advice." He gave her a small sideways hug before leaving. She fell asleep listening to him shuffle around in the bathroom, probably cleaning up their mess before everything went quiet for her.
The last thought she had was that she would get him some superglue, so when it did happen again (like her gut said it would), it would be easier for him.
Their weekly trip to the Nasty Burger for their appointed meal after school started with Danny getting smacked upon the head from both sides, courtesy of his best friends.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"I told you not to get injured last night," Sam spat, more concern than anger really. He could tell from the ticking in her eyebrow.
"Also, how could you give Sam a laser lipstick and not me?"
"That's what you're concerned about? Could you be anymore immature?"
Danny couldn't help but laugh. Every week their friendship solidified more into an unbreakable bond. If Danny dying before their eyes in a freak accident and coming back to life didn't send them running, he was sure nothing would.
"I can get you one, Tuck, I just didn't think green was your color."
"Well, I didn't think it was yours, but you rock it, so-"
He was shaking his head and blushing at the comment, but knew Tucker was just messing with him. "Enough with the flattery, aren't you going to ask me what happened last night?"
"Spill it," Sam ordered, taking a sip of her fruit smoothie.
Danny delved into how he'd had a feeling he might've been being watched, but couldn't be sure until the ghost confirmed it last night. Describing the ghost to them was difficult, because it wasn't quite human nor animal. "He was definitely part machine. His gauntlets and chestplate all had technology wired into them, and when I hit him he felt and fell like metal. He had a skull mask that's mouth moved on hinges, with this tacky green flaming mullet and goatee. Probably 6'8" and as solid as a brick wall. The weirdest thing is definitely the suit, though. Every ghost I've ever met, including myself, the clothing is a part of us. It's all ectoplasm, in the end."
Tucker piped in, "Like the theory of why you can't get your jacket back in human form."
"Or when we experimented by taking your boots off before you transformed back. They just disappeared and were back on your feet when you changed again."
"Exactly. My theory is that he's wearing a mechanical suit that's been built, completely separate from his original body. It's like the necklace you gave me." He explained, thumbing the gold tennis chain that had been Sam's father's. "It stays with me through the forms. It's an external source of power than from our core. I've got two theories:
One, either his actual form is too weak to do anything without it, or-
Two, it's just an extra layer of protection and he's just as powerful without it."
Tucker was stroking his chin where day-old stubble had begun. The rhythmic movement of his thumb seemed to calm Danny just as much as it did Tucker. "So, if it's the latter, we're in for some shit."
"Pretty much." Danny took a breath, preparing himself for a scolding. "His name is Skulker, which honestly should be Stalker, because his obsession is hunting and I guess I'm a hot commodity. He called me names I've never heard before and are difficult to translate. Gotta say, the guy liked to talk as much as he liked to fight. It was tough just to avoid his hits, and before I knew it we'd been at it for an hour and-" Danny trailed off, eyes unfocused as he remembered coming to a shocking revelation last night. Ghostly instincts that he'd never even known he'd had had kicked in. Fighting had never come naturally to him; he was lanky and could barely control his long limbs, let alone coordinate them into the sophisticated dance he'd done last night. Weaving underneath punches, dodging the ghost's frightening arsenal of weapons, not even feeling the slice of his dagger in his flesh before he was expertly smacking the blade out of his hand. He'd had an impressive collection of bruises and scrapes he didn't remember getting, not to mention not realising the deep gash in his arm until his sister was grabbing it. Then there was the other can of worms called his ecto-signature.
"Earth to Danny. You in there, bro?"
He blinked, suddenly aware of the tabletop edge gripped in his hands tight enough to crack. "Sorry. I got lost in the fight. It was like when you're in the middle of an exciting part of a video game; time just flies before you know it. I'd fought like I'd never fought before, it just came to me. I still lacked compared to him, but I held my own for a while until I realised why. I don't know how to explain it, but it was like my energy was feeding off of his. When I'd figured it out, my ghost aura was pulsing and fluctuating like I'd never seen in a ghost. It's like he'd caused me to become more powerful without even doing anything. Honestly," he took a deep breath, "It was a little scary. It didn't even feel like I was in control."
Sam and Tucker shared a look, and he could tell that it worried them as much as him. "Maybe we should stick around next time and-"
"No!" Danny said, the outburst stunning them into silence. "I can't be focused enough to fight him if I'm worried about you guys. He's got bazookas and shit; there was so much collateral damage I was sick to my stomach. You guys can't be there."
"Danny, if you're worried about forgetting yourself, we should be there."
"It's not quite that. Maybe focused, intensely so, but I still knew who I was. I was just… almost enjoying it."
Sam frowned while slurping her smoothie. How she could look so disappointed while sucking on a straw, he didn't know. He certainly couldn't pull it off. "There's no shame in enjoying a good fight. We don't shame martial artists or MMA fighters. How is what you're doing any different? Everyone becomes adrenaline-laser-focused in a fight like that."
Danny sighed, rubbing his neck. "I suppose."
"No suppose, yes. We're not going to ever judge you for that."
"Yeah, man, if anything it's kind of awesome. You're doing something no one has ever done before. Plus, you're still learning so we don't exactly blame you for looking for fights."
"That is not what I've been doing."
They both laughed at him and with that Danny was finally beginning to relax since last night. He may not have a good solution for dealing with his stalker problem yet, but he felt better. As they packed up their garbage and grabbed their bags to leave, Danny made a split decision. He told them he'd meet them outside and went to the front counter. The oily teen stared at him and popped a gum bubble in his face. She had the same deadpan look as Sam and Danny was suddenly nervous. "Is Valerie here?"
The girl chewed open mouth for a couple seconds before, "No, she doesn't work Fridays."
And Danny was stumped by that. He thanked her dumbly and went outside, lost in a daze. He didn't have any thought other than when Valerie had told him she was working so they couldn't hang out, and that her Dad was gonna pick her up. Valerie had told him a bald-faced lie and he hadn't even noticed. There was a twist in his gut that hurt more than the twenty-odd stitches in his arm and a body of bruises.
Fridays were spent alternating between their houses, just to switch things up. Danny had managed by the skin of his teeth to let his parents change his curfew to midnight on Fridays. In his opinion, being nearly eighteen deserved a midnight curfew everyday. Not like it would really matter; he would be late getting home whether it was ten or not; he often snuck back out long once his parents disappeared into the basement again.
As it was, it was already ten to midnight and Danny knew he was at least still a twenty minute walk away. It was well worth it; they watched a freaky movie in Sam's basement theatre (which was an actual theatre room) and instead of sitting in the leather seats with annoying armrests, they grabbed all the throw pillows and blankets they could find, resulting in a pillow nest in the middle of the aisle. Danny was beginning to enjoy the physical contact, as long as it was as comforting as Tucker leaning back against his one side, PDA in one hand as he multitasked their coming schedule; as comfortable as Sam's head on his other shoulder, hair tickling his neck, as she ate popcorn.
Definitely worth a half-hearted attempt at scolding from his parents.
At the moment, that was his only concern, until his breath chilled the same time as a rocket blast hit the space he was just standing before his instinct pulled him away. Danny landed on the pavement on his bad side, the cut on his arm pulling and tearing. He didn't want to know how many stitches he'd just pulled, but by the blood riveting down his arm, he'd say a fair amount.
"F̶̟̞̭͍͕̹̗̪̜̹̙͚̲̥̈́͂̀̒̂͆̄̏͊̚̕͝͠͝U̴̗͍̙̻̜͉̲̽̇͛͌̈́̾͌̇͑͆̾̋͐̄͘C̵̜̥̽̊̃͛ͅK̶̛̲̰̥̝͔̒̈́͗́͊̚̕ ̴̻̖̫͈̒̓̾̆̕͜Y̶̬̣̳̻̟̟̘͙͙̙͛͌̐̄̓̔̓͑͒̚͝Ơ̸̢̧̱̲̙̦̯̖͇͕͇̟̟̭̍͗̋̀̀̈̈͐̅̂͐͑̚Ừ̷̛̪̘̤̝̪̖̣̮͚̭̋̍̎̔̈͛̆͝!̷̧͉̝̣̙̖͚͎̱̠̠̏̏̉́̒͊́͋̏͗̓̌͝ͅ" He screamed at Skulker, who was floating above him again like a menacing omen with a jetpack. The pain and rage made him suddenly dizzy and his core flared in warning. Downside, it was dangerous for him to be leaking this much blood so early into the fight. Upside, he was in a deserted part of town at the dead end of night, he didn't fear changing on the sidewalk. That wasn't so much luck as it was his constant paranoia. As soon as the ectoplasm began running through his veins, the cut clotted instantly. Now that he was paying attention, it was quite obvious how well his ghost form dealt with injuries. Quickly, effortlessly, with little pain. No wonder he didn't ever notice getting wounded; he would have to pay better attention, it would be bad news if he changed back with a fatal wound, or with just a nick in the right spot.
"Oh, gettin' feisty, are we?" Skulker rumbled in response, his English choppy and digital. It had to be a vocoder, it was too smooth in his speech. Danny had a good feeling about that; if he was changing his voice, what else was he hiding? Other than the limitless arsenal, he lamented as Skulker's gauntlet rotated and something akin to his parent's rapid shot blaster popped up. His instinct told Danny that whatever was gonna come out would hit him whether he was intangible or not. So instead of waiting for a connecting hit, Danny decided to take the chance at hand-to-hand combat, VS turning into an extra dead piece of Swiss cheese.
Learning the hard way the night before, he knew he had to be unpredictable as well as quick. He'd managed to surprise Skulker the first time, but once his technology was locked onto him, he hadn't been able to do it again. So he did the next best thing he could think of. With the whine of his weapon powering up loud in his ears, Danny tried the same move again. Focusing on Skulker, he sensed where he needed to go and in a blink, his body obeyed. Skulker was expecting Danny to come to him, and he'd be right; what he wasn't expecting was Danny to phase through him and stop right behind him. Danny hadn't used any ectoblasts last night, preferring to keep his limited abilities a secret to start. He got a sick satisfaction every time he surprised people with his skills, whether it was people being shocked he knew how to sew or how to shoot green lasers from his fists. It was as good a time as any to show Skulker he wasn't just a hatchling. The blast was concentrated into his right hook and when it connected, it sent Skulker flying to the ground, much like last night. Looking through the dust of the rubble, Danny waited for movement. He didn't want to know what other weapons Skulker had on him. His ecto-signature flared and pulsed with excitement, even though his brain said he'd rather be elsewhere. Damn ghost body itching for a fight.
"Aren't you full of surprises, Halfa." Skulker's voice came from the dust. Danny could see his hulking shape begin to pull itself upright out of the crater. "Not many as fresh as you could do that, especially to the Greatest Hunter of the Ghost Zone."
Danny, surprised by the overloading information, couldn't help but lower a flaming fist and let the Scientist in his blood take over. His parent's would have a field-week if they ever gained that much information in one go. "What the hell is a Halfa? And you're the Greatest Hunter?" Danny mimicked with an annoying voice he usually only used on his sister, "Is that why you've been stalking me?"
Before he'd barely finished speaking, a green net was launching out of the smoke and towards him. Even though he was ready for an attack, the slight distraction and his hamster-wheel brain had faltered enough for him to slack. Without enough time to dodge, Danny went intangible, even though his gut told him it was too late. The net hit its mark and took him right into the building behind him. The ectoplasm on the edge of the net kept him firmly glued to the cement wall. Snarling at being as unfettered as a bug in a glue trap, heat began to pool in his hands where he was pushing to keep the mesh from digging into his face.
Here, is where Danny learns a very important lesson. The elder Fenton's have a theory about ectoplasm, which he is aware of, that all non-sentient beings are made from excess ectoplasm excreted from the sentient ones. This is true. What Danny is going to learn is that all ectoplasm is laced with a ghost's ecto-signature. It is what keeps it loyal to the original body, what keeps ghosts from being able to phase through it initially. This is not the lesson, this is fact.
The lesson is that one-hundred percent dead ghosts have two sources of power; the ectoplasm, which gives them form, and their core, which feeds from energy created by emotions. Some people, when dying with turbulent thoughts and emotion, are gifted with another chance at life. It is not always negative emotions, but they are more common and more powerful. This, tying into whatever their focal point during their death, powers a ghost's obsession. Typically, the stronger the obsession, the emotion, the stronger the ghost.
The heat in Danny's hands, fueled by his anger of being trapped, entwined with the fact this was his home-turf where he was getting stalked on the daily, and whatever havoc ghosts had been making in the meantime. Skulker's ecto-signature that was threaded into the very being of the ectoplasmic net began to hum and vibrate under his hands. This was not typical. For a second, the molecules froze, before bursting to life between his fingers. The net dissolved and melted, the stuff not close to his hands dripping away to the street below. The rest flood with his own energy, becoming part of him, and obeying his commands. Twin wicked green blades followed the length of his forearm, and he put himself into a defensive stance as soon as he could move. Danny, being a Halfa, would always have an endless supply of new emotion to burn off of; instead of the loop that full ghost's have. He was still panting from the effort of keeping blades in shape, but he could feel the power hum from the chain around his neck. Grinning at Skulker, who was staring at him in shock, there was a thrill at knowing he had energy to spare.
Skulker, shaking off his surprise, moved into action as fast as Danny had. He used his jetpacks to fly towards him- which begged the question why- and swung out a fist. There was a gleam in those sockets of fire, and Danny got the impression that maybe he'd spooked him with that move. Ducking under his sloppy left hook, he used the movement of his punch to get behind him. Swiping up an arm, the blade neatly cut the jetpack off where it connected to the harness.
"You little whelp!" he screeched, as the jetpack spiraled and exploded to the ground, where gravity also took Skulker. Danny watched in fascination as he tried to fight it, but ultimately couldn't hold himself up. When he landed, his metal boots put two great new potholes in the street. Quick to retaliate, he activated a whipcord in his gauntlet which wrapped itself around Danny's ankle. He was connecting with the pavement before he could come up with anything to do about it. It was a lucky thing ectoplasm made his body feel more jelly-like, otherwise he'd have some serious broken bones. "You're a fucking whelp," Danny moaned, peeling himself off the road. There was a trickle of something wet in his hair, something more viscous than sweat. This fight needed to end before it got any worse, or he needed to get the hell outta there. Reaching a hand into his pocket hurt far more than it should have, with his good arm even. He had to roll himself onto his back to get the leverage to withdraw the thermos, which hummed with cold energy in his hand. The chain around his neck hadn't been bursting with power since he'd dissolved the blades upon landing; he almost should thank Skulker, he hadn't realised how close to draining his back-up battery he'd been. Using half the power to charge up the containment device, he used the other half to make it invisible. What power was left went into forming a long dagger of ectoplasm in his right. There was a chance the dagger wouldn't last long, but he needed to prove one more hypothesis before he even tried the thermos. The element of surprise was his friend, and in this case, his last chance.
"Since you asked so nicely, whelp, and because you are the first prey in a long time to give me a challenge, I will answer your question. A Halfa is what you are, and why I want your pelt. Hybrids like you are rare, boy, and they never last long. You'll be the first, in a cage!"
Danny, either concussed again or just stupid enough to not know when to stop egging on people with the upper hand, couldn't help himself. Some how he knew if he made Skulker and his obsession sound stupid, it would rile him up. Not like it was hard. "So… are you going to skin me or put me in a cage? Honestly, doesn't sound like my kind of party. Unless, you got alcohol? There's gotta be booze in the Zone; how else do you all pass the time? Stalking people can't be all you do?" Danny pulled himself up, keeping his boots on solid ground. The illusion of gravity helped the slight sway of the world. He readied the dagger in his hand and kept the other at his side. The flare in Skulker's temper was like a burst of hot air and he had to force himself to hold ground.
"Maybe I'll skin and cage you, you brat!"
Even in a great hulking metal suit, Danny had to give props the guy could move. Without enough time for his brain to recognize and respond, his body moved on its own to dodge the swift punch to the head that would have broken his neck. His spiked knuckle guards scratched his cheek, leaving a thin cut that welled with ectoplasm. Focusing more power into the dagger, he swiped upwards, aiming for the weak spot of his armor in his elbow. With a creak and a hiss of hydraulics, his arm was off. Danny jumped back and dissolved the blade, examining his handy-work. Just like he'd thought; there was no wail of pain from the hunter, just a stream of curses. There was no ectoplasm; just leaking fluid that almost resembled motor oil. Skulker's armor wasn't just armor, it was a fabricated body.
"Do you know how long it took me to craft that!" the ghost was screeching. Using his distraction, Danny lunged into his personal space. There was ectoplasm in there, he thought, staring into the eye sockets. Hand flaming green, he grabbed Skulker's face mask and dug in his nails which sunk into the hot metal with ease. With one fluid motion, he ripped it off and flung it behind him. What stared back was something out of a fever dream.
Or perhaps something out of the Wizard of Oz. There was a tiny, little man (blob? With four distinct appendages and a head?) sitting in an equally tiny chair where the brain should be. All around him were mechanisms and levers, spinning gears and pulleys. It was quite the tiny work of art, not to mention the skill Skulker had to operate with such fluidity. Danny had expected something, but not this.
"Why, you little twerp!" The now nasally and drastically higher pitch voice raved. The blobulous humanoid was shaking a finger at him and was almost completely out of it's harnessed chair before Danny finally reacted. He held up his left hand and levelled it at him.
"While you're in there, think how it must feel for the other things you've caged. I hope you learn your lesson. Don't be mad if I forget about you for a while, it's only fair."
With a blast of bright light and a fading "Noooo!", the fight was over. Danny stood in the middle of a deserted, destroyed street with nothing but a soup thermos and an aching body. Pocketing the thermos, he sighed and gingerly touched the wound on his head. Probing it with his fingers he found it was a relatively small, shallow cut that just oozed a lot. After that, he checked the next worse thing. Twisting his elbow, he peered around to the back of his forearm. Using a little bit of power, he singled out his jacket and made it invisible so he could get a look. The ectoplasm had solidified around the cut, preventing any more stitches from pulling. Maybe half of them had ripped; it was a good thing Jazz had 'discreetly' placed a tube of superglue in his shoe. He'd almost squashed it pulling them on in a haste this morning, but at least he remembered to put it in his backpack. Doing another quick check that their scuffle hadn't caused any unwanted attention, Danny skulked back to the darkness of an alley before transforming. After that, he pulled out his phone and reluctantly looked at the time, already knowing the answer.
12:54
Almost an hour late, and he was still a twenty minute walk away. Before he ran into Skulker, he might've been tempted to fly home to quell his parent's wrath, but now that wasn't an option. The fatigue was already setting in and he wasn't desperate enough to risk another power drain. Resigned to his doomed fate, Danny sauntered his way back home, enjoying the sight of the night sky before he got majorly grounded.
What a wonderful start to October.