Danny stands in front of Ms. Hansen after class, holding a sheet of paper. She doesn't look up from her desk until she finishes writing a hurried note. She then sets down her pen with slightly more force than necessary, and Danny gets it, his class this hour is a cluster of assholes that don't bother paying attention to the material and today was one of the worse days (thanks Dash) , but Danny needs to do this. He doesn't want to flake out now. The teacher squints up at him through her cloudy glasses, and he clears his throat.

"Could you sign this?" he thrusts the paper out at her.

She takes it and examines it, but not enough, apparently, because she asks, "What is it?"

"It's, uh, from the counsellor 'cause I wanna, y'know, transfer out. I already talked to my parents and stuff, and I'm gonna take a different class to get the credit." God, his throat felt so dry. He tries not to look at her face, but he knows she's frowning in disappointment. He can feel it radiating off her. He slept in class a lot, sure, but at least he wasn't a nuisance like most of the other kids. Now there'll only be Mikey and that other girl he doesn't know the name of actually caring about getting a good grade. Danny feels appreciated for being missed, but the guilt outweighs it.

Mrs. Hansen picks up the pen again with a less angry grip and doesn't ask any more questions before signing it. Danny had liked her before, but now she's promoted to downright merciful. He quietly thanks her when she hands the paper back, which she answers with a neutral hum. Danny scurries out of the empty classroom, stuffing the form in his stack of stuff. He's insanely lucky he didn't end up phasing through anything during that exchange.

He vaguely wants to cry, but his next class, Health, is chill, and he's too tired to, anyways. Even though this teacher constantly wakes him up, the class material this year so far has mainly been note-taking, and Tucker's a generous enough god to lend him his before tests. Sam's theory about glasses making people smarter is seeming more and more legit by the day.

Danny stumbles into Health class about four seconds late with the hour bell still tolling, numb legs barely letting him reach his chair before giving out and phasing through the floor from the calf down. He sits down hard, thumping his head on his notebook and folder. He only hears Mr. G's sigh before his brain slips into the familiar half-hearing sleep haze.

There's a reason Danny's doing so terrible in school. Ever since the accident, he's been his own parents' worst enemy, and not in the generic teenager way. More in the way that made him wary around them at all times because they never go anywhere without at least one invention with them, and Danny doesn't even need the ANNOYING bad feeling that the weapons would work well on him- the consistency with which the non-combative gadgets pinpoint him was an easy enough pattern to follow.

Surprisingly, his parents weren't full of shit. Their science was legit, and this is, in Danny's opinion, the absolute worst way to go about realizing that.

And he got a lick of his first close call with extreme danger when two ectopi pop into the lab while Dad holds his friend group hostage to give them another of his long-winded presentations on ghost-hunting. They're octopuses- ectopi, as Tucker tries to dub them- that are very real. You'd think that half-assedly dying would be enough of a compelling factor, but apparently it takes being attacked by violent saltwater animals to convince him ghosts exist.

But yeah- transforming into his weird other ghost form with his father's back turned gave Danny the hardest shot of adrenaline he's gotten in his life. It was the worst.

And then, to make matters worse, ghosts kept showing up everywhere, and they weren't all mindless animals. He had to transform in whatever place he could find in public to duke it out with asshole ghosts, certain every single time that somebody would recognize him on sight and know who he was.

Then, with the bonus publicity, his parents naturally booted up the ghost-hunting bandwagon and set their crosshairs on none other than their own son.

You can imagine how that can make it difficult for a fourteen-year-old to sleep at night.

Danny took to patrolling the streets of Amity Park when he couldn't relax, just to get out of the house where he was too scared to sleep and ease his mind that his town was safe. He doesn't tell Tucker or Sam about this. He'd be more than half dead by now without them, and he doesn't need them to be burdened with supporting his idiocy emotion-wise as well as heroics-wise.

And there it is. That is when he takes to sleeping in school instead of at home, because for some reason his source of stress for most of his teenage life is suddenly a relief from being at home, and he can finally relax.

He drops art class first. He attempts one piece after kickstarting his double life as Amity's protector, and within hours the finished work (which he was very proud of, by the way) got stabbed by numerous tree branches and soaked through with ectoplasm.

The next one, he tried to get a start on, but it got wrecked right away as well. Then he forgot to try again, over and over, and he gave up on getting any projects done. Ever. He switches the hour out for a study hall, with the help of Jazz's forged signature of their mom, and it's a lot quieter and easier to fall asleep in the library. That is, until the (nice) librarian shakes him awake one day, saying, "I get that you're tired, but study hall is for work time, not nap time, okay?" and handing him a long printed-out list of late work he has to make up. He apologizes quickly and groggily, promising to get on it, but he's really more focused on how goddamn lucky he is that he didn't punch her on reflex for touching his shoulder. Good thing he's getting used to teachers waking him up.

The next day he brings the paper that she gave him with him, and really tries to get started on the week-old biology packets. He knows science should be easier for him than the other classes, at least, thanks to his scientist parents, but their field is more supernatural hoogabooga than… whatever the hell was supposed to be in a cell. The only one Danny can remember is the fucking mitochondria.

The librarian checks in on him, and he brushes her off saying, "I'm doing good, thanks though," with a tight voice. The next day, when he's still working on the same packet, frantically googling either the answer or how to find it, she just pulls out the chair next to him and sits down. He freezes, his death grip (ha) on his near-fracturing mechanical pencil loosening.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" she implores with a quiet voice, fitting for a library but more sincere than teachers usually are. Danny really looks at her for the first time: she's not quite an old lady, but small and… jolly, for lack of a better word. She has glasses just like Mrs. Hansen, but they're cleaner.

He wants to refuse her offer, doesn't want to bother her anymore, but he's reached his limit by now. He's willing to accept all the help he can get. He swallows, rubbing his elbow to irritate the bruises there and keep him alert. "Can you… how do you tell apart the phases of mitosis?"

"Oh, let me see." He slides the paper closer to her, movements stiff. He keeps a careful eye on her to evaluate her level of annoyance, but it doesn't look like there's any. Not yet.

When she begins explaining, he starts straight-up massaging his bruises, hard. He isn't going to make her repeat herself. He has to pay attention. He isn't about to ruin this.

"Boo!"

Danny flinches at the sound- over his shoulder, too close to his core, too close- and punches it.

Sam groans in pain, and Danny regrets it immediately. "Whoops."

"Whoops? Danny, you can't hit girls!" Tucker protests in a high voice. Huh, he's here too.

Danny raises a brow and turns to face his friends, leaning his shoulderblades against the latch of his open locker where it hurts. He notices he's shivering. Danny deadpans, "I believe in equal opportunity."

"EQUAL OPPORTUNITY TO GET PUNCHED?!" Sam wails, clutching at her jaw. He knows rationally that she's being dramatic, but goosebumps run up the backs of his arms and he can only look at her for a second.

"Yes." Figuring that as a good mic-drop, he returns to his locker and yanks his folder and notebook out of his ratty purple backpack. They can see how white his neck is, he's certain. He just hopes they don't notice. So without any further acknowledgement, he locks his locker and goes to his first class.

They watch him go, Danny none the wiser. Sam's hand lowers until only her fingertips are rested on her forming bruise. "He's not doing too hot, is he?"

Tucker cracks a grin. "So you finally admit that he's hot? Eh? Eh?" He elbows her on each eh, and she doesn't bother blushing. She just shoots him a look.

He sighs, looking back to where Danny disappeared into the biology classroom. "Yeah, no."

"Danny, what's wrong with you?"

The teacher doesn't mean it harshly. Danny can tell as much from the soft tone, but that doesn't make it sting less.

"You were doing just fine on the practices, the ones I've seen. What happened?" Mr. B pushes the test closer, urging him to look at the 64%. He doesn't. He can't. At this point it shouldn't be a surprise, but he thought he actually did okay on this. Guess that's a note for the future, not to get cocky before a test. It hurts more when you bomb it.

Mr. B squats in front of his desk. Danny wants to leave. He's in his line of sight now, and it's just embarrassing to know he can see how his face is screwing up at the moment. He brings up a hand to shield his eyes, just in case, and his sleeve moves to show the spot he knows there are bruises left over from the brawl he had with Skulker last night. But he's not worried, he knows the teach won't see them. He's more concerned with Danny's performance than his physical wellbeing, but he doesn't blame him, it's not like he'll ever know he should be concerned. Which he shouldn't.

"I know you can do better than this, Danny. I'm worried about you."

What could he say? Hey, I was a little busy the night, saving the highway from being drilled to oblivion by some strange-ass mole ghost that must have watched the Incredibles movie right before dying? Sorry that I couldn't get a wink of sleep or even barely eat anything thanks to the dust caked in my throat, I'll make up the test on Monday when I'm sure to be fresh out of yet another battle to the death for the sake of the town's wellbeing, leaving me a useless, brainless moron for school!

Kids for the next class are filtering in, looking at him. He angles his head away, face heating up even more with anger. Fuck, he needs to calm down, or he might actually cry. He just wants Mr. B to let him go.

"Hey, hey-" the man tries, reaching out for his arm, but Danny tears his whole body out of range, giving the teacher his most heated glare. He's breathing hard, and the adult's just looking at him with a stupid face. He wants to punch him- no, a ghost, he can't fight civilians, what is he thinking, he's trying to help . Whatever. Danny still twitches with the need to break something, because people need to stop getting too close to him.

So he snatches his notes and folder off the desk, using too much force and letting his knuckles clack against the cheap material painfully. In his rush to get out the door, he crashes shoulders with a kid he kinda likes, and doesn't feel bad about it. His elbow, already bruised, knocks against the doorframe too, and it pulses with annoyance his whole way down the hall.

He sits down in the staircase on the far side of the vending machine and folds in on himself. The bell for the next class rings. He didn't get a pass from Mr. B, even though he's the one who asked him to stay back to talk. Idiot.

He leaves his pile of shit in a mess in front of him, curls his fists into his hair, and puts down his head.

The angry tears fight their way out of his eyes. They burn against his frigid skin.

It's the first time he's skipped class outside a ghost attack.

He wishes that meant something to anyone else.

The ghost wipes the blood away from her mouth with the back of her hand and shoots him a glare. "That was weak as shit, halfa. I know you can do better."

Danny crosses his arms at her, his feet planted on the ground. "I thought you wanted to beat the ectoplasm outta me."

She grits her teeth. "Only if you make it fun, punk!" She floats towards him, looming, and shoots a beam at a box off to the side. Danny watches the packing peanuts scatter on the floor for a moment, then slowly turns his head back to the Brawler.

"So… if I don't fight back, you'll stop pestering me like an antagonist from a sports anime?"

"THERE'S NOTHING INHERENTLY BAD ABOUT SPORTS ANIME EXCEPT OUTSIDER'S BIAS, AND TWO, YOU WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO HANDLE THE PAIN!"

"Okay," he said. Touché, he thought.

"What?"

"I said okay."

A rumble builds up in her throat as her eyes begin to glow. She yanks him up by the front of his hazmat suit, and he can't help smiling. "I'm gonna punch you so hard you'll die enough to circle back around to the living."

Danny chuckles. "That's statistically very possible."

He then phases out of her grip and kicks off her ribs to distance himself, just to fuck with her. She follows him and they trade blows, Danny only barely dodging hers. This is only the third time they've fought, but he already has a good handle on what ticks her off. This was it.

Even when she speeds up her blows, and he takes every one, to the shoulder, the ribs, the ear- he doesn't wipe the smug smile off his face. It hurts like hell, but he bets it's worse for her, being a full ghost made up of emotions demanding a fair fight and instincts gunning to win.

True to prediction, she roundhouse kicks him in the side, sending him flying. He collides with the box she fried earlier, groaning, still able to hear her enraged yell.

"What is wrong with you?!" She booms as he gets to his feet. It's harder than he thought it would be, so he tries to use the collapsed cardboard for support. It doesn't work, just makes him grateful the Box Ghost isn't here as well.

The second he straightens, she's right in front of him again. She winds up for a punch. Danny waits for it. Her hand connects with his collarbone, knocking him back on his ass with a crack .

Heh, that can't be good.

The Brawler advances, ceasing floating to stomp on the ground menacingly. She kicks his side where she got him before, and he can't stop a wheeze from ekeing out. Fuck, what's she saying-?

"-AREN'T YOU BLOCKING?! WHY AREN'T YOU PHASING AWAY!?"

He couldn't catch his breath to even laugh. Breathing shot twinges of pain across his ribs. It's times like these that he regrets wearing a binder the day of the portal accident, despite how it made the gender of the ghost hero clear and boosted his confidence.

"GET UP!"

"Okay, okay, tone it down, lady, my god," he says. And he does, with difficulty. She stands there, rigid and silent, and watches him struggle. It's only the knowledge that he still has the upper hand by being pathetic that keeps him from getting self-conscious. Once he finds footing, not bothering to use his ghost abilities to hover, he sways a little.

"I'm going to shoot at you now," the Brawler says in a low voice.

"That's polite of you," Danny says. He doesn't raise his eyes past her feet.

"If you know what's good for you," she talks over him pointedly, "you're gonna shoot back."

He doesn't make any promises, so after a few seconds, she follows through. An ectoblast nails him in the shoulder, throwing him back into the concrete wall of the abandoned building. It fractures at the impact, and the air is knocked out of him in a wheezing laugh.

She's in front of him again, and this time embeds her fist into the wall beside his head. Aw, so considerate. What manners.

"YOU AREN'T LISTENING-" she yells.

"This is getting a little boring, don'cha think?" He chokes out, leaning forward to let the concrete splinters peel away from his back.

"ANSWER ME!" She cuts him off with a roar. "WHY ARE YOU BEING SO INFURIATING THIS TIME? YOU'RE NOT EVEN TRYING! YOU ARE NOT THIS WEAK! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

Danny raised his head and looked her in the eye. The Brawler really wasn't a mean ghost. She only wanted a good fight, never sought to destroy Amity Park, and she actually waited for an answer when she talked to him. She might have just fractured his collarbone, but she's already leagues better than Maddie Fenton.

So Danny waits until her breathing- hah, he does that too even though neither of them need to- quiets, and she's paying attention to him. He spits with all the contempt he feels at himself right now-

"I'm sad."

She blinks at him for a minute, and removes her fist from the wall. Dust rains down as she shakes out her hand. The Brawler steps back from him, giving him space to breathe, and puts her hands in the pockets of her vest.

Danny gapes. That's about as expected as Maddie Fenton dropping all of her ecto-guns. Or like… changing into people clothes. The tenseness seeps out of his rigid muscles without his permission.

She doesn't speak for a while, opting to bore her scarily neutral eyes through his skull, but when she does, it's soft.

"Get some rest, kid."

And then she disappears.

Danny waits a few minutes so the invisible ghost can leave before he tries to stand on his own again. He isn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he just accepts the kindness. He's too goddamn tired to puzzle over it. Instead he pries his sore legs from the concrete, grunting at the effort it takes not to crumple to the floor. If he sits his ass down, he won't make it back home before passing out.

So he lets himself go intangible and dips through the ground a little before going airborne. He hopes his parents are still in the lab instead of in bed. He doesn't want to use the hose in the backyard to rise off the blood again.

A few nights later, Danny regrets to admit he hasn't heeded the Brawler's advice. Well, not as much as he could. He has a shitton of homework to catch up on- he isn't completely hopeless- and by the time he's done every night and resigned to not patrolling, it was still criminally late. His own idiocy didn't help either. He'd chucked his laptop in Jazz's closet so he didn't have the temptation of Doom when he was getting into bed.

Even every night when he sends his not-dead-yet ghost emoji to the group chat, sometimes the only message in there for days, he still manages to get sidetracked on his phone. Some part of Danny is committed to o self-sabotage, he swears, and he wants to kill it.

So, really, he's still criminally exhausted when he's doing his geometry at the kitchen table. His reasoning for being downstairs is because he theorized being within the vicinity of his parents- Maddie running up and down the stairs with various cooking ingredients that he won't ask about and his dad watching TV in the living room nearby- would sharpen his mind with the usual paranoid alertness for homework.

Or… something.

He doesn't think it's working, but it… could be? He's got earbuds in, and he's actually playing music instead of leaving them empty and training his ears on his parents' every move. He's gotten a few questions in, mostly guessing, but the proofs are what's really gutting him.

He has the list of reasonings on a notecard next to him. The textbook laid out in front of him has a few paragraphs around the equations that might help. He couldn't tell. He'd glossed over them with uncomprehending eyes multiple times at this point. His own incompetence was starting to piss him off. All he needed to do was pick a few off the card and shuffle them to look like he'd at least tried- but he doesn't want to do that, he w ants to try. He'd gotten some of it right in class today, so he knows he can! His brain just… won't. It frustrates him to no end.

His tired eyes are dry. He tries to breathe to prevent the heat building up behind the bridge of his nose, but scrunching his eyes just make them tear up painfully. God ammit. Danny tries to listen to his music to center himself, but it's a slow song he can't be assed to skip, and it has the opposite effect.

He's becoming more of a crybaby every day. It's pathetic.

Maddie's voice filters through his earbuds, and his entire body freezes on instinct. He pulls out an earbud. "Danny, honey? Can you get the mail? I forgot to this morning," she says absently. He turns his head to see her rummaging through the cupboard for something, back turned to him. He'd bet his face is blotched up with red all over at the moment, and he's glad she isn't paying attention to him to see it, but the childish part of him wants her to. He wants her to turn around when he doesn't respond, to notice his tears and let the ghost-hunter part of her be overtaken with concern. He wants her to lead him to the couch and brush his hair away from his forehead and hug him and ask him what's wrong, like she did in fifth grade when he knew the name his classmates called him didn't fit and the ways his body was changing made him feel sick.

But Maddie Fenton- not Mom, she hasn't been for a while- just lets out a victorious aha! when she finds what she's looking for and trots back down to the basement lab.

Danny doesn't make it all the way to the mailbox. Instead he sits on the cold driveway that seeps its chill all the way to his shoulders. He studies the beautiful shadows cast across the street and breathes in the night air. He closes his eyes with another deep breath and lets them spill over, knowing no one will come outside to interrupt.