Teenagers are Idiots
(it takes one to know one)

2

Awake.

Danny jolted. A hot rush of blood filled his head and burned his cheeks. He spun without moving, nausea mixed with a violent ectoenergy that threatened to overflow. Adrenaline spilled into his veins, his skin gained an almost transparent shine, and his core pushed to trigger his transformation. Danny bit down on the urge (and his tongue); the need to change tingled in every fingernail and every breath. He smelled metal, electricity, and burned hair; a vile memory that triggered a spark. Danny rolled over and fought to stay human.

An awareness began, a kind of awareness with so much information it was an incomprehensible puddle of mixed sensation. Ghosts, being things out-of-touch with actual ears to hear and eyes to see, relied on advanced perception to function normally. A ghost in a human body, however…

Ectoenergy filled him from head to foot, both fire and ice, shivering and burning. Unable to place supremacy over what he needed to sense and what he typically never noticed, Danny focused on everything - and understood nothing. He ached to breathe with lungs that strained to expand. Sounds turned into painful popping and jet-engine screeching. Bones scraped against bone when he ground his teeth. His skin saturated with sweat to compensate for rapid temperature shifts. He floated in empty space, incapable of understanding where he might be or who might be around him. Danny felt, counted, and recounted every stitch of fabric rubbing against his skin. His eyes, though closed, burned with the simplest light seeping through his eyelids. His own heartbeat filled his ears, a panicked drum.

In the thick of it, something cold and unforgiving jammed his side. Electric heat - the real kind - ripped through his system, stealing his voice and crackling around his heart. Danny jerked reflexively away, his eyes flew open, black spots danced in front of his eyes. The lights dimmed, his skin turned pink and opaque, the pressure in his throat vanished.

Danny touched his chest. Blood thumped, a coldness faded. His core went silent; a weight left his shoulders, the stimulus gone. Danny dropped his hands. Blankets. A ceiling above. Warm light.

When had he wound up in his dorm?

"Three hours, Daniel." Vlad tucked the maximus into his blazer.

Danny coughed. Alone with Vlad; wonderful. His throat burned, a headache formed at the base of his skull; it was both mildly disappointing and unsurprising that he'd have to add electrocution to the day's list of activities. "You tazed me." He wanted to curl up on his side and never move; despite that, Danny pushed himself upright. His muscles twitched with aftershock.

Vlad cleared his throat. He sat in a folding chair in front of the bed, his glossy clothes and carefully trimmed beard out of place in a cabin that carried the faint scent of marijuana. "I helped you."

"Don't call it that." Danny rubbed his throat, his hand twitched too much to be of much help. It fell back into his lap. "You don't know how to help people."

Vlad lifted an eyebrow. That look. Danny considered if he had the strength to punch people. His arms hung from his shoulders like deadweights. If he threw his entire upper body into a hit, it could land. He should have at least one solid suckerpunch in him.

Vlad took his wrist. Danny discovered that, no, he didn't have so much as a punch in him. He lacked the smallest strength to pull away. "How often do you lose control?" Vlad asked, checking his watch and pressing his thumb into Danny's wrist.

Technically, Vlad didn't need to be punched. There were plenty of ways to respond, and Danny made a mental note to dedicate at least three days to egg the fruitcake's house. Separate occasions. Hottest days of the summer, so the yolk really has a chance to cook in. "Give me my hand back."

"Daniel."

"I don't lose control." He squirmed. Vlad let go and Danny nearly sank back down on the bed. He pulled up his knees and locked both arms underneath them. Vlad gave him that look, the one with the eyebrow and the condescending I-know-best attitude. Danny took a shallow breath. He could do this. Just focus on snark, don't get too high pitched, really put effort into sass. "I didn't need you to electrocute me. I could have ridden that out, and I would have been fine. I know you like to think I need you, and it's really sad, and I think you should seek professional help."

There. That probably didn't come off as rehearsed.

Vlad scowled. A wave of nausea swept over Danny. He paled. He could throw up right now, all over that stupid blazer. Vlad had a button on his jacket that was a slightly different color than the others. Danny stared at it, trying to center himself, and realized only a little late that Vlad was still talking, "-self control is more important than your pride. Your negligence risks us both, it speaks to self preservation to teach you to control yourself."

"Wow. Lessons with you. I'd rather be dead."

"I can arrange that."

"You'd only half-ass the job." Danny folded over, head spinning. His desire to vomit on Vlad was replaced with a desire to not vomit. Please. His stomach rolled and he grit his teeth to talk through it. "Get it? Half-ass? Hah."

A wrongness fell on his shoulders, heavy, thick. It sank under his skin and made his hairs stand on edge; the sharp physical tang of ghostly energy filled his lungs. Danny clenched his teeth and commanded his stomach to stop rolling - it didn't - but it gave him something to do. Vlad, the source, didn't so much as glow; his skin remained as dark and matte as always. Flaunting his 'balanced' control. "Oh, I'm so scared," Danny snorted. "Really Vlad, don't hold back with the spoopy bullshit. I definitely won't throw up all over your eight hundred dollar jeans."

The power faded. "They were only two hundred. I'm rich, not frivolous." He dusted them off. "You need to be more careful. There's more to you than a little bit of overstimulation and ectoenergy."

"Yup. It's called a ghost." His stomach finally, blissfully, calmed down. He pressed his face against the pillow that hadn't been unpacked when he last left the cabin. "I've been dealing with it for a couple of years now, and even though I'm not full of creepy party tricks like you - " a shiver raced down his spine, "I'm doing fine. But, hey, as usual, if I decide to go the evil fruitloop route you'll be the first person I call." He bared his teeth in mockery of a sweet smile.

Vlad winced. He touched his ear in a rare moment of vulnerability; a beat later Danny also heard the distant ring of sirens.

"Ghost ears, Vladdy?"

"At least I'm in control." Vlad's human body blurred at the edges, his skin and clothes and hair shifted into a transparent haze, the physical reality of Vlad dissolving until he was gone. Danny rubbed his eyes. He wanted desperately to pull a blanket over his head until the sun rose and sleep far beyond that. It's not so much of an exhaustion as a bodily expectation; leave Amity, get four minutes of rest. Is that so hard?

Against his will, the cabin door swung open. Malcolm's hot pink GO tanktop contrasted his very dark skin. The counselor lifted his sunglasses. "You're awake."

No, I'm asleep. Dead asleep. Danny nodded.

"Paramedics are going to check you out."

"Great."

Malcolm pressed his lips together, produced a phone from his back pocket and stood back. A pair of EMTs entered the cabin. The first of them, a short Filipino woman with a bun of curly hair and blue scrubs scanned the empty beds. She nodded to Danny, "Is this him?" She spoke in a clipped East Coast accent.

"Yup." Malcolm inched to the door.

The EMT walked to the bed adjacent to Danny and set down a plastic case, then unhooked the clasps to reveal foam padding and a machine shaped like a classic universal remote. The door closed, Malcolm left without notice. "My name is Danika," she said, slipping on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. "This is Donna, she's going to look at your neck."

Donna towered over Danika. Her uniform mirrored her partner, though her platinum blonde hair stood out against the light and framed her face. Her skin was black, her name badge sported a sticker of a train from a children's cartoon, and her eyeliner was perfectly winged. She was beautiful, focused, and crouched in front of Danny with nitrile gloved hands extended. He lifted his chin; her fingers were cold.

He wasn't used to someone being colder than he was.

"What's your name, dear?" She asked. He twitched, she apologized. Her coworker pulled the remote from the foam case and flipped it over.

"Danny."

Donna had warm breath and brown eyes. Her smiles were very small. "Your full name?"

"Uh. Fenton, no, Daniel Fenton. Sorry." Danny breathed faster when she pressed her fingers to his neck for a pulse, a standard reaction to try and convince his heartbeat to be more obvious.

"Where were you born?" Donna continued, checking her watch. She seemed to catch nothing out of the ordinary and released.

"Minneapolis, Minnesota."

Danika muttered something under her breath and shook the remote, flipped it over, then flipped it again and grumbled. Donna moved some of her curls from her face and checked Danny over. "You grew up there?"

"Not for very long. I'm from Amity."

She nodded, lips pressed. "Then this whole event must have been business as usual for you, right?"

He flushed. "What? Ghosts?"

Behind them, Danika grit her teeth. Her face flushed and she tapped at the remote. "I can't get it to turn on."

Danny recognized the embossed F on the back of the remote. He relaxed. "It's the button on the right side. All the ones on the front are for collecting and scrolling through data."

Donna prodded his neck, checking the bruises. Danika paled, but Donna remained calm. "What's your birthday, dear?"

"April third, 1998."

"How would he know how it works?" Danika's tiny hands directed the remote at Danny.

Donna glanced over her shoulder. "Didn't you hear his name? Fenton. I think he might know what a Fenton ecto-trace scanner is."

"You made this?"

"My mom did."

"Oh." The remote beeped. Danika bit her lip and tapped the data screen, scrolling. Danny closed his eyes, almost thankful to have been zapped (not actually) and slumped on the wall. A hand touched his shoulder. "We need you to be awake, now." Donna's voice was both kind and soft. "Okay? Why don't you tell me what's hurting."

Everything.

Danny lifted and dropped his shoulders. "Nothing. I'm just tired."

She gave him a skeptical look. "You've got bruises on your neck."

He plucked at his blanket. It was a quilt that his grandma purchased when her dementia started to get bad and she would go to the store every week and buy new blankets. Where his parents had wanted to get rid of them, Danny offered to store them all in his closet. Years later, he still had most of them. Quilts were surprisingly good at soaking up ectoplasm and blood. "I guess my throat hurts a little. But it's not bad. I mean, I'm talking."

"You're sure?"

"Don, he's at twenty three percent." The EMT looked at him with a panic in her eyes, frozen. "Is he - is he one of them?"

Donna shrugged. "Doubt it. Ghosts don't have a sense of time or place, and he told us his birthday and where he's from." That fact was incorrect, ghosts definitely had a sense of time and space, just in a different context to humans. Danny didn't correct her. She straightened and checked the monitor, nodding. "You can go double-check." Her partner did not move. Donna sighed and pulled a small flashlight from her back pocket and crouched in front of him. "Keep your eyes open?" Danny did. The light stung. "See? No sparks, no glow, no reaction. He's not possessed." Donna slipped the flashlight back into her pocket. "You can check the manual if you want to be sure."

Danika left in a hurry. Donna raised an eyebrow at Danny. "Twenty three percent, huh?" She put her hands on her hips.

"I…" Danny tangled his fingers in the blanket, "uhm. I'm…"

"A Fenton. I know," she smiled, "I transferred to the countryside out of Amity General. We first tested those scanners on your father… I believe he was a thirty seven? The manual suggested we put him in a quarantine."

Danny huffed. "That's dad for you." He hesitated, "I'm not going into quarantine, am I?"

"No." She removed her gloves. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

Even when he could tell his smile was fake he couldn't fix it. "I'm fine."

The white business card had a simple blue embossed logo with an address and phone number. He ran his thumb over the universal symbol for hospital in the top left corner; Danny wondered why two snakes intertwined around a pole meant medical care. He flipped it over and reread the extension Donna had jotted down for him. Just in case he needed to contact someone from home, someone who wouldn't freeze at the thought of ghosts lurking in the shadows.

Malcolm, Jason, and another counselor with long black dreadlocks whom Danny hadn't yet met huddled together under a lamp by the mess hall. They drank gatorade and ignored all of the campers around them; an exhibition of both rattled bewilderment over what happened and negligence for their jobs. Danny didn't necessarily blame them. Many of the campers formed clusters of their own and talked in hushed voices. One by one they stopped when Danny passed by. Whispers followed him. His throat tightened, he picked up his pace.

Dorm three was a dim orange cottage against the yellow haze of lamplight. Danny knocked on the door; his wrist pinged. He rubbed it, wanting the ache to go away. Being fully human made pushing away pain unnecessarily difficult. At the window, a curtain opened and fell; the door opened. Danny had to tilt his head back to meet Dash's eyes. "Hey," his voice cracked, "is Tuck in?"

"Finally." Dash grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. "Where have you been?" He snapped the door shut and stacked a chair up against it. Dash checked outside again, scanning the shapes of campers outside; he and Tucker were the only two who had retreated to the safety of cabin three. Freshly laid out sheets and sleeping bags lined empty beds. The room smelled obnoxiously of Foley, by Tucker Foley. Tucker armed the room's only bedside table with two cans and grinned at Danny. "Antighost antiperspirant is gonna be a hit! Ten bucks a can?"

"Don't you only have those two?"

"They smell awful." Dash added.

Tucker made room for Danny to sit next to him. "I'll hike up the prices as the stakes get higher. You okay? The ambulance was outside your cabin for ages."

"I…" Danny rubbed his neck, sinking down beside Tucker. He ached all over. His body felt...empty, hollowed out, like something important was missing and all the pieces that usually held him together were undone. Voices weren't as clear, moods weren't obvious, and he had a mysterious feeling that if he squinted he could see the cracks in the wall across the room in great detail. Danny squinted. Nothing changed. He slumped.

"Give him some goddamn room, Foley." Dash tossed a bottle of water into Danny's lap and pulled up a cracked old folding chair to straddle. He propped his elbows on the back of the chair. Danny lifted the water as if it might contain some kind of poison, confused. "I always get thirsty after I'm overshadowed," Dash explained, "cottonmouth is literally the worst."

Danny gave it a moment to sink in. He held his breath and counted down from six; at one, he released a long sigh. "I wasn't overshadowed?"

Tucker elbowed Danny, understanding the questions Danny didn't ask. "Dash pulled Troy off you. Apparently, according to jock lore, that means you two are buddies now. But fear not," Tucker dipped over the edge of his bed and rifled through a worn duffel bag until he pulled out crinkling wrappers. Two granola bars landed in his lap. "I know the real way to your heart is with food. Eat."

He wasn't hungry but he pulled apart a wrapper.

"It's been crazy outside." Dash leaned in; he clasped his hands and grew serious. "Couple kids got in a fight."

"Huh."

"I guess ghosts are a hotly contested subject around the camp now," Dash added, "some people can't take it, you know? Challenges their way of thinking." He frowned and considered the hardwood floor with intense focus. "...You think whatever took him over is gone?"

"Dunno." Danny set the granola bar aside.

Tucker unplugged his phone from its charger and leaned against Danny's shoulder. He yawned, but Danny understood that he was supposed to look at the screen. You're not glowing right now, but put on my sunglasses just in case.

"You caved and got Animal Crossing?" Danny replied, taking the phone while Dash started a one-man conversation about the persistence of poltergeists. Ghost powers inactive. Vlad hit me with a taser. He typed in, missing a key here and there. Vlad autocorrected to 'fruit-o-looms' twice before he got it to type properly. Still not sure what he's doing here. Didn't get a chance to ask. Tucker sighed the moment he got his phone back. "That sucks," he replied to both Dash and Danny, "but I don't think playing quarterback in a game where half your team's been overshadowed makes you the authority on ghosts."

"Foley. I am the authority. Who else takes charge when ghosts come to tear up the gymnasium? Lancer?" Dash rumbled. "No one else here has the experience I have."

Danny blinked. "Wait," he sat up straighter, "what happened to Troy?"

"Police carted him off." Dash waved his hand dismissively. "Although I'm not sure what possessed them to think they could get an exorcist at this hour."

There was a heartbeat of indecision. Tucker's face went from comprehension to despair and Danny paused. He replied on instinct alone. "I guess they were just really high spirited cops."

"No," Tucker moaned, shoving his face into his hands. "Stop."

Dash smirked and relaxed in a way that was foreign to Danny. "They exorcised restraint when arresting him."

Danny's throat itched. His voice cracked. Talking hurt, but some things were worth it. "They must have been some dead serious officers."

"Stupid puns are not a requirement of Amity Park citizenship," Tucker cut in quickly, "nobody thinks it's funny anymore."

"Phantom does it." Dash rolled his eyes. "Are you trying to say something about Phantom?"

Danny nodded very seriously. "Yeah. Phantom does it."

Tucker glared. "Phantom started a horrible trend."

Danny straightened. "Could you say we're… beating it to death?"

"That's it! Get out! I'm terminating our friendship!"

He laughed, falling backwards and throwing his arms up in surrender when Tucker hit him with a pillow. His headache hadn't changed; it banged as loudly as ever. His limbs still ached and jerked reflexively. Nothing hurt less, but in a moment everything became more bearable. The hollow emptiness in his chest still needed time to collect enough energy for his core to wake back up, and when it did these aches and pains would dull. But being fully human wasn't all that bad.

At least he felt warm.

Danny sat up and smiled at Tucker, then picked up his forgotten granola bar and proceeded to eat it, ravenous. He reclined on the wall and kicked his feet over the edge of the bed. "So. Dash. You still going on that dumb night hike?"

Tucker frowned. "What hike?"

"You're not invited."

Danny peeled the plastic off his second granola bar. "Yes he is."

Silence. Dash's face had become all scowl and no play, but he relented. "Fine. But you're still coming."

Tucker made a face that resembled something along the lines of eating too many sour skittles. He adjusted his glasses and hid behind his phone; Danny understood this to mean his best friend was listening intently.

"Why me?" He finished the granola bar; raisins, a disappointment when the one before it had been full of chocolate. "You've never needed me to help you seem cool before."

"Gross." Dash crinkled his nose. "I still don't."

"Isn't that why you invited me?" Danny pressed, very sure of his reasoning. "I have all the ghost stuff. You want to prove to people that ghosts are real."

"Troy already did that." Dash folded his arms. "You're coming because there are ghosts. I haven't forgot the last time our class went camping and everybody walked out of the woods three days later with dry throats and no memory. I'm not interested in losing more days of my life. You have all that anti-ghost stuff. I don't want… I don't…"

Tucker choked off a laugh as fast as he could, covering his mouth and failing at hiding his shit-eating grin. "You want a bodyguard. You want Danny Fenton to be your ghost bodyguard."

"Can it, Foley!"

Tucker removed his hat and prepared a speech. "Oh Dash," he began, "I literally could not describe the layers of irony, but if I could I'd make a cake with it - " Dash threw a pillow at his face.

Danny stifled his laughter. He ran a hand through his hair, filled with a reckless energy. "Alright." He dangled his feet over the bed, swinging them. His voice continued to crack when he spoke, but Danny couldn't shake the rush of giddy energy. There was heat in his fingers, and clarity in his head, and he wasn't burdened with an unnatural chill. "Night hike. I'll bring my thermos, the ghost hunting one. For ghosts."

Tucker shoved his phone at him, not even remotely as sly as he had been before. Danny caught the gist of 'bad idea' and pushed the screen away. He felt good. "We can be the Humans Against Poltergeists squad."

"Or we could not call it that," Dash replied. "Ever."

Danny plucked at Tucker's quilt. "...The Specter Suspecters?"

"Stop."

Weeds filled the space between cracked flagstones that lead down to the lake. Many of the stones were loose, broken, or uneven. Danny adjusted his backpack, but the position of the bag didn't matter. The thermos inside froze through the fabric and chilled his spine. Danny understood why Tucker and Sam preferred he be the one to carry it. Thistles and dry grass caught his jeans with such force that Tucker constantly caught his fall. "It's so dark," Danny complained.

"There's a half-moon and it's not that cloudy," Tucker reasoned, "you need to adjust."

"Ugh." Danny rubbed his eyes. Nothing about the path grew brighter. "I forgot how annoying it was to have human eyes."

"We could plan our revenge on Vlad." Tucker suggested. "Like we could plant carnivorous, ghostly venus fly traps in his pillows or something."

"I was thinking set his house on fire. Clean and simple arson."

"Mmm. Good one, very original."

Tucker steered him around a cluster of thorn bushes. Danny half stumbled and gripped Tucker's jacket; his feet sank in the soft ground. "That's - " he carefully eased over a wobbly rock, "the fun of it, though. Fire; a true classic."

Tucker paused. "Are you okay?"

Danny steadied himself and stopped. Tucker bit his lip, "You just seem different. Maybe… look at how your emotions change when you get your powers back."

Danny frowned. "I'm the same as I have been all day."

"Cheery? That's how you'd describe yourself today?" Tucker gestured at the path that Danny could hardly keep steady on. "You offered to go hiking with Dash. For fun ghost times. Since when is that a normal thing for you to do?"

Danny let go of Tucker's jacket, deciding he didn't need the extra help. He pressed his lips together and thought about what he needed to say next, and why he needed to say it. Something in him reacted, defensive, offended; it put a bad taste in his mouth. "Maybe since my best friend called me paranoid, or since I was strangled and subsequently electrocuted. Maybe I'm being cheery because I need to feel something that isn't helpless, Tucker." Danny stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I want to get to the bottom of what's going on. Why Vlad is here, why Troy got overshadowed, and - I'm going on a dumb night hike with Dash because wherever there are idiot teenagers poking through the woods there are ghosts. Even if I can't be Danny Phantom right now, Danny Fenton still has the same obligations. Same guy, same job."

Tucker considered. He relaxed. "There he is, there's the paranoid Danny I know best." He linked arms with him, refusing to let Danny stumble down the slope alone. "It's good to see you acting normal."

"Didn't know I had to act."

"Liar. You're always acting," Tucker waved it off, "but it can't be helped."

Danny scowled, starting back down the path. "Mm. Well. Ghosts to hunt. Plans to foil. If we get the creepy stuff done tonight that leaves six days to have a real vacation."

"Long odds."

"I know."

The path flattened out between the beach and forest. A square light illuminated Dash's face, as he clearly didn't understand that sneaking out meant actual sneaking. He sported a black bag over his shoulder and flipped through his phone with a bored expression. Danny approached, a mixture of frustrated and vaguely interested. "That won't get anyone's attention."

Dash slid the phone into his back pocket, the bag on his shoulder shifted awkwardly; three poles stuck out of the top. "You're late."

"Me and everyone else," Danny checked back up the hill, "where's the rest?"

"You're late, Fentina."

"Wow, you're so good at answering questions."

Dash shrugged. "Shut up and let's go before anyone catches us."

"Wait, alone?"

"Yes, alone, obviously," Dash snapped.

Tucker, perhaps just as bewildered but by far more observant, asked, "what's in the bag?"

The temperature around the waterfront dropped. Volleyball nets, wound up on poles and swinging in invisible breezes were like thick spider webs. They creaked on metal clasps. Danny turned up his jacket collar, hair standing on edge. It wasn't every day he felt unnerved by the creeping atmosphere of inhuman. How Sam and Tucker withstood it for as long as they had astounded him. Dash fiddled with the strap on his shoulder. "It's a camera, Foley." His tone had changed to match the atmosphere, his voice low and careful. "It's for school."

"It's summer."

"I'm planning ahead," Dash scowled, "what, now all of a sudden you're too scared to go?"

Danny frowned. "I thought you didn't want to run into ghosts." He did not add that they were by far more likely to run into something at home than out here, but Dash seemed uninterested in hearing more. He turned his back to them. "Either you're coming or you're crawling back, but you're already out here, so…" Dash entered the forest.

Tucker stood still. "Are we really?"

Danny sighed. "We are already out here. What's the worst that can happen?"

"Never say that." Tucker zipped up his jacket all the way and followed Dash, but he stayed close to Danny. He accepted Danny's decisions as quickly and without question just as he did during combat; a trait that Tucker excelled at, Sam struggled with, and Jazz simply didn't understand. The trees sheltered them from colder wind, and the ground crunched under their feet. Danny enjoyed the simple task of moving through unmade paths, so much so that it wasn't until they dropped far back enough for Tucker to whisper did his mood change.

"Since when has Dash wanted to follow ghosts?" Tucker muttered, using the flashlight on his phone to light the way.

"Since he decided he was an authority on them?" Danny guessed. "Maybe after Troy he thinks… like we do. Find and subdue it before it gets worse."

"Then what's the camera for?"

"...Evidence… that he's seen… shit?" The beanpole who'd accused Danny of never seeing anything came to mind. The anger he felt in response to confrontation - the ghostly energy that simmered under his skin - was foreign in retrospect. Maybe Dash just needed to be validated as badly as Vlad did, in the kind of way that he'd do a number of reckless things just to get a response out of people. They paused inside of a collection of basalt stones that rose from the ground in massive shelves, cliffs that threw off the trees and formed caves and crags in boulders. "I feel like I've seen Dash with a camera before, right? Last year he was doing some project with Kwan."

"He did an interview project with Nasty Burger employees." Tucker shrugged. "That's all I remember."

"I thought I've seen him with one somewhere else..."

"Hey!" Dash appeared around a boulder, "What are you doing?"

Danny pointed up the stones. "Climbing? Finding caves, ghost hideouts…"

"No, no, we're not going there." Dash slipped his bag from his shoulder and crouched. "We're not going to waste the two hours of charge I've got on searching." He pulled out the poles that stuck up from his bag; a tripod. "What we need is this." Tucker's flashlight focused on what Dash pulled out next. A pastel pink journal, trimmed with white lace and faded sharpie.

Danny recognized it from somewhere. Tucker nearly dropped his phone.

"Dash," Tucker whispered, "Why do you have that?"

Dash ran his hand over the journal. Danny gripped his backpack, reminded of the thermos inside. He quickly got it out; the cylinder froze to his fingers. "Dash?" Danny ventured.

Dash shook his head and got ahold of himself. He straightened, the journal pressed to his chest (it was so familiar). "We've only got enough battery to film two hours, so, let's get started." He nodded at Tucker, "You set up the tripod on the flat plane, Fenton, you get some stones for the circle."

Circle.

Danny remembered the journal.

His hand fell to his thigh. The book belonged to Paulina; she coveted it more than anything. He learned its purpose the night that he woke in a cold sweat, nauseated and sick; words that weren't words but commands yanked on his bones. The hot sizzle of his transformation put a taste of metal and electricity in his mouth, it agonized him to change form as vividly as falling inside of an activating portal. His room vanished, he sunk to his knees in a sweltering garage, surrounded by candles, locked in a circle that couldn't be passed.

The tattoo on his thigh burned with the memory of Sam dragging him to a shady tattoo parlor, paying a handsome bribe at the 18 and older sign, the anti-summoning sigil hastily inscribed and then reinforced over and over while his almost inhuman skin attempted to reject the ink and heal over the scar minutes after it was made.

"Summoning." Danny understood.

Dash flipped open the notebook like some casual observer of the apocalypse. "I know what I'm doing, Fenton."

"Summoning," Danny repeated, cold terror sent a shiver down his spine. "Summoning." Tucker, ever faithful, stood beside him with the same exasperation. "Summoning." Danny told him, and Tucker shook his head.

"You wanted to go hiking. Something about responsibility, paranoia, getting it all out of the way now… six days of a real vacation…"

"Summoning!" Danny threw his hands in the air. It wasn't the cold quiet of his usual anger, or the calm control of a fight. A dam broke, fear became fury, fury became outrage. "I've got a great idea! Let's just take it a step further and open an entire portal, right here! Let's tear holes in the fabric of reality! Why don't we call up some demons, do a few blood rituals, let's invoke the wrath of the spirits of the forest! Why not; it's almost the witching hour, isn't it?" Danny turned on Dash. "Why not throw open the gates of Hell and throw a party? Clearly, this vacation isn't fun enough yet!"

"Technically the witching hour isn't until three am," Dash corrected, unamused. "Calm down, Fenton."

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Of course Paulina would chose now to start dragging her friends into this sort of thing. Of course Dash would decide to play ghostbuster filmmaker with it. Of course. Why would he ever expect any less of Dash Baxter?

"Fenton." Dash wasn't even ashamed.

"Yes, Mr. Dumbass Baxter Sir?"

"Relax." Dash rolled his eyes. "You have your ghost catcher, I can contain it, we'll be fine."

"I don't hunt ghosts for hits on youtube."

"You don't hunt ghosts at all." Dash shot back. Tucker sighed, an exaggerated sound full of melancholy, irresistibly dramatic. Danny appreciated it.

He held up the thermos and tossed his backpack over his shoulder. "Wow Dash, you're so right." He shoved the thermos into Dash's arms, wearing a grin that felt as crazy as it looked. "I don't hunt ghosts, do I? That's you! You're the big authority on them!" He shoved off and left the thermos in Dash's arms, "It's point and shoot, when something tries to eat you press this button. Don't lose the lid, alright? It's a pain to ectoproof new ones." Danny spread his arms and dropped into a bow. "There! Now you don't need me! Have fun with your dumb summoning bullshit, Baxter."

He spun on his heel and marched. Tucker followed.

"Are you serious?" Dash's voice echoed after them, horribly offended. Oh well. "You came all the way out here! Fenton!"

Danny waved his hand high in the air. "I'm a wuss, sue me!" He marched, Dash's voice echoed after them, but not his feet. The nice human warmth in his blood boiled with rage that had no proper outlet, a headache he'd been ignoring returned with force. Summoning. As if he didn't have enough to worry about. He picked up his pace, rocks crashed into his toes. Danny cursed at anything that dared to slow him down. He hit something that took him off his feet and he nearly vaulted into the forest floor, but Danny only picked up his speed. He ran, his lungs burned, his eyes stung, his legs ached.

He ran until he crashed head-first into a low-hanging branch. Danny tore at it, leaves filled his palms. Tucker found him in battle and laid a hand on his back. "You need to slow down."

"Make me!"

"Danny." Tucker pulled a leaf out of his hair. Danny watched it flutter away, breathing heavily; Tucker took his hands and coaxed Danny to relax his fingers. Leaves slipped from his palms in broken clumps. Danny was so used to sensing and replicating Tucker's calm that his shoulders slumped and his heart slowed out of habit. Drops of green energy tried to surface in Danny's pupils, not nearly charged enough to make a spark. "I'm not telling you how to react." Tucker stepped closer, they shared warmth. "I just don't want you to wake up tomorrow with more bruises than necessary."

The lake kissed the shore, nearer to them now, and its soft whispers got into his head. Danny closed his eyes and unclenched his jaw. He breathed in the humidity. The chill. His arms fell, he relaxed. When he opened his eyes they were wet with something he had no control over. He wiped it away. "I just…" Tucker's hands were warm, reassuring. He leaned into them, his lips parted, concern turned down the corners. Danny wanted to sink to the ground, but stayed upright to keep Tucker from worrying.

"I do so much," he whispered, a confession that Tucker already knew; it bubbled up against Danny's better judgement, "I lose my grades over it. I'm in detention a million days out of the year. I'm hunted by my family and my friends. I get my ass handed to me. I don't sleep, I don't eat, I can't feel things the same way that I used to… I do so much for that toad and he's summoning them." A whisper in the back of his head reminded him that this wasn't Tucker's problem, that he needed to stop talking about it, that there was no fixing what was. Danny couldn't make himself stop, "Like my job's not hard enough? Like I haven't had enough yet? Just give Fenton more hell, right? It's fine, he's dead, he can take it."

At dead Tucker pulled Danny into his arms. Danny's face rested on Tucker's jacket, he listened to his heartbeat, and whatever tears escaped went unseen. Tucker smelled nice, the regular Tucker-smell mixed with campfire smoke and sweat.

"I have an idea."

"Murder?" Danny shivered.

"Nah, too serious. We'll go to his gym locker in the dead of night," at this proximity, Tucker's voice vibrated, and the sound literally got into his bones. Danny found it oddly soothing. "We take all of his jock equipment and move it to the football field where we dig a solid six by six grave. Pour lighter fluid on top, set it on fire, surround it in a salt circle. Headstone that reads 'Here lies Dash Baxter's hopes and dreams' with the addendum 'cleansed of this earth with ritual magic'."

Danny began to smile, "sounds like a plan."

"Bet we could even get Poindexter in on it. Over this? Totally justified."

Danny lifted his head. Tucker relaxed his arms and kept only one around him, solid. Human. They walked back to camp at a much slower pace, huddled together. Danny's eyesight began to normalize with time and ectoenergy collecting in his system, but he continued to accept help on the journey. Now more than ever the little amount of sleep from the day before got to him. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, a rare sensation. His legs shook between steps. He wanted to fall in bed, sleep, deal with everything later.

He made a note to haunt whoever invented camping. "What time is it?"

"Tenish."

"So we've been here eight hours."

"Roughly."

Danny paused. The trees thinned out to reveal the beach and volleyball nets. At the top of the hill, a ring of yellow light turned cabins into silhouettes. He rubbed his eyes. "Can we never do summer camp again after this?"

Tucker considered. "I'll invent a summer camp for next time. Flyers, website, registration fees. We'll even rent out a bus, give a couple people ice cream in exchange for keeping up the ruse. Then we'll drive around the corner, turn Sam's basement into a blanket fort, and let you sleep for a whole week."

Danny grinned. "We should've thought of that a month ago."

They decided to address hunger before sleep. It grew colder, they passed dark and lifeless cabins. The buildings were silent, foreboding, making up a disjointed circle that reminded Danny of summoning. His skin crawled. They stuck to the shadows and checked on the only cabin with glowing windows, where the counselors resided. Talking could be heard through the walls, but the calm rhythm of conversation indicated their absence went unnoticed. Danny considered the lack of supervision both irresponsible and a relief.

They hopped up to the mess hall and Tucker crouched beside the side door that was cast in shadows. Tucker produced lock picking tools from his pocket and got to work on the door. Danny sat down next to him. "I've never picked a lock before."

"It's not that hard," he pressed his lips together, "when you can't walk through the wall your best friend just crashed through…" He shot Danny a grin. "I learned fast."

"I don't crash through that many walls."

"You don't crash at all. You just go intangible and fall, removing wind resistance and friction so you can't slow down. You only stop when you remember you're supposed to hit something. Chasing you is very annoying when I don't know how many buildings you've sailed through." The door clicked. Tucker put his tools away and stood. "Come on," he helped Danny to his feet, "you need to eat an actual meal today."

"I had breakfast."

"What was breakfast?"

"...String cheese."

"That's not breakfast. You know that's not breakfast."

"Well, I'm not as good at being human as you are." His stomach growled in agreement.

Tucker pushed the door open and ushered Danny in. "I have more practice."

The ghost shield hardly bothered him. His core needed to collect more energy before he could generate a corporeal ghost form; technically, eating and sleeping would speed up that recovery. Technically. Danny rarely had the time to notice a difference. He clenched and unclenched his fists, watching Tucker break into the kitchen and pilfer cupboards with the expertise of someone who had grown used to breaking and entering. Danny, accustomed to the advantage of invisibility, checked over his shoulder at every sound.

Danny swallowed. He stood in the corner and surveyed rows of long tables and rubbed his arms. Anxiety tightened around his neck like a coiling snake. Tucker placed a peach in his palm and gave him the kind of look his parents would give him if they knew how much he didn't do for himself. "I want to sit on the floor," Danny announced and sat at the table. He sank on the tabletop, put his head down and breathed in the smell of old paint and dust. Tucker sat down beside him, released a heavy sigh and leaned against Danny; shoulder to shoulder, silent.

Danny nibbled. Tucker drank, checked his phone.

"We were going to call Sam."

"She can't do anything."

"Will it help?"

"No."

Tucker rubbed his back, a habit that was meant to be grounding, meant to take the raging ghost under Danny's skin and remind him that he needed to be more human. Contact drove him to settle back into his skin, into the weight of bones and the rhythm of a heartbeat. It reminded him what it was to be alive. Without the activity in his core, it was only a hand rubbing sore muscles. Danny closed his eyes. He let himself smile. Things were going alright; his powers would balance out, Dash probably wouldn't manage to summon anything, and Vlad might actually be here for real estate. "I'm sorry I've been dumb," Danny mumbled into his arm. "Thinking - dumb stuff. About everyone. I guess, I don't know. Maybe I think too much about things. Maybe I'm a little paranoid."

The hand went away, Danny's smile drifted with it. He lifted himself up; Tucker fiddled with his phone, avoiding eye contact. "You were nearly strangled to death by a camp counselor today."

"A typical day in the Life of Me."

Tucker pushed up his glasses and set his phone face-down, the blue light that had been making his facial expressions clear vanished. Plunged into darkness, spots filled Danny's vision. "I mean you were right," Tucker admitted, "we don't get days off. We don't get breaks. You being paranoid is usually the right way to feel. It's an instinct, and I should listen to your instincts. You're a little bit psychic."

Danny rolled his eyes. "I am not psychic."

"You're a medium of the dead."

"No, I am dead."

"Yeah. A direct spiritual channel, a bridge between the worlds, alive and dead, Schrodinger's boy…"

Danny snorted and punched his arm. "Shut up. I am not." The darkness hid his burning cheeks. "I can't add psychic to the list of crazy stuff I do. I think the fact that my parents wear neon hazmat suits and keep a ghost portal in our basement is outstanding enough. I don't need more."

"Not to mention the whole 'dead' thing."

"We agreed to never mention the whole 'dead' thing."

Tucker laughed.

Danny ate half a sandwich and an entire peach; Tucker seemed only mildly satisfied that he exhibited any appetite at all. They wound up on the floor, leaning against the wall that separated kitchen and cafeteria. Tucker played a game on his phone while Danny daydreamed about all the schoolwork he'd never finished. That history paper three months ago, those essay prompts eight weeks ago, the half-done math problems he'd never got a handle on. They sank into his heart like teeth; sharp, horrifying, with the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to go back and fix it. He squirmed. What's done is done. He wrapped himself in anxiety of unfinished work, of already posted grades, of the disappointment he made himself out to be.

"What're you thinking about?"

Fentons don't fail.

"Nothing." Danny wrapped his arms around his knees. "I'm just tired."

Tucker turned his phone into a flashlight. The cafeteria became stark, a sharp contrast of defined shapes and heavy shadows. "Then let's sneak back into our dorms. If I don't sleep now I'll stay up until three am."

They left the same way they came in, but Tucker didn't lock the door; he believed in quick and easy access to areas protected by shields. Danny promised to break the lock when he gathered enough energy to phase. A breeze picked up and moaned through the trees; Danny stuck close to Tucker on the way to cabin three, having decided to check on Dash's status. If he was back and safe in the dormitory, they had nothing to worry about. Tucker quietly entered the dorm first, rustling too loud for Danny's taste, and reappeared at the door a minute later. He gave his answer when he stepped out, softly closing the door behind himself and holding a small tube of lipstick that wasn't actually lipstick. Danny rubbed his forehead. "No Dash?"

"Nope."

"If he's dead I'm finding his ghost and melting his core," Danny promised. "And if he's alive I'm going to punch him. In the face. Or at least complain about how horrible he is. In private, not to his face. I'm not looking for trouble."

Tucker pat his shoulder. "Your jokes are getting worse."

"I'm tired."

There was no forest.

The trees were replaced by walls of black ink, formless, defined by no outline or positive shape. The weak circle of light produced by Tucker's phone provided them with nothing but a cluster of silver leaves. Clouds filled the sky and hid the moon. Danny froze in place. He couldn't convince himself to get within ten paces of the treeline. Tucker paused when he realized Danny was no longer beside him. "What?"

"It's dark." More than dark, impenetrable.

"Yeah. It's night."

Danny shook his head. "Darker than before."

"Not really." Tucker looked over his shoulder. Danny wondered how he couldn't see what had changed, and was unable to articulate the difference. He took a step back and shook his head. "You need to let your eyes adjust," Tucker suggested, "you're not afraid of the dark."

"I know I'm not afraid of the dark."

"Then why are you afraid?"

Danny lifted his shoulders. He couldn't move any closer; instincts inside of him pulled him to a halt. Tucker rubbed his forehead. "Right. Psychic. Okay. So no to the forest." He put his hands on his hips. "You lead the way."

Danny blinked. "My powers are shorted. I don't have any - "

"Half-ghost. Shorted out doesn't change that. You don't want to walk in there, you walked in there before. Something's up. So I'm going to do what I'm supposed to and listen to your instincts. Where are we supposed to go?" Tucker refused protest. "If Dash dies because of it I will personally write a beautiful eulogy about his stupidity, and it won't be your fault that he's an idiot."

"That's not funny." Danny ran a hand through his hair. Tucker waited. Danny licked his lips. "We'll check the lake."

The moon revealed itself when they arrived at the shore, lighting up the water, making waves into small blue silhouettes which dipped and rose on the surface. Tucker picked up a stone and tossed it across; two skips and it sank. Danny hugged his jacket, wind brushed hair off his forehead. "If a lake monster jumps out, you're our only hope."

Tucker played with his miniature ecto-blaster, built inside of an antique cosmetics tube. "If a lake monster jumps out I'm faster than you. I'm running."

"So loyal."

Danny shuffled, nudging Tucker with his elbow, lips turning upward. The water yielded nothing, listening revealed only chirping bats, and search as he might there wasn't anything to see. Empty. Calm.

"Hate to break it to you, but I'm not psychic." Danny shoved his hands in his pockets. They ached. "There's nothing here."

Tucker chewed his lip. "Maybe…" he stiffened. Danny frowned, following his gaze along the shore. He squinted. Near a set of boulders was a flicker of movement; what should have been a stone shifted, then tumbled forward and lay flat. It lifted again, reflecting the blue light of the moon and casting a stark black shadow. "Well," Tucker sighed, "looks like you are psychic after all." A small buzzing sound, the charge of a miniature ecto-weapon. "Do we shoot it?"

"That's not a ghost." Danny took a step, hesitant, and then another. Whatever it was didn't move quickly, shifting slowly along the waterline. It sank again. Laid still. "Is that…" He started walking toward it with purpose.

Tucker rushed to pull him back, "You don't have a gun! Let me - "

Danny shook his head, squinting. The creature didn't get back up, flat against the sand, mixing with the color of it, nearly invisible. "It's human!" Danny twisted out of his grip. A white coat would mix with the color of the white sand. When still, the figure blended in with the beach and stones. "That's Dash!"

"Wait - "

He broke into a run.

Stumbling on rocks interspersed with sand that sank beneath his footsteps, Danny fought to stay upright despite the shaking in his legs and the cold wind that picked up. Images flashed, unreal but clear. An empty-eyed and broken human body; the lost shell of Dash Baxter. Dash became Mikey, found decapitated in an alleyway. Dash became the entire school showing up for a silent funeral. Dash became the next reason hatred grew in Valerie's eyes. Dash became months of justified ghost hunting that sent him home with lacerations to hide from the people who put them there. His parents, spending weeks muttering about that horrible beast over breakfast. "Dash!"

It was definitely Dash, sprawled lifeless on the sand. Danny crashed beside him, reaching for his shoulders and hauling him up. His jacket was wet and stained, Dash's head hung like a dead weight. "Dash!" He grabbed his chin, wet and slippery, making his stomach flip. Blood and sand mixed together to make a muddy grain.

It spotted Dash's blonde hair, soaked the shoulders of his jacket, covered his neck and smeared across his face. Danny braced his knees in the sand and pushed him onto his back. Dash sank, his eyes wide open and staring at nothing. He didn't speak or move. Danny touched his neck, searching for a wound, a heartbeat, anything.

His fingers shook. They slid in the blood and fell off. He tried again.

The throat vibrated oddly; Dash made a gurgling sound. His body was stiff and damp.

"The eyes!" Tucker's flashlight made red liquid glint. "Get his eyes!" Tucker dropped beside him, breathing heavily. He ignored the blood and brought his phone to each of Dash's pupils; miraculously, Dash winced. His pupils did not dilate. No ectoenergy or electric sparks reflected in the harsh light; human.

Danny slipped his thumb across Dash's neck, searching for the wound. "Where are you hurt?" He pressed, frantic hands searching for a laceration. Dash had to be in shock, or dying, bleeding out. Danny scrambled to find the source.

"Danny."

"He's in shock, his breathing isn't steady, what should - shit, I can't find the wound!"

"Danny."

"Tucker, help me!"

"Danny, I don't think that's his blood."

Danny slowed. Their classmate made no response, his eyes were empty; blood stained Dash's clothes, his hair, streaked across his smearing pattern was haphazardly spilled, with no clear tracks to mark a source. His head needed to be carved from ear to ear to have that kind of spill. Without a wound, the only explanation left was spatter. A lot of spatter. Danny's throat tightened. "Oh."

Danny hauled him up, gripping his shoulder to keep him steady and upright. Dash swayed, his lips cracked, and spotted Danny with eyes that didn't focus. His mouth moved, a small whisper rasped out of his throat, "Rain."

"...Rain?"

Dash clung to Danny with the glassy gaze of a corpse. He opened his mouth like a fish gasping for water. He seemed on the verge of sinking back to the ground and staying there forever. Danny tucked his arm under Dash's to keep him from folding over, "it's alright. You're alright," almost certain the reassurance was a lie, "can you hear me? Dash?"

Dash's entire body shook. Tucker cleared his throat. "Blood spatter. Rain. ...Blood rain?" Danny's heart sank. "Okay." Tucker got ahold of himself first. "Okay. Don't panic. What do we do?"

Danny's hands, covered in blood, slipped along Dash's clothes. Call an ambulance and hope the creature that did this doesn't arrive first? Dash's breathing was so low that Danny couldn't feel it brush across his face in their proximity. There was so much blood. Dead blood, murder blood, the kind of blood that meant they'd walked away from something and let disaster strike. Dash could be dying in his arms. Dying. Panic took over. "I don't know! How am I supposed to know what to do?"

"We find the ghost, right?"

Danny shook his head. Dash needed to be okay. He had to be. His heart raced, mud soaked into his jeans, and every attempt at forming a plan slipped from him like sand through an hourglass. "I'm out of juice." He felt helpless. In over his head. He got dizzy and the blood on his hands made his stomach flip. "We only have your blaster, we didn't bring any tracers - "

"How could we remember a shield but not a tracer?" Tucker moaned. "Why the hell did we bring that stupid heavy thing that we can't carry anywhere but no ectotracers?"

Danny was going to be sick. It was the smell, the overwhelming smell.

"I gave my thermos to him. Is it…" He scanned the beach, which was empty of even a footprint. "The camera...?" The bag, the tripod, the journal, and the thermos were all missing.

"How are we so unprepared?" Tucker's voice shook.

"We aren't unprepared! We planned for weeks - "

"We don't have anything!"

"We have…" Danny dropped his eyes to Dash. "Shit."

They had nothing to defend themselves with. Danny failed to keep his composure. "Dash." He opened his mouth, trying to find the right words. He shook Dash by the shoulder, trying to get a reaction out of him. Dash slumped against him. "Dash. You inarticulate potato pancake. What did you summon?"

Under the moonlight, color faded to a subtle tint of blue and black. It felt like Dash responded, but in a warm way that spilled into his bones and made him dizzy. A strangeness sparked beside his heart, a skipped beat and a flush of cold that raced down his veins. His core woke up, stretched; the sharpness of iron entered his nose, the taste of salt in his mouth, color leapt into focus. The shapes of the beach and trees, formerly dark silhouettes, clearly distinguished themselves as obviously as they would in sunlight. Danny's cheeks flushed, but not with the heat of human blood.

His ghost half was active again.

Danny touched his chest, smiling slightly. "Sorry." In the small space of a breath his terror and illness faded away. Similarly, Dash seemed more alert, teetering back and forth as he held himself upright. "What was that?"

"I think," Dash rasped, color entering his face, "I think it's a demon."

Maybe it's time for a break. Get some water, stay hydrated. Listen to music. Take a shower. Found a charity organization. And in ten years, come back for that next chapter. Will it be the same as it was when you left it?
-Catalyst

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Up next:
Excerpt 2
Dash Baxter
and the little house of everyday horrors.