At the table, Danny polished off fries. He dowsed all of it in a thick layer of hot sauce, enough hot sauce to turn the noses of everyone at the table. Having taken Dash's spot next to Jazz, the ghost boy was quite comfortable in the residual warmth of the previous body sitting there.

"You're gonna destroy your intestines like that, Fenton— Jesus—" Kwan shook his head.

The ghost boy mocked, " Oh Jesus, Fenton. "

"Keep your eyes on your own paper, Byun-Ji." Daniel dismissed it and gestured with his eyebrows, "Shouldn't you be breaking up the catfight?"

The two cheerleaders had graduated to propping themselves up using the table. Their hands and nails are buried into the surface. They had been screaming at each other for minutes now.

"I can't believe you would laugh at something like that—I thought you were my friend!"

"It's hard to be your friend when you get offended over every little thing! My god, your skin is so thin; Your ankles should take notes!"

"You know that zit on your forehead? You should just call it a third-eye, you grease-ball!"

"I WANT MY PINK SWEATER BACK!"

"TAKE IT! I ONLY BORROWED IT SO YOU WOULDN'T EMBARRASS ME IN PUBLIC!"

At this point, Kwan had the idea to restrain Paulina, so she didn't scratch anybody with her flying claws. He suggested, "Uh, You wanna lend a hand here, Danny?"

"Oh? Me? I'm good, thanks." He dragged his pinky along the edge of his Nasty Fry basket, gathering residual grease.

The elder Fenton instead stood up and looped her arms around Star to stop the hair pulling. Jazz glared at her brother, "I bet you're proud of yourself."

Danny smirked, "I mean, you said it, not me."

Fashionably late, Valerie Grey arrived on the scene. Her usually pristine white and red polo uniform was now stained with ice cream and ketchup. She stomped over to the group in a huff, "Guys, what the hell is going on—"

"I NEVER CALLED YOU A SLUT— BUT I DID CALL YOU A FRIGID BITCH!"

"YO SÉ DONDE DUERMES!"

The part-timer stomped her foot. Val slapped her palms onto the table, making it quake and rattle, "GUYS!"

Everyone turned their attention to Grey. Even people who weren't sitting at the table. She took a deep breath, "What the hell is happening— Dash just made me drop an entire tray— Bea won't stop getting on my ass about these 'rude' teens—" She leaned in real close, swinging her head to each cheerleader, " Are you guys tryin' to get me fired?! "

In tandem, the two girls crowed, " SHE STARTED IT! "

Valerie worked them with a sub-zero stare that would indeed heal the world's glaciers. With pursed lips, she muttered, "I. Don't. Care."

Wiggling from Jazz's grasp, Star whined, "But I—"

"But— bup-bup! What did I just say?" Val snapped her fingers.

Star and Paulina stopped thrashing long enough to realize how ridiculous their behavior was.

Crossing her arms, Val raised her brows, "Now… are you gonna apologize to each other or—"

"Val, we're not babies—"

"You're gonna come into my restaurant acting like babies; you're gonna be treated like babies. Don't test me, Sanchez." Her glare snapped back to Paulina.

It made the head cheerleader flinch.

Continuing her thought from where she was interrupted, the part-timer huffed, "Apologize to each other."

Both sophomores looked askance before muttering a few demur apologies.

Disappointment hit, Danny was hoping to drum up a betting pool, but no plan is without a few snags. What a cage match that would be. Two beauty queen bimbos going head to head? He'd have to film it to make Tucker envious, of course. Danny could pretend it was him they were fighting over for a moment.

Jazz and Kwan released their respective cheerleaders and took their seats.

Popping the joints in her hand, Val sternly questioned, "What the hell is happening— Dash just barreled into me— I dropped like four orders—"

"He's sick." The younger Fenton answered.

"What'd you mean he's 'sick' ?" Grey's hand fell to her hip.

The younger could feel his sister's bug-eyed stare centered at the point where his spine and skull met. A smile couldn't help but inch its way onto his face, "He got sick. I guess he can't handle his burgers or somethin'."

Kwan explained from his side of the table, his hands still ghosting over Paulina's shuddering shoulders, "Wes went after him not too long ago."

Armed now with context, Val spun on her heel to the bathrooms— only to be stopped by a pudgy man with long thin bowlegs. His red tie communicated that the man thought of himself as important, though that remained to be seen. This false icon paired well with his receding rusty hair and light stubble. The man clasped a hand on her shoulder and herded her out of his way.

Val's voice jumped several octaves, "Mr. Burns!"

Right… Irving manager of the Nasty Burger. Casper high alumni. Though could it really be called alumni? He spoke often on career day. Danny was sure Irving kept getting invited back because they needed an example of what happened to the kids that dropped out. From the story Daniel had heard passed down through the oral grapevine, Irving was more of the 'most likely to succeed' candidate than the 'most likely to be cleaning grease traps for the rest of his natural born life' type. Speech and Debate champion during his first two years, Mr. Lancer still used many of Irving's projects as examples of how an assignment should be completed. How did he end up here?

According to the rumor mill— Irving killed a kid.

Not really, of course. The more mundane truth of the matter was he probably got into some sort of fight. Then he landed in legal trouble. Then he dropped out. One day he just up and snapped. Now he's here, barely stringing together a coherent sentence in front of his successors. Reputation is a powerful thing in a small town. Irving Burns' reputation was that of a peaked in high school nobody. A nobody whose temper you didn't want to be on the receiving end of.

Every teen except for Danny shrunk at the sight of Mr. Burns' vein-bursting anger.

"Okay, who is it? Which of these little shits is gonna cause my nervous breakdown— I think I have a right to know! The servers are backed up, giving out free refills, and the kitchen is squabbling about something involving a substitution— Who is it!?"

Danny rested his cheek against his steepled hands, "I think that would be Dash."

"Mr. Burns, I promise I have this under control," Val said solemnly, "We were just straightening out the bill."

"You're already on thin ice, Grey." Burns warned, "I made an exception for your age because of your father, don't mistake my kindness for being an idiot." He loosened his tie, "You can't invite your friends and tear the place up!"

"M-M-Mr Burns, I—I'd never!" Val clutched her hands together.

The two boys emerged from the restroom, looking worse for wear. Dash had his jacket over his arm, and the red-headed guy pulled on his hood, idly playing with the tassels.

Tapping his foot, Irving cast an accusatory finger at the tall blond, "Let me guess— You're the ringleader of this little troop? Anything you wanna say for yourself?"

Before Dash even opened his mouth to reply, the manager roared, "Oh, too late; you're banned!"

The A-listers were rendered speechless—

Paulina was the first to decry, "You can't do that!"

Irving sneered, "It's my restaurant, and I think I can ban whoever I damn well please, missy!"

"Hey, look— there's— You don't have to— we're sorry! Okay?" Wanting to defuse the situation, it seemed Kwan kept chuckling as if in disbelief that this was happening to them. They weren't the kind to get banned. Byun-Ji reasoned, "We eat here all the time!"

"Guys— Guys, c'mon. It's-It's my fault. If anyone deserves to go, it's me." Dash said, still holding his head. His migraine seeking retaliation for him standing in proximity to loud voices.

The red-headed jock glowered at Danny, seemingly protesting the quarterback's statement.

Jazz pleaded, "Dash It— It wasn't you — Okay? You were—"

Danny pinched her arm until her words died on her tongue.

Instead, the elder Fenton redirected her energy, "Irving, please ." Jasmine deflated, "Y-you know these are good kids."

It got real quiet; that resting disgusted look did not abate. You would have to squint, but you could barely perceive the wispy mustache of a man trying too hard to have his midlife crisis. Mr. Burns wasn't thinking. He had already made up his mind. He just wanted to watch the A-listers marinate more in their guilt. The scowl on his face twisted and creased. He laid into the group, "Good kids? Good kids? Is that how you all think of yourselves? You all float through your classes trying to skate by on your good looks, and you expect me to have sympathy? Kids like you are why people feel bad about themselves! Kids like you have no respect! Real life has consequences—And I'm glad to be the one to introduce you!" Mr. Burns continued to rant and rave until his voice was thin and breathless.

Danny tuned out around the halfway point because he knew this little… tirade had nothing to do with him. He simply couldn't relate. Danny was quite sure out of everyone here at this table, say for his sister, only himself had the intelligence to pursue whatever future he wanted. He would only see any of these people again at this restaurant when they served him. It was inevitable. It was as Irving so eloquently described; they were vapid, shallow, spoiled brats in need of being smacked down a few pegs. It just so happened Daniel could correct this discrepancy. For all his complaining, ghost powers did come with quite the laundry list of perks. And some of those perks involved watching some soon-to-be peaked in high school losers get a preview of their future insignificance.

It was so easy; it was almost criminal.

Watching each sophomore glance at each other in utter stupefaction— God, the high was insane. The ghost boy couldn't wait to tell his friends that they would no longer have to worry about sharing the Nasty Burger with the popular kids ever again. Danny loved the way that word sounded, insignificance.

Mr. Burns declared in front of the whole group, " Banned! "

"This is such bullshit!" Star wailed. She was the cheerleader more prone to outbursts, so Danny expected some resistance on her end.

Whereas Sanchez was more of the quiet, scary, kind to anger— she too hit the ceiling, "You've got to be kidding!"

Loyalty was Kwan's fatal and most endearing flaw; he begged, "Seriously?! Val, you don't believe this guy, right?"

Turning his gaze to his underling, Irving waited expectantly for some kind of rebuttal out of Grey—

But she kept her mouth shut. Valerie didn't move an inch to help her friends. Just like Danny predicted. She held her tray flat to her chest to hide the stains on her uniform. Eyes falling to puddles of half-melted ice on the tile, she said nothing.

"Val…" the linebacker exhaled her name with disappointment. Being something of the sensitive one of the group, of course, he would take something like this so personally.

This caused a twinge in the ghost hunter's chest. The younger Fenton could feel it. If ever so slightly, her heart skipped a beat. It wasn't enough to coerce her into coming to their defense. But still, talk about adorable.

Sipping his water, Danny only observed in silence. He had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from grinning.

Provoking Kwan Byun-Ji was an unachievable feat until today. Nothing could crack that thickheaded peppy northern Californian frat boy facade except dangling his friends' happiness in front of him. The linebacker stifled his reaction. Not very well, but he tried. His face flushed in embarrassment for being gullible enough to think they could go somewhere and have a nice time. Kwan took a moment to rake his fingers through his fine black hair; he picked up his drink, "Well, seeing as this is our last time together in the Nasty Burger. Let's talk about the end of another era. I wanted to be the first to congratulate Dash on making captain. I know he doesn't believe he deserves it or that he's even capable of leading us. I wanted to remind him that being perfect isn't in our job description."

The linebacker cleared his throat, "This isn't so much the end as it is just another transition. That's all growing up is about, being stupid and making mistakes. But no matter what Dash always supported me through every single one of my mistakes— and I, for one, cannot wait to be there for his."

Concluding his toast, he herded Paulina out of his way— exiting the booth. He made deliberate and steady eye contact with Mr. Burns. He was armed with a smile that could kill. He raised his glass. In a single fluid motion, the linebacker had dumped his rootbeer down the back of Irving Burns.

Setting his now empty cup on the table, he loosely found a grasp on Paulina's hand. Reaching around Irving, Kwan tugged on Dash's shirt sleeve, "Let's get out of here."

The manager spluttered, "B-BANNED! ALL OF YOU ARE BANNED! BANNED! BANNED! BANNED!"

It was at this point the younger Fenton piped up, "Er— Hey, sorry to interrupt your flow, but uh— our parents are actually responsible for installing that ghost shield on your roof last year… so… afraid you can't really ban us." Daniel delivered this news as gently as he could, "Yeah…"

"GET OUT!" Irving shrieked as if he were being murdered. He was practically blue in the face from shouting.

Star climbed over Danny, and Danny followed after. The front entrance chimed several times with their departure.

Very last, Jazz slid out of the booth. Fumbling with her purse, she found her wallet and sullenly asked Valerie, "Do you still accept American Express?"

Outside, it looked ripe for rain. The overcast sky had only darkened since their time in the restaurant. The clouds sat heavy in the sky, swirling around with turmoil that reflected the group. Weather was just weather, after all; you couldn't assign it any real significance. At least, that's what the ghost boy hypothesized. After all, he was pretty pleased with himself. Now that he was outside, he could let it show. The cat that ate the canary had nothing on him. He radiated more energy than he knew what to do with. He let the A-listers walk ahead of him. It wasn't like Danny was in any hurry to go anywhere else today. Stomach bubbling, he burped— you'd think he'd be full, but Danny could go for a second round if he was honest.

It took a moment, but Jazz finally caught up with him. To put it mildly, she was pissed, "Care to explain what that was all about?"

"I told you I didn't want to go." Danny buried his fists in his pockets, the smile on his face never breaking for a second. He had been awaiting her outrage; he was just as eager to feed off it.

"Dash wanted you here!" She had to convince him of the truth somehow, "He wanted us both here; it was a big moment for him!"

Shrugging, the younger Fenton snorted, "That was his mistake."

"You're unbelievable ." Jasmine was appalled at his aloofness.

The way she said it, you'd think Danny was a monster.

Isn't that what most fourteen-year-old boys are?

The ghost boy found her lack of awareness nearly comical. She couldn't be this diluted. She couldn't just make everyone hold hands and sing kumbaya until the sun went down and pretend that made everything okay. She may have been his senior, but her approach to conflict was so childish. He argued, "What's unbelievable is you think my definition of a good time is hanging around Dash Baxter and his legion of minions."

"You could be like every other human being on the face of the planet and just suck it up! You could be a real person!" Jazz rubbed her temples with growing fury. She had to apply several layers of detachment to this conversation— Rationalizing that she was talking to a dead man walking. He genuinely couldn't care less if he tried. She would have more luck trying to convince fire not to burn. There was nothing she could do to alleviate whatever broke inside him. The effort was wholly futile. She wasn't strong enough; Jazz was trying to treat a corpse. It was clear Danny enjoyed living in the hurt. He thrived in anger. This was what a healthy ghost stimulated looked like. He was an animal in need of enrichment.

It was then the elder realized she wasn't speaking to a human anymore.

By the way, his breath trembled, Danny came to a similar conclusion about her half-cocked prescription. He squinted at the cracks in the sidewalk ahead of them, "... I'm not a real person, Jazz."

The sounds of traffic ripped through the lull in the conversation. Headlights were starting to emerge in the mist. It was after five, and everyone was in a hurry to get home.

It wasn't always the good that died young. Those who died were entitled to be as complicated and messy as possible. Jazz was turning him into a monolith to squeeze blood from. Danny, for the most part, was a corpse playing out muscle memory of what being a teenager was. It was hazy, but sometimes she swore that the being walking beside her bore a strong resemblance to her younger brother. Maybe at one point, Jasmine could tell you what was going on in that head of his, word for word— but now? Maybe it was due to their age, maybe it was the accident, maybe it was the fact that Danny died in the basement that day, alone— She couldn't understand him anymore.

The question started as: How will Jasmine protect her brother from the world?

Now, how is she supposed to keep the world safe from him?

Defeatedly, she glanced at the group of kids ahead of them. Dash still looked about one strong breeze away from collapsing. She shook her head at the sight of his friends trying to support him, each claiming a side to keep the quarterback upright.

The elder warned, "Look, we're putting a pin in this. I think I owe them some kind of explanation; I'm gonna try and get Dash home before he hurts himself—" She fiddled with her pendant, spinning it between her fingers while formulating a counter-attack, "—Then we're gonna figure out how you're gonna fix this later."

She doesn't owe them jack shit.

A frown took up residence on the ghost boy's face, and he mumbled, "I don't really like that plan."

"Aw, that's too bad," Jazz replied sarcastically before picking up her pace. She waved her hand to flag the attention of the group.

He should have figured he wouldn't get off entirely scot-free. Watching the shape of his sister shrink as she got further up the road, Danny fought this chill that traveled up his spine. It was as if a ghost had just walked past. Typically if he were about to be attacked, there would be the tell-tale blue wisp that escaped his throat. But there was nothing. However, there was little doubt in his mind that this was a self-preservation instinct. The chill rattled his head, and Danny turned his glance behind him.

That gawky red-headed guy from before was a few yards back.

It nearly caused him to startle before turning his focus back in front of him. How much of that conversation did he hear?

Danny couldn't place the guy. More than likely, he was one of Dash's cronies. He had that look about him. But there was something different. Something off . Something in the way he held himself back. Whatever he was doing, it was purposeful. It was like something out of a slasher flick. Danny looked over his shoulder, and suddenly he was there. Deliberately following him. That was the word just out of his reach. Following. Stalking. Creeping.

"Uh, hey," The ghost boy called out.

No response. Nothing.

Electing to ignore the guy, Danny figured it would be safer if he were around people. More people, at least.

It was an alien sensation, and Fenton initially had trouble identifying it. He was anxious. It was an emotion he thought he had evolved from. Danny thought he didn't run away anymore. That was a promise he made to himself when he got these powers. He wasn't going to be afraid.

So far, the guy hadn't done anything but just follow. Why isn't he fucking saying anything?

Danny couldn't make out the expression on his face as it was obscured by the shadow of his hoodie. There was nothing the ghost boy could decipher from his intentions.

Cool drops of rain hit the apple of the ghost boy's cheek. Maybe he should have listened to Jazz and brought a jacket. Not that the cold affected him much anymore, but still— it was muscle memory.

It was the first licks of a complete downpour.

Fenton could hear the kids ahead squeal and kick the water in vain attempts to cheer each other up. They suddenly seemed worlds away now as the storm washed them out to silhouettes. It sounded like they were on their way to putting this whole experience in the past and making it a charming anecdote in the way that selfish pretty plastic people do. A hundred bad days for them only became a hundred different stories— Because the truth Danny didn't want to face is that he didn't matter to them. Not in the slightest. Nobody would remember sad freaky little Fenton. He could disappear, and the whole world would move on without him. Not even dropping a stitch. He died, and no one even noticed. How would you cope with that?

"Jazz! Wait up!" He was apprehensive, "Guys?!"

Of course, she didn't hear him. It's not like she ever listened to him anyway.

Something terrible would happen to him if he broke into a sprint. He knew it would. Either this new party would match his speed or— or— or—

That conjunction kept skipping in his thoughts. Ten-thousand-and-one different outcomes were playing out in his brain. None of them ended particularly friendly.

So he remained. He remained painfully aware that there was someone following him.

"...So, what was your plan?" The question came out gravelly, the strange sophomore in the oversized crimson hoodie with the sleeves cut off. The question needed an answer, but Danny wasn't sure if he could provide a satisfactory one.

The boy was right next to him now. Danny could barely hear him over the thick rainfall and dense wind.

"Huh?"

The stranger repeated exasperatedly, "Your plan. Back there. Overshadowing Dash." He deadpanned, "That was real funny."

"Wh—what're you talking about…?" Danny narrowed his gaze.

It seemed that one of the toys deviated from the script.

"I know what you did." He muttered with an unidentifiable tilt to his voice, "Do you?"

Was that a threat? It was in the ghost boy's best interest if he kept quiet.

The living turned his head ever so slightly; it was nearly unperceivable. But now, Fenton could finally see his face. Uncannily enough, Danny thought he was looking in a mirror. This stranger had his face. The same flat nose that poked out from his face like a bird beak and angled cheekbones. Sunken eyes that were hardened to the world. It would be infinitely simpler to list their differences. The sophomore was quite a bit taller, had freckled skin that revealed outdoorsy tendencies, and that red hair. That unkempt red hair that was… familiar.

This stranger looked more like Jazz's annoying kid brother than Danny ever did. He had shown up as the perfect cast for the real Danny Fenton.

It was impossible, but the more Danny kept gawking at his doppelganger, the more he felt his fragile existence ebbing away.

It was like a long time ago they had gotten on the wrong track, and right now, in the rain, this is where they would collide.

Stunned at the razor-thin way he was compromised, The ghost boy shifted closer to the curb, "I'm—I'm sorry?"

"Okay, so we're playing dumb then? Jumping head-first into denial?" His wicked laugh ignited the stagnant air, "I get it— I'd be shocked too. You probably didn't think anybody'd care about the lonely Fenton kid. You probably thought that, hey, we're too stupid to notice."

His smirk radiated the energy of an apex predator, "Am I close? I feel like I'm close. You have to tell me if I'm white hot."

Danny scavenged the recesses of his brain— Where do I know you? Why do I know you?

Face tightening, Daniel posited, "It sounds like you're accusing me of something."

Suddenly as if they were lifelong friends, the stranger threw his arm around the younger's shoulders, "Smile."

"What?"

"Your sister is looking at us." It came across as an order, "Smile to let her know everything is fine."

Vaguely Danny could see his sister's shape stopped on the sidewalk. With great reluctance, he complied.

She sighed with relief. Jazz turned back around.

The guy in the hoodie repeated his previous question, "So, what's your angle, man? Just overshadow people for the hell of it? Hurt people when they're in your way? Havoc? What?"

"What are you talking about?!" The younger Fenton shoved the living teen away.

The stranger huffed and said the very words that chilled Danny to the core, "You're a ghost, aren't you?"

The question wasn't a question but a demand for confirmation.

"I know what you are." The sophomore spat, "I know what you did. I know what you did to Dash, and I know what you did to Val—"

Rolling his eyes, Danny couldn't help but find that funny, "Right, what I did to Dash—"

"Don't interrupt me, Fenton."

"So, you're, like, crazy in the unstable way—" Fenton's brow knitted in the center, giving a blasé wave of his hand.

Something twisted inside of his chest. As if a blade pierced the skin and sunk deep into the bone.

Eyes fixed on the ghost, the ginger coldly stated, "I am not crazy ."

He really didn't like that word, apparently.

Just as quickly he revealed that vulnerability— the ginger shifted gears back to his… interrogative persona, "Anyway, Phantom, do you remember the day Dale Prittchett fell down the stairs?"

"I was there, y'know… in the hallway. I was off from my counselor's visit. I was heading to the activities bus. When I found him in the well." His eyes were far-off now, not staring at Danny. Looking through him. Looking past him. He was in another moment entirely.

The stranger's gaze narrowed, "Y'know how he got there, right?"

"Stop it."

"He didn't fall, Phantom. I think you and I both know Pritchett didn't fall." That scowl only worsened; it bloomed across his face like English ivy. If left alone, that scowl could spread up trees and even onto buildings. Robust vines of guilt penetrated the cracks and would lead to Danny's rotting.

The sophomore hissed, "There was blood everywhere— the clavicle broke his skin—"

"I said stop!" Danny snapped, his eyes giving their warning flash. He stepped in front of the sophomore, pressing his hand to the other's chest in a preemptive attack, the pads of his fingers vibrating with volatile energy.

The pair froze.

The stranger wasn't afraid of the ghost boy's little light show. In his total ambivalence, Freckles stepped into it . He didn't even flinch. Almost daring Danny to finish what he started.

"That—That was an accident, okay?!" That was his justification; Danny pleaded with the young man in the hood to see it from his perspective, "I-I-I didn't mean to-to do that. He j-just— he wouldn't give me back this letter I wrote for Paulina, and—"

"So, you accidentally threw Dale down two flights of stairs?" The stranger wouldn't let up— he was intent on striking the fear of divine judgment on this creature for just a second, "Just like how you accidentally gave Dash Baxter bulimia?"

He kept pushing— and pushing . His anger was palpable and thick like billowing smoke, "What about the Greys? Everything you did to Val and her dad? That was one big accident too? You really expect me to believe that?"

That smoke only choked Danny. There was nothing he could say for himself. There were very few things children could control about their lives. But when they found the means and the opportunity to seize that power— the lines got blurred. They often forget the consequences. Danny wanted to excuse these lapses in his judgment as something all teenagers go through, but the deceased sophomore decided to stop being ordinary the moment he zipped that jumpsuit on. His choices are what led him here now. His choices . Danny's decisions he forged from bitterness and injustice. What could he say? What could he say that allowed him to be the objective and righteous hero at the end of it all? What was he supposed to say?

"You have no right to—" How was Danny supposed to explain away the resemblance between these 'accidents' and the passing amusements that Fenton had to entertain himself with? I don't like the person I become when I get scared.

"... Look, man, I don't even know who you are! So, just le—"

The stranger did not like that. It was the first thing Danny said that wasn't an outright lie. As soon as those words hit his ears, his face dropped— his eyes— Danny had never seen eyes like that. Intense and burning. The whites of his eyes were fractured with lines of irritated red. He twitched. Shoulders falling, his neck unnaturally popped to one side. Freckles was taken aback, "Ex-Excuse me?"

He balked at the younger Fenton in complete abhorrence. Like the guy had dropped entirely all pretenses that he was talking to a human being. His mouth fell open in shock only to snap shut into a stern, flat scowl that creased his chin.

"I said—I don't even know who you—"

Hands found their way around Danny's shirt collar, snapping off his sentence at the jugular. The grip was unbreakable. Freckles dragged him closer, much to the other's protest. Dragged him close enough to see those feral emerald eyes. Those unsettling green eyes that so many spirits had. But this anger— this rage was pure flesh and bone. Danny could feel the pulse in the hands around his throat— and how his blood boiled just beyond his skin.

The sophomore in the hoodie cocked his head, "I'm Wes Weston."

Weston? That name was scrawled across the lower thirds of a news broadcast nearly a year ago. The fire. The second fire. The haunted house. Dash just kept pushing down; there was no way Danny could win— he had to— Danny had to summon the Fright Knight.

Wes' tongue clicked against his teeth dryly as he whispered hoarsely, " And you killed my brother. "

"Wh—What—?"

There wasn't even a chance for Danny to deny it. There was no opportunity for Danny to make a play for sympathy or even hesitation.

The ground shifted underneath him. His feet left the curb, and suddenly, his back hit the asphalt. The disorientation from the fall was worse than any pain from it. There was a burst of light, then several more flashes of pure white light. Using his hand only did so much to block the harsh glare; it filtered through his fingers. It only obfuscated his vision further. Danny heard the rapid shutter click of a camera—

He's taking pictures of me?

As Danny got to his knees, his eyes still plastered with stars. The ghost boy's undead heart shuddering staccato beats in time with his throbbing head. The bare minimum of adrenaline kept his momentum going. A plan was just out of Fenton's reach, but this act could not go unanswered—

Just as suddenly as vengeful neon green technicolor tears sprouted on the corpse's cheeks, He could hear the squeal of tires swerving. Hazy yellow headlights bathed Danny in a new source of seraphic blindness. He turned his head— a car was hydroplaning just in front of him. The brakes had given out. Two-thousand pounds of metal careening through a construction zone was about to render his body an unrecognizable amalgamation of limbs and viscera. There were tell-tale ways a human being could react to split-second situations like these— Fight, Flight, Freeze.

And in instances like these, Danny Fenton didn't have to choose.

A car collided with another in the turn lane. It swerved to avoid a pedestrian who had fallen into the road. Both drivers and the passenger were unscathed, say for minor whiplash.

As for that pedestrian…

Well, you can't kill what was never truly alive.

Most of the damage was surface level. It didn't negate the terror of it all. The engines mashed together and broken shards of windshield littered the ground. A hubcap bounced away from the wreckage.

Drawn in by the distinct torturous sound of metal peeling against metal, the A-listers circled back. The cars tangled together, leaking fluid into the cracks of the asphalt— other cars were just lucky enough to miss the crash. Careful but just barely. Bright crimson hazard lights began to flicker in the rapidly dimming daylight. One of the vehicles was emitting smoke, white smoke that tangled with the dancing fog held aloft by the rain.

Volunteering to relay the information to the proper authorities, Star was the first to produce her cell phone from her pocket. Kwan was ready to take off to see what help he could lend before the first responders arrived.

Though that was quickly put on hold.

What was infinitely more pressing was Wes pinning Danny Fenton down by the throat against the curve of the curb. Wes was putting his entire weight on the ghost boy. Squeezing the breath out of him with both hands. The top of Danny's hair was submerged in the runoff stream for the storm drain just beside them on the road. The water rushed with the near biblical downpour they had found themselves in.

Croaking, the younger Fenton gazed at the arrival of his cavalry, " HE—HELP! "

Jazz was the first to tear off from the group like a bullet from a gun. She pried Weston off her brother, sending the ex-jock back into a chain link fence bordering an undeveloped piece of dirt.

Palms scratched the concrete, Wes only needed a second to recover before he was on the offensive again. He scrambled for another opening. He let out a near animalistic shriek, " WHY WON'T YOU FUCKING DIE?! "

Dash tackled the ginger to the ground. Though Wes struggled against him every step of the way, attempting to get his hands free so he could find his hold on Danny's neck once more. Looping his arms around the back of the photographer's head, Baxter held Weston in a full nelson.

Stepping forward now, Kwan's intention was merely to keep the pair separated until he could get to the bottom of it all. He shielded that monster. He had the gall to ask Weston, "What the hell do you think you're doin'?!"

"He— He push-pushed me in front of—!" Danny pointed, still clinging to his sister as though she was the highest peak in a flood, "He's try-trying to kill me! He's crazy!"

Roaring with laughter, Wes thrashed against Dash's hold on him, "C'mon! Show them! Show them what you can do— You freak!"

" ¡Qué demonios estás haciendo?! " Paulina's blade-like voice cut above everyone else's—it was only natural; she was the leader, after all. She corrected herself, "What the hell is the matter with you— are you possessed?!"

Making her approach to Danny and Jazz. She got to her knees, and Sanchez looked him over for injuries. She brushed his bangs from his face, "The Fentons have done nothing but help since we've become Final Destination !"

" Oíste? They haven't done anything to hurt anyone!" Adamant as bedrock, Sanchez snapped at Weston.

This made Wes visibly sickened, "Oh, please— he's faking it!" He murmured under his breath, "Crocodile tears an' shit…"

Nearly spitting, the suspect declared, "The only reason he's not a Fenton Flapjack right now, is because the car went through him—"

"Oh my god—" Swiping his face clean of the rain, Kwan yelled over the noise, "You still believe Danny is the Phantom ?"

"GRAH! You're not listening to me!" The photographer was running out of rope now. The flock was turning on him.

"Danny Fenton is why everything is so fucked up around here! He's been pitting us against each other, so this exact situation would happen."

"He's been playing us all from the start!" He fought to bark an order at the quarterback, "Take a look at my camera; then you'll see!"

Their attention was called to the strap around the ex-jock's neck. His camera rattled against his birdcage chest. Weston stopped moving long enough for Dash to hesitantly release him.

The quarterback held out his hand. Everyone was suspicious- suspicious of Dash to even extend this chance in the first place. This court was ruled by majority opinion, it seemed.

"You can't seriously believe this asshole, right?!" Danny snapped—

Just as flabbergasted, Jasmine sharply exclaimed, "Dash, you've got to be kidding me!"

The quarterback didn't offer any explanation, demanding only silence, "I can't think with everyone talking at once!"

As he adjusted his jacket and clothes, Wes thrust the Nikon into the quarterback's stomach. It nearly punched the remaining wind out of him. But diligently, Dash dug his thumb into the button. Flipping through image after image, Baxter constructed a timeline of events.

It was no secret that Danny didn't understand people. He never attempted to. He knew perfectly what people were capable of. They were capricious, petty, violent, and so small-minded- that's all humans were- They didn't have the potential Danny had. They just didn't evolve like the younger Fenton did.

However, that did not change the way his stomach lurched innately. Daniel did not like the emerging expression on Dash's face. It was such a juvenile feeling, like getting caught drawing on the wall and trying to hide the stains on your palms. It wasn't guilt the ghost boy felt clawing at the back of his brain stem— it was the feeling of those marked walls closing in around him. That familiar claustrophobia. Like being back in the portal. At the mercy of a camera's testimonial.

Paulina and Kwan exchanged whispers— "This is such horse shit." "There's no way."

"Dash, you believe me… right ?" Wes pleaded. He wasn't asking for approval but redemption. He was asking like it would save him from the ledge he was teetering from. His arms crossed over his chest not in smug superiority but in the desire to be as small as possible. Wes was asking for the impossible. He was asking for a leap of faith.

The wind tore through the road, nearly making the rain pelt sideways. There were sirens in the distance. They were approaching the scene in a matter of minutes.

" This doesn't make any sense… " The blond trailed off. From the top, he started the cycle of shots again. His brows knitted in the center. He pressed the button as if the answer would present itself with a neon sign.

His expression went from perplexed to… cold. Very cold.

Trembling, Dash ground his teeth. His cloudy blue eyes narrowed at the screen. Dash wasn't sure how to accept the information. Then that skeptical gaze flitted to the younger Fenton. The tide was shifting—

Desperate diseases call for desperate remedies.

It was an act of self-preservation. The ghost couldn't allow the quarterback to think. That's what Danny told himself.

It was the subtlest of gestures. Knuckles whitened with the strong grasp on his sister's forearm; Danny closed his blue eyes and awakened that wicked green glare. The ghost exercised his fading control on his puppet.

Rain splattered on the screen in Dash's idleness. It didn't even appear that the jock was breathing. As he stared at the Fentons, unreadable and unfocused. Baxter was still, still as a cadaver.

"Dash?" Wes blinked—

The quarterback swallowed. He would never have a chance to utter anything to condemn the ghost among them. He would never have the opportunity to speak and put the final nail in the coffin of Danny Fenton.

It didn't matter what Dash saw or what he thought he saw in a small town like this— it was about appearances. They were shallow little things, easily distracted by whatever shiny object caught their attention. When the insects began to gather, that threatened the ghost boy the most. When a group became a mob.

He would not allow himself to be overwhelmed by ants.

It was easy to break someone like Dash Baxter. Danny had done it so many times he had gotten it down to a fine art.

Yes, admittedly, this probably wasn't the healthiest way to cope with the half-dead situation — but since when are stories about healthy people? Danny wanted to be alive again; this was just the methadone replacement for it. Being in the shoes of someone like, say, his teachers or one of his friends was the imitation crab of the human experience. Dash—? Dash Baxter, on the other hand… well, he still had his youth to enjoy. He was wasting it, in the Phantom's humble opinion. The dead teen couldn't tell you how he felt— perhaps euphoric ? Cathartic ? The exact words were just out of his reach. There was nothing to describe it, but in essence, it was everything all at once. It was a synecdoche. An argument of semantics.

See, it was at this point where his friends would roll their eyes and say this was the kind of talk that would lead Fenton to carve off people's faces and wear them as Halloween masks. Danny would laugh, of course. Danny Fenton wasn't capable of anything like that. ' Why, I couldn't hurt a fly!'

Silently, the ghost boy telegraphed the order.

Dropping the camera on the pavement— it clattered sharply against the ground. The lens cracked.

Paying a glance to this… new obstacle, Danny concluded that the photographer would learn his place soon enough. The Phantom would happily facilitate this lesson again if the occasion arose.

"Dash!" Wes lunged toward Baxter, only for Kwan to be the next to collect him from his outburst. Being held back by his elbows, the ex-jock screamed at the top of his lungs, " Goddammit! "

Picking up his foot, 'Dash' brought it down on the plastic shell of the device. Repeatedly .

" DASH! STOP! PLEASE! LISTEN TO ME!" Wes was screaming until his voice was raw.

Kwan struggled to keep his arms on Wes. The grip kept breaking; eventually, the linebacker resorted to bracing the ginger and effectively pinning him to the ground.

Wes could care less that the porous surface of the rock was cutting into his chin and throat— He still kept roaring protest. Choking on sobs and snot, Wes refused to go unheard, "WHY AREN'T YOU LISTENING!? THE FENTONS— THE FENTONS ARE EVIL!"

It was as if the quarterback was stuffed with cotton. Dash didn't say anything. Replaced with a superior copy. Don't worry about him.

Dash wouldn't remember today. And even if he did, he would write it all off as a bad dream.

"PLEASE!"

Just a bad dream.

The group was like dominoes. They collapsed against each other in a huge spectacle.

Just like that, they fell apart.

Helping her brother up, Jazz ushered him along.

And they all left Weston there.

They left Wes picking up the pieces of his camera. Alone.