Whoo! Second chapter! throws up the horns
Disclaimer: It's not mine. Fine. Go ahead. Smirk. I shall rule the world someday. And then you shall all die. But make sure you review first!
Mr. Lancer was NOT pleased. Fifteen seconds to the bell and Mr. Fenton was nowhere to be seen. That boy had no sense of responsibility whatsoever. Not like his sister—that girl was going places.
The second hand ticked inevitably toward the twelve. Tucker and Sam exchanged glances, Sam's expression triumphant, Tucker's a sad display of desperation. He had five bucks riding on Danny arriving within five seconds of the bell, Sam, five seconds after.
Ten seconds to the bell.
Tucker leaned forward in his seat, his eyes glued to the door as the clock ticked inevitably onward. A mantra of "come on Danny" echoed in his head and he strained against the confines of his desk as if pushing his friend on. He had one second left not to let him down.
The bell rang and Tucker's head hit the desk like a ton of bricks. He held up the $5 in a limp hand, a green surrender flag flapping sadly in a wind of broken dreams.
Sam smirked and reached for the prize money, waiting for Danny to burst in at any moment.
Her hand stopped its ominous ascent onto the defenseless money, and she frowned at the clock. Six seconds and no Danny. Seven seconds and Tucker lifted his head to incredulously stare first at the clock, then to Danny's empty seat. Suddenly he grinned.
"You lose," he said, moving to put the money back in his wallet.
Mr. Lancer plucked it out of his clutches. Tucker stared stupidly at his empty hand.
"Betting is against school rules, Mr. Foley," said Mr. Lancer sternly. "I'll see you after class."
The money disappeared into the bowels of Mr. Lancer's desk, and Tucker let out an involuntary whimper.
Sam rolled her eyes. "Give it a rest, Tucker."
"But, but," he began pathetically. "Money…my precious, precious money…"
"Mr. Lancer's precious money," corrected Sam. She saw Tucker's kicked puppy dog look. "You'll get your money back eventually. Now shut it. I'm getting worried about Danny."
They both glanced at the clock and watched as the second hand ticked past a minute. They exchanged worried glances and ignored a rather boring lecture on subjunctive verbs. Danny was often late, but it was usually the kick-in-the-pants type of late, where if he'd finished fighting just a few seconds earlier than he had, he would have made it.
The door creaked open at three minutes past, and Tucker and Sam breathed twin sighs of relief. The class glanced sleepily at the door and Mr. Lancer stopped his lecture. Time for the daily Fenton Fiasco, a form of arrival that involved bursting through doors at dangerous speeds.
The door, however, refused to burst, instead swinging wide with a creaky groan. The class looked at one another suspiciously. This was new. Tucker and Sam frowned.
But it was most definitely Danny. A quiet and leaning heavily on the door frame Danny, but Danny nonetheless. Ah well, geeks come and go as they please.
"Pleasure to have you join us, Mr. Fenton," said Lancer dryly. "Take a seat. I'll see you after class."
Danny blinked slowly as if he didn't understand, then did as he was told, dragging what felt like brick-filled limbs to his seat and sitting down heavily.
Tucker leaned forward and poked Danny in the back. "What's up? You look fried. Ghost attack this morning?"
Danny grunted in an affirmative way, head on his desk. "Yeah," he said. "Whatever." He really didn't feel like getting into it now.
Tucker raised his eyebrows. "Well someone certainly got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."
Danny grunted again.
"Eh," said Sam. "He was probably up half the night fighting ghosts." She shrugged and the look clearly said something along the lines of "Heroes. What can you do?"
Tucker shrugged back a "not a whole lot," and smirked, miming punching Danny in the back of the head.
Danny ignored the fascinatingly wordless conversation going on behind him. He was not in the mood.
By the time he'd reached the school he'd been flying at half speed. He hadn't even heard the bell ring, and then couldn't summon the energy to burst into the classroom as if he'd at least been trying to get to school on time. He felt, to be honest, undeniably weird, as though someone had stuffed his head with cotton.
Danny half-heartedly reached for notebook paper and placed it on his desk, attempting, for once in his high school career, to take notes.
It was a valiant effort, but when he couldn't find the pen that had rolled onto his lap, he gave up, head dropping onto the desk with an audible thump. Mr. Lancer frowned, but Danny was too busy staring uncomprehendingly at the wall to notice. It stretched off in weird tangents, and the class passed in a blurry haze.
"Mr. Fenton!" a voice finally barked loudly into his ear. Danny jerked up, bruising his knee once again in the process. He stared up at his teacher. "Mr. Fenton," Lancer stated again. "You are in enough trouble as it is. Does my class bore you?"
"Yeah…" replied Danny blearily. Behind him the class sniggered into their hands.
"Great Expectations!" thundered Mr. Lancer. "Detention!"
Danny opened his mouth to argue when his head pounded sharply and Mr. Lancer tilted crazily to the side. He realized, with a sudden thrill of horror, that he really, really needed to get out of there.
He jumped to his feet and very nearly into a startled Mr. Lancer and tried to sprint for the door. He tripped over his bag and sprawled onto the floor.
The class laughed openly and enjoyed the value of good geek entertainment. Sam and Tucker stared at each other. Had Danny's ghost sense gone off? Sam sighed. Go figure that he would effectively botch his exit by tripping over his own backpack. Tucker sighed as well. Go figure that he would miss an opportunity to document his friend's botched attempt at an exit after tripping over his own backpack.
Mr. Lancer looked outraged. Usually the boy had at least some form of excuse before tearing out of his class.
Danny, on the other hand, wasn't interested in anyone else's opinion. He had to get out of there, and NOW. Danny got back on his knees, but it was too late. His stomach gave a terrific heave and he clamped a hand over his mouth, too busy trying to note puke all over Mr. Lancer's floor to hear the amused laughter behind him turn to sounds of startled disgust.
"Ugh, gross," cried Dash, horrified. "I don't wanna' see what Fentino eats…"
"Shut it," snapped Sam angrily. She rushed to Danny's side. "Danny? You okay…?" Danny brushed away her hand and scrambled to his feet, racing for the bathroom.
Tucker raised his eyebrows. "Uh, good question, Sam," he said, gesturing towards the door.
"Sorry," she said sarcastically. "It's standard."
"Isn't it always," he replied with a humorless smile.
"Tucker," broke in Lancer. "Make sure he hasn't run into a locker and killed himself."
Tucker didn't argue, just raced after his friend. Sam stood to follow.
"I don't think so, young lady. Nothing good ever happens when you three all skip my class simultaneously."
Sam sent him a dirty look but dropped sulkily back into her chair.
There were no Danny-sized dents in the lockers, so Tucker thanked his, and Danny's, lucky stars as he hurried into the boy's bathroom.
"Danny…?" he asked. "Are you in…?"
The sound of Danny heaving himself dry into the toilet reached Tucker's ears and his question died in his mouth. Take that as a rather disgusting yes.
"Geez, Danny. You wanna' keep some of your organs inside your body?"
Danny tried to scramble to his feet, but halfway there discovered that he wasn't done by a long shot.
Tucker grimaced. NOT a sound you want to hear as a general rule, and especially not this early after breakfast.
The toilet finally flushed and Danny emerged looking considerably greener than usual, disregarding the wonders of ectoplasm. Tucker's look of "eeewwwwww" changed instantly to concerned worry for his friend.
"Man," he said. "You look like crap."
Danny, who had stumbled over to the sink and was rinsing out his mouth, looked up into the mirror at Tucker. "Thanks," he said dryly. "Thanks a whole ton."
"Hey," said Tucker, thumbs up and smiling. "I'm here for you."
Danny groaned, and it was unclear if it was because of his stomach, or because of the techno geek's less than heartening words.
"Well," said Tucker. "You've effectively gotten us out of class for five minutes. Not to mention with a valid excuse. We should probably go before Mr. Lancer sends out search parties."
"Fine," said Danny. "Sounds good." He took a step and ran into the sink.
Tucker grabbed his arm to keep him from falling to the floor. "You sure you shouldn't just go home?" he asked, worried.
"Nah," said Danny, trying to bat away Tucker's hand and missing. "I feel a lot better."
"Fine," said Tucker, releasing Danny in an annoyed manner. If Danny wanted to pretend he was fine, he could go ahead. But he certainly wasn't in the mood to play his retarded game.
Danny smiled as if it would somehow make Tucker believe him, and promptly ran into the door.
Idiot.
Tucker rolled his eyes and walked toward the door, but Danny had managed to open it after a few attempts. He chuckled unconvincingly. "Eh, heh heh, guess I should look where I'm going, huh?"
"Sure Danny," said Tuck as they walked back to class.
Mr. Lancer frowned darkly at the door. Maybe he should send out a search party. They had been gone for seven minutes. Adolescent boys were dangerous when left without supervision for periods longer than 30 seconds.
Still, the English lesson must go on. He'd turned back to his lecture notes when the door swung open at last. Tucker walked in quickly, Danny following in a slow, stumbling gait. They dropped into their seats, Danny hiding his head in his hands at the thought of the class seeing him nearly barf into his hands only minutes before.
Mr. Lancer didn't bother stopping the lesson. Danny was paler than normal but quite a bit less green, so he imagined (and the imagery wasn't pretty) that he'd taken care of it in the bathroom.
Sam leaned toward Tucker, eyeing Danny. "What happened?" she whispered.
"Threw up about half his internal organs. Said he's 'fine'." Tucker emphasized the point with air quotes.
"Surprise, surprise," Sam replied. "And stupid, as usual."
Danny decided they'd said enough. "I threw up, guys. I'm not deaf." Sam could see him blushing furiously through the gaps in his arms. She patted his knee sympathetically.
"Good to hear something's working, anyways."
The bell rang just in time to cut off a peeved Mr. Lancers call of "Detention!" at the whispering trio. Sam, however, spotted the tell-tale look on his face and rushed out the class before he could repeat himself.
"Byeguysmeetyouinthehall!"
Tucker looked taken aback. He peered at his watch and seemed impressed. "Well that has to be a record. Where is she off to in such a hurry?"
"Mr. Foley, Mr. Fenton, come to my desk."
Tucker winced. "Ah. Never mind."
They walked slowly toward Mr. Lancer as the rest of the room emptied of their classmates. Tucker looked toward the door that Sam had disappeared out of. Traitor.
"Mr. Foley," began Lancer, pulling Tucker's attention back to him. He pulled the $5 from his desk. "Betting is against school rules. Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to confiscate your money." Tucker began to look hopeful. "So you'll be getting it back…" Tucker reached his hand forward "…in Detention. You may go." Tucker's face fell, but it didn't stop him from making good his escape.
"Mr. Fenton," Lancer said, turning on Danny. He dragged his gaze toward Mr. Lancer with some difficulty. "Late again. You're lack of responsibility is astounding." He started lecturing on the importance of punctuality and the value of good education, but Danny was too busy watching the fascinating way that Mr. Lancer faded in and out of focus to hear any of it. He swayed slightly on his feet, but Mr. Lancer was too focused on looking stern to notice.
"Detention!" he finished at last, "and I hope that will teach you to leave earlier for school."
Danny didn't respond. Mr. Lancer glared at him. "Detention, Mr. Fenton. Would you like to make it a weeks-worth?"
Danny forced his eyes to focus. "Uh, right, detention. I'll come on time," he repeated woozily.
Mr. Lancer pointed toward the door and Danny took the hint. He went for the exit, fumbled with the door knob, then managed to open it and leave.
Mr. Lancer sighed heavily. What had gotten into that boy?
Tucker and Sam stood outside the door, waiting for Danny to emerge. They hated to admit it, but he was really freaking them out this time.
Their elusive friend finally appeared, stumbling through the normally innocent door.
"Uh," said Tucker, staring at Danny. "So, you, uh, get detention?"
"Oh, I'm fine," replied Danny. "I'm feeling perfec'ly alright, thanks for asking."
Tucker and Sam exchanged looks, eyebrows raised impossibly high.
"Uh-huh," said Tucker. "So, detention? Yeah, that sucks man."
"Wha'? Oh! I mean, yeah, hate detention."
Sam looked into Danny's face, worry obvious in her violet eyes. "Danny. Are you sure you're alright?"
"What're you talkin' 'bout?" asked Danny. "I feel fine!"
Should've known. Stupid heroics. She wasn't about to argue with him if he insisted on being a moron. "Fine. Whatever Danny." She and Tucker walked off, Danny trailing in their wake.
It didn't take long for the usual argument to start. Tucker, of course, was hungry and wanted a hamburger. Sam was horrified.
"You know that's disgusting, don't you?"
"Just because I enjoy the wonders of meat doesn't mean you get to condemn my food choices."
"You're just insensitive to nature!"
"I'm not insensitive! I enjoy nature all the time!"
"By eating it!"
"How else do you enjoy it?"
"ARGH!" she snarled out. "Tucker! That's just…Danny! Back me up here!" There was no response. "Danny…?"
They looked back and saw Danny several feet behind them, each foot staggering over the other and one hand grasping vaguely at the wall, trying desperately to navigate the swirling hall without falling or walking into the floor. His eyes were locked on the floor in front of him in perturbed concentration, a glassy stare that didn't seem to be helping him walk straight.
Okay, so this was probably worse than they'd suspected.
They rushed to his side, argument forgotten, as he doggedly continued his somewhat forward movement.
"Danny! Danny!" Sam half-shouted. "What happened?"
He lifted his head unsteadily and his glazed eyes attempted to get them in focus. Finally he frowned. "Tuck? Sam? What're you guys doin' 'ere?" he slurred.
Sam looked at Tucker. "So not cool."
Tucker tried this time. "Danny? Come on, man. Who did this to you?"
Danny's head wobbled forward and he jerked it back up. "Mis'er Lancer likes ta' give detenshion."
Tucker slapped a hand to his head, frustrated and concerned. Sam grabbed Danny's shoulders and whirled him so that he was directly facing her. "Danny," she said forcefully. "Who did this?"
Danny finally stopped trying to walk forward and he looked at Sam seriously. He swayed on his feet.
"The man!" he said, pointing down the hall as though this mysterious person were walking up it. "The man wi' the big hat!" His knees buckled and it was fortunate that Tucker and Sam were already on either side of him, for they caught him beneath the armpits as he fell and were able to hold him up. Tucker looked at Sam over the arm Danny was still pointing limply down the hall.
"You know," said Tucker. "I think I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that he's delusional."
Sam shot Tucker an annoyed look. "Thank you Captain Obvious. Let's get him to the nurse's office." She turned here gaze from Tucker to Danny and her peevishness melted instantly into worry. "Danny?" she asked. "Danny, we're going to the nurse."
He frowned at her, consternation written clearly across his face. "Nurse? R'you sick?"
Sam opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it. "Yes, Danny. I'm very sick and I need you to help me get to the nurse. Think you can walk on your own?"
Danny lifted his head to smile up at her. "Anythin' for you, Sam," he replied, then attempted to stand, completely oblivious to the spectacular blush he'd gotten out of his female friend.
Tucker smirked. Way to go Casanova.
With a little help Danny was back on his feet and weaving unsteadily toward his locker. Tucker and Sam followed as close as they could without becoming obstacles themselves in his trek down the treacherous hallway.
They were nearly there when Danny's legs decided to give way for a second time. He was falling for the floor when Tucker and Sam caught him again. Danny groaned, slipping forward, and Tucker grabbed him around the stomach before he could completely collapse.
"Are we going to make it?" he gasped out, tired from trying to hold up Danny. As much of a lightweight as he was, neither Tucker nor Sam would ever be guilty of excessive upper body strength.
"Uh," replied Sam, "I see his locker. We'll stop there for a second."
Tucker felt the hand holding Danny growing wet. He frowned. Was Danny sweating that much? One look at Danny's face told him all he needed to know. "Sam," he said urgently, "Feel Danny's forehead."
She caught the urgency in Tucker's voice and for once didn't stop to argue. Her eyes widened as she placed a hand on his forehead. "He's burning up!"
"Thought so," mumbled Tucker, slipping Danny's arm over his shoulder to better support him. "I could feel the sweat running down his…" he stopped and stared wide-eyed at the hand he'd pulled away from Danny's stomach.
"I don't think this is a good sign."
He heard Sam's horrified gasp.
Tucker's hand was smeared with blood. He looked at Danny's shirt, and sure enough, a red stain was already growing on the white cloth where Tucker had been supporting him.
"Well this just gets better and better."
Sam whacked him, apparently not horrified enough to let Tucker get away with another retarded observation.
They propped him up against the lockers, needing a breather before continuing to the nurse. Danny slid to the floor. Tucker made a half-hearted gesture as though he were going to lift him back up, but Sam waved him off. He'd just slide down again.
Danny tilted his head up and saw that he was leaning against his locker. He reached a hand up and pulled himself up by the handle, legs and arms shaking as though he'd just run a mile. He leaned wearily against the cool metal and twirled the lock. It swung open with a resounding click.
"Guys?" he asked blearily. Tucker and Sam looked up from where they were trying to regain their breaths for the final haul. "Whadda' we have nex'? Math?"
Tucker swept an arm generously toward Danny and Sam rolled her eyes. "Thanks a lot, Tuck. Want me to explain to him why we're not going to math?"
Tucker gave her the thumbs up sign and she frowned in a threatening manner as though he were about to get the lecture of a lifetime when another voice boomed through the air, effectively cutting her off.
"Danny Phantom. I'm searching for Danny Phantom. He must be killed."
Tucker and Sam looked at each other with wide-eyes. Behind them Danny giggled. "Look, guys," he said. "Man wi' a big hat."
Lord Spook-A-Lot had come to Casper High.
Reviews make my head go around in happy whirls! Thank you so much! I was ecstatic just to see that I'd had so many hits. Speaking of reviews...
Lateraina Wolf : First I nearly died (in a good way)when I saw how long that review was. Then, when I realized that I actually recognized the author nameand adored her stories something inside me snapped. I spent the next 15 minutes running around my room in circles, nearly killing my roomie in the process. She will thank you for never reviewing again, and I will thank you for literally making my day. And you can ignore my roomie. She may die, but it is a price I'm willing to pay.
Sevkitty : Boo-ya!My villain is show-worthy. I will keep you in my thoughts, and when I am finally ruler of the world, the Sevkitty shall be exalted high above the heavens.
Mina-chan AMD, purpledog100, and Sela-chan : This one's for you. Hope you enjoyed the Danny torture :).
Aaaannd the next update. Unfortunately because of some up and coming tests and work I've been putting off for far too long, the next chapter will be up in two weeks. For sure no later, and quite probably not earlier. Pop around, and maybe, somehow, Danny will get out of his predicament.
Perhaps.