Thank you for the reviews! They keep me going.
Special thanks to my betas, Kim at and TacoPanda.
.
.
.
Chapter 124:
.
The ship that sailed out of Elysium was definitely a warship. Many ghosts rode it, decked out as warriors and sailors, or just as their own sublimely threatening selves. Many others flew alongside it, escorting it, and guarding its less-protected flanks and underside.
That did not, in Sam's opinion, bode well for Danny. Pandora said that the place Danny was in was a truce zone, and therefore just as peaceful as Christmastide, but considering that Danny's first Christmas as a ghost had him fighting the GIW, and the second, the one where he had learned of the Christmas truce, had him fighting Ghost Writer... Well. Danny had always had bad luck. Even worse luck than Tucker, if she was being honest. It got ridiculous, sometimes.
Against the counsel of just about everyone, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker were on the ship. Perhaps it was a symptom of increasing liminality, of emerging pseudo-Obsessions, but they all agreed that they needed to get to Danny as quickly as possible. Danny looked fragile in Sam's pictures, ready to crack, ready to break.
The way Dr Iceclaw and Pandora's physician, Aglaea Aeclepiada, frowned over the pictures didn't inspire great confidence, either. The doctors had taken off to their own room to prepare as soon as the ship took off, and had brought along a frighteningly large amount of equipment.
At this point, Sam was so worried that she was stress eating. She hadn't done that since Paulina had called her fat in eighth grade (An eye twitched over that memory. She still hadn't forgiven Paulina for that fight, if she was being honest.). At least Elysium didn't have too many sugary things on hand. Everything sweet was flavored with honey or fruit. Ugh. And now she was worrying about her weight. She was as shallow as Paulina. Great. Just disgusting.
"You three should stay below deck," said Pandora. "This section of the Ghost Zone is even more dangerous than the wastes."
.
.
.
Danny was on his hands and knees, breathing hard, a hand pressed to his chest. Something was wrong. He couldn't take this. He couldn't do this.
Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the other ghosts and half-ghosts in similar, but not quite so extreme, positions of pain. Usually, this floor was skipped. Bypassed. Avoided. But they couldn't take the risk that they'd be jumped by assassins as soon as they left. Thank the Ancients the cloud-and-eyes ghost had warned him about this floor.
Apparently this floor hadn't ever worked properly. Forcing a ghost core to change temperature was somehow more difficult than giving someone an entire false history, and the attempt had damaged the floors above as well.
It hurt. It hurt a lot. Danny's core could handle higher temperatures than the typical cold core, as it needed to deal with his human body temperature, but it couldn't deal with anything much higher – and that was the ambient, surrounding temperature, not the temperature of the core itself. Not to mention the damage it had already suffered, and the internal temperature his human body was used to.
He could feel his blood run hot, his skin flush painfully, his organs burn.
"H-Hey!" said Valerie, clearly alarmed. "What's happening? What does this floor do?"
"No one knows," said Ellie, her voice wobbling. "It's broken." Danny wanted to reach out to her. Help her. She was clearly in pain, clearly suffering as much as he was. But he couldn't move.
He felt his core grow hotter as Vlad approached, warning him. He hissed, the only real response available, but Vlad picked him up anyway, and Vlad was nice and cool.
"We have to hurry," said Vlad, his deep voice strained. They were already walking forward. "We can't stay on this floor for long."
"But- Hey! What's wrong with him?" said Valerie, footfalls indicating that she (or maybe someone else?) was running after Vlad.
Danny moaned, and curled closer to the source of cold. He was fading in and out. He already couldn't see. He had read somewhere that high fevers could do that. Or had he seen it in a documentary? He couldn't remember.
Vlad was cursing. His 'swear words' were getting progressively more sugary, progressively more decadent. Danny would be laughing, but he was far too exhausted, and his lungs weren't working properly anyway.
Quite suddenly, Danny's core was cold again, and Vlad was hot, and Danny was pushing away, keening at a pitch that really shouldn't have been possible for humans. He curled up, trying to stay cold.
.
.
.
About half of the humans clapped their hands over their ears, and the ghosts, including those who had already been on this floor, whispered urgently among themselves. This, Mikey thought, was the most hesitant that he had ever seen ghosts. They approached almost gingerly.
(Except for the ghost dog, Cujo, who was standing guard over Danny, yipping.)
How was Danny making that sound? And why were the ghosts reacting like this? The ghosts who had already been on the floor almost seemed angry.
The two groups of ghosts spouted nonsense at each other, with Ellie and the Wisconsin ghost, (who had, unbelievably, wound up turning into Mayor Masters) refereeing. They seemed to come to an agreement and converged on Danny like a bunch of zombies on a downed apocalypse survivor.
"What is happening?" asked Mikey, horrified and bewildered. "And what color is that?" He asked, jabbing a finger at the brightly painted floor.
A ghost near Mikey, an art critic in a turtle neck sweater and cracked glasses, sniffed, and regarded him with his one eye.
"It's yllyyemiboparuna," he said, somehow communicating the fact that he thought Mikey was an uneducated philistine. "As for what's going on, there are few reasonable people who would ignore a child's cry for help, hm?"
"What are you talking about?" asked Ricky, fingers jammed in his ears.
"A child," repeated the critic. He rolled his eyes. "This is the sound a child makes when they are... overwhelmed, completely. It is a call." The ghost's accent (French?) twanged unpleasantly against Mikey's eardrums. "Like when a human baby cries, or a kitten meows. It means that something is badly wrong." Then he scoffed, and moved away.
"Great," said Mikey. He was worried about Danny, but he was a little distracted by all the colors in the room, at least half of which had never been featured in any rainbow or on any color palette that Mikey had ever seen. They were making his brain itch.
"I think I'm going to be sick," announced Sarah.
"Same," said Star, hoarsely. "What is that?"
"I don't know," said Hannah. "Maybe this floor just has... Extra colors. I always knew there were extra colors. Frickin' shrimp..."
.
.
.
"Excuse me," said one of the ghosts. Danny could tell it was a ghost, probably a woman, by the way their voice echoed. "Excuse me! I'm a doctor! Let me through!"
"What kind of doctor?" asked Vlad, a sneer in his voice.
"The kind who built this place," sneered the ghost right back. "I've been keeping track of reactions to the floors for decades, and I've been trying to catch up with you lot for a dozen floors at least. Let me by."
"And let you cut him up for your experiments?" said Ellie.
"That's an uncalled for slur. No. I became a doctor to help people. Let me treat him."
"With outdated medicine?"
Silence, then babble as other ghosts protested Vlad's pronouncement on the first ghost's medicine, and his implication that being 'outdated' made something worthless. Vlad really should have chosen a different adjective to disparage the ghost with.
Sounds moved around him, and Danny found it within himself to stop keening in distress and breathe.
"I never caught your name," said the nurse, now much, much closer to Danny.
"His name is Danny," interjected Ellie.
"Mine is Prunella. Can you hear me?"
"Yes," said Danny. He gasped. "Hi," he said more quietly, feeling compelled to at least try to be polite. He groaned into the ground. He still couldn't see.
"Is it alright if I touch you?"
"Mhm," said Danny, supplementing the semi-verbal response with a tiny nod.
"Alright," said Prunella. She put a hand on his shoulder, and rubbed it in tiny circles. "Can you move?"
Danny made a sound that could be interpreted as a negative. Then, more clearly, "No."
"Alright. You," she said. "You're his sister, no?"
"Yeah," said Ellie.
"Come here, get his other side. We're going to try and flatten you out, alright?"
"Okay."
Directing Ellie, Prunella slowly flipped Danny over, and gently pushed him out of fetal position. It was difficult work, and Danny felt bad, but every time he remembered that he didn't know this person, that he was vulnerable, he seized up. But he had to remember, he forced himself to remember, that he was far from the only person who did things altruistically, who would help someone, who would help a stranger, without reward, without betrayal. He had to let himself trust.
He was laid out flat on his back, melting. He was starting to see again, though. That was a good sign. At least, Danny chose to interpret it as a good sign.
The woman put her hands on his forehead, and his body flushed with cold. He exhaled in relief, eyes fluttering.
"Thank you," he croaked.
"Don't thank me yet. I have to fix that ankle next."
