Author's Note: Jack is definitely a hothead, huh? :b

Litastic/Chintastic pitched one of the jokes here. I'm actually not funny at all.

(after being) Condemned

The bleating of his morning alarm hurt so much. Every note sank deep into his head and behind his eyes and through his sinus cavity and yanked on all his nerve endings.

Danny reached over to his bedside table and blindly felt around for his alarm clock. He couldn't open his eyes: The light coming in through his closed blinds was painful enough as it filtered through his eyelids. No way he wouldn't pass out if it hit his eyes directly and he couldn't pass out because he had to get UP and go to school.

His arm fumbled and flopped and then he heard the distinctive thud of his clock falling to the floor, its speaker muffled against the carpet. He groaned. Now he'd have to work up the strength to actually get out of bed to make this horrible skull-drilling noise cease.

"Danny?" His sister's voice from his doorway. "Is that your alarm going off?"

Danny kept his eyes closed and waved a weak hand in her direction. "Yeah, sorry. I'll turn it off in a minute," he said. Or at least he thought he said it. It was what he meant to say, anyway, but his whole mouth felt slick and full.

Jazz's footsteps approached his bed. Danny cracked his eyes open with a wince to find her bending down to pick up his clock and shut off the alarm. She then placed it back on his nightstand. "That was getting really annoying."

She stood over him with her hands on her hips. Danny opened his eyes a little more, a small tear trailing down his face onto the bed.

"You don't look so good, Danny." Jazz frowned. "Your eyes are all red. Are you sick?" She placed a hand to his forehead.

Danny pushed her hand away and used his elbows to raise himself into a sitting position. "Yeah, I'm fine. Really. Just didn't get as much sleep as I wanted."

"What? You're mumbling. I didn't catch that."

Danny covered his face with his hand. His head felt so heavy and swimmy and all he wanted was to lie down again. "I said I'm fine," he articulated carefully. "I just had trouble sleeping."

Jazz cocked her head, her bottom lip protruding. "Did you go out ghost fighting last night?"

"No, Jazz," said Danny more forcefully. "I need to shower. Can you go now?"

Jazz stared at him a little longer before turning to leave his room. She halted by his door.

"There are some eye drops in our bathroom cabinet," she said in a sober hush before disappearing into the hall.

Danny waited until he was sure she was definitely gone before lowering himself back onto his mattress and pulling his blanket over his head.

He had told her he was tired. That was not a lie. There was so much drowsiness settled behind his eyes. But he had also told her he had not slept much, and that was absolutely one hundred percent a lie. He had definitely slept. He had slept hard.

With some help.

After his dad came into his room and closed the two of them in and berated him for daring to confess hidden feelings to his mother, he knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again on his own. He popped one pill and then a second but managed to stop himself from downing a third.

But now his head hurt again and his eyes felt so dry and puffy and his arms and legs felt so stiff and heavy.

With a labored groan, Danny threw off his blanket and hoisted himself onto his feet. After finding his center of balance and stretching his aching back, he stumbled out of his room toward the bathroom he shared with Jazz. In only the natural light coming in through the small window, he leaned over the sink toward the mirror and stared into his bloody eyes rimmed with swollen ducts.

He couldn't let his mom see him like this.

He located the eye drops in the bathroom cabinet and tilted his head back, applying a couple drops to each eye. He blinked and brushed away the excess moisture with his fingers.

He studied his eyes again. Completely betraying all his secret feelings and habits.

He had forgotten just how much he hated looking at himself.

Back in his room after showering, Danny tried cracking the blinds open just a little and could only squint against the invasive brightness and resulting headache.

But he was going to have to join everyone in the kitchen eventually. The very bright kitchen.

With a moan and a brace, Danny opened his blinds entirely, a fresh stream of tears leaving each eye as he rapidly blinked and massaged his pulsating temples. All right, okay, this wasn't so terrible. This wasn't as bad as he thought.

He gazed at his bed.

God if he could just go back to sleep in the dark.

But at least his eyes looked much clearer now, clear enough that all the broken blood vessels probably wouldn't even be noticeable unless his mother stared right at them. He'd just have to avoid making eye contact with her for too long.

And his father—

Danny's nerves caught fire and flooded his heart.

He looked over at the wall behind which he hid all of his contraband including his narcotics. He seemed to always be looking at this wall now, a familiar habit, a nervous twitch.

He had already taken two pills just a little less than seven hours ago.

The half-life of hydrocodone was about four hours.

So…

He definitely needed to take another if he wanted to get through the day, if he wanted to keep it together when he had to face his father again.

Even without water, the pill went down without a hitch. Dry swallowing was not a problem for Danny anymore. Gather enough saliva first, pop in the pill, tilt and coax it down. Easy.

He forlornly gazed at the nearly empty bottle in his hand. Just a few pills left.

He was going to have to ask Sam to steal some more from her parents.

After hiding the narcotics behind his wall again and checking his reflection one final time, he headed out into the hall. But not before grabbing his sunglasses from off his dresser and hooking them into the collar of his shirt.

The light outside of his room was even brighter and more painful. Danny leaned on the stair rail as he made his way down to the living room, his body so top-heavy he was certain he'd fall over if he let go. Downstairs at last, Danny again reminded himself how to maintain his center of balance and staggered only slightly into the kitchen.

"Hey," he said as cheerily as he could in greeting to his family. He squinted in the harsh kitchen lighting and against the filmy grease wafting on the steam rising from the stovetop. The eggy cheesy smell prickled his sinuses.

"Good morning, sweetie!" Maddie smiled at him from the stove. "I'm just about done making quiche. Go ahead and sit down."

Danny looked at her for a very quick moment, not allowing her a prolonged chance to see the blood in his eyes. He very carefully turned his head so he wouldn't topple over. The TV was playing the morning news. Jazz was sitting in her usual place at the table, her ever-studious gaze directed at him. Beside her was their father, intently watching the news report and not paying any attention to him at all.

If he just stayed completely quiet, maybe his father would never know he was here at all.

He lightly lifted each shoe as he walked, setting them down one in front of the other in gentle taps against the kitchen tile. Jack was still staring at the television screen, one huge hand holding up his chin with elbow propped on the table.

So close, almost there, just had to keep being quiet, shhhh, silent as a ghost.

Ha, ghost, that was... That was good, that was really clever of him. He could maybe laugh about it later if he remembered but right now he still needed to be super quiet.

Danny reached the table and clutched the back of his chair, leaning on it to help him reclaim balance. Jazz was studying him with eyebrows so close together they were practically a unibrow. But Jack was still not acknowledging him at all. Good. This was totally working.

His chair was pushed too far in to the table. He'd have to move it out first. He raised it off the floor, pulled it back, set it down with just a delicate thump.

Jack's cold stare turned to him sharply. Danny stared back, numb and paralyzed and not even able to breathe.

He had seen this exact look before, these exact hateful eyes glaring at him in that dark alley.

But that look had been directed at Phantom before; this was now directed at him, his son.

Why had he decided to confide in his mother? How could he have thought for even a second that that was a good idea? Why was he always making things worse for himself?

"You gonna pick that up, Danny?" asked Jack.

Danny blinked and tried to swallow the heavy coating of saliva in his mouth. He looked down. Pick that up, pick what up?

He stared at the floor, tried to make sense of what he was seeing. His chair was on its side against the tile. But when had that happened? He had set it down so carefully.

Had... Hadn't he?

"Oh, shoot. I almost forgot." Jazz abruptly stood, the legs of her chair scraping along the floor. "I'm supposed to meet one of my teachers early this morning before class. We've gotta go right now, Danny."

The muscles in front of her ears were twitching. Danny studied them curiously, focused on their pulsating pattern so that his father's visage beside her blurred.

"You have to leave?" Maddie glanced over before frowning down at her nearly finished quiche. "But Danny needs to eat first. I mean, you both need to eat first."

"We have Pop-Tarts, right? I'll just grab some." Jazz power walked to the pantry and grabbed two silver-wrapped packages of toaster pastries. One of the packs almost fell out of her hand as she zoomed over to Danny and placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing and prodding and dragging him out of the kitchen. "We'll see you guys later! Save some quiche for us when we get home if you can!"

Danny allowed Jazz to lead him through the living room and out the door and to her car parked curbside. If he tried to resist, he'd probably fall over with the effort. He had to concentrate on keeping his body upright and his shaking legs as stable as possible.

The sun was so white, so flashy, so scalding. Danny removed the sunglasses he had hooked into his shirt collar and placed them over his eyes. Jazz let go of his arm just as they reached her car. She unlocked it and walked around to the driver side, but not before giving him another of her way too familiar puzzled judgmental expressions.

He lowered himself into the passenger seat of Jazz's car and placed his backpack between his knees. He didn't remember grabbing it and yet he obviously must have because here it was.

"Seat belt, Danny," said Jazz as she buckled her own and threw the wrapped toaster pastries up on the dashboard ledge in front of him.

Danny pulled his belt over his shoulder and locked it in place. "So, um, we're going to school early so you can meet with one of your teachers?"

"No." Jazz drove the car away from the curb and onto the neighborhood street. "I just said that to get you out of there."

"Get me out of...where? The kitchen?"

Jazz sighed loudly. "The house, Danny. Away from Mom and Dad." She halted at a stop sign and looked at him. "What is going on with you? Why are you acting so weird?"

Danny shrugged. "Just tired."

"What? You're mumbling again."

Danny groaned. "I said I'm tired," he stated more slowly with raised volume.

"Really? You're tired?" Jazz turned her attention back to the road. "That's really it? That's the only explanation you're gonna give me?"

"Yeah, it's the only explanation I'm gonna give you." Danny spoke even louder, each syllable feeling very thick on his tongue. "Because it's the only explanation there is, Jazz. Okay? I'm tired. I'm tired all the—all the time, like you know that about me." His s's were lisping, his l's were yawing. "I don't even know why you bother asking how I am all the time 'cause—like—you know my answer already."

Jazz did not reply, an uncharacteristic silence. At the next intersection, she turned the car in the opposite direction of where they were supposed to go, away from Casper High.

"Hey, where—what—" Danny tried to make sense of where they were going now. Was this just another way to get to the school? Was there road construction she was avoiding? Or was he just too...er, tired to recognize that this was actually the way Jazz always went?

She pulled the car into a lot near a park. The trees surrounding the area were in full flowery bloom, and a large raft of ducks was paddling and diving in the glittery pond. Danny gazed at the view through the front car window, tinted through his sunglasses. God, he loved spring. Definitely the best season. And lying in the grass beneath a blossoming tree sounded so nice, so heavenly, could probably give him the very best sleep of his entire life.

Jazz cracked open the windows and shut off the engine. Danny turned his attention back to her.

"Wait, Jazz, why are we—"

Jazz shook her head and picked up her phone from out of the cup holder. She tapped the screen a few times before holding it to her ear. "Yes, hi, this is Maddie Fenton," she said in a lower, sultrier tone. An admittedly good imitation of their mother. "I'm calling to let you know Danny and Jazz won't be attending their first period class today. A family emergency has come up."

She paused, listening to the other side of the call. Danny could only stare at her with a slack jaw he couldn't remember how to close.

"Okay, thank you so much, dear. Bye." Jazz disconnected the call and placed her phone back in the cup holder. She gazed ahead out the front window for some time, her eyes not appearing to be focused on anything.

"Jazz, I—" Danny turned to her more fully with a cocked head. "Did they really buy that?"

"Of course. If I had just called you out, they might've been suspicious. But both of us? They'd never believe I'd lie to skip class."

"But why? Why did you call us out?"

"Because you can't go to school like this, Danny." Jazz unbuckled her seat belt. "You're kind of freaking me out right now."

Danny shot her a glare. He hated that word, hated being told that he was "freaking out" anyone. He got enough of being called a freak at school, definitely didn't need it from his sister.

"I'm fine, Jazz," he stressed hard, also unbuckling his seat belt. "I really am just—I'm tired. Really."

"'I'm tired.' 'I didn't sleep much.'" Jazz pursed her lips. "You know, you keep trying to give me that excuse for everything, always expecting me to just buy it. But this isn't how you act when you're tired, Danny. I've seen you when you're actually tired. I know how you act, and this isn't it."

"Oh, right. My bad. I keep forgetting you know everything."

"Don't try to dodge this, Danny. Something is definitely going on with you. So what is it?"

"What, you can't figure it out on your own after reading all those psychology books?"

"Stop it, jeez, you are so—" Jazz sharply exhaled with a quiet growl. "Just the way you were acting back at home, and now you're wearing your sunglasses—"

"So wearing sunglasses means something is wrong with me?"

"You don't wear those sunglasses unless you're trying to hide something. Like an eye injury. So what are you trying to hide this time? Bloodshot eyes? Or something else?"

"I'm not trying to hide anything. It's just bright today."

"Really? And what's causing this sudden new light sensitivity, huh?" Jazz cast him an awry glance. "Why are your eyes so red?"

Danny shrugged. "I dunno. I haven't washed my sheets in a while. Maybe it's something on my pillowcase. My eyes were kind of itchy this morning. I was rubbing them a lot." He pulled down the car visor in front of him and lowered his sunglasses just enough to view his eyes in the mirror. Most of the broken blood vessels from before had shrunk and vanished. "But look, see, they're not that red anymore." He turned to her with his sunglasses still low on his nose.

Jazz scrunched her mouth and narrowed her eyes at him. "I know that's not what it is, Danny. I can't believe you'd even try to get me to believe that."

Danny sharply pushed the sunglasses back up over his eyes. "Okay, yeah. Fine. You're right. As usual, Jazz, you're completely right and I'm a liar and stupid for thinking I could fool you." He faced forward, crossed his arms, leaned back in his seat. "Can we just go to school? I don't know what you're trying to get out of me here, but I'm really not in the mood to be psychoanalyzed right now."

"You are always brushing me off like that, but me worrying about you and asking why you're acting strange is not psychoanalysis, Danny. It's just me caring about you."

Danny shrugged.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Jazz's voice began wobbling. "Why do you keep shutting me out?"

Danny placed a couple fingers against his forehead. He had been considering getting out of the car and just flying to school, but now he had to stay because Jazz was sad. Sad because of him.

He really hated when she toyed with his ghostly obsession. Even if it wasn't intentional.

"Come on, Jazz," he moaned. "Don't do this."

"All I want to do is help." She lowered her gaze and ran her hands down a thick strand of her hair. "But you never let me."

Danny scoffed. "All you want to do is help, huh?" A somewhat involuntary smirk tugged at his mouth. "Why do you suddenly care so much about me, Jazz?"

Jazz looked at him again with a creased brow. "Suddenly? I've always cared about you."

"No, Jazz." He chuckled. "No, you definitely didn't."

"Yes, I—"

"No, you definitely did not care this much about me before you found out about my ghost powers, and don't try to pretend you did."

"What are you talking about?" she asked with distress. "I always cared about you. I always tried to help you."

Danny turned to her, all set to tell her exactly what he was talking about, about how she used to constantly remind him that he wasn't as smart as she was, how their parents would buy her more things and give her more privileges because she always did so well in school and tried so hard while he was apparently just lazy and didn't try at all. About how she'd intentionally use big words that he didn't understand and then giggle and pretend that she just conveniently forgot he didn't have as sophisticated a vocabulary as she did. About how she'd try to give him "advice" and "tips" and "helpful information" but he knew she just wanted to show off something she had learned from one of her books.

All of her patronizing "help" before and often even now, it only ever made him feel like he was a failure, like he could never measure up to her, like he didn't deserve their parents' love and acceptance as much as she did.

But as he studied Jazz's warbling lower lip and misted eyes, he knew he could not break her heart any further. He'd be the worst brother ever if he intentionally made her cry.

It was always okay for him to feel bad. Not okay for him to make others feel bad.

Danny took off his sunglasses and placed them on his lap, squinting in the painful sunlight. He could see Jazz's perplexed expression out of the corner of his eye.

"Okay. Maybe you're right," he said quietly. "Maybe I'm not fine. Maybe I'm going through a hard time. With... With Dad. But this isn't new for me, Jazz. This isn't something you need to be worried about. I frequently go through these times when it comes to both Mom and Dad, you know that. And not just them, but everyone. I'm always battling these feelings about people not liking me or wanting to hurt me."

He leaned back in his seat and looked at Jazz. Her face was lined with so much concern.

"This really isn't something you need to help me with." He smiled weakly. "But it does mean a lot to me that you want to help."

Jazz sucked the inside of her cheek. "I just... I don't understand what happened. You were doing so much better yesterday afternoon, last night. You seemed like you were in an okay place. Not exactly happy, but okay, at least."

Danny glanced down at the space between them.

"Just…" She paused. "What happened between last night and this morning? Why are you...like this now?"

"What exactly is 'this'?" asked Danny genuinely.

"Like...unsteady? A little zoned out? But also kind of…" She pursed her lips. "Empty. Like you're just not...you."

Danny turned to face forward in his seat.

"Why are you acting this way, Danny? There's a reason, isn't there? Can you at least tell me why? Even if you don't want my help with it?"

Danny remained facing forward but inclined his head slightly as he recalled the previous night. He had gone to bed feeling okay, just as Jazz had said. Not happy, but yeah, okay. Like he could get better, like he could definitely be happy again eventually. He had even gone to bed without being tempted to take a painkiller.

But then his dad entered his room in the darkest part of the night and closed the two of them in so that he had no way to escape and no one to come rescue him.

Just him and his dad all alone in that dark alley. Trapped with his hands up and a gun to his head.

"Nothing happened," he said in a hush.

For a long moment, all that could be heard was the breeze rustling through the slightly open windows. A few blossoms detached from the trees above them and fell onto the hood of Jazz's car.

"I was trying to get you to bring it up first." Jazz was also now staring ahead. "I didn't want to just ask about it, but... I heard Dad in your room last night."

Danny whipped his head to look at her, his neck kinking. He raised a hand to massage it out.

"I just heard voices from across the hall," said Jazz softly. "So I got up to check and saw that your door was closed. And your light was on. And I could hear Dad's voice on the other side of the door. Your voice, too. Sometimes. Mostly Dad's."

Danny's eyes strained against the harsh sunlight as his mind churned over some sort of explanation or excuse that she might believe.

"I couldn't hear anything," Jazz continued. "I tried to hear through the door, but you were both speaking too quietly. But I could hear your tones. Dad sounded angry, and you sounded…" She looked down. "Afraid."

A wall of pressure pounded behind his eyes. He immediately covered them again with his sunglasses.

Afraid. How could she dare to use that word? How could she dare to think he was that weak? He had been up against terrifying enemies, had almost been killed countless times, had nearly lost people so precious to him. Did she really think he could possibly be afraid of his own father after all the true horrors he had experienced?

"Dad and I are just going through a rough patch," said Danny in calm monotone. "It's between him and me."

"Danny, please—"

"I'm not going to talk about this with you."

Jazz exhaled heavily. "I don't understand why you keep doing this to yourself."

Danny did not respond.

"Okay. I guess... Maybe it's not my business what Dad was doing in your room last night." She moved her armrest out of the way and leaned closer to him. "But is there any way you can at least tell me...why you're acting so odd? Why you keep mumbling? Why you're not walking quite straight? Why you knocked over the chair back in the kitchen?" She reached for his sunglasses. "Why your eyes are red?"

Danny blocked her approaching hand with his own. "I'm just tired. Really. I just didn't get good sleep. Especially after Dad came into my room last night. "

Jazz studied him for a long time in silence before finally leaning back and lowering her gaze in defeat.

Neither sibling spoke for some time. More spring blooms fell onto the car's hood. The ducks quacked and splashed out on the pond.

Mesmerizing.

"Are we really going to skip first period?" asked Danny, his arms feeling heavy as they dropped hard beside his thighs.

"Yes," said Jazz softly.

"Like you're really going to skip, too? And ruin your perfect attendance record?"

"Yes. I guess I am."

"There's still time, Jazz. We can make it before the bell."

"You're too...tired to go to class right now, Danny. I think you should just rest. Really. You haven't done that in a while. You need it."

Danny groaned but could not exactly argue with her. Just keeping his head up was a struggle. How could he possibly stay upright at a desk? And the last thing he needed was one of his teachers calling home and telling his parents he was sluggish and falling asleep in class.

Danny slumped in his seat. "Well, you don't need to skip with me."

Jazz reached for his hand. Danny let her take it, allowed her to caress his knuckles.

"I'd like to rest with you. If you don't mind. I think I really need it, too."

Her touch felt so good, such wondrous pressure dotting his skin in pleasant ripples.

He looked out at the park scene before them.

He knew what would feel even better than this.

"Can we at least sit outside, then?" he asked. "On the grass? Until we have to leave?"

Jazz straightened up and followed his gaze. "We could. But truant officers sometimes come through here, you know."

"I'll just turn us invisible if we see one."

Jazz chuckled. "All right." She grabbed the toaster pastries from off the dashboard ledge and threw one pack in his lap. "But only if you promise to eat that, okay?"

Danny clutched the silver-wrapped pack in his hand but did not reply. His grip tightened; he could feel the pastries crumbling slightly behind the foil.

Outside, Danny lay back fully on the grass beneath a tree, digging his fingertips into the soft soil, breathing in the slightly damp earthy smell, feeling the breeze against his face, listening to the ducks gliding across the pond.

All of his senses so perfectly filled.

Beside him, Jazz sat hugging her knees, her lovely red hair stirring behind her and catching glints of sunlight breaking through the tree branches above.

Despite his best efforts, he knew she was still concerned about him and would not stop being suspicious until she figured him out.

He picked up the wrapped toaster pastry and studied it with a grimace. He already felt so heavy all over; eating this was only going to make it harder to stand straight.

But he tore it open and took a big bite so that Jazz could see just how fine and great and totally normal he was right now. Nothing for her to worry about.

She glanced down at him with a smile that did not match her downturned eyes.