Phic Phight 2022. Prompts are listed at the end of the fic

Never Too Late


This is not where Danny imagined finding himself after high school. He had a plan: graduate with decent grades, good enough for a solid STEM program; get his masters in something, maybe engineering; get a job in said field and get work experience; apply to NASA and become an astronaut; and, most importantly, go to space. Simple. Solid. Easy enough to follow. That was the plan. Instead, here he is, a year after graduating, twenty minutes after saying goodbye to his little sister while she goes off to college, sitting at a bar alone. He doesn't even like to drink, hasn't had enough experience with it to like it. The only person he could imagine himself going out for a drink with is halfway across the country being a computer whiz at MIT.

There's also the small matter of neither Danny nor Tucker being twenty-one yet, but that's what fake IDs are for. The long-distance is a much greater concern.

Danny takes his straw and pokes the ice in his drink. He doesn't even know what he ordered. Something fruity. A margarita, maybe a cocktail? All he asked the bartender for was something that tastes like strawberries, and she delivered.

He takes a sip and scans the room. The place is fairly crowded for the middle of the week, which must mean he either chose a good bar, or there's some important event going on that he doesn't know about. Could be either, honestly. Despite how busy it is, the stools on either side of Danny remain empty. At least until a girl with purple hair drops into the seat next to him.

"Hey, sorry, I know this sounds crazy, but I need help. Can you kiss me? My ex is here and I don't want to talk to him right now."

Danny gapes at her.

"Come on." The girl picks at her nail polish. "I need a nod or something. I'm not just gonna assault you, but I think he's coming over and I really need a reason not to talk to him."

Danny leans to the side, peering over her shoulder. It's hard to tell through the crowd, but there does seem to be someone headed towards them. A tall guy with spiked white hair.

"Please?"

"I- uh, sure!"

The girl grabs Danny's shirt and yanks him forward, their lips smashing together. It's not a pleasant kiss, at first. Their teeth clink together. There's too much pressure. Danny isn't sure if he's supposed to open his mouth and make it a proper fakeout-makeout or stay chaste. She decides for him.

Her hand moves from his shirt to the back of his neck, lips parting as she does until they're melting into one another. After a few stunned seconds, Danny realizes he kiss her back, to sell it. His hands flounder about her waist, unsure if it's okay to touch her. Again, she takes the lead, pressing his hand down and oh god that's bare skin. She's wearing a crop top. Her skin is smooth. And soft.

Her lips are soft, too, and taste like grape. So is her hair. Minus the grape and tasting thing. Danny tugs the girl closer, surer of himself. His hands roam, not anywhere inappropriate, but he holds her close, curving an arm around her waist until they're flush against each other.

Somewhere across the bar, someone whoops.

The girl pulls away a second later. Danny follows after her and nearly slips off his stool. A hand against his mouth stops him and he finally opens his eyes. The girl is turned away, looking over her shoulder. Danny follows her gaze and catches the patch of white hair ducking through the door.

"Thank God." The girl relaxes and pulls away completely, putting a modest amount of space between them as she settles properly on her stool. She reaches for his drink and takes a sip, pausing a moment to frown, then swirls it around her mouth and swallows.

"What is this?" she asks, setting the drink back down.

"Margarita?" Danny suggests.

"It's definitely not. But thanks."

"You're welcome."

Something about the girl feels familiar. She looks about his age but must be at least a couple of years older since she's in a bar. Dark makeup, dark clothes. The only colour Danny can find on her is the purple of her nails, hair, and eyes.

"You have purple eyes," Danny says.

"You know your colours, that's very good. You must have done well in kindergarten." She leans forward and flags down the bartender.

Danny keeps staring while she orders her drink. Not a lot of people have purple eyes. In fact, Danny has only ever met two people with purple eyes. His mother and— "Samantha?"

"Sam," she corrects automatically. "You know my name."

"Was that..." Danny thinks of the white-haired guy. "Elliot Gregor? You're actually Samantha Manson?"

Danny just kissed Samantha Manson. Too bad that couldn't happen a few years ago; he would have shot up the Casper High food chain if it did.

"No, I'm just borrowing her name and face for tonight."

"You're not twenty-one."

"So? Neither are you. But at least my fake ID works."

Danny wrinkles his nose. "You know who I am? Wait... what about my ID? "

Sam nods to his drink. "What does that taste like to you?"

"Strawberries."

"Exactly."

Sam watches Danny with a smirk while he grabs his glass and takes a generous sip. It tastes exactly as he said it did, like strawberries. Only strawberries. It reminds him of the smoothies his sister used to make, the ones with a handful of ice, fruit, and some kind of juice. It tastes like juice.

"Oh my God."

Sam tips her head back and laughs. Danny tries not to stare, but it's really hard when her hair slips over her shoulder, exposing a tattoo of a bat on her collar bone. His gaze dips down and he sees more. A coffin on her forearm. A spider on her hip, almost exactly where his hands had been moments ago. Danny shivers.

Sam smiles at him. "I can't believe they clocked you that easy. Wait, no, I can't believe you didn't notice they clocked you."

"It could be a mistake."

"Sure it is."

"Hey, excuse me," Danny asks the bartender when she sets down Sam's drink. "I think there's been a mix-up. There's no alcohol in this."

The bartender leans forward, giving Danny a quick once over. He sits ups straighter and squares his shoulders. Making himself bigger should make him look older.

"Listen, I won't kick you out since your girlfriend is here, and you don't seem like you're trying to cause trouble. But I only give virgin drinks to virgins." The bartender taps his glass before moving to someone else across the bar.

"I am not a–" Danny cuts himself off because he most definitely is a virgin, but he doesn't want Sam Manson to know that.

"Cute."

"She didn't even give me my ID back."

Sam chokes on her drink. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she turns to Danny with mirth-filled eyes. "She took your ID?"

"I thought it was a normal thing they do!

Sam's head drops to the bar. Her shoulders shake. Danny thinks she might honestly be crying with laughter.

"Glad you're having fun," he mutters. He goes to take another sip of this drink then stops, scowling at it. He came here to get drunk. What a waste of time. "I'm Danny Fenton, by the way"

Sam finally pulls herself back together, carefully wiping the tears from her eyes. She takes a long sip of her drink smiling all the while. "So you are."

"We went to high school together."

"Yes, we did."

"Wait... you know?"

Sam glances at him out of the corner of her eye. "Of course, I know. I knew your age, idiot. Why did you think I wouldn't? You think I'm just going to come up to some random buy I've never met and ask him to kiss me?"

"Well, uh..." Danny fumbles for a reason that doesn't sound insulting. "It's just... you're rich? You were one of the A-listers? I'm pretty sure you only spoke to me, like, twice the whole time we were there."

Sam's eyes narrow. She takes another long sip, but her smile has disappeared. It makes Danny nervous. What he said couldn't have sounded that bad.

"Wow." Danny didn't know a word like 'wow' could be spit out like that, full of scorn, but Sam makes it work. "That's what you thought—think—of me?"

"It's not– I just meant–"

"Let's get some facts straight. Yeah, I'm rich, so what? And it shouldn't matter who my friends were. Maybe you were the one who only spoke to me twice. I didn't exactly see any olive branches of friendship coming from your direction. I think it's pretty damn shallow of you to make assumptions like that."

Danny can't help but snap back. "This, coming from an A-lister."

Sam slams her glass down on the bar top. "I was not–!" She takes a deep breath and slowly releases her glass, flexing her fingers. "I was not an A-lister. I just hung out with them."

"Is there a difference?"

"You know what?" Sam slams her drink back with impressive speed. In a few gulps, the glass is empty and back on the counter. "I thought I might have a nice conversation with an old classmate, but if you're going to be an ass I'm just gonna leave. Maybe I should have kissed a random stranger."

As Sam turns, Danny reaches out and grabs her wrist. "No, wait, please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Well, I did mean that, but I don't see what the difference is. Hanging out with the A-listers makes you an A-lister. I was a loser in high school, okay? And... I had stuff going on. I didn't pay attention to people but that's not the point. Don't leave." Danny squeezes her hand. "Please?"

Sam stands still, her back to him. Danny loosens his grip, willing to accept when he's lost, even if he doesn't want to. Before he can let go completely, Sam's arm twists and she grabs his hand, turning back toward him.

"That was a shitty apology. But I like it when guys are pathetic and whiny, so, I guess I'll stay." Sam reclaims her seat.

They don't say anything for a few minutes. Danny nurses his drink, only sulking a little bit that there's no alcohol in it, while Sam orders something called a hurricane. He opens his mouth a few times, trying to restart the conversation, but has no idea what to say.

Sam wasn't wrong. Thinking back on his years in high school, he can't remember any time he tried to reach out and make new friends. He thought he didn't need any. Tucker was already his best friend in the world, practically his brother. And with the stigma of the Fenton name following him around... it seemed like a lost cause from the start. It probably was.

He had too much going on, anyway.

"Did you never go to any high school parties?"

Danny jumps, nearly flinging his glass across the bar, at the sound of Sam's voice. "What?"

"Your drink. You didn't notice there wasn't any alcohol. I'm assuming this was your first time using your ID since you didn't know it was a dud. But come on. What teenager hasn't had a few drinks?"

"Never got invited to any."

"Freshman year. I threw a party when my parents were out of town; open invitation to anyone who wanted to come. Your friend was there. Weren't you?"

Danny sips at his now disappointing drink "When was that?"

"After the first semester exams."

His head bobs. "I wasn't there."

"Yeah, that's why I'm asking."

"No. I wasn't at school then. You know."

Sam blinks at him. Her eyes widen. "Oh, shit." She actually sounds sorry. "Right. I forgot. The accident."

What a neat little description. The accident. Two words to summarize the worst day of his life, followed by the worst year of his life, full of hospital visits, headaches, and a rotation of doctors so numerous Danny couldn't even name half of them now. And only part of that is because of the traumatic brain injury.

Okay, so most of it probably is, but his memory is a lot better now.

"Did your dad ever..." Sam trails off. "It's just, you hear things, but you don't hear everything, so..."

"He's alive if that's what you're asking. He's come a long way."

"Good. I would have felt bad."

"Now who's being the ass?"

Sam's face turns red. "You know what I mean. I still feel bad, but it's not like me feeling bad helps you any."

"No, it doesn't. Thanks for that."

Sam raises an eyebrow.

"No one ever thinks of that. Some people are okay with all the 'I'm sorry's and heartfelt wishes. But none of that got me back to school faster. It didn't get my dad back on his feet. It's nice knowing people care, but there's a big difference between someone who cares and someone in your biology class whose mother told them your sob story and now they feel bad for you. So, thanks. For knowing it doesn't do anything."

They fall silent again when Sam's new drink comes. It looks like a cherry slushie, although a little too pink. The glass is rimmed with salt and has a lime wedge stuck on it.

"This is a margarita," Sam says before taking a sip. "Mm. Strawberry."

"You're an ass."

"Takes one to know one. So, why are you here trying to get drunk on a Wednesday night?"

"Jazz—my little sister—starts college next week. She's flying out there a few days early to get settled in. Her plane took off about twenty minutes ago."

"So, is this a sad drink? A celebratory drink? A 'my bratty sister is out of the house hooray' drink? Ooh, or is it 'my genius sister is going off to do genius things while I'm stuck here.' Please be that last one. It sounds fun."

"And pathetic and you like pathetic?" Danny grins.

"Got it in one."

"My genius sister is off to do genius things while I'm stuck here. But I'm happy for her. At least one of us got to escape the family business."

Sam wrinkles her nose. It's cute when she does that. "What your parents do is a family business?"

"Believe it or not, yeah. On my dad's side. I've got ghost hunter blood dating back to the witching eras." Danny grins into his drink, but it's a harsh smile. "I was doomed from the start, wasn't I?"

"Totally."

"What are you here for?"

Sam takes her time answering. Danny doesn't mind it. He has all the time in the world. No one is expecting it at home. His only friend is gone. So is his sister. The only things waiting for him there are his pain meds and his puzzles. Brain function tests, his parents call them. To help him keep improving his memory, coordination, et cetera. As if they aren't just there to keep him busy.

"I am very rich," Sam says after some time.

"Congratulations."

"No, that's not– my parents are rich. Have been all my life. My dad inherited his family business, and my mom helps him run it. In high school, I wasn't rich, my parents were. But now I am rich. Because my grandma was also rich, but she and my mom didn't get along. So, she changed her will and made me the sole inheritor of everything she owns. And she died yesterday."

Sam ducks her head, letting her bangs fall in front of her face. Danny tries to be respectful and look away, but he can't stand it when girls cry. It reminds him too much of his sister.

"Can I?" he asks, lightly touching her shoulder.

Sam falls against his side, accepting his hug instantly. Danny runs his hands through Sam's hair, the same way he knows Jazz likes.

"You're not going to say sorry?" Sam's voice cracks.

"It wouldn't help anything."

"Yeah, it wouldn't." Danny holds Sam until she's ready to let go. He gives her as much privacy as he can while she dabs at her tears with a napkin. It should be awkward, he thinks. They barely know each other and here they are prattling on about their woes. It's nice, though. Danny hasn't had someone to confide in like this since Tucker left. Oh, he always had his sister, but he couldn't lean on her like that. All his life Danny has tried to be the barrier between her and anything unpleasant. Including, more than once, the results of their parent's escapades.

He thinks he's done a good job at it. The fact that Jazz loves Christmas is proof enough for him. And that's the thing. Danny hates Christmas, and always has, because of their parents and their stupid argument. So he made Christmas good for his sister. He learned to cook for her. Learned how to help her with her homework, even when he's the one who usually needed help. Learned how to braid her hair. Hell, he even learned how to do makeup because he caught her playing in their mother's makeup once when they were little. Danny has done everything for Jazz, and because of that, he could never let her do something for him. He knows so well how that wears on a person, especially someone so young.

If that means he has to grin and bear it when his life is falling apart around him, then so be it.

"This is no fun when I'm the only one getting drunk." Sam pushes Danny's glass toward him. "Finish that."

She stands up before he can say anything, heading toward their bartender. Danny shrugs and obeys, finishing his drink in a few large gulps. Sam comes back a minute later with a new drink in hand. It's the same kind of glass Danny's was in, and the colour isn't too far off, either. Sam glances between her new drink and Danny's empty one. She dips her fingers into hers and flicks a few drops onto her shirt, going the extra mile of drying her fingers on her low collar. Her very low collar.

Wow, that's a pretty necklace. Black cord, a silver pendant. He is staring at her necklace. He could draw that necklace in his sleep. He is definitely not looking at the curve of skin the necklace rests against as Sam smears more drink onto her shirt.

"Take this." She shoves her full drink into Danny's hands and pushes it under the table.

"Hey!" Danny flinches when the cold drink spills onto his jeans. Great. Now they'll be sticky and smell like whatever a hurricane smells like.

"Shush. Now go find a table. There's one in the back corner." Sam takes the empty glass and slides out of her seat. Rather than moving to do as asked, Danny stays rooted in place, eyes trailing after Sam as she walks to the other side of the bar. A different bartender is working there, a guy they haven't spoken to yet tonight. Sam leans over the counter, showing off her... necklace, and says something to the guy while holding out the empty glass. Less than a minute later, Sam has another hurricane in her hands.

It's only when she turns and starts scanning the bar that Danny remembers he was supposed to move. He quickly gets up and shoves his way through the crowd toward her.

"Couldn't get a table?" Sam asks.

"Sure." It's not like he could tell her he was watching her the whole time. Girls just love it when you tell them you couldn't stop staring at the fishnet leggings they are wearing under their shorts.

"There's one right there. Come on." Sam grabs Danny's wrist and drags him through the crowd. He tries not to smile like an idiot, but it's hard. When they reach the table, Sam takes the glass from Danny's hand and gives him the drink she hasn't dipped her fingers in.

"There. To make up for missing my party freshman year. Your very first alcoholic drink on me." Sam grimaces and tugs at her top.

Danny's gaze shoots up to the ceiling. Those sure are some sparkling clean tiles.

"Literally, on me. I told the guy I spilled it. It had better not make it back to Paulina Sanchez that I used my breasts to get a free drink, got it?"

"Yeah, uh-huh. You know, there are twenty-four tiles on this side of the bar."

Sam follows Danny's gaze upwards. "You're weird. We should have been friends in high school. Now drink your hurricane. You should get to enjoy something tonight that's not a virgin."

Danny counts the seconds—eleven—before Sam realizes what she said and how it sounded. Her face turns scarlet, nearly the same shade as their drinks, and she busies herself with a long sip. Danny follows her lead and nearly spits it right back out.

"Oh, relax. It's a cocktail. It's one of the weakest-tasting things you could get. You should try whiskey or bourbon. A whole finger of it."

"No, thank you." Danny tries again. Prepared for the taste this time, it's not as bad. The alcohol cuts through the fruity taste but doesn't overwhelm it. He could get used to this. "I like cocktails," he announces.

"Way to out yourself as a first-time drinker."

Danny sticks his tongue out at Sam before recapturing his straw and taking another, longer sip. He came here tonight to be sad, drunk, and alone, but this is much better.


"And– and– and then–" When Sam waves her hand, her drink sloshes, some of it spilling out over her fingers. "Oh, shit." She ducks her head forward and licks it off before continuing. "And then when Dash opened his locker, and... teddy bears!"

She bursts out laughing, spilling even more of her drink, but she doesn't care. Danny snickers along beside her.

"You're not laughing!" Sam protests.

"I am, I swear! Haha! See? That was a laugh."

"I just told a great story about your– your greatest enemy. And you're not laughing. You are so rude."

"No, listen." Danny beckons Sam closer. She leans across the table, turning her ear toward him. With a hand cupped around his mouth, he loudly whispers, "I put the bears in there."

There's a pause. Then Sam shrieks with laughter, slamming her hand on the table. "I knew it! I fucking knew it! Oh my god, Star didn't believe me when I said it had to be you, but I saw it. You kept one of his bears, didn't you?"

"It was my trophy for a prank well pulled," Danny says.

"You earned it."

They both go back to their drinks, giggling. Danny lost track of how many they had. It couldn't be that much, although Sam has had a great deal more than him. High tolerance and all that. It also helps that if she so much as smiles at the guy bartender he gives her a free shot. Sam is Danny's new drinking buddy. They should make this a weekly thing.

"No one thought it could be you because of the brain thing. You know, the"—Sam thumps a fist against her head—"thing."

"Oh, yeah." Danny stares into his glass. Something niggles at the back of his brain. Something he's forgetting. "I don't think I'm supposed to drink."

"You quitting on me, Fenton?"

"No, no. The... the thing. With the head..." Danny's face scrunches as he thinks hard, but it keeps slipping away from him. "I can't remember."

Sam catches Danny's eye. "You can't remember.

"I can't remember."

They break, falling to the table shaking with laughter.

"Hey," someone interrupts them. "We've had some complaints about your noise level."

It takes Danny and Sam a minute to compose themselves. Every time they make eye contact, they start giggling again. Danny can't help it. He can't remember. There's something important about his past head injury, which damaged his memory, and he can't remember what the important thing is. Drink lots of water. Hydrate. Hydration is important.

"This counts as hydration," Danny tells his drink as he takes another sip.

"Wait, didn't you leave?"

Finally, Danny looks up and sees the bartender, the lady that wouldn't serve him.

"You stole my ID," Danny says.

"I confiscated a fake. Who gave you that?"

Instead of answering, Danny keeps sucking his drink down. Beside him, Sam does the same. Neither of them meets the bartender's gaze.

"Nope, not happening." The bartender reaches out to take the glass, missing by an inch when Danny leans back. Air gurgles through his straw as he finishes the last drops. The bartender glares at Sam. "You giving him drinks? That's it, you're both out."

"What about my tab?" Sam asks.

The bartender's eyes narrow. She stomps off toward the machine. The second her back is turned, Sam shoves her half-full drink at Danny and grabs her wallet. She pulls out a handful of bills and slaps them down, then turns to Danny.

He holds out her now finished drink.

"Rude." Sam grabs the glass and sets it down over the bills, then snags Danny's hand and drags him outside. They run down the sidewalk even though no one is chasing them. Sam has to lean on him for a moment, hopping on one foot, then the other as she takes off her heels. In three quick strides, she is far ahead of him.

"No fair!" Danny shouts. "I've never been drunk before!"

"That's because you were a loser in high school!"

They run for three blocks before eventually slowing down. Danny grabs a stitch in his side and bends over. "Oh my god. I haven't ran that much since... ever."

"Gym class," Sam suggests.

"I got a pass on account of being brain damaged and at risk for injury."

Sam, already recovered from their sprint, looks up and down the street. "I have no idea where we are."

Danny squints at the nearest street sign but can't make out what it says. He recognizes the buildings, though. "My house is nearby. Need a place to crash?"

"Ugh, yes, please. My mom keeps bitching about Grandma's will. I think she's just distracting herself from the sadness, but it's pissing me off. Your parents won't mind?"

Danny shakes his head. "They're out of town. Meeting Jazz at college with all her stuff. They had some kind of convention to go to and decided to turn it into a road trip."

It's a twenty-minute walk back to Fenton Works. The brisk night air helps clear Danny's head somewhat, but he still feels tipsy. He stumbles over nothing and struggles to put one foot in front of the other. How Sam does this in heels he doesn't know.

"Drink lots of water," Sam tells him. "And eat some bread. Take an Advil. It'll help when the morning comes."

They both wince when they turn onto the last street. The Fenton Works sign is a nuisance on an average night, but now, while he's drunk, it's blinding. They keep their heads down as they make for the front door. Danny fumbles with his keys too long. Sam has to take them from him and unlock the door himself, letting them both inside. The first thing Danny does when he makes it through the door is head for the light switch panel on the other side of the room. He flicks a switch and the Fenton Works sign turns off.

"You mean to tell me, all these years, that thing can be turned off?" Sam glares out the window. "How much electricity does that waste?"

"Oh, that's nothing." Danny beckons Sam forward and leads her to the basement door. He pushes it open. The main lights are off, but there is still a soft glow at the bottom of the stairs. "Nothing down here ever gets turned off."

"Disgusting. I want to see it." Sam squeezes past Danny and heads downstairs.

Danny considers stopping her. The lab is supposed to be off-limits to strangers, but Sam isn't a stranger. She's his new drinking buddy. His former classmate. Maybe, now, his friend. He shrugs and follows her.

Growing up with a lab for a basement loses its lustre quickly. Danny can't remember ever being fascinated by its existed. He didn't even realize lab basements weren't normal until fourth grade. Sam, however, stands in the middle of the room, turning in circles and taking it in with wide eyes.

"Does all of this work?" she asks.

Danny shrugs. "It's supposed to. Can't exactly test it since ghosts aren't real. Nothing to try it on."

Sam stumbles for the nearest countertop. Her hands drift over a gun laying out on the table, its insides gutted, wires spewing from the barrel. "This is the coolest thing I've ever seen." She glances up at the blinking monitors hanging from the wall. "So bad for the environment, but cool."

It doesn't take long for her to set her eyes on the Fenton's prize invention, and their biggest failure. The Fenton Portal.

"Does that work?" Sam asks.

Danny shrugs again. "They plugged it in five years ago and nothing has happened with it since."

Sam drops to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of the portal. She pats the space beside her. Seeing no reason not to, Danny joins her.

"The family business, huh," she says.

"Yep."

"My family business isn't half as cool as this."

"Bummer." Danny remembers the day his parents plugged the portal in. It's the last day he remembers clearly before the accident. It was a Saturday. Danny's dad woke him up early in the morning, even though Danny wanted to sleep in. Weekends were the only days Danny didn't get up early to make Jazz something good for breakfast.

He remembers complaining the whole time as his father dragged him downstairs to the kitchen where, to Danny's surprise, Mom had made breakfast. Waffles, homemade, with all kinds of syrups, eggs, and bacon. She used one of Danny's recipes, from the binder he kept next to the cookie trays.

They were celebrating, Mom said. Celebrating the unveiling of their greatest invention. Everyone was all bright smiles and happy faces, stomachs full of sweet syrup and fluffy waffles. Everyone but Danny. He picked at his breakfast with a frown. It just didn't make sense to him. His parents made breakfast. They made a good breakfast. They were capable of it, always had been, and yet...

Danny remembers frozen waffles. He remembers eating cereal by the handful at an empty kitchen table. He remembers picking through apples to find one that was the least bruised, that didn't have some kind of questionable stain on it. After breakfast, their parents ushered Danny and Jazz downstairs, showing off the great hole in the wall they had been hiding all summer. With great aplomb, Dad slammed a pair of extension cords together. The portal sparked. That was it.

At the time, Danny felt vindicated. All their hard work, their late nights, the days and days that would go by where Danny and Jazz barely caught a glimpse of their parents. All of that for nothing but a spark. He was happy when it didn't work back then.

"Do you ever wish things had gone differently?" Danny asks.

Sam hums. "What kind of things?"

"Anything. Like high school. You said we should have been friends. Do you think we could have been?"

"I don't know."

Danny picks at his jeans. "You were surprised I knew your name."

"So were you."

"Yeah, but I didn't realize you knew who I was. You knew who I was, though."

"I wasn't an A-lister. I hung out with them because our parents knew each other. We grew up in close proximity, but we weren't friends. I wasn't one of them." Sam reaches up and traces the bat tattoo on her neck. "I was just there. Existing in the background. I didn't think anyone paid attention to me."

"I had a crush on you," Danny blurts out. He cups a hand over his face so he doesn't have to see Sam's shocked expression. "I thought you were cool. You look better in black, by the way. I remember you wearing a lot more pink back then."

"You're not going to believe this." Sam snorts and shakes her head. "You really aren't going to believe it. I had a crush on you, too."

Danny gapes at her. "You're lying."

"I'm serious! You had a weird family, and you didn't care what people thought. I liked that. And you were always really good with your sister. It was sweet."

"I always cared what people thought." They stare into the gaping hole. It hasn't changed at all in the last five years. His parents spent so long putting it together; they didn't want to take it apart again.

"What would you do differently?" Sam asks.

Danny pretends to mull the question over, even though he already knows the answer. "I would make the portal work."

"How?"

"I don't know, but I would do it. I almost tried to. After I got home from the hospital and was recovering, the summer before sophomore year. I tried to convince Tucker to go inside with me and take a look. He chickened out, though. He was worried I would get hurt again. Bad history with labs and all that."

"Do you still want to?"

Now Danny has to pause and think. He's not foolish enough to believe he could make the portal work now. It wouldn't change anything, anyway. But after the accident, he wondered. If the portal had worked, would they have gone on that road trip? Would his parents have thought about their old friend, or would he have stayed out of their minds? Somewhere, in some universe, there must be a Danny Fenton who didn't go through what he did. He can't decide if it's comforting or not.

"It's a good night for firsts." Sam stands up and stretches her arms above her head. Her gaze scans the lab, eyes lighting up when she finds what she's looking for. Danny stays seated while she strides to a cabinet on the far wall labelled "PPE." She throws open the door, revealing a row of hazmat suits. Grabbing one, she holds it out to Danny.

"You missed out on a lot of stuff, but it's never too late to fix that. So, what do you say? Want to take a look inside? I bet it's cool."

Danny glances between the hazmat suit and the portal. He grins. "Why not? It can't hurt to check it out."

As Sam said, it's never too late.


Prompts used:

Submitted by SailorSakura: Danny sits at the bar alone, when Sam whispers in his ear. 'I'm so sorry but can you kiss me, my Ex is here and I really don't want to talk to him right now.'

Submitted by Frooty: Ageswap au :)