In the dreary mid-afternoon of the most ambitious day of Phineas's life, he slept peacefully on his brother's bed, wrapped in a fluffy towel from the aftermath of a long-deserved bath. At his side was Perry, less at ease but sleeping nonetheless, his legs twitching as he chased after giant snails and clumsy scientists.

Ferb did not sleep. He had slept for far too long as it was.

Outside of their window he saw a torrential downpour even worse than that which he had awoken during. Since they had come inside, the storm had only intensified, and now it seemed to threaten the streets with flood or perhaps hail if it was cold enough. Through the shining blue optic on the left side of his face, Ferb saw each droplet hit the window one-by-one, and he followed their trails down to the sill before returning his gaze further outward. Danville was silent and desolate - much like his home.

He did not know where Candace and Linda had gone. He wasn't sure if they'd left at all. All he knew was that they were terrified of his very existence and had begun crying as soon as he and Phineas had gone upstairs. Oh, how they cried; he heard them from his place outside the bathroom door, listened in despair as they sobbed and wailed and grieved as though he had died all over again. To them, he had, hadn't he? They didn't see Ferb when he walked inside. They saw his corpse, fresh from the grave.

A tear welled up and fell from his right eye, following the patterns the rain left on the window.

Life... had never been a simple endeavor. Not for him. Losing his mother at a tender young age did some harm, definitely; and there was nothing quite like moving from England to America at four years old. Many times throughout his childhood he had been glossed over on account of his quiet nature and the fact that his brother was so out there that certainly he did all the work, would get all the credit. And of course there was the matter of developing feelings for said brother...

But he had powered through these things. Ferb was not one to be taken down easily, and he had found it within his ability to overcome the obstacles before him and live life to the fullest no matter what happened. At the end of the day he had been happy to just... be. To live in a world where he and his brother, his best friend in the whole world, could do as they pleased (within reason) and make the best of every day they had. Carpe Diem was the motto to live by and it suited them well.

And yet...

Ferb turned away from the window and gazed at his sleeping brother. To Phineas, it was in reason to do such a drastic thing. How ever could he seize the day without his trusty sidekick at hand? And the bond they shared... it was stronger than the hardest materials throughout the universe. Perhaps it would have been different had he slowly wasted away under the weight of a tremendous disease. It would have given Phineas time to come to terms with losing that bond, losing his other half. But the way it had happened? The sudden and gruesome end which Ferb found himself lucky to have no recollection of? No... the bond was too strong for that to be acceptable. Especially when Phineas had nature itself in his hands.

He had played God, and he had succeeded in doing so. To Phineas this was all that mattered.

Ferb raised a shaking hand to his face and rubbed his cheek. His fingers were chilling on his flesh - the metal hand. Another reminder of what he was. What he had become to maintain the powerful force that was Phineas and Ferb.

It should be easier than this, Ferb thought as he looked out the window once again. We've done crazier things. Does it really matter that he brought me back from the... From the dead? I feel the same, I almost look the same - why should I be upset?

Acknowledging this didn't make it go away. Maybe it was the weight in his head, the feeling of something foreign attached to his brain, that gave him such a sense of... wrongness. He could, in time, convince everyone else that this was alright, just another Phineas and Ferb thing. It wasn't an unfeasible task, especially not for the champion of the debate team. There was just... something else, something off about all of it.

He was not fully repaired. He was not a normal living being. Might his limbs begin to rot in time? Would the stitches come undone and release a hoard of flies that had started as maggots eating away at his flesh? And his mind - how could Phineas fully restore a brain, something which shut off immediately in the case of death? Could the mechanical implants ever recreate nature's design flawlessly?

Ferb closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He was only hours beyond the moment in which he had taken his first struggling breaths. To so deeply consider the matters of his reanimation was... exhausting, and frightening. For now, in the gloomy afternoon with the storm bearing down upon the world, what Ferb knew was that nothing had gone too terribly amiss and Phineas's hard work appeared to have paid off.

And in the end... Phineas was happy. A little different, a little broken... but happy.

And wasn't that all that mattered?

"Sir? We have a problem."

Francis arched half of his single eyebrow and turned to face his intern of so many years. Carl stood in the doorway of the office, a few sheets of paper clutched in his hands, shaking enough so that Francis could hear them rattling together. This was actually rather alarming. From all his years working so close to the O.W.C.A., Carl had seen a great many things and even dealt with a few of them himself. Not much truly disturbed him anymore - at least, nothing pertaining to the agency.

"Doofenshmirtz?" Francis asked, but Carl shook his head.

"No, sir," he said, his voice regretful. For a moment he seemed to consider his options, and then he took a few hesitant steps closer, holding the papers a little further away from his chest but not outright offering them. "It's... it's the Flynn-Fletcher family."

The Flynn-Fletchers. Agent P's family. Francis felt his heart drop, and for a moment he was certain that another one had died - probably the remaining son. A tragic suicide.

"Has there been another... accident?" he asked.

Carl took a shaking breath. The papers crinkled under his grip, still rattling in his hands. "Ah... no, sir. Not exactly." He began to hold the papers out again, then seemed to reconsider and brought them close to his face. Francis watched as Carl straightened his glasses and cleared his throat.

"This is a report from Agent S, the squirrel," he began. "She says she was passing through Agent P's neighborhood when she saw him in his backyard. She says..." He swallowed hard. "...She says she saw his owners, too. The boys. B-both of them."

Francis lowered his considerable brow into a look of confusion. "That's impossible."

"I know, sir."

Both men went silent as Francis tried to process this information. In this distance, there were the general sounds of the rest of the agency; dozens of animals made their respective noises as they conversed with one another and did their office work. It always sounded like an exotic farm around lunchtime.

Francis straightened up and let out a heavy breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Carl, go contact Wanda. One of her agents lives across the street from Agent P. Ask her to have him investigate. I'm sure Agent S is certain of what she saw, but I need more concrete evidence than just her word."

Carl shifted his weight in obvious discomfort and glanced down at the floor. "Ah... sir? Shouldn't we get in contact with Agent P?"

To this, the Major frowned and shook his head before returning his attention to his computer. "If he planned on telling us about this, he already would have, Carl. Let's leave him be for now."

"You think he would keep something like this from us?"

Carl had never really had the chance to be more than an intern, and he had never really aspired for it either. He was comfortable filing papers and handling complaints and taking care of all the work his boss didn't feel like dealing with. Even so, over time he had begun to become more and more of an integral part of the entire operation, and now he said things like "us" instead of "you" when referring to agency superiors. He didn't mean to, of course, as he knew he was a rather low-ranking individual and certainly nowhere near as important as his boss. Francis, however, had never really stopped him, even though he noticed it almost every time. There was no reason to - Agent P and all the others they dealt with usually worked with both of them and answered to both of them. And a little part of him sort of liked the idea of he and Carl being a team.

"I think he regards his family with more importance than his job," Francis said with a deep sigh "You remember the alternate dimension thing, don't you? He risked not only his relationship with them, but his own life, just to keep those two kids safe. If one of them was just brought back from the dead he isn't going to jeopardize it by telling us."

Carl flinched at the mention of the gruesome possibility. "Well, for his sake and ours, I sure hope Agent S was just confused," he said. "I can deal with a lot of things, but zombies? That's taking it way too far."

It was strange, really, how much they dealt with in this business - but there had never been anything so upsetting as the reanimation of the dead, not even from any of the many evildoers they dealt with. Of course, the very idea was considered impossible by most; for the hundredth time in his career, Francis had to truly ponder the astonishing abilities of the boys Agent P loved so dearly.

"I couldn't agree more, Carl," Francis replied. "Now go talk to Wanda. We need a confirmation as soon as possible to plan any course of action."

"I'm on it, sir."

The door creaked shut behind Carl, and Francis returned his attention to his monitor with another heavy sigh. He wasn't really sure what was worse - the situation that had just been revealed, or the email he had received from his son only a few hours before, which he had yet to respond to. Not that he wasn't thrilled about his boy proposing - he'd always looked forward to the day Monty got married - but the entire "in love with Vanessa Doofenshmirtz" thing always made his head hurt.

Thinking about it, Francis decided he would much rather deal with zombies.

"I heard him. I swear to God I did. He sounded happy."

Pinky cracked one eye open and lifted his ears as Isabella strolled into the living room with her phone pressed hard against her ear. He lifted his head off of his paws as she passed, but she didn't acknowledge him, so after a moment he settled back down and let out a resigned sigh.

"No, Gretchen, I know what I heard," Isabella stressed as she turned on her heel and paced in front of the couch. "It was Phineas. I swear it was him. I didn't hear what he was saying, but he was happy, and you know..." She trailed off as the phone emitted the faintest sounds of another voice.

Isabella's emotions had been very unstable for the past month. Pinky had picked up on this, as was his nature as a dog, and he knew what news had distressed her so thanks to the O.W.C.A. Everyone had heard about it. Poor Perry...

Now, though, his owner's emotions had taken a turn - she was excited, but anxious, and her patience seemed thin. Pinky remembered Phineas very well - wasn't he always happy? Certainly his brother's death would have a negative effect upon him, but he seemed the type to bounce right back. Was it really such an event if his voice sounded joyful from across the street?

The little dog bounced a bit as Isabella threw herself down on the couch with a frustrated groan. He shot her a reproachful look, but she didn't seem to notice.

"I'm positive! One hundred percent positive! Fireside Girl's honor!" As if Gretchen could see her, Isabella raised a hand and placed it over her heart. "Something happened, Gretchen. I don't know what it was, but maybe he's..."

She trailed off again, with more reluctance this time. Pinky cocked his ears and observed her expression with great care.

Whatever her friend said left her feeling uneasy, and Isabella crossed her legs and wrapped her free arm around her middle. "No, I... I don't think... I mean, if you lost someone that close to you, you'd... you'd snap too, right? It doesn't mean he actually... lost his mind. He's Phineas, that just couldn't happen."

You'd be surprised, Pinky thought with a roll of his eyes. Strong-willed, imaginative thinkers went crazy all the time. The O.W.C.A. was practically based on it.

As if on cue, his collar vibrated against his neck; the Admiral was summoning him to his lair. Pinky stood up and hopped off of the couch without so much as a glance from Isabella. He was used to it, really. Whenever she talked about Phineas her focus became very narrow. Dogs understood that sort of thing. It was, after all, within their very genetic code to devote themselves to people single-mindedly. Especially chihuahuas.

Once out of sight, Pinky stood on his hind legs and slapped his fedora on top of his head. With a quick rap of his knuckles he had a section of the wall opening to allow him inside, and once he'd stepped onto the tiny elevator within, the entrance sealed itself shut with no obvious indications it was even there.

Going on missions was always a breath of fresh air, at least for Pinky. He loved having the chance to foil Poofenplotz instead of lounging around the house all day. She was a challenge, a ruthless old hag who knew how to gain the upper hand on a tiny little dog. Proving himself in the face of such adversity made Pinky feel validated. He was not just a shaky little chihuahua; he was a hero! Being an agent was, in his honest opinion, the best part of his life.

Well... that and grilled cheese sandwiches.

Once in his lair, Pinky jumped up to his seat and tried to still himself (to no avail, as usual). Admiral Acronym looked up from some papers she was holding, then set them down and cleared her throat.

"Agent P, I'm sending you out on a different sort of mission today," she said with a grave sort of urgency. "I've received word from Francis that there are some... unusual happenings across the street. Apparently, another agent believes she saw a walking corpse."

Pinky's eyes shot wide open. Over the past many years he had worked for the agency, he'd heard all manner of strange and daunting things... but this was far beyond any of that. He prayed he'd misunderstood.

"According to the report, it appeared to be the deceased young man associated with Francis's agent," Wanda continued. No misunderstanding there. Pinky couldn't help the little whimper that escaped his throat, and his superior didn't miss it.

"I know, it's rather upsetting," she said. "But you were specifically requested because of your proximity to the matter. Head over there and see what you can find - and please, Agent P, try to keep yourself hidden. They didn't contact the platypus for a reason."

Of course... Pinky dreaded to think of the possibilities. A walking corpse? Protected by Perry? Perhaps this job wasn't always the best part of his life. And it wasn't like he was the best recon dog. Still, a mission was a mission; he gave the Admiral an affirmative bark to let her know he was on it despite his misgivings.

"Good luck, Agent P," she called after him as he bounded out of his lair.

The rain had yet to let up, much to Pinky's chagrin. He'd never really been much of a water dog. His ears always got sodden and heavy, and when his head was bigger than most of his body, weighing it down further was never very comfortable. But that was just another one of those things that came with the job. After all, Poofenplotz knew how much he detested water - she'd used it to her advantage many times in the past.

At least it meant he would likely remain alone.

Pinky darted across the road, wrinkling his nose at the stink of wet asphalt and doing his best to avoid the puddles forming in the numerous potholes. Mayor Doofenshmirtz seemed to be dragging his feet on repairing the roads; not usual for him, but that wasn't Pinky's concern. Once he'd reached the sidewalk he'd all but forgotten the holes even existed.

The backyard seemed to be the best place to start. Pinky considered attempting to climb the fence, but previous attempts to do such a thing had almost always led to him flat on his back (with a few splinters to boot). Besides, he was a dog; one of the training courses involved digging! After sniffing around the base of the fence for a few moments, Pinky set to work on the sodden mud with all the strength his skinny legs could offer.

The yard was vacant and smelled only of wet wood and rain. Still, Pinky had expected as much, and after squeezing through the hole he'd dug he trotted further across the lawn and began a visual search for clues. His nose was his best asset during cases like this, but the rain had dampened much of what there was to be smelled, and he did pride himself on fairly competent eyesight.

Not that... there was really a lot to see. The grass under the tree was flattened a little, and the shed door was partially ajar, but for the most part the Flynn-Fletcher yard looked like it always had. What would zombie clues even look like? Discarded flesh? Dried blood? Pinky had seen a few scary movies with Isabella, but he'd never dealt with actual zombies. Then again, this was only a recon mission - there might not even be a zombie. Hopefully.

After sniffing at the flattened patch of grass and finding nothing worthy of note, Pinky turned and headed for the open door of the shed. It was dark inside, but the second he poked his head in he could clearly smell people, and that was all he really needed. A quick whiff revealed the fading presence of Perry, Phineas, the teen girl...

...and Ferb.

Oh no, Pinky thought with a shudder.

He backed out of the doorway and glanced up at the house with anxiety bubbling up in his gut. Now he recalled Isabella mentioning that she'd heard Phineas back here - had he sounded so happy because of this? Because of whatever had left Ferb's scent so strong inside of their shed?

There was something in one of the upstairs windows, something with an eerie blue glow. It seemed to pierce the rain with its intensity, but whatever it was attached to was blurry and out of view.

They would want proof. A photo. Assurance that his nose wasn't just playing tricks.

Pinky whimpered to himself, then stood up on his hind legs and reached under his fedora for the convenient suction cups stashed within. He approached the house as he attached them to his front paws, and once they were secure, he jumped up onto the yellow siding and began the tedious climb upwards.

The thought occurred to Pinky that he really had no idea how this might end. Did the O.W.C.A. think this was an evil act, something they would need to shut down? Or was this more of a primal fear? Were they merely upset by the the thought that reanimation had occurred? The agency had seen a great many anomalies in their time... hell, their agents were intelligent animals! Was it even possible for them to be disturbed by something so strange? Pinky thought so; bringing the dead back was... horrifying. There was a reason they made scary movies about it.

Moving upwards made the rain all but unbearable. The roof was useless; the wind was blowing right against the house, splashing dirty water into Pinky's eyes. He couldn't even wipe it away because he would fall if he did. If there wasn't at least a treat for this, there was going to be one hell of a complaint form to answer to!

The sill of the window he'd seen the glow in wasn't easy to get onto. Lacking upper body strength, Pinky struggled for a good few minutes to drag himself up, still blinded and hopelessly weighed down by the rain soaking his fur. He wondered if the light was maybe nothing - just some sort of trinket or maybe an optical illusion. Then what? Would he have to find another window, or actually sneak inside? Had this involved Poofenplotz it'd be no trouble. Perry's house, though...

The little dog finally managed to claw his way up and rip his paws from the suction cups to furiously wipe at his eyes. Unsatisfied, he then set his fedora aside and shook his entire body, which only provided minimal relief as the torrent kept coming down. At least it was out of his eyes. Now he could peer inside and see...

...a very irritated looking platypus.

Pinky yelped and in surprise and jumped back, only just managing to keep himself from falling to the ground below. The pattering against the glass managed to mostly drown out the sound, but nothing could drown out that terrible glare. Unsure of what else to do, Pinky gave Perry a small wave, then attempted to sniff at the sill as though nothing were amiss and he usually made his way up to second-floor windows in the rain.

Perry tilted his head and jerked his beak at the fedora cast aside a few inches away.

Golly! How ever did that get there? As though Perry hadn't obviously been watching him the entire time, Pinky kicked his hat away from the window and wagged his tail. He wasn't up to agent work, no sir. Just a little afternoon excursion to his neighbor's window. In the middle of a storm.

For a moment, Perry almost seemed prepared to accept this, but then his eyes narrowed into furious slits and Pinky felt a spike of dread stab his belly. If there was anyone worse to offend -

The little dog didn't even manage to finish this train of thought before Perry launched himself at the window, claws clacking against the glass menacingly. Pinky yelped in shock and scrambled backwards. As expected, he slipped off of the ledge and plummeted to the ground below, landing right on top of his discarded fedora.

After a quick check for broken bones, Pinky staggered to his feet and grabbed his hat in his teeth before running back to the fence in a daze. He didn't even glance back before diving into the hole he'd left and sprinting across the road.

Perry didn't remove his paws from the glass until Pinky was all the way out of their yard. He slid down slowly, still watching the hole in the fence, convinced for a few seconds that his coworker was sure to return.

But he didn't.

"Perry?"

The platypus turned away from the window to face Ferb, who had taken Perry's place beside Phineas a few minutes before. Phineas had thrown an arm over his brother's lap in his sleep, and in response Ferb had rested a hand on the back of Phineas's head. They almost looked as comfortable as they used to together... before all of this.

"Something out there?" Ferb asked in a low voice, his organic eye filled with concern. Perry could only offer a chatter in reply.

Pinky was looking for something. There was no telling if it was Ferb or not, but someone in the O.W.C.A. had to have sensed some kind of disturbance in the Flynn-Fletcher house. And unlike the last time ten years ago, they hadn't had the presence of mind to try and send Perry away before investigating. Or perhaps they just... didn't feel as though they had the time. As if whatever was happening was suspected to become a very big problem very, very soon.

Perry hopped down to the ground and made his way over to the door. Ferb sat up as if to follow, then rethought it and held Phineas closer instead.

Being an Agent was important to Perry, and he had no current plans to jeopardize it. But... this had to be taken care of. A simple recon mission was no reason for alarm, but what if it became something more? What if they deemed Phineas or Ferb a threat? Family always came first. Even if part of that family had been dead for a month.

Oh, curse the swift relay of information through the O.W.C.A.! Ferb had been reanimated only hours before and already there was someone sniffing around. It was the animal agents, of course, always able to hide in plain sight and see just about everything that ever happened. Being a fairly exotic creature, Perry wasn't used to that sort of thing, but the others... cats, dogs, birds, rodents... they were everywhere. There was never any sort of assurance that they might not be present in any given situation.

Perry stopped in the hallway, just about to put his fedora on, when he heard Linda at the base of the stairs. Her voice still sounded teary and afraid... he felt so awful for her. And for Candace. They were so horrified by this...

"And when your Father gets home? What then? How are we supposed to prepare him for this?"

Of course. Lawrence. Perry grimaced and twisted his hat in his hands. He felt it was his duty to protect this family from the awful things they were feeling... But dealing with the O.W.C.A. was more urgent. He had a better chance of keeping them out of this than he did with attempting to soothe his family. With a silent mental apology to Lawrence, Perry peeled back some of the wallpaper and slipped into the tube hidden there.