Disclaimer: I own naughta

A/N: RedHerring1412, you are correct, and I'm going to play it up for a while, because a clueless Danny is fun to mess with. To Susan Drakian, I'm glad that Danny's little "nickname" for Jack grants you a smile, I'm planning on keeping it throughout the whole story. If you have other ideas, feel free to state them.

Chapter Five: The difference in snowballs?

Now, Danny was oblivious to a great many things, like Sam still loving him (even though she still sent him thousands of e-mails centered around different ways to kill ghosts), or the fact that he wasn't aging anymore (even though he spent hours making sure he looked suave enough to convince the world that he knew what the fuck he was doing)—he'd stopped at twenty.

However, even to someone as clueless as he, the sudden disappearance of all ice that had previously coated the roads, coupled with the sudden appearance of wondrous ice statues and snow forts, along with giant snow bunny's, penguins, and creatures in general, along the sides of said roads, was just plain weird.

But true to clueless form, the first comment was to the snowball floating besides him in his room, "Well, that's odd, I wonder what group of people decided to do this."

"No clue," the presence—no, snowball, Danny inwardly barked, still annoyed at his previous mistake—laughed, "but they must be pretty damn amazing to do all this in a matter of twenty minutes."

Had it really only been that long since the joyous game outside?

Nonetheless, Danny shook his head, "this still doesn't change the fact that if you don't quit following me I'm going to raise the temperature of this house to such a—"

"But then you'd have to leave too."

"People are starting to think I'm insane!"

"You already were."

"I don't want to hear that from a freakin mindless snowball!"

"…déjà vu…"

"No, last time we were discussing brains."

"…like zombies?"

"Ye…wait, No!"

"Do you like that word?"

"What wor-", sudden realization hit, and, as it didn't hit often, Danny felt a headache budding, "No."

"Then is this snowball different from the last one?"

"Wha?" Squinting through the fingers that massaged his temple Danny glared at the floating ball, "No."

"Wrong."

"What, do you change outfits or something? What's the difference, the degree of whiteness?"

A sigh was heard, "I'm not really a snowball you know."

"Yeah, you kind of are."

The presence appeared to be annoyed by their current topic of discussion for he reversed it.

"The first snowball you saw was the size of a golf ball and riddled with bumps."

"…and? Who pays attention to the exact figure of a snowball anyway? Besides, the only time I got to touch it…you…was when you…it…" man this was getting complicated, and was it just him, or did he see a wavering image of crossed arms? "were smashed against my face."

"The second," the presence—snowball, snowball!—continued undeterred, "was perfect."

"For what? Knocking people out?" Danny quipped, thinking of his own ice attack.

"…that can be arranged."

Ah, the glare he felt then could surpass Vlad's any day, and make every single wife on the planet proud…he really shouldn't be thinking like that about a snowball.

"Besides, how can you not tell the difference between a small snowball with a diameter of 1.680in and a snowball of 7.5 inches?"

It was getting worse, now he could see a figure perched atop a stick, waving its—his, Danny's mind treacherously called—arms about wildly.

"And this one," the washed out figure held out the snowball, pale, thin, fingers curled around the small form, "doesn't even look like a snowball! It's an egg!"