Author's Note

So, this has not been proof-read. So, if you see any mistakes, just point them out to me and I'll fix them eventually. I'm rushing through Nano, so not so much editing and a lot more writing.

Chapter Nine
Secrets

It's gonna get harder from here
We've gotta get smarter to make it out alive

There for Tomorrow – The World Calling

It could've all turned out different. He could've held his tongue, could've made several wiser decisions. He could've sucked it up and let Dash have his way, he could've just run inside the gym instead of down the hallway. He could've lived never meeting Azazel, never learning that there was something abnormal about him, never been forced to tell his parents everything.

But it didn't.

He almost wished it had. Now he was wondering whether or not understanding the truth was worth this persecution. Whether knowing was a curse, whether he would forever miss the days when he could stride through a dark alleyway without fearing what might be lurking in the shadows. Miss the nights of careless sleep, of unperturbed dreams. Was understanding, knowing, worth all this tribulation?

But it really wouldn't have mattered. Whether he had remained in the darkness or he had awoken, it wouldn't have made any difference in the long run. He supposed that he had always been destined to comprehend the truth. If he had escaped the grip of the demon, fate would have found another way to make him realize, to drag him into that world with raw bloody fingernails, desperately trying to claw his way out. It held him in an iron-tight grip, bruising his arms his ankles. It was never going to let him go, never going to release him now that it had captured him.

It could've all turned out different. But it didn't. It never could.

Ashes to Ashes

The kitchen was immaculate, shiny from its recent scrubbing. The luminescent green had been wiped off its linoleum floor, the table polished, cabinets washed. The smell of the cleaning products tingled his nose, the stark cleanliness reminding him of a hospital. He himself had been subject to a washing, a feverish attempt to clean the ectoplasm from his skin and midnight black hair. Not a word had been spoken since the cleaning frenzy. As though his mother had been inadvertently trying to scrub the words out of the air, make it so she had never heard them, that it had merely been a figment of her imagination.

But Danny's injury was real, as solid as the floor under their feet, as sure as the setting sun.

The three Fenton's sat together at their dinner table, each trying to avoid each other's gaze, trying not to be the first to start the conversation that would inevitably follow. Danny grimaced as a wave of pain shot through his arm, the scratches aching. There was a squeak as someone moved their chair, a running of water, and a glass was placed before him along with two pills. Danny glanced up to see his mother's sad gaze and her nod for him to take the Tylenol.

Grateful, he downed them and drained the glass. It coated his dry throat, made stickiness in his mouth lessen. He might actually be able to talk now, that is, if he had any idea what to say. He had so many questions, so many items that needed clarification that he didn't know where to start, how to begin. Finally, he opened his mouth though his eyes still remained fixedly on the shiny floor.

"Can you see them?"

He felt a hand clasp his shoulder. "Not what you can see." His fathers voice was warm, a great deal calmer than he would have expected. Danny looked up into his face, into the eyes he had inherited.

"What do you mean?"

"We, your father and I," his mother said, sounding strained as though she were resisting the urge to cry. "Can only see ghosts, only things with ectoplasm."

Danny blinked. "How does that work? Have you been stigmatized?"

"You know about that?" A flicker of a smile passed over his mother's face. It gave him strength to continue on, to speak with greater confidence.

"Yeah. You receive the Diabolical Stigma once you've received an illness or injury from a demon."

"But there are different types of stigmas," his mother said. "Your father and I have a weaker one, the Malignant Stigma." She paused a moment, glancing at Jack before continuing on. "We can only see ghostly phenomena."

That explained why his mother wasn't paranoid outside. "How did you get it?" Danny asked, his hand moving unconsciously to his forearm.

"We're not entirely sure," his father said slowly.

"I've been working on a theory. And this," she nodded toward his arm in an offhand sort of way, "fits with what I have come up. Depending on the power of the demon, and the severity of the injury they bestow, the more you are able to see."

"We got sick one day, and that was it. Never even met the fellow who did it."

It made sense to Danny, a little. But something stopped him from nodding his head. True, the demon king had drawn blood, but what he said made him thing there was something more than the demons themselves. "I don't think that's right," Danny said slowly.

"What do you mean?"

"I think that the extent to which we can see is because of us, more so than it is about the demon that touched us."

"What makes you say that?" Danny almost wished his father didn't understand. That he cracked some ridiculous remark. This wasn't what he was used to and it was weird.

"J-just what it said to me. I think that the ectoplasm itself is what allows us to see and when we've been touched by something like that, they cause the veil to be pushed back. But – and I'm shooting in the dark a little here – we have to have some kind of predisposition to them in the first place, and then they come like bacteria to the wound, infecting it with themselves, allowing us to see ghosts and demons alike."

Danny looked up and realized that both his parents were staring at him. Had he actually said something smart then, or was it because they couldn't believe the idiocy that was coming out of his mouth? Then his mother cleared her throat, looking suddenly cautious.

"What did it say to you?"

So it was the former then. He couldn't really feel very pleased though. It had only come about because of a situation he'd rather not have gotten himself into. He didn't know why it was so much harder to tell his parents this than it was to tell his friends of even Mr. Worth. Shouldn't he be more comfortable with them than with anyone else? Even though he asked that, he already knew why he wasn't. He already knew why he hadn't wanted to talk to them about it at all, why he had tried to avoid this as much as he could.

He was scared they were hiding something from him.

"H-he said—" could he even say it? No words were coming out, his voice had frozen. His father's grip tightened, but not painfully. It almost reassuring, a comfort that he would never let go no matter what was said. He could count on his Jack Fenton for that, count on him to never face the monsters alone. He took a great shuddering breath.

"T-the ectoplasm likes me. He—He said, Daniel Fenton. The boy who has touched ectoplasm since birth. What are you?" He looked from his mother to his father, hating the way his vision blurred before his eyes. "W-what did he mean? What—what am I?" He could feel the tears of panic and fear pricking at the corners of his eyes. He was fourteen! Fourteen-year olds did not cry!

"Oh sweetie." His mother wrapped him in a tight hug, his father enveloping the both of them with his massive arms. Danny clung to them for dear life, burying his head in her shoulder, hiding the moisture that betrayed him. It felt like an eternity since he had opened up like that to them, since he had felt safe in their arms. A part of him mused at how confused Jazz would be if she walked in on them, clinging to each other like this.

"Now Danny, I need you to be brave," his mother broke the hug and looked into his eyes, her own shiny with water. "And you need to listen to what I am going to say."

Danny nodded, feeling like a child as he wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"We—we worried that you might've been able to see them since birth, that you might have some connection to them." His mother's face was stark white by now, her lips trembling. "T-the night that we received the Malignant Stigma was also the night we conceived you."

Daniel Fenton, you have the touch of my spirits.

Ashes to Ashes

"Have you ever felt the temperature drop in a room, the prickling on your arms? Realized the change when those around you remained oblivious? You can sense us, can't you Daniel Fenton?"

It made sense. It made terrible, clear sense to him now. The mystery was unraveling, the panic that had been attacking his mind was giving way to understanding. He was perfectly normal, and yet at the same time, he was nothing near the word.

"I know of all things concerning my spirits."

"You—your spirits?"

"My Spirits."

His spirits had touched him since the beginning, the very first time his cells divided. He was surprised he hadn't always been able to see them. Had they tried and failed? But then, they hadn't really failed. If Danny thought about it, he had always been able to sense the cold spots in a room, always known when someone was looking at him from across the room. Maybe they hadn't been able to unveil his eyes because he hadn't opened them yet. Maybe the ectoplasm needed a wound in order to dive into; they needed that touch of evil in order to fester and so they could only give him their impression.

In a way, he was always destined to see them.

"Danny?"

Danny looked up at his father. He had never seen him looking so ashamed, so full of regret before. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked him a hoarse voice. He could feel the prickling of anger, bubbling just beneath the surface. A fury that they had kept this from him, that his life had been ruined from the very beginning. He clenched his fist, trying to keep a rein on his emotions, trying to control himself.

"Would you have believed me, if I had told you?" Jack asked very quietly. "By the time you were old enough to receive this knowledge, you wouldn't have listened to me. It was all, ghosts aren't real, and you guys are crazy and, I don't want any part of it!" He folded his arms.

"A-and we didn't think there any point," his mother added shakily. "You weren't able to see them, and so we thought—we thought—"

"That I might never need to know," Danny finished softly, the anger ebbing away as quickly as it had come. "You didn't want to burden me with something that I might be able to escape."

"I'm so sorry, sweetie." She was hugging him again. "T-this is all our f-fault."

"Mom, please don't cry," Danny said, a lump forming in his throat. He couldn't take it when Sam cried, let alone his own mother. Not even Jazz. He couldn't take it when they were sad, it made him want to punch something. "I-I don't blame you." And he realized that he truly didn't. "It's not your fault."

"But it is! If we had only k-known—"

"It's the demon's fault," Danny said firmly. "And look at it this way, now I can see the bastard."

His parents didn't even reprimand him. Jack gave him one final squeeze before letting him go, turning around. "I'm going go downstairs, I have something I need to work on," and like that he was gone. Danny stared after him, realizing that he had never once seen his father moved like that, never once seen him hide his face. Maddie watched him go, a soft smile on her lips. She turned back to Danny, and he was relieved to see that the guilt was fading from her face, that she was instead beaming at him.

"Are you okay, sweetie?"

Was he okay? He paused a moment, assessing everything he had shared and learned. He had never even had a chance at a normal life. But, he wasn't really angry at that fact. It was depressing, a tad maddening of course, but he accepted it. Imagining a life without all this, well, it'd be boring. He wouldn't know what to do with himself, he'd never had anything different. It was almost funny, how much he'd wanted to be normal not five days previous and now he was content with the fact that he had never been. That his whole life had been leading toward this moment, that it had been something written in his DNA since the very beginning.

He was meant for this life.

"Yeah," he found himself saying, slowly. "I think I will be."

Ashes to Ashes

"Arise and shine, sleeping beauty."

Something large and soft smacked him across the face, jolting him out of his sleep. He blinked open his eyes, rubbing away sleep for a moment before focusing on the two people standing smugly beside his bed.

"Sam, Tuck, what are you doing here?" he grumbled rolling over. His parents hadn't let him go to sleep until late that night. He had been forced to recount for them the entire incident with Azazel and they had been concerned with the bump on his head. So, he hadn't been allowed to sleep until nearly three while they triple checked the status of his concussion – and discovered he didn't really have one anyway.

"Dude, its nearly one!"

He felt someone pulling on his covers, trying to yank them off. "I was up late," he said trying in vain to hold onto them.

"We know, your mom told us when we came in, nearly an hour ago." Sam sounded like she was laughing. "She told us it was about time you got up."

"Why?"

"Because, loser, we're going to see Bloodbath 2." With an almighty tug, the blanket was ripped from under his fingers. He groaned and sat up, ruffling his already horrible bed-head.

"Tuck downloaded it," he said glancing at his friend, wondering why on earth he hadn't told Sam yet.

"You what?"

Oh. Right. They were going to tell her together, like ages ago. Danny laughed as Sam threw the blanket back at him – hitting him in the face for the second time that morning – before turning on Tucker to demand why she hadn't heard about it yet. Life felt almost back to normal.

Almost.

"We were going to tell you—"

"How about before I buy the tickets?"

"You already bought them?"

"Yeah!"

"Can't you just get a refund?"

"They need at least twenty-four hours!" Sam folded her arms, looking cross. "So I don't care, we're going to the theatre tonight."

"Can't we see a different film then? We'll watch Bloodbath 2 here, and something else there."

"It doesn't work like that Tucker, you buy the tickets for select movies!"

"Okay fine, the theatre seats are way comfortable anyway."

Danny cleared his throat, sensing that their row was coming to an end. Tucker looked a little annoyed that he hadn't stepped in to take some of the heat, but the expression vanished quickly.

"How did it go, last night?" he asked him. Sam took a seat on Danny's other side, anxiety flooding her features.

"Fine," Danny said.

"Really?"

"Yeah, well, at first they didn't believe me." He grimaced. "But, eventually I guess they had to. They knew I couldn't make any of this up."

"And what did they say about—" Sam trailed off pointedly.

Danny didn't open his mouth right away. He actually wasn't sure that he wanted them to know. Would they think any less of him if they knew? Would they start to treat him like the plague, like a demon? He bit his lip, fighting with himself. But, they had believed him even when they couldn't sense anything themselves. They trusted him. He needed to trust them too.

"My parents got their stigma the night I was conceived."

Sam opened her mouth to say something before Tucker interrupted her with his laughter. She stared at him affronted. Danny turned to look at him too, his mouth slightly ajar. Had his brain short-circuited, or something?

"Is that funny?" Sam asked sharply.

Tucker sniggered again. "That had to mean there was a demon in the room."

"Right," Danny said slowly.

"Well, that's one perverted demon."

Immediately, they all broke into laughter. Danny's gut was hurting. Of course, Tucker would think of that, being rather perverted himself. "Oh Tuck," Danny said with a grin. "What would I do without you?"

"Be depressed."

Another wave of laughter rippled through them. "C'mon," Sam said nudging him. "Get out of bed."

"Yeah. All right."

She and Tucker went downstairs as he went into the bathroom. His reflection gazed back at him in the mirror, his icy blue eyes clear and bright. Calm was settling upon his mind, relaxing him. He took off the bandage on his arm, inspecting the damage. It had scabbed now, though it still looked a little inflamed. It could probably use some air. He was just getting undressed when his eyes flickered to a clump of coal tar lurking in the corner. He turned toward it, holding a hand out toward the creature. It blinked those vibrant green eyes, tilting its head to look at him before floating toward the air toward him, coming to rest innocently upon his hand. It was kind of cute, after looking at it for a while, Danny reasoned.

He let the thing float in the air as he took a quick shower and dressed, amused when it followed him out into his bedroom and then down the stairs. It was hovering right above his shoulder now, watching him with those wide curious eyes. He mused it was probably trying to make sense of what exactly he was too. It could probably sense the touch of both the ectoplasm and Azazel. As he entered the living room, he panicked when he saw his mother for a moment. Would she notice it?

"Good morning sweetie!" Maddie grinned at him, putting what looked like a vacuum on the couch and giving him a hug. He took that as a no then, considering that her hand almost wacked it off his shoulder. He doubted she would've even felt it. "They're in the kitchen eating some sandwiches I put out for them."

Danny nodded. "Thanks," and he returned her hug for a moment before rejoining his friends.

"Take long enough?" Tucker teased him, working on what looked like his third sandwich.

Danny rolled his eyes. "I was still tired." Sam rolled her eyes.

"Whatever."

"So, Danny!" he turned as his father's voice intruded upon their conversation. He was standing in the doorway to the basement, covered in sheet-rock. "Don't forget to keep hammering into the wall today. You had a free pass yesterday, but—"

"Dad!" Danny said with a groan. He held up his arm pointedly. The shower had made it look wet and sticky, as though it was still trying to scab. He watched as his father deflated slightly, that same expression of pain that he had worn the night before crossing his face for a moment. But it was gone in a flash.

"Get your friends to help you!"

"But, we wanted to go to a movie!"

"Do it before you go."

"Matinee is cheaper," Sam said with a frown.

"Then do it when you get back."

As frustrated as this was making him, Danny liked the fact that normalcy was returning. His father's ability to act like nothing had happened was really a skill. Half the time his father forgot to do something his mother asked, he wondered whether or not he really had or he was just utilizing this natural survival technique. It still irritated him when he wanted to have a day with his friends though.

"Can't I have this day off?" Danny asked frowning.

"No shirking from your chores." Jack grinned. "It'll be waiting for you when you guys get back." And then he was gone, dashing upstairs toward the Op-center.

"He just wants you to do the dirty work while he messes with some invention, doesn't he?" Sam said with a sigh.

"Yeah, pretty much." Danny rolled his eyes. "Sorry guys."

"Nah, it's fine. Maybe Miss Invisible will show up again!" Tucker said with a grin.

Danny laughed. "Right. Anyway, what time does the movie start?"

Sam checked her watch. "Ah crap, we gotta go now if we want to get some decent seats."

Ashes to Ashes

The movie played before him, cheesy special effects mashed together with an overdone plot that hyped the terror when there really was none to speak of. Sometimes they had a good piece, but most of the time they were just the substandard horror that wasn't scary, but really entertaining. He loved those kinds movies. But this time he couldn't focus on it. Maybe it was because of the conversation he'd had with his parents, maybe it was his newfound ability, or maybe he was just being paranoid.

But he was freezing cold.

He sunk back into the theatre seat, into the dark red cushions, trying to ignore the way his arms were prickling. Twice he glanced over at Sam and Tucker, wondering whether or not they felt anything. But they were only paying attention to the movie, occasionally remarking on some special effect or instance of horrible acting. They didn't notice anything. Danny took a deep breath, trying to tell himself that it was only his imagination, that the theatre was always a little cold.

"I'll be right back," he said standing abruptly.

"What? The best part's coming up!" Tucker said without looking at him.

"I know," Danny brushed past them. "I'll be back." And he was sprinting up the dark stairwell and out into the bright lighted concession stands. He needed to get a grip, seriously. If he hadn't seen this movie before he would think that the horror was starting to get to him. He shook himself and disappeared in the bathroom. He leaned over the sink and splashed handfuls of cold water onto his face and neck. It didn't help that the speck of coal tar had followed him from home. It watched him curiously now, cocking its head as though confused by his behavior. Danny tried not to look at it, and would've thought that it was causing the temperature drop had not a wall of heat hit him along with the light.

"I don't suppose you know what's going on?" he asked the thing with a sigh. It blinked at him. "No, I didn't think so."

He yanked a few paper towels out of the dispenser and dried himself off, sincerely hoping he wasn't going crazy. He walked back out into the main area of the theatre, glancing at the lights. Nothing flickered, and warm heat reassured him, although, even with that, he hesitated to return back to the movie. It was almost instinctual, some primal alarm in his head that told him to stay on his guard, to be cautious.

His friends didn't say anything to him as he returned to his seat, engrossed as they were in the climax of the film. Danny honestly tried let the movie capture his attention, tried to let the drama suck him in and allow him to forget his troubles. A chill crawled up his arms not five minutes in, turning his blood to ice. He clenched his fist and cast his eyes around the room. Theoretically, now he should be able to see the darn thing, right? He squinted toward the dark corners, the ceiling but nothing came into his field of vision.

"Hey guys, maybe we should get out of here," Danny muttered to them, unable to shake the feeling. His muscles felt tight; as though he were coiled to spring, ready to burst into flight. "Something doesn't feel right."

"Wha—?"

"It's cold," Danny said in an undertone, hoping they understood.

"Just after this part," Tucker said waving a hand to quiet him. Danny frowned, irked. They didn't understand! This wasn't something that you could just ignore! He couldn't ignore it any more; it was starting to suffocate him.

"No, we gotta go. Now."

Finally, Tucker broke contact with the screen and looked at him. Sam too had turned in her seat. They both worse the same perplexed expression and it was frustrating him. Now didn't mean turn and stare at him, it meant get up and get out of the theatre.

"Danny, what's going on? You've been tense the entire second half of the movie." Sam said raising one of her eyebrows.

"Because I've been freezing my ass off for the last half of the movie," Danny snapped.

"I'm fine…"

"Exactly. We have to go. Now."

"But Danny—"

She never got to finish her sentence.

The screen before them had died, the movie cutting off abruptly, plunging them all into darkness. But it wasn't a natural darkness, wasn't the type that happened when one just killed the lights. It was thick and heavy, as though they had all been covered with a blanket. Within moments, panicked voices were everywhere as people tried to figure out what was going on. Danny felt his lungs strain, breathing growing more difficult in the pitch-blackness. He couldn't even see Sam and Tucker, even though they were right beside him.

"Danny, what's happening?"

"I don't know." He gritted his teeth.

"Okay, next time Danny says out, I say we go out."

"Thanks Tuck."

"Yeah, that's great. But now what do we do? I can't see a thing in here."

"We could try to feel out way out."

"And get trampled by the forty other people trying to do the same thing? No thanks."

Danny frowned, trying to think. They could just wait for the blackness to dissipate, but he didn't like that idea. Not at all. For one thing, the people around them were starting to get very loud and panicked. For another, the temperature was dropping steadily now. Whatever it was, it was in the room with them now – hence the total blackout he assumed – and his last encounter hadn't turned out so pleasant. He'd never forgive himself if Sam and Tucker got hurt, not when he could've warned them the instant he felt the inclination and not at the last moment.

"Maybe I can call my parents," Danny said digging his hand into his pocket. He had their number on speed-dial; he wouldn't need to see the numbers.

"Don't bother," Sam said with a grumble. "I already checked; there's no service."

"Fantastic."

And then the laughter started; horrible teeth shattering laughter that filled not just the air around them but invaded them as well, as though it was inside their heads. Danny knew that laughter, had heard it before. He slouched down in his seat as though trying to hide, but it made no difference. Materializing out of the mist, the blackness warping to form his malevolent face was Azazel. His glimmering yellow eyes were inches from Danny's, his smile wide. Danny could hear his friends trying to talk to him but their words were lost before they reached him, the blood pounding in his ears.

"Daniel Fenton," Azazel breathed cocking his head. "Aren't you always in the right place at the right time?"

Danny swallowed. "That's a matter of opinion," he croaked.

The demon laughed loudly again, rattling Danny's bones. His brain was in lockdown, trying to figure out what was happening. Why was the demon here? Wasn't it supposed to be the haunting school or something?

"Enjoying your sight, I see," the demon went on, his eyes flickering to the coal tar that rested on Danny's shoulder. Danny glanced at the creature and saw that it had expanded, now roughly the size of a hamster. It was watching Azazel cautiously, almost guarded as though it wasn't sure if he would attack or not. So, not all demons trusted or got along with each other then.

"W-why are you here?" Danny asked, hating the way his voice shook slightly. He tried to make up for it by raising his chin, staring determinedly back into those yellow eyes.

"Granting the wish of the ectoplasm."

"What—"

The demon disappeared in a swirl of smoke before Danny had even started his question, the penetrating blackness returning before his vision. The laughter shook him once more, but it sounded impossibly loud now. Danny put his hands over his ears, trying to block it out. His ribs were rattling around, knocking against each other. And then he heard the demon shout into the sky, cackling words that enveloped them all in a wave of impossible sound.

"Amity Park. Awaken!"