Danny watched the peach cotton clouds roll by from the back of Kwan's truck. The grooves of the road rocked his body. He was in a stupor— a daze. Even the distant sound of police and fire sirens only seemed to lull the ghost boy further.

It was like a dream if Danny could ever remember having one quite as good as that. He certainly felt close to sleep. God, why was he always so tired all the time?

He ran his hands over his face and pulled his skin taut, worming his fingers around the discolored swollen skin around his eyes.

Is it getting bad again? Or is it just getting worse?

Of course, by the time the vehicle pulled into the FentonWorks driveway and the wet ground was reflecting a neon halo of his own name, Danny remembered. He remembered that the real world existed outside of this flatbed. He groaned in time with the joints and brakes of the truck.

Using his knees, Danny hurried to the bottom of the flatbed dragging his four tons of books behind him.

To meet him, there was Kwan, who had dropped out of the rig's passenger side to stand imposingly with his arms crossed.

Danny couldn't help but feel his eyes roll. They could've kept rolling out of their sockets and bouncing down the street, but civility seemed to be the fastest solution here.

Kwan typically prefaced whatever he was about to say with a polite interjection.

'Could I bother you—'

'Do you have a second?'

'Are you busy?'

But no, Kwan coldly stood there. Not a single inkling about what was going on inside his cavernous head.

Danny swung a leg over the truck and climbed off the bumper, "No, no, don't get the door for me— I wouldn't want you to strain yourself."

The ghost boy landed in his driveway with a thud. Danny found his balance by leaning on the rusted body of the truck with his shoulder before jostling his bag and adjusting his clothes.

Saying nothing, the linebacker just kept standing there in absolved silence. His glare affixed to Danny. It brought to mind the watchful eyes of a museum piece.

"...You don't really pull off stoic." Danny quipped, dusting himself off.

Kwan didn't dignify with him a response. It seemed he could play the silent treatment with the best of them.

"Oh— oh my god, are you actually mad?" Danny stifled a laugh.

All Byun-ji had to do was raise his brows to communicate his vexation.

Byun-ji's aura… Ran colder than most people. Suppose Byun-ji was just mirroring what was put in front of him. But the linebacker stared the creature down with an unemotive sneer.

The ghost boy turned around to see if Byun-ji's sister would be any help at all.

Brandi appeared to be occupied with a phone call with a client and picking at her manicure.

Trying to puff himself up, Fenton hissed, "Did you want to start something?

To this, Kwan scoffed. A passive huff, perhaps. Whatever it was, it didn't seem impressed with the threat. It was the kind of sound someone made when they've beaten wholesale ass for less.

"I thought I made myself clear last time." Byun-ji finally said in a guarded voice that no longer resembled him.

"What're you talking about?" Danny narrowed his eyes.

Kwan tightened his arms across his chest as if physically rooting himself in place, "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

He then muttered, "Or you're stupider than I thought."

Danny snapped his head away. He swallowed his sharp-tongued reply, clenching his teeth.

"I'm not stupid." The ghost boy growled out, "And I really don't know what you're talking about."

After a contemplative spell of silence, Kwan only steeled his nerves. He was a wall blocking the path leading up to the Fentons' stairs.

Danny wasn't sure what else the linebacker wanted to hear.

So they stood there in the dying haze that inched down Kwan's stalwart figure.

"The graffiti." He said plainly.

"Oh, you can't be for real…" Danny threw his head back in disbelief— "I had nothing to do with that!'

To put it mildly— Kwan was unconvinced. He didn't scowl or shout or show his disappointment in any other way than just piercing Fenton with his eyes. It's like he was simply unmoved.

"The thing is, Fenton…" The linebacker began, "I don't believe you. I don't. I never did."

Before Danny could ask what he meant by that—

Kwan snapped, his tense laughter stirring the air around them, "I don't know what it is that you are— or what you pretend to be…." The jock rolled his head from side to side as he listed off, "Burn out. A loser. A holier-than-thou prick—"

Byun-ji chuckled stiffly, "To be real, I-I don't really care."

He took a step closer. The loose gravel agitated beneath his sneakers.

Danny took a step back. Instinctively.

He had no earthly reason to be afraid of Kwan. Just for the fact he was bigger. Danny flinched. He flinched and banged his shoulder into the wall of the truck again.

"This stunt is going to delay the civil war game." Byun-ji was gravely serious.

"S-so?!" Danny blustered— wishing the quiver in his voice and lack of abrasive wit didn't give away the cowardice he thought he had outgrown.

"I'm trying to get out of Amity Park." Before shaking his head and correcting himself, the linebacker admitted, "We all are."

"Dash will turn the football team out of a half-century-long losing streak. He's going to be the one to break the quarterback curse. WE have one shot for that scholarship— So color me shocked that as soon as he starts hanging around you and your freaky family—"

"Watch it—" Danny found himself muttering.

"So, yeah, believe it or not, I don't trust anything you say!" The linebacker snapped, for the first time in his life, not caring if he spoke over someone else.

Then there was nothing.

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

Danny didn't want to look at him anymore.

Danny knew that Kwan didn't feel any guilt or shame about this. Kwan spared no regrets or remorse for him. It was obvious the linebacker didn't think he was worth the effort.

"I don't believe Weston when he says you're some kind of monster. But I have eyes, Fenton. You get off on hurting people. You get off on hurting Dash." Kwan said solemnly.

Swallowing, Kwan had to take a second to lower his voice. Like he had to cognitively remember that despite how different they looked, he and Danny were the same age.

Byun-ji sighed, "And you… you can't help it. Can you? You're just… a black hole—"

This seemed to have struck Danny. He felt his hands start to tremble. Blood boiling. Only his bones resisted the urge to punch Kwan until he was just a stain on the concrete.

"What the hell do you know?!" The ghost boy fired off, "You don't know me. You never took the time to get to know me. None of you did!" Danny's laugh was a flutter of nerves and hatred, a reflection of nothing is still nothing.

"Hey, maybe Dash didn't tell you about me because he's—" Fenton seethed, nearly blurting out, "Dash didn't tell you about me because you don't know shit about him either!"

There was a brief second where Kwan's gaze fell as if Danny had said something too close to home. Something Kwan had been ignoring. Something he had been putting off.

"I don't know why I have to stand here and listen to this— this self-righteous bullshit!" Danny unclenched his fists long enough to feel the sting of where his fingernails were cutting into his palms. He instead grabbed onto his backpack straps as an anchor. He spat on his driveway.

Fenton parsed the look on the linebacker's face before mocking him, "I'm so sorry Dash doesn't tell you every iota of his personal life— but that seems like a you-problem, big guy."

There was Danny— Voice cracking, panting, red-faced.

And Kwan simply… didn't care. He didn't. He more or less looked at the ghost boy like he was having a temper tantrum. Patiently, he waited until Danny relented. Byun-ji stood there, stone-like in his apathy and contempt. As if priming himself to ask if Danny got it all out of his system.

Byun-ji didn't need to say anything else. Danny proved the linebacker's assessment in a death roll of nothingness. It was a completely hollow attack.

"This is your last warning, Fenton." Kwan shifted out of the way of the path to the door. He leaned on the tailgate of his family's truck. He eased into it, his elbows resting on top of the door. Stretching his shoulders and neck. Popping his joints— the linebacker stared up at the twilight.

It read almost like an insult to Danny. Granted, most things did. And to think, just before this, Danny was staring at the same deeply beautiful sky. The sky that, for barely a second, gave way to the idea that Danny didn't need to exist to fulfill any purpose other than to be.

To be.

And to be loved.

And there was Kwan. Who seemed to squint through the harshness of the setting sun, unaware of anything profound in it.

Now that second was gone. Danny could never get it back, no matter how badly he wanted it. Just like how he couldn't go back to the exact moments before his fingers accidentally brushed over the control panel for the portal.

Turning, Danny began to walk back to his front porch, wanting to keep his eyes pinned on Kwan, "Or what, you'll make me do your laundry— you'll hoist my underwear up a flagpole—?"

Before the ghost boy finished the thought, the ultimatum came out casually. Loud enough to know exactly what Kwan meant, "You'll be eating your food through a fucking straw."

Abruptly, Danny skidded to a stop. His sneakers suddenly scraped against the loose gravel.

Bathed in the dingy yellow porch light and the neon tones playing off the whites of his teeth and shirt. Kwan's smile returned to his face. The jock quickly came off the tailgate and escorted the youngest Fenton to his door.

The grip on the ghost boy's shoulder was forceful, nearly tight enough to bruise—if Danny still did.

Now, he could see that the corners of Kwan's eyes didn't wrinkle like he always thought they did.

He was sure he had never heard Kwan raise his voice— now Danny knew it was because he didn't have to.

His hair stood up on the back of his neck as Kwan raised his fist to knock on Danny's front door. The air seemed to ignite, and every atom of the ghost boy's body became aware. He stared ahead, attempting to maintain his composure. Fenton found his mouth completely dry.

He got the inclination that even if he did use his powers against Kwan— it would still be a butcher on both sides.

The door had swung open, Jazz on the other side. Her expression was taut.

Shoving the ghost boy towards his sister, Kwan resigned, "I believe this belongs to you."

Shooting one more glare over his shoulder, the youngest Fenton continued inside. Token resistance, one had to assume.

His eyes briefly met his sister's, though it felt more like an accident. Like she was putting on a stronger front of authority in front of one of Casper High's elite. He wasn't sure what exactly he did wrong this time.

With quiet contempt, Jazz sighed, "Thanks, Kwan."

Popping his collar, the linebacker nodded, "Not a problem. Have a goodnight."

The stairs creaked under his weight as he departed.

Before Danny could see the jock land at the bottom of the driveway, Jasmine had firmly shut the front door. He could have sworn Kwan had turned back to look at them, but Danny fathom as to why.

The lights in the entryway flickered, and there was a soft hum in the air from the house. The pipes settled, they settled around Danny's chest— He still felt cornered and claustrophobic. His sister, who usually would offer advice and ease, seemed burnt out.

The truck backfired as it left their yard. The headlights cut a beam in the living room curtains and pulled around.

Jazz had closed her eyes tight before addressing her brother, "Were there any leads to where we could find Johnny in the back of Kwan's truck or—"

"Hold on. Hold up. You do not get to lecture me right now." Danny held up his hands in protest, "You got Lancer to put me in the idiot class!"

"I'm sorry I was trying to look out for everyone's safety, but can you blame me?!" Her hand struck the door, emphasizing her point, "Last night, you broke into someone's house! You committed an actual crime—punishable by up to ten years in prison! What part of that is so hard to grasp for you?!"

'Safety'? The younger recoiled at the implication that he was some kind of… monster.

"I didn't know what else to do!" She shuddered. Jazz had a stutter to her breath. Her teeth gritted, and she kept repeating, "I-I don't know what to do, Danny."

"But it always seems to come back to you, huh? Do you even think before doing the things that you do? Have you ever thought for once in your life about someone other than yourself?"

To defend himself, Danny opened his mouth to speak but—

"I know you have a brain in there, so why aren't you using it—?" Her eyes gave away the waves of tears she was struggling to resist. Her voice is now small but just as cutting.

Why wasn't she angry? Well, maybe she was, but Danny could live with himself if Jazz was just angry.

"I have been covering for you for this long. I clean up after you. I do your chores for you. I clean… all of it. Even before you know it, you messed up. Let you fuck up Mom and Dad and your classmates and the rest of Amity Park for so long. And there's only so much of your shit I can take b-before… before…"

He knew how much she hated to swear in front of him— but being on the receiving end of it… it hurt. It hurt a lot.

The younger Fenton found himself asking, "Before… what?"

"Before I let Mom and Dad catch you." She stared right at him, right through him. Jazz was off-kilter, leaning against the door as if it was the only thing holding her up right at the moment. The side of her head hit the frame with a soft thud. Her coppery hair cascaded over her shoulder and face.

The quiet part of him relished at the guilt that was eating his sister alive.

She's exhausted. She's just tired. She doesn't mean it. Jazz has been alone with Ghostwriter all day; God knows what he put into her head—Danny attempted to rationalize this sudden outburst. He didn't know what he was doing, but the ghost boy suddenly reached towards her to embrace his sister. To give her some kind of comfort. Some reassurance that he was still the same Danny before he died. Still her baby brother. His arms moved towards her without thought or hesitancy.

And she backed away.

"I don't know what you're turning into, Danny, but it's starting to scare me."

If he still had a heart, Danny felt it drop. It dropped and kept falling to the center of the earth. He felt like scum. He felt worse than scum. He didn't remember exactly what happened next as time felt blurred entirely by his emotions and adrenaline.

Danny could have stood there for years or headed to the stairs before she even finished speaking, but then he was just in his darkened room. Head throbbing, Danny threw his bag down and collapsed where he was standing. Bringing his knees to his chest, The lonely ghost boy sat with his back against his bed, the frame digging into his back.