Morning came, and with it school; Danny had forgotten his stomach somewhere in the mix.
His friends, evidently, could tell.
"Hey Danny, what's- whoa!"
"You okay, man?"
Danny made a noncommittal noise in response. He continued to struggle with his lock, books feeling slightly heavier than usual. He realized a few seconds too late that no one was saying anything, and he gave his friends a quick glance. They were still waiting for an explanation. "Uh, sorry. Um, Skulker attacked last night?" Danny said hesitantly.
Sam gave him an unconvinced look. "Okay? But why do you look like he made you a full ghost?"
"Yeah- No offense, dude, but you really don't look so good." Tucker said, frowning.
Danny racked his brain. He woke up feeling queasy around five in the morning, and stomach cramps kept him awake for the next few hours. He'd been feeling sick and feverish since then, much to his annoyance.
"Well… I might have food poisoning," Danny admitted.
"That explains how pale you are. Should you be in school?" Sam asked, while Tucker not-so-subtly took a safe step out of the splash zone.
"More importantly, did you puke?" Tucker asked nervously. "You know I have a no-sickness, no-doctor, no-hospital policy."
"Tuck, he doesn't feel good." Sam scolded.
"I know, and I feel for him, I do, but I don't want to feel with him." Tucker quipped nervously.
Sam scoffed and rolled her eyes before turning back to Danny. "When did you last try eating something?"
Danny greened considerably at the suggestion, instantly shaking his head. "No eating. Ugh… I tried this morning… bad results. I mean… last time I could keep something down? Maybe yesterday? Lunch?"
Tucker looked more concerned then. "Seriously? Shouldn't you be hungry- you know, with how many calories you burn a day?"
Danny gave a helpless shrug. "I was last night. I chugged water. Like, a lot. I think that might be why I got sick this morning."
Sam frowned and brought a hand to his head. "Danny, you definitely have a fever! You're normally a lot cooler. Are you sure this isn't anything- you know- ghostly?"
Again, Danny gave a shrug, turning back to open his locker. "I really don't remember anything out of the ordinary."
Sam frowned as the lock popped open. "If this gets worse before the end of the day, maybe we should take you to the nurse's office."
Tucker moaned, not giving Danny time to protest. "Why? Why did you have to get sick?"
Sam shot him a death glare, and he was quick to correct himself. "I mean, uh, why did you have to get sick? You must feel awful! We can, t-totally go to the nurse!"
"Guys," Danny cut in, irritated, as the bell rang. "I'm fine, really. Don't worry. Look, let's just get to class-"
"FENTURD!"
With annoyance, the trio all looked towards the noise and saw their least favorite jock headed their way through the rapidly clearing hall. Three consecutive groans came from the smaller teens.
"Come on, Dash! It's too early for this!" Sam tried to stand in between the pair; Dash merely proved his worth as a football star, sidestepping her with ease.
The blonde lifted Danny by the collar of his shirt and yelled in his face, "I got a D- on my science test yesterday! You know what that means?"
Danny considered, before guessing, "You'll let me go because you didn't fail?"
"Wrong answer, wimp!" Dash growled, pulling back a fist.
"Uh, wait! I'm sick! I'll, uh, barf all over you!" Danny yelped, half bluffing, half serious.
Dash's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Uh… ew. Well, if I can't punch you…" His gaze settled on Danny's now open locker.
Danny could practically see the moment the lightbulb went off over Dash's head; it was a bit like watching a monkey the moment it learned to unpeel a banana. He groaned, accepting his fate, as Dash roughly shoved him in slammed it shut with a laugh.
"Danny!" His friends cried, as Tucker rushed to try the combination.
"Not cool, Baxter!" Sam snapped. "He's sick! Cut him some slack!"
Dash scoffed at the goth. "Oh no, is the scary witch gonna cast a spell on me?" He mocked, before laughing again and watching them struggle.
"Sorry, Danny, hang on!" Tucker yelled out, fumbling with the lock. "Almost… got it!"
"Danny! Are you okay?" Sam asked breathlessly as their friend tumbled out.
Danny remained on the all fours before he held up a finger. "... Yeah... uh," he rasped, "Hold on a second..."
They all watched as the raised hand smacked over his mouth and made a gagging noise.
"Uh, Dude? You alright?" Tucker asked cautiously, taking a long, wise, measured step back.
Danny waved him off, though he was actually waving a lot closer to Sam's left boot.
Dash looked slightly less amused. "What's wrong with him?"
Sam glared. "What part of he's sick didn't get through your head?"
Dash glared weakly back, looking abashed for once. "Well- what do you want me to do about it?"
Tucker huffed. "Just go, Dash."
Dash hovered for a second, nervous energy apparent as he watched the smaller boy on all fours fight his nonexistent breakfast. Then, wisely, he stalked away, feeling two glares on the back of his neck.
Once the jock was out of sight, Sam and Tucker turned their attention back to Danny, who was trying to get up.
"Woah, there, ghost-boy. Take it easy," Sam warned, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm okay," Danny said unconvincingly
"Come on, Danny, we know you better than that. What's really going on?"
Danny gave them a weak glare before sighing, knowing they were just trying to help. "Okay… Look, I've just been feeling pretty… I don't know, weird, since yesterday. Like… this is gonna sound weird, but- I don't know, crampy?"
"Crampy?" Tucker echoed. "What, like- like you had some bad Mexican cramps?"
"No! I mean- maybe? I don't know- I've been having this bad stomach pain off and on, and just feeling really queasy. I thought it was from my mom's cooking. But I should be feeling better since yesterday, not worse."
"So it's gotten worse?" Sam confirmed; Danny nodded, feeling pathetic.
"Uh…" Tucker muttered, "Maybe you should tell your parents?"
"No way," Danny instantly responded, snapping his head towards his friend. "My mom goes crazy when one of us gets sick. I'll be under house arrest for a week. What if a ghost attacks?"
Sam and Tucker looked at each other before looking back to Danny. "You know, we can handle it," Sam said, sounding a bit offended.
"Oh- no, guys, that's- that's not what I meant. Look, I know you guys kick butt. I just- well, I don't want to put myself out of commission for nothing. And- I don't know, what if this is some sort of ghost thing? I mean… Vlad had ecto-acne. Maybe this is a halfa thing… I don't know," Danny finished.
His friends looked more understanding, then. "Well," Sam said, "At least keep us posted, okay?"
Danny could tell Sam wouldn't budge, so he nodded, despite not wanting to burden his friends.
He'd keep them posted.
If it got too bad.
…
Unfortunately, that night, the truth ended up coming out.
Well, up, really.
Maddie Fenton wasn't going to take no for an answer; family dinners was a Friday night tradition. So, Danny sat there, feeling doomed as he watched his mother serve him a healthy scoop of spaghetti.
His fork clinked around his plate, messing with the shape of his pasta mound, determined not to swallow the rapidly gathering salty taste in his mouth. He hadn't eaten all day, and was feeling lightheaded. He was thankful Sam and Tucker had taken over ghost hunting for the day; with how faint he felt, he wasn't sure he'd be able to do it.
He looked down, breathing through his nose shakily, stomach feeling tender and betrayed. Danny quietly apologized to the organ, and quietly began to think that this might be more serious than he'd wanted it to be.
"Danny?"
He looked up; everyone was looking at him. To his left, lis father's brows were furrowed, and on the opposite end of the round table Jazz's lips were pursed. On his right, his mother called his name again, slower. He realized they must have asked him something, and the absence of chatter and silverware scraping made him feel like he'd been thrown onstage without knowing his lines.
"Uh, yeah? Sorry, spaced out." Danny forced himself to say with a thick tongue.
They looked more concerned. Wrong answer, apparently.
"You feeling alright, Danny-boy?" His father asked.
"Yeah, sorry! I just- Long day at school. Uhm, we had a boring history lecture. I'm just tired."
The answer felt forced, even for him. His parents exchanged looks on the sly, while Jazz gave Danny a look of her own. The dynamic and secrecy almost made Danny want to laugh at the irony.
"Alright, sweetie." His mother finally conceded, turning to him with a gentle smile. "Just have a few bites, then you can go off to bed. Alright?"
Danny could feel the blood drain from his face. "Uh, okay," He stammered out.
"Danny, you look pale," Jazz said hesitantly.
Danny shot her a look of betrayal. Jazz shrugged helplessly across from him.
"Do you not like the pasta?" His father asked, before turning to his wife questioningly. "I thought he liked your pasta."
Danny's stomach rolled as his mother looked back at him.
"I thought so too. Danny, just have a few bites, I don't want you to come down later tonight hungry after I clean the kitchen. I'll clear your plate tonight if you're not feeling well."
They were being so nice. It was going to be the death of him.
They were all still watching.
"I said okay," Danny heard himself say faintly.
His father gave a little chuckle. "Yeah, but you're not eating, Dann-o."
Danny looked down at the pasta. Tonight, the noodles looked little more than translucent worms in in dirt and blood. The thought made bile rise in the back of his throat. Holding his fork clumsily, knowing he was sealing his own fate, he stabbed and twirled a bit onto his fork. He could feel that same salty taste filling his mouth and making his lips quiver as he brought it closer to his mouth; as the smell hit him, he lost it.
Chair scraping back as he flung himself towards the bathroom, his family watched him retreat in shock.
Faintly, as the door slammed shut, they glanced amongst each other.
Jack looked down at his plate then over to his worried-looking wife. "Hey, uh, don't worry… I… I think your spaghetti is great, Mads."