Dawn creeped into the room slowly, lingeringly.

It lingered a little too long over Danny's eyes.

With a groan, the boy threw an arm over his face. He was starving.

Danny squinted up at the ceiling. He was really dreading… well, everything, at the moment. He dreaded finding out the source of the craziness of the past two days, dreaded more pain, and really dreaded any more barfing episodes.

Danny stared at the stars stuck to his ceiling, taking a breath. Okay. Here were the facts.

There was something wrong with him.

He couldn't ask for help for obvious, secret-revealing reasons.

Seeing a doctor would be risky, even with checking his temperature.

A hospital was out of the question.

It could be something ghost-related. Maybe.

And finally, he had no idea what was going on anymore.

In fact, Danny thought as he let anxiety finish the job of waking him up, weren't his ghost powers supposed to make his immune system less susceptible to illness? He'd noticed a distinct lack of any viruses since the accident. The only time he'd gotten sick since then had been ghost-related. Or if he'd made himself sick from staying up too late hunting ghosts. So what was going on?

The sound of his phone beeping cheerfully made him flinch out of despair. Clumsily, he fumbled for it, startled at the noise before reaching out to grab the item. "Hello?"

"Morning, ghost-boy. How're you feeling?"

Danny leaned his head back onto the pillow. "I'm alive, or the better part of it, anyways."

"Ha-ha. No, seriously, Danny, how are you?"

Danny frowned, evaluating, and for the first time all morning, realized he felt fine. "... Woah."

"Danny?"

"Uh, sorry, Sam. I just… I feel… normal." Danny said, hearing his own disbelief.

"Wait, what? Really? That's amazing!"

"Yeah, it… is," Danny said back.

He heard a commotion on the line, then Tucker was saying, "You're better? That's awesome!"

"Better question, why are you two together at-" Danny looked over at his alarm. "Eight in the morning on Saturday?"

"Dude, we're making fudge brownies. My mom bought all of the stuff, and- well, actually, we were going to surprise you."

Danny felt his face warm, pleased. "Really? That's… Wow. Thanks, guys. I mean, I don't know what to say."

"Well, don't say anything. If you're really better, come over and bake them with us. If you're up, might as well be because you're with us."

"Oh, man, that sounds awesome." Danny's face fell a moment later. "I'm under house arrest, though, remember?"

"Do it for the fudge, dude."

The connection went weird again for a second, and then Sam was back.

"Okay, we're gonna get back to baking. Hopefully see you soon. Bye Danny!"

"I'll see what I can do," Danny promised, before hanging up.

Danny braced himself, sitting up in bed and hoping to avoid vertigo. Nothing. He really felt fine.

Well, aside from feeling ravenous.

He guessed his powers had healed him after all. Danny grinned.

He quickly got ready for the day before bounding downstairs. He found his mother in the kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee and her usual teal hazmat suit. She looked up, expression turning accusatory when she saw him. "Daniel James Fenton! What are you doing out of bed?"

Danny winced at her tone before raising his hands appeasingly. "It's okay, Mom! I feel better!"

His mother regarded him suspiciously as he approached; he tilted his head compliantly when she brought her hands to his cheeks. She tutted. "You're still a bit warm, Danny. I don't know if I want you going out."

"I jus' wanna go'do Tuck's," Danny said, trying for nonchalance as she squished his cheeks.

His mother hummed at him, considering as her hands dropped. "You were very sick last night, young man. Are you sure you're feeling better?"

"It's only for a few hours, right around the corner. I can come back if I start to feel bad again." He added.

His mother frowned; Danny pouted. She sighed, and he knew he was good to go. "Thanks, Mom!" He called over his shoulder as he darted around her and to the door.

"Call home if you get sick! We can pick you up! And don't forget about your homework this weekend!"

"Bye, Mom!"

Walking the few short blocks to his friend's house, Danny couldn't believe his luck. All that worrying, for nothing? Maybe someone out there really was watching out for him. Looking up at the gray sky, he watched a few birds flit by to avoid the impending storm. Maybe he'd take that ride home after all; he didn't want to push it.

Minutes later, he knocked on the door. Tucker's mother answered with a warm hug. "Hey there, Danny! Glad you could join us!" She greeted as she ushered him inside.

"We're in here!" Sam's voice called out from around the corner; Tucker's mother went back to her laundry basket and around the corner.

Danny found them in the kitchen just as Sam very purposefully dumped a sack of flour on Tucker's head.

"Hey, Danny." Sam greeted, dusting off her hands.

"Hey, guys," Danny replied, watching as Tucker hacked; white powder flew out of his nose and mouth. "Uh, how're the brownies?"

"How do they look like they're going?" Tucker asked in between coughing.

"They were going fine until meat-boy here got egg all over my chest." Sam told him, gesturing to her ruined top. "I was just returning the favor."

Danny shot Tucker a confused look; Tucker look offended. "Not my fault! I was throwing eggshells in the disposal, you're the one who didn't move!"

"Excuse me? Your aim is terrible, I was ten feet away!"

"You know that, Sam! You've seen me in gym! You should have dodged!"

Sam raised a rolling pin threateningly. "You wanna go, nerd?"

Tucker grabbed a beater, face still bleached. "Bring it on, vegan!"

"Guys!" Danny interjected quickly, making both of their heads swivel in his direction, "Let's just get back to the brownies? Remember, the brownies meant for me?"

Both of them looked at him, then at each other.

As one, they reached into the sink and flung an eggshell at Danny.

After Tucker did his best to get the flour out of his hair and Danny and Sam finished scrubbing fruitlessly at their clothes, it didn't take long for the brownies to bake. They set about to prepping Tucker's living room for a horror movie, stealing pillows from the sofa and throwing them onto the floor. As the three argued over which movie to watch, the brownies finished; they decided on The Thing from Down Under... Earth! 2. Spread over multiple pillows on the ground and eyes glued to the television, it wasn't long before the two dozen squares they'd cut were gone.

Fifteen minutes past.

"Oh, man, oh, boy," Tucker groaned, curling into his pillow.

"I can't believe I ate six brownies," Sam moaned, running a hand over her face. "At nine in the morning."

Tucker sounded close to tears. "I ate eight," he whimpered. "They were so good, until they weren't. Why did they have to betray us?"

"Guys, I don't think I can ever eat fudge ever again." Danny wheezed, trying and failing to swallow away the nausea.

"Just focus on the movie," Sam grunted. "And try not to puke."

The three's eyes dragged over to the television just as the protagonist's stomach burst open with rather cheesy effects.

"Oh, man, I'm gonna be sick." Tucker moaned.

"Already there, pal." Danny said, and then was uncomfortably aware of his mouth tasting salty.

He sat up abruptly, stomach turning, feeling sharp pain at the movement.

"You alright, dude?"

"Uh huh," Danny groaned, then held back a gasp as his stomach seized again.

"Woah, there." Sam was sitting up gingerly, turning to look at him. "You look really pale."

"Brownies?" Danny asked weakly; opening his mouth had been a bad idea.

Instinct took over and he lunged towards the bathroom. Rather, he tried to.

Pain had him double over and tripping halfway; shock took over at the immense wave of pain that stabbed into him. He dry heaved.

"Danny!"

Danny groaned, curling into his side; nothing made it better. It was back, and worse than before.

"You're still sick, aren't you? Should we take you home?"

"Ugh," Danny panted, trying to roll over to his back; it didn't go well, and his vision swam.

"Crud, don't move, don't move. Tucker-"

"Mom!"

"M' okay," Danny breathed out shakily, trying to sit up.

Pain exploded in his abdomen. He saw stars and couldn't breathe for a moment. For that long second, the only thing that existed was the agony. Something was wrong. It hurt. The world became a blur of colors and noise, then dark.

Then, he could see again, and he was being dragged to Ms. Foley's purple car by his friends. He couldn't breathe. Another blink, and he was strapped between his friends. He felt every jolt and bump as the car sped; they felt amplified by a hundred. Noise came in and out; Tucker's mother was talking non-stop on the phone.

He realized about ten minutes in the car ride what was happening. "W-wait!" He panicked, "We can't go to the Hospital!"

Tucker shot him a glare so fierce it shut him up. "Yes, we can!"

Sam seemed to be fighting panic. "We have to," She said, biting her lip nervously, "But, I don't know what we're going to do if they- you know-" She said, lowering her voice to a hiss. "If they find anything-"

They hit a particularly large bump, and Danny blacked out again. When he awoke, he was being hauled out of the car while several people in white ran towards him. Before he knew it he was heaved onto a stretcher.

It felt like he was in a nightmare, one of those terrible ones where you've been stabbed and you wake up feeling it. But this was much, much worse, because through the haziness and pain, Danny was all too aware that this was real. He hadn't been this scared in a very long time. He felt the cart begin to move, and, powerless to stop it, he closed his eyes and prayed to anyone listening-

Please, don't let them find out. Don't let them find out, please, please-

Another jolt, and he was out again.

He opened his eyes; in between blinks, a white ceiling, another blink, darkness. He watched through slitted eyes the doctors' mouths above and around him moving, and then Sam and Tucker were on either side of him saying something, and Danny tried to shake his head, help, wait, please, don't let them take me, and then they were gone as he went through a set of swinging doors. Something, a mask, was lowered over his nose and mouth; he felt dread as the blackness around the edges of his vision intensified, unable to fight it. He heaved in another wheezing breath, and everything faded.

This is minor, but because I feel like someone might pull the "Sam doesn't eat anything with a face on it" gimmick: Sam has eaten pastries/ desserts in the show with eggs. Cookies. Pizza (dough). Brownies aren't a stretch. She still eats her leaves. Don't worry about it.