Catalyst: A Story about Change

Chapter 7: Nathaniel

August 21, 8 months after

Amity Park

It was a Monday, and school was back in full swing. Last week had been the warm up: get your syllabus signed, get your notebooks, binders, rulers, etc. Try to remember some of what you learned last year. It was the beginning of Danny Fenton's senior year.

His mind couldn't be further away from school, however. To the casual observer, it might've looked like he was studying diligently over lunch, but in fact, he was updating his ghost list. Or he would've been if other things weren't on his mind. Danny looked down at the list as it stood so far, not really seeing it.

The Box Ghost had been clueless (as usual), Technus appeared uninvolved, Ember was guilt free (but definitely not fat free), Desiree, Skulker, Kitty and Johnny 13, and Walker, newly added, were all placed under "most likely uninvolved." There were also the "yet to question", "most likely involved", and "guilty" sections. So far no one was under "most likely involved" or "guilty."

Walker was the problem. Well, not really; he wasn't involved in Sam's disappearance. But then, he might not be doing much of anything for a long time, not after last night. Danny put down his pencil, and stared off into space.

Walker had brought it on himself. The guy just couldn't keep his mouth shut! He'd been condescending, and crude. He'd said some things about him and Sam that just…made his blood boil. And he'd refused to answer any of Danny's questions. Was he involved or wasn't he? Had he heard anything about Sam or hadn't he?

Something had snapped. Walker, the ghost who had wanted to lock Danny away, the ghost who had tried to turn the community and his own family against him, the ghost who used the "law" as a tool to exercise his obsessive need to control everything…Walker, the ghost who had obviously still been thinking of Danny as a scrawny fourteen year old kid, had gotten the living crud beaten out of him last night.

It was a good thing he was a ghost, Danny thought, because otherwise he might've died. Danny's brow furrowed, and he couldn't stop the growing feeling of guilt rising up through his stomach. He picked the pencil up again, and started nervously twiddling it around.

It wasn't like the bastard didn't have it coming to him. It…wasn't like he didn't have it coming to him! Somehow repeating this thought didn't help much.

He'd never heard someone beg him to stop hurting them before. It was a good thing Walker was a coward at heart, though, because if he hadn't started begging…

Danny looked down. He'd broken the pencil by accident. He put both pieces in his book bag, along with the notebook, and stood up to head outside for a while. He needed some fresh air to clear his head.

That pencil wasn't the only thing he'd broken recently. Walker's nose came to mind, for one. But the whole confrontation had been so pointless; why couldn't the idiot have just told him the truth to start with? Couldn't he see how upset and angry he was? Then, of course, there had been a legitimate doubt; the possibility that Walker was doing more than just messing with Danny's emotions. Maybe he was involved. And that possibility had driven Danny over the edge. For a few minutes, Walker had become guilty no matter what. He had been the ghost who'd driven Sam away, and he'd pay.

But the real problem was…the truly frightening thing was that Danny couldn't even…he couldn't remember everything he'd done, or how long he'd beaten Walker. It had taken his begging, pathetic sounding and broken, to snap him out of it.

Danny had been making his way over to Walker, who had somehow gotten all the way across the room, when he'd heard the word "please." It had been like cold water in the face, and had caused Danny to take a second look. It was like coming down from some hyper state of existence; the world had suddenly come back into focus. Then he'd remembered what he'd been doing, at least in the extremely short term. That was right; Walker was across the room because Danny had just thrown him there.

But he wasn't getting back up from where he'd thrown him. Maybe he couldn't get up? Danny had paused where he was, waiting to see. Walker had moved, but only his arms and his head, and only a little. And he'd moaned out "please" once again, pleadingly, and had gone on, in a weak voice, to claim innocence. Walker had just been pulling his leg after all, which was something he'd never, never do again. He'd said he'd do anything after that; he'd help with the search, just please have mercy…

Danny had left quickly, feeling slightly sickened. He didn't want to hear Walker beg for mercy, he just wanted Sam back. How had he gotten into a revenge streak against someone who wasn't even involved?

And now, this morning, he couldn't help wondering. Had he paralyzed Walker? He hadn't looked right, after being thrown. And his legs had been completely still. He'd only moved his upper body. If Danny remembered right, the momentum from his throw had carried him right into a table, which had been wielded to the floor. And he'd hit it right on the small of the back.

Danny had no particular fondness for the jailer, but he wouldn't wish a broken back on anybody. And Danny never thought he would be responsible for doing something like that.

Yet that wasn't completely true. Hadn't…hadn't Johnny 13 from the future been a paraplegic? Danny remembered that he'd never gotten out of that wheelchair, in any case. And his future self had been responsible for that.

Something about this train of thoughts troubled Danny deeply, and for a moment, somewhere deep in the Ghost Zone, a lone wanderer found himself suddenly recalling the time he had lost his temper with Johnny 13 all those years ago. Two people simultaneously hung their heads in shame.

Danny found himself promising to never lose control like that again, and he prayed, secretly, that Walker would recover completely. He didn't want to be responsible for something like that. He didn't want to have to look at his friends, and explain to them what he'd done.

The bell rang for classes, and Danny turned slowly to head back in. As he picked up his pace, he tried to put last night out of his mind. He didn't have the time or energy to spend worrying about Walker anymore. He was supposed to be planning out who to visit next.

Somewhere in the silent, still recesses of the Ghost Zone, an older, more experienced version of Danny found himself thinking on the violence that had given meaning to his life for the past decade. He'd suddenly started thinking about Johnny 13, and from there other incidents had come to mind, one after another, in a stream of memories going on for far too long.

He'd done so much damage; had caused so much pain. For months he'd been thinking about these things, however. These memories were what kept him company. But what had he learned from them? What steps was he going to take in the future, this time around?

As these questions formed themselves, a sense of determination began to set in. He'd felt guilty for long enough, though he'd probably never stop feeling it to some extent. But wallowing in it wasn't helping anything. It wasn't helping Sam or any of the people he'd hurt, or even himself anymore. What to do, how to make a start at changing things, though?

One thing, he knew, had to be defined for him, by him. He would never fight anyone again. He simply couldn't allow himself to ever go that route again. He'd spent so long attacking people and destroying things, he'd almost forgotten what it was like before that, when he'd played the part of a super hero. Unfortunately, he didn't think he could return to that; the two were too similar in nature.

Where did one draw the line between beating someone because they're the bad guy, and beating someone (even if they are the bad guy) because you want to? He didn't think, if put in that position, that he'd be able to control himself. There was too much habit, too much physical memory associated with the wrong kind of fighting. For him, fighting wasn't an option.

Danny found himself making a promise. If he was forced to defend himself, it would be through blocking the attacks of others or running away, never through attacking in return. He would never throw a punch again, if he could help it. And if he should end up taking a few punches because of this, goodness knows he would deserve it.

September 19, 9 months and 2 days after

"Breath in…let it out…breath in…let it out…you're doing great, Anna." Nurse Kelly hovered nearby, occasionally coming to hold Sam's hand. In the last hour she had started using Sam's "first name." She was three hours into labor, and apparently the baby would be coming any minute, judging from the time between contractions.

Ugh… She wanted this to be over, and she found herself cursing the ceiling out of sheer desperation. Who made it so incredibly ugly, dull, putrid, nauseating, and repulsively boring anyway? She needed fresh air, a window, nature, escape! Somewhere in her fevered mind Sam decided it should be hospital policy everywhere to perform all births in a beautiful outdoor environment. She let out a slight moan, and looked off to the side, to a corner of the room where an empty chair sat staring at her. She blinked and looked away again. Where had that muddled thought come from?

Vlad blinked back, even though she couldn't see. He could've sworn the girl had looked right at him just then, but he knew that wasn't possible. She had no clue he was there. Frankly, he didn't want to be there anymore than she would want him to be, if she did know. Vlad's palms were slick with perspiration, and his cheeks were flushed. He could only hope fervently that his help wouldn't be needed. He was not built for this!

"It's coming!" The shrill yell from Samantha brought Vlad's head up. Oh no…

He floated up and over, positioning himself a few feet away. He knew he'd have to be very close if he wanted to be of any true help, should a 'ghostly incident' occur.

Half an hour later Vlad Plasmius, grey in the face, slowly floated out of the hospital through the roof. I've been scarred for life. The images, sounds, and smells from the birth were continuing to assault him.

Everything had gone fine, ironically. The baby had decided to stay human throughout. Vlad would've given up his mansion if only to know that piece of information ahead of time.

I can never un-see this!

Meanwhile, Sam Manson was resting, her newborn baby in her arms. She'd never felt more peaceful in her life. Tired, yes, but peaceful. In a few minutes, she knew, they'd place him in a crib so she could sleep, but right then he was busily seeking nourishment. She felt warm, and very, very happy. She gazed down at him lovingly. He was beautiful, with just a tuft of black hair on the top of his head, and big baby blue eyes.

My son, Nathaniel Zakai Manson.

Author's note: I went with Jewish names, since Sam is supposed to be Jewish. Nathaniel means "gift of God", and Zakai means "one who is innocent, pure."

Interestingly, Lilith (also a Jewish name- a hint for the fans, I guess) is the name Sam chose for her "baby" in the episode "Life Lessons", which means "dark." (Her attitude about baby names has obviously changed somewhat since then.) Also, Samantha means "listener of God", interestingly enough. Heh, sorry, I find this interesting, you might not. :) A thousand apologies for the shortness of this chapter! I've already written the next one, and will probably post it tomorrow night.

But please review, however; I really want your opinions on this chapter, especially what you think of this name (and the fact that he's a boy). Or, if you're absolutely horrified at something let me know...or if you're Jewish and can give me hints at something I've done horribly wrong, please tell me. (I'm giving you gigantically huge puppy dog eyes here. Really!) Thanks for reading!