Chapter Twenty-Five

As a quick note, this takes place prior to the events of the previous chapter. Hopefully that makes sense once you start reading.

CW: Depression, Death, Suicidal Thoughts (or at least adjacent to it), medical inaccuracies

Danny lay on his stomach on the island, watching as Cujo ran around chasing ghostly butterflies. He'd spend most of his time exploring, searching for a lair that may or may not exist, not sure what else to do with his new eternal afterlife in the Infinite Realms. Once or twice he met with the other ghosts, including Dora, who let him know about a three week truce with the living world in his honor. Danny did not expect a tribute, but was touched deeply by it. If nothing else, it helped his obsession remain a quiet buzzing in the back of his head instead of a never ending roar, knowing that at least his family and friends would be free from supernatural threats for a little while. .

Several times, Danny found himself back at the portal, and he would allow himself to try to summon that warmth, the tiny flicker of humanity that always remained like a candle in the darkness within himself, but he felt nothing but the icy chill of his own core. So far, the lack of it helped him to turn away, knowing that seeing his friends and family one last time would only bring them pain when he inevitably needed to leave, when he knew that over time he would become unrecognizable and that his old life would remain forever out of reach. Several times someone tried to summon him, too, and each time he managed to resist it and push down the temptation to follow the thread back to the summoner. Best case scenario it was Sam or Tucker or one of his loved ones, but worst case scenario it was Vlad. He doubted Sam and Tucker would tell the man his true name, though, so at least it would remain little more than an invitation, a question rather than a demand.

Cujo ran over and nuzzled his face, licking him a few times. "Gross," he grumbled, pushing the ghost dog away as he rolled onto his back and sat up. Little by little his arm and shoulder began to improve, at this point the scars from the ghost attack almost entirely faded, but his chest still ached and the threads in his skin itched uncomfortably, and his powers remained by far weaker than they ought to be. He should probably figure out a way to get the stitches removed, but Danny doubted it mattered since he was dead. He didn't look at his injury much, but Danny found his fingers subconsciously drifting to it when he wasn't paying attention.

"Wanna go explore some more?" he asked, and Cujo cocked his head at him as he wagged his tail. "Or maybe you can help me find someone. I should probably stop avoiding Nocturn." The truce the ghosts enacted on his behalf had to be ending soon if it hadn't already. He didn't want to incite violence, but he owed the ghost an explanation and an apology, given that he no doubt realized that Danny's dreams stopped having the same kind of power they briefly held now that he was nothing more than a ghost.

Cujo wagged his tail encouragingly, and pushing himself to his feet Danny followed the small ghost dog. Even if Cujo couldn't actually lead him to Nocturn, it didn't matter. He would find the ancient ghost eventually, and at this point, he didn't know what else to do aside from exploring some more and looking for a lair that he was increasingly convinced didn't exist. He hadn't expected being fully dead to be so boring, and even the strange new ghosts and places in the Ghost Zone didn't fill him with the wonder he would have expected, that void within him seeming to continue to swallow his hopes and dreams, any future he might have had outside the Ghost Zone as dead as he was.

They flew through the Ghost Zone for a long time, much further than Danny ever traveled before, and little by little he began to feel a sense of familiarity. It wasn't a tug or a pull, the kind of overarching feeling of being home that the other ghost described their lairs having, but there was an openness, a sense of seeing a dear friend after many years apart, and at some point he was no longer surrounded by endless green and purple doors but a black sky full of nebulae and stars. For a few minutes he hovered there, staring in awe, and as he reached his fingers out towards them he heard a familiar voice.

"Liminal child." Nocturn towered over him, blending almost seamlessly into the darkness and stars behind him, yet Danny wondered how he could have missed him so easily, his pale face and red eyes sticking out like a beacon against the dark sky behind him.

"About that," said Danny uncomfortably as he crossed his legs and floated. Cujo curled up in his lap immediately, and Danny smiled at him as he scratched behind the dog's ears. "I'm kind of not, anymore."

"Not what? A child?" the ghost chuckled softly, and Danny blinked, surprised by the joke. He didn't think the ghost had a sense of humor.

"A liminal. I died fully." He pulled down on the collar of his shirt just far enough that the scar became visible.

The ancient ghost laughed, the stars around him twinkling brilliantly. "Liminal child, you are no more dead than the last time we spoke in your home. No ghost could continue to dream as you have."

Danny's fingers stopped and he felt dizzy, almost sick. He focused for a moment, trying to transform and to find that tiny sense of humanity within him, but all he found was the cold comfort of his core thrumming in his chest. No doubt it was some form of revenge, a cruel joke against him. It couldn't be. He couldn't be. He would know, or the other ghosts would have known.

Right?

"It'd be nice if that were true, but you're wrong. I can't change back. The–the trigger I used to sense, that I could use to change, isn't there anymore."

"You walk on a razor's edge, constantly balancing between two realms. Your body has suffered a great deal of damage. You have not sensed your human half because you subconsciously protect yourself. Were you to transform before you were completely healed, you would not survive the change and your beliefs about your own mortality would become reality in truth." Nocturn leaned forward, gently touching the spot on his chest, his fingers as cold as the depths of space but oddly comforting. "Your heart needs time to mend itself before it will beat again, liminal child."

"But it's been weeks, hasn't it?" said Danny. Maybe months. Time was uncertain here, the world unchanging. There were no sunrises or sunsets, no moon or stars to keep track of the nights. Well, at least not in most of the Ghost Zone, but Danny doubted the stars surrounding him right now changed with the passage of time. He didn't recognize any constellations in the sky around them, either. "It's never taken me so long to heal from something before."

"Your heart is harder to heal than a broken arm, and in your ghost form, it will take longer," said Nocturn, and Danny swallowed. He knew Plasmius struck him close to where his heart would be, right beside his core, but hadn't realized he actually succeeded in hitting it. He didn't even know his heart could be a target while still mid-transformation or a ghost, never wanting to know what did or didn't change beneath his skin. Not for the first time, Danny regretted knowing so little about his liminality actually worked, if only so he could figure out how honest Nocturn was being right now. "If you could survive the transition, the process would be faster, but it is a risk your body will not allow yet."

"When, then?"

"I could not say," he admitted. "But it will be soon. You cannot remain a ghost indefinitely, not for your human half to survive." He leaned forward, his red eyes peering closely at Danny. "You do not seem pleased, liminal child."

"I–it's not that I'm not glad, it's just–I hadn't thought about going back," he said, or at least, he hadn't considered being able to really go home. He fantasized about saying his farewells, hugging his family and friends, and maybe even visiting the school one last time. He indulged in the fantasies enough to visit the portal and stare at it, considering, before turning back. Going home like this, though, would be different. It would mean returning to everything not as a mere passerby but as a full person again. It would mean dealing with school and ghost attacks. The isolation and depression. It would mean facing the fallout of whatever his family and friends told the world about him, whether it was simply that he died or the much, much more complicated truth about his strange half-life. It would mean confronting his parents, too, and their reactions about who he was, what he was, and what it meant. And his friends would be forced to reckon with him, to live with him once again and everything that he was. It would mean being forced to confront Vlad again.

And he would need to tell the ghosts he was wrong, after everything they did to welcome him and make him feel safe and whole and happy for the first time in months. There was a not so small part of him that did not want to let that go. His life in the real world was filled with little peace, and instead was messy and complicated and exhausting, and he didn't know if what he had there - his friendships, his family - was worth the trade-off since he didn't know if they could all truly accept him as he was. Not knowing for sure what he wanted to do frightened him. It should be an easy choice. He should want to live.

"Do you worry about the one that harmed you?"

"Obviously," he muttered, his shoulders sagging as Cujo licked his hand. "But it's just one part of it. Being alive had a lot of . . . pressure, I guess? It sounds so stupid. I know I should be happy, and I am, but–I'm worried about messing it up and disappointing everyone and I–I wasn't happy before, and I'm not exactly happy now, not really, but I–it's easier, maybe. Comfortable. And I guess I'm just . . . I'm scared to go back."

He was terrified, too, of getting his hopes up too much only to learn that Nocturn was mistaken and that he was indeed as dead as he thought since he should be able to feel something, shouldn't he, some trace of life within himself?

"How very human to be afraid and worry so much. I wonder that you ever could have thought you were fully a ghost, unable to relax and to be content with the simple beauty of existence." He stood up and gazed outward at the stars twinkling around them. "You are stronger than you think, child. You will overcome it."

"Am I?" whispered Danny softly, his hands freezing in Cujo's fur.

"You are. And in your dreams, you crave the connection you thought was lost to you. You want their acceptance and their love. But you cannot have that if you do not try to restore it and provide them the chance to show that your worst nightmares and fears are wrong," said Nocturn.

"But if they're not–"

"-your parents helped you. Protected you, even without knowing the truth of who you were," he said. "And I can see their dreams, liminal child, even if I do not harvest them. I know what they think of you, even if you cannot see the truth of it through your own nightmares. But you do not need to return to your world immediately or wholly abandon this one, even if you choose to return. You are as much a child of the Infinite Realms as you are of the human world. And it may be best to wait. Your heart is not yet healed enough for you to be human."

"So you wouldn't mind if I hung out here for a bit?"

"Not at all, liminal child," said Nocturn. "I would, if you so desired, let you remain here indefinitely and teach you. The dreams you both crave and desire to protect are not precisely the same as the ones I do, yet they are close enough that I could help you learn how to nurture them as I have done with you, to plant seeds that can blossom if nurtured. But the living world changes fast, and things may shift more rapidly there and leave you behind if you linger here too long. Should you wish to hasten your recovery, I would advise you to seek out the Far Frozen. Frostbite and his people are the foremost healers and scientists in the Infinite Realms. There may be more that they can do for you."

"I . . . I'll think about it," said Danny. "And, um, thanks. For everything."

Danny stayed with Nocturn, resting under the stars. The view was unlike anything he could ever experience back home, even when he flew up past the clouds given the awful light pollution in Amity Park. He knew the ancient ghost was powerful, but he rarely met one that could change the shape of the Ghost Zone around them so profoundly, and he made up constellations and stories for the glittering specks surrounding them as he avoided thinking about what he wanted and needed to do, the terror and fear holding onto him too tightly despite Nocturn's reassurances, but eventually, even he couldn't stop his thoughts from returning to home and what he should do.

Although Danny knew about the Far Frozen, he never went there before his death or during his afterlife so far. It was one of a handful of fixed points, and its residents had a reputation for being friendly but powerful. Coming to the Ghost Zone before as Phantom, though, was always a big risk. Too many of the ghosts reacted to the mere sight of him with an ecto blast, so Danny avoided it as best he could despite the strange sense of comfort the Ghost Zone always gave him.

He suspected the ghosts at the Far Frozen would help him, and the question was more whether he wanted the help or not. If they did, he could go home faster, see his family and his friends and return to his life, and his obsession thrilled at the idea of going back and keeping them safe, protected, and able to see their dreams become reality. But his life was the problem, wasn't it? The last few months were a trainwreck, everything falling to pieces around him, and he couldn't see a world in which that wasn't still happening when he returned. By this point he already missed so much school that there was no way he would get to continue to his junior year with his friends and classmates even if he made it home tomorrow, and he still had no idea what he even wanted to do with the rest of his life, his dreams of being an astronaut thoroughly smashed long ago.

And the ghosts knew the truth now, too. About him being Phantom and Fenton, and while they showed him a lot of kindness so far, he couldn't imagine that lasting if he started shoving them right back into a thermos as soon as they started attacking again. He also couldn't picture the ghosts stopping their attacks against Amity Park, though, or at least not all of them. Skulker would go right back to hunting oddities, Danny included, even if Skulker would only toy with him for the first year or two until he was technically enough of an adult that Skulker wouldn't feel weird trying to hunt him for real. Technus would continue to try to steal tech to conquer the world, and Spectra would no doubt be delighted to torment him with his dual existence now that word of it had spread throughout the Ghost Zone.

But if Nocturn was right, then Danny couldn't run away forever, not without actually killing himself, and the more he considered it, the more he found that if nothing else, he did have one dream. He wanted to be accepted by his friends and family. He wanted to be loved. He desperately wanted to see them even if they might not be able to accept who and what he was in truth, to give them the chance to at least try. And he could not forget the way his parents helped him as Phantom, despite their own prejudices and uneasiness, or the way Tucker and Sam continued to stay by him for those few days before his death—or maybe not death, he still wasn't sure–and how willing they were to listen to him, to stay by him, and to continue to be his friends despite what he was.

And if that was true, then maybe Danny didn't have to abandon the Infinite Realms, and perhaps his relationship with the ghosts could change. There was no reason it had to go back to what it was. It felt odd to be hopeful about something, about anything, after so long, but even though the familiar spark of humanity in his chest was gone, he could feel a hint of something bright there, of possibilities and choices that he never dreamed would be possible before, the void and hole within him smaller than it was before his death. And if the ghosts, who supposedly changed at a snail's pace could accept and welcome him to the Ghost Zone despite everything he did to them, despite the number of times they fought and despite how Danny lied to them about who he was, then maybe his family and friends could, too. They deserved the chance, at least.

And Vlad . . . He still had to deal with him, somehow. He knew Vlad would come after him and his family again. His friends at least knew to watch out for Vlad since he definitely told Sam and Tucker about him, but they might not know that Vlad was the one that came within a hair's breadth of killing him in the park that night. His family might not know the truth at all, might not even be able to begin to suspect that Vlad was the one responsible for what happened to him.

And at that moment, the choice was made for him. He had promised Sam and Tucker that he would not keep his secrets at the cost of his family's lives, and he intended to do what he could to keep his word. If there was any hope, any chance that Danny might still be alive, that he could protect his family and friends from more pain and from Vlad, then he had to take it.

"I need to go," said Danny. "And I . . . thank you again. For everything."

"Of course, liminal child. And do remember that you are always welcome here, no matter where your path takes you now," said Nocturn, and Danny nodded as he flew away from the comforting embrace of Nocturn's lair, letting Cujo lead the way again. The dog did manage to bring him straight to Nocturn, after all - there was no reason to think he couldn't do the same with the Far Frozen.

The starry skies faded behind him, replaced by the endless green of the Ghost Zone, and Danny followed in silence as Cujo led the way. He wasn't sure how long he flew, but as he finally began to get closer, Danny could feel the bite in the air first, the cold and the ice long before he saw it, something resonating faintly with his core, and to his surprise when the island covered in massive white peaks and swirling blizzard finally appeared within the endless sea of green ectoplasm, Danny felt that strange, comforting feeling of visiting an old friend like he did only (hours? days?) ago with Nocturn, even though he didn't quite understand why. It wasn't as if he'd ever met them before like he had with Nocturn.

Although Danny didn't mind the intense chill in the air, Cujo began shivering as the snow started to fall around them, the island close. "Do you want to go?" he asked, but the dog refused, staying by his side despite his own discomfort, and Danny smiled sadly at him. "Okay, be stubborn, then. I won't ask twice."

As he approached he saw a pair of yetis standing guard outside a massive cave, and although he'd seen a lot of odd things in the Ghost Zone, it still made him pause. Ghost yetis were new to him, at least. Were they like Nocturn? Born out of myths and legends and stories? Maybe he could ask if this went well. Maybe if the ghosts didn't hate him after everything, then he might be able to finally learn more about the Ghost Zone and its inhabitants, about the part of himself that he treated as something that deserved to be hidden rather than celebrated. He didn't want to hate himself anymore, and it was only as he stood there that he realized just how much self-loathing he was filled with for so long.

He shook his head, trying to focus on the mission at hand. "Hello?" he said carefully as he landed in front of them, trying not to stare too much at the very, very sharp spears in their hands and the fangs sticking out of their mouths and horns on their heads. His shoulder twinged at the memory of the ghost attack mere minutes before Vlad killed him, but these weren't mindless animal ghosts and they were friendly. Everyone said they were friendly.

"What brings you here, child?" asked one of the yetis as Danny swallowed and bit his lip.

"I need help." He pulled down part of his shirt to show the wound on his chest, the phase-resistant threads stitching it shut and almost glowing in the soft light. "I was told that you could provide it."

"Come with me," commanded the one on the left, and Danny followed quickly, Cujo running behind him and playing in the soft blanket of snow that covered the ground. Cujo enjoyed it enough that the cold seemed a distant thing to him now, and Danny smiled. Would his parents be mad if they knew he adopted a dog? More to the point, would Valerie? Cujo did ruin her life, and he dreaded having that conversation with her. Did she know the truth about him, too, now? What he was? He didn't know who his parents or Sam or Tucker might have told, or even how much his parents really understood since he hadn't exactly stuck around to explain everything to them.

He pushed the thought away, not wanting to get his hopes up, his mind still doubting what Nocturn told him. "Uh, what's your name?" asked Danny as they walked through the cave. He struggled to keep up, the yeti's strides so much larger than his own that it reminded him of taking walks with his Dad as a kid.

"Snow Flurry. Yours?"

"Danny," he said, "and this is Cujo."

"Danny Fenton?" asked Snow Flurry, his tone unreadable. He didn't know if his reputation here was good or bad, but there was no point hiding it. They would figure it out even if he tried to hide it.

"Yeah, that's me." His voice echoed more than usual within the cave.

"I see." Snow Flurry stopped, turning to him with an intense look of sympathy. "We cannot undo your death, Danny Fenton."

"Just Danny is fine," he corrected, wondering how often the ghosts asked for such a thing for him to jump to that conclusion, "and, uh, I've been told that maybe I'm not actually totally dead yet. I'm not sure I believe it, but that's why I'm here. You're all supposed to be super good healers and scientists, right?"

"We have powerful healers and scientists both, but that is not all we do. But I would temper your hopes, child," said Snow Flurry as he resumed leading him through the cave, clearly thinking Danny was delusional. Great. It didn't help that even Danny wasn't convinced that this wasn't a fool's errand. There was no reason for Nocturn to show him kindness, and this might be the ghost's idea of some kind of fun prank on the kid that broke his promise within a mere day of making it. It was too late to turn back, though, and so Danny continued to follow Snow Flurry until they walked into a large, hi-tech lab.

Sitting at one of the workstations was a massive yeti. He wore a blue cloak, a golden armband with intricate engravings on his right arm, and a brilliant gold belt holding up a blue skirt similar in style to what the ancient Greeks wore. But the thing that stuck out the most was his left arm and horns, both crafted out of ice, and he could see a skeletal hand just beneath the surface that Danny struggled not to stare at as the ghost turned to face them.

"Greetings, child," said the ghost. "I am Frostbite, ruler of the Far Frozen."

"Oh, uh–I'm Danny," he said, bowing. Was that what he was supposed to do here? He never met a king or any kind of royalty before. Well, except for Aragon, and that didn't feel like it counted much since he was such a jerk. And, well, also Dora, and he usually bowed to her if only to be polite. But still, it wasn't as if he was used to it yet, even his encounters with Dora few and far between. "Danny Fenton. And this is Cujo."

Cujo barked cheerfully, running up to the ghost and darting in circles around the lab. Danny worried that the ghost might be upset, but instead, he smiled as he dismissed Snow Flurry. "I've heard of you, of course," said Frostbite. "You're quite famous. It is unfortunate we never had the opportunity to meet before your untimely demise."

"Right, well, about that," said Danny, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been told that maybe it wasn't so untimely."

"Pardon?" Right, that made no sense, but he couldn't help it, his nerves getting the better of him.

"Another ghost–Nocturn–told me that I'm not actually dead yet," said Danny. "I want to believe it, but it feels too good to be true. Like a dream, I guess, which is kind of his thing. He said you could help me heal, and if it's true I'd appreciate that, but mostly I just want to know the truth."

"Come sit over here," said Frostbite, gesturing to a table that would not have looked out of place in a doctor's office, and Danny hopped up. "Tell me, then, what led you to believe you died."

"Well, that part's easy." Danny pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing the stitched-up wound and hoping he wouldn't need to actually say the words, not wanting to risk a death echo. "My parents tried to fix me, but I don't know for sure, and when I came to I teleported to the Ghost Zone. I–I've never been able to do that before, either, and I think . . ." He stared at the mark on his hand for a moment, pressing down on it with his thumb. "I wanted to be somewhere safe. Like home, I guess, but clearly not my actual home, you know?" And he didn't go to Tucker's, something which he did not add, but it was the next closest thing to home for him, the one place he always felt safe.

"Plus every ghost I've met thinks I'm fully dead now, even the ones that knew before, and when I tried to change back, I couldn't," said Danny. "Usually there's this feeling, this like warmth and light and just sense of being human that kind of sits here–" He put his hand on his chest, just to the side of his core and right over the hole from Plasmius's attack "-but I haven't sensed it at all since I got hurt. It's just gone. And although I've had trouble changing back once before, I could still sense it there, still knew it was here, I just couldn't grab onto it."

"How did you change back the first time when you couldn't grasp the feeling of humanity within yourself?" asked Frostbite as he stuck a thermometer in his ear, and Danny saw him scribble something down on a sheet.

"I went to my friends," he said softly, remembering the two of them. Sam holding his hand, Tucker staring at him in awe, the soft music playing in the background. "And they pulled me back, somehow. Just being there with them reminded me of being human, of breathing, of wanting to live and exist and feel again in a way I can't when I'm a ghost."

Frostbite grabbed a stethoscope and placed it against his chest over his core, listening for a moment before he asked, "Have you tried this again?"

"No. Like I said, I can't even feel it this time, and I didn't–I thought–" He took a breath, despite not technically being able to breathe, while Frostbite made a note and put away the stethoscope. "I didn't want to show up and make things harder for them. I wanted them to be able to move on because I didn't think I was still alive."

"That's very kind, Danny Fenton," said Frostbite.

"You can just call me Danny," he insisted. "And I mean it sounds like it is, but I think it's also just to protect myself. I've been scared that if I am dead and went back, then I wouldn't be able to make myself leave even though–y'know. I shouldn't be there with them since then they'd never want to let me go, either, even as I–even if I can't really be a part of their lives anymore, not really, and I . . . I just . . . " The words died in his throat as he rubbed his arms and bit his lip, trying to hold back his own tears.

"Then at the very least, you are wiser than many who come to the Infinite Realms this way," said Frostbite as he put a furry paw on Danny's shoulder in an effort to comfort him. "Can you generate a ball of ectoplasm, please?"

"Uh, I can try," offered Danny, holding out his hand, and a small green ball formed over his palm for a second before rapidly vanishing, his chest and core burning painfully. He winced, bringing a hand up for a moment and swallowing. "Sorry. I tried it once before since I got here, but I haven't been able to do it. It used to be pretty easy for me. I thought it was just because I, um, died and was sort of new to being a full ghost."

"It should be quite simple for most ghosts, even those that are newly dead such as yourself, but you are an unusual case," said Frostbite. "I'm going to need you to lay back on the bed, please. I want to scan you. Can you stay still for a moment?"

"Sure," he said as he laid down, and within seconds Cujo jumped up into his lap. "No, buddy. This isn't rest time. You gotta stay on the floor for a minute, okay?" Cujo whined but obeyed, much to Danny's relief, and then Frostbite wheeled over a strange-looking scanner, slowly letting it pass over him as he lay on the bed, before walking over to one of the monitors to study the results. Danny could swear he heard his own heart beating as he waited, the seconds ticking by while Frostbite sat in silence for a long time.

"Um, anything?" he asked, unable to help himself.

"We'll have some more data in a minute," said Frostbite. "This scanner should be able to tell us much about your core. Although the wound you received clearly did not shatter it, I believe it may have damaged it, which could be why your healing has progressed so slowly. Your overall temperature is quite high for one with an affinity for ice."

"What?"

"You have an ice core - we could sense it immediately when you arrived," explained Frostbite. Danny knew he did, his question more about Frostbite's comment about his temperature being high, but let it go. "Have you never made it snow or frozen a lake? Never seen your breath fog despite the heat?"

"Oh, no, I've done that. I just didn't realize it was a common thing," said Danny, but he remembered his core resonating with this particular piece of the zone, feeling a sense of comfort and warmth despite the intense cold. "I–can all of you do that, too?"

Frostbite laughed, then, as he held up his arm. "Was that not obvious, Danny Fenton?"

"Just Danny, seriously," he grumbled, "and I guess it should've been, but I really don't know anything about this. I could never make something like that - the best I can do is freeze stuff sometimes."

"Perhaps we should teach you, then," offered Frostbite. "Ice can have great power when appropriately directed and–oh." He stopped, glancing at Danny and then back at the screen. "Danny, I'm sorry."

"Bad news, then?" He chuckled weakly. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. Shouldn't have let Nocturn manipulate him. How stupid. He could feel tears beginning to burn in the corner of his eyes, but he bit his lip and pushed it down, trying not to let it overwhelm him. But his voice still cracked as he replied, "I assumed it would be and that Nocturn was lying about me still being alive, too. You don't have to apologize."

"It's not that, precisely," said Frostbite. "The damage wrought upon you was severe. Plasmius did not destroy your core, but it is fractured, and your heart is severely injured. With your core in its current state, I am not certain that you will survive even with intervention."

Danny blinked, sitting up on the table and staring at him with wide eyes. "Wait, so Nocturn was telling the truth? I'm still–I'm not dead?"

"You are not," said Frostbite, giving him a strangely endearing yet terrifying grin. "At least not yet. I suspect your inability to reach your human half is your body instinctively keeping you from doing further harm to your core or your heart. Were you to transform, I do not think you would live through it. Please do not attempt to do so right now even if you do begin to sense your humanity again, Danny."

"Great, so I might as well be dead, then." He leaned over, running his fingers through his hair and trying not to cry. Was this really better? Learning his core was damaged enough that technically being alive still didn't matter anyway? "This sucks."

"Please do not despair. We can assist you here," said Frostbite, and Danny looked up at him as Cujo jumped back onto the table and leaned hard into his side, and Danny scratched him behind the ears, welcoming something else to focus on as his mind reeled. "We will need to repair the damage to your core. It will require extensive surgery and then you will need to spend some time in a recovery chamber."

"But I'll be okay, then?"

"Assuming the surgery goes well, then yes," said Frostbite. "Once your core is fully repaired, the rest of you should heal. We can monitor your progress and advise you of when it may be safe for you to attempt your transformation."

"I–how long?"

"I cannot say for certain," said Frostbite as Danny scratched behind Cujo's ears. "A few weeks, perhaps? Much of it will depend on how well the surgery goes. But we do not have to do this. Your core may heal on its own eventually, but I doubt it would be fast enough for your human half to recover."

Oh. So he might not disappear then, at least, but it didn't matter. He had to take the chance, and he pushed down the fear and uneasiness gnawing at his gut, the anxiety over what his family would say and do if he returned. He needed to do this. He needed to try, for his sake and theirs. "I'll do it."

Frostbite nodded. "Excellent."

"When can we schedule it?"

"I can have a team ready within a few hours. I would not advise delaying much beyond that, though if you need to attend to things first, we can schedule it for tomorrow or the day after," said Frostbite. Danny gripped Cujo, and the dog let out a small whine as Danny squeezed him too tightly, but he struggled to loosen his grip, his nerves getting the best of him. No time to tell his family and friends first, but maybe that was for the best. He didn't want to needlessly get their hopes up in case everything went wrong, and Danny wasn't sure that they would be remotely accepting of the idea of ghostly doctors or surgeons, of the idea that he might not be dead when he still couldn't transform. They might assume he was in denial about his own death, and given that some part of him was still in denial about being alive . . . no, he wouldn't talk to them. Not yet.

"No, that sounds fine. Thank you, Frostbite," said Danny.

He spent the next few hours in the lab as Frostbite's team prepared him for the surgery. They asked dozens of questions that helped keep him distracted, particularly about the threads in his chest (apparently stitches weren't a thing here), and walked him through the procedure. He struggled to understand it, honestly, but his options were limited at this point. Either they would save him or they wouldn't, and so he simply moved through the motions with them, trying to be as patient as he could.

"You should know, Danny, that there is a chance this may fail," said Frostbite as they prepared to put him under. "You may not survive, even as a ghost."

"I figured. I–it's fine, Frostbite. Let's do this," he said as he swallowed, and then he felt himself grow drowsy as the anesthesia took effect, falling into a deep sleep, his dreams full of stars and unexplored worlds, of seeing his family and friends, of being accepted fully for who and what he was.

And then there was a sharp, painful yanking, jarring and disorienting. His eyes fluttered open, and he was immersed in some kind of liquid. Danny could see Frostbite, or maybe another member of the Far Frozen with an ice hand, dimly outside of the glass. Something was wrong. What was wrong? Was he–did he–and then he realized what the awful pulling was.

He was being summoned, but unlike every other attempt, he could not refuse it. They had his true name, spoken correctly. They were a liminal, walking the razor's edge between worlds as he so he went, caught in a trap and certain that it could only be Vlad, no doubt ready to finally finish him off for good.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, follows, faves, etc! I appreciate it. I ended up working on this instead of editing my InvisoBang fic anymore right now (I needed a break). And for those of you that guessed that Danny wasn't dead, well, you were correct. I didn't have the heart to kill him (at least not this time). But don't worry, there's still some time left.

I'm hoping to have the next chapter up in mid-September or so, but, uh, we'll see. :)