A/N: Hello! Long-time-no-see! Finals ended for the semester today, so I have a bit more time! Just a disclaimer before you read: I am not a historian by any account.

More comments after the chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 30: Visit

"Welcome back to the land of the living."

"Part of me resents that," he groans, squinting in the morning light that filters through a skylight. He's laying on a table in the Nasty Burger, his feet dangling off the end from the knees,"Why…?"

"You collapsed in the middle of the night," Valerie answers, "You don't remember?"

He shakes his head, "Not really…"

"Hm," she frowns, "...how are you feeling?"

"Like I slept on a table."

She thinks for another minute, taking his wrist in her hand to check his pulse.

"Pulse seems steadier. It was like a rollercoaster last night. Wasn't sure if you'd make it, Fed."

"I can kind-of remember feeling really sick…"

"Well, you seem okay for now. You up for a strategy meeting?"

"I think so," he sits up with a grunt. His body is stiff and sore, as if he'd marathoned a full-body workout.

"...Well, you don't really have a choice anyway. Let's go."

ZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzBREAKzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZ

"Carlita isn't going to like this."

"Too bad that we don't really care," Val snorts, "She'll get over it."

"...Does this count as kidnapping?"

"I think we have bigger problems," Darren sighs as green flashes through the eyes of the latina, quickly hidden as Dani attempts to conceal her presence.

"What do you think the prison sentence is for possession?"

"You know, that's the one ghost power I just…" he grimaces.

"Look, I don't like it either, but this is a life-or-death situation, so….you know...desperate times and all…"

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"At least she's quiet now," the huntress comments, "We ready to do this?"

"You and Ashton are the two running decoy."

"I'm okay...I think?" Ashton replies, an old Fenton Wrist Ray at the ready, "I'm not a very good shot, though."

"Well, it's a good thing it won't do anything more than push a human back," Val pats him on the back, earning a wince of pain, "No permanent or long-lasting damage."

"Try to aim for the cameras, though. Remember the map?"

"Yeah."

"Let's get this party started, then!" Val clicks her heels together, and zips away on her sled in a flash.

"...sh-she sounds a little t-too excited about th-this," Ashton comments.

"That's Val," Dani smiles brightly, "It's why she's awesome!"

"Good luck."

Ashton nods, and takes off, snaking through alleyways away from the halfas.

"We'll wait a few minutes for the chaos to start, and then I'll escort you as the poor, captured Carlita who's had a tough couple of days."

"Got it."

She can hear an explosion in the distance, and the whine of Valerie's sled. Panicked shouts drift from the direction of Fentonworks, and within seconds, the sirens screech past them.

"You know...Ashton may not even get caught. Huntress seems to warrant a pretty heavy response. Not that it's any surprise."

They wait a few more seconds before He takes her wrist in his hand.

"Remember. You're a scared, stressed Carlita. You're just a normal girl."

"I'm a complete diva and wimp!" Dani smiles brightly, "I cake my face in makeup in any situation to fill the void that is my soul and pretend the world revolves around me because I have money and boobs!"

"That might be a little harsh," he snickers, unable to hide his smirk, "but I'm not going to deny it. You need to act more devastated, though. Let's go."

She mentally feels around for Carlita, until she finds the stress. It works amazingly well; instant waterworks as Darren dutifully leads her to what was once the Fenton home, now a GiW HQ.

"Agent S!"

"Changeling!" the agent at the door growls, "Where have you been?"

"Searching for leads," he shakes her arm, "I got one of her accomplices. Want to take her to the lab to-"

"I just want to go home!" 'Carlita' wails, "I've been dragged around by that freak and her buddy for days and then that crazy, sled-riding nutjob showed up! I want to go home! I want to take a bath and count my shoes!"

"Count...your shoes?" Agent S questions.

"What else do you think I do in my free time, read?! You just don't understand how important a good pair of...why are you wearing white shoes?! After Labor Day?!"

"Look, let's just get you inside, we'll ask a few questions, make sure you're okay, and then we'll call you parents," Darren assuages, "That okay, Agent S?"

"Y-yeah…just hand her off to one of the other Agents. We need you to pursue Huntress."

"Did Professor D fix my visor?"

"Uh...no...I don't believe so."

"Then I can't fly around to chase her. I'll head down to the lab to check, though."

"Y-yeah. Let me just scan her first," he begins to fiddle with the instrument in his hand.

"Agent…" Darren sighs, shaking his head, "She's been held by a ghost for several days. You think she's not going to give off readings? Let me just take her to the lab directly, okay?"

He shoves past the flustered agent and into the Fenton home. There is only one agent at the entrance to the basement, one at the staircase, and two upstairs.

"This is more vacant than I'd hoped," Darren whispers, "But let's see how the lab is."

"Agent...J," he calls out to the agent at the door of the basement, "How many downstairs?"

"Three, including Professor D...who's the girl?"

"One of the kids taken by Danielle Fenton. I just want to ask her a few questions and maybe have her tested - make sure she's okay, you know?"

"Yeah. Let me call-"

"I'll just go down. We'll need the instruments down there, anyway."

"...you're right. Go ahead."

'Carlita' sniffs, hoping she looks as pitiful as possible.

"Look, we're going to get you home soon, okay?"

"...promise?"

"Yeah."

He nods at Agent J as he passes, leading 'Carlita' down the stairs. In the basement of Fentonworks, one agent stand by the stairs, another by the portal, and Professor D attempts to decipher data on one of the computer screens.

"I'm pretty sure we can handle this," 'Carlita' whispers.

"Just focus on getting the portal open."

"Roger."

"Professor D isn't much of a fighter, so try to leave him alone as much as possible. He's been pretty good to me, all things considering."

"Ah! Changeling!...who's the girl?"

"Ah, just one of the kids who was with Danielle Fenton. I have a bit of a favor to ask, though."

"She'll need to be examined for ectoplasmic contamination, hm?"

"Yeah, but first, I'd like permission to open the portal."

"Wh...whatever for?" the scientist replies warily.

"I need to get in there. Look, I'll explain later, just trust me-"

He cuts off as a small red dart lodges in his shoulder, the Professor looking on in pity.

"I suppose it started calling to you, hm? The Ghost Zone."

"Wha…?" Darren's voice leaves in a harsh whisper. Fire erupts in his veins, and he totters, but remains upright, his gaze focused. To his right, Agent F loads another dart.

"I suppose it's only natural. Would it be 'home' to you, Darren?"

"Nowhere is 'home' for me," he pants.

"At least you realize that. Agent F, another one. It hasn't progressed as far as I expected. Those flowers are supposed to have a more potent effect…"

The other agent creeps closer, positioning himself closer to Darren, who half-turns to keep an eye on him.

"As if!" Dani snarls, invisibly ripping herself out of Carlita's body and stealing the dart gun before Agent F realizes what's going on. The agent nearer to Darren lunges at him, and he handily flips him through the air. The ground shakes as he hits, and Carlita screams, pressing herself to the opposite wall.

Sirens sound in response to Dani's presence.

"What's going on here?!" Carlita wails, "How did I get here?"

"No time to explain," Darren responds, "Dani! The portal?"

The world is swirling, just like the night before. He feels sick, but moves to block Agent F.

"Working on it!" she throws paperwork to the ground, hoping to find the genetic lock the Fentons had placed on it.

Why do I never pay attention to the Fentons when it counts?! I know they told me where the lock is...

"What are you doing, Changeling?" Agent F growls, his face inches away from Darren's, "You're really going to their side? We were laughing together just the other day..."

"I'm in this for myself," he responds, "I need information from the Fentons before I actually end up croaking. It's nothing personal. I've just got Death's scythe hovering at my throat and I don't know when he's going to make his cut."

"We can help you!" F whispers harshly, sparing a glance at Professor D.

"You know that's not true," Darren responds, his knees ready to falter against F's weight, "You know I've been expendable from the beginning."

"That's…"

"Sorry, but I've been told that if I hope to get any answers before I bid this life goodbye, I need to talk to Danny," he uses the last bit of strength he can muster into a punch to F's abdomen. The agent wheezes and collapses to the floor.

"Found it!" Dani grins, flipping up the cover of the lock.

"Dirty beast," Professor D snarls, hefting a ray gun from his workbench, "Meet your after-life!"

The world seems to slow to the whine of the blaster. Molten lead sears through his veins as he lifts one hand. Lavender flames collide with the charging laser, the resulting blast sending the professor flying backwards.

"Dani!"

The portal opens behind him, and a small but powerful hand drags him back, into the swirling green abyss.

ZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzBREAKzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZ

"Darren! Darren!" she shakes him by the shoulders, but he's unresponsive. His skin is more ashen than before, dark circles hovering beneath his eyes.

Around them is the vast expanse of the Ghost Zone...and a large horde of Pariah's thralls.

"Now is not the time, Darren," she groans.

The skeletons, realizing that they have potential victims, begin to move closer. Dani blasts through one, and then another. What she wouldn't give to be able to use Danny's Ghostly Wail at a time like this, or maybe some ice powers.

A thrall raises its sword, aiming for Darren's legs, and she quickly blasts it away. As she does, another grabs onto her arm. Two more aim for her legs when her attention turns to the other.

I'm going to suffocate, she realizes as the mob presses closer, I can't handle quite this many on my own.

A roar of frustration tears from her lips, the resulting energy disintegrating a handful of them, but they're replaced before she can even breathe. Tears of frustration bud at her eyes.

I can't protect Darren.

I can hardly protect myself.

"Danny, help me!"

"...'Danny, help me!', she screamed, but as she realized he could not help her, she found herself filling with a nearly overwhelming power. A power born of her own desire, for the first time. The desire to fight, survive...and protect."

As the words take to the air, she can feel them come alive, filling her with power. A light green shield forms around her and Darren, pushing back the wave of thralls. With some effort, she pushes it further back, pumping more power into the barrier. The thralls begin to burn at its touch.

How…?

"Ahead, she could see a portal, promising safety. She grabbed her fallen companion and ran, narrowly escaping the skeletal horde…"

Her legs propel her as the words say, and she's not sure if it's because of the words or because she actually can see a portal. She leaps through, dragging Darren behind her. The portal snaps closed, severing a skeletal hand from its body.

"And thus she found herself in the library of The Ghost Writer, safe and sound," a ghost she'd personally never met finishes, closing a small notebook in his hand, and secrets both it and a pen into the inner pocket of his coat. He looks down in disdain at the scrambling hand on the floor. "Tch. begone," he crushes it beneath a shoe.

"You're…?"

"I'm glad you were able to make it here safely, Danielle, though your companion looks worse for wear."

"He's sick. We need to find Danny."

"Ah, yes, Phantom," he grimaces, "He's gotten himself into a rather unfortunate position, it seems."

"...you're Ghost Writer, aren't you? The one Jazz went on a date with once-"

He coughs, "Well, I was invited. It wasn't a date, per say…"

"But you're really him?"

"Look around, Child. What do you think?"

She's in the middle of a giant library, with books as far as the eye can see.

"Yeah, this is definitely somewhere Jazz would go all the time."

"Speaking of Miss Fenton, do you know if she's alright?"

"Last I heard, she's been detained by the Guys in White with the rest of the family."

He frowns, "I see...for now, go rest in an upper room. I have some preparations to make."

"I need to get to Pariah's Keep..."

He catches her has she falls, and exasperated sigh on his lips.

"Honestly...I can't call up power you don't have, Child. You had to overexert yourself. You're hardly in any condition to go storming Pariah's Keep…"

"...You'll need help, anyway."

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The library is nearly silent, save for the soft rustle of paper. Ghost Writer slips between the shelves, plucking his volumes of choice from their resting place. His arms laden with ancient tomes and scrolls, he places them gently on a table.

He strains his ears a little to hear the halfas' gentle breathing, though one is significantly healthier than the other. With a thought, he summons another book to his side, setting it down separately from the others. He'll use this one in a short while to help the former agent to the best of his abilities, though he suspects the Fentons will be able to use it more effectively.

Another book, one as precious to him as his life, he pulls from the pocket of his coat.

In Loving Memory of Cecil Crawford

November 13, 1944 – December 23, 1970

He brushes a hand over the old embossed cover. By the Infinite Realms, he'd been so shocked to receive this on Christmas! Honestly, reading the little manuscript had been a little painful. After all the years he's spent writing here in the Ghost Zone...it seems almost childish...and yet so terribly precious.

His first novel. The one that was never published in his lifetime.

To think Jasmine Fenton would bring this to him.

He'd told her his first name, but had failed to mention that he is in fact the late Cecil Crawford, who died somewhere around Christmas. Where they got his date of death, he'll never know. Even he doesn't remember the exact date. He was one of many left fearing invasion of a communist regime, a man moved by the heartfelt speech of Martin Luther King, Jr., a man who read in letters from home about how Beatlemania devoured his sister's mind. A man who could still remember where he was and what he was doing when he heard that President Kennedy had been assassinated. That same man would die in a country distant from his heart.

To be honest, he could argue that becoming a ghost was one of the best things to have ever happened to him. He had finally been able to pursue his passion without restraint.

"You set yourself on a dangerous path, Dreamer. Falling in love with a mortal girl…"

"...You're late."

"I'm never late," Death scoffs back.

"Indeed, perhaps only early."

"...I see your library is more impressive than even I had imagined…" something invisible leafs through the pages of a particularly heavy tome, "Had these been found earlier, Dreamer, the Infinite Realms could have fallen beyond saving."

"And yet they will save us all in the right hands."

"...Dreamer. I must confess that I'm rather concerned with you. A powerful being untouched by The Fright Knight's darkness, one who recognizes my voice yet does not cower in my presence."

"I heard your voice often enough in the jungle," He responds softly, "Even before you called my name."

"And The Fright Knight?"

"I am one who is more than aware of the True Power. The likes of him cannot touch this sanctuary."

Laughter echoes through the room, deep and almost sinister.

"Ah, if only you also possessed the power of Life, Dreamer!"

"Spare me. Being a king is the last thing I desire. I'm perfectly content to rule nothing more than my library."

"Perhaps Life would have given you more ambition, hm?"

"Is now really the time to be speaking to me so lightly? How can one as busy as you have so much free time? Is the world really that peaceful today?"

"One would think you want me to leave. I'm hurt, Old Friend."

"Old by whose standard?"

"Yours, obviously. Compared to me, your entire existence - mortal and otherwise - is too small to even recognize."

"And yet here you are," he turns his eyes to a spot of empty space, "Out of amusement or concern?"

"Both. Neither...will you be giving that gift to the mortal girl?"

His coffee nearly drops from his hands, and he casts a rude look at another empty space, "Is it a habit of old men to rummage through one's private drawers?"

"I hardly have to rummage, with my power. It's rather nice. Has that fool, Walker, come walking in here to claim contraband?"

"As if he could take me for anything other than The Christmas Truce. I honestly doubt he can even read. ...Do you think she would like it?"

"In my experience with mankind, most women do."

"She's not 'most women'. That's the issue," he takes another bitter sip of his coffee.

"Well, she is a kindred spirit to yourself. Perhaps you should trust your own taste."

"To be fair, you would be one of the worst beings to ask."

"...I've known more human beings than you can even dream of. I'd say my experience is not limited in the slightest," He mutters indignantly.

"Indeed, we all court Death. Do you ever get tired of mankind's advances?"

"I am what I am, and they are what they are. Life unto death and death unto life, as it were."

"You still haven't told me why you're here."

"Curiosity, my old friend."

The Librarian resists the urge to reference the old saying about curiosity, instead summoning a piece of parchment and a quill.

"Nothing good happens when you get curious."

"...really? Where have you seen that?"

"You spurred the Dream-Woven - The Fright Knight - into a paranoid spiral in the past, did you not? You were curious as to how a being who was never mortal, whose entire existence hinges on mortal imagination, would react."

Silence.

"What, you don't want to talk about it, so you took off?"

Nothing moves.

"You self-righteous-ow!"

Something flies across the room, smacking him in the back of his head. He looks down, seeing the gift he'd gotten for Jasmine Fenton on the floor, still wrapped in it's Christmas-themed paper, though one corner of the box is now crumpled in.

"You don't just throw a man's belongings!"

"Disastrous and ill-fated as it may be, you should stop hesitating. Hesitation never looked good on you."

"Those who have fallen victim to my temper would oppose that statement…"

"Temper. Ha. Right."

Before the words fade from the air, the presence is gone. Ghost Writer sighs, turning his attention back to his letter. His eyes glance at the gift, and he groans.

It's been way too long since he bought it. It's been in his library for almost a year now.

"I think this is a little past hesitation."

Denial, maybe.

Paralyzing fear, probably.

Love...definitely.

A/N2: AND that's this chapter! There was a reason I kept Carlita around, lol. Also...YAY MY FAVORITE! I've literally been setting up to use GW for three books now. This and upcoming scenes are scenes I've been planning since JoS. No joke.
I know some of you were excited for Tuck…*Dogeza* I'M SORRY HE ALMOST NEVER SHOWS UP! I just...I can't write too much about what he's doing because he's just trying to hack out of the quarantine. It's really...not that interesting. Very important, but not interesting and not something I can write accurately. His time to shine is coming up, though, in the next few chapters somewhere...I think.