Chapter 1: Loud(y)

Danny Fenton's eyes flew open. The smack of the morning paper hitting the front door downstairs jolted him out of a sound sleep, and only then did he realize his alarm was already going off.

"Shhiit–" he muttered, kicking off the blankets entangling his legs and reaching to hit the alarm, effectively tipping himself over the edge of the bed and face planting onto the cold wood floor below. "Shit!"

His hand reached up from the floor and smacked the alarm clock, silencing the alarm that had been ringing unheard for 20 minutes. Danny peered up at the clock, saw the time, and promptly shot up to his feet, eyes wide. "Shit!"

Danny's bare feet landed heavily on the floor with each step as he dashed across his bedroom to his small walk-in closet, yanking his pajama shirt off as he went. It came over his head just in time for him to narrowly dodge the doorframe, but he still managed to stub his little toe, causing him to groan irritably. He grabbed a pair of jeans off of a hanger and began to hop into them one leg at a time as he exited the closet and stumbled over to his dresser. He pulled open a drawer and selected a t-shirt at random, not even bothering to put it on before grabbing his school bag and his old pair of red Chucks from the floor and sprinting out into the hall towards the bathroom.

Of all the days to be late, Danny thought, pushing the bathroom door shut behind him. He dropped his shoes and backpack to the floor and quickly streaked his toothbrush with toothpaste, shoving it into his mouth and brushing while he scrutinized his appearance in the mirror. Will these bags ever go away!?, he thought, pulling at one of his lower eyelids in frustration. He felt like he'd had the complexion of a zombie for the last three years, the exhaustion in his otherwise youthful features unrelenting. With a sigh, he spat toothpaste into the sink and began to rinse his mouth out with tap water.

Bangbang"DANNY"bangbang. Jazz pounded on the other side of the bathroom door. Damnit, Danny cursed himself for forgetting Jazz was home for the weekend on fall break. The average college student would use the long weekend to hit as many parties as possible on Frat Row or whatever, but of course Jazz Fenton came back to Amity to shadow a local psychologist. Just my luck she would need the bathroom now–Danny swallowed, choking on some leftover toothpaste in his mouth, and ran a hand under the faucet to gather some water and wet his hair, trying to control the cowlicks running rampant through his bedhead. He tugged on the t-shirt he had grabbed and turned away from the sink.

Without a second thought (and before Jazz could continue creating a scene in the hallway), Danny let the uneasy, staticy feeling of intangibility override his every sensation, and he grabbed his book bag and shoes as he sank through the tiled bathroom floor to the house's lower level.

Danny landed solidly on the floor of the kitchen. His nose told him Jazz had already started the toaster and coffee pot. He fell into a chair at the kitchen table and began pulling on his shoes, lacing them up loosely and throwing his backpack over his shoulder at the exact moment the toaster produced an immaculate specimen of Fenton Toast, Jack Fenton's face perfectly imprinted on a slice of wheat bread. Jazz was the only one who could ever manage to get a clear image out of that godforsaken toaster.

Danny reached into an overhead cabinet, pulled out a travel cup, and poured a near-absurd amount of coffee for himself, leaving no room for cream or sugar. He grabbed Jazz's toast, leaving it dry and wrapping it in a paper towel, and shoved it into his backpack. He began to head towards the foyer, ready to book it to school, until he remembered–

"Shit…" he muttered yet again, stopping short in the doorway of the kitchen. He quickly backtracked to the refrigerator. He pushed aside week-old leftovers and haphazardly-labeled ectoplasmic samples until– "Aha–"

Danny reached in and pulled out a small white take-away box, perfectly square and untouched by ectoplasmic residue or casserole stains. He'd been sure to place it somewhere relatively safe, in the upper right corner of the emptiest shelf of the fridge. He unzipped his backpack and placed the box carefully atop the wrapped-up toast. He gingerly re-zipped his backpack and made a beeline back to the foyer.

He could still hear Jazz pounding on the bathroom door upstairs. With a smirk, he closed his eyes and let a familiar deep-seeded cold spread from his chest. A white ring appeared at his waist and flared out, then split, half of it traveling up to the crown of his head, the other half down to the soles of his feet. The cold encompassed him.

Intangibility took hold again. And then weightlessness.

Danny floated. Then Danny flew. Danny Fenton–no, Phantom, took off straight through his front door. Upstairs in Fentonworks, Jazz Fenton finally managed to force the door open using the bobby pin she'd stashed above the doorframe years before. She watched through the bathroom window as a familiar specter ascended from the direction of her front stoop. Irritated, she raised an eyebrow and watched as the ghost took off in the direction of Casper High School at top speed, his lower half nothing but a blur of energy and a familiar purple backpack strapped to his shoulders.

Jazz sighed, but smiled as she moved to the sink to start her morning routine. Not much had changed since she'd left for college. Danny still overslept, still locked her out of the bathroom, and probably still stole her breakfast (which she admitted she had anticipated, so really it was Danny's breakfast from the start, but semantics). And as the figure of her little brother became a pinpoint in the morning sky, she smiled wider and nodded, proud to see that after all this time, Danny was still trying.

Danny was tired. Now that the panic of waking up late had passed and he was en route to school (making good time too, if he didn't say so himself–during their last status exam, Tucker had clocked his top speed at 204 mph, and he hadn't even broken a sweat), the residual sleepiness was catching up to him. He'd intended to spend at least a couple of hours last night studying for the upcoming SAT, and then maybe get to work finally finishing all of the homework assignments he'd neglected over the past week. He should've known it was unrealistic to think he'd have enough time to do any of that. He was disappointed, but not surprised, when Technus flew directly past his bedroom window in the direction of downtown. What was he supposed to do? Ignore him?

The last of the city's bizarrely discolored street lights were petering out as Danny glided over the rooftops, nearing campus. His gaze automatically started scanning the school grounds, looking for a secluded place to phase, and instead he spotted two familiar figures in the side parking lot, one perched on the hood of a car, the other facing them, gesturing animatedly with their hands. In spite of his exhaustion, Danny grinned–most students were either already inside or hanging out in the main lots until the first bell rang…

The cool chill of invisibility trickled outward from within, a feeling like a constant rush of water over his skin. Danny dove at a sharp diagonal and stopped, silently and invisibly hovering four feet or so above the roof of the hard-top convertible.

"I'm telling you, Sam, there's gotta be an easier way–hell, I'll do it for you! Why risk pissing off your parents and having some random autotech sniffing around asking why you–"

"For Christ's sake, Tuck, I'm a grown-ass adult and it's my car. My parents don't have to know anything. And knowing this town, I doubt anyone's going to question installing any kind of ghost tech."

"But I could do it so much betterrr," Tucker whined.

Danny smirked, watched as Sam opened her mouth to retort, and decided it may be the right moment to intervene.

Halos sprang from Danny's waist and in a single moment he was suddenly fully visible and prone to gravity, falling the couple feet to land loudly on the roof of the car. It had the exact effect he'd been hoping for–both of his best friends jumped, Sam's shoulders cringing up to her ears and Tucker instinctively going to pull off his backpack, presumably for his Fenton Thermos.

Danny chuckled as he watched the recognition fade into Tucker's eyes, and Sam turned to look over her shoulder with an unamused expression on her face. "You guys need to relax, anyone would think you were about to be attacked by a ghost or something," Danny teased, easing down to his butt and letting himself slide down the windshield to sit next to Sam.

"Real mature, Danny," Tucker fixed the glasses that had gone awry on his nose, "You wouldn't be laughing if I'd actually capped your ass in here." He reached a fist back and knocked on the side of his backpack, a distinct metallic ting ting rang out.

"You wouldn't do that to me, Tuck, you love me too much," Danny waved him off.

"Love has nothing on muscle memory, dude. I get spooked, the Thermos is coming out."

"Yeah, yeah…" Danny rolled his eyes playfully, "But then you'd be responsible for ruining this special day…" he raised his eyebrows and shifted his gaze from Tucker to Sam. There was a ghost of a smile on her lips, but he could tell she was still peeved at him. Probably more for landing on her car than anything but–

"Can I get a drumroll please?" Danny asked, sliding his backpack off one of his shoulders so that he could unzip it.

All he got from Tucker was a finger, but he was smiling.

"Duh duh duh daaaa!" Danny sang the cheesy fanfare as he pulled out the little white takeaway box and held it out in both his palms. "For one Sam Manson on this fine Tuesday morning!"

"Danny…" Sam propped her elbow up on her knee and rested her cheek in her hand to face him, the other hand pushing the box down. "Don't let anyone see that, I told you guys not to do anything for my birthday–"

"Birthday?" Danny feigned confusion. "Who said anything about a birthday? Tuck, do you remember anyone saying anything about a birthday?"

"Can't say that I do," Tucker played along, his minor annoyance with his best friend forgotten. "How convenient would that be though?" the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Oh, so convenient," Danny continued the bit. "Maybe I should just take this and go try to find someone whose birthday it is to–" Danny moved to put the box back in his backpack, but he felt Sam's hand wrap around his wrist.

"Oh, will you two stop it already! Jesus, it's like your brains never developed past the age of twelve," Sam took the box out of his hand and ducked her head, but Danny could see her smile through the curtain of hair that hid her face. He smiled too.

"Thanks for that though, I'm thoroughly embarrassed now," Sam muttered, a slim finger playing with the edge of the box.

"Sam, there's no one around but us, I promise. You think I would've just manifested out of thin air if anyone had been around to see it?" Danny rocked towards her and nudged her shoulder.

"You have a history of using your powers to gaslight people at this school, so yes, absolutely."

"Come onnnn, only people that deserved it," he waggled his eyebrows. "I swear, no one's around. Are you gonna open it or not?"

"This better not be something big or extravagant or–"

"Girl, you're the rich one, remember? All my savings goes into software subscriptions and ghostboy here doesn't even have a job," Tucker nodded to Danny, who shrugged in assent. "Extravagant is not exactly our style. Not that you're not worth it, it's just–"

"Tucker, I get it. Please stop talking," Sam looked up at him with a small smile. She slipped a finger under the cardboard flap and opened the top of the box, and Danny watched her face the whole time.

He and Tucker had argued about the cupcake for an hour in the little local bakery before finally coming to a consensus. By the time they'd made a decision, the woman behind the counter looked about ready to murder them.

Tucker had insisted on all chocolate, since it would be easier to decorate to Sam's liking, with darker colors. But Danny knew that Sam preferred vanilla cake over chocolate (and interestingly enough, chocolate dairy-free ice cream over vanilla) and he thought they should get her something she'd actually enjoy, not just for the aesthetic.

They'd paid a little extra for the hassle, but Danny managed to convince the baker to make them a vanilla cupcake in a black tin, decorated with chocolate frosting and sprinkles to look like the body of a very delicious spider. Eight chocolate-covered pretzel sticks, broken in the middle to create an angle, made up the legs. There was no writing or placard to distinguish it as a birthday gift. Sam couldn't get mad at them for simply buying her a cupcake. Even if it was from a gourmet bakery and it was the size of her outstretched hand, Danny maintained it still didn't count as "extravagant".

Danny watched as her face broke into a smile. She tucked her hair behind her ear to lean over the edge of the little box and get a better look, and he could see her blush clear in the soft morning light.

"Is that extravagant enough for you?" Tucker asked, also smiling.

Sam was quiet for a moment, and actually genuinely looked speechless. Still smiling, she reached into the box and pulled off a chocolate covered pretzel, looking from Tucker to Danny, and took a bite out of it. "It's perfect, guys. Thank you."

Danny slid off the hood of the car and slung his backpack back over both shoulders. He could feel himself start to blush–she sounded so genuine, her eyes were so bright, she–

He resulted to his classic, safe response: a quip.

"Anything for our Sammykins," he cooed, holding a hand out to help her off the hood of her car.

She closed up the box and accepted his hand, her smile turning into a kind of pursed-lipped side-smirk.

"Okay. That's enough out of you for the rest of the day."

"Danny, please tell her how much better of a job I could do on her car," Tucker was whining again as they milled around Danny's locker between fourth and fifth periods.

Sam watched Danny drop his backpack at his feet and reach into his locker to pull out his emergency layer–a dark gray pullover hoodie with a nondescript logo on the chest she didn't recognize, the words 'Drop In'. He usually stashed it away here in case he needed to cover up ectoplasm stains after a midday fight, but today it seemed he'd just failed to dress for the fall weather, wearing only a thin t-shirt that did nothing to protect him from the quickly-dropping temperatures.

"Tuck, cars are personal," his muffled voice came from inside the hoodie. His head emerged and he pushed the hood back to rustle his hair back to its usual messy layers. "If she doesn't want you fucking with her car, I'd suggest you don't fuck with her car."

"You say that as if you know what it's like to own a car, man," Tucker cocked an eyebrow at him, leaning up against the adjacent locker.

"Superpowers, dude. Don't need a car," Danny smirked, swinging his locker shut.

"Irrelevant!" Tucker threw his hands up in exasperation. "I would wager that us three are the leading ghost experts in the county, possibly the nation–no, the world–aside from you parents, of course–"

"Oh, of course–" Danny slung his backpack over his shoulder and rolled his eyes, gaze landing on Sam. She suppressed a grin.

"-and it just doesn't make sense to ask anyone else to install ghost tech into a car when we have a literal self-proclaimed technogeek in our midst–"

"Glad you've gotten over the stigma, Tuck," Sam smirked as they began to progress down the hall to class.

"Sam, it's been a long time since I've given a rat's ass about titles," Tucker shot back. "I live for the prosperity of this team. If my value is in my passion for technology, ghostly or otherwise, I accept."

Sam, walking between her two friends, turned to raise her eyebrows at Danny, who bit his lip in an attempt not to smile. "Okay, fuck it. Sam, what exactly are you trying to do to your poor car?"

Sam resisted the urge to bristle. Her car–a cherry 1965 Mustang convertible in Shadow Black that she'd pulled from scrap, sprung for repairs, learned to work under the hood for, and decked with purple-accented upholstery–was far from "poor". While it killed her to drive something from a time when fossil fuels weren't exactly a concern, it had been her dream car since she was a kid and her grandma had taken her to a local car show. She figured she could at least try and make up for the ungodly amount of gas it would take by essentially thrifting the whole thing piece by piece. Everything that had been done to restore it had come from her own allowance, not from Baby's Little Bank Account funded by her parents–even so, Sam knew that Danny only meant 'poor' in the sense that it was being subjected to experimentation by Tucker.

"I thought it would be a good idea to get some Fenton tech installed. Something like the Fenton Finder or… I don't know, a localized version of the radar in the Specter Speeder. It would help Tucker and I keep up with you in case we're not around when your Ghost Sense goes off," Sam started out strong, but as she continued she realized how idiodic she must sound. Especially to Danny.

Predictably, he faltered beside her. "Sam, I'd really rather you guys not have ready access to the location of every ghost fight in town," Danny said, lowering his voice as they passed a loud group of freshman girls.

"It's not like we're going to be out looking for a fight, Danny. We just wanna be ready to help you if you're ever out without us," Sam reasoned.

"When am I ever out without you?"

"Last night, for one," Tucker interjected.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sam saw Danny stiffen. "What makes you think I was out last night?"

"Dude, come on. After all this time, you think we don't notice when a new bruise pops up? Or, I don't know, a burn from an ectoblast?" Tucker's eyes fell to the side of Danny's neck, now somewhat obscured by the bulk of his hoodie, where the very edge of an oblong burn mark was still barely visible. It had been in plain sight before, when Danny wore just a t-shirt (he really must've been in a rush this morning if he let that slip when he'd looked in the mirror, Sam thought) but fortunately it appeared to have nearly completely healed, now just a weirdly discolored area of skin, barely raised at all.

"Not to mention," Tucker continued, checking over his shoulder to be sure no one was eavesdropping, "Phantom landed himself a headline in today's paper. I'm assuming you missed that when you decided to take the scenic route to school this morning?"

Danny scowled, dipping his head. "Technus interrupted my studying. It was just a skirmish, I landed him back in the Ghost Zone within the hour. No problem."

"I rest my case," Sam stated. She was fully prepared to leave the conversation there–after so many years, both Danny and Tucker had matured enough to think with a more open mind. She had found that most of the time, if she made a point and let it die, they came around eventually. Danny would see that it was only logical for them to have a way to watch for ghost presences in town–like their own supernatural brand of police scanner.

Danny was quiet, studying the linoleum as they walked. Seeming to sense the sudden somber change in mood, Tucker bumped his shoulder with a smile. "We're just lookin' out for you, bud."

"Mhmm."

They walked in silence for a couple more feet before Sam, wanting to kick herself the entire time, caved. She cleared her throat. "So I know I said no celebrating today–" she chanced a glance up at her friends and found Tuck's green eyes wide with shock, his mouth hanging open as he anticipated the end of her sentence; Danny's blue eyes were still soft and contemplative but his eyebrows went up in surprise, suddenly shaken out of his sulky episode, "-but there's this new indie horror movie that just opened and it's only running for a limited time... if you guys wanted to hit it before patrol tonight-"

"You mean you're actually gonna let us treat you for your birthday?" Tucker gaped.

"Not treat and not for my birthday–I would like to hang out with you guys. On a day that happens to be my birthday."

Tucker's mouth was still gaping. Sam turned to see Danny's reaction and found his expression much warmer than it had been two minutes before. "I'd be down to hang out," Danny said, a soft smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He teased, "It's not like I have anything better to do."

Sam began to smile herself, when the last voice she wanted to hear as she neared the end of the school day rang out behind them.

"Is that so, Mr. Fenton?"

All three of them froze and Danny's shoulders flinched up to his ears, his face screwed up in a cringe. The stream of students flowed around them as if they were a rock in a river.

They turned around to face Lancer in all his wrath. His hands were on his hips, an eyebrow cocked, and his glare towards Danny was exhausted.

"Mr. Lancer," Danny greeted him, but it sounded more like a question.

"I can't imagine a better use of your time after school than completing all of your missing homework assignments–seeing as they were meant to be done at home all along."

"Yes sir, I'm actually almost–"

"But seeing as that concept still seems to evade you after a full high school career, might I suggest we simplify things and just keep the work here at school? If you truly have 'nothing better to do', I'll see you in my classroom after sixth period today, Danny. And bring your homework. All of it."

"Mr. Lancer, that's not really necessary, the homework is done I just haven't–"

"Today, Danny. After the last bell, on the dot."

They watched Lancer slip back into the classroom he'd appeared from and stood there for a second in silence, blocking up the hallway. The warning bell rang.

"I'm a fucking idiot," Danny muttered, hiking his backpack on his shoulder. "'That's not necessary, the homework is done'? What the hell made me think he'd believe that load?"

"Hate to say it dude, but your lying has not improved an ounce," Tucker snickered. "Rough break though, really. You want us to try and get you out of it?"

"Nah," Danny sighed and put a hand between Sam's shoulders to get them moving again. "I really do have to get this homework done or my grades are gonna tank, right when I managed to get my GPA up to something somewhat acceptable for college. It just sucks that I've honestly been meaning to do it all and I'm still getting reamed out."

"I don't know why you don't just copy off of us, man. I know you have morals and shit but every once and a while it's okay to save the town from an undead baddie and just mooch off your friends the next day. You know we don't mind."

"Yeah, but I do," Danny was back to scowling at the ground. His scowl turned into a soft frown and he turned to look down at Sam. "I'm sorry I can't hang out with you guys tonight."

"Don't worry about it, Danny, we can always do something together another night," Sam reassured him.

"Don't let me screw today up, though. Don't let her go back on her word, Tuck–she told us she wants to celebrate," he smiled somewhat deviously, looking over Sam's head at Tucker on her other side.

"That is not–"

"Oh, absolutely," Tucker affirmed, "The celebration will commence. An evening in observance of Sam Manson and all of her gloomy glory–"

"I'm going to kill you guys," Sam fumed.

Falluca's classroom was in sight. Danny slung a lanky arm around Sam's shoulders, squeezed her briefly, and actually laughed. Sam smiled. He seemed to be doing that less and less these days–genuinely laughing with his whole chest.

"Really, though, Sam. I'm sorry. My shit is always getting in the way of things. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Sam nodded, believing him in earnest. He'd gotten much better about keeping promises and being more considerate towards them over the past couple of years. Again, Sam supposed it was just a maturity thing, but she liked that she could trust he was being sincere when he apologized these days.

Even so, she had been hoping the three of them could spend some time together tonight–do something normal and mundane for a couple of hours and just enjoy each other's company. She found that those were the nights she seemed to look back on the most when contemplating her favorite memories from high school.

As they walked into the classroom and prepared for another ninety minutes of torture, Sam tried not to let her disappointment show. In her heart, she knew it wasn't Danny's fault.

AN:

good evening besties! an early update just to get the story going before falling into the regular posting schedule. i hope everyone's having a lovely week so far! i've been taking advantage of my break from classes/clinic by writing, but i've also been taking care of some other business as well-i have a few book binding commissions i've been hauling ass to finish and i'm currently reading like... three books at once, which is something i haven't done since i was 10, not to mention a bunch of other much more boring housekeeping things i gotta take care of while i'm back in my hometown (namely: the dentist, my car Peter's state inspection, passport renewal... gag gag gag).

however, got word from my little brother today that he may also be taking a break from school to come up and visit and we're currently planning a Y2K Saturday Morning Day (tm), during which we will make mimosas, eat trashy cereal thats almost 100% sugar, stay in our pajamas all day and marathon all of the cartoons from our childhood-DP is on the roster, ofc.

comments, questions, criticisms always welcome! thank you guys so much for reading, biggest love!

xx bj