Chapter 2: Every Time I Run

This was his fault. All of it.

It was getting more and more difficult to ignore the gnawing feeling deep in his stomach, a constant reminder that everything was his fault and at the same time, none of it was within his control.

Danny dragged his feet all the way to Lancer's classroom, having waved goodbye to Sam and Tucker and watched them walk out of Casper High after the final bell. That tired feeling was returning with a vengeance now that his friends were gone, and that was also his fault. If he had just ignored Technus last night, just minded his business and let the moronic ghost go hog wild in the electronic shop downtown, maybe he'd have gotten some sleep. Or at the very least, caught up on his homework and got some studying done, and he wouldn't be stuck hanging out with Lancer after school on Sam's birthday. Even more, he could've avoided another incidence of Phantom Slander with the Amity Gazette.

Danny resisted the urge to grumble aloud to himself as he pushed his way into Lancer's room. The teacher was there already, leaning on his desk, watching the door, waiting for Danny–who hesitated when he saw Lancer waiting so intently for his arrival. They made eye contact, Danny suppressed a scowl, and he turned to walk towards his usual desk towards the back of the room. He may have been more attentive about his grades lately, but that didn't change the fact that he preferred the anonymity of the back row of desks.

Danny could feel Lancer's eyes on him the whole way to his desk. He dropped his backpack on the floor, a muffled clunk coming from the Thermos he had wrapped in a pair of gym shorts he intended to take home to wash. With an air of what he hoped was defiance, Danny flopped into the chair and slumped there for a moment, glaring at Lancer, before leaning down to unzip his backpack and pull out his binder full of incomplete homework assignments.

"This isn't detention, Danny," Mr. Lancer said from across the room. "You're not tethered here by anything except for that homework. Show me every assignment completed and you're free to go."

Danny assumed he meant this to sound benevolent, but in his irritated mood it only came off as condescending. He gritted his teeth and flipped open the binder, finally breaking eye contact with Lancer to bury his head in his work.

He started out working in earnest but slowly found his mind reeling back into that same spiral that had lately become so familiar.

You wouldn't even be here right now if you were a halfway decent ghost hunter, Fen-turd. You've put Technus away how many times now? And still he's escaped and given you hell for almost four years. What's your excuse?

Ecto-magnet, a more sinister voice in his head cut in. The one that was so good at reminding him of his faults.

Ahhh, yes. The Gazette's favorite phrase, as of late. Whatever journalist coined that one should get a heavy Christmas bonus. And you'll help fund it for how often you've been using it as an excuse for your obvious incompetence when it comes to protecting this city. I mean, please. "Ecto-magnet"? If there was ever anything theorized that was even remotely close to that–an ectosignature that pulled other entities towards it–your parents would've nailed it years ago.

There's never been a situation before that even suggested such a thing. But now… you're living proof. Or… half-living. You get the gist.

Yes, Danny got the gist. He'd had this argument with himself a million times, and it always ended in the same stalemate.

The Gazette (and consequently, quite a few of its readers) wanted to pin Phantom as some kind of ecto-magnet that essentially drew other, more malevolent ectoentities to the area. This claim had started about two years after Phantom had become something of a public figure, just from how… public ghost battles tended to be. Someone had put two and two together and realized that the start of Amity's "ghost infestation" coincided perfectly with Phantom's sudden appearance in town. While it also happened to coincide with the Fenton Portal suddenly opening, this wasn't exactly public knowledge, and there was really no way to inform the Gazette of this fact without implicating his parents in all of the damage caused by the ghosts escaping the portal in their basement.

Danny hadn't put much stock in it at first, more preoccupied at the time with bringing his grades up, protecting the city, and keeping his secret. But as time went on and the phrase was used more and more, to the point where "ecto-magnet" became an insult, suddenly people were calling for Phantom to pack up and leave town. This infuriated Sam and Tucker, but Danny did his best to keep a neutral stance on it so as to try and calm them down.

But it did bother him. Mainly because deep down, he felt like they were right.

The Gazette. The people of Amity Park–his friends, neighbors, bullies, the lot. People he'd done his best to protect for years. He realized he'd never been protecting them at all. Not really. It seemed that, especially lately, things very rarely improved as a result of Phantom's interference. Not for long, at least.

A shit ghost hunter that can't even keep your enemies locked in the Ghost Zone. A shit student that can't even find time to do a simple fucking homework assignment in the entire week before its due. NASA isn't going to want a mediocre kid from the midwest with no extracurriculars and not a credential to his name. They won't even look in your direction.

NASA doesn't want you. Amity Park doesn't want you. Either of you. Fenton or Phantom.

Snap!

Danny started. The tip of his pencil had broken under the pressure of his grip pushing it into the paper. He hadn't even realized he'd still been writing. He glanced at his work–a calculus problem. Huh. It didn't look… wrong.

Danny looked up to see Lancer's desk was vacant. He must've left to go do something while Danny was spaced out. With a sigh, Danny pushed himself up from his seat and started towards the front of the room with his broken pencil, heading towards the sharpener mounted on the wall.

He shoved his pencil into the sharper and began to turn the handle.

Not only are you a shit ghost hunter and a shit student, but you let both jobs get in the way of the other. All the time. You sacrifice time on your studies to hunt ghosts, but you can't even do that properly. You pawn off ghost hunting duties to Sam and Tucker to try and make more time for schoolwork, and your grades are still falling. You risk Sam and Tucker's safety, your family's safety, the whole town's safety and you can't even–

Danny let out a gasp as his lungs were plunged into ice cold water. His breath escaped his mouth in a dense fog. His hand froze on the handle of the pencil sharpener.

His eyes closed slowly and he pressed his lips together in frustration. "Now? Really?" He turned and looked back at his desk, unfinished homework spread everywhere. He glanced at the closed classroom door, weighing his options.

It always comes back down to this. Two wrong choices. A rock and a hard place.

Maybe it was some low-level spook. He could cap it in the Thermos in less than a minute and be back before Lancer ever had the chance to notice him missing. If not, he could always just say he'd run to the bathroom or something.

Gritting his teeth with a sinking feeling that he was going to regret his choice either way, he dashed back across the class and slid the last few feet to his backpack. He yanked it open and pulled out the rolled up gym shorts, shaking them out haphazardly to release the Thermos tangled within. He caught it as it came free, and as he started back to the front of the classroom, he let the ice bath-like sensation of going ghost wash over him. Danny Phantom dove through the wall and into the adjoining hallway.

Floating idly, Danny scanned up and down the hall and listened for any disturbance. He clipped the Fenton Thermos to a loop on the tactical belt of his jumpsuit and cocked his head, listening even harder. Ghosts in Amity Park weren't exactly known for their subtlety. It was eerily quiet.

Danny started to float in the direction he thought held the least likely chance of running into Lancer–away from the teacher's lounge and cafeteria, his most frequent haunts when he wasn't torturing his students in class–a bit unnerved at the fact that he wasn't immediately being drawn into a fight. He was beginning to question whether or not his ghost sense had even gone off (maybe Lancer had lowered the thermostat on his way out?) when a scream echoed down the hall. Danny honed in on it and quickly went intangible, barrelling his way through wall after wall for the fastest route to the source of the sound.

He stopped short as he flew into the wide expanse of the gym. Half of the lights had been shut off after the final bell, so the room was dim and echoey, its high ceilings and lack of sweaty students giving it the feel of an empty void. There were flyers advertising the upcoming Homecoming festival scattered all over the glossy wood floor. In the midst of the dropped flyers, Danny's eyes landed on the heels of a pair of black Frye boots, encompassed by a subtle glowing aura. Continuing upward, the boots melded into a white pinstriped zoot suit. Even though he had his back to him, Danny could still recognize Walker's massive figure a million miles away if by nothing other than the stupid wide-brimmed fedora on his skull-like head.

The source of the flyers became apparent–Walker had Dash Baxter by his throat, lifted clear off the ground. Dash must've been hanging them when Walker decided to engage in some Tuesday night terror.

"I see you've decided to pick on someone a bit closer to your own size this time," Danny quipped, dropping his hold on intangibility and crossing his arms over his chest.

Dash's wide eyes locked on Danny. Walker didn't move except for his head turning just to look over his shoulder. He grinned coldly when he saw Danny. "Well well well, if it isn't the man of the hour. Or rather–child of the hour. I'm not quite sure you qualify as a man, Phantom."

Man of the hour? I guess he shouldn't be surprised if the reason Walker was here was to come looking for him. Somehow, he always seemed to have unfinished beef with Danny even when Danny would go out of his way to avoid any and all encounters with this guy.

"What'd I do this time, Walker?" Danny drawled, trying to sound indifferent.

"Nothing you've done," Walker replied, equally unbothered, but that creepy grin was still on his face. It seemed to darken, somehow. "Something you will do."

For some reason, this response sent chills down Danny's spine.

"How about you drop Meathead there and then you and I can have a chat about it?"

"There's nothing to chat about, ghost boy," Walker said–but he did drop Dash, who gasped for air as he hit the floor, hands going to his throat. "I've been given a chance here to preemptively enforce the rules, and I will not pass up that chance."

"I'd have to phone a friend, but I'm pretty sure that goes against due process or whatever," Danny said, gearing up now that Walker's hands were free to fight.

"Due process will be obsolete soon enough, punk. But until then, it's my job to get you out of the way once and for all."

"It would be easy enough to install a screen here," Tucker was saying. Sam zoned back in when she saw his hand moving towards the refurbished radio in the middle of the dashboard.

"Touch that and you lose a hand," she said without taking her eyes off the road.

"She speaks!" Tucker exclaimed.

Sam frowned. "Huh?"

"You've been in your own head since we left the Casper parking lot. I was asking if you wanted to get food before the movie but your eyes got all glazed over, so I just started talking shit to see what would get your attention," Tucker leaned back in his seat and pulled a Lifesaver mint out of his pocket. "Interesting that you woke up when I mentioned mutilating your car, but you didn't seem phased in the slightest when I mentioned Danny's date the other night." Tucker cocked an eyebrow at her and smugly popped the mint into his mouth.

Sam could feel her jaw gape, but she couldn't stop it. "What date? With who?" she finally tore her eyes away from the road to see Tucker smirking at her. She gritted her teeth and turned her attention back to the windshield. "There was no date."

"There was no date," Tucker confirmed.

Sam wanted to smack that dumb smile right off his face. "Ass," she muttered.

"I'm confused. I've been acting as a wingman for both of you for years now, remind me why neither of you will just admit–"

"If you use the word 'crush', I will eject you from this moving car."

"I would understand the hesitation if it weren't mutual, but Sam, come on."

"Why don't you bother him about this?" Sam asked irritably.

"I do," Tucker replied matter-of-factly, crumpling up his mint wrapper and shoving it back in his pocket. "I told him he should ask you out for your birthday, but he said you told him 'nothing extravagant' and he figured it would be too much," he shrugged.

Sam bit her lip. That… that hadn't been what she'd meant when she'd told them not to do anything for her birthday. She could feel a blush coming on, so she cleared her throat. "A lot of good that would've done," she vaguely gestured to the empty bench seat in the back where Danny and Tucker usually took turns spreading out and lounging while Sam drove them around. She didn't really mind–she would rather no one else be behind the wheel of her car anyways.

Tucker suddenly seemed put out. "Yeah. Sucks." He was quiet for a moment before continuing. "He's been trying so hard, ya know? To juggle everything and get back on track."

Sam did know. Over the last two years, Danny had surprised them both by working ceaselessly to get his shit together. He had asked Tucker to construct a patrol schedule, which was advantageous in more ways than one: it created a more systematic approach to ghost hunting that prioritized preventing major attacks as opposed to taking care of them after they'd already become a problem, as well as allowed Danny to designate time for homework outside of patrol hours. Before Jazz had left for Harvard, he'd asked her to give him study tips for each class and how to be more disciplined in his time management (it helped that Jazz was aware of his double-life for this one–she understood how much time and energy ghost hunting took). He'd started talking about applying at NASA again.

He'd seemed excited for the future again.

"He just seems so tired lately," Tucker sighed, looking anxious. "He won't admit it, but I can tell. Best friend, cosmic connection, and all."

"Shut up," Sam half-smiled, and when she glanced at Tucker she was relieved to see that the corner of his mouth was also turned up. It didn't last long though.

"Has he said anything to you? About… ya know… anything?"

Sam shook her head shortly. "Has he said anything to you?"

"Nah. Like I said, I don't think he'd want us to worry. He's always been like that."

"Yeah. It's annoying," Sam said bluntly, and to her surprise, Tucker actually laughed.

"You're not wrong," he said, sitting up straighter as Sam pulled into the Nasty Burger parking lot.

"I mean, he knows by now that we're here to help. Haven't we proven that we can pretty much handle anything at this point?"

"I don't think it's about handling shit," Tucker looked pensive. Sam put the car in park. The two of them got out, and while Sam inserted her key into the lock cylinder, Tucker frowned and leaned his forearms on the roof to look at her. "I don't know. I don't know what it's about."

"Very insightful, Tuck," Sam snorted. Tucker arched an eyebrow and gave her a one-finger salute.

"I can't even remember the last time he started slipping like this," Tucker said, the bell above the door tinkling as they entered the restaurant and got in line.

"I can," Sam said darkly. "It was after that fight with Skulker in sophomore year. The one Valerie involved herself in, almost blasted Danny to bits," Sam shuddered at the memory–

Danny landed on his feet, but too hard, too fast–he faltered, something was wrong–his feet were dragging as he stumbled towards her, his hand was clamped to his side–neon was gushing between his gloved fingers–she realized with a start that this was real, he was really hurt, they'd been lucky so far, she knew it was only a matter of time before–

He nearly collapsed when he reached her, it was fortunate she'd run the few yards to close the distance between them quicker, she grabbed him by his shoulders and struggled to keep him upright–Jesus, when had he gotten so much taller than her, even with his diminished mass in ghost-form the effort just to haul his dead weight–ha, dead weight, Danny would get a kick out of that–

"Oh yeah. The news had a field day with all of the damage that came out of that one," Tucker's voice brought Sam back to the present, and she was momentarily disarmed by the clarity of that memory.

As they stepped up to order their food, however, Tucker's words were the only thing ringing through her head.

"The news," Sam mumbled to herself, sitting down in a booth across from Tucker. He placed their order number on the edge of the table and gave her a strange look. Sam looked up at him, the realization dawning on her. "We made him call in sick the next day, so we went to check up on him after school. He was sitting on his bed–"

"Surrounded by news articles," Tucker finished, seeming to catch up with her line of thought. He squinted at her behind his thick lenses. "You think–?"

"I think he's a lot more concerned about what people think of him than he lets on. And I think the fact that Phantom made that morning's headline for all of the damage from the night before–"

"-instead of a headline about how he'd literally stopped a building from squashing a school bus full of kids–"

"-it… it crushed him. He cares," Sam finished. There was obviously no way of determining if this theory was true, but it felt… right. It felt true to Danny, the kind of person she knew Danny was.

"He told us not to worry about it, though," Tucker mused, his brow creased again. "He said it was bullshit, that it didn't matter what the press said so long as he knew he was doing the right thing."

"Think about it, though, Tucker. Even if it didn't bother him at first… How long would you last busting your ass every day for zero thanks, only to be berated in every morning paper. And on top of that, having to recreate your academic reputation, teachers just waiting for you to slip up and fail… It's like he's being sabotaged by his own town. And we've been letting him convince us it doesn't bother him." Sam could've kicked herself.

A waitress brought over their order, but Sam found she wasn't very hungry after all. Even Tucker seemed morosely pensive. He absently picked at his fries.

"So what, then?" he said, finally. "How are we supposed to keep the press off his back so he can do his job in peace?"

"That is assuming he even wants to do his job," Sam said sullenly.

"Sam, don't start with this again, okay? Please? Danny likes hunting ghosts. We know this by now."

"Yeah, but we also thought the press didn't bother him. Look how wrong we were about that," Sam glared at Tucker across the table.

"If he didn't want to hunt ghosts, Phantom would be history," Tucker assured her, crossing his arms on the table and giving her a stern look. "Ecto-magnet my ass, all we'd have to do is shut down that damned portal and all our problems would be solved. He wants to do this, Sam… It's just weighing on him."

Sam raised her eyes from the formica tabletop and saw how genuine Tucker's eyes were. He believed what he was saying. Sam supposed she did as well.

"So we're right back to square one, then. What now? How do we help?" Assuming he wants our help, her brain filled in, but she silenced it at once.

Tucker seemed to grimace, looking back down at his food and picking through it. "First step is to offer it, I guess. But we've gotta do it subtly. As far as he knows, we're just carrying on, business as usual. And above all, I guess just help him keep a low profile. That should keep the press from having too much material to play with."

Sam hummed in agreement, looking down at her folded hands. After about a minute's silence, she cleared her throat. "So…" she sighed, "How difficult are you thinking it would be to install some kind of radar in the Mustang?"

She looked up to see Tucker grinning, way too excited. "Now we're talkin'."

As they finished up at Nasty Burger and headed back out to her car, Sam was distracted by a newspaper dispenser on the side of the building. The front page pressed flush up against the clear plastic panel displayed a shit-quality security photo of Phantom phasing through the wall of Doug's Electronics downtown. The very end of Technus' duster was visible, not yet having made it fully through the wall. Sam gritted her teeth.

"Danny doesn't hear a word of what we talked about here," Sam asserted, shoving her key into the cylinder.

"Are you kidding? He'd have a conniption if he knew we were even talking about him at all. My lips are sealed," Tucker's eyes were wide across the roof of the Mustang, and without another word he ducked into the car.

AN:

hellloooooo! what a first impression i'm making by missing my first friday on this platform! i'm so sorry (not sarcastic)! i got caught up with my family during the day and then got home late and realized i'd never gotten the chance to proof read the chapter i was posting to ao3, and it didn't feel right updating without having given it a once-over, so putting quality over... quantity? i decided to delay the update. consequentally, here i am *nervous sweating emoji*

i'll make it up to y'all with another update this week! i hope everyone's weekend is going well! for my fellow americans, any plans for the upcoming holiday? while i'm not exactly what you'd call the most patriotic person in the world, i unfortuantely do enjoy a good 4th of july celebration-i love spending time with my family and eating cookout food, also growing up with the sandlot being one of my comfort movies i always look back to that firework scene and see it as the epitome of childhood. idk, maybe i have a bit of peter pan syndrome. anyways.

i love y'alllllll, you will hear from me later this week! 3

bj xx