Danny was choking.
He grasped the tube, trying to stop it in its tracks. But the movement scraped his throat, and his vision blurred with tears.
Operative O's grip on his hair tightened. He yanked Danny up, hoisting him higher off the ground. Pain shocked his body, and he spasmed, his instinct to scream only stopped by the tube. His arm went slack, bouncing on the floor and sending a spray of ectoplasm to his face.
His throat burned, his jaw ached, and he tasted burnt lime on his tongue. Ectoplasm-smeared tears streaked freely down his cheeks.
Operative O ripped the tube out of his throat. "You don't want the tube today?"
Danny gasped as air returned to his lungs. He ducked his head, spitting green globs from his mouth. A strand of drool hung from his lips, but he didn't have the strength to wipe it away.
"Then fine. We won't use the tube."
Relief didn't fill him like it should have. Danny could feel O's anger pulsing from his body. Normally during their sessions, Operative O towered over him with a smirk on his lips. But it didn't feel like a twisted game today.
Danny thought back through the day—the fragments he could recall—but he didn't remember anything abnormal. He'd done everything correctly, hadn't he?
He must have been forgetting something. Again. And that was terrifying because it meant that his brain was finally giving up.
Danny closed his eyes and zeroed in on O's grip on his scalp. It was sick, in a sense, how he almost welcomed that pain, if only to distract himself from whatever horrifying damage was being done to his spine. Even if his world was collapsing around him and his body was shutting down, at least this pain he could understand.
But Operative O wasn't done. Danny heard the telltale plastic rustling as Operative O brought out another red bag from his jacket. He opened it, and the fresh, putrid scent of its contents wafted into the room.
"If you're going to throw a tantrum, then you can eat this yourself."
He pulled Danny to the wall and dropped him. The tile hit his back, and for a moment all life left his body.
Danny's mouth hung open, and white blinded his eyes. Fire exploded from his back, burning up his spine, down his arms, through his stomach, up his throat.
He felt something grip his skull again, and his face was yanked back up. Through the clouded light, he could see dark sunglasses leering above him.
"G–give…" Danny mumbled, unable to breathe. "...bar."
Operative O sneered. "What makes you think you deserve it after today?"
"I didn't…"
Words were so heavy now. He couldn't remember the last time he managed to get a full sentence out. Was it a week ago? Two?
"If you wanted the granola bar, you would have done what Operative Z asked. You would have answered those questions. But due to your stubbornness, Operative Z had to spend two hours on what should have been a quick follow-up psychological report. Do you understand what that meant for our time in the research center, ghost?"
Operative O's grip on Danny's head loosened, and he felt his head bob. The pain was beginning to recede, and little by little his eyesight was returning.
And with it, a solid view of Operative O's face. His thick eyebrows were pulled together, enlarging his already strong, square face. His bald head reflected the glow from the ectoplasm around him, giving him an almost ghostly appearance. Danny could have laughed at the irony if not for the deadly threat suffocating the air.
"I…" I'm sorry, he tried to say. He didn't know why he was apologizing, just that he should.
Operative O's jaw twitched. "It meant our time was cut short, and with your pitiful energy source already depleting faster than your useless body can replenish it, it meant that we didn't hit our quota today. So now you and I are going to fix that."
Danny didn't understand why they were doing this. Why wouldn't they give him human food? Like they used to? If they were mad at him for not having enough ectoplasm, then why were they doing this?
Were they trying to kill him?
"I put some extra goodies in your bag today just for you. Now either you eat it or the tube comes back out. Your decision."
His eyes rolled shut. He tried to take a breath, but every movement sent a firecracker of pain through his body.
The bag was set down in front of him.
"Choose, dog. Or I will."
Danny's eyes shot open, a scream frozen in his throat.
He was choking. His chest was burning. Adrenaline seized his body, and the urge to escape hit him all at once.
He pushed himself away—escape—and then he felt the sensation of falling.
Followed by pain.
His vision flickered, and a vague part of his brain registered a thunk to his forehead. He coughed, trying to force his lungs to work again.
Shit, shit, no. He pushed himself from the floor. If not for his hands gripping the carpet, he wasn't sure he would know which way was up or down.
And then he heard it, Operative O's chuckle in his ear. Taunting him. Ridiculing him. Forcing him to choose: the tube or his own hand?
He shoved his fingers in his mouth, trying to stifle his cries.
You're not a dog, he told himself like a mantra. You're not. You're not.
On instinct, his hand shot up to his nightstand where he knew the bottle would be. He needed to—just this once—just one more—he didn't want this—didn't want to think—just one more—
There was a gentle knock on his door, followed by the sounds of his creaking door hinges being pushed open. "Danny?"
Danny's hand dropped from the handle of his nightstand drawer as if it were scalding.
"Danny!" Jazz's quiet feet pattered on the floor. "Are you okay? I heard a bang."
Hands touched his arm, trying to pull it away from his mouth, and he jerked back. His head snapped, hitting his bed frame, and a new set of spots sprung before his eyes.
"Oh my god, I'm sorry. Danny, let me—"
Danny ripped his hand out of his mouth and growled, "Go away."
There was a stillness.
He hunched forward as nausea threatened to crawl out of his throat. He was dizzy, he needed to breathe, he needed Jazz gone.
"Danny?"
"Get out."
"Danny, I—"
Hot anger flashed through him, and once again he was reminded of what a backstabbing sister Jazz was.
"Get out!" Danny jerked up, facing her. He hissed, "Stop trying to help. I don't need you!"
She pulled her outstretched hand into her chest. "I'm sorry."
When she didn't move, he repeated, "Get out, get out." His voice was edging on desperate, but he didn't care, he needed her out.
"I'll get Mom."
"No!" he rasped. "Please, Jazz. Go back to bed."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm fine. Please, Jazz, please."
"Okay." Her voice trembled, and she slowly backed away. When she reached the door, she paused, hesitantly adding, "If you need me..."
But then her voice trailed off, and the unsaid words dangled in the air. After a moment, the door finally clicked shut, and Danny was alone.
He clutched his hair in some attempt to ground himself, distract himself from the horrible taste on his tongue.
He couldn't do this.
O was like this disease in his life. He had infected every inch of his being, spreading into his thoughts, now branching into his school. This was insanity, and he couldn't do it.
His teeth chattered. He reached his panicked fingers back to the drawer.
He needed to bury his thoughts. Get O out of his head.
Stop thinking, stop thinking.
He fumbled open the bottle and barely managed to tip a capsule into his hand.
This wasn't part of the plan. He'd already taken one before he fell asleep. He shouldn't need this.
But he squashed that thought immediately because it didn't matter, not anymore. Not with O following him around. Not like this.
He popped the pill in his mouth, swallowed, and buried his head in his knees.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Eventually, the shaking would slow, his throat would loosen, he would be able to get more air. Eventually, the world would slow. He would be able to drag himself back onto his bed and close his eyes.
Eventually, Operative O's laugh would dull to a whisper, and then it would disappear.
And when that happened, Danny was finally able to fall into a dreamless sleep.
"I don't wanna hear about the backlash," Danny said, plopping into his seat the next morning.
"Huh?" Jack asked through a mouthful of toast.
Maddie and Jazz exchanged a look. They had apparently forgotten about his enhanced hearing earlier when they had the news on. The story that morning had showcased a cell phone recording—because of course someone snuck a video—of Danny confronting an innocent government agent with his "scary eyes." He could hear the debates about his mental stability, whether he was human enough to attend school with other teens, whether he should even be allowed to exist in public at all.
Jazz floundered. "Danny, we weren't going to—"
"Nope. Don't bother." Danny plucked a piece of toast from the plate his mother had set out on the table and shoved it in his mouth, not bothering with the butter or jam to the side because toast was toast and tasted equally disgusting either way."I don't wanna hear about what the public thinks."
Maddie sighed. "Honey, I know it's difficult, but these things are going to happen. What's important is that now we are aware of the government's intimidation tactics and we can work with your counselors in having a better reaction for next time."
Danny suppressed the low growl in his throat and continued stuffing the dry, crusty bread into his mouth.
It wasn't just the government, it was Operative O. Not that anyone understood this aside from Danny and O himself—and perhaps others in the compound those three weeks.
But that made it even worse because it meant that O could be the absolutely atrocious piece of shit he was and Danny would always look like the bad guy, the feral creature with crazy eyes and unstable reactions. He would always lose.
And O would always win.
Danny swallowed. "I don't care."
"You need to care," Maddie said, placing his usual medicine in front of him. "You don't want to get in trouble with law enforcement."
Danny downed the pills dutifully. "Yeah, well, too bad. I—I don't care."
"Danny—"
"Mom." Jazz's water glass hit the table with a resounding thud. "Let it go."
Beside him, Jack picked up another piece of toast and began buttering it.
Maddie sighed.
"Jazz, can you drive me to school?" asked Danny. If it was between his parents and Jazz, he would rather walk to school. But that wasn't exactly feasible at the moment, so Jazz it was.
Jazz looked at him in surprise. "Of course."
"Fine, but we need to have this conversation later," Maddie said.
"Whatever." Danny stuffed the last of his toast into his mouth and washed it down with water. "Jazz, let's go."
His parents didn't say anything as Jazz walked him out of the house. Her car was in the driveway in full view of the cameras and voices that yelled at him through their recently installed gate, but Danny ignored them. He kept his head down, focused on transferring to the car—a far faster process now that he could walk more fluidly—and slamming the door shut.
Jazz was quick to store his wheelchair in the back of the car and slide into her own seat. She kept her eyes steeled out in front of her as she opened the gate and slowly drove through the crowd that swarmed the car.
Danny shoved his hood over his head and ducked down. "Fucking bullshit."
She didn't say anything in response, but she didn't need to. The tension was rolling off her in waves.
A bold paparazzo ran up and tapped on his window, shouting a muffled, "Phantom! Phantom!"
Danny made the mistake of glancing over, and a camera light flashed in his face.
"Shit," he hissed, ducking his head back down. Trying to retrain his instincts to not react to every little sound around him seemed impossible at times.
He glued his eyes to his jeans and tried to tune out the shouting. Finally, the voices lulled, and Jazz sped up.
"All clear," she confirmed.
This was probably the worst the cameras had ever been. Well, maybe they were worse during his initial release, but his memories from those first few weeks after the government compound were little more than blank slabs with small splashes of ink splattered throughout.
He didn't want to imagine how far the video with Operative O had spread, the people who were commenting on it, the opinions floating around.
"Danny…how are you feeling?"
Well, his head hurt from last night and a headache had been prickling his skull since he woke up. His nerves and anxiety were waiting for his prescribed medication to kick in from breakfast, and the stress of that video was electrifying every muscle.
"Fine."
He saw her tighten her grip on the wheel. "Did you—"
"If this is about last night, you can—you can stop. Stop talking."
"Danny, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Yeah, well, I don't need your help, Jazz. So shut up."
Her voice shook as she said, "What happened to all that talk about us being a team yesterday? About us being a united front?"
"That would have been nice, wouldn't it?" His blood simmered under his skin, and his voice rose with it. "It would have been real fucking nice."
"Danny, I—"
"No. Stop talking. You fucking sold my—my core out to Mom and Dad!"
"Danny, I helped you. I did what you asked!"
He whipped around to face her, eyes blazing. "No, I asked you to help me get the chip out. Now you—you've convinced them to build a whole new one!"
"Yeah, one that will slowly give you back your powers! Without me, you would have gotten nothing!"
It stung to hear this truth spoken out loud, that his parents trusted the words of a halfa so little that they were willing to listen to Jazz over him. The anger in him boiled over, and he uncrossed his arms, slamming his hand down on the center console.
"Fuck, Jazz! You wanna know something? Wanna know—know why I never told you about Phantom? It's because of shit like this!" He threw his hands up. "You do things and you think you're helping. But guess what? You're not. You're not—not fucking helping! In fact, you're only making things worse! I mean, Mom and Dad—the fucking ghost hunters—having remote access to my core? Are you…are you serious?"
"I—I'm sorry."
"It's because you don't fucking listen. You think you know better than me about my fucking core, my powers, and you don't! And now you've got—got Mom and Dad convinced that getting control over my body is a fantastic idea, and I've got O hovering over my shoulder with no powers to defend—to defend myself, and I can't—can't breathe and you think you did a great fucking job!"
"I'm sorry. I didn't think about that."
Jazz looked stricken, but Danny didn't care about her bruised ego. She could be as sorry as she wanted, but it wouldn't change what happened. "No, no, you fucking didn't think! I asked you to help me, and you went behind my back with—with your own plan! That was bullshit, Jazz. Fucking bullshit."
Jazz didn't respond, and Danny leaned back in his seat, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. He glared out the window at the cars that drove by.
And then she broke the silence. "Danny…who's O?"
Danny's breath hitched.
Shit. He hadn't meant to say that.
"He's nobody."
"Was he the guy at school yesterday? The one that you confronted in the hallway?"
Danny stayed silent.
"Um…did you know him? Like…from before?"
"No." He shut his eyes, tugging his hood farther over his head. "No, I didn't. He told me his—his operative code yesterday."
He refused to look at Jazz's face to see if he had convinced her or not.
"I know I messed up yesterday. I'll talk to Mom and Dad about it—"
"Don't bother, you'll never convince them."
"I'll try. I will, I promise."
"Whatever."
"But Danny." He heard her take a deep breath. "I know you're hiding stuff from the…from before. Whenever you want to talk about it, I'll be here."
She shouldn't bother waiting. Danny was done thinking about it, much less bringing it up over the dinner table.
"Okay?" she pressed.
"I'm not hiding anything. But sure."
They pulled into the parking lot, and Jazz drove up to the front curb to drop him off. They unbuckled in silence, and Danny got out of the car and stood as Jazz brought his wheelchair over to him.
He couldn't wait for the crutches. He hated this helpless feeling, he hated relying on other people to bring him his wheelchair from the trunk of the car.
He just wanted his independence back.
Jazz set it down in front of him and stepped back, letting him slide into the seat and sling his backpack over the back seat like he did every morning.
"Bye, Jazz," he said dutifully. Because she had driven him to school, even though she didn't have to, and she'd helped him out of the car, even though she didn't have to, and she was willing to at least listen to him about his core, even though she didn't have to. And Danny hated how he had to rely on his family for things like this when all he wanted was to walk to school carefree with Sam and Tucker like old times.
"Bye, Danny." Her happy, doting mask was back on her face. "Have a good day at school."
Danny nodded once and then left, pushing himself up to the entrance, hitting the automatic door button, and letting the doors close behind him.
He noticed how the eyes followed him down the hallway. He was sure everyone had seen the shaky cell video, had heard the twisted rumors about the aftermath. He was sure there were some tall tales about different events. Maybe in one story, he broke down sobbing in the hallway. Maybe in another, he pushed the innocent government employee into the locker.
But Danny shut his ears off. He didn't care, he didn't need to hear about it.
That didn't stop the whispers from trailing behind him.
He didn't bother to check the lockers for Sam and Tucker. He didn't want their pity. Instead, he went straight to homeroom. No one had arrived yet—it was too early—not even Mr. Lancer.
He put his head down on his desk and tried to let his mind drift off. Unfortunately, all he could think about was his phone in his backpack. And the bottle of medication that he had hastily shoved in the front pocket just in case.
But no, there was no danger right now. He didn't need it.
But what if there was? A voice in his head whispered. What if O appeared again?
Then he would…
Danny didn't know what he would do. He couldn't really do anything except cower and cry, apparently.
Pathetic.
Not for the first time recently, the impulse to finally watch the court case itched his brain.
He didn't really understand why he'd been avoiding the trial, why it scared him so much. The mere thought of watching those YouTube streams and video highlights made his mouth dry up, and when one would somehow pop up on his feed, it was instinct that made him swipe past it.
But he just didn't know why.
What was he so scared of?
His therapist had broached the topic before, but he shut her down quickly. He just wasn't ready. And she told him that once he was ready to let her know. They could watch it together if he wanted.
Maybe he should take her up on that. Maybe.
Muffled laughter approached the door. Danny braced himself—stupid, it's just a classroom—but when the door opened, the rambunctious chatter instantly quelled.
Danny kept his head down on his arms, trying to be as still as possible.
"I think he's asleep," a feminine voice murmured.
"Well, good to know some things never change."
The shoes squeaked into the room, setting up camp on the opposite corner to him. And then the chatter picked back up, something about the school play?
Danny tuned them out.
The door opened again and again, and more footsteps entered the room, more voices joined the fray, more whispers and low comments floated through the air.
"You saw it, right?" a girl said to her friends. "You were in the hallway?"
A lower voice responded, "Yeah. It was freaky. His eyes were all glowy. I didn't even know his human side could do that."
Danny wondered if he should let them know that he had enhanced hearing in his human form too. For some reason, everyone today was forgetting that little fact.
"Well? Did you hear anything?" the first girl whispered.
There was a sharp sigh. "No."
"None of the videos made out what else the agent said either. Just that first bit."
Small blessings, he guessed.
"Yeah, and Fenton looked pissed. I wonder if they knew each other."
"It sounded like it."
A new voice entered the conversation. "But did you see the way Fenton looked after the agent responded? He totally changed."
"I was looking to see if any lipreading experts could make anything out. But so far, nothing."
"Ah, I'm so curious!"
"Me too!"
Just then, the door opened again, and the obnoxious laughter of Dash and Kwan drowned out the chatter in the room.
Danny couldn't help but tense. He knew Dash had seen the video and likely heard about the aftermath. And now Dash would see Phantom for who he really was: just an unstable weakling.
Danny waited. Waited for the bullying. The taunting.
And then he heard it. "Hey, Fenton!"
Danny jerked up to see half the class filled and those two standing by the door.
Dash regarded him for a moment. "Hey, you good?"
"Uh—I—" Danny spluttered.
What the fuck?
Dash nodded. "Fuck the government."
"Yeah, fuck those guys," Kwan said.
The class murmured in agreement, shouting a chorus of "fuck the Guys in White" between themselves.
Danny sat there bewildered.
What the FUCK?
Was everyone high?
Danny had heard a lot of interesting things since his release. But his classmates—most of whom hated Fenton's guts pre-reveal—on his side?
Was today April Fools or something?
"Um…thanks," Danny responded, only because he would feel weird if he said nothing at all.
The door opened again, and Mr. Lancer entered the room. He took stock of the whispers, sipped his coffee, and then merely went over to his desk.
That seemed to break the spell over the students, and the groups all went back to their own conversations.
Danny stared down at his desk.
This was so strange. He hadn't so much as looked Dash's way all school year. And Kwan? Sure, Kwan was in his Learning Center class, but it wasn't like they'd talked. Hell, they didn't even sit at the same table. And Danny was perfectly content to keep it that way. He already had so much to deal with as Phantom; there was no need to add Fenton's unresolved trauma to his mental headspace.
"Fuck the government," he heard Dash's words echo in his head.
Giddy laughter bubbled up in his throat, but he held it back. It was just so strange and so fucked up in so many ways.
Fenton was a loser. Fenton was a nerd. Fenton was a freak.
Fenton didn't get the support of his classmates, he didn't get a nod from Dash, he didn't get an agreement from Kwan.
Who was he kidding? He wasn't Fenton to his classmates. Not anymore. He wasn't Phantom either maybe—not quite. He was…something else. Some weird monster that existed between those two. He was just cool enough to be left alone, but not quite normal enough to be invited into their gossip circles. Just okay enough to not have classmates insulting his face, and not enough to avoid being the topic of conversation behind his back.
So he didn't have his normal bullies anymore. He had support—in some superficial sense. But it wasn't the same as acceptance.
And Operative O, the one who got so much pleasure from comparing him to an animal, who made him eat—
Danny grabbed his hair. He pulled, trying to distract himself just like he did when Operative O was in his cell.
A gloved hand, hoisting him up by his hair. A tube in the other, snaking its way down his throat. The red bag sat open next to him, taunting him.
Stop it, stop thinking.
Danny eyed his backpack.
He couldn't afford to think about this right now. Not when he'd spent these past months trying to forget.
Why did that memory have to resurface? Why did seeing Operative O have to unlock that box that he'd worked so hard to padlock into the deepest recess of his mind? He had forgotten so much since his release, and he was still forgetting things every day. But that one memory had to come back?
He wondered if anyone was watching close enough or if he could just slip a little pill out…just one…just to make Operative O go away.
Just so he wasn't forced to make that decision.
"Choose, dog. Or I will."
Shame and humiliation crawled in his gut.
No, stop. Go away.
"Can I use the restroom?" he heard himself asking.
He didn't wait for Mr. Lancer's response before he was pushing his wheelchair out the door.
The hallways were filtering out, the final bell nearly ready to chime, which was great because Danny's vision was flashing in frames. One frame in the school, one in his cell.
One with O.
He looked across the hall, and for a moment he could have sworn he saw Operative O standing there, waving at Danny, just like he was yesterday.
But then he blinked, and it was just another student, who was smiling at Danny in a way that did not seem friendly in the slightest.
It seemed predatory. Just like O's smile.
Danny put his hands on his wheels, fully intent on moving past this person—whoever they were—when the upperclassman jock and his friends crossed the hall.
"Hey! Hey, Phantom!" they called.
Danny ducked his head and tried to swerve around these guys, and then they stood in front of him and to his side, blocking his path.
Danny never did well with being surrounded. His core immediately snarled, pinging his brain to switch, switch, switch.
He shoved that part of him down. He was Fenton, these were humans.
"Hey, what's wrong? No green eyes for me?" The jock laughed.
His friend bent down, putting his hands on Danny's wheelchair.
Danny nearly stopped breathing.
He couldn't move like this. He was trapped. All over again.
"Let's see how long the school keeps you as their pet ghost here. Sooner or later, you're gonna snap just like the rest of your kind do."
"I'm not a dog," he said reflexively.
He wasn't, he wasn't.
"What was that?" There was more laughter.
"Danny?" a voice piped up from behind. "Hey, get off of him!"
A yellow and orange blur shot in front of him, and Danny felt the boy's grip break from his wheelchair.
The jocks stepped back, arms raised.
"We weren't doing anything!"
"Just introducing ourselves!"
Danny let out a shuddering breath.
"Piss off, assholes!" Valerie snapped.
"Whatever, Gray. Go kiss your fucking ghost boyfriend," the main jock said.
"So gross!"
"Fuck you guys, get lost!"
Danny instinctively pushed his wheelchair back, watching as the three jocks strutted down the hall, high-fiving each other in a show of comradery.
Meanwhile, he was fighting to stay in the present. Fighting to stay in the halls of Casper High—no, not the ones with O. Operative O wasn't here.
"Hey, Danny?" Valerie appeared right in front of him.
Danny flinched, his fingers slipping through the wheel of his wheelchair. He saw Valerie's eyes catch the slip-up, the way she tried to mask her surprise.
"I—I have to go," he stammered.
"Wait, come on—"
"I need to go." Danny sped down the hall.
"Danny, wait."
No, he couldn't. If he waited, he was going to lose it in the middle of the fucking hallway, and he couldn't afford to do that.
Not with what was at stake. Not with his freedom on the line.
He pushed open the bathroom door and quickly sped through, watching as it shut on Valerie who—for all her stubbornness—thankfully didn't follow.
The bathroom was empty.
The first good thing that happened to Danny all day.
He pulled his bag off the back of his wheelchair and set it on his lap. His vision was blurry, but he had just enough sanity to rip through the front of his bag and hold up a shaking pill bottle.
This isn't part of the plan, he reminded himself. Only at night. Just one extra, only at night.
But fuck that plan. If anyone was worried, then maybe they shouldn't have let Operative O inside Casper High yesterday. Maybe they could all fuck off and leave him alone.
Because he wasn't a human. He wasn't a ghost either. He was something else, something in the middle, and he was also falling apart.
"Mr. Fenton, you can't just skip homeroom," Mr. Lancer said, his hands steepled on his desk.
"I know."
Danny didn't think he'd take that long to get back to class. But he had to wait until the pills kicked in because he couldn't go back to class the way he was. He couldn't.
"Can you tell me why you were in the bathroom for twenty minutes?" Mr. Lancer asked.
Eventually, Tucker had been the one to pop his head into the bathroom to find Danny occupying one of the stalls. And Tucker had to be the one to tell him that he'd been gone for nearly the entire homeroom period and that Lancer needed him back in class.
Danny crossed his arms, glaring at the stack of manila folders on Mr. Lancer's desk. "I don't know. What do you use the bathroom for?"
Mr. Lancer took a deep breath, and then his voice softened. "Ms. Gray informed me of an incident in the hallway."
Danny's scowl deepened.
"I was wondering if you would like to talk about it."
No. No, he would very much not like to talk about it.
And really, there was no need. His body had finally relaxed, and the trembling had stopped. There was no need to dredge that incident back up.
But Mr. Lancer waited patiently, his face still half hidden behind his clasped hands, his expression unreadable.
Just what was up with this guy? Why was he trying to pry? Last year, he wouldn't have given half a shit. He would have just handed Danny the detention slip and accepted Danny's empty promise that this "wouldn't happen again."
"You've had me before," Danny said. "You know what I'm like. You know, Freshmen year."
Mr. Lancer wasn't impressed. "My understanding of previous years was that you left classes to go fight ghosts. Am I not correct?"
"I—yeah."
"So you're telling me that there was a ghost in Casper High an hour ago?"
Danny's face heated up. "I don't know."
"You don't know."
"Can—can I have the detention already? I have…class to get back to."
Mr. Lancer sighed. "Mr. Fenton, I understand that you are under a lot of stress. And between yesterday and the incident that Ms. Gray described today, there will be times where you need to, ah, take a break for a moment."
Danny stilled. Just what was this guy saying?
"So when you have these moments, I want you to go to a teacher or the nurse instead of running off. Ms. Perez and I both understand the circumstances you are currently under. We are here to help you."
Now that pissed Danny off because oh hell no, Mr. Lancer wasn't going there. He wasn't going to sit here and pretend he was here to help Danny. Not after all their history together.
"Because I'm Phantom," he slipped out.
"Pardon?"
Danny locked eyes with Mr. Lancer and finally said the thing that had been eating away at his mind for weeks. "It's because I'm Phantom. That's why…you guys are on my side. I used to skip—skip all the time. I used to run off every week. And nobody cared, nobody did—did anything. I didn't get help, or an IEP, or whatever you guys—you guys have me on. You all—you just…just thought I was lazy."
Mr. Lancer knit his brows together.
"So just—there's no need for all this. Just give me the detention already. Whatever." He hunched in his seat, glaring off to the side.
"Daniel…"
There came that tone again.
"I don't care. I'll take the pink slip, thanks."
Another sigh.
Danny was really starting to hate sighing.
"I'm not going to give you a detention for this." There was a beat of silence. "Do you understand why I gave you detentions so often before?"
Because he was a fuck-up, that's why.
Instead, he shrugged.
"It was the only time I could ensure that you would complete the assigned homework. That was why. Every student has different needs, and I needed you under my eye for the hour after school ended so you could do your homework. Do you understand?"
Danny hunched his shoulders. "So why didn't you tell me?"
"Well, the name may seem harsh but it was the truth. They were still detentions given out for missing classes and assignments."
"But why? I just—now I have all these people and these things. Therapies, IEP, extra help. I just don't get why now? Why—why not when I was an underclassmen too?" Danny looked up, swallowing the lump in his throat. "It's because I'm Phantom. I know it is."
Mr. Lancer pursed his lips. "I won't deny that this revelation has brought certain things to light. Or, it's more that things make sense now. After your accident, I presumed you were going through a hard time. I didn't fully understand the situation, and I am sorry for that. But now we have answers that we didn't have before, and we know how to help you."
Danny broke eye contact again. So it was because of Phantom. Mr. Lancer even said it himself, even if he had phrased it more nicely.
Danny was in the spotlight now. Everything about him made sense.
He pondered on that line for a moment. It made sense. It was because he was a ghost, wasn't it? And ghosts are dumber than humans. They don't focus well on tasks they're not interested in, they're "simple" and "incomplete imitations of humans."
They're not real, their thoughts aren't real.
At least, that was what everyone else thought, right?
"I was smart. Before everything," he said quietly. "Nobody really knows what happened in the compound. You know? What they…what I did. People—people have these ideas of what happened, they can piece some things together. But…"
The urge to ask Mr. Lancer what he thought the truth was overtook him. And he couldn't help but blurt out, "What do—what do you think?"
"About what?"
Danny licked his lips, nerves making them dry. "About all this? Everything?"
Mr. Lancer studied him for a moment with unblinking eyes. The silence was unbearable, and for a moment embarrassment flooded over Danny.
He was just being paranoid. Mr. Lancer talked a big game, but he never really liked Danny. He never trusted him. So why did Danny care so much about what his teacher thought?
"I think you're a teenager caught in an extremely difficult situation," Mr. Lancer finally said. "But more importantly, what do you think?"
Danny froze.
What did he think?
Huh?
Danny thought about his situation every day. Involuntarily. Even in his dreams, he thought about it. Hell, he had taken extra medication this morning so that he could stop thinking about it.
And maybe, maybe, that's why his shoulders finally slumped. Why the fidgeting stopped. Where the fatigue finally came from.
"I don't really want to think about it anymore."
"Would you mind telling me why?"
Danny shrugged.
Operative O, the labs, the cell, they all consumed so much of his thoughts already. Really, was it so bad that he just wanted a few hours each day where he wasn't plagued by what happened? Where he didn't have to replay his constant humiliation in his head?
He was tired. Tired of feeling like a used toy, tired of seeing his ectoplasm around his cell every time he closed his eyes, tired of hearing his own ragged breaths, tired of smelling the stale air. He just wanted it all to stop.
"Daniel?"
Danny shook his head.
He couldn't do this. Not right now.
"I'm sorry for ditching homeroom. I just…" He looked up at the ceiling. "I just got overwhelmed. With what those guys were saying in the hallway. And…I didn't want—want anyone to see me."
"What were they saying?"
"You know. The usual anti-ghost stuff. Probably just—just repeating their parents."
Mr. Lancer studied him. "That's still not okay."
Funny. He had never cared about bullying before this.
It's because of Phantom.
Next up: Vlad time!
Thanks so much to imekitty for betaing this chapter!
Also shoutout to abrielarnold on Tumblr who made the coverart for this fic! It's INCREDIBLE!