The ticking of the clock echoed in Danny's ears, each second stretching longer than the last. His head throbbed, a low, pulsing ache that radiated from his temples and settled deep behind his eyes.
The world around him blurred at the edges, sounds becoming muted and distant, like he was underwater. His heart pounded in his chest—too fast, too hard—while his limbs felt heavy and weak, as though his body had suddenly forgotten how to keep itself upright. He was aware of his pulse, which was erratic and felt strange, but not the kind of strange that happened before a panic attack. No, this was different. This was more.
He turned his eyes back to his notebook. He had a free period and decided to sit in the back of the library. He didn't tell Tucker or Sam. He couldn't tell them. Not when he had no clue what was wrong. Not when he was trying to get better, for them. He'd already probably given them hell with his mental health over the past few months, and now as they were in the grueling period following the winter holiday break and spring break, the last thing Tucker and Sam needed was another issue to worry about.
Danny sighed, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. Everything felt wrong in a way that he could barely explain to himself, to his parents who so willingly did tests on him, trying to figure out the cause of all the anomalies in his ectoplasmic energy. They wanted to help, and yet it had done nothing to give him an answer.
He lifted his eyes a moment, glancing at the time on his phone. He still had a few classes after free period. He'd already had lunch, and if he hadn't been feeling so rough since he got up that morning, assuming he got up too quickly and making him stumble through his morning, he would assume that maybe he just ate something questionable. But, cafeteria food was always questionable. And cafeteria food didn't make Danny wonder if he was dying the rest of the way.
He couldn't stay here. Not like this.
Danny pressed a hand to his forehead, the skin clammy beneath his fingers, and slowly pushed himself up from the table. He was careful, keeping his movements slow and deliberate, afraid that if he moved too quickly, the nausea that had been clawing at the back of his throat all morning would finally win out. His body felt like it was caught in two places at once—half here, half somewhere else—and he couldn't shake the feeling that something inside him was slipping out of sync. His ghost energy pulsed uneasily beneath the surface, too erratic, too unstable.
Slipping out of the library, Danny made his way through the quiet halls, each step slower than the last. The world around him tilted, his vision tunneling as he walked. He felt like a ghost in his own skin, too aware of the unnatural rhythm of his body.
Danny's footsteps echoed faintly in the empty hallway, each one a little more unsteady than the last. His head swam, the rhythmic pounding behind his eyes growing heavier with every passing second. His stomach twisted violently, the nausea that had been lingering all morning now clawing its way up his throat, forcing him to press a hand to his mouth as his body struggled to stay upright.
He wasn't going to make it through the rest of the day. Not like this.
The nurse's office was just down the hall, and with each step, Danny's vision grew blurrier, his heart still racing erratically in his chest. It was wrong. All of it. He knew the feeling of panic, knew when his heart was racing because of fear or adrenaline. But this? This was something else entirely. His pulse was irregular, his limbs heavy and disconnected from his mind, like his body was shutting down piece by piece.
He reached the door of the nurse's office, his hand trembling as he grasped the handle and pushed it open. The bright lights inside stung his eyes, and for a moment, he had to blink to clear his vision.
"Danny?" The nurse's voice was soft but surprised. She looked up from her desk, concern flashing across her face the moment she saw him. "Are you alright?"
Danny shook his head, his hand still pressed to his mouth as another wave of nausea rolled through him. He could barely keep his legs steady beneath him, and he leaned heavily against the doorframe for support.
"I don't feel good," he mumbled, his voice strained and hoarse. "I think I'm going to be sick."
The nurse immediately stood, crossing the room to guide him toward the small bed in the corner of the office. "Sit down for a moment. You're pale as a sheet, Danny. Let's get you lying down."
Danny barely made it to the bed before the nausea hit him full force. His stomach clenched violently, and he doubled over, barely managing to hold back the heaving that followed. The room spun around him, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out. The sweat on his skin made him feel cold, but there was a heat in his chest that wouldn't leave.
The nurse quickly handed him a small trash can, just in time. The retching was sudden and painful, his body rebelling as his stomach emptied what little it had left. When it was over, he slumped back against the bed, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
"I'm… sorry," Danny managed between breaths, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt too weak to sit up, too tired to do anything but lie there, staring at the ceiling as the world continued to tilt around him.
The nurse shook her head, her expression kind but worried. "No need to apologize, Danny. You look terrible. I'm going to call your parents. You need to go home and rest."
Danny nodded weakly, grateful that she wasn't going to make him stay. He wasn't sure he could handle another hour at school, let alone the rest of the day. His body felt like it was betraying him, every part of him out of sync, like his ghost energy was fighting against his human form in a way he hadn't experienced before.
The nurse handed him his phone, and with shaking hands, Danny texted his mom.
"Not feeling well. Can I come home? Nurse says I should leave."
It wasn't long before Maddie replied, the worry in her message almost palpable.
"Of course. I'll pick you up in 10 minutes. We'll run some tests when you get home."
Danny sighed, leaning his head back against the pillow as he closed his eyes. Tests. Of course. His parents were always trying to help, always doing their best to figure out what was happening to him. But it didn't make the uncertainty any easier to bear.
Ten minutes later, his mom arrived, her face tense with concern as she entered the nurse's office. "Danny, sweetie, are you alright?" she asked, her voice low but urgent.
Danny shook his head, still feeling the lingering nausea twist in his gut. "Not really," he muttered. "Can we just go home?"
Maddie nodded, helping him to his feet. The nurse gave them a few instructions—rest, fluids, and come back if the symptoms worsened—but Maddie's focus was entirely on Danny, her worry deepening with every step they took toward the car.
By the time they reached home, Danny's condition had worsened. His legs felt like they would give out at any moment, and every step sent a new wave of dizziness crashing over him. Maddie helped him inside, her hand resting gently on his arm as they made their way down to the lab where Jack was already waiting.
"Hey, Danny," Jack greeted him, his usual booming voice softened with concern. "How're you feeling, kiddo?"
"Not great," Danny admitted, sinking down onto the exam table in the middle of the lab. His whole body felt heavy, weighed down by a fatigue that went far beyond just being tired. The strange pulse of ectoplasmic energy beneath his skin hadn't stopped either. It felt like a constant, erratic hum, leaving him shaky and unfocused.
"We're going to run a few tests," Maddie explained, her voice gentle as she set up the equipment. "Nothing invasive. We just need to see how your energy levels are doing. I want to make sure this isn't related to your ghost side."
Danny nodded, too tired to argue. The lab lights felt too bright, and the cold metal beneath him sent a shiver through his body. He hated this—the constant tests, the uncertainty. His parents were doing their best, but none of it made sense. Nothing they found ever gave him the answers he needed.
Maddie attached a few sensors to his wrists and temples, the gentle hum of the machines kicking in as they began reading his ectoplasmic energy levels. The numbers flashed on the screen, graphs and data appearing in quick succession, but none of it looked right. The fluctuations were too sharp, too erratic, like his ghost energy was out of control.
"Your energy levels are spiking again," Maddie said softly, her brow furrowing as she studied the data. "But it's not consistent. It's almost like…"
Before she could finish, Danny's vision blurred, and his head swam. His heart, which had been pounding too fast all day, suddenly felt like it had stopped altogether. A cold wave of nausea surged through him, stronger than before, and the next thing he knew, the room was tilting violently.
"M-Mom…" Danny's voice was weak, barely a whisper as his limbs went numb. He could feel the world slipping away, his body giving out as his energy faltered. His knees buckled, and he collapsed forward, his vision going dark around the edges.
Maddie was at his side in an instant, her arms catching him before he hit the floor. "Danny!"
The last thing Danny heard was the frantic sound of his parents' voices before everything went black.
When Danny awoke, he was in his own bed, the familiar weight of his blankets heavy over his legs. His head throbbed faintly, but the intense dizziness from earlier had faded to a dull, distant ache. He blinked slowly, taking in the dim light filtering through his curtains, and for a moment, everything felt surreal—like he was floating between waking and dreaming, caught in a haze of exhaustion.
His parents must have brought him upstairs after… after whatever that had been. His body still felt off, like the energy inside him was misaligned, but it wasn't as bad as before. He lay there for a long moment, staring up at the ceiling, his mind heavy with the familiar sense of dread that had been following him for weeks. The tests, the uncertainty, the constant fear that something was wrong with him… it was all starting to feel like too much.
The quiet creak of his bedroom door pulled him from his thoughts, and Danny turned his head just in time to see Sam slip into the room. Her expression was a mixture of worry and relief, her dark eyes scanning him quickly, as if she was checking to make sure he was really alright.
"Hey," she said softly, closing the door behind her. "Your mom called. Told me you weren't feeling so great."
Danny sighed, sitting up slowly, his head spinning just enough to make him pause, bracing himself on the wall behind his bed with his hand for a moment. "Yeah," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I scared them a little."
Sam moved to sit at the edge of his bed, her gaze fixed on him with that same sharp intensity she always had. But there was a softness to her worry, too—an understanding that went beyond just concern for his health. She knew him. Knew that there was more going on beneath the surface.
"You didn't scare them, Danny," Sam said quietly. "They're just worried about you. I'm worried about you."
Danny shifted uncomfortably, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his arms on them. He didn't know how to respond to that. The truth was, he didn't know how to talk about any of this—how to explain the gnawing sense of unease that had settled in his chest, the constant fear that something was wrong with him, that he was broken in some fundamental way.
He was supposed to be getting better. He was supposed to be moving forward. But instead, everything felt like it was falling apart. Physically, mentally… all of it.
"I left school early today," Danny said after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was feeling off. Like… really off. My parents did some tests, but they still don't know what's wrong. They don't have any answers. Probably didn't help that I passed out in the lab."
"You… passed out?" Sam asked, arching her eyebrow, "Like… actually?"
Danny nodded, "I guess? I mean I remember feeling awful. But not the kind of awful that was like anxiety or even like a stomach bug. Sure, I threw up at school but that's because I was so dizzy and my body couldn't level out… One second I was talking to my parents as they worked on some tests, then everything disappeared. I woke up here. But, as far as I know, we still have no answers."
Sam's expression softened, and she reached out to rest her hand over his, her touch warm and steady. "I'm sorry, Danny. I can't imagine how frustrating that must be."
Danny shrugged, but the movement felt hollow. "It's not just frustrating," he admitted quietly, his voice cracking slightly. "It's… scary. I don't know what's happening to me. My ghost powers are going haywire, my body feels like it's falling apart, and my parents… they don't know how to fix it."
He took a shaky breath, his chest tightening as the weight of everything he had been holding back threatened to spill over. "And it's not just that. It's everything else. I'm trying so hard to hold it together for everyone—for my parents, for you and Tucker—but I feel like I'm barely keeping my head above water."
Sam's hand tightened around his, her eyes never leaving his face. "Danny… you don't have to keep it together for us. We're your friends. We're here for you, no matter what. You don't have to do this alone."
Danny let out a shaky laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. He wiped a hand across his face, feeling the burning in his eyes that he had been trying to ignore for weeks. "I don't know if I can keep doing this, Sam. I'm trying, but… I don't know how much longer I can handle feeling like this. Like… like I'm not even in control of my own body anymore."
He swallowed hard, his throat tight as the words he had been too afraid to say finally slipped out. "Sometimes… I just think it would be easier if I didn't have to deal with any of it anymore."
Sam's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't look shocked. She looked… sad. Sad in a way that made Danny's chest ache, like she had been expecting him to say something like that but had been dreading hearing it.
"Danny," she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly. "You don't mean that."
"I don't mean I'm going to do anything," Danny said quickly, shaking his head. "But sometimes it just feels like… maybe everyone would be better off if I wasn't around. If I didn't have these powers. If I wasn't such a burden."
Sam's grip on his hand tightened, her knuckles white. "You're not a burden, Danny. You're never a burden. You're our friend, and we love you. Powers or not, you're important to us. You're important to me."
Danny closed his eyes, feeling the tears finally slip down his cheeks. He hadn't meant to cry. He hadn't meant to let it all out like this. But now that the dam had broken, there was no holding it back.
"I just want it to stop," Danny whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "The constant tests, the not knowing what's wrong with me… I can't take it anymore. I feel like I'm falling apart, Sam."
Sam moved closer, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. "You're not falling apart, Danny. You're going through something really hard, but you're not alone in this. We're going to figure it out. Whatever's going on with your powers, with your health… mentally or otherwise… we're going to find a way to help you. But you have to let us in. You have to let us help."
Danny leaned into her embrace, burying his face in her shoulder as the sobs wracked his body. It had been so long since he'd let himself break down like this—so long since he had allowed himself to feel all the fear, the exhaustion, the frustration that had been building up inside him for months.
For a moment, they sat in silence, the only sound in the room the soft, shaky breaths coming from Danny as he cried into Sam's shoulder. She held him close, not saying anything, just letting him release everything he had been holding back.
When the sobs finally subsided, Danny pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He felt drained, emotionally and physically, but there was also a strange sense of relief—like a weight had been lifted from his chest, even if just for a moment.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to—"
"Don't apologize," Sam interrupted gently, giving him a small, sad smile. "You needed to let that out. You don't have to apologize for feeling like this."
Danny nodded, though the guilt still lingered. He had tried so hard to be strong, to keep it all together for everyone else. But now… now he realized that maybe he didn't have to carry it all by himself.
"Thanks," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "For being here. For… for understanding."
Sam squeezed his hand gently. "Always, Danny. I'm always here for you."
They sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of their conversation settling between them like a fragile truce. Danny still didn't have all the answers—he still didn't know what was wrong with him, or how to fix it. But for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel completely alone.
And maybe that was enough. For now.
The minutes slipped by in a strange kind of silence, neither Danny nor Sam speaking as they sat together on the edge of his bed. The weight of everything he had just confessed hung in the air between them, thick and heavy, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was full of understanding, a fragile but steady connection that didn't need words to hold it together.
Danny's head still throbbed, his body aching with the kind of fatigue that seemed to reach deep into his bones. The aftershocks of his emotional release left him feeling shaky, vulnerable in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. But Sam hadn't left his side. She hadn't pulled away, hadn't judged him for breaking down. And that, in itself, was a relief he hadn't known he needed.
The pale light filtering through his curtains painted everything in soft grays, casting long shadows across the room. Danny shifted slightly, his body still heavy with exhaustion, and leaned back against his pillows. He was too tired to sit up straight anymore, the adrenaline from his breakdown ebbing away, leaving him raw and drained.
Sam watched him carefully, her eyes tracing the lines of tension still etched into his face. "You look exhausted," she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Like you haven't slept in days."
Danny let out a tired laugh, though there was no humor in it. "That's because I haven't."
Sam frowned, her brow furrowing in concern. "Why haven't you said anything about that?"
He shrugged, staring up at the ceiling. "Because it wouldn't have made a difference. Sleep doesn't fix it, Sam. Even when I do sleep, I wake up feeling like this. It's like… like my body is stuck in this constant state of being run down, and nothing helps. I can't recharge. I just… stay tired."
The words came out more easily now, the dam already broken. It felt strange to be so open, to let her see just how deep the cracks ran. But at the same time, it was freeing, like he had been holding his breath for months, and now, finally, he could exhale.
"I thought maybe I was just pushing myself too hard," Danny continued, his voice low and strained. "With school, with the ghost fights… I figured if I just took it easy, maybe things would get better. But it's not. I can't even make it through a normal day without feeling like I'm about to collapse. And it's… it's terrifying."
Sam's hand still rested on his, the weight of it steady and grounding. She didn't speak right away, just listened, her eyes soft with understanding.
"I can't explain it," Danny went on, his voice a little rough. "I keep waiting for things to go back to normal, for the ghost stuff to feel the way it used to. But it doesn't. Every time I go ghost, it feels like I'm pulling myself apart—like I'm caught between two worlds, and I don't belong in either of them anymore."
His breath hitched slightly as the truth of his words settled over him. He had been trying so hard to hold it together, to pretend like nothing had changed. But the reality was, everything had changed. His body wasn't the same, his powers weren't the same, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the cracks were starting to show.
"I don't know how to fix this," Danny whispered, his voice barely audible. "And I'm scared. Scared that I'm going to lose control, or that I'm going to hurt someone because I can't keep my powers in check. And the worst part is… I don't even know what's wrong with me. My parents keep running tests, but nothing they do gives us answers."
Sam's gaze softened even further, the lines of worry deepening around her eyes. "Have you told them how scared you are?"
Danny shook his head, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. "No. I can't. They're trying so hard to help me, and I don't want them to feel like they're failing. I don't want them to think that they're not doing enough."
"But they care about you," Sam said gently. "They'd want to know how you're feeling, Danny. I know it's hard, but you don't have to carry all of this by yourself."
He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I know. I just… I don't want to make them worry more than they already do. It's bad enough that I'm putting you and Tucker through all of this."
Sam shook her head, her expression firm but tender. "You're not putting us through anything. We're your friends, Danny. We're here because we care about you, because we want to help you. You don't have to hide what you're going through."
Danny felt the tears welling up in his eyes again, but this time, he didn't fight them. He let them fall, silent and slow, as the weight of everything he had been carrying settled over him once more. He hadn't realized just how much he had been holding back—how tightly he had been keeping his emotions locked away, even from himself.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I didn't mean to shut you out."
Sam's expression softened, and she squeezed his hand gently. "You don't have to apologize, Danny. I get it. I know you're trying to protect us, but you don't have to do that. You're not a burden. You're not alone in this."
Danny closed his eyes, the warmth of Sam's hand in his grounding him as he let the tears come. For so long, he had been trying to hold everything together—to be the strong one, the protector, the one who always knew what to do. But now, in this quiet moment, with Sam by his side, he realized that maybe he didn't have to be all of those things all the time. Maybe it was okay to be vulnerable. To let someone else carry the weight for a little while.
"I don't know what's happening to me," Danny whispered, his voice trembling. "But I'm scared, Sam. I'm scared that something's really wrong, and I don't know how to fix it."
Sam's grip on his hand tightened, her eyes shining with empathy. "We're going to figure this out, Danny. Whatever it is, we're going to get through it together. I promise. But for now, you should rest. I'm not going anywhere."
Danny nodded weakly, his chest aching with the weight of her words. It was a promise he wasn't sure she could keep, but in that moment, he wanted so desperately to believe her. He wanted to believe that things would get better, that the tests would eventually give them answers, that he wouldn't be stuck in this limbo forever.
But deep down, the fear remained—the fear that whatever was wrong with him, whatever was causing his body to break down, was something they couldn't fix. And that thought, more than anything, terrified him.
The room felt heavy with the unspoken weight of everything they had just shared, the soft hum of the house around them the only sound that broke the silence. Sam stayed by his side, her presence a quiet comfort as Danny slowly drifted into an uneasy rest, his mind still swirling with the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
He fell asleep feeling her nails brush against his head. It was soothing, relaxing, and knocked him out far quicker than he wanted it to.
The next morning, Danny woke with a dull ache still settled deep in his bones. The exhaustion clung to him like a second skin, even after a night of sleep that had been fitful at best. His body felt heavier than it should, as though his limbs were weighed down by invisible chains. The same strange feeling lingered beneath his skin—the flicker of ghost energy that never seemed to settle, always just out of control, always teetering on the edge of something he couldn't quite name.
He sighed, pulling the covers tighter around himself as he tried to push the thoughts away. Sam had stayed late last night, sitting with him until he'd finally fallen asleep. She hadn't left his side, even when he had felt like a burden, like he was dragging her into the mess that had become his life. But Sam never made him feel like that—not once.
She was asleep, laying next to where he had been. He didn't want to wake her, didn't want to move.
As he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, Danny felt the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. The same questions haunted him, over and over again. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't they figure it out? And how long could he keep pretending that everything was fine when it so clearly wasn't?
There were no answers. There hadn't been for months.
And yet, in the midst of all that uncertainty, Sam's words from the night before echoed in his mind. You don't have to carry this by yourself.
For the first time in a long time, Danny let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he didn't have to.
