AN: Please read. Hello again. I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I'M NOT DEAD! Shocking, I know. The bad news is: I'm not happy. I'm not happy with myself. I'm not happy with this story. I feel that I've jumped the gun on some aspects of this fic. I don't like my pacing in the last few chapters, and that caused this chapter to fight me like no other. But, what I do affects you guys; therefore, i put the decision up to you. There is a poll on my profile page about how I should continue the story. It will be open for a week, or until i get enough votes to determine a sound decision. I will continue the story no matter what, but how will be determined by the poll, so please vote. I will not update this story until the poll closes. Thank you for your support and understanding. Now, back to the story as it currently stands: I hope you enjoy this chapter. Feel free to review. PLEASE review. Thank you.

The small crater emitted a faint, tiny wisp of green smoke as the blast faded from the floating rock. Barely the size of a grown man's fist, the damage-weak though it was-greatly out shadowed the other pitiful dents decorating the boulder's surface. Just a seed of doubt sown in the young boy's mind had caused Dan's power to double. A grin spread across the ghost's face, with barred teeth and gleaming red eyes. The nightmare was just beginning.

The Batcave was eerily quiet. Since Danny had first discovered The Batman's secret lair, laughter and lighthearted banter had rung through the halls on a seemingly never-ending loop. But today the trapeze bars hung limply from their cables despite the slight breeze sweeping through the Cave. Even though all the lights were shining the cave seemed darker than Danny ever remembered. His vision seemed fuzzy and unreliable. It was as if a fog filled the cave wrapping around every rock, every sheet of metal, and every living organism, muffling the natural noise of the room. Thus, Danny was surprised when his own voice echoed off the walls and startled a few bats out of their sleep.

"Where's Dick?"

"Resting." Batman responded as he climbed from the jet.

Resting? Batman and Robin didn't "rest." They patrolled nightly. Danny had been absolutely forbidden from joining them. Phantom was not to be seen in Gotham so as not to attract new ghostly foes to the already troubled city. Still, Every time the Dynamic Duo donned their capes, someone came back hurt. It was inevitable: a fact that every hero faced. More often than not, it was Bruce who injured himself. Almost all the injuries were minor-a bruise here a few cuts there-only rarely did either need stitches, and even then the entire house was awake at the break of dawn for an early morning spar. Never before had anyone been "resting." For the first time since the battle, worries flooded Danny's mind. Had the injuries been severe enough for the Batman to bench his protégé? Or worse: Had the hyperactive Robin asked for a reprieve and Batman let him?

Danny thought back to the battle at the cave, and his grip on the full thermos tightened. He had already expressed his anger at Skulker for attacking Robin, a human, but never had anything more scratched the back of his mind. Skulker had thrown a knife at Robin, but Skulker had hit Danny with much worse (rockets, ecto-guns, ecto-machineguns, nuclear weapons, etc.). Now, Danny realized that he had never actually seen a ghost wound a human. For some reason every ghost Danny had ever fought attacked only him, and on the rare occasion that a civilian was targeted, Danny either saved them, the weapon was human made in origin, or the ghost was targeting the Red Huntress (which was similar, in a way, to fighting Danny and; therefore, didn't count). Danny began to panic. What if ectoplasmic energy had side effects on humans? He knew that plain ectoplasm was harmless because his parents continuously experimented with it, but they hadn't stabbed themselves with green glowing daggers as far as he knew. What if Dick got sick? What if he died? What if his arm had to be amputated ? Oh, God, what had Danny done? He should have stopped it. He should have stopped Skulker before he threw that dagger.

"Danny!" Bruce's firm voice pulled him from his thoughts. The man had removed his cowl and was frowning at the teen. His eyes were wide, his lips pressed into a thin line turned downward with concern, and he was shaking Danny. Why was he shaking him? The tips of Bruce's fingers dug into the teen's arms. Danny tried to use his intangibility to break free, but it wasn't working. Why wasn't it working? Why was Bruce shaking him? He tried to tell Bruce to stop, but he couldn't. Every time he tried to speak he would hyperventilate from all the shaking.

"Danny!" The elder hero gripped onto the teens arms harder.

Stop! Danny wanted to shout.

"Danny! You need to calm down. You're having a panic attack. You're shaking. You need to calm down."

Ye, Danny knew he was shaking. But Bruce wasn't shaking him? He was shaking himself? Danny began to hyperventilate again. It felt as if someone was choking him, crushing his neck with their hands while jumping up and down on his chest. His heart began thrashing in his body, racing as if it was trying to outpace the shaking. He began to wonder-with the bitter humor exclusive to traumatic experiences-if perhaps telling someone they were having a panic attack was not the best way to calm them down.

"Danny, it'll be alright." Bruce began in a soothing voice, "You're alright." But Danny wasn't. He was still shaking, and sweating, and it was all out of control. How long had this been happening now? It felt like hours.

"Danny, Dick's alright." Bruce continued after a pause.

Of course Dick's alright. Danny angrily thought at the man. He's not the one, having a panic attack and unable to breathe.

"The knife wound wasn't severe. It was deep, and it will impair Robin's throwing abilities for a few weeks, but he will recover."

Danny didn't understand why, but whatever Bruce was doing, it was working. Danny was still shaking, but his breathing was almost regular, almost normal.

"I'm glad you were there. If you weren't there everyone would have been terribly injured before anyone managed to subdue the ghost. You protected them, Danny. You did well."

Slowly, the shaking began to stop. After a few minutes Danny was left with only the memory of panic. He stood in the middle of the cave wrapped in the arms of Bruce Wayne, cowl down, but still in the batsuit. It almost caused another panic attack. Was Bruce OK?

"Ahem." Danny looked up to see Alfred standing at the cave's entrance with a plate of cookies in hand, frowning at the costumed pair. "I heard you arrive, but no one came upstairs. Is everyone alright?"

"Yes, Alfred, everything's fine now." Bruce said standing up.

As the elder superhero made his way towards the changing room, Danny began to protest, still slightly unsure of what had just happened.

"Panic attacks are rarely ever the result of fear for a panic attack. You admitted that all ghosts have an obsession and that yours was most likely Protecting people. The last time you failed to protect someone, you fell into a mental stupor. I feared it might happen again." Danny paled at Bruce's words. "I believe that 'failure' in your mind causes you to have physical, outward symptoms such as that panic attack. You were worried that you failed to protect Dick. I assure you it was just the opposite." Bruce placed a comforting hand on Danny's shoulder. "Still, we need to find a way to stop these episodes."

"However, I believe that it will have to wait until tomorrow." Alfred interjected. "Master Danny looks much to tired to continue this conversation; and Master Dick is waiting for his cookies." Alfred placed the tray of sweets in Danny's hands. "Why don't you go upstairs and rest."

Danny nodded, taking the tray and slowly making his way into the manor. It was a well rehearsed path, and so Danny allowed his feet to carry him through the hallways to Dick's room. Dick was resting on his bed. His arm was tightly wrapped and confined to a sling; his hair was wild, and dark bags hung from the boy's eyes.

"You look awful." Dick greeted Danny.

"Thanks. You don't look all that hot yourself." Danny countered.

"You're still Phantom."

"Oh." Danny glanced at his hand to see that Dick was right: Phantom's white glove held the tray of cookies. Danny's signature bright light flashed across the room leaving Fenton standing in Dick's doorway. Danny entered the room, plopping himself onto the bed and shoving a cookie in his face.

"That reminds me: why do you have a catchphrase?" Dick asked, taking his own cookie from the pile.

"Catchphrase?"

"'Going Ghost.' You always say it before you transform into Phantom. I've been meaning to ask you about it. Do you have to say it?"

"No." Danny laughed, wiping the cookie crumbs from his mouth. "It's a long story."

"I'm not going anywhere." Dick motioned to his hurt arm.

"OK." Danny sighed "I didn't have the best control of my powers for a long time. I'd accidentally walk through tables, sink into the floor, lose my visibility. I didn't have control over my transformations either, but I could always tell when they were about to happen. My friends...Sam and Tucker...were always near me, and they knew about the accident; so, whenever I was about to transform they'd try and cover for me. One day, about a week after the accident we were sitting outside my house and Jazz was talking to me." Danny chuckled at the memory. "I felt a transformation about to happen, but I couldn't get away from my sister. I tried to get Sam and Tucker's attention, but they were lost in their own conversation. I tried poking, hinting, and miming the actions of a ghost, but they never took the hint. I was seconds away from becoming Phantom in front of my sister, so I gave up on subtlety and just shouted 'I'm Going Ghost!' They managed to get me away from Jazz, but after that Jazz believed my parents had corrupted my mind. Since then, 'going ghost' just became my catchphrase."

"Wow." Dick said, munching on another cookie.

Silence fell between the two as both boys continued munching on the sweets. Danny felt his eyelids weigh down. He was tired. He laid down on the bed. That was comfy, he decided.

"You still look terrible." Dick mumbled with a yawn, "What happened to you."

"Panic attack."

"Oh."

"And Bruce hugged me."

Dick chuckled. "Yep, that'll do it. Bruce scared the living daylights out of Joker when he hugged me in costume."

Danny wasn't sure if he laughed at that. He meant to, but his eyes were so heavy. He closed them and immediately fell asleep.

Alfred opened the door to Richard's room. Cookies and crumbs were scattered across the floor and bed. He sighed. He would have to clean that up later. Both boys were asleep. Danny was laying across the edge, mouth open and feet dangling over the side. Dick had managed to kick the comforter halfway off his body. The acrobat had managed to flip himself upside-down in his sleep so that his uninjured arm rested on Danny's face. Alfred quickly snapped a picture of the two snoring children. It would be a wonderful addition to the family scrapbook. It would especially look nice next to the picture of Danny and Wally fighting.