Author's Note: This fic reached its 6th birthday on June 14, 2020. I can hardly believe it. I can hardly believe I'm actually managing to post this chapter a day after its 6th anniversary. Meant to be? I certainly hope so. At this point, this fic is probably riddled with redundancies, plot holes, and inconsistencies, and after 6 years? I'm going to cut myself some slack. This fic is far from perfect, but damn, I am proud.

6 years. Man.

Thank you, as always, for your patience. This chapter is told solely Danny's POV, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. We'll catch up with Sam next time, I hope. ;)

Previously in Shift: It's finally the day of the Portal activation. It's been a busy morning at FentonWorks, but there've been no answers regarding a potential GIW faction. Sam, however, may have a lead.

IMPORTANT NOTE AND GENERAL WARNING: there is a mild depiction of a nonviolent protest within this chapter. This is not meant to be a reflection of, a metaphor for, or a statement regarding the current BLM protests happening across the country. I worry that posting this chapter may be seen as tactless, but the events of this chapter were, quite literally, years in the making. Since I've been foreshadowing the possibility for a few chapters now and there are few inherent parallels between my depiction and current events, I am going through with it. Even so, if this content may be potentially upsetting to you, please, please take care of yourself first and foremost and save this chapter for another time.

Chapter 29: The Second Step Back

Danny picked up on the first ring.

"Yo, Tuck, where are you?" A sudden, loud ka-lunck resounded through the lab, followed by an intense flood of light. The heat of it seared at the back of Danny's neck, and in an attempt to duck out of the blinding spotlight, he nearly stumbled right into a technician carrying a thick roll of cable. Danny mouthed a sorry at the harried technician and quickly got himself out of the way before he could make himself more of a nuisance.

"We're nearly all set up here, I think," Danny continued. He squinted against the glare of lights, tracking the movement of Lance Thunder's sound and lighting crew. With the exception of a few last-minute tests, it seemed like everything was in place and all the cameras were ready to roll. He tried not to think about how that fact alone made his palms damp with nerves. "And my parents' guests are due to show up any second now."

"Yeahhhh," came Tuck's drawling response. "'bout that..."

When Tucker trailed off, an ominous feeling draped itself over Danny's shoulders, followed quickly by a flicker of anxiety.

Did Tucker change his mind about coming today? Did he decide it wasn't worth coming?

(Or that it was too dangerous to?)

"Is everything okay?" he asked. His calm tone did not match the flutter of his heartbeat.

"What? Oh, yeah, bro, everything is fine."

He still sounded remarkably cagey to Danny's ears. Rolling his eyes up to the lab's high ceiling and trying to mitigate any potential disappointment, he heaved a sigh and teased, "You overslept, too, didn't you?"

Tuck spluttered on the other end of the line, and that, alone, was how Danny knew his momentary panic was completely unfounded. "How dare," Tuck whined. "I'll have you know—" He cut off abruptly, and Danny heard a chiding, indistinct murmur come through the line. "Yeah, yeah, sorry, Mom."

"Oh, hey, Mrs. Foley," Danny said.

"Danny says hi, Mom," Tucker relayed. There was another pause, and Tucker said, to Danny, "She says hi back, and she wants me to politely ask if you happened to see the crowd outside FentonWorks."

The moment Danny heard the word 'crowd,' he was on his way upstairs. "Ah, no," he admitted, mounting the stairs two at a time. "Can't say I have. But I'm about to."

"A'ight."

Tucker went silent as Danny popped out of the basement, which was concerning enough in it of itself. Tucker and silent didn't usually belong in the same sentence.

Since almost everyone else was still setting up in the lab, the first floor was mostly vacant. Vlad was the sole exception. He sat on the edge of one of their living room couches, looking like he had just swallowed a lemon. The older halfa didn't say anything, but when he caught Danny's eye, he made an agitated gesture toward the second floor. Danny nodded and turned the corner to race up yet another flight of stairs.

Once he reached the top, he was immediately greeted by the sight of his mom, Lance Thunder, and Jazz standing on the catwalk, looking through FentonWorks' higher windows so they could see out past the driveway and ring of landscaping hiding most of FentonWorks from view.

Without taking her eyes off the street, Jazz sidled over to make room for him. He stepped up to the banister and looked outside.

The cul-de-sac was swarming with people. Signs of various materials dotted the group. Most were made of cardboard, of poster board, of things people had found lying around the house. Even from this distance, Danny could see that a lot of them were done up with aggressive lettering and, less commonly, violent imagery bisected with morbid slashes of color.

DEAD IS DEAD, one read. THEY DON'T BELONG HERE, another read.

GET SPOOKED, SPOOKS was clearly a fan favorite.

Others went a step further, painting themselves like scenes out of a horror movie. A whole group of protestors wore powder white faces, heavy makeup-ringed eyes, and fake blood. Another group wore nun and priest outfits. Danny didn't have to be close to know their signs displayed out-of-context Bible verses. Several others were cosplaying as...haunted Ghostbusters, for a lack of better description, their signs depicting a warped and disturbing version of the original Ghostbuster insignia.

Most of Thunder's cameramen and a few other interviewers were out there, roaming amongst the protestors. Each had a security detail on them, but it didn't look as though the precaution was necessary. In fact, there was a pretty distinct and respectful line between the Fenton property and the group of protestors, which allowed for plenty of room for vehicles to pass through.

"Ah," Danny finally said, for lack of anything better to say.

"Yeah. 'Ah.' So..." Tucker trailed off before plowing ahead, blunt and clipped, "Mom's parked a couple of blocks away. She didn't want to let me wade through all that by myself. And to be honest with you, I don't fancy it much either."

Danny swallowed harshly, shame turning his stomach inside-out. This, he supposed, was what it looked like to be his friend. "For good reason," he muttered.

It came out a little more bitterly than he intended, which caused both his mom and Jazz to turn. Mom pulled him to her side, just briefly, for a side hug. He didn't have the presence of mind to be embarrassed by the casual contact. Jazz was pressed against Mom's other side, and Lance Thunder looked as though he had enough on his mind as it was. He was paying the Fentons next to him no attention, instead talking into an earpiece, probably in the midst of helping direct his team, or at the very least, listening in to what reports they were making down below.

"They'd be here, regardless," Mom murmured. Her tone was flatter than she probably meant it to be. "Phantom or otherwise. We expected this."

He blew out a steadying breath and leaned out of her hug, refocusing on what he could do rather than stewing in regrets about what he couldn't. It was an uphill battle. "Where are you?" he asked Tucker again. "I'll come get you."

"You'll be okay? To come out, I mean?"

Danny tried not to think about the fact there was probably an ecto-weapon or two out there, and he had to remind himself he knew the specs for all of the anti-ghost devices available for public consumption. He should—would—be able to keep himself and Tucker well out of their range.

And since he definitely didn't want to think about any GIW hiding amongst the crowd, he made another joke instead. "Well, yeah?" he scoffed. "What'll they do? See me?"

Tucker snorted. "Okay, point made, ghost kid. We're over at the corner of Birch and Torchwood. Near that little walking trail? And the pond?"

Danny knew the place. "Be there in a few."

He hung up, and in response to his mother's raised eyebrow, he explained, "I need to go get Tucker."

Mom smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh, good," she said, gaze skirting around him to look back out at the protestors. Stress stiffened the line of her shoulders, seeped into the edges of her fading smile. "I worried he might have gotten caught up in it all."

"I don't think anyone's going to want to miss this," Danny said, and judging by the mild surprise on his mom's face, she hadn't expected him to read her worries so clearly. "It looks like security is doing its job."

"Yes, they are," Mom said distractedly, without looking at him. She went silent for a moment before adding in a small, thin voice, "I'm sorry, Danny. I'm so sorry."

"Why?" Danny asked. "It's not your fault. It isn't anyone's. You just said—"

Mom shook her head, cutting him off. "This was almost us."

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Danny rejected them viscerally, tearing himself away from her. Jazz heard, too, and made a strangled noise that reflected exactly how he felt about the whole situation.

He faced his mother with a deep frown. She'd never let anything like this bother her before, and besides that, he'd thought his parents had forgiven themselves for everything that happened before the Shift. He thought they knew he had already forgiven them a long time ago. "Mom, no—"

"Yes," his mother interrupted again. The look on her face implied she would obstruct anything he could have said to convince her otherwise. Her eyes glinted with unshed tears. "It could have been."

Jazz and Danny exchanged a look, and Danny said firmly, "But it isn't." Mom finally tore her eyes off the crowd outside, and he added, "And it won't be."

"That's why we're here, isn't it?" Jazz said. "That's why we're doing this. To show them better."

Mom stared at them, and perhaps it was the reminder of their achievements with the Portal, perhaps what they were saying got through to her, but something gave. Her second smile, though weak, seemed a little more solid to Danny. More real. Perhaps because it wasn't made in an attempt to hide anything. "Be careful out there, Danny."

It was an obvious attempt to change the subject. Danny would allow it, only because this wasn't the time to hash it out. His mom knew that just as well.

Pessimism didn't often stick well with a Fenton, anyway.

To brush of her concerns and lighten the mood a little further, he said, "Me? I'd be a poor excuse for a ghost if I couldn't make it there and back without being seen."

To emphasize his point, he smirked and flickered out of visibility. He slid around to Mom's other side, only to pop his head right back into view to startle her and Jazz.

Jazz, as expected, leapt out of her skin. "Danny!" she exclaimed in a hiss. "Honestly? We have a guest."

(Thunder, for the record, was still so focused on the cameramen outside, and on the arrival of a few cars to the scene, that he didn't notice at all.

Danny could say all he wanted about the man and his inexhaustible energy, but he was pretty damn good at his job. He wasn't sure he'd trust anyone else to be here, running the "show" for FentonWorks).

"He doesn't seem phased."

"Daniel, focus," Mom said, unamused by the prank and the pun. "I don't want to see you hurt."

I don't want to see anyone hurt, Danny heard.

"Yeah, I know," he said, sobering. "I'll be right back. Promise."

"No dawdling," Mom ordered. "If you're not back in five minutes, I'm sending Vlad out to get you."

That was no idle threat. Danny pulled a violent grimace, and Mom looked satisfied by his obvious distaste. Turning to his sister, she said, "Jazz, let's go get your father and have him ready. It's almost time."

"I'll be back soon, then," Danny said, saluting the pair. With the barest flex of his mind, he became entirely invisible again and stayed invisible, even throughout his transformation.

This time, Thunder caught sight of his bodiless head disappear, his words trailing off and jaw going slack with childlike awe. To his mom and sister, he gaped and asked, "Did you just see...?"

Normally, Danny would be well on his way to avoid seeing any more of Thunder's reaction. He'd probably be hot-faced and panicky, moth wings the size of bear paws fluttering in his chest. He'd probably be cursing himself for the lapse in judgement, on top of that. But despite how it normally felt when he expressed a minor power in front of an outsider, this felt...different.

Because Jazz, too, was looking at the space where he disappeared, just a few centimeters off from where he was floating, and it was her reaction that made him pause.

She was smiling like the sun, like pride incarnate.

It took a moment to realize why.

Actively using and maintaining his abilities mid-morph used to be an absolute impossibility. No, worse—it was a pain in the ass. Sure, he'd learned to morph so quickly it looked like a seamless transition, but that's all it was: an illusion.

It was enough. It had to be enough.

Jazz had thought otherwise. And once his opponents became more skilled, ruthless, and powerful, he had to concur.

He and she had spent a lot of time trying to train him to morph while invisible, while intangible, while maintaining an ectoblast charged in his palm. It was a matter of personal safety, Jazz insisted. To Danny, it was also a matter of control, of ensuring the best possible outcomes for everyone he was trying to protect, but he'd never quite managed it. Not consistently, anyway.

Funny. Thinking back on it, he couldn't quite remember when that had changed. When it had gotten so...

Effortless.

In that moment, he could accept Lance Thunder's awe without the usual self-deprecation and sense of imposter syndrome. He could accept it without the constant echo of the word freak in his mind.

Because, for the first time in awhile, he felt it too. Awe.

He'd come a long, long way since the Accident, hadn't he?

With his optimism rising, Danny sped upward and through the ceiling. He turned his back on the protest below immediately, unwilling to ruin the upswing in his mood, and he angled himself in the direction of the local park, four streets away.

Mrs. Foley was parked in her RAV4, engine off. Danny soared down and banked at the driver's side window. Not wanting to frighten either Tucker or his mom, he allowed a few ectoplasmic sparks to snap at his fingertips to draw their attention.

Mrs. Foley caught sight of them almost immediately and fixed her gaze somewhere well over Danny's left shoulder. He rapped lightly on the windows with his knuckles—an affirmation that he was there and a gentle request to come in.

To his amusement, she graciously unlocked the car doors, and Tucker, following her lead, leaned across the backseat, clearly with the intention to get the door for him.

He's pretty sure incorporeal snickering wasn't the best way to introduce Mrs. Foley to his alter ego, but he couldn't help it. He phased through the door, trying his best to avoid direct contact with Tucker out of a sense of somewhat-misplaced courtesy, and snickered the entire time.

"No need, Tuck," he laughed as he settled into the vacant seat and returned to visibility. "I appreciate it, though."

Mrs. Foley, to her credit, didn't gasp audibly, but even from where he sat in her backseat, Danny saw her chest rise, as though she was keeping a whole breath captive in her lungs. In the rearview mirror, he saw her studying him.

Tucker proved to be an excellent distraction. With a dramatic groan, he sat back and said, "That's embarrassing. I will get used to this, I swear."

"It's cool," Danny said, and he meant it. "My family does the same thing, sometimes. We all have habits we can't shake. And not all of them are bad. Especially considering, well..."

"How weird you guys are."

Danny was thinking more along the lines of "I had been human for most of my life, and my family thought so too until only a few months ago," but that was as accurate of a summary as Danny could ask for without getting into the nitty-gritty of it. "Thanks, Tuck," he said sarcastically.

"Just tellin' it like it is, bro."

When Danny looked back up to Mrs. Foley, she was smiling, just like she had when he first met her. Like he wasn't casting a chill or a full-body glow in her car. And exactly like she would smile at her son's best friend, like he had earned that place in her son's life, and therefore became someone who mattered in her life, too.

He may look like Phantom right now, but in that moment, it didn't matter. It was amazing, how much she could put him at ease with a single smile.

Placing a hand on the shoulder of the front passenger seat and twisting to face them, Mrs. Foley met his eye directly and said, "Thanks for doing this, Danny."

"Thanks for letting Tucker come," Danny returned. "It's been a bit..."

"Hectic, I imagine," Mrs. Foley finished once Danny trailed off.

"Just a day in the life of a Fenton," Danny said.

The light in Mrs. Foley's eyes faded, as did her smile. She worried at the corner of her lower lip. Earnestness filtered into her voice when she said abruptly, "Tucker told me about the Mansons."

"Oh." Danny tried to moderate his reaction, and he avoided further eye contact. His gaze flicked out the window, where a few ducks swam lazily at the edge of the pond closest to them. In the chaos of the morning, he hadn't realized he hadn't heard from Sam yet, and now that it was on his mind, his core pulsed and yanked in anticipation, the urge to check his phone nearly overpowering. He hadn't even managed to update Tucker about the plan before passing out the night before. Unless Sam had informed him herself, Tuck was completely in the dark. He daren't look at Tucker to see if he could discern which was the case. "Yeah."

If Mrs. Foley was suspicious, she didn't show it. Perhaps his distraction was enough to pass as dejection.

Whatever the case, her tone softened when she said, "I...can't make excuses for the Mansons. Nor can I for all the people outside FentonWorks right now. But...for all that it matters, please know you and your family aren't alone. Whatever happens after this Portal is activated? Tucker's dad and I? We support you and what your family's doing."

"He knows that, Mom," Tucker said, sounding both confused and exasperated.

To her son, she said, "It doesn't matter. After seeing what is out there, after hearing all those awful things they were shouting, you can't tell me you don't want to make your opposition perfectly clear. I would have never forgiven myself if I drove off without saying something."

Danny did know how she felt—not every family would have been as cool as they were about Dora's impromptu visit the other day—but hearing her say so was an affirmation he didn't know he needed. If anything, he felt even lighter, bolstered by gratitude.

It was nice, the reminder that a single genuine person was worth far more than hundreds upon hundreds of scared anti-ghost protestors. He wondered if it would ever get old—the high of acceptance, the ecstasy of knowing he had a much larger support system than he ever expected he'd have.

"Thanks, Mrs. Foley."

"Alright, then," Mrs. Foley said, her inherent brightness returning to her. "Best of luck. I'll want to hear all about it later." To Tucker, she added, "Please behave yourself."

"What?" Tucker demanded, his pitch raising in mock indignation. "Behave myself?"

Mrs. Foley tutted at him. "The Fentons will have some very important people over today. Please don't pester them." At the disgruntled look on her son's face, she amended, "Too much. I know you're looking forward to learning more about ecto-physics and engineering today, and I don't expect you to sit idle and not ask questions. But do not forget that you will be on camera, at one point or another."

"Yes, yes, fine," Tucker said, waving her off. "I promise I won't embarrass anyone or otherwise dishonor our family name by bothering anyone who doesn't want to be bothered. Happy?"

"Very."

Tucker grabbed Danny's arm. "We're going now."

"Bye, Mrs. Foley," Danny said.

"Bye, you two. Be safe!"

Danny wrapped his arm more snuggly around Tucker, and after casting them out of visibility, they slipped through the backseat and out through the trunk of the RAV4. Tuck only shivered once, far more comfortable being under Danny's power than he could have believed, considering Danny had only just begun to share his powers with his friends.

"So?" Tucker asked once they were clear of his mom's car. "Anything new since last night?"

"Nothing about the GIW," Danny admitted. "We've vetted the security teams and the news crew. The guest list looks as clean as it ever did, and with the Ecto-Wands my parents developed, no one'll be able to sneak anything in. Or out. There's nothing to do at this point but wait and see."

Danny couldn't see Tucker, but he imagined his friend was looking in the direction of his voice. "Alright," he said easily, after a beat of silence.

"I'm starting to think I may have overreacted. A bit," Danny said, even as tendrils of foreboding stirred in his chest.

"Shut up. You don't really think that. And neither do I," Tucker reassured. "Vlad Masters was afraid, too. If nothing happens today, then nothing happens, but that doesn't mean it won't sometime later."

"I guess," Danny said. "To be honest, it's all probably just wishful thinking on my part. I've had a million other things on my mind this morning."

"Understandably. A lot of the people coming today used to actively hunt—um... you, right? Like your parents?"

He didn't need the reminder that not everyone was going to be as accepting as his parents. Or that this meeting was going to leave him vulnerable in a lot of ways.

He took a deep breath. It'd be fine. What was there to be afraid of, anyway? He'd probably already faced the worst of it, hadn't he? And who would dare insult the Fentons' son when it could mean severing ties and losing good relations with two of the most prominent members of the community?

Besides, he could take whatever they threw at him. He had Lance Thunder and all his peers at Casper High to thank for preparing him so thoroughly.

"Yep," he said simply.

"Have any of them showed up yet?"

Danny looked down. "I think they're showing up now."

He and Tuck were approaching FentonWorks now, and below, amongst the crowd, security was directing a few cars around to the back of their private property, where his parents indicated people could park for the duration of their presentation.

Tucker whistled under his breath. "That is a lot of cameras," he noted. "More than I thought."

"Is that going to be okay?" Danny asked. "There'll be more inside. The activation isn't happening right away, so people are being encouraged to...mingle."

"Oh, the horror."

"I don't know what to expect," Danny continued, pretending as though he didn't hear the jibe. "But I do know they...probably won't leave me or my family alone."

"Because you guys are going to be saying all the interesting things. You're the people of the hour," Tucker said, and though there was a missing duh in the statement, his excitement overpowered it. "Don't worry about me, bro. I don't need to be entertained or babysat. I'm here for the duration. And Sam's here in spirit, I'm sure."

"She may actually be here for real."

"What? How? She's been AWOL since yesterday. I figured her phone and internet privileges were revoked."

"Oh, fuck," Danny cursed. "I hope not. I gave her something last night that'll help her sneak out. But not in, necessarily. I didn't even give her proper instructions on how to get in through the back, if she needed to."

"You gave her something? To sneak around?" Tucker cooed. "How romantic."

Danny somehow managed to drive his shoulder into Tucker's to shut him up. Tucker cackled like the agent of chaos he was, but suddenly...

The sound of his friend's mirth was lost amongst a flash of sharp, gutting emotion rising from the crowd outside FentonWorks.

Danny hadn't been close enough to Sense the emotion of the crowd, before. Fear and anger, he expected, and it was easy enough to block out, even with the emotions tumbling around and feeding upon each other. The taste of them was like battery acid coating his tongue, but these, he had practice avoiding and tolerating.

This was different. It was just off enough to feel like a gaping hole in the bramble, like a missed stitch in a knitted scarf. Obvious for one second and then...

He might have been invisible, but the hair on the back of Danny's neck rose with the sensation of being watched.

"Danny?"

Danny blinked and realized they had stopped directly above FentonWorks. "Sorry, I just—" He squinted at the crowd, trying to find the source of the odd gape in the swell of emotion around him, but his eyes alighted on a head of bleach blond hair. A flood of purposeful emotion—not quite anger but tasting like something equally righteous and fierce—swept through the tangle. "Hang on," he frowned, distracted, trying to make sense of what he was Sensing and seeing, "is that Dash?"

Sure enough, it was Dash who had just strode onto the scene, and he wasn't alone. Paulina and her friends stood flanked by a good majority of the football, soccer, and basketball teams, with Dash at their head. The art kids and marching band kids and everyone in between huddled in smaller groups nearby, not quite fitting in with the jocks but very obviously standing with them in a show of solidarity, baring signs that stood in direct opposition of those on the other side of the crowd.

"Where?" It took a second for Tucker to find Dash in the crowd, but once he did, he started laughing again. "Holy shit, did he bring our whole class? Amazing."

"Yeah," Danny agreed numbly, and for all that he didn't like Dash, he was...impressed. Light and warmth fluttered in his core. "Wow."

"Hang on. Don't move." Danny felt Tucker's arm shift on his other side. He was digging around in his pocket. "Sam isn't going to believe—" Tucker cut himself off with a muttered curse. "I forgot we were invisible."

Danny laughed. "We'll text her inside." He turned his attention toward the back of their property, where the gates were opening to allow cars through. "We gotta go. My mom's probably freaking out right now. It's showtime."

And so they went, any odd sensation Danny might have felt from the crowd dismissed for a fleeting fantasy, an imaginary manifestation of paranoia. The arrival of so many of his classmates must've thrown off his Senses.

It was nothing.

Danny noticed the time pass much in the same way he noticed the guests truly arrive.

He didn't.

One moment, he, Tucker, and his family had been doing some very, very last second prep with the whirlwind of energy and charisma that was Lance Thunder. The next?

Everyone was just...there.

Before he could really understand how it happened—or when—he and Tucker found themselves in the middle of a conversation with a para-chemist from Hungary, who, incidentally, had discovered ectoplasm was at least partially compromised of a ninety-fifth natural element. And then yet another conversation with a Saudi Arabian scientist who specialized in spectral energy and physics, and then another with the mayor of Amity Park, and then yet another with his dad and Lance Thunder, and then—

Well. The point was that it felt as though every time Danny turned around, he was (re)introducing himself to someone new. At one point, he tried to remind Tucker he didn't have to stick so close, that he could go off and talk to whomever he chose without being forced into all the additional fluff and pomp that came with being the Danny Phantom, but again, Tucker wouldn't hear of it.

"I'm not about to leave you," Tucker whispered dramatically in response. "What kind of friend would that make me? Besides—" his eyes skipped across the conglomeration of faces before them, his enthusiasm almost contagious "—it's not all fluff. Dr. Hassan was so cool. Can we find her again later? I already have more questions."

And so, before long, both of them had cycled around the first floor of FentonWorks several times over, and as they slingshot between his parents' colleagues and all the rest, Danny's attention became fully devoted to navigating niceties and inquiries. The potential GIW threat? Being a halfway decent host to Tucker? Trying to contact Sam again? Completely peripheral in the face of this particular beast. He was so focused on Portal stats and the image he was trying to help his parents present that even Lance Thunder's cameras and crew began to fade into a backsplash of excited gesticulating and enthusiastic smiles; of numerous handshakes and business card exchanges; of bodies passing from one conversation to the next like bumblebees between flowers.

Of which there were many. Too many. He could not emphasize that enough. Because scattered amongst the local guests from Amity Park's mayoral office and police department were even more celebrated paranormalogists: a handful of ghost hunters and researchers like his parents, a woman from New York who studied ghost behavior and psychology, ghost enthusiasts and financial sponsors, and a Medium. A real one. From New Orleans. No one really knew how she connected with the Zone, least of all herself, but she made use of her gifts by ignoring the naysayers and traveling worldwide to help ravaged spirits find their Peace.

Needless to say, Danny enjoyed chatting with her the most, though she, like all the others, was just as eager to take her pound of flesh.

It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. To be fair, a lot of those within the paranormal science field, and those who'd been invited personally by his parents, really were at FentonWorks for the strictest of professional reasons. They were there to learn, to explore and celebrate the marvelous scientific achievement that was the Portal, as well as discuss the potential research they could, as a community, collaborate on in the future.

That did not change the fact Danny himself was an equally enticing scientific marvel.

Some of them, to their credit, were discreet about their interest and, after endearing themselves to him, poked at Danny when they thought they could get away with it. Sometimes he humored them, especially when their questions about his experiences in the Zone and during the Shift were altogether harmless. The moment anything got a little too personal—or they otherwise implied they'd love to "pick his brain sometime"—Danny politely shut them down or deflected, pushing their attention off of him and back onto the Portal. Without being asked and oftentimes before Danny could find his opening, Tucker would take the helm. He would ask pointed, intelligent questions about their work; change the subject; or, in one glorious instance, make a not-so-subtle joke that broke through the building tension and called them out on their bullshit.

Regardless of the methods, most of the guests took the hint and backed off, grateful for what they could learn from Danny.

Others, however...

Not so much.

Danny was in the middle of telling the Medium—Ms. Bourgeois—and Tucker more details about the Polish spirit he'd recently helped when he felt heavy eyes on him.

He ignored them, resisting the urge to turn around and check who wanted his attention. Because by this point, Danny was fully aware it was either Vlad, who was keeping a close eye on everyone, or it was someone who wanted their turn with the famous Danny Phantom.

And that's too bad for them, Danny thought pettily. He didn't really want to acknowledge whoever it was. The Medium before him had eagerly asked to compare his spirit-banishing methods with hers, and he had been all too willing to spend a little extra time to talk to her after the initial how-do-you-dos, especially when she had taken the initiative to lead the conversation with a story about one of her most humorous failures, which included a paranoid client who was convinced he had purchased haunted doll from eBay, a far less experienced Ms. Bourgeois, and several very mischievous cats.

(And if their non-Portal related discussion kept Thunder and the cameras off his back for a little while, too? Well, that was just an added bonus).

"So you often use their language—the ghost language—to get through to them?" Ms. Bourgeois asked him, eyes alight behind thick pink-rimmed glasses.

"Not always," Danny answered. "If they're at the point where they don't understand English, then they probably don't understand me either. My Ghost isn't great."

"There's a ghost language?" Tucker murmured in excited undertone to him. "Really?"

Danny rubbed the back of his neck, an unbidden flush rising to his cheeks. He wasn't necessarily upset at himself for saying more than he meant to, but he'd been teased enough by the other ghosts about his language deficits that he felt embarrassed to admit as much, anyway. "Yeah. Like I said, I don't use it often. I wouldn't have thought to mention it to you and Sam. I'm that bad at it." To Mrs. Bourgeois, he finished his response to her question with, "Most spirits' understanding of Ghost depends on how...how far gone they are, in any case."

If Ms. Bourgeois caught on to Danny's mild embarrassment, she didn't show any sign, and Danny relaxed once again. Her single-minded focus and earnest desire to talk to someone who understood her business was as genuine as it was extraordinarily refreshing. There really were no minefields to be navigated with her. It was nice.

"And how do you judge that?" she asked. "Appearance, I assume?"

"Largely," Danny admitted.

"But in my experience, not all spirits present themselves to us. Visibly, I mean."

"Sure, but then again, I've got the advantage. I see most of them whether they want me to or not, and for those I can't see—for those anyone can't see—there's a distinct difference on the impact they're making on the ones around them, right? You know what I mean. The stronger, more dangerous they are, the more likely they are to cast some sort of influence over their Haunt. And the stronger that influence, the more...ghostly I expect them to be."

"And the more likely they are to respond to the Ghost language," Ms. Bourgeois finished. "Of course. And I suppose knowing Ghost helps more than you admit. It isn't just a spoken language, is it? There are behavioral signs and ritualized displays, if I understand correctly?"

"Like...there are in a wolf pack?" Tucker asked slowly, hunting for a comparison he could understand.

"Kind of? Hierarchy is a huge thing with ghosts," Danny said. "Spirits or otherwise. Which is why a lot of them fight over territory or go nuts to protect what they see as theirs. So, yeah, you're right: the language itself is only a part of it. The rest of it comes down to an innate understanding of—"

"Power."

Surprised, Danny turned to find a short woman with wicked winged-eyeliner and long, glossy false nails leaning against the wall across from them. Danny recognized her immediately, if only because Jazz had gasped and all but pounced the moment she noticed this particular woman arrive.

Dr. Verity Vu. Pioneer in the field of paranormal psychology and sociology. Author of the heavily debated (in)Tangible Fear: A Study of Ghost Psychology and the significantly milder An Introduction to Psychology For Kids. Jazz's longtime role model.

It seemed as though Dr. Vu had finally escaped her overenthusiastic admirer. Danny almost felt sorry for her. Jazz was a handful when it came to her passions.

Dr. Vu looked none the worse for it, though. In fact, she looked as though she'd been on the outskirts of everyone's radar for awhile, and despite her relaxed posture, deceptively diverted gaze, and the languid way she held her drink, Danny had the distinct impression she'd been nothing but attentive to him and Ms. Bourgeois during their entire conversation.

When the woman lifted her dark eyes, his suspicion was confirmed. He immediately recognized the weight of them, and another worm of discomfort wriggled its way down his spine.

His reaction was dispelled when the woman smiled apologetically. Her smile softened her entire face. It was a kind face, Danny realized, one that reminded him of Mr. Lancer, in the way that its stern, no-nonsense edges could smooth away into an open book of heartfelt compassion and empathy. It conveyed all of her positivity, too, unmarred by anything so much as a wrinkle of cynicism.

The stiff apprehension building along his shoulders and back eased.

But not for long.

"Is that what it's like?" Dr. Vu mused suddenly, pushing away from the wall. "For you?"

It felt like a deeply intimate question, loaded with any number of meanings, but its casual delivery threw Danny for a loop. "What?" he asked.

Her smile didn't falter, and as she glided forward, she offered her hand to Danny. "I'm Dr. Verity Vu. An absolute pleasure."

"Um, Danny," he responded, accepting her hand automatically. "Fenton."

She had a limp shake, oddly strengthened by the introduction of her other hand. She held his hand between hers like it was a treasure, like she and he had been the best of friends their whole lives. She released his hand just before Danny had the notion to feel weird about it.

The psychologist repeated the action with Tucker, who smiled out of sheer politeness, and Ms. Bourgeois, who sunnily introduced herself and adjusted her own handshake to match that of Dr. Vu's, forming something of a cheerful, linked fist pump between the two women when they moved their hands in synch.

It was a little endearing, actually.

"Dr. Vu," Ms. Bourgeois trilled, pushing her glasses up her nose. The crow's feet at the corners of her eyes crinkled with the force of her grin. "Your article discussing the link between a ghost's Obsession and its sense of self-empowerment within the scope of the Zone's social hierarchy was inspired! It's exactly the kind of thing the everyday person needs to read, especially now."

Dr. Vu smiled prettily. "Thank you. It's far from my best work, but—"

"Nonsense," Ms. Bourgeois scoffed. She waved her hand, several layers of bracelets sliding and jingling along her wrist. "Not very many people see ghosts as anything more than what the horror movie industry has made them out to be. Right, Danny?"

"Don't get me started," Danny deadpanned, at which Tucker snickered.

Ms. Bourgeois laughed too before addressing Dr. Vu again. "Even before the Shift, your work was remarkably objective and progressive. It hasn't gone unnoticed."

Dr. Vu's smile didn't falter, but something in her countenance tightened. "That it hasn't, for better or for worse."

What is that supposed to mean? Danny wondered, a little off-put by the hint of tartness in her tone. Tucker, for his part, side-eyed Danny, equally confused and clearly feeling out of his depth. If he wanted to take his cues from Danny, he was out of luck.

Before any of them could ask, however, Dr. Vu clarified, "Before the Shift, I was not often taken seriously. Sometimes, I was taken far too seriously. The anti-ghost movement made more misinterpretations of my work than I care to acknowledge." The warmth in her eyes returned when she turned to Danny. "Though I suppose I have far more pro-ghost proponents than I ever imagined having now, thanks to this young gentleman here."

"Oh," Danny stammered, "I, um—"

You'd think, after everything, he'd be used to offhand, off-target compliments like that, but he didn't think he ever would be. And he wasn't sure how many times he'd have explain it before it finally sunk in: he couldn't take all the credit for the shift in peoples' perspectives. The ghosts who fought against Pariah Dark did just as much, if not more, than he did to contribute to that. His parents, too, and the activists like Sam who had—

Sam.

(God did he wish she were here. Where was she?)

As if sensing his discomfort, Tucker reaffirmed his presence by shifting in the corner of Danny's eye. It was a small comfort, but it was enough, and it helped Danny re-center himself.

"But even still," Dr. Vu continued, altogether disregarding Danny's verbal bumbling, "our field is transforming by the hour. It's so largely unexplored that we're essentially creating it as we go. That paper is probably more obsolete than it is relevant at this point. As it is, most of the theories I presented were developed before the Shift even occurred. And well before we were aware that ghosts are just as diverse as humans."

"You did emphasize that your theories were specific for entities with Obsessions," Ms. Bourgeois argued. "And added very clear footnotes explaining newfound and still evolving differences in the classification of those entities and all the others."

"Yes, the Fentons were kind enough to remove that particular veil from our eyes, weren't they?" Dr. Vu joked. "And there we were, thinking we were oh-so-clever to have had half a foot in the door already."

This time, Danny winced and pulled a face before he could censor himself. That was the second time she made a comment like that now—one that fell just short of flattering; one whose sole purpose was to appeal to his ego.

She wanted something from him.

The moment he realized both women were perceptive enough to read his reaction, he tried to compose himself, but he didn't quite manage it before Dr. Vu caught on.

It didn't help that Tucker clearly felt the same way. Danny could sense the what the fuck building on his friend's tongue.

Dr. Vu misunderstood. "It's hardly a bad thing!" she tried to assure, her enthusiasm fading in light of her perceived slight against Danny. "Forgive me. I didn't mean..." She blew a stray hair from her face, looking a little frustrated with herself. "Well, the timing of my publication just coincided much too closely with that of the Shift. You must realize you threw quite a few curveballs at us! Ones we had never dreamed of accounting for in any of our theories or studies. I had a monster of editing on my hands. And a million hypotheses to reconsider. I doubt I'm alone in that."

"You're not," Ms. Bourgeois said with a playful wink in Danny's direction.

"Oh," Danny said, rubbing the back of his neck. Over Dr. Vu's shoulder, he caught Jazz's eye, mostly by accident. She quirked a brow, and he offered her the barest shake of his head in return, dropping his hand and cursing himself for the tell. He didn't need a rescue quite yet.

Besides, Tucker was here. He was fine. They were fine.

But even so, he couldn't help but wonder—desperately, inappropriately—what time it was. Surely Thunder got enough material and everyone had socialized enough? He was beginning to feel the consequences of his early morning alarm more so now than he had all morning. A dull ache throbbed at his temples.

People were exhausting. This was exhausting.

He almost wanted to ask Dr. Vu, point-blank, what it was she wanted. He wanted more so to make an excuse and drag Tucker away with him. He wasn't interested in games today.

"It's more exciting than it is anything else," Dr. Vu was saying. "Believe you me, Danny Phantom."

This time, Danny did manage to withhold a reaction. "It's Fenton," he reminded. When Dr. Vu inclined her chin in acknowledgement, still looking for all intents and purposes like a kicked puppy, he added awkwardly, "And I suppose you're welcome?"

Dr. Vu clearly wasn't satisfied by that response, and before she could apologize again, Danny said, "It's fine. I don't mind. I get it a lot, honestly."

Tucker muttered something disbelieving under his tone, but Dr. Vu brightened considerably. "Yes, well, I suppose that, in fact, brings me back to my original question for you."

Danny struggled to see the leap in logic. "Okay?" he prompted.

Dr. Vu leaned forward, as though coming closer to share a secret. Her singular focus on him sharpened to a point, but her tender smile remained fixed. "What is it like?" she asked in a quiet voice.

Like the first time, Danny internally stumbled over the weight of the question. Anxiety fluttered in his stomach. "I...don't understand what you mean," he said carefully.

Dr. Vu studied him for a moment, large dark eyes unwaveringly curious. "I don't suppose anyone has asked you before, have they?" she asked, almost to herself, and Danny didn't like the sympathy in her voice. It wasn't as comforting as it should have been. It'd taken on a saccharine and buttery quality that threw all of his preconceived impressions of her into question.

"Perhaps," Dr. Vu continued to muse, "they are scared of the answer."

Hang on. What?

"Excuse me?" Tucker blurted aloud.

Dread and alarm are powerful and debilitating when you're caught off guard. It was his survival instinct alone that forced a dumb smile onto his face, that directed his hand to make an inconspicuous back off gesture at Tucker. "I don't know why people should be?" he asked, his tone purposefully obtuse. Tucker was looking at him, and he ignored the slick drip of sweat coursing down his spine. "It's a rather broad question, isn't it? I mean, are you asking what it's like to live with a portal to another world in my basement? Are you asking what it's like to be able to fly? What it's like to be a part of the other work FentonWorks is doing? I can answer those questions. I have answered those questions."

Dr. Vu's smile curled into something far less candid and sweet, and Danny knew, without a doubt, that she knew exactly the sort of deflection he was attempting.

It wasn't going to work on her, and she was amused by the attempt.

"As our friendly Medium has pointed out, and as you're well aware," Dr. Vu started to explain, her inflection deliberate and countenance creepily compassionate once again, "spirits, ghouls, poltergeists...They are far from synonymous from one another. They are each their own class of entity, and it's remarkable to consider, isn't it? In light of my recent research, I can't help but wonder...What is Obsession to them? Do they even have one?" To Ms. Bourgeois, she asked, "You work with spirits mostly, correct? Would you call their source of power an Obsession?"

"We call them Attachments," Ms. Bourgeois offered. She wasn't smiling now, but she looked a little more confused than she did uncomfortable. "I never considered spirits would have any place in the Zone's power hierarchy—they are loners, essentially, and bound to their Haunts on Earth—but you make a good point. There is something of a comparison there. Attachments act a lot like Obsessions in that the stronger the spirit's Attachment is to their Haunt, the more power they tend to have."

"Exactly!" Dr. Vu said brightly, snapping her fingers. "And that opens so many further avenues of investigation! Is an Attachment a subcategory of Obsession, after all? Does one ever feed into another? Is there ever a point during which the Attachment becomes Obsessive? Or even vice versa? And what impact would such a switch have on their behavior, on their power levels, on their understanding of their place in the social hierarchy?

"And most interestingly: what about those who don't appear to have either?" Dr. Vu's gaze slid back to Danny. Her zeal and curiosity may have lit up her entire face, but...

But there was something clinical and chilling behind her eyes now.

She knows.

Danny's entire body goes numb with cold.

"The Natives of the Zone. The ones born to it. The ones who don't fit any previously defined category."

No, Danny tried to convince himself, even as his paranoia threatened to shut him down completely. She can't know about me. About what I am.

Of course she couldn't know. How could she? She was speaking in general terms only. Because, duh, everyone knew Danny Phantom was different from the other ghosts. That was no secret.

...Right?

"Where does their power originate if they're no longer acting on or feeding said Obsession?"

But what if...?

His heart began trembling in his throat. He couldn't breathe.

"And where do they belong in the grand scheme of things? They must have something beyond Obsession, right?"

God, he hadn't even had the opportunity to tell Sam and Tucker yet, and now...

He was suddenly hyperaware of Tucker's proximity. Tucker, whose expression he couldn't read. He was even more aware of the amount of people in the room, of just how many people were about to see the Portal, and his pulse thrummed even faster, threatening to vibrate him right out of his skin.

"Unless, of course," Dr. Vu said, answering her own rhetorical question, "some of them can control their Obsession. Evolve beyond it. Harness it, even. To no longer be subject to that which simultaneously fuels and shackles them? To perhaps have never been 'under the influence,' so to speak, in the first place?" She cocked her head, assessing him with a dangerously gentle smile. "Now, that, I imagine, is true power."

Anyone with half a brain cell could read the implications there.

It took all of Danny's physical and mental strength to hold Dr. Vu's eyes. He swallowed over the desert coating his tongue and said, "You realize that asking after a ghost's Obsession can be a recipe for disaster, right?"

"But that's not quite what I'm asking," Vu said. "Is it?"

And you're not quite a ghost, Danny's anxiety heard within the subtext. Are you?

Violent resentment flared in Danny's chest, igniting his courage. What was this, anyway? A therapy session? A chance to see someone like him up close and personal? Did her tact disappear in the face of such an interesting "subject?"

And all of this, in front of Tucker? One of the few people he was slowly but surely working toward telling? Of his own volition?

No. Danny took a pointed step away from her. His instincts rarely failed him, and they were shrieking that her delivery wasn't the only thing that was making him feel so off. This was something else. Something he wanted no part of.

Now he understood why the weight of her gaze bothered him so much, at first. Interest, a passion for new knowledge, hero worship, awe...these he understood. These he could handle, in a fashion. But this. This was hunger, an obsession of her own, and the pressure of it was starting to make him feel violated, like he was a something rather than a someone. A tool in someone else's arsenal. A specimen under a microscope.

She was no better than Spectra.

It was well past time to nope his way out of the conversation.

He almost felt like he made a mistake when Dr. Vu's expression crumpled, the ceaseless hunger he Sensed in her...gone. Nearly as soon as it had appeared. "I've offended you again," she assumed aloud. "I'm sorry, I—"

Ms. Bourgeois looked like she was about to step in—to reassure the psychologist, to berate her, Danny didn't know—but before she could, before Dr. Vu could try to explain away whatever just happened, Danny interrupted, "No, I'm sorry. It's—"

"Time to go," Tucker supplied, his tone brokering no argument. "Your sister is flagging us down, dude. Rather aggressively, I might add."

Danny looked up, and sure enough, Jazz was frantically trying to get his attention. Once she had it, she tapped her wrist, and he made a show of checking the time on his phone. There were a few notifications he couldn't muster the concentration to read in their entirety.

"Crap," he sighed aloud, and he had to be careful he didn't cross the line between Not-Upset-At-All-About-This-Interruption and Being-Overly-Theatrical-Regarding-Said-Interruption. Anticipation sung through him, his senses tingling. "It's nearly time. I'm supposed to help my parents move everyone into the lab for the viewing. Coming, Tuck?"

"Gladly," he said. "It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Bourgeois. Dr. Vu."

Danny repeated the farewell on autopilot and walked away, Tucker at his heel. It was far from a graceful exit, but it was an exit, and that's all that mattered.

As he led Tucker through FentonWorks, slipping around this and that group of ghost hunters, Danny could feel Tucker's questions like a physical weight on his back, and he could only imagine the conversation that would inevitably follow.

"Can I ask?" Tucker would ask quietly.

"Hm?" He'd try to play it cool. He would fail.

"What that was about."

Danny wouldn't respond immediately, and Tucker would ramble, "It wasn't obvious to them, but you froze, dude." Tucker's eyes might narrow, more speculative and concerned than outright suspicious, but Danny probably wouldn't see it as anything but accusation. "You're freezing now. Why? Was she one of the ones who—?"

Danny would try to force himself to relax. He would fail again. "No, I've never met her before today," he'd respond.

"Then...? What? I mean, she was throwing off some weird vibes—even I could feel that—and her questions were really fucking weird, too, but you look...I don't know, man, but I would have thought you've faced worse?"

"I...don't have an answer for you," Danny would say.

And it wouldn't be a lie.

Because how could he tell his best friend that Dr. Vu's questions, intentionally or otherwise, had broached the very center of his innermost fears? That they had cracked him open just wide enough for Tucker to get a peek, well before Danny was really ready to address what was inside?

Worse yet, how could he admit that he felt as though Dr. Vu had dissected him without care for the mess she was leaving behind, each word a scalpel slice, picking him apart piece by piece? And that, by doing so, she'd reminded him exactly why he had this secret in the first place?

(How could he ever admit that what he was most terrified of, more than the GIW or even the Portal itself, even after all this time, were his best friends?)

The only truth was this: despite everything, he still couldn't do it.

(He was a fucking coward).

Ugh, I'm at the point where if I look at this anymore I will never post, lol. I hope you're all doing well and you enjoyed the chapter!

Oz out.