Chapter 1

"You good on the eastern side, Sam?" Danny asked through his walkie talkie.

"No sign of ghost activity here."

"How about you,Tuck? All quiet on the western front?"

"Sure thing—hey! Did you just make a reference to a book?" Tuck gasped.

Sam let out an aggravated sigh and chimed in, "Don't be too shocked, it's a movie too."

The ghost boy smiled and replied, "Am I not allowed to read any more? Lancer did assign it as homework you know."

"Danny doing the assigned reading? Sounds like a sign of the apocalypse to me," the tech geek teased through his rudimentary communication device, "It already took the Fenton Phones..."

"You think the end is nigh and you're worried about technology?" Danny exclaimed, "Great news, Sam, he's not possessed after all!"

Sam wasn't incredibly amused. "Will you two shut up for a second? I'm picking something up on the radar."

Danny sighed. So much for actually finishing the reading. "Is it big?"

"Pretty muted, actually, but definitely something." Not that this particular device was famous for being accurate; the only reason they were using it now was because of that incident with Technus. The sad hunk of metallic failure was buried so deeply in the Fenton's ghost lab that it somehow escaped the carnage. Escaped or was spared due to lack of real value.

"Where is it?" Tuck asked.

"It's approaching the school...I think? It's in that general area."

"Why don't you just go home, Tuck?" Danny suggested, "Sam and I can handle this one." The school was a good seven miles from Tuck's location, and the mopeds were down too. Walking that far in the winter weather was just infeasible.

"Are you sure?" he asked, barely failing to conceal his relief.

"Yeah," Danny laughed, "Go read that book."

…..

The school was pretty quiet this close to eleven. As Sam cursed the ghost for going inside, Danny cursed his curfew. He had ten minutes. Ten minutes to kick some ghost butt, fly Sam home, and get through his own door before his parents grounded him and set his curfew back to ten again.

"We could just phase in…" he suggested, gesturing toward the solid wall with an invisible arm.

"And have you get zapped by the security system again? No thanks."

"It's probably still down. Like the Fenton Phones."

Sam's eyes narrowed in his direction. He was not taking this seriously enough at all, lounging several feet in the air and staring at his watch. "I see you're still in love with your birthday present," she remarked scathingly.

"It came with the extended curfew, which I definitely don't want to lose right now. Do we even have to be here? It's probably a spectral butterfly or something," he implored, now hanging completely upside down. The falling snow matched his hair, and the December wind was blowing it all over.

Talk to me when you get a haircut, Sam thought bitterly.

She looked worriedly down at the Fenton Fiend Radar. The blip was glowing more brightly now, and the weight in her stomach told her not to disregard that. She shoved the thing in his face. "It could hurt someone."

"At eleven o'clock Sunday night?"

"Near midnight Monday morning, you mean. There'll be kids here tomorrow," she reminded him. Though it felt overdue, Christmas break hadn't come just yet.

He groaned and returned to an upright sitting position mid-air. "We phase in, we catch the ghost butterfly, we phase out. Sound good?"

It did not sound good to her, but it sounded better. Danny was in too much of a hurry to argue, and honestly so was she. "Fine," she relented, "But we have to be careful."

He took her hand and they stepped intangibly through the wall.

No alarms sounded; that was a good first step. As a precaution, just in case the security cameras were online and nothing else, they remained invisible while they drifted down the black hallway toward where the blip was. Just outside the guidance counselor's office, white breath escaped Danny's mouth.

Spectra, Danny thought with a scowl, This might take a while.

He dipped his head through the door and confirmed his suspicions. His mouth opened to say something witty about psycho psychiatrists and old haunts, but remembering his curfew shut him up. Sam pulled out the Fenton thermos, angled it through the door, and began to twist off the lid.

Suddenly, a blast from behind broke Danny's concentration and sent Sam's thermos flying. The pair ended up on their stomachs on the carpet. Danny rubbed his head and looked up at the charred, now door-less doorway.

"Bertrand as the guidance counselor? Really?" he asked tiredly.

Spectra's little shape shifter had morphed itself into the shape of their fresh-out-of-college guidance counselor. He was now short and chubby (not that that was incredibly different from Bertrand's normal form), with blond hair and a little goatee Sam always thought was stupid.

"Yes, really," Spectra bragged indignantly, "High schoolers are the most miserable and pathetic…"

"Yada, yada, yada," the ghost boy mocked, floating upward into a standing position, "You think people are going to fall for that trick again? Please!"

Sam surveyed the situation. Spectra shot a little higher in the air and glared at Danny. Bertrand, in the slightly glowing but still pretty convincing form of Mr. Baker, blocked their only exit. To make matters even worse, the thermos had rolled to a stop in the back corner of the office. Several feet away from anyone who might need to use it.

Spectra sneered, "You think anyone in your stupid little town would notice something different about him, when they can't even see what's right in front of them about you?"

Danny tilted his head to the side and retorted, "I thought the administration told you, Dr. Spectra. You've been let go, you just had too many sick days…"

That destroyed Spectra's pretentiously superior attitude very effectively. She shrieked and lunged for him with her claw-like hands. Soon ectoblasts were flying everywhere and bookshelves were toppling over. Hoping to control the damage, Danny shot intangibly through the wall toward the football field, baiting his assailant to follow. At least they took it outside, Sam thought snidely.

Realizing her opportunity had come, she sprinted toward thermos in the corner. Within seconds, she had it in her hands and open. Bertrand took a few steps toward her as if to do something about it, but otherwise offered little resistance. Sam didn't waste any time on witty banter once she was in position; she sucked the imposter right into the containment device.

Then she was alone with the books. This is always the worst part, she thought, Waiting.

Turns out she didn't have to wait long. Just as quickly as they'd left, they zipped back into the room. Spectra flung the bruised Danny against a section of wall that wasn't covered in bookcases and held him up by his neck.

"But who would ever believe you?" she hissed, continuing one of her soul-sucking rants, "You've spent what, three years of your life defending these people? These worthless, sniveling humans? Three long years fighting off every baddie and nuisance that came along, and for what? They'd all turn on you, you know, every single one…"

"Sam," Danny choked, "The thermos!"

That snapped her out of her haze. After a long moment of fumbling with the lid, she whipped open the thermos one more time. It was very odd. Usually Spectra let out more of a wail when she was captured. This time, she laughed. Somehow it unsettled Sam more than anything she'd seen previously.

Danny fell abruptly to the ground, still coughing. Sam didn't think he was seriously hurt, but he was definitely more beat up than usual; he managed to rise to his feet. She hated the effect Spectra had on him. She could spin anyone into a crying mess, but she was especially skilled at damaging the young halfa. Danny took a few shaky steps toward her but stopped in front of the doorway.

Suddenly she noticed a figure in said doorway. It was Mr. Baker. The real Mr. Baker.

Danny whirled around to face the wide-eyed guidance counselor and lifted a fist overflowing with electric green ectoplasmic energy.

It took her a few extra seconds to figure out what was going on. Before she could even muster out a, "Danny, wait!" he'd thrown the enormous blast directly into the shocked man's chest.

For Sam, the moment was very slow. The raw eruption of power seemed to take its sweet time to make contact. When it did, it sent Mr. Baker flying into the lockers at the other side of the deserted hall. A poignant crack resonated in her ears when his head hit, and the horrible thump of his body hitting the linoleum would haunt her forever.

For Danny, the moment wasn't so different from any other moment in his life as a ghost hunter. Bertrand showed little resistance and did surprisingly little damage to the lockers. Just a slight dent; barely noticeable really. Then, after he fell, he didn't get up. Danny, who in the process of the attack had stepped into the hall itself, turned back to his friend and reached out to her. "My parents are going to kill me for being this late!"

She stared at his gloved hands for several seconds.

He wants the thermos, she realized. Sam just clutched it more tightly.

"Are you okay Sam?" Danny asked, his confused eyes flitting between her and the enemy he was sure would stand and attack any second now, "Did he say something to you? Did he hurt you?"

She realized she'd started shaking and yearned desperately for a rewind button.

"Please, he'll be up any second now," he urged, alternating glances increasing in panic.

"Danny," her voice cracked. Did she have to tell him? Surely he'd figure it out without her. Would that be worse? She took a moment to absorb Danny's face. He was undoubtedly concerned, but he didn't know. He didn't know what he'd done, and she knew he would be devastated. The only thing she could muster out was, "Danny…"

There was blood visible on the floor now. Red not green, forming too quickly into a puddle around poor Mr. Baker's head.

He froze at the sight. Though he never needed to breathe in ghost form, Sam had never seen him so still.

"Why is there blood?" he asked softly, though he knew the answer. Sam shook her head hopelessly; she was crying now. "Why is there blood?" he repeated, more loudly this time.

He stepped backward, and Sam thought he was going to fall over. He looked at his shaking hands and whispered, "Oh God…"

"We have to go, Danny."

He looked back at her, neon green eyes wild. "Mr. Baker…"

"He's dead," she cried. No one loses that much blood and lives, never mind the odd angle of his neck. "We have to go."

"Oh God…. Oh God…." he breathed, turning his back to the body and covering his eyes with his hands.

Meanwhile, Sam was starting to regain her composure. Seeing her best friend the hero break down shocked her into responsibility mode.

"Go intangible. Now, Danny, now!"

When he didn't respond she grabbed his wrists and took them away from his eyes. Her violet ones stared at his as she tried to convey the urgency of this situation. How important it was that he didn't fall apart now. He still wouldn't look at her. Releasing his shaky wrists, she put a firm hand on each side of his face and shifted his head until his only possible defense from her stare was to close his eyes.

"This is what's going to happen," she instructed him, "You're going to go intangible. You will fly us to Tucker's house and we will get this whole thing sorted out. Okay?"

He took a deep, shuddering breath before complying.

The flight to Tucker's house seemed to take no time at all. Maybe Danny flew extra fast, or maybe their minds were too full to register the journey. Too soon, Danny swooped into Tucker's room, set Sam down, and phased back into human form.

Tucker was sitting on his bed. Reading, it seemed. With a box of tissues.

"Dammit, Danny, you should've warned me about this book—" he stopped abruptly when he noticed the pair's haunted faces, then resumed, "What happened?"

Sam glanced at Danny. He'd recovered a little; the shaking had subsided, but now he was too still again. He closed his eyes again when Tucker asked.

"How fast can you hack into the school's security files?" she asked sternly.

"Lightning fast!" The technology expert stood and made his way to his computer. He began work before reiterating, "What happened?"

"There was—an altercation with Spectra," Sam explained slowly, "She had Bertrand posing as—as Mr. Baker. Danny fought off Spectra, and while he was gone I nabbed Bertrand. Danny came back and saw…well, the real Mr. Baker."

"He's dead," Danny finished, "I killed him, and he's dead."

Tucker stopped typing and looked up at his friends, bewildered. "Dead? What do you mean dead?"

"Don't stop!" Sam exclaimed, "If the security cameras were on, you have to delete everything. No one can ever see what happened. Ever."

He seemed to agree, as he returned to work with renewed fervor. While his fingers flew, he tried to contain the many, many questions bubbling in his head. Once he had access to the security feed (which had indeed been on), he put on his headphones, turned the screen away from his two best friends in the entire world, and watched.

In all these years, no one had ever died as a direct result of a ghost attack. Ghosts enjoyed spreading terror. They spoke of doom and of skinning things alive, but they didn't seem to do much killing. At least, not while Danny Phantom was around. Not while the town hero was there to stop them.

The trio was silent until it was done. Until Tucker had seen, until it was all more than just deleted. Even after Tucker had completely shut down his computer and leaned back in his seat, no one spoke.

The quiet was horrible for Danny. His chest felt like it could explode, and his throat was so tight he wasn't sure why he hadn't suffocated yet. He'd killed a man, a man named Something Baker. He'd killed a man, and he hadn't even known his first name. Surely Sam and Tucker must hate him now. After all the time they'd devoted to stopping the monsters, had he just become one? Surely they should have known this would happen. He should have known this would happen. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if one of Clockwork's minions showed up right then and there to smite him from existence. And he wouldn't resist.

The human ghost boy began emitting short, pained gasps. Tears spilled over a dam and down his pale face. Sam guided him over to Tucker's bed and sat down. This time, out of immediate danger, he might have actually fallen over. Unsure of what to say, she put a gentle hand on his back. Tucker rushed over to sit beside them. The three high school seniors must have been quite the sight.

The door creaked open and Mrs. Foley peaked in. "Is everything okay in here?" she asked. Then she noticed Sam and Danny. "When did you two get here?"

"We're just doing homework, Mom," Tucker sniffed, holding up his battered copy of All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque, "It's for English."

Mrs. Foley nodded a little, apparently buying it for the most part. She knew from experience that it was a very heart-wrenching book. "I'm going to have to have a talk with Mr. Lancer…." she muttered as she left them alone again.

Once the cessation of her footsteps indicated that she was once again downstairs, the trio sighed. "It wasn't your fault," Tucker assured Danny, "It was an honest mistake, anyone could have done it."

Not just anyone could have thrown him into a wall with so much force that he died.

Sam took this as an opportunity to confess her perceived guilt. "If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I'm the one who caught Bertrand and didn't tell you. If I'd just spoken up a little sooner, this never would have happened!"

Danny's shoulders heaved again. "No, Sam, it was all—"

"Can we not play the blame game right now?" Tucker begged, "How about a movie marathon?" Before either of his friends could protest, he leapt up and grabbed a short stack of DVDs beside his television. The case on the very top read: Dead Teacher 7: Horror in the Hallway. He promptly set the stack down; not happening.

The unfortunate coincidence only further upset the already distraught teenage boy on the bed. The dark irony of the situation brought the hysteria in his throat to a boiling point, and his soft sobs turned into hysterical sob-laughter.

This alarming change reminded them that they weren't safe yet. The body probably hadn't even been discovered yet, and they had to avoid drawing attention to themselves.

Though it hurt him to do so, Tucker hushed him. "Dude, you have to be quiet. My parents are gonna get even more suspicious."

"Parents!" Danny nearly shouted, "My parents, m-my curfew—I have to go!" He hopped up and strode over to the window. White rings began to form around his waist, but Sam stopped him.

"You're in no condition to go home right now." She didn't want to leave him alone.

"Yeah, and if you're going to go you have to use the door. My mom saw you here, she's going to have to see you leave. I don't want to have to explain your ability to jump out of windows and not be a pancake," Tucker added.

Sam sighed; he would have to go, wouldn't he? "I'll walk you home," she offered.

"I'll walk you… To the door?"

Danny cracked a slight smile. Spectra was wrong; his friend's would never turn on him. "Thanks, guys."

So Sam and Tuck flanked their emotionally shaken friend as they descended the stairs. They'd hoped to make it out the door before being noticed by the Foley parents, but they were not so lucky.

"You're parents just called," Mr. Foley relayed as he swept into the foyer.

"Whose?" Sam inquired, "Mine or his?"

"Both. You're going to stay here tonight; the town is on lockdown."

"Why? What happened?" Tucker exclaimed. How long had it been? Wasn't this too soon for anyone to know? Maybe it was something else.

His father sighed. "There as a murder at the high school."

Danny and Tucker froze; if he knew, everyone must know. They hoped Mr. Foley would put it down as shock rather than guilt.

"A murder!" Sam gasped, "Who was killed?"

"The guidance counselor, Mr. Baker. The Fentons are investigating right now."

Sam's head tilted and she gave her friends a slight nudge. It would be weird if only she talked, when the three of them were supposedly equally affected.

"Does that mean it was a ghost, Dad?" Tucker asked shakily.

"They think so. Might've been more than one," he relayed solemnly, carefully gauging each teen's reaction. He was no therapist, but he realized that such an incident could have a profoundly negative effect on the impressionable teenage psyche. At least, that's what Jazz Fenton said on the phone; she'd sounded especially concerned for her little brother. "Are you feeling alright, Danny?"

"He's been feeling nauseous all day," Sam explained, "We wanted to get him home where he could be near his own toilet."

Maybe that's why Jazz had been so concerned. "Aw, that's too bad. Honey," he called out, "Do we have any Pepto Bismol?"

"Sure thing," Mrs. Foley replied from the kitchen. The teenagers' silence made all of the other sounds very clear. Mrs. Foley opened a somewhat squeaky cabinet, rummaged around for a few seconds, and closed it again. Then there was the slight pop of a newly opened bottle.

"Here you go, sweetie," she said as she offered Danny a dose of pink.

"Thanks, Mrs. F," he whispered. He downed it then remarked, "Delicious."

"You look awfully pale," she remarked as she put a hand on his forehead, "And chilly too. Is the furnace not working upstairs?"

"No, Mom, it's fine," Tuck assured her.

"Hm," she said thoughtfully, "I think it's time for bed. Why don't you two go on upstairs? I'll help Sam set up the guest bedroom."

The trio exchanged uncertain looks. They certainly did not want to be separated tonight, but they were also sure Sam's parents had dictated it when they condoned her overnight stay.

Sam sighed and told them, "Good night," as they ascended the stairs. She was almost seventeen years old, but she would've liked to have been seven again. Near-adulthood was hard enough when her only extracurricular was catching ghosts; now she had to worry about covering up a rather unfortunate death.

…

Tucker didn't know what to say. He was in his bed, and Danny was not-sleeping on the extra mattress on the floor. Usually when they had a sleepover, they might talk for hours after turning off the lights. That is, if they didn't spend the entire time playing video games and shoving junk food in their mouths.

There were plenty of things he could have said. Goofy things, blase things that would be wildly inappropriate given the situation.

"At least we'll have a day off from school tomorrow, Danny!"

"Maybe they'll give you a starring role in the next Dead Teacher flick. Dead Teacher 10: Midnight Murder? Monday Murder? Mystical Midnight Murder on a Monday?"

"Did you really have to kill the guidance counselor, Danny? Cuz we're all gonna need some therapy after this."

Come to think of it, none of them were that funny.

Still, he had to say something. No one would be able to sleep in that awkward silence. What he really ended up saying was, "Good night, Danny."

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