A/N: Ask and you shall receive. Also, no one can convince me Danny's not one to double-text. With everything going on in that kid's head, there's no way he gets all his thoughts out on the first try. Give me double-texting Danny. Give me triple-texting Danny. Fight me.

There was something different in the air when Dash arrived at school on Monday.

Not a bad different, per say, but different nonetheless. And maybe it wasn't the school, at all. Maybe it was him. Maybe he was different.

But he'd finally gotten his head on straight, which was what mattered the most, wasn't it? He'd finally made some sense out of everything that had happened. Not entirely, no, but… enough. He made enough sense out of the ghosts, and the fights, and the injuries. He made enough sense out of it that his head didn't feel like it was going to implode on itself, anymore. He made enough sense out of it to feel pangs of guilt and actual worry when the Sunday night news reported a livestream broadcast of Danny Phantom getting his ghostly ass handed to him in a fight against a dragon ghost ten times his size. He made enough sense out of it that his thumb only hovered over his phone screen for a moment the following morning before sending the simple text.

You good?

A couple minutes had passed in radio silence, and Dash had tried to brush it off. He was busy. He was getting ready for school. He was eating breakfast. Walking to class. Flying to class?

Of course, that didn't stop him from nervously checking his phone every thirty seconds in search for a reply. It didn't stop his heart from beating slightly faster in his chest, didn't stop his palms from sweating, didn't stop his breathing from becoming shallow and quick. He was panicking, and he knew it, but he was damned sure he would never admit to it.

So he sauntered into Casper High like any other day, on hyper-alert for his phone to vibrate in his pocket, fumbling with the lock on his locker and shoving his books inside messily. He wouldn't let the thoughts of what if even cross his mind. What if he hadn't healed completely, and was out there hurt somewhere? What if he was still out fighting that dragon? What if he lost, what if he—

His phone vibrated, and Dash started, nearly dropping his bag to the floor. He pulled the phone from his pocket and fumbled to unlock it, finger sliding frantically across the bottom. It didn't catch, at first, and his efforts quickened, catching his breath until the phone finally unlocked.

The text was short, simple.

Totally. Why?

Dash hesitated. Was it a brush off, or was he actually good? Was it just an indirect way to tell Dash to mind his business? Sure, he wouldn't entirely blame him if it was, but… it didn't sit right with him. No, they didn't have to tell him everything that happened now. And honestly, he wasn't sure he wanted them to. But he couldn't just pretend like he didn't know anything. He couldn't stay out of it entirely.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard on his screen for a moment, before sending the reply.

News, he typed simply. Dragon?

Phone still in his hand, he eased his locker door shut and turned towards where his class was—only to run head on with a familiar, large frame.

"Whoa," Kwan laughed, putting a hand on Dash's shoulder to steady him as he stumbled back. "You okay, man?"

Dash blinked at his best friend, heart rate slowing slightly. It was just Kwan. He smiled a little, slipping his phone back in his pocket. "Yeah," he exhaled, and gave him a nod. "Yeah, all good. What's going on?"

Kwan gave him an odd look, turning towards the locker neighboring Dash's as he reached for the lock. "Feels like I should be asking you that," he said, glancing down as he entered the combination but looking up quickly mid-spin to cast a raised-eyebrow glance at the quarterback. "Seeing how you disappeared at the movies on Friday and haven't answered any of my texts or calls since?"

Ah, shit. Of course. Dash winced. "Yeah, sorry—I, uh, I lost my phone—"

"I just saw it in your hand, dude," Kwan cut him off, no malice in his voice despite catching the lie. "What gives? Is everything okay?"

No Paulina. No Kwan. No Starr. No one. Just us.

He slung his backpack more securely over his shoulder, and clapped a hand to Kwan's shoulder, nodding. "Everything's great," he assured him. "Just got a little tied up with something. No big."

Again, Kwan shot him sort of an odd look, before shrugging half-heartedly. "I mean, if you say so, dude. Powolski and I got to see the rest of the movies without you yammering on about what Fenton's deal is, so—that was nice."

Dash raised an eyebrow at him. "I didn't know you liked those movies."

Now Kwan shrugged again, but it was a little sheepish, if Dash didn't know any better. "I dunno," he admitted, grabbing the last book he needed from his locker before swinging it shut. "They're lame, yeah, but—weirdly entertaining."

Something in Dash's gut uncoiled slightly. His muscles relaxed a little, and it was a strange sensation, but not unwelcome. "Huh," he hummed, as the duo turned to make their way to their first class. "Maybe I'll have to watch them, one of these days."

That halted Kwan in his tracks completely, and he blinked after Dash, who had stopped a few paces later. Kwan's dark eyebrows drew together. "What?"

Refusing to acknowledge the heat he could feel creeping up his neck, Dash shrugged again and hoped it appeared nonchalant. "I mean—they got good reviews, right? Tons of people like them. Hell, they're popular enough that there's like twenty volumes. Maybe it… wasn't cool of me to judge 'em so hard without ever actually seeing one."

Kwan continued to blink at him for a moment before his frown deepened slightly and he resumed walking, albeit a bit slower than before. Almost hesitant. "Alright," he said finally, a few paces later, "who are you and what have you done with my best friend?"

Dash rolled his eyes. "Come on, Kwan—I'm not that much of a dick, am I?"

"No," Kwan agreed, "you're not. But the Dash Baxter I know would never admit that."

Again, Dash simply shrugged slightly, not having a solid answer to explain his shifted mindset. He was about to respond when he felt his phone vibrate from his pocket again. Then it vibrated again. And again. His heart jumped and he looked down quickly, pulling it from his pocket. Next to him, Kwan frowned. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost." He paused, frowned, and crinkled his nose. "You know, that kinda loses its meaning a bit living here, doesn't it?"

Dash offered him a laugh, but slowed his pace nonetheless. "You know, I think I left my textbook in my locker," he excused himself, turning to Kwan and clapping him on the shoulder again. "I'll meet you there in a sec—save me a seat?"

Kwan gave him a dutiful two-finger salute before continuing on his way, while Dash turned and retreated back towards the direction of his locker. He pulled the phone from his pocket.

Ugh. Of course the fight they catch on the news is the first one in months that I was losing 90% of the time

A smile tugged at Dash's mouth as he read the first text. His eyes drifted down to the second.

Minus Plasmius, of course. But I don't count that one

And the third.

Still not proud of that, btw

Dash laughed a little, barely hesitating at all before his fingers typed his own response and sent it on its merry way. His heart no longer hammered in his chest with worry.

First in months? he had written. What about Freakshow

By the time he'd made it back to his locker, Fenton had already replied.

Hey, just because I got hurt doesn't mean I lost. If it did I'd be in trouble

If it did you'd be dead

He sent the text without thinking. It wasn't until after the little sent notification appeared under the words that he even realized what he'd said. Quickly, he sent another message, at his locker now with no real intention of opening it. The hallway was beginning to clear. Class was starting soon. He winced.

I didn't mean it like that

A few agonizing seconds passed before he replied again.

Chill, dude

If you can't make death jokes to a ghost, who can you make death jokes to?

A slight pause.

Ok, maybe just ex-nay death jokes in the general public—but to us is fine

Another pause, this one slightly longer.

Meet up with us for lunch?

The corners of Dash's mouth quivered. Sounds good, he replied. The hint of a smile he donned grew into a real one for only a moment before dropping from his face entirely, as the bell screamed shrilly overhead and indicated that he was, in fact, officially late for class.

"Whoa." Dash blinked at the trio as he found them, sitting under a secluded tree near the back of campus. "You look—"

"Like we were fighting a twenty-five-foot tall dragon all night long?" Tucker filled in, raising the foil-wrapped burrito in his hand as if in a toast. "Spoiler alert."

Dash nodded a little numbly before sinking down to join them on the grass.

"You sure your reputation won't take a few blows from sitting with us?" Sam asked him, though where he was expecting heat in the words, he found… sarcasm. Almost as if she was teasing him.

He tilted his head a little, exhaling. "Maybe my reputation could use a few blows," he said honestly, which earned him a small smile from the goth and—wow. Dash never thought he'd be that relieved to be in her good graces. But he was.

He looked them over wearily. There was no sign of physical harm on Tucker or Sam, just impressively large bags under their eyes, drooping eyelids and clouds of exhaustion clinging to them. Fenton wasn't much worse for wear, just as tired as the other two, but with an impressive purple and black bruise darkened around one of his ice blue eyes, and what looked like already-scabbing-over talon marks traipsing down his neck and disappearing behind the collar of his shirt.

Dash nodded to him. "That's a hell of a shiner, Fenton."

And, despite the exhaustion in his entire countenance, his entire person, he grinned at the jock, his swollen eye closing a little more than its twin as he unwrapped a sub. "You should see the other guy."

Dash almost returned the smile. Almost. "How's your back?"

The grin he sported faded a bit into something more grateful, and he offered Dash a nod. "Good. Better."

"Just like that?"

Danny shrugged. "Just like that."

"The wondersh of 'upernatral healing," Tucker commented, around a bite of burrito.

Dash whistled. "Cool."

Sam handed Tucker a napkin, rolling her eyes a little as if, on cue, the burrito he held began falling apart in his hands. "Sure - until he gets so hurt even supernatural healing can't help."

Danny nodded at her, smiling a little as he snatched a chip from her open bag. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sam."

Tucker grunted, cupping one hand under the disassembled burrito, catching the falling filling. "She has a point, dude," he piped in, distractedly. "You can get kinda reckless."

Dash shrugged. "Point or not - still pretty cool."

Danny gestured grandly to Dash. "Thank you. At least someone believes in me."

"Of course he's gonna take your side, Danny. The guy worshipped the ground you walked on for nearly four years," Tucker laughed, before looking up and frowning, momentarily distracted from his crumbling lunch. "Flew...on? Hovered on?"

Dash felt the heat climb up his neck - either or, it was embarrassing to say the least. He winced. "I'm never living that down, am I?"

Sam grinned, then. She actually grinned at him. "Never. It's only fair, Dash—considering how you used to treat us. I think a little tormenting is warrented."

And, well… it wasn't like he could argue that logic. He didn't even try, just nodded good-naturedly and said, "Touché." Then, he hesitated a little, the easy smile fading a little from his lips. "I'm sorry about that, by the way. Y'know—how I treated you. Both of you," he added, and gestured to Tucker as well, who was desperately trying to keep his lunch intact.

But the words made him look up again, and he exchanged a short glance with Sam before looking back to Dash. "An apology? From Dash Baxter?"

Dash shifted in his seat a little. "I mean—yeah. I'm not a complete jackass, you know. I'm…" He winced a little, eyebrows furrowing as he dropped his gaze a little. "I'm trying to be better."

There was a short pause, before Sam spoke up again. "Well I think apologies are a good way to start." Dash looked up, then, and met her gaze—something eased, something honest in them. "Now you just gotta back your words up with actions," she added, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Dash nodded quickly in agreement. "I will."

She held his gaze for a moment more, her violet eyes intense, before allowing herself a nod and a small smile. "Good." She reached her arm out, offering him the bag she held. "Chip?"

"Careful," Danny warned, as Dash returned the smile and reached to take one. "They're all-natural, un-salted, baked kale chips. It's like eating grass."

"They're full of protein and delicious, thank you very much."

Dash's hand froze, but only for a moment. He took one between his fingers, the green crisp notably dry in his hand. He shrugged a little, not eating it quite yet. "I'm trying this thing," he admitted, and his voice was a little quiet, "where I don't judge things until I give 'em a chance."

Then there was a hand on his shoulder, and when he looked over, it was Tucker—patting it gently as his shoulders shook in silent, short laughter. "Ah—it's your funeral, buddy."

Needless to say, Dash wouldn't be trying those chips again.

Spluttering and coughing, he gratefully accepted the water bottle Fenton held at the ready, gulping it down quickly to try and dislodge the leaf taste in his mouth.

"Warned ya," he chuckled, followed by an easy shrug. "You'll learn to love them."

Tucker snorted. "Or," he countered, "you'll learn to avoid them at all costs. Like me."

"A vegetable or two isn't gonna kill you, Tucker," Sam teased, raising her eyebrows. "You know, that eighteen-year-old male metabolism of yours is gonna run out of miles sooner or later."

"And when that day comes, the issue will be addressed."

Sam rolled her eyes, popping another kale chip into her mouth.

Dash was a little shaken. Shaken that they were so—normal. It was a shame he never realized it sooner.

He was still marveling in the realization when something shifted in the air—to his left, Fenton stiffened noticeably, puffs of what appeared to be blue breath wisping from his mouth as the temperature around them dropped an easy ten degrees. Dash felt his eyes go wide, leaning back on his hands and away from the bizarre show. Beside him, Tucker and Sam went tense simultaneously, sitting up a little straighter.

"Ah, great," Fenton sighed, seeming only mildly annoyed at the development, the sub he'd been attempting to eat frozen halfway to his mouth. He let it drop back to his makeshift tin-foil plate. "Wonder who it is this time?"

"Please not another dragon, please not another dragon," Tucker muttered as he rolled his unfinished burrito up in defeat before turning to rummage through his backpack.

Sam twisted a bracelet around on her wrist a few times, glancing up into the sky. "Skulker? He has a thing about showing up at school." Dash blinked again, because—did that bracelet just… sprout a gun?

"Nah," Tucker denied, pulling a silver and green PDA out from his bag. "Danny and I disassembled his suit on Saturday—no way is it up and running again. Not with the virus I planted in his baseline tech."

Dash blinked at them. Students to ghost fighters in an instant—already rising from their seats, eyes scanning the skies, weapons materializing out of seemingly nowhere whatsoever.

"Plasmius?" Danny suggested, and he looked battle-ready, but it was odd, because it was him, Fenton, not Phantom, and his blue eyes were alert and focused, like they hadn't been sparkling with mischief and playfulness and amusement just seconds ago.

Tucker, focus broken momentarily, blinked at the halfa. "You let him out?" he hissed, gesturing generically and widely around them. "Why?"

Danny raised an eyebrow at his best friend, then, and the magic broke, that amusement there once again. "Tuck, I wasn't going to leave him trapped in there."

"Couldn't you at least think about leaving him trapped in there?" the techno-geek pled. "I mean, what real reason was there to let him out, huh? I know, I know, it's uncomfortable, okay, sure – but so is watching him hit on your mom, and he forces us to witness that any chance he gets."

Danny raised an eyebrow at him. "I'll remember that the next time you get shoved into a locker by one of the A-listers and want help getting out."

Tucker simply pulled a face at him, not dignifying it with a response.

Dash blinked at them again, and it suddenly made sense why this was there go-to lunch spot. Under this tree, isolated, secluded from the rest of the students, the faculty—the entire campus. The wall of the building to their backs, a small patch of grass in front of them, branching off a minor sidewalk that was more like a trail than an actual sidewalk. It was the most private, most off-campus-area that was still on campus. There were no other students, no prying eyes to worry about if some ghost popped up that they had to deal with. And, judging by their reaction time, it happened a lot.

He was startled from thought when someone dropped something hard and cold in his lap. He narrowed his eyes, looking down and grabbing the object lightly, unsure, before looking up at the figure standing over him.

"You ever play Doomed?" Danny asked him, then snorted and shook his head before Dash even had the chance to answer. "Of course you haven't—you're Dash Baxter. What about Halo? Call of Duty?"

Dash glanced down at the weapon in his hands before rising to his feet shakily and swallowing. He nodded slowly, and glanced back to the halfa nervously.

Danny grinned, patting him on the back as a silver ring of light sparked into existence around his waist, emitting a coldness that Dash felt in his bones. "Cool," he continued on, as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening, the ring splitting in two and traveling over his body. "Then you're gonna be good at this. Same idea, just—point and shoot. Eventually you'll hit something." He paused. "Preferably not me."

Dash blinked at him again, and took note of everything he could. The white hair, the glowing green eyes, the icy hand on his shoulder. He nodded again, shifting the ecto-gun in his hands slightly, getting a better grip on it. The insignia on his chest seemed to glow silver with his own bizarre, unnatural power.

Another wisp of blue escaped Danny's lips, distracting him, and Dash nodded to it. "That some kind of… ghost sense?"

Though his eyes had returned to the air, Danny sent him another grin. "You catch on quick."

"Can you tell who it is?"

Danny shook his head. "Sometimes I can tell different ecto-signatures apart to see how many there are, but that's about it." He frowned, casting a look Foley's way. "Tuck? You getting a power level?"

Tucker, who had been furiously typing away on his PDA made some sort of motion of finality, making a final tap with a flourish. "And—wait for it…" he muttered, before the device pinged successfully. Tucker groaned. "Ah. Figures."

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. "It's Plasmius, isn't it?"

"Not quite."

"Beware!"

Sam and Danny's expressions fell flat, while Dash's gaze darted towards where the voice came from, floating somewhere over their heads. He's seen enough of Amity Park's ghost life to know immediately who it was, however that didn't stop him from raising the gun slightly upwards, scanning the sky for the small, blue ghost.

"Bow before me, Ghost Child and Friends of Ghost Child," a disembodied voice demanded, as the ghost shimmered into view. "For I am the Box Ghost! And I am here to—wait, who is this guy?"

Dash's eyebrows shot up when he realized the ghost was speaking to him. Well, about him. His eyes widened a little, and he cast a glance towards where the trio now stood.

"Boxy, this is Dash," Danny said easily, gesturing to him. "Dash, the Box Ghost. Don't worry, he's harmless."

Dash blinked at the Box Ghost for a moment, who made no move but blinking right back at him. Then, as if catching on to what Danny had said, the Box Ghost sent him a glare. "We will see who is harmless, Ghost Child, while you prepare yourself for your doom! I have honored your request for a weekend of peace, but your time is up! My fury can wait no longer!"

"Yeah, sure." Danny, who had all but crossed his legs while floating in mid-air, came to hover next to where Dash stood, still facing the Box Ghost. He nudged Dash with his elbow, and it sent shivers up his arm, made each and every hair stand on end. "Hey, Dash?" he asked, not moving his gaze from the ghost but tilting his head slightly in Dash's direction. "Care to do the honors?"

Okay, sure, he knew the big secret now. Sure, he knew that it all boiled down to him, a goofy teenager just trying to do the right thing. Sure, he knew that his opinions on Phantom had gotten thrown into a blender and made into something entirely new not even a week ago. But man—that didn't stop the wide grin from stretching across his face at his longtime-hero's suggestion. At the idea of helping his idol.

He had only shifted the gun he held slightly, however, when another blast, out of nowhere, shot the Box Ghost fifty yards away and crashing into a light post by the sidewalk.

Danny blinked at where the ghost had been, eyes wide. As if taking a moment to ponder something, he finally nodded, looking impressed. "Nice hit."

Dash felt his eyebrows draw together. "That… wasn't me."

Once again, Danny's ghost sense went off.

He melted out of the comfortable position, barely touching down to the ground but in a much more battle-ready position than the last, nonetheless. "Ah, crud."

"Working on it," Tucker called from a few paces away, typing furiously on his PDA.

Danny, though, just looked tired. "Don't bother," he sighed. When Tucker looked up, Danny nodded to a small, black shape in the distance rapidly getting larger and larger. Closer.

Dash's stomach sank as he realized who it was. He swallowed. "He's gonna kill me."

Danny rolled his eyes. "He's not going to kill you," he insisted.

"He might kill him."

Danny's green gaze shot to his best friend's. "Tucker."

The techno-geek smiled wryly. "Kidding."

"Daniel!"

The voice came from above them. Dash looked up, startled, heart pounding in his ears. Angry red eyes glared down at them, framed by inhuman, blue skin and what seemed like crackling pink electricity.

"Releasing me into the captivity of the Guys in White? You're a lot of things, boy—but I never took you for a coward." The words were hissed out, not much more than a sneer of resentment. He turned his attention to Dash, now, who's heart nearly leapt from his chest. "And you! Think you can get away with trapping me in one of those idiotic Thermoses, do you?"

Before he could squeak out a word, Phantom was rising higher into the air, meeting the ghost at eye-level. "You did kind of deserve it, Plasmius," he commented lightly. "Besides—you wanna talk about being a coward? Attacking me from behind? Really, Vlad?"

Plasmius grit his sharp, pointed teeth together. "I have worked too hard for a couple of meddling children to stand in my way."

From the air above them, Phantom grinned. Amusement seemed to spark in his green eyes. "And yet, here we are—foiling your plans yet again. Also," he added as an afterthought, "and you know, I hate to break this to you, fruitloop—we're legally adults, now. But, hey. That must make your ego feel a bit better, right? At least you're not getting thrown around by a couple of fourteen-year-olds, anymore."

Before Dash could blink, a flash of pink energy cracked through the air and sent Danny plummeting to the sidewalk. For a moment, he had flashbacks of the other night—the shock of pink, the hero shooting toward the ground like a bullet, guaranteeing more than a few broken bones on impact…

But Danny disappeared into the ground, reemerging behind Plasmius with a snort of laughter, unharmed and whole. His eyes were amused, even behind the ugly bruise. "Okay—I kinda deserved that one. Kudos."

With a growl, Plasmius spun on his metaphoric heel in the sky to face him, shooting off another blast of energy. It crackled through the air, sending an odd rush of icy wind over them. "You are determined to test my patience as far as you can, aren't you, Daniel?"

Danny shrugged, and then there was excited green energy dancing around his hands, engulfing them, pulsating with power that he easily formed into a shield to block the other ghost's blast. "Stop tormenting people and maybe I'll give you a break, cheesehead." The shield cracked on impact, but seemed to absorb the attack, the energy of it, as if Plasmius's power infused his. He let it shatter, the shards of green-and-pink ecto-energy suddenly shooting through the air like knives towards Plasmius.

Still, the blue-tinged ghost merely steamed with his anger, calling up his own round, almost spherical shield to protect him against the attack. "Soon," he promised, and smiled a little, his shield dissipating into wisps once the shards had faded away. His smile turned hungry, like a vulture spotting its prey. "Soon, Little Badger. You'll realize there's only one winning side, son—and you're not on it."

"Okay, one? Not your son. I'll send my dad your regards, though." He raised an eyebrow at him. "Two? Pretty sure the winning side is whichever side you're not on. So… thanks, but no thanks."

Plasmius charged him, then, grabbing him by the mere fabric of his jumpsuit and shaking him, faces close, anger radiating off him. "You insolent child—you don't understand anything."

Danny tried to shake him off, to no avail. "Told you," he grunted, finally landing a knee into Plasmius' gut hard enough to make him lose his grip. "Not technically a child." He used Plasmius' momentary lapse to twist himself out of his grasp before delivering an ecto-blast-ready fist into his chin and sending him spiraling. "Insolent, on the other hand?" he exhaled, and laughed breathily. "Eh. Debatable. Only to you, though, V-Man."

"Daniel—"

"Do you actually have an evil plan, Vlad?" Danny interrupted him, while his red eyes blazed furiously as he steadied himself once more. "Because honestly, I'm not really getting what you're trying to accomplish, here. Are you trying to… take over the world again? Take over Amity Park? Hell—steal my mom away from my dad? Not that that would work," he added, raising his eyebrows, "of course, seeing how you're evil and my mom hates you. And is completely in love with my father. In case you forgot."

Vlad's hands tightened into angry fists at his sides, pulsing with angry energy. "Your father is a blithering, bumbling buffoon."

Danny shrugged. "Sure. But he's the buffoon my mom chose over you. So really, what's that say about you, fruitloop?"

Another fork of pink ecto-energy cracked towards Danny, this time hitting him square in the chest and knocking him into the air. Beside Dash, Tucker and Sam aimed their weapons at Plasmius, waiting for the best moment to strike. Dash followed their lead, lifting the ecto-gun he held in his white-knuckled grip.

"Okay, ow." Phantom reappeared closer to them, and the front of his suit was singed a bit, revealing blistering skin underneath. Dash didn't focus on how the blisters were green instead of the usual reddish-pink. Phantom touched them gently before looking back up at Plasmius, huffing. "So you're not in the mood for banter today. Got it. And, for the record, the only people allowed to call Dad a buffoon are me, Jazz, and Mom." He emphasized his point with a flash of green, an ecto-blast, bright and solid and strong, that sent Vlad tittering backwards.

Beside Dash, another flare of green shot from the ground and hit Plasmius in the shoulder. He looked over, noticing a smirk on Sam's face while she held her aim steady, wrist ray already charging up with another attack. Plasmius gripped at his shoulder, growling down at them. The blast, smaller than Danny's had been, seemed to catch him off guard. It actually seemed to stagger him.

"Man," Sam commented, and twisted a small ring that sat on the butt of the miniature gun. "I am loving these new Wrist Rays, Tucker. You and the Fentons really came through."

Tucker allowed himself a smile, adjusting his glasses proudly and pretending to buff his nails on his shirt, all the while keeping one hand steady with an ecto-gun of his own. "Oh, you know—some recalculated baseline electrostatic configuration mixed with some killer ectoradiation calibration and electrochemical enhancers, for fun. Those babies oughta react to ectoplasm just as much as Spector Deflectors—and do at least double the damage, too."

Sam grinned, shooting at Plasmius again, catching him in the chest this time with a small grunt of pain. Where the blast hit, Dash could see small electric shocks blossoming and webbing out, across his body. If he blinked, he would've missed it.

Plasmius grunted again through the blast, cringing in on himself tensely as he lost even more altitude. He was practically on his feet, now, instead of hovering above their heads. It still wasn't enough to deter him, though, and when he glanced up at the four again, his teeth were bared, glinting sharply in the sun and with the reflection of his own ghostly glow. His red eyes were murderous.

"You're losing your touch, old man," Danny taunted, and clicked his tongue at the ghost ahead of them. "C'mon, it's no fun if you don't throw it back at us. What, are two little ectoblasts all it takes to take you down, now?"

And the next thing he knew, Danny's throat was in Vlad's fists, twenty feet above ground, pinned to the brick wall of Casper High.

Dash's heart hammered in his ears as, in unison, the three of them sprang forward, weapons drawn and aimed. Above them, Plasmius shook Danny, slamming him into the wall, his head impacting with an audible crack.

The only sound of pain came in the form of a strangled noise, from somewhere in the back of Danny's throat. If Dash didn't know any better, he'd say it was akin to a growl. There was a bright flash of green, and Dash had to look away, temporarily blinded, ectogun shaking in his hand.

"Tuck!" The word wasn't more than a grunt. Dash blinked the stars out of his eyes and looked back up again, where Danny now had one arm buried in the fabric of Plasmius's cape, using it to pull the other ghost away from him. His other hand enveloped in blue, and he grabbed on to where Plasmius still held him by the throat. "Thermos!"

Before Tucker could make a move for it, though, there were laser-like ectoblasts raining down on them. Three more Plasmiuses had appeared, just above their heads.

Tucker and Sam, without hesitation, began firing at them. Jumping over each other and maneuvering around powerful blasts without a breath. Old pros.

Dash's breath shuddered, but he clenched his jaw as his gaze found the third duplicate. "Just point and shoot," he exhaled unevenly, and pulled on the trigger.

He missed his target by about five feet. The duplicate barked out a laugh, lifting a glowing hand in Dash's direction. He was never more grateful for all the 13-hour training days with the football team than that instant, his reflexes taking over when his mind stopped short, leaping to the side the same moment a crack of pink ecto-energy shot towards him, leaving a spiderweb of cracks in the pavement where he'd stood.

Dash pushed himself back to his feet quickly, letting off another blast from his ecto-gun without much thought. Another miss.

The Plasmius duplicate laughed again. "You're the one that trapped me in that blasted soup thermos," he noted, and smirked at the jock. "You're going to pay for that."

He came closer, quickly, fire in his red eyes. Narrowing his own eyes at the smirking ghost, he took another shot—this one steadier, more confident. It hit him square in the forehead, and the Plasmius duplicate practically dissolved into wisps instantaneously.

He blinked at the now empty air for a moment, his heart still hammering loudly in his ears. He… did it. He actually did it. Sorta. It wasn't a real ghost, just a duplicate, but… still. A small smile tugged at his mouth. It was just a lucky shot, but man was it cool.

Tucker and Sam were still fighting, and above their heads, Danny and Plasmius were a whirlwind of black and red, of green flares and magenta electricity. He spun on his heel, looking back towards the tree they had been sitting at not ten minutes ago, eating lunch. The Thermos had to be somewhere.

He checked Danny's bag first, the one he had with him that same night so many secrets ago. There was a small green stain on the bottom of it, that he hadn't noticed before. But there was nothing of use inside, and no Thermos to be seen—just crumpled, incomplete homework, a copy of Invisible Man with a torn binding, and a restocked first-aid kit.

He reached for Tucker's bag next, and as he lifted it, the desired Thermos nearly fell out on its own—the rest of the bag so full of wires and electronic devices, what appeared to be both complete and incomplete, the thermos had been resting on top precariously. He blinked at the contents again. Everything inside had the same silver and green paneling that the Thermos he now held in his hands did. Ghost-tech.

He gripped it tighter, and rose again to his feet, resting the bag back down as he did. Tucker and Sam had gotten rid of the other duplicates, and were now aimed and ready to put up a united front again Plasmius with Danny, gazes and weapons lifted. Above them, Danny now had a split lip to accompany his preexisting injuries, but didn't seem any more injured than that. Tucker's beret was askew on his head, a small trickle of blood rolling down his left cheek from a small gash there. Dark bruises were already forming on Sam's exposed, pale arm.

Dash swallowed, passing the Thermos off to Tucker as he joined them, watching the final Plasmius, the real one, with wide eyes. He was still too far up for them to do anything, too high in the air. And too close to Danny. If they tried to capture him now, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that they'd get Danny too.

Taking note of the arrival of the Thermos, Sam, still aiming her Wrist Ray towards them with one hand, cupped the other one around her mouth as she called, "Now, Danny!"

From above, there was a flash of green, and the two figures broke apart from each other, followed closely by a shock of cold and a flash of glacier-blue light—and, before he knew it, Plasmius was falling rapidly towards the ground, encased entirely in ice.

Beside him, Tucker aimed the thermos and uncapped it, catching the falling figure in the blue beam of light before he even had a chance to thaw out. Everything seemed to slow down, as Plasmius was engulfed by the light. For a second he simply froze there, mid-fall, until the beam started to pull him in, just as it had for Dash a few nights ago. And within seconds, the light faded, and everything went quiet. Plasmius was, once again, trapped.

Dash blinked for a moment, before lifting his hands in a show of innocence. He glanced at Tucker. "It wasn't me this time. Next time he comes back for revenge, you're taking the fall."

Tucker considered the words as Danny floated back down towards them on the ground. He tightened the lid on the Thermos, and pressed a switch on the side that Dash assumed was a containment lock of some sort. He raised his eyebrows slightly. "I'd consider it more of a group effort, honestly."

Phantom touched down to the ground in a brief flash of light, leaving Danny Fenton once more, whole and human. "You guys alright?"

From Dash's other side, Sam snorted. "Oh, yeah. I love being attacked by billionaire psychopaths."

The halfa cracked a smile. "Keeps you on your toes, at least." Tucker handed him the Thermos, and he regarded it for a moment. He nodded. "I think you were right, Tuck," he admitted finally. "Should've left him in there a bit longer. Let him stew in his bitterness."

"Y'know, I kinda feel bad for the guy," Tucker admitted, and they turned back to where their lunches still sat, abandoned under the tree. "I mean, he hasn't been able to catch a break in almost four years. With us thwarting all his evil plans, and everything."

"And yet he still comes back for more," Sam sighed, and they sank down to the lawn once more. She picked up her bag of kale chips, popping one into her mouth in contemplation. "I wonder what he's up to, this time around."

Danny sighed too, shaking his head. "I don't know, but it can't be anything good."

Dash's heart was still hammering slightly in his ears. He still had a vice-like grip on the weapon, his eyes wide and alert. Danny glanced at him, half-eaten sub frozen halfway to his mouth. "Dash? You good?"

The jock blinked at him, and swallowed back the lump in his throat. But it wasn't fear, necessarily, that he was feeling. It was more like… exhilaration. Adrenaline. He nodded. "Yeah," he assured, and nodded. "Yeah. Good. That was just—" he broke off, and a smile tugged at his lips as he felt his grip loosen. "—kinda cool. Terrifying," he added quickly, and handed the gun back to Danny, "but cool."

But the halfa shook his head, grinning. "Hang on to that. You never know when it'll come in handy."

Dash blinked, and dropped his gaze to the ectogun. "I can't—I can't just carry a weapon around with me. What if someone finds it?"

Danny rolled his eyes and took a bite of his sandwich, while Tucker raised his eyebrows. "We live in Amity Park, dude. I'm surprised they haven't mandated that everyone carry some kinda ecto-weapon around. Besides," he added with a shrug, "it's not like they hurt humans. Just ghosts. They're not dangerous."

Dash glanced down at the gun again, before smiling and nodding and sliding it carefully into his own backpack. "Yeah," he said lightly, "yeah, okay."

They ate in silence for a moment longer, until, once again, Danny's ghost sense went off. He groaned, closing his eyes momentarily and dropping his sub again to his tin foil plate. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"Beware!"

The voice, once again, had no body attached to it. Without even rising from his seat, Danny glared into the air, searching. "Hey, Box Ghost!" he called. "C'mon, where are you?"

The small blue ghost materialized ahead of them, not far from the tree he'd been blasted into only moments ago. "Fear me, Ghost Child and friends of Ghost Child!"

"Terrifying," Sam remarked dryly, and popped a final kale chip into her mouth. She crumpled her paper bag loudly.

"Hey, yeah, look," Danny started, still not rising from his seat. He glanced at his phone. "Boxy, we have like sevem minutes left to eat lunch before English. Do you think we could do this later? After school? Like three-ish?"

The Box Ghost drifted closer, his arms held high in an effort to make himself larger, more menacing. "I am the Box Ghost, and I do not accept this request! My fury—"

"—can wait no longer," Danny finished, rolling his eyes, "yeah, we got that. Come here, for a sec?"

The Box Ghost blinked. He watched Danny, unmoving for a while, before slowly, cautiously drifting forward. Closer.

Danny lifted the Thermos. "Two options, okay? One, you can leave me and my friends to finish our lunch in peace and come back around three-ish, when I will be more than happy to deal with you and your fury," he began, and shook the Thermos slightly. "Or I can lock you in here with cheesehead for the next four days or so and then face your fury. It's up to you."

The Box Ghost blinked at the halfa, gaze drifting to the Thermos he still held up. Angered and frustrated, he waved his fists around. "I am the Box Ghost," he repeated, "and I will grant you your wish of a peaceful lunchtime break! But prepare yourself, for you will have no choice but to face my fury at three-ish, after school!"

Danny smiled, setting the Thermos back down in satisfaction. "Have a nice day, Box Ghost."

The blue ghost muttered something under his breath, before vanishing from sight. Dash glanced at Danny, who simply shrugged. "Told you. He's harmless. Big bark, virtually no bite whatsoever."

"Fair enough." Dash's gaze landed on the Thermos again, for a moment, and he nodded to it. "Hey, what're the other two places?" he asked suddenly.

Danny frowned at him, eyebrows drawing together. "What?"

Dash tapped the Thermos. "On Friday, you said if you had to make a list of the top five places you never wanted to go again, the Thermos would be three, four and five. What about the other two?"

They all seemed to contemplate the question, the group falling silent in thought. After a moment, Danny dropped his gaze slightly, a frown still on his face. There was something odd in his eyes, something dark. "Two would be an… alternate timeline where everyone I cared about was killed and I turned into the most powerful and malevolent ghost on the face of the planet?"

Dash blinked. "Jesus." Maybe he shouldn't've asked. He almost regretted it, seeing that look in his eyes. On some level, he knew—it wasn't always as easy as rescheduling the Box Ghost's fury, but… it was still jarring to hear. To be reminded. That they've dealt with… serious things. Life-or-death things. Traumatic things. He almost didn't want him to continue, didn't want to know what could top the list. But curiosity got the best of him, and he pressed forward. "And number one?"

But then Danny cracked a smile at him and there was light in his eyes again, humor and amusement as he regarded Dash with a raised eyebrow. The darkness gone in a flash. "Your gym locker," he admitted with a laugh. "I mean, seriously, dude—do you ever wash your dirty socks?"

Dash hesitated slightly before cracking his own smile, his own laugh. Because that, that right there, was the truly extraordinary thing, about all of this. It wasn't what the three of them have done, it wasn't what they've faced, what they've been up against. It wasn't what they've endured, what they've beaten back into the depths of hell itself. It was the fact that after all of that, after everything they've seen, they were good humored, and lively, and that they've seen truly dark and horrible things, but could still have light in their eyes like Danny, and joke like Tucker, and be strong-willed and fierce like Sam.

That they could look beyond all the terrible things he'd done to them, and treat him like an ally. Like a friend. It was the first time Dash had genuinely good people around him in… a long time.

He suppressed a smile, glancing down at his still uneaten lunch for a moment before tilting his head slightly. "Y'know, I'll deny it if it gets around that I've said it, but you guys are… kinda cool. In your own nerd way, of course."

Almost in unison, Tucker put a hand over his heart, and Sam lifted a hand to her head and leaned into Danny's shoulder, as if fainting. Danny just grinned. "A compliment from Dash Baxter," he acknowledged with a nod. "Wow. Life fulfilled."

Dash rolled his eyes. "You're welcome. Now you can die happy."

"Happy and—" he was cut off by the bell, and his shoulders slumped. "—starving," he finished, and glanced down at his barely-eaten lunch in defeat. "Ah, one of these days."

Dash raised his eyebrows inquisitively, and Sam snorted as she pulled her trash together into what looked like a small, green, biodegradable bag with a cartoon of a smiling Earth in the center. "The ghosts have Danny's schedule down pat," she explained. "Haven't finished a lunch properly in well over a year."

Tucker clapped him on the shoulder as Dash glanced down at his own barely-touched food. "I'd start eating a big breakfast, if I were you," he advised. "And bringing snacks for the classroom. If you're eating lunch with us, you're probably not eating much."

Dash nodded, gathering his own forgotten lunch together. "Noted. Anything else?"

"You're probably gonna get kidnapped at some point or another," Sam put in, but shrugged nonetheless. "It usually works itself out."

Dash's eyes widened. "What?"

Beside him, the halfa laughed. "Welcome to Team Phantom," Danny joked with a grin, and nodded towards the school. "Come on, we have English."