Warning: This is super depressing. You'll probably be totally bummed out by the end of this. My deepest apologies in advance.

Anyways, ENJOY!

"Are you okay?" Jazz sat down next to me.

"I'm fine," I replied, opting to stare at the stars rather than her face. If I was any more coherent I might have asked how she found me out here, lying down in the park at the dead of night. I might have asked something like, "Why the fuck are you awake right now?" or "Who the hell do you think you are playing psychologist with me?" But I didn't.

"Danny…" her voice trailed off.

I glared at the moon, trying to block out the mental image of her thinking face. The way she would purse her thin lips and scrunch her eyebrows. The way her nose crinkled ever so slightly, as if she could sniff out the answer. And her eyes, how her teal eyes would glance up to the left. Always to the left. What was so interesting up there anyways?

I heard a sigh. "Danny, everyone's worried about you."

I gripped the soft grass, ripping several roots from the ground. "Fuck. Off."

"You can't bury this forever. Sooner or later you're going to have to deal with it."

I saw red.

Fuck her and her pretentious voice and her over-analysis of everyone's problems except her own. Did she think that by just showing up she could solve everything? She's so egotistical and annoying and can't she just leave me alone? Couldn't she see there was a reason I didn't come home tonight? Couldn't she understand that for once in my life I just needed to not see or hear her irritating face? Just...Just… "Jazz, go away."

"No, look at me." Her voice was sharp, final. As much as she liked to deny it, she really was becoming more like Mom every day.

I swallowed a lump in my throat and squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn't do it.

"Please look at me," she tried again. Something about her voice was different this time, a little more desperate. More unstable perhaps.

My fingers gripped the grass as if they were the ones who had wronged me. As if they hurt me. As if they hurt—

"Please."

No.

Another sigh. This one was different though. This one was defeated. "Text Mom at least to let her know you're okay."

Heh, that's right. I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm okay. I can do this, I can go home and pretend like everything is fine and normal and maybe I'll start reading that book Lancer assigned that essay prompt for. Isn't it due on Thursday? I haven't finished an assignment early in years. Maybe this one could be the one I get ahead on. Yeah...maybe I'll start a new academic life now. I can do that.

I bet Lancer would be proud. Maybe my Mom and Dad too. Maybe I could finally defeat the demogorgon that clawed at my stomach every time I had to bring home a report card. Maybe my heart wouldn't leap every time Lancer placed an exam grade down on my desk. Maybe the thought of my dwindling NASA dream wouldn't haunt my nightmares anymore...

I opened my eyes. Glancing around, I realized that Jazz was gone. I was finally alone. Oh. That was fine. Because I am. I'm fine.

I'm fine.

I woke up to the smell of pancakes. Pancakes? Why did Mom…? Oh.

Right.

I blinked, staring unseeing at the white that was my ceiling. In my stupid haze, I tried to come up with something—some sort of inner monologue—to motivate myself up. Like with everything else in my life, I failed. Just like how I failed my ingenious plan at becoming an overnight-academic-success. And just like how I failed…

Shut the fuck up.

I heaved my deadweight body over my bed and stumbled to my closet. Without sparing a second glance at what I chose, I shoved a random hoodie and a pair of jeans on, jammed my feet into my ratty converse, and exited my bedroom.

The hallway was silent. Our house was silent. A shiver crawled up my spine. Fentons weren't silent. We were loud, we were obnoxious, we were terrible neighbors. We set the fire alarms off every other month and received more complaints of "strange explosions" from the city police than should be legal. We accidentally brought food to life and sprayed ecto-goo on more than one innocent passerby. No, we weren't...we weren't…

I spat my toothpaste out in the sink. I stared quizzically down at the bubbles of air slowly moving towards the dull metal drain. I didn't remember entering the bathroom, much less dotting toothpaste onto a toothbrush and scrubbing my teeth with it. It seemed I was nothing more than a mindless robot now, drifting in and out of tasks like someone else had hit "run" on their program. Oh well. At least my body was attempting to take care of itself.

Foreign hands reached out for the faucet handle as my eyes flickered up to the mirror. My entire body froze. The person staring me back in the mirror, that's not me. That can't be me. Yet it was. My hair, which never behaved on a good day, was as neat as a bird's nest resting on top of a pale head. The skin on my face was discolored and glossy, reflecting the countless sleepless nights that haunted me. And my eyes, which were once brilliantly blue, were now nothing short of dead. Lifeless. Gray.

Shit. That...that's me.

I heard the faucet finally turn on and before I knew it, cool water met the hot surface of my skin. Thin fingers scrubbed at my features, as if trying to wash away everything that was wrong with me, my life, my family, my academics, etc, etc, etc. Grabbing a washcloth, I dried off my face and then reached for the comb. My eyes flickered back up to the disaster that was my hair. I winced. I had to at least try. If not for me, for Mom. Who, judging by the richly scented air, was clearly trying for me.

Fifteen minutes and several dozen hair strands ripped from their surface later, I sucked up the courage to enter my kitchen. To see Mom, facing the counter. Her straight hair drooped down, obscuring her face from view as she scrolled through her phone. It didn't take three guesses to know what she was looking at.

Holding my breath, I made my way across the kitchen floor and pulled out a chair. Mom's head shot up at the sound and whipped around to face me. A thin smile touched her lips as she grabbed the plate of pancakes.

"Hey honey," she said, setting the plate down in front of me. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say more but either couldn't quite get the words out or just didn't know what to say. She turned back around and walked to the other side of the room, picked up an ecto-gun, and started fiddling with its internal wiring. Wiring for a gun I knew Dad already finished weeks ago.

I opted to try to eat rather than respond to her. Or...try to eat. The moment my eyes met the fluffy pancakes Mom had clearly spent too long making, I felt sick. Gingerly, I picked up a fork and ripped off one of the pancake's rounded edged. I stared at it a moment longer before coaxing my arm to bring the food to my mouth. Cracked lips clamped down on the metal fork and a dry tongue met the carb-filled treat.

My taste buds didn't respond.

I knew I was supposed to enjoy pancakes. Shit, Mom hasn't made pancakes for Jazz and me since we were kids. But I couldn't. Just like with getting out of bed, putting on clothes, and brushing my teeth, my movements were stiff and robotic. I was just going through the motions. It was as if someone pulled down on the lever in my brain, turning it off. Pancakes, once a highly requested item of mine, were nothing more than just another shitty thing I had to get through.

"You ready to go back?"

I glanced up from my hardly-dented breakfast. Right, I was supposed to be trying. "Um, I guess."

She nodded, her hair bobbing with her head's small movements. "Good, good."

I forced another bite into my mouth. "Thanks for the breakfast."

"Oh," she said, her eyes brightening marginally. "You're welcome, sweetie. I didn't want to send you back to school on an empty stomach."

"Right, yeah." I winced at my defeated tone. Was I really so shitty at everything now I couldn't even keep my own mother happy for more than two seconds?

She squinted at me, sensing something was off. I squirmed under her gaze and tried to focus back on eating. The pancake didn't seem to be getting any smaller.

"Sweetie," she said cautiously. "Are you sure you want to go back? I can call Lancer if you want."

"I'm fine." I stated, my voice cold.

"There's no shame in taking more time. You know what the grief counselor said—"

"Mom, I really don't want to talk about this right now," I glared down at the pancakes that refused to disappear from my plate. I shoved them away and stood up, grabbing my backpack as I sped walked to the door. "I'm not hungry. I'm just gonna go to school."

"Do you want me to drive you?" she called from the kitchen.

"I'm fine," I said, flinging open the door. Pausing to take a deep breath, I added a, "Thanks though!" before slamming the door shut. I knew one measly "thanks" wouldn't reconcile the curt tone I threw at her, but holy shit I'm so tired of everyone suffocating me under their worry. I don't need more days off from school or that stupid therapist my Mom keeps shoving down my throat, I just need to be left alone.

I unloaded my backpack into my locker. Like everything else in my life, my plan to actually do all my homework failed. Big surprise. I'm sure Lancer will be shocked when he approaches my desk to collect my assignments only to find I haven't done any of them. And I especially can't wait to see his usual face of disappointment at how much of a failure I am. That's sure to be a fun time.

I slammed my locker shut and scanned the hall. Dash briefly made eye contact with me before averting his gaze sideways to Kwan, whose face was glued to his phone. He was probably checking the stats of the latest football game. Or no...football season ended months ago, didn't it? What sport was popular in the spring?

Dash leaned down to whisper something to Kwan, whose eyes immediately flickered my way. I steeled myself for them to move away from their lockers, square their shoulders, and march down the hallway with a booming, "FENTON!" I prepared myself for a beating because of course, just because my personal life imploded didn't mean my school life would be any different.

But they didn't move. They just kept talking in low voices, refusing to look back my way.

I guess I should be thankful they were giving me a break. But something inside of be broke. I was still a loser. I knew I was still at the bottom of the fucking social ladder. Except now, I was also the broken loser. The kid who had issues. The kid that everyone knew to stay away from. The kid that when people talked about him, they would mention something about his "home life" and move on. I was uncomfortable.

I wanted to scream.

I opted to glare at the ground instead.

I heard footsteps stop behind me. Hugging my binder tighter to my frame, I grumbled, "I know you guys are there."

Delicate fingers met my shoulder as the cautious face of Sam appeared next to me. "Hey Danny."

I let out a silent breath before pulling my shit together enough to turn around and lean against my locker like nothing was wrong. "Hey."

Sam's hand fell to her side as she and Tucker glanced at each other. It wasn't hard to read their silent conversation. It was the same damn conversation everyone else in my life has been having in front of me for the past week.

Tucker, seeming to sense my growing irritation, smiled and offered a, "Welcome back, dude."

"Thanks."

Sam's opened her lips and one glance at her apprehensive visage told me what she was about to say. Before she even had a chance to talk, I cut in, "I swear to Clockwork if you say one thing about that I'm going to lose my shit."

Her purple lips slammed shut.

"Sorry Danny," Tucker grinned sheepishly. "We're just kinda surprised to see you here is all."

"You and everyone else," I grumbled. Trying for a more optimistic tone, I returned his grin. Or, at least I hope I did. "I can't stay home forever, right?"

Tucker nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Can't imagine that's fun."

I shrugged and shifted my feet, racking my brain for other conversation topics. What did teens normally talk about? Clearing my throat, I asked, "So...how's your week been?"

They exchanged glances again.

"Um," Sam finally spoke up. "Quiet. With the ghosts keeping their distance, I pretty much just did homework and played video games."

"Same."

"Oh." I said, unsure of the appropriate response. My gaze dropped back down to the floor. Goddamnit, why was this so awkward? Why was I so awkward? How come one shitty thing happened, and now I couldn't even hold a proper conversation? What the fuck was wrong with me?

The warning bell rang, and without so much a passing glance to my two friends I started heading for Lancer's class. First period English. Fun. Although we used to be in the same English class Freshman year, now we were in different levels. I was in the lowest one, of course. I was never as smart as Jazz.

A firm hand grasped my arm, and I turned around to meet the violet eyes of Sam. Her mouth pursed slightly, and half of me wanted to rip my arm out of her grip and walk off, while the other half at least wanted to give her the decency of saying her piece. Even if I knew the dangerous waters we were about to tread down. And who knows, maybe she would have just enough tact to not bring it up. To let me start my school day in peace. Maybe.

"Danny, I respect that you don't want to talk about it right now. But just know that I'm here. Tucker and me, we both are here for you. Whenever you're ready, you can come to us."

Nope.

I snatched my arm out of her grip and turned away from her. My vision grew cloudy, and I blinked rapidly as if that were going to hide the evidence of my shame. My weakness. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I glowered at my trembling hands. I was not crying here, not now, I was not going to cry.

I took a couple deep breath and said, "Thanks, but I'm really doing fine."

I didn't want for her response, nor did I glance back at her before taking off down the hallway. I didn't need to look back to know what facial expression she wore. It was the same one she always had whenever I came into her window at three in the morning, bleeding out of my abdomen.

It was the same one she gave me at the funeral. Its image was a permanent scar in my mind.

I hurried down the hall, ignoring the passing glances from my peers, and slipped into Lancer's classroom. I released a deep breath, focusing on the way its warm air hollowed out my throat until the pressure of nothingness forced that air back inside. Rinse and repeat.

A tall figure popped up in my vision. I hugged my books tighter, if only to remind myself it's a student, Fenton, not a ghost. My dazed vision zoomed in on the face of Valerie

"Hey Danny," she said, her face contorted into a sad smile. Her teal eyes looked tired, worn. I racked my brain back to the funeral, remembering how much she tried to remain strong in front of me. She wanted to be there for me. She wanted to be that supportive friend so badly she'd bottled up her own emotions that day.

I guess she wanted to wait till she was alone to deal with it all. Not that I can judge. Everyone has their own way of grieving.

"Hey," I said lifelessly. I didn't need to put up an act around her. She understood more than anyone else what I was going through. When we first started dating she confided in me that her mother passed away of cancer when Val was just seven. I didn't know how to react when she told me originally, but I think if we talked about it now I might know the right things to say.

"Glad to see you back," she said.

I shrugged. "I would say I'm glad to be back, but I'm really not."

"Didn't do that essay I'm guessing?" she grinned, a slight glimmer appearing in her eyes.

"That's one way to put it." I rubbed the back of my neck. Yeah, like I even opened the book.

"Let's just hope he's in a good mood then. I'd love to get an extension on mine."

"Yeah?"

She adjusted her headband, her eyebrows knit in concentration. "Mm, I'll be happy if I get a C on it."

"That bad?" My eyebrows shot up and I unconsciously moved to an empty desk. Damn, Valerie was good at distractions.

"I used Sparknotes for the entire thing." She slid into a seat next to mine. "Lancer will definitely notice. I'm pretty sure he has the entire website memorized just to catch kids like me who didn't read the book."

"He's a brutal grader," I agreed, recalling the many F's placed on my desk.

"For sure."

The bell rang, and my eyes trailed over to the door where Mr. Lancer was casually strolling in, a manila folder in one hand and a coffee in the other.

"Good morning, class," he said, hushing the classroom chatter. "Please take out your copies of Catcher in the Rye and open them to chapter twelve..."

I grabbed my book from under my notebook and slapped it on top of my desk, not even bothering to open it and pretend like I was following along. As soon as Mr. Lancer called on the first student to read out loud, my head entered another dimension.

My mind drifted to a comment Sam made in the hallway about the ghosts keeping their distance. For the first time in days it hit me that, damn, there really hadn't been any ghost attacks. Nothing. Not a peep from the ghost zone. A wave of appreciation passed through me. Although, I shouldn't have been so surprised. It makes sense that ghosts—literal manifestations of their own untimely demise—were respectful when it came to matters of death.

I'd like to see my parents try to tell me ghosts had no morality now.

Lancer droned on, calling on a new person to answer a question or read another passage out loud. Every once in awhile he'd write new term or phrase on the blackboard and the students would scribble it down in their notes. Except me. Lancer never called on me, and as far as I was concerned he never even looked at me. I didn't hear a word he said, nor did I look at a word he wrote down, nor did I write anything down in a notebook that I never even opened. It was like I didn't exist.

And that was possibly the best thing that had happened to me all week.

The shuffling of papers brought my head to the surface of the water. I perked up and looked around to see people getting ready to leave the classroom. Glancing up, the clock showed just forty five more seconds till the bell.

I finally tuned in Mr. Lancer. "...your essays on Death of a Salesman that were due today. Dash, I got your emailed copy this morning. If anyone else forgot to print it out, you can email it to me by the end of the school day for full credit. Everyone else, I'll come around now to collect it."

My heart plummeted into my stomach. One might think I had gotten used to the feeling of being completely unprepared when it came to turning in assignments. But that feeling? The gut-wrenching feeling of disappointment from some of the only people who actually wanted you to succeed? Yeah, I never got used to it.

A shadow fell over my desk. I forced myself to look up at his face, marred with lines from years of dealing with difficult students like me.

"I didn't do it."

He sighed and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Please see me after school, Mr. Fenton."

Cringing under his touch, I dropped my gaze. I felt eyes, both from him and everyone else in the classroom, burning into my skull. Why was he still here, standing over me? Why wasn't he moving on to the next student already? What was the hold up?

A soft voice broke my thoughts. "Everything's going to be okay, Daniel."

The bell rang.

I bolted out of the room.

The lunch bell sounded through the halls. Finally. I was barely making it through the school day. In fact, the only other thing I remembered after Lancer's class was the way my math teacher's face scrunched up in worry as I entered his room. I made a point to avoid eye contact with just about everyone after that.

I had barely made it to my locker when I felt something cold flare up inside my chest. I groaned and released a shuddering breath. News traveled fast in the Ghost Zone, but apparently not fast enough. However, that didn't keep me from internally praying that it was just a young, misguided ghost in need of directions to the nearest portal. I shoved my books in my locker, slammed it shut, and headed straight for the nearest janitor's closet.

This was all routine, and moments later I was patrolling the hallway invisible in my ghost form.

My core acted as a GPS of sorts, "pulling" me towards the ghost. The longer I flew, the more doubt filled my mind that this wasn't just a lost ghost. No...a ghost with this pull? This was something powerful. Much more powerful.

Sunlight kissed my skin and I dropped my intangibility. They were close. I could feel it. I hesitated a moment, unsure if I should call Sam and Tucker for backup, before deciding I should at least see who it was first. Taking a deep breath, I rounded the corner to the back alley of the school only to see…

...no one.

Well that was odd. I could have sworn they were—

"Ahh, there you are," the silky voice of a woman appeared behind me.

"No…" I murmured, frozen in my tracks.

"Smell that Bertrand? Have you ever smelled anything so deliciously hopeless in your life?" Spectra continued.

The glowing form of Bertrand fizzled into view. He smirked, his pointy teeth in full view, and reached a gooping hand out at me. "He's dazzling."

I lurched back, snapping myself out of my daze just before his fingers brushed my chest, and thudded into something hard. Whipping around, I came face to face with the one person I hopped to never see again.

Spectra stood there proud as ever with her hands on her hips. Her hair pointed straight up like devil horns and her makeup flawless on her leering face. She smiled maniacally down at me, like a predator admiring its wounded prey, and laughed.

"My my, the rumors were true after all. She really kicked it, didn't she?"

My throat constricted. I could do nothing other than stare up at her, watching as her sharp grin grew wider at my reaction.

She reached a manicured finger down and began delicately stroking my cheek. "Oh poor Danny Phantom, all alone now."

"S-stop," I managed to choke out, backing up until I hit the brick wall of the school building.

Bertrand floated down. "I heard she screamed."

I squeezed my eyes shut and felt my feet touch the ground.

"But you wouldn't know, would you? I heard you got there too late. The car that hit her was long gone by the time you showed your embarrassing face."

"Still," Spectra said. "All that blood...it must have been magnificent."

"Shut. UP," I screamed, allowing a small amount of my Ghostly Wail to release. Not enough to cause real damage, but just enough to push them away. Snapping my mouth shut, I rushed in and punched her across the face. Stupid Spectra and her stupid minion talking shit about something they knew nothing about.

She crouched low on the ground and wiped a bit of blood off her cheek. "Punch all you want, boy, but it won't change what happened. It's your fault, Danny. You were the one who let her die."

"You don't know anything," I glared, finding my resolve and sending an ecto-blast her way.

She jumped to the side and, before I could power up another, I felt a truck slam into my back and pin me down.

"Wrong move," Bertrand hissed in my ear.

"Get off!"

"You're pathetic," Spectra stood and calmly started towards me. "You can't do anything. You've failed at school, your social life, your own life, and now your family's life. I've thought about this—I truly have—and I couldn't think of a single person who has failed as much as you. Danny Fenton, you are truly pathetic."

I froze his hands as a momentary distraction before sinking into the ground. I barely moved a foot sideways before I felt a hand grab my hair and pull me to the surface. Dropping my intangibility, I whipped around to see Spectra still grinning down at me.

A manicured fist met my field of vision and, before I could blink, I was back on the ground.

Move, MOVE, I thought, rolling to the side just fast enough for an ectoplasm blast from Bertrand to meet the dirt. I expanded my ice core, throwing a frozen dome outward with enough force to knock Bertrand down.

Spectra just punched it and continued to walk towards me, throwing ecto-blasts my way with every other word. "How do you sleep at night, knowing what you did? Do your parents still look in your direction? Or are they disgusted at what they see."

"Shut up!"

She laughed again. "Oh, and here's the real kicker. What will you do now that there's no one left for you to turn to when you're inevitably outed as a half ghost? Your parents, they'll kill you won't they? There's no one left to defend you, Danny. you burned that bridge to the ground!"

"You don't know anything," I snarled, dodging and hurling ecto-blasts and ice-blasts back.

"Don't I?" She quirked an eyebrow. "Because last I checked, I know more than anyone else in your pathetic excuse for a family."

"Stop it!"

"Hah," she barked. "Look at you. You're such a failure. How sad is it that your enemy knows more about you than those closest to you. What a feast!"

Screaming, I charged at her with both glowing fists raised. We collided and to my surprise, instead of jumping away from me when we both hit the ground, she jumped on top of me. Immediately I felt my strength begin to weaken.

...Fuck. I forgot.

Her normally immaculate hair was sticking in all directions, blood ran down her nose and a cut on her forehead, and her sharp eyes had a red tint to them. She looked every bit the evil ghost my mother always warned me about. Judging from the sound of sporadic blood drops next to my ear and the wet spot I felt on my cheek, I'm sure I looked just as bad.

Fuck.

"Look at yourself," she said, and I could only watch helplessly as her hair and face began to mend itself. "You're broken, weak. You're still the same loser I met two years ago, except now you're on display for your whole town to laugh at. The freak Danny Fenton who lost everything and can't do anything about it because it's his fault to begin with. Can't you open your eyes, child? It's your fault this happened. It's your fault everything has happened. You chose to go into the portal that day, you chose to cling to humanity and stay alive, you chose to keep your halfa status a secret, you chose to fail your academics, you chose to be the freaky loser in your high school, and now you chose to let her die. You could have saved her, you would have been fast enough, but you chose to take your time getting there. And now you have to live with your actions. Alone."

My vision blurred. I tried to blink the moisture away, but failed. A tear slipped through the cracks.

"Get off," I muttered weakly.

"As I said, you're pathetic."

I clenched my fist and closed my eyes, grabbing my core for my last resort in battle. Opening my mouth, I screamed.

The sound waves from my Ghostly Wail hit her like a train. She flew off me, knocking into Bertrand who was slowly advancing on the scene, and they both crashed into the paved sidewalk.

I released the Wail and groaned. My head felt like it was full of cotton and my stomach was shooting me waves of nausea. Yup, I felt wonderful.

Out of the corner of my eye a blue beam appeared. I raised my head up just in time to see Sam and Tucker, armed with a Fenton Thermos, sucking up the she-devil and her sidekick.

Sam capped the thermos and immediately turned my way. "Danny!"

Damnit. Shit. No.

All I wanted to do was have a normal day at school. Like before. Was that too much to ask? Couldn't the universe cut me some slack just this once? Or no, was "being psychoanalyzed by my two best friends after a fight with Spectra" mandatory for existing on this planet?

I struggled to my feet and turned away from them, scrubbing my face with my hands as if trying to erase any evidence of what just occurred.

"Danny!" Sam reached me. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Dude, you don't look too fine," Tucker said.

"No, I am. Trust me."

Sam huffed. I heard her kick a pebble across the pavement. "Bullshit!" she exclaimed. "That was Spectra. You're not fine."

"She barely got any words in before I blasted her across the sidewalk," I said, trying to hide the slight waver to my voice. Now that my adrenaline was winding down, I could feel each word playing over and over in my head, stabbing at me like a knife. "I'm fine, guys. I just need to change and I'll be good."

"Danny, stop!" Sam cried. "Stop trying to be strong. You don't need to be strong all the time! We're here for you, Danny. When are you going to get that through your thick head? We've been worried sick and you're not talking to us. Why aren't you letting yourself feel? It's okay to feel things!"

"Well maybe I don't want to feel things," I snapped, the last of my brick resolve finally crumbling to dust. I swung around to face a bewildered looking Tucker and a frustrated Sam. My glowing green eyes bore into her hard purple ones. "Maybe I just want to be left alone, did you ever think of that? Maybe I'm sick and tired of everyone treating me like I'm some fragile doll about to break at any moment!"

"We don't think you're fragile, Danny! The problem is you're not letting yourself be vulnerable and it's concerning to everyone who loves you!"

I threw my hands up. "Well I'm so fucking sorry I'm concerning you, Sam! Maybe when your entire world implodes I'll badger you about how much your emotions concern me!"

Sam stomped on the ground. "Goddamnit Danny, you're so infuriating!"

"Whatever." I shoved past her and allowed bright rings wash over me.

"I'm not done here," Sam stated.

"Good for you. I have to get to class."

I heard Tucker sigh behind me. "Danny...C'mon dude…"

I didn't listen. I turned on my invisibility and intangibility and slid through the walls of Caspar High to my gym locker where I kept an extra set of clothes, to the deserted bathroom in the art hallway to pull my shit together, then finally to my locker to dispose of the bloodied garments in my backpack, grab my books for the next class, and—dropping my powers as soon as the coast was clear—to my history class. Which, by the look at the time, had just started a few minutes ago. This was nothing new. This was routine.

My teacher didn't say a word as I slipped into his classroom with no hall pass and crumpled in my seat.

Nothing like a solid forty minutes of doing nothing and getting graded for it.

After the fiasco that was this entire fucking day, the final bell couldn't come soon enough. I was drained, in every possible sense of the word. I wanted nothing more than to go home, curl up in my bed, fall asleep, and never wake up.

Unfortunately, I still had to make it through a meeting with Lancer as to why I didn't bother to do my essay that was due today. A dark smirk passed my lips as I imagined going in there and being honest for once, saying, "Oh I'm sorry Mr. Lancer. I didn't do my homework because what's left of my entire life is falling apart at the seams and am I dying because I think this is what death feels like if not feel free to shove the nearest knife straight through my jugular I would like that so very much by the way Death of a Salesman was probably a shitty book anyways. Anyways, toodles! I have a date with my bed today. Can't keep that depression waiting, you know how women are. Have a great afternoon!"

Yeah. That would go over well.

The door to his office appeared too quickly in my line of vision. I paused outside of it, arm raised like I was ready to go inside. But I wasn't ready.

Shit.

I shook away my doubts before they could eat me, chased away the butterflies in my stomach, stood a little taller, and knocked on the door.

"Come in Mr. Fenton," Mr. Lancer's muffled voice sounded from inside the room.

Well, my life is already a mess. Might as well add on a little bit more.

Pushing open the door, I braced myself for the impending "I'm very disappointed in you," lecture he's been throwing at me since I was a Freshman. Lancer would steeple his hands on his desk, ramble about how he knew I could be better if I only just applied himself and did my homework for a change, I would apologize and make false promises for the future, and I would leave. That's how it went. That's how it always went.

So when I opened the door to find his tired eyes filled with concern instead of frustration, I froze. Half of my mind screamed "Danger! Get out immediately!" while the other half, the much larger part of me, was so tired. I was tired of running. Hiding. I needed to sit down.

Like Spectra said, this was my fault. I had to face the consequences of my actions. The consequences of choosing to be alone—always alone—instead of asking for help. Because fuck, I really needed an adult right now.

"Sit down please." He Gesturing to the wooden chair in front of his desk. Like his face, about his voice was different than usual too. It was gentler, as if he was just suggesting I sit down instead of demanding. It was optional, sitting was. I could leave if I wanted to.

I felt my body flow right into the desk with practiced motions. These actions, they were routine too, like everything else in my life. Getting dressed, brushing my teeth, flying to school, not turning in homework, following my ghost sense, cleaning up blood from my skin, avoiding people's attention—it was all routine. Sitting in front of Lancer's desk after school should be no different.

So why did this feel new?

He leaned forward, steepling his fingers on top of a stack of essays. "Mr. Fenton...I'm sorry."

Well...that was unexpected.

He looked straight at me with unwavering vision. His vivid green eyes locked into my blue ones. "This past week...to be honest I don't believe words can truly articulate what it's like to go through a loss like that."

I flinched and looked down at my lap, allowing my bangs to shield my face from view. "It sucks."

If Lancer noticed the tremble to my voice, he ignored it. "Yeah. It does."

We were silent for a moment. The wall clock ticked nearby, counting the seconds as if anyone in the room really cared. I gripped the seat and pretended that when I sniffed, no one else could hear it.

"I didn't expect you to have your assignment done today, Mr. Fenton. I would never ask that of a student in your position," Mr. Lancer said, breaking the silence. "That's not why I asked you to stay after school."

"Yeah," I whispered, feeling a tear slide down my cheek. I could almost hear Spectra's voice in my head with her silky voice, "you're pathetic...you are truly pathetic."

The rustling of fabric told me he leaned in closer. "Daniel, forgive me, why did you come to school today? The memorial was on Tuesday. Why aren't you home right now?"

"I don't know. I don't know."

He sighed and sat back in his chair. "She was quite possibly the brightest student I've ever had. I remember when she was a Freshman she told me she was going to go to Harvard. Plenty of students had told me that in the past, but she was the first person I ever believed. I knew she would make it happen. I helped her with every step of the process. I'll never forget staying up late into the evening to edit her entrance essay. Do you know what she wrote her Common Application essay on, Daniel?"

"No." My voice cracked. My eyes weren't working anymore. Everything was blurred, unfocused.

"She wrote it on you," he said simply.

I bowed my head, feeling the tears finally break through the dam. My hands released their hold on the wooden seat and hid my face from view, my elbows resting on my legs.

"She wrote it on how you challenged her ideas of the world around her. About how she used to think that ghosts were evil, one sided creatures. And then you showed her a different side of them. You showed her they had compassion, heart, morality. You opened her eyes to a whole new world, Daniel. She challenged her beliefs, the ones she had held her whole life, because of your heart. That's what she showed Harvard."

My chest tightened and suddenly I couldn't breath. I broke, allowing tears to freely fall into my hands.

"Jazz loved you, Daniel."

I hunched over even further and sobbed. Not a cute sob they show in the movies, either. A real, ugly sob. I heaved, barely able to breath through the gut-wrenching cries that ripped through my skin. Heat rose to my face and I could only imagine the bright red blotches that covered my face. Baring my teeth, I wiped snot off my nose with my sleeve in between shuddering breaths.

Mr. Lancer sat in silence as I broke down in front of him. When it seemed like I could breath without sounding like a dying whale, he said, "I know you may not believe me right now, but it will get better."

"I—I just," I spluttered, rocking in my chair. "I don't understand. W-why was it her? Why did it have to be...to be Jazz."

He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "Sometimes bad things happen to good people. And other times, the worst things happen to the best people. It's not their fault nor is it yours, Mr. Fenton. As they say, 'shit happens.'"

"But I needed her. I needed her. She left and I needed her. They just...they just left her there! On the side of the road like she was nothing! Nothing! They didn't even get out of their car to make sure she was okay or c-call an ambulance or-or anything! T-they just...just left and sh-she left me and I needed her to stay I just don't understand what she did and it's my fault because I missed her and she should have spent her first spring break with friends and instead she was stuck here with me and she...she DIED."

"It's not your fault," Lancer said, leaning in once again. "Daniel, please listen to me. There's nothing you could have done."

"I could have been faster," I said, scrubbing the tears that refused to stop dripping from my bloodshot eyes. "We were watching the meteor shower near the park and it was getting late so she went down the street to grab the car. If, if I hadn't...if I'd just gone with her. I...she'd…"

"It's not your fault," Lancer pressed.

I broke down again, letting out nearly a week's worth of severely repressed emotions. "I'm sorry," I muttered in between sobs, "I'm sorry."

"It's going to be okay, Daniel. Give it time, it will get easier."

"Okay," I blubbered, wiping my eyes with my sweatshirt. "Okay. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm fine I swear—"

Mr. Lancer quirked an eyebrow. "It's okay to not be fine, Mr. Fenton. Contrary to public opinion, crying is a perfectly natural response to life's tragedies."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, forcing myself to calm down. I should have been embarrassed. Hell, I just had a complete emotional breakdown in my English teacher's office. But...I couldn't find it in me. I just lost my sister, the only person in the world who ever truly understood me. She knew me inside and out and, better yet, she accepted me. All of me.

And now she was gone.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

"Okay," I said, breathing out and relaxing my shoulders.

A large hand gently cradled my back and I turned around to see the soft gray eyes of Dad. Sleepless nights had not been kind to his face, and heavy bags rested under his eyes. His lips were thin, wavering. I offered him a small smile.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Mom asked, her voice unusually tender.

"Yeah," I stated, my voice leaking foreign assurance. And I realized then, I was ready. Unlike my premature entrance back to school two weeks ago, I'd waited for this. It was long, difficult, and involved an apology with Sam and Tucker promptly followed by a meltdown in Sam's bedroom. Some nights I stayed up staring at the ceiling, my mind unwilling to relent on its torrent of old childhood memories, while other nights I was so utterly exhausted it took all of my willpower to drag myself out of bed in the morning. There were days when my family avoided each other, fighting against the internal hurricane of emotions solo. Other days we hung off each other, desperate to not be alone with our thoughts.

It's been a long and brutal three weeks, but now, "I'm ready."

I reached out and turned the silver handle. My hand moved fluidly, pushing in the white door, as a time capsule revealed itself to me. Behind me, my father sucked in a breath and I heard my mother choke on her breath, but I took a step forward into the room.

The walls were decorated in pink wallpaper which matched the pink comforter on top of a full-size mattress. Boxes stacked up next to a brown wooden desk on the left side of the room, unpacked. Untouched. They were filled with the remnants of the college dream Jazz would never finish. The dream she never saw the end of the first year of.

I moved over to the bed and sat down, soaking up the room. Sinking into the fluffy bed, I felt something brush up against my thigh. It was Bearbert, her childhood stuffed animal bear. I picked up the chestnut brown figure as if it were made of cracked glass. It was an ugly bear with the iconic wild Einstein hair and mustache. When I was little I used to hide it out of sight, much to Jazz's distress. Oh yeah, this little guy was the cause of too many of Mom's headaches.

Looking up, I realized my parents had finally managed to make it past the doorway. They clutched each other, Mom's head buried against Dad's chest. I quickly averted my eyes back down to the bear, taking in its many stitches and repairs from when Dad had to fix tears in the fabric. I stared at them, forcing myself to remember the memory associated with each tear. The time when I got angry and tried to rip Bearbert's ear off, the time Dad accidentally shot an ecto-blast at its torso, the time my neighbor's dog came into our house and thought it was a toy. Tears pricked in the corner of my eyes. I tried blinking them away, before giving in and letting a few fall free.

"She's in a better place now," Dad's voice broke into my thoughts. I felt the strain of Jazz's mattress on either side of me. Strong hands wrapped around my body and I leaned into the touch.

"Don't tell me you believe in that crap," I said dryly.

I felt Dad shrug next to me, "It doesn't matter what you believe. We know she's at peace, wherever she may be."

"I guess," I said, my fingers sliding against the fabric. "She would have been a good psychologist though."

"The best," Dad assured.

A sniff to my right indicated to the torrent of waterworks Mom was trying to hide from me. Before Jazz died, the last time I'd seen her cry was when I woke up from the portal accident. I woke up from the hospital, my arm and chest wrapped up after sustaining burns, and looked over to meet her violet eyes. Immediately, they watered with relief as she sprung up to wrap her arms around me.

"I thought you were dead," she sobbed with relief. "Daniel James Fenton, don't ever do that to me again."

She was always so strong for us, for me. Even when Jazz died, I know for a fact Mom spilled the majority of her tears alone. She was a mom, and moms protected their children.

But...I didn't need protecting. Not with this.

"It's okay, Mom," I tried comforting her. It was awkward, unsure. I was unused to being in this position. "She was your kid."

"I'm fine, Danny. But thank you," she said, her voice cracking.

I heard Dad shift next to me. His quiet voice came entered my ears, "Why don't you give us a minute alone."

I hardly nodded before springing up and exiting the room. I nearly ran down the hallway and into my room, shutting the door behind me. Through the thin walls, I could hear Mom's sobs. At least Dad had her.

Stuffing earbuds into my ears and turning on whatever Spotify playlist appeared first, I glanced over to my bed to realize that I'd brought Bearbert into the room with me. I couldn't remember gripping him as I left Jazz's room or flinging him onto my bed, but I must have. I had to have.

I crept towards my bed. Even in the dim lighting of my bedroom, Bearbert still stuck out like the hideous thing he was. Bending down, I picked him up again and held him at eye level. He was old, worn down. Ugly.

I glanced over, surveying my bedroom. Every surface was filled with some model rocket or video game trinket. No, Bearbert wouldn't fit in here. He was...different. Teenage boys didn't have stuffed animal bears. I couldn't just break that rule, could I?

But teenage boys also didn't half-die in a portal their parents built in their basement. Teenage boys didn't fight malicious ghosts day in and day out. Teenage boys weren't freaks who got bullied for it. Teenage boys weren't supposed to be like me. We were supposed to be strong, play football, drink every weekend till we can't remember what assignments are due on Monday but still manage to get them done on time. We were supposed to spend our nights flirting with girls and finding innovative ways to cheat on the next exam.

Teenage boys weren't supposed to find their sister's dead body on the side of the road.

I caved and placed Bearbert next to a model rocket. Einstein was a physicist anyways. The theory of relativity, right? I remembered learning that in school recently. It...it would be weird if I didn't acknowledge him in my room. Even if he was a bear.

Sinking into my mattress, I closed my eyes and let out a breath. The sounds of electric guitars and angry singing filled my ears. The music was almost soothing in some twisted way, and I felt my shoulders relax. My senses dulled as my brain, for the first time in weeks, stopped talking.

"Jazz?" I said, my hands supporting my head as I gazed up at the stars. "I'm not going to be an astronaut."

"Yeah, I know," she responded plainly, as if someone told her what two plus two equals. "Grades aside, your body type is way too different. You'd never pass the health exams."

"Wow, way to be supportive." I rolled my eyes, unable to hide the smile playing at my lips.

"Don't be like that, Little Brother. You know I'll support any career path you choose."

"I know, I know. God, lighten up a bit," I said. A little bit of my teenage tone slipped out.

In a moment of tact, she didn't respond to my slight bite. Instead she let herself enjoy the clear night sky, filled to the brim with stars. A flash of fire appeared, cutting through the twinkling lights before disappearing seconds later.

"Whoa, you see that one?" I exclaimed.

"That had to be the biggest one yet," she said, feeding into my excitement.

"Right? That was crazy!" I yelled, feeling like a child at an amusement park.

She laughed, her voice dancing in the air. "Danny, I know you can't be an astronaut, but I really hope you still go into this field."

"Don't worry." My eyes still sparkling with excitement I said, "I will. I've been looking a lot online and there are tons of things you can do at NASA even if you don't go into space. I mean, most of the people that work there don't even go into space. And you godda admit, I'm pretty handy with all of Dad's stuff now. I know my way around the wiring of his equipment. I bet if you put a gun to my head I could probably build an ecto-gun by now. It would be a shitty gun, but I could still do it."

"I'm really happy for you," she said. The smile was evident in her voice. "I was a bit worried about you. I wasn't sure...with me at college…"

"Don't worry, Jazz. I'm doing fine. I have Sam and Tucker, you know. They're basically my siblings now."

She laughed again. "Daniel James, you wish you could get rid of me that easily. I'm irreplaceable."

"Sure, okay. Stroke your own ego. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"You're the worst," she said, standing up to stretch. She looked down at me, her teal eyes bright in contrast of the dark sky. The light of the moon lit up the air around her hair, making the already red strands glow in silver light. The skin on her hands twinkled with reflecting stars as she tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ears.

"It's getting late, and I don't think any meteor can top that last one. Want me to get the car?"

"Sure," I said, breaking eye contact with her in favor of the glistening night sky. "Thanks for coming out, by the way. This was awesome."

"Of course, Little Brother. Anytime." She grinned down at me. It was one of those sisterly grins, the know-it-all grins she loved. But I couldn't bring myself to come up with a sarcastic comment. This night was too perfect.

She nodded again and turned away from me, starting her trek into the massive field. The darkness swallowed her, and she was gone.