A/N: Written for Ectober 2018, Day 13: Help. Post-Urban Jungle. Standard disclaimers apply.

Star didn't deserve the detention she'd gotten. She wasn't the one who'd planted the whoopee cushion on Lancer's chair. She didn't even know who'd done it. She'd just been the one unfortunate enough to still be snickering when Lancer stood up again to survey the class.

Protests about her innocence had fallen on deaf ears, and no one—not even Paulina—had backed her up.

Which is how she'd wound up in detention with Fenton, who'd dashed into class halfway through Lancer's lecture on respect.

They were supposed to be writing an essay on the subject—something Lancer said he'd use for extra credit, which Fenton needed more than she did—except she was too angry and embarrassed to think straight, and Fenton was beginning to nod off. She'd been staring at a blank page for at least ten minutes, her pen shaking in her too-tight grip as she tried to figure out who had set her up to take this fall—and if she'd even been the intended target of Lancer's wrath.

Fenton's sharp gasp came about the same time as the crash down the hall. Lancer sighed and got to his feet. "I'll look into it," he said. "You two stay here."

Even from across the room, Star could see Fenton's wide eyes. "I don't think that's a good idea, Mr. Lancer."

"Mr. Fenton, I do appreciate your concern, but—"

"Can I at least go to the bathroom first?"

"No, Mr. Fenton, you may not. I'll be back in a few minutes, and then you can go."

"I don't know if I can hold it."

"And I don't believe you wouldn't have said something five minutes ago if that were truly the case. You may go when I come back," Lancer repeated, cutting off Fenton's protests.

The classroom door closed behind him. Star expected Fenton to slump in his seat, but instead he sprang to his feet and walked to the windows. He obviously didn't find whatever he was looking for, because he spun on his heels and dashed to the door.

He seemed surprised when it didn't open.

"What, you think Lancer trusts you after how many times you've cut class on the excuse that you had to go to the bathroom?" Star muttered under her breath.

Fenton heard her. "He wouldn't have locked it," he countered. "It'd be a safety hazard. And he's never locked me in before."

She was bored, which was the only reason she was having this conversation with him. "So? Things change."

Fenton was shaking his head. "This is a ghost."

A ghost. Of course. Maybe he was his parents' son after all. "Just because this is Amity Park, doesn't mean every inconvenience is ghost-related."

"I wish," mumbled Fenton. Then, louder, "I never heard the lock turn. Did you?"

Star rolled her eyes and got to her feet. "Then it's stuck and you're just too weak to open it." Sure enough, the handle turned under her grip. She pulled, already turning to look back at Fenton and berate him for being such a weakling, but the door didn't move. She frowned and pulled harder.

Nothing.

"What kind of ghost locks you in?" She couldn't quite keep the panic out of her voice now. It was stupid. Being caught in a ghost attack wasn't new. She was used to that. But she wasn't usually locked in.

"Someone new."

The grimness in Fenton's voice caught her off guard, but Star latched onto it. "You have some of your parents' weapons, then?"

Fenton shook his head. "Everything I have is in my locker."

"That's not going to do us any good!"

"Don't panic yet. We're on the ground floor. See if the windows open."

"And what are you going to do?"

"Listen."

Listen? What the heck was that supposed to mean? But arguing wouldn't get them anywhere, and checking the windows wasn't a completely stupid idea even if she had a feeling it was futile. If a ghost could lock a door on them, it could lock a window, too.

When Star reached the windows, however, she didn't even need to try them to know they wouldn't open. Even as she got closer to them, she could feel the cold. "They're frosted over, Fenton," she said. Ice grew on them even as she watched, thickening to the point that the intricate frost patterns became completely obscured. "The door's probably frozen shut, too."

"Good."

"Good? How is that good?"

Fenton shot her an apologetic smile. "It means whoever it is probably isn't after Lancer."

"Wait—"

"Hide. It'll want me, not you."

"Where the heck am I supposed to hide? Under my desk? It'll see me."

"You might be small enough to squeeze into one of the cupboards in the back. Just move the books."

She stared at him.

He didn't seem to realize how ridiculous he sounded.

"Why would the ghost want you? Aren't you the one who normally runs and hides whenever there's a ghost attack?"

Fenton scowled. "I don't always…. Look. You guys trusted me before, right? When Youngblood and Ember brainwashed all the adults? I helped you then and I can help you now. I can do this."

She frowned. "How do you remember their names?"

"That's what you're—?" He broke off, and she blinked. Had she just seen his breath? Sure, it was getting colder in here by the minute, but it wasn't that cold, not yet. "Hide," he hissed.

Normally, she'd love to hide, but normally, there was someone other than Danny Fenton who could help her get out of a situation like this. "I don't—"

With a crack, ice crystals burst from the ceiling, jutting down towards them like razor-sharp stalactites. Star screamed and dove under the nearest desk, not remotely convinced that would help. When she looked back, Danny was in a crouch, still in the open, head swivelling as if he fully expected he'd be able to see a ghost that could make itself invisible.

He'd already said he didn't have any of his parents' tech with him, so why play at being the hero now?

"You're crazy," Star hissed. "Just call your parents for help."

"I don't know if this is someone they can handle," he said quietly. His matter-of-fact tone unnerved her. Why did he make it sound like he could take more than they could? They were professionals. He was…. He was Dash's loser punching bag, and she could count the number of times she'd seen him fight ghosts on one hand.

Before she could figure out how to respond, the temperature in the room plummeted and she heard a deep voice say, "You're weak when you wear that skin, halfa."

She huddled, trying to make herself smaller and not breathe too loudly. The shadows in the top corner of the room by the door coalesced into a bluish white monster of fur and ice. There was no mistaking its fangs and claws, and ghost or not, Star was suddenly, horribly convinced that it could kill her in an instant if it wanted to.

Fenton's eyes widened. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"You do not deserve the title my brother gave you," the ghost continued.

Star officially had no idea what was going on. Fenton swallowed, but his eyes narrowed and he stood up straight. As if he could face down a ghost!

"You're Frostbite's brother," he said slowly. It wasn't a question. "So he got to be the leader of the Far Frozen and you got to skulk in the frozen wastelands until you found a portal? Sounds about right. Even Klemper wouldn't waste his time befriending you."

Star couldn't remember who Klemper was, either, though the name sounded familiar. She wondered wildly why Fenton was on a first name basis with so many ghosts, even considering who his parents were; it wasn't like ghosts would befriend the son of ghost hunters, right?

The snow ghost snarled. It raised a hand—paw?—and ice shot towards Fenton. He dodged with a grace he never showed in gym class, rolling out of the way and springing back to his feet. "You got brain freeze or something? You're a little slow."

Stop taunting it! You're just going to make this worse! But she didn't dare say anything now. If Fenton was somehow managing to hold his own, she couldn't be the one to distract him. Not now. They just had to hold on until Phantom showed up. Or the Red Huntress. Or the Fentons, assuming Mr. Lancer was able to get off a call to them.

"You're an abomination." The ghost's feet hit the floor, and ice shot out. Star shivered and tried to keep her teeth from chattering. Fenton didn't seem nearly as affected by the cold, probably because he kept moving, but the ice had to make it more difficult to keep his footing. "You don't deserve to know the secrets of our people."

Fenton pulled a face. "Okay, I don't like that nickname any better than the one Frostbite gave me, but you? I'm pretty sure you have no say in who learns what. Frostbite agreed to teach me. To help me. As payment for what I did and as a gesture of friendship. So even if he's the reason you're acting like Frosty the Snow Monster, I'm kinda more inclined to side with him on this."

"My name is Icebreaker!"

"Funny, you didn't really start this conversation with a good one."

Icebreaker roared. Ice formed at his summons, sharpened spear points of shards, and he flew at Fenton in a rage.

Star flinched.

Fenton held his ground until the last second before diving sideways. He hit a patch of ice and skidded into a desk. She shrieked in spite of herself, and Icebreaker turned his gaze to her.

Fear clawed at her insides, gripping so tightly she couldn't find her breath.

"Foolish little human," Icebreaker jeered, "caught up in a world you're never meant to understand. You'll have to die for that, just like the halfa."

There was that name again. He meant Fenton, but what—?

"No!" Fenton shouted, and he was in between them so fast it looked like he'd flown. "If you're mad at me, don't involve her!"

Icebreaker bared his teeth, and Star felt the ice forming around her. She scrambled out of her hiding spot, clutching the desks to keep her footing. Fenton—Danny—couldn't protect her. Not when he didn't have any weapons. Why wasn't Phantom here yet? He was never this late.

Danny's fists were clenched. "Leave her alone," he growled.

Icebreaker just laughed and flew over his head. Star backed up, bumping into Danny. "We're going to die," she whispered. Even in Amity Park, even when it got bad, there had always been someone to protect them. The Fentons had their Fenton Ghost Shield, the Red Huntress could definitely hold her own in a fight, and Phantom…. Phantom stopped every ghost that dared to cross him.

But now none of them were here, and she couldn't do anything.

"No, you won't," Danny murmured. "Just trust me."

She looked at him. His eyes burned bright blue with a fierceness she didn't associate with him. The tips of his hair were turning white with frost, and he was cold—colder than she was. Determination alone wouldn't let him last much longer, even though she couldn't see him shaking with the cold like she was. Whatever adrenaline rush he was on wouldn't last forever, and with this cold, he'd crash sooner rather than later. "We need help," she repeated.

He shoved her to the floor in answer as more ice shot where they'd been standing. "Trust me," he repeated as he got off of her. "I can help." He put his hand on her back and pushed her again.

Instead of being held against the ice, she fell through the floor and landed on a stack of empty boxes (possibly stashed there by the Box Ghost). She was too shocked to be in pain. Her heart beat a wild tattoo in her chest as she gulped in warm air. "What…what just happened?"

This time, she didn't get an answer.