A/N: Not my AU (apparently originally started by electoweenie on tumblr), and I only really know what people have told me about this AU, so I'll be making up more as I go along—unless anyone is willing to fill me in. Basically, rather than the Fenton Portal we all know finally functioning after the accident, the portal is inside Danny/Danny is the ghost portal. Written as a tumblr request and moved over here because I was asked to post more of my tumblr fics elsewhere. I have a feeling this will be more a collection of related one-shots building a story than anything else, and updates will be sporadic, so fair warning. Standard disclaimers apply.
Danny sat very still in his desk, not listening to a word Mr. Lancer was saying. It was safer that way. He had to keep his mind blank. There had been too many…accidents. No one had pieced it together yet, not even his parents, but that was only a matter of time.
The cold feeling within his body grew, and he tried not to shiver.
Don't think cold. (Ice monsters and yetis.) Don't think hot. (Dragons and fire demons.) Don't think. Don't think. Don't think.
"Please, please, please, no," Danny mumbled, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on the edges of his desk. "Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop."
Hard wood beneath his fingertips, grooves cut into otherwise smooth sides through wear and tear and the dedicated filing of bored students. The constant drone of Lancer's voice, the occasional scratch of pen on paper, creaking desks as students shifted in their seats. A sneeze. Higher-pitched murmuring followed by quiet laughter. A rustle of paper. Birds, singing outside—
Don't think birds. Those vultures— No.
He could feel it coming, whatever it was, trying to claw its way out from inside him. Icy talons raked across his gut, climbing higher, reaching past his heart, past his lungs—
Danny coughed and saw faint wisps of his breath. He plastered one hand over his mouth and shot the other into the air, waving it frantically.
"Yes, Mr. Fenton?"
He was already halfway out of his seat. "Sorry, Mr. Lancer. I think I'm going to be sick."
He ran, not waiting for verbal permission, let alone a hall pass, and Lancer let him go, maybe because he did look sick. He certainly felt like he was going to vomit. Whatever was churning inside of him wasn't content to stay there much longer. It was hard to breathe—his lungs felt frozen—but he still pushed himself toward the bathroom and the little privacy it offered.
The violent coughing started as he reached the water fountain, and he saw the bit of water still clinging to the sides of the fountain's drain freeze on his way by. Seconds later, he was hanging over the toilet, convinced that whatever was inside was trying to kill him. He couldn't breathe for coughing, and he felt faint, sinking to his knees and clinging to smooth porcelain, waiting for it to be over….
"Danny? You okay in there? Lancer sent me to check on you."
Tucker.
Danny wanted to say something, but he could only retch in response. Icy mist filled the stall. The bowl was full of frozen water, and hoar frost was settling on every surface. He couldn't tell if he was shaking because it was so cold or because he couldn't stop gagging and coughing.
"Danny?"
The stall door creaked open; he hadn't remembered to lock it.
He retched again, and this time he could feel something struggling up his throat. He tried to cough, to get it out of there, but he couldn't draw breath. His chest heaved. He could feel something scrabbling for purchase in his mouth. He gagged. His mouth was full of feathers.
The head emerged first, followed by one wing and then the next, and then it was out of his mouth. He gasped, gulping in the precious air, still frigid but no longer intensely cold. He leaned back against the cold cement blocks of the wall, exhausted. The bird—blue, ethereal, and thankfully much smaller than those vultures had been; maybe some sort of tern—shook itself off and squawked at him before flying through the wall.
The ice finally began to melt.
"Danny, what was that?"
He'd forgotten about Tucker.
"Is…is this what you've been hiding from me and Sam?" A shaky breath from behind him. "I mean, I can't exactly blame you, dude, but that…."
Tucker didn't—couldn't—finish.
He didn't need to.
Danny closed his eyes. "I'll figure this out," he whispered. "I'll figure out how to make it stop, or at least how to control it. I just…haven't yet."
"Sam and I can help," Tucker offered, but they both knew the truth of the matter. Sam and Tucker wouldn't be able to help him with this. Jazz wouldn't be able to, either, if he decided to confide in her. He wasn't even sure his parents would be any help. Ghost experts or not, they'd never mentioned anything like this.
Whatever this was, he was on his own.