Chapter Twenty-Seven: Danny, Sam, and Tucker Take Turns Feeling Awkward as their Friends Confront their Parents

Danny worked himself to the bone. He went intangible, moving through thick debris. He lifted up broken stones or pipes or wood, casting the rubble into piles as directed. El worked in a different section of the city; Danny had chosen the most damaged to help with. Sam and Tucker cleared rubble only a few buildings down, equipped with hard-hats, gloves, goggles, and masks, courtesy of the man managing the cleanup in this section of the city.

Danny wore only a mask. Even through the fabric, the smell of sweat and dust was overpowering—and underneath it all the sour, rotting stench of death. When he got close, it made him gag, but he fought through it. He'd discovered two people, a man and a woman, ribcages and skulls crushed. He'd taken them from the debris, giving them to the people who were loading similar corpses into a truck, hoping that loved ones may be able to identify them.

If there were any loved ones left.

It was a type of catharsis for him—and also a type of penance. Trickles of sweat ran down his face, stinging his eyes. His muscles began to ache. He could see every minute divot and dip in the debris he hauled; he could feel the textures intimately, even through his gloves. The sun overhead—watered-down into a greenish yellow—stung his eyes almost worse than the sweat.

But he had to do this. Ultimately, he was responsible for these people—for this city. And he'd failed. He'd failed so badly, and people had died for it. Likely, people were still dying, paying the price of his failure with blood. It felt good to release the tension, the helplessness, in the working of his limbs, the tandem of his heart and core.

He was doing something to help, even if it didn't feel like enough.

People came to watch; Danny had never helped clean up before after any of his other fights. He'd always had school or he'd been too injured or he hadn't wanted to stick around for fear of hunters.

But now his parents and Valerie knew. There was the GIW, maybe, but Danny didn't care. He wouldn't just lie uselessly for days on end, not now that he was better. He had to help, and if he couldn't figure out how to un-merge the worlds… If he couldn't figure out how to beat the Empress… This was as good as it got.

This was his best, even if it felt infinitely lacking.

The workers had gawked a lot at the beginning, before the man overseeing the area—the one who'd given Danny, Sam, and Tucker the equipment—had told them to get back to work. They still gawked, but it was subtler: quick peeks taken from the brim of a hardhat, eyes that lingered too long. They watched Sam and Tucker, too, wondering who the teenagers were that had come with their hero Phantom. None had dared to ask—yet. And none had asked about the Empress, or why the sky was green. Perhaps they hadn't left the shield.

Danny was only thankful Amity was as prepared as it had been. The overseer of this area—Jacob Livingston—had told him, casually, that without the warning, they likely wouldn't have had enough equipment to handle such large-scale destruction. Danny was pleased that he'd done something right, even if all the decisions he'd made afterwards were wrong.

Sometimes, he broke apart the larger debris so that it would be easier for the machines to carry, expanding ice into the debris' crevices until it fell apart. The cracks echoed on an otherwise silent landscape, Amity once again picking up the pieces after an attack. The citizens were accustomed to destruction—and there were even specialized construction teams, now, as well as a city commission focused on minimizing the destruction and rebuilding as quickly as possible.

Or there had been, anyway.

Danny took a break, chest heaving from what he'd lifted. He wiped his brow, smearing dust all over his face. It rose as clouds in front of him—and he could make out each particle, even the smallest among them.

"You good?" Tucker asked, relaxing his own shovel.

Danny nodded. "Yeah, I am." They'd taken Dora and Allistor back over the shield to reunite with her people. Danny had been reminded that the shield would last another week max before it went down. He would have to ask his parents about that. His parents who thought he was diseased, who wanted to cure him—

Don't go there.

He sighed and got back to work, his muscles contracting as he lifted and set down, lifted and set down. He smelled more bodies before he found them—three, all in the same room—or what had once been a room. He picked them up as respectfully as he could, thankful he hadn't yet found anyone familiar. But how many had died? How many people had he indirectly killed?

Slowly, the sun grew dimmer, and Sam stopped beside him, offering him a bottle of water silently. They must've been handing them out. Danny took it.

"Do you still have enough energy to fly us to Tucker's house? Or teleport us?" she asked. The half-ghost drank deeply. He felt physically tired, but his core was stronger than ever, vibrating encouragingly.

"Yes," he replied as Tucker came up next to them, looking weary. Danny gave him the bottle next, and after drinking from it, he used the excess to wash his glasses, which had become clouded with dust. "I have more than enough to teleport us."

"Teleportation was devised as a method to torture us full-humans," Tucker said. "Would you do that to us again, Danny?"

The half-ghost shrugged. "It's the fastest. Should we really be out later than we have to be? Your parents are probably—"

But Danny couldn't finish—because he heard the sound of a car approaching. A rather familiar-sounding car, the only one he knew that made that odd whining noise, except it was so much louder in his ears than it had ever been before. Like a herald, announcing the presence of someone important. Or someones.

"My—my parents—" he managed to say before Maddie and Jack Fenton drove up in the GAV, parking a few buildings down due to the debris. He froze, watching them, and the other workers paused their clearing, watching with barely-disguised interest. His parents climbed out, followed by Jazz, who looked harried.

"Should we go?" Sam hissed, taking his arm. "Do you want to leave?"

Danny couldn't respond—he was moving slowly, traveling through the air like it was molasses. Stay? Go? Flee his parents—or confront them? In the end, his indecision made the decision for him as his parents charged forward—fortunately, no ecto-weapons in sight.

Some of the workers were openly staring, now. Stupid—I should've known they'd track my signature, find me here. He had known, though. He just hadn't cared; nothing had seemed as important as helping clear the mess he'd made, the mistake he'd made.

Well, he'd pay for it now.

"Danny!" his mom shouted. The workers were staring openly, but if Danny's parents already knew… What was the point in keeping it a secret, especially with all that had happened? "Where have you been, young man? How dare you go rushing off like that?" Still, it was uncomfortable to know so many eyes were looking in this direction.

His parents smelled like sour ectoplasm and rubber and chemicals and danger. It made his nose wrinkle. Sam and Tucker stepped forward until they were in front of him, shielding him—if only barely—from his parents.

"You can't just run off like that," his dad said. They stopped abruptly, a few feet in front of him, as though realizing his friends were there for the first time. "It's irresponsible."

"And unfair to us as your parents! We were worried sick—Jazz hid the GAV's keys, sabotaged our equipment!" His mom threw her hands in the air. "You're coming back with us—this instant." She reached out to grab his arm, but Sam moved to block her, and Danny stepped backward.

"I'm not," Danny said softly.

"Damn right you're not," Jazz agreed, cutting between him and his parents. Danny blinked—he hadn't heard his sister cuss in a long time. She sounded exhausted, weary—and her scent was that of someone beaten, someone tired. Like sweat and a drifting numbness. "You're not taking him home and experimenting on him like he's some lab rat!"

His mom nearly growled, a low, foreign sound. Usually she was poised, in control. But she seemed close to snapping, a band stretched so thin it would break any second. "He is my son," she snarled. Danny noted that some of the workers' eyes widened, but he couldn't bring himself to care except distantly. "And he is sick. I am tired of arguing with you about this. Yes, Danny has done good things with his powers, but they aren't natural. End of discussion."

Don't I get a say? It was his life—or his half-life, rather. Did he not get to tell them about it? They'd listened to him, once. But only once, in a long line of instances where they'd refused to, regardless of whether he was ghost or human. Would they listen? He remembered the Foleys, asking questions and treating him gently. The contrast couldn't have been starker.

He couldn't struggle with his parents anymore. He felt heavy, so heavy, like tons were pressing down on him, so forcefully he'd crack the ground if he took even a single step. He couldn't. He couldn't. They had hunted him, and they were sorry—but only barely. They wanted to cure him, without regard for whether he could be cured. Maybe there was something wrong with him—maybe he was unnatural. But he knew, without a doubt, that if they had the capability to take his powers from him, and they did so, the Empress would win. The worlds would stay merged.

And deeper still, he found he had grown used to the once-alien vibrations in his chest, like the thrum of a guitar next to the thumping base of his heart, ectoplasm and blood singing as one in his veins. Unnatural, wrong—abomination. But he couldn't, couldn't, couldn't give it up. It was him, now.

"I'm not going with you," he said to his parents, looking up at them. "Okay? I—I can't."

"What do you mean?" his dad asked. "Of course you can. Don't you want to be cured? We want you to be healthy. And safe—and you're not either of those things like this."

Healthy. Safe. Danny barely knew what was healthy for a half-ghost, and he knew with certainty his parents didn't even know what was healthy for a full-ghost. And safe? He hadn't been safe since he stepped into the Portal.

The bitterness and resentment that had been building inside him for two years—almost three, now—rose to a crescendo. Wrong, wrong, wrong… Did he need to be cured? Was it unnatural? Some small, insignificant part of him hated them for making him doubt himself this way, for leaving him useless and helpless. He always felt like a bug under a microscope when it came to them—they dissected Danny the same as they dissected Phantom, probing for weakness. Why were you out late? You're failing all your classes—you can't skip anymore! This type of behavior is unacceptable, young man.

He was trying to protect people.

…cure him…

"You don't get it." Danny laughed harshly, side-stepping his friends and sister. "I'm not going with you. You're not curing me. Look around—even if you could, that's not the most important thing happening right now. You should be helping—not, not this."

"That's not your choice to make!" his mom yelled. Some part of Danny wanted to tell them that now wasn't the time, that this wasn't the place; the workers were there, in their hardhats—they knew now. They knew and the world had basically ended and his parents knew, too, and they didn't love him. It wouldn't be long before the whole city knew, and the thought made him weak at the knees.

But he couldn't afford to spiral.

"It is," he said, voice monotone. If the emotion seeped in, it would only widen the cracks, and he would break, shatter before everyone's eyes. "It is my choice, and I can't choose this, Mom."

"You can, and you will," she muttered, reaching into her belt to pull out a thermos, drawing it lightning-fast—but not fast enough. Danny lurched to the side, landing hard on the ground as the beam swept past. One of the workers yelled.

His sister wrenched the thermos from his mom's hand, screaming. "What is wrong with you? Get away from him!"Danny laid there, stunned—they'd wanted to cure him, yes, but he hadn't thought… She'd tried to capture him, knowing he was her son. Tucker and Sam helped him up.

"Because he needs help!" his mom screamed back. "He needs help!"

"Both of you need to calm down," his dad interjected. "Mads—we just need to, to explain it to him." He looked at Danny, but his hands made no motion toward his ecto-guns or thermos. He raised them, placating. "Look, Dann-o, we think that your ghostly attributes could be impacting you negatively. Your mood, your thought processes. Just let us run a few tests to check—at least let us do that. Please."

Danny shook his head. The mere idea of letting them poke and prod him, the same way the GIW might, that Vlad might… It made him ache. "I told you: I can't." There were other, more important things for his parents to focus on, aside from their "sick" son. Vital things. If only they would listen. "The shield—it's going to give out in less than a week. Could you make sure it doesn't?"

"Only if you come in and let us run a couple of tests," his dad said. Didn't he realize that Danny couldn't? That letting them do so was his biggest fear, had haunted him for months? He couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't do this. He couldn't fight them off and the GIW and the Empress. He couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't do it all at once.

You have to. A second failure was not an option—there wouldn't be a third chance to get it right.

"No. No." Danny's head went rapidly back and forth. You're doing it wrong. You're moving it too many times. Control. Control! But he was rapidly losing his grip on what dregs of self he had left. His mind was turning to mush inside his head. "No. We have bigger things to worry about. The shield. The Empress." His head kept shaking, and Sam put her arm on his shoulder.

"Dude, stop moving your head so much. You look like a bobble-head—and who listens to a bobble-head?" Tucker hissed, helpfully. The out-of-touch comment and Sam's hand grounded him. He was here, with his friends, even if the world was falling apart. Even if his world was falling apart.

"What the Empress claims to have done is impossible!" his mom cried. "Impossible! She's a ghost. Ghosts lie." Lie. Ghosts lie. Did Danny lie? He did—he lied about everything. Where were you last night? Why did you skip class? What is that bruise on your face from?

"The sky is green, Maddie," Sam said, furious. "Or hadn't you noticed?" She faced Danny and held his arm. "Let's go," she urged. And then, in a whisper, "I don't think they're going to start listening anytime soon—bobble-head or no."

Danny nodded, though he felt bad about leaving Jazz here. But they're not trying to "cure" her. She'll be fine. Tucker grabbed his other arm.

Danny's mom gripped her hair, and Danny heard her words, so quiet his ears just five days before wouldn't have been able to pick them up.

"I'm so sorry, Danny. We'll find a way to fix you—we'll find a way to reverse the damage we did."

And then they teleported away.

It hurt less than Mikey thought it should. Not to say it didn't hurt—it did, but the pain was like a campfire compared to the raging inferno it should've been. He laid in the darkness, his arms and torso and legs smarting vaguely. Why is everything dark? His eyes were closed—right. Straining, he opened them.

He was in a small hospital room. No sign of his parents. What had happened? Had it been a ghost attack? No—he remembered. Running after Nathan, seeing that strange ghost on the other side of the shield. Being crushed under a car. The room was blurry; he didn't have his glasses. They must've broken.

"You're awake," a voice said from his right. Mikey turned to see Abigail, sitting in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs with her arm in a sling. She was okay, then. She was here.

Mikey grunted, his mouth dry. How eloquent. He tried again. "How's Nathan? What's happened? How long have I been asleep?"

Abigail made an odd whimpering noise, the kind he'd never heard from her before. He squinted—was she crying? He couldn't tell—without his glasses, the world was blurry.

"Abigail?" he asked.

"Nathan died yesterday," she said, drawing in a hiccupping, gasping breath. "His injuries were just too much. He didn't even wake up, before—" She choked on her own tears, her own grief, that much Mikey could tell. He didn't have much experience with grief—an only child to two healthy parents.

His parents. Nathan.

Nathan was dead. Mikey's brain struggled to connect the idea that the boy he'd ran after, the boy he'd tried to stop from leaving the safety of the shield, was dead. Gone—just like that. Like he'd never been.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, his voice cold and far away. Was it really him, with that voice? He felt like he was bursting with emotion, falling apart at the seams that held him whole. He'd fall into little pieces: Mikey's head here, Mikey's feet there, his hands in a different place.

"A couple days," Abigail whispered. Mikey watched as she wiped her eyes. "It didn't fix anything, you know."

"What didn't fix anything?" That same voice. Mikey could feel himself cracking. Nathan—the boy who'd made obnoxious but loveable D&D characters, the boy who had played videogames with him—that boy was dead? No. Mikey had seen him… Seen him just a few days ago…

"The texts. The ghosts—whatever they were trying to do, they did it. The world's ended."

"It can't have ended," Mikey pointed out, still feeling fuzzy. They must've had him on some strong painkillers. "We're all still here."

"The sky is green." Abigail sobbed. "The sky is green," she repeated, "and the city has been destroyed. Nothing is right." Gone was the cool, level-headed friend Mikey knew. Grief does strange things to people… "Hundreds if not thousands are dead, Mikey. What could you call this, except the end?"

The end. Apocalypse. Like something out of a movie—only it was very real. Thousands dead. "That's—Phantom would've…" The half-ghost hadn't showed up to stop that ghost outside from killing people—he had failed. And he apparently hadn't checked his phone, either. Or maybe he had, but he hadn't been able to stop it anyway.

And Nathan was dead. What if Danny had let them help, instead of ignoring them? What if he'd encouraged Nathan, instead of putting him down? (What if you'd done that, Mikey?) Would he still be around? Grief does strange things to people…

The rational of Mikey knew he was looking for someone to blame for Nathan's death, someone other than himself. This wasn't something unheard of. But still… He had a point, didn't he?

"Is your family okay?" he questioned.

"My siblings are," Abigail said. She had three older siblings—two brothers and a sister. "I don't know about my parents. None of us have seen them."

None of us have seen them. What about Mikey's own parents? Had they gotten his message? Had they escaped the end of days? Was it only a matter of time before they all died? I thought Phantom could save us. But he hadn't. His hero hadn't come to rescue him. No one had come. No one had cared for Mikey and Nathan and Abigail.

You're being irrational, he told himself, but that didn't keep the spite from coming up. Danny didn't deserve it; he'd clearly been pushed past the brink, when Mikey had seen him last. Those blood-shot eyes, that tired mouth… Still. He was the hero. Wasn't it his job to save people like Nathan?

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry. Have you seen…"

Even as blurry as she was, he could tell she'd shaken her head.

"No," she replied. "I haven't seen your parents. None of the phones can get service, wifi doesn't work—there's no way to get ahold of them"

"Right," he said. "They probably think I'm dead."

If they weren't dead themselves. Abigail had made the invasion sound devastating. Destruction in Amity wasn't uncommon, but it wasn't usually on such a large scale. He wondered how the city was coping, how the cleanup was going. And the phones being down…

You're distracting yourself.

"The sky is green?" he asked. He wouldn't think about his parents—or about Nathan. Nathan… The boy had been so upset, so angry and hurt. Had Mikey done that to him? Had he made his friend feel unheard? Was it his fault? No, it's the fault of the people who were supposed to protect him. He ignored how childish the thought was.

"Yes," Abigail said. "And apparently there was some kind of earthquake. No one really understands what happened. But the hospitals are overflowing, strained to the breaking point." Her voice was still shaky. Sad.

Usually, Mikey would've been curious to be faced with such a puzzle—a green sky, an earthquake. But now all he felt was apathy. Nathan was dead. His parents might be dead, too. Amity had been destroyed—and who knew what the rest of the world looked like?

Phantom had failed. He'd probably resent Mikey's texts, as angry at this interference as he'd been with Mary Yang's interview. He knew he was being ridiculous, that Danny had had perfectly valid reasons for being upset.

But Mikey had to blame someone, or he would blame himself.

"You can't just do that, Tucker!" Mrs. Foley shouted. "You can't just leave! We thought you knew better than that; we thought you understood that you were not to leave the house!"

The three of them sat on the Foleys' couch, candles providing illumination. They smelled sweet—maybe maple? All three had dried sweat on their foreheads, dust sticking there. Both Sam and Tucker had taken off their hardhats and their gloves. Their masks were pulled down around their necks. Danny had transformed as soon as he arrived, not keen on letting his parents follow him.

His mother drawing the thermos, trying to capture him, played over and over in his mind, how angry and desperate she'd been, how oddly devoid of exuberance his dad had been. They'd both been so wrong.

The Foleys' couch smelled like fabric and the faintest hint of something chemically; they liked to keep a clean house. Even in the low lighting, he could see the individual threads making up the pattern. Absently, he ran his finger across them, and it felt rough to him—too rough. He'd sat on the couch before and had never had a problem.

Mrs. and Mr. Foley stood in front of them, sometimes pacing back and forth. Mr. Foley alternated from looking stern and smoothing his mustache. Mrs. Foley kept crossing her arms or putting them on her hips.

"Do you understand how worried we were? We went out looking for you, and we couldn't find you anywhere! We didn't know when—or if—you'd come home! You can't just leave. The world's in the middle of a crisis!" Mrs. Foley cried.

"Leaving without telling us was very irresponsible," Mr. Foley added. "Of all of you." He let his eyes move over the three of them, his mustache twitching. It's irresponsible, Danny heard in his mind. The Foleys aren't my parents—they understand better.

Even if they didn't understand completely.

"Would you have let us go if we'd told you?" Tucker asked.

"Don't take that tone with us," Mrs. Foley warned. "We understand that you three are used to doing things on your own, but you cannot just leave."

"From now on," Mr. Foley added, "you're not to leave the house. Sam, I'm sorry, but now that Danny's better, you need to stay with your own folks. And so long as you're staying with us, Danny, the no leaving rule applies to you, too."

No leaving. How was he supposed to stop the Empress if he couldn't leave Tucker's house? He'd be stuck again. Useless again. The Foleys had been more than understanding, by Danny's estimation, and he felt like he understood. Danny had endangered their only son—over and over and over. And if the situation hadn't been so dire, he would've agreed.

But he had to fight the Empress. He had to help. It had been him who'd failed. He wouldn't let himself just sit here; he needed a plan. And he'd need Sam and Tucker for that. They'd been by his side through it all, and they were capable of coming up with plans on their own. Along with him, they understood ghosts more than anyone.

And the ghosts knew them better than they knew most humans.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Foley, but I can't do that. Danny being better means I have to come around more often," Sam said, her voice firm. Danny could tell she was restraining herself; had this been any other adult, she probably would've torn into them. But this was her friend's dad, and a good man in his own right. So she'd be respectful.

"No, Sam," Mrs. Foley said. Her eyes were sharp, focused. They almost glowed, though Danny knew that was just his weird vision. "I know your family hasn't been letting you come here. They deserve to have you home, safe."

"But the world needs us," Sam said. "Or Danny, at least—but we're a package deal."

"You've done important work," Mr. Foley acknowledged. "And we couldn't be prouder of that—you've saved lives—" And my failure took lives. "We understand that. But this is bigger than you three. And I'm sorry, but your safety is very important. You may think you're adults, but you're only sixteen. The world isn't your responsibility. You need to go home, Sam."

Almost seventeen. And not their responsibility? If they didn't do it, who would? The ghosts, who could barely speak to one another without violence breaking out? Some of them had even sided with the Empress. Could the GIW, who wanted to wipe ghosts out of existence, be relied on to save the world? They were more likely to destroy it. His parents? They didn't even believe the Zone and Earth had been merged.

And they were so focused on curing him… Danny saw his mom whip out the thermos in his head again, and again, and again. He saw them telling him they'd cure him, even if he was their son. They'd fix him. The guilt in his mom's face as she clutched her head, whispering that she'd undo the damage they'd done to him. His heart constricted painfully, as though a hand was squeezing the blood from it, bit by bit.

Danny didn't know that anyone outside of Amity even knew about ghosts, or knew enough, or had the resources to do something. Maybe Danny didn't either, but he knew he had the best shot. It wasn't arrogance, he didn't think—he knew he couldn't do it on his own, and if he managed to stop the Empress and unmerge the worlds, it would be by the skin of his teeth. It would take every ounce of his strength and intelligence he had.

But he had to try. He had to try. He had to save them—save the innocent people the Empress was killing even now, slaughtering them after a devastating earthquake.

"Dad, please," Tucker said. "We fought off most of the ghosts—can't you show a little trust that we know what we're doing?"

Mr. Foley shook his head. "You've been hurt before. Danny almost died fighting off the invasion; we saw enough to know that, don't deny it. You have to be safe."

"And if that safety comes at the expense of everyone else?" Danny asked softly, meeting his eyes. "Mr. Foley, we know the dangers ghosts pose probably better than anyone else. Please—you have to let us do what we do best, what we've been doing for the last two years."

"It's lunacy!" Mrs. Foley exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "You are children. We are not sending you out there to die, do you understand? Saving the world can't be done by three teenagers, I'm sorry."

"But we already have," Sam said. "There was Freakshow."

"Pariah sort of counts, right?" Tucker muttered.

"And Dan," Danny added.

Mr. Foley sighed. "What do you mean, you 'already have'? The ghosts have never posed a danger to the entire world."

Sam couldn't stop herself from scoffing, though she did mutter a sorry when Mrs. Foley stared at her. Danny wished she were better at reigning in her anger. But she seemed… darker. So did Tucker. And he probably did, too. They had all changed. And not for the better, it seemed. The years of hunting, recent exposure, the invasion, and the merging had each done their part in re-forging them, melting them down and re-shaping them into something similar but more brittle, more prone to cracking.

"Freakshow definitely posed a danger to the entire world," Tucker told his parents. "He was this man… He got something called the 'infinity gauntlet,' and he used it to shape and change the world around him, manipulate reality. We stopped him. Pariah… If we hadn't stopped him, I don't know if he would've gone further than Amity. And Dan—"

"In a way," Danny interrupted, "Dan did destroy the world. He was a… separate timeline. The future." That inescapable guilt seeped from inside, from his heart and his core, spilling out between his ribs, right under his skin. He couldn't escape it; it was a part of him, now. As much as his hands or his eyes or his hair—his guilt was there, too. Constant. Guilt for failing, guilt for Dan. It didn't always make sense, but it was all-consuming.

Mr. Foley rubbed his forehead. "I—fine. Okay." He didn't seem to know what else to say. Danny supposed he wouldn't know how to react either if his son had not only been secretly ghost-hunting but also claimed to have saved the world with his two friends.

"That doesn't make the world your responsibility," Mrs. Foley said.

"But it does!" Sam exclaimed. "Who else is going to do it?"

Danny's thoughts exactly. There was no one else, realistically. It was all on them—his parents wouldn't listen, the GIW couldn't be trusted, the ghosts were fragmented and prone to fighting. Anyone else didn't have the knowledge—though Danny would be the first to admit he needed help. I can't fail again. Not again. But to succeed, he would have to be allowed to try.

"Not you!" Mrs. Foley shot back. "Experts, people with equipment."

She sounded so much like Danny's parents during the interview. Leave it to the adults. And at the end, trying to convince him to tell them his identity because they were "experts."

"Mom, those people, even if they existed before, are probably dead." Tucker's voice had gone solemn, something Danny was seeing more and more from his usually light-hearted friend. There was a terrible hurt in his eyes, a sort of steel Danny had known was there but had rarely seen. "Don't you get it? There's no one else."

"That's not true," Mr. Foley said. "We can discuss this more in the morning—"

"I'll fight either way," Tucker vowed. "Whether you let me or not. And Danny won't say it, but he'll do the same." Mrs. Foley's face pinched; Mr. Foley's brows drew down.

"Tucker, you can't. You'll get hurt, or worse—"

"I've already been hurt," Tucker said. "And I survived. You'll just have to trust me. We can do this."

"Can you promise that?" Mrs. Foley asked, voice pained. Her face was crumpled under the weight of letting her only child go. "Can you promise us you'll survive, baby? That you can 'save the world'?"

And Tucker nodded. "I can." He was lying through his teeth, they all knew that. But there was no other option; it was either do this or watch what was left of the world burn. And Danny knew this conversation wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Valerie thought a lot over the days that followed re-uniting with El. She thought long and hard and came to a decision: she wouldn't side with the Fentons, at least not completely, when it came to "curing" half-ghosts. They were experts, yes, but they hadn't even known about half-ghosts until a month ago. And now wasn't exactly the time to try and figure it out, not with the "merged worlds."

She'd left well enough alone. When she saw Phantom or El come up on her radar, she hadn't gone to speak with either. El would need a while to cool down, and Phantom—or Danny… She needed to speak with him, tell him how sorry she was, but after a night's sleep, her mind wasn't as clouded as it had been. She knew he probably didn't want to see her, wasn't in any shape to see her.

And the soft flickers on her radar hadn't exactly brought her to believe that Danny was entirely recovered. It wasn't until five days later that Valerie saw a sustained ghost signature from him. And even then, she was hesitant. What if he didn't want to hear her? Or worse—what if he thought she was there to hurt him? Though, Phantom had never been afraid of her. Nor had Danny. Danny hadn't even really avoided her except for the past few weeks, and that had only been noticeable when she'd thought about it.

You did sort of shoot him. Multiple times. And hate him for ruining your life. And let that blind you, even when you knew he was half-human. The mistakes hurt, but Valerie knew she would be fine.

She and her dad were staying at the high school-turned-refugee camp with hundreds of others. They'd been provided blankets, food, water, candles—though Valerie knew it wouldn't last forever. The city was shut down: hardly anyone was on the roads, phone signals still didn't work, and they hadn't heard anything from the outside world. They had no idea when or if supplies would be given to them. Everyone was trying to conserve gas, food—everything. Goods were being rationed at stores, on Mayor Jones orders. She was the highest authority, now. They didn't know anything about the governor, the senators, the president.

Valerie had gone out twice since the invasion in her suit, which had thankfully not been damaged, to help clear debris. She'd seen three ghost signatures, but when she saw El's near them, clearly interacting… The ghosts didn't seem to pose a current threat, and she didn't need to get on El's bad side anymore than she already had. She left well enough alone. Again.

But now she heard a disturbance. She'd stashed her suit in her dad's car, which was parked just down the street. Valerie sat up from where she'd been lying on her blanket, in the corner she and her dad had reserved for themselves. Light came from the windows, enough to see by. Most of the candles were unlit to save them for when they were needed. The flashlights and lanterns they kept completely off unless they were needed badly.

Valerie stood and made her way toward the door, carefully stepping over or around blankets, personal belongs, and people. They had lost their homes, probably—just like Valerie. Except she had never really considered that shitty apartment her home, not even for a second. She had recovered a few of her things from the rubble, mostly sentimental things (though she had also dug up any cash or food she could find. Most of it had been ruined). She'd been filled with relief when, digging through the wreckage, she'd found a picture of her mom, as well as a couple of her favorite books.

The disturbance turned out to be a man shouting loudly to Mr. Lancer—some old man with graying hair and a rather red face. Spittle flew from his lips, and Mr. Lancer didn't seem pleased about it. He had the same look on his face he got when one of his students half-assed their essays.

"—saw it! They're gathering out there, and we need to do something about it! They're going to try and attack again, sure as shit they are," the old man was saying. "We need to gather up everyone back in here in case the outer shield falls!" He reminded Valerie of those paranoid people she'd hear in the street, preaching about the end of the world.

She supposed she owed them an apology, too. It was the end of the world.

"We'll get right on that," Mr. Lancer soothed. He patted the old man's shoulder gently. "I'll find someone to take care of it—"

"You'd best find those young people!" the old man said. "That young man saved my life. They fought the ghosts while everyone else ran. Or that Phantom fellow—he's done good work, he has."

That was interesting. Many older people looked on Phantom with disdain for the property damage. Most of his approval came from younger people. Valerie had always wondered whether it was the pretty face or cocky attitude. That was maybe unfair of her; Danny had helped people, she could see that now.

Still. He did have sort of a pretty face. It reminded her of El's.

"I promise, I will find someone to check it out," Mr. Lancer said. "You look tired, though—why don't you sit down, maybe we can get you some water."

"I don't need water, son; I need to know something is being done!" Nevertheless, he let a tired-looking Mr. Lancer—who was wearing a rumpled, un-tucked plaid shirt and torn jeans (Valerie had never once in her life see him wear jeans. She hadn't thought he owned any)—guide him to a bench, where he sat.

Mr. Lancer had all but taken control of the makeshift "refugee" camp. He'd written down the names of everyone there, made sure everyone had blankets and food. He'd even helped transport those who'd been injured to the hospital. No one had seen principal Ishiyama. Valerie hoped she was only at the hospital and not the alternative.

Lancer gave the old man bottled water and some crackers, who, despite his gruffness, took it with a thank-you. As Mr. Lancer began to walk away, Valerie took the chance.

She approached. "Mr. Lancer?" she asked, and he stopped walking. He had bags beneath his eyes, and his beard was already rough and untrimmed. Not at all how he usually kept it. Well, Valerie probably didn't look her best either. "What was all that about?"

"Nothing you need to be worried about," Mr. Lancer said, swiping a hand across his bald head. It caught on the stubble there. It was so weird not to see it perfectly shaved.

"I'm curious," Valerie said. "He seemed upset." She knew her teacher respected an inquisitive mind, even if it was an obvious ploy.

Lancer sighed. "There are ghosts gathering at the edge of the shield. Some think they're gearing up for another attack."

Valerie frowned. "Why didn't he go tell the Fentons? Or, I don't know, anyone else?" Maybe it came out rude, but Valerie knew she was nothing if not blunt.

"I don't know. And I don't know how to find anyone. None of the phones work—not even radio works," Lancer muttered, lost in his own head. He wasn't paying attention to her anymore. "And who knows if Phantom's even up for it. I haven't seen him in almost a week."

Gathering ghosts sounded bad. Valerie's first inclination was to gear up and take care of them herself. But that would be a mistake, maybe. She didn't know how many there were, why they were here. Maybe it was some kind of scouting mission for the Empress to see how the aftermath of her attack had gone.

But unlike Mr. Lancer, Valerie did know where to find Phantom—and Sam and Tucker, probably. The "young people" the old man was talking about, presumably. She thought of going to the Fentons, but… This was a good excuse to go and see Danny. And he wouldn't have reason to immediately kick her out.

"Okay. Thanks, Mr. Lancer," she said, but he didn't even seem to hear her. He definitely didn't notice as she left the building; he surely would've said something to try and stop her if he had.

She had someone she needed to talk to.

Valerie knocked on the door tentatively, the sharp clink of metal against wood loud in the silence of the street. The streets, she'd noticed, looked a lot better now than they had originally; Amity's teams worked fast, and with nothing to do but help clean, volunteers had been abundant. Or so she figured, at least.

Tucker's house was a nice two-story building. There was a car in the driveway, probably another in the garage. The car outside—an Impala—was rather beat-up. Valerie thought it must've been used recently, because it was covered in dust. Most of the buildings in the neighborhood were still standing.

The door swung open slowly to reveal Tucker, wearing his thick glasses but without his customary red beret. "Oh," he said. "It's you." His lips tugged into a frown.

"Yes. Me," Valerie said. Her faceplate was lifted; she saw no reason to hide from people who already knew who she was. And she wasn't ashamed of who she was, anyway. She was proud to be the Red Huntress, prouder than she was of getting good grades, prouder than she was of almost anything. Yes, she had made mistakes, but that pride was still in her, keeping her spine straight and her head high. "Can I talk to Danny?"

"Wait here," Tucker said, not replying. He shut the door on her, and Valerie couldn't blame him for that. He'll say yes. Danny might've seemed frightened of his own shadow at times, but Phantom's no pushover. But which was the real Danny? The overconfident hero who shied from nothing, or the shy boy who took bullying from people like Dash?

Valerie hoped to find out.

When the door opened maybe a minute later, Danny stood there. He looked much the same as always, and Valerie realized she had expected him to look different. But she could see no hint of his ghostly attributes—it was only Danny. Tired, rumpled, human Danny. The face may've been the same, but nothing else seemed to be. Not the way he held himself, not his eyes.

"We should talk outside," Danny said, glancing back. Tucker stood behind him, and he stepped out first, followed by the ghost boy. That name, which used to slip off her tongue so naturally seemed rotten now—expired.

"Right." Valerie stepped back to make room. There were chairs in the front, and she sat in one, Tucker and Danny arranging them so they sat across from her. Two separate sides, two different teams. Enemies.

Not anymore. He hasn't even changed forms. Or did he simply not see her as a threat? No, in the park, he'd considered her more of a threat than the ghost. Did this mean he trusted her now?

"Was there something you wanted, Valerie?" Danny asked. "Or did you just come to stare at me?" Valerie blinked; she had been staring.

Oops. Not off to a great start.

"No," she said. "I came to talk to you."

"Well, you've done a great job so far. You've said all of two words." Danny raised an eyebrow, the cocky expression unnatural on his human face. Still, Valerie could see Phantom's overlaying it in her mind's eye. She'd been so blind, not to see it before. And it was such a Phantom thing to say, in that lazy, I have a smartass comeback, sort of tone.

It infuriated her, usually, but right now she only felt confused—because this was Danny.

"Maybe like ten, if you count what she said to me," Tucker muttered.

Valerie scowled. "Sorry for needing more than two seconds to process the fact that you're Phantom." Tucker could stay out of it; this was between her and Danny. No one else.

"Was there anything specific you wanted to talk about?" Danny prodded. His tone wasn't exactly derisive. But it wasn't not derisive, either.

"Yes, actually," Valerie said. She had to apologize—for shooting him, for the rooftop. But as she opened her mouth to say it, she found it more difficult than she'd anticipated. He had shot back, after all. And he could've tried to explain the whole dog thing earlier… No. He could've done things differently maybe, but that doesn't make what I did right. "I'm sorry."

"For what? Specifically?" Danny asked. "I don't want to be mean, Valerie, but there's kind of a lot… here." He gestured between them.

Valerie grimaced. "Yeah. I know." She leaned back. "I'm sorry for shooting you and revealing that you had a secret identity. And I'm sorry for tricking you on the rooftop." Danny paused, letting the silence stretch. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture reminding her of the rooftop.

"Okay," he said, decisively. Valerie had to restrain herself from demanding what that meant, but she didn't have to wait long. "I forgive you."

What? Shock made her go cold, as though she'd taken a plunge into an icy river. No way. No way he forgave me that fast; no one forgives anyone that fast.

Tucker made a choking noise next to him. "Dude—she injured you. Like, physically. And probably psychologically." Valerie would've been a little offended at that last part if her brain hadn't been busy short-circuiting. She'd been prepared to defend her case, to argue—for hours if needed. But those thoughts evaporated away with the knowledge that somehow, impossibly, Danny had already forgiven her.

"And Technus almost killed billions of people," Danny shot back at Tucker. "I forgave him, basically. Tolerated him for the sake of necessity." He's going to "tolerate me"? That was a insulting, but she guessed that was better than arguing with him for forgiveness.

"Look, I hate to be the 'unforgiving Sam' in this situation," Tucker said, and if that wasn't the most accurate sentence Valerie had ever heard, "but it is not the same."

"Is it the same if I remind you that Technus exposed my half-human nature in the first place?" Danny replied. Valerie almost felt like they were speaking another language. Who the hell was this "Technus"? A ghost? The name did sound kind of familiar…

"Point." Tucker rubbed his temple.

"Wait a second—you're really going to forgive me? Just like that?" Valerie snapped her fingers, the sound odd because of her gauntlets. "No—no anything?"

"I guess we could argue if you want to," Danny said, shrugging. The lines on his face somehow seemed deeper, as though he'd aged three decades and not three weeks since Valerie had last seen him. "But I need all the allies I can get at the moment. I won't alienate you because of our… difficulties. But I will say this: I'll forgive you, Valerie, but don't think that means I've forgotten."

Still, it wasn't an explanation. Valerie wanted a motive—right.

His parents. He was probably just happy she wasn't trying to cure him. And while Valerie could admit the prospect was still appealing, now was not the time. She wanted El and Danny to have normal, human lives. It was unfair to them to not explore the possibility of a cure. Some part of them had to want to be fully human. The Fentons were right about one thing: having a ghost half probably came with odd side effects.

That was why he was so forgiving; he knew how bad the alternative could be. Or maybe it was that same desperation from the rooftop, needing allies to fight the Empress.

"Fine," she said. "I wasn't expecting it to be this easy, anyway." And now for the other reasons she was there. "I have some information for you," she began carefully. "The apology wasn't the only reason I came."

"I guess asking for it to be would've been too much," Danny said. "So, what is it?" That tiredness was back—what the hell had happened to him during the invasion? Jazz had said he'd been injured, not… this. He seemed to be exhausted, a shadow of the boy she'd known only a month ago. It was as though he was carrying a heavy burden, one invisible to everyone else.

"Ghosts are gathering at the edge of the shield," she said. Danny shot up, accidentally pushing back his chair. It scraped against the concrete.

"Why the hell didn't you lead with that?" he growled, his face morphing into something angry. "Do you know what they looked like?"

"No. And don't raise your voice at me," Valerie said, standing so they were nose-to-nose (oddly, he seemed to have grown a few inches in the past two weeks).

"The Empress had things that were able to break through the shield, you get me?" Danny demanded. "This is important. Do you know what part of the shield?"

She shook her head. "No, he didn't say." She should've asked that old man—he might've known.

"Fuck," Danny cursed. Valerie didn't think she'd ever heard him curse—not in his human form, anyway. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. Valerie, we're going to fly to the shield, and I'll go right, you go left. When one of us finds the ghosts, they'll tell the other person."

Valerie's initial urge was to reject the suggestion simply because she didn't take orders, thanks. But the plan was sound, so she let it pass. And he just forgave you, Valerie—do you really want to mess that up right after?

"And what am I supposed to do?" Tucker asked, standing. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Get the Fenton phones—we'll communicate through them," Danny said. Tucker didn't budge an inch. "Look, man, I'm sorry, but your parents aren't going to like it if you leave again."

Tucker frowned. "Yeah. You're right. Okay—but I have three sets of phones. Sam accidentally left hers here. You'll tell me what you find, and if you need back-up, okay?"

"Deal," Danny said, and Tucker went back inside the house. Valerie could hear a woman talking inside, though she couldn't make out what she was saying. Danny cocked his head, as if he was listening.

"His parents?" she asked.

"That's none of your business," Danny replied. "Unless, for some reason, Tucker wants you to know."

The statement reminded her of El and her repeated insistence that it wasn't any of Valerie's business to follow her to Fenton Works. And the memory alerted something else in her brain, something that tried to slip out of her reach when she tried to remember.

"You don't have any aunts or uncles, right?" Valerie asked. "I mean, except for the one in Arkansas?" Danny watched her guardedly, probably wondering why she wanted to know.

"No, I don't," he finally answered, looking away.

"Then how exactly is El your—" She was cut off as the door opened, revealing Tucker with weird green airpod things in his ears. They were bulkier, though—almost like one of those ear bluetooths.

"Here," Tucker said, handing them each a pair.

"Thanks," Danny murmured.

"I thought nothing was working," Valerie couldn't help but say as she took one. "Not cell service, not wifi, not even walkie-talkies."

"My parents made these for the Ghost Zone," Danny said, putting them expertly into his ears. Valerie did it more awkwardly, what with the suit, but she managed eventually. They seemed to fit okay. "This version's actually less bulky than the original."

So they weren't affected by the merge, like everything else had been. Valerie wondered what else the Fentons had made that might be of use. And could they somehow mass-produce these?

"Try not to get hurt," Tucker told Danny as he changed into Phantom. Valerie couldn't help but stare as the boy she had dated briefly transformed into the ghost she'd regarded as her greatest enemy. "Sam will kill me."

"Right after she kills me," Danny noted, flying into the air. "You coming?" he asked, looking at her. Coming. Yes. Valerie swooped up beside him.

Together, they flew to the shield. This was almost weirder than seeing him transform; never had they really flown together. It had always been her chasing after him. Many of the streets were clear beneath them, though there were still collapsed buildings every so often. Six days wasn't enough time to truly clean a city, but Valerie thought, again, they'd done an excellent job.

When they reached the shield, Phantom—Danny—said, "I'll take right, you take left. Tell me the second you see a group of ghosts."

"Same goes for you," Valerie said. And for the second time in maybe ten minutes, she did as he asked, swerving left. Interestingly, his tone hadn't been commanding or conceited—it was almost matter-of-fact. Expectant. I'll do my job, but I need you to do yours, too. It wouldn't have worked, three weeks ago. Maybe not even six days ago. It seemed like six decades.

She scanned the area just outside the shield. Just forest or fields, knocked down or cracked because of the merging. Nothing. More nothing. Broken roads. A few birds—she was glad they hadn't all died or something. Who knew what ectoplasm could do to living things?

And then—there.

"I found them," Valerie said into the phones. "The ghosts."

"Where?" Phantom asked, his voice echoey even across the line. Valerie glanced around for a landmark.

"You know that weird thrift shop?" she said, squinting to see the name. "At the edge of town? It sells like weird occult stuff. It's, um—" She'd been there all of once.

"Hugo's Odds and Ends," Danny said. "Yeah, I know the place." And in a flash of green, he was there. Before Valerie could think about it, she'd raised her gun, ready to fire.

"Jesus Christ!" she cried. "Don't do that!" She lowered her weapon. God, was he trying to get her to shoot him again?

"Sorry." He didn't sound sorry at all. He flew down to the ground, peering at the group of ghosts on the other side of the shield.

They were honestly the weirdest bunch of ghosts Valerie had ever seen—at least together. There were a couple of giant, furry-looking things, what looked like a green wolf-man, the robot ghost with flaming hair that had once trapped her and Phantom on an island in the Zone—Skulker, maybe? She couldn't quite remember—and a ghost that appeared to be some college hipster-elf mixture.

"Ghost child!" the robot ghost shouted, maybe a foot from the shield. "You have arrived! I—Skulker, the Ghost Zone's greatest hunter—promise not to fire at you if you let us in."

"Let you in?" Danny transformed back into a human. His sweatpants and loose shirt seemed out of place in a confrontation with what looked like dangerous ghosts. "Skulker, why should I let you in?" He looked at the rest of them, the tension in his muscles fading slightly. "Wulf. Glad to see you're okay."

The green wolf-man raised a massive paw and smiled, showing off sharp teeth. "Yes, amiko. I am… glad, also." Danny was glad this thing was okay? Valerie landed beside him.

"These your friends?" she muttered.

"Wulf is. Skulker isn't. The yetis probably are, and Ghostwriter and I are neutral," Danny replied, equally as quiet. Then, he did something she wasn't expecting.

He walked through the shield.

Valerie was prepared to defend him—he wasn't in his ghost form, for God's sake—but none of the ghosts fired like she thought they would. Even Skulker stayed its hand, though she watched the fingers twitch, as though it had to keep reminding itself not to shoot.

"The hell are you playing?" she demanded. He ignored her.

"What are you all doing here?" Danny asked. And because Valerie was no coward (and because Danny thought it was safe enough), she stepped out after him. None of the ghosts paid her much mind, which she thought was unfair. She was infinitely more likely to shoot them than Danny seemed to be.

She kept herself ready to fire, and she watched Skulker especially. She hadn't forgotten what it had done.

"The yetis threw me out," Skulker said, glaring at the two yetis near it. These yetis threw it out? The two "yetis" had horns on their heads and spears strapped to their backs. They had to be close to seven or eight feet tall. Valerie tried not to be intimidated.

"You broke our rules," one of them said sourly. It had a feminine voice, which Valerie hadn't been expecting. "You tried to skin one of our snow leopards! We granted you asylum from the Empress on the condition that you behave—not become a criminal."

"Its pelt was very fine," Skulker said. "It would've been a worthy addition to my collection."

"It was my pet!" the other yeti exclaimed, oddly distraught. Its voice was deeper. Ghosts can have pets? And "asylum"? What the hell? The whole conversation was surreal—were they lying? Putting on some kind of show to be more sympathetic? It seemed extreme, even for ghosts.

"I would have given you compensation," Skulker defended. "I am not unreasonable."

Danny sighed. "What has brought you all here?" Danny asked, looking at them—except Wulf, who he seemed, for some reason, to like.

"Isn't it obvious?" the hipster-elf hybrid said. "We seek your protection, Phantom." Danny glanced around, as though waiting for one of the ghosts to say psych! And Valerie couldn't blame him—protection? Danny fought ghosts; he didn't give them protection. Valerie had seen him defeat Skulker more than once.

"Protection?" he elongated the word. "My protection?" His tone was disbelieving. Valerie couldn't agree more.

"He's not protecting you," Valerie interjected. "The city won't protect you—none of us will. You should leave." She would've already driven them off, but Danny seemed oddly fond of the Wulf one.

Danny glanced at her. "Just—explain, please," he said, facing the ghosts. He didn't contradict what she'd said, but he didn't support it, either.

"You are the only one who has stood against the Empress and won outright," Ghostwriter explained. "Far Frozen has lasted, but only because the Empress didn't concentrate her full might there. Skulker's home was destroyed, as was mine. We thought you would be willing to help us."

"Actually." The feminine-sounding yeti raised a finger. "We did not come for protection, Great One. We came to escort—" Here it said something Valerie didn't understand. "—El." Oh! These were the yetis El had been staying with.

"Well, I thank you," Danny said, bowing shallowly at them. The action seemed to embarrass them. And "Great One"—what the hell was that about?

"Can we get back to the matter at hand?" the hipster-looking ghost asked. "Are you willing to offer us your protection or not?"

Danny sighed, running his hands through his hair, but he actually seemed to be considering it. Letting ghosts, willing, into Amity, which had just been destroyed by ghosts. The things were violent and dangerous, and if they were allowed in, people would get hurt.

"Danny, you can't!" Valerie cried. "They're ghosts!" He had to understand how bad of an idea this was. It was just like that ghost in the park—they fed him some sob story and he fell right for it! He knew better than this.

"I'm well aware," Danny said. He addressed the two yetis, "Do you intend to stay?"

"We don't know yet, Great One," the one with the deeper voice said. "We must speak to El first, before we depart."

"Okay." Danny nodded. "Okay. So, the rest of you can camp out with Dora for now—there's safety in numbers, and if the Empress for some reason comes back, we'll be all together, ready to fight. Those that get injured will be able to go inside the shield, but I know all of you can fight."

"You'll use us as a first-line defense for your precious humans?" Ghostwriter demanded. "Do you even care?"

"Any noncombatants we can probably let inside the shield," Danny continued. "Or those who don't want to fight. But right now, it's too difficult to ferry you between the shield—and yes, you are more equipped to fight ghosts than the average human. Maybe we can come up with some sort of system, with ghost signatures…" His eyes went far away.

That did sound better than letting the ghosts run willy-nilly inside the shield, free to terrorize Amity's residents. But still. Ghosts. He couldn't be serious.

"Danny, you can't—" she started.

"You expect us to stay with Dora?" Skulker interrupted. "She doesn't like me. I tried to capture her once. That dragon head of hers would look excellent on my wall."

"I guess you'll just have to apologize," Danny said blandly. "The camp's that way." He pointed. "I'll check up on you tomorrow, probably. We can work out more of a compromise, then. Okay?" This was directed at the hipster ghost.

"Fine. I'll do as you say for now, Phantom," Ghostwriter said. "But don't expect me to sacrifice myself for anyone—especially humans who don't care about me."

Danny rolled his eyes as the ghosts flew off, the two yetis bowing deeply to him, which made him flush.

"Okay, what the fuck was all that?" Valerie asked. "You're letting them stay? What the hell? You can't! If they're let inside, they'll destroy everything!"

"I'm surprised you managed that long," Danny said. He looked at his wrist, as though checking a watch. "You spent a whole ten minutes in the presence of ghosts without once shooting at them. That's progress, I think."

"Don't be a smartass," Valerie said. "Tell me what that was all about!"

"You heard them. And you heard me. They want my protection in case the Empress or her ghosts attack them. I said yes—basically. What else is there to know?" Danny asked, as though the entire situation was normal, and he had not just promised to defend ghosts, the things that had been plaguing the city for years.

"I don't know—maybe why you said yes?" Valerie demanded. "You can't seriously be thinking of letting them inside the shield. They'll hurt and kill people!"

Danny sighed. "Skulker might. The rest of them? They're probably fine. I might need to get some more people on board, though."

"More people on board? You need to reevaluate your priorities! You can't protect both humans and ghosts, not when the ghosts want to hurt or kill humans."

"I'm as much a ghost as I am a human, Valerie," Danny said. "They have a right to my protection like any person." And in that moment, Valerie saw just what the Fentons were afraid of—their son, loyal to ghosts, thinking like a ghost. Living among them, adopting their violence, their terror. Until he wasn't human any more.

But now isn't the time to try and fix it, Valerie told herself firmly. It wasn't. The Fentons were wrong in that.

"You can't do both," she said. "You can't."

"There's something I need to do," he said, very reminiscent of their conversation on the rooftop. "Don't follow me. We can talk more later, okay?" And he stepped back inside the shield, transformed into Phantom, and teleported before Valerie could so much as blink.

AN: Sorry this is so late. I'm hoping the next one will be in a week or less. Real life has started picking up again, and then I was feeling down. Valdez will not be making a re-appearance because I find myself entirely uninterested in portraying the police in a positive light. I've decided to leave her in the earlier part of the story because her original purpose was for realism (but if you think that's insensitive of me, please let me know).

If you have the money, I would encourage donations (if you don't there are also petitions). If you don't know where to go, the NAACP and ACLU are good places to start. For those protesting (especially in the US or other countries where violence may occur), please stay safe (also because of COVID). Questions: What did you think of the conversations with the parents? Mikey and Abigail? Valerie and Danny?