#Tech Hunter AU

[kinglazrus]

The Moment it Breaks

AO3 | FFN

Summary: He knew his identity couldn't stay a secret forever. Eventually, someone would find out. But he always thought it would be on his terms. Instead, that chance is ripped away from him in the middle of a ghost fight, and now all of Amity Park knows the truth: Tucker Foley is the Tech Hunter.

After a harrowing fight with Phantom that they both limped away from, Tucker needs his friends more than ever. If only Danny would answer the phone.

AU where Vlad sought out Tucker as his teenage ghost hunter instead of Valerie.

Word count: 4340

—

Phantom lunged with teeth bared and claws outstretched—and was met with a cannon to his chest. Lost in his mindless pursuit, he did not react or even attempt to push the cannon away. The barrel dug into his gut as his body curved over it, the light within smothered against his jumpsuit.

The cannon fired.

The street exploded into light as Phantom took the blast at point-blank range. It tossed his body across the street, slamming him into a parked truck, where the door crumpled and held him like a jagged maw biting down on its prey. A moment passed before he phased through the twisted metal and collapsed onto the street. Ectoplasm dripped from his ears, nose, and stomach, hissing against the pavement.

There was more green than black on his suit.

Across the street, the Tech Hunter stood with his arm raised, his left gauntlet unfurled into a cannon. His arm flagged under the weight but did not drop. Violet light still glowed within the barrel, gathering for another shot.

Although he was too far away to hear, the dancing line on his mouthpiece showed he was speaking.

It was impossible to tell if Phantom could hear Tech. The ghost's eyes were bright but unfocused. One arm pressed against his side while the other struggled to hold him up.

Everyone knows that ghosts don't breathe, but it looks like he had been gasping, his mouth gaping as he struggled to catch a breath he could never take.

Tech limped forward. Light rippled across his suit, or seemed to, as he stepped under a streetlamp. The nanobots surging over his body drilled into the pavement as he braced his cannon arm with his other hand, readying for the next shot.

Phantom jerked his head up, eyes completely white.

Tech fired. In that instant, Phantom unleashed twin beams of ectoplasm from his eyes. The beams tore through the street as Phantom raised his eyes to Tech, and the attacks met.

Night turned into day as ectoplasm swept across the street. A horrible screech sounded from within the blaze as it flung the two silhouettes aside like limp dolls.

The light was gone as quickly as it came, letting the night sweep back in just as Tech hit the pavement, the visor on his mask shattering as his head bounced off the curb.

No one moved. Phantom lay in a puddle of ectoplasm, and Tech sprawled in the middle of the street.

The seconds ticked by.

Tech stirred first, lifting his head as he struggled to rise. The crack in his visor exposed the face of Tucker Foley.

“It’s not too late,” Tucker's dad says.

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and even longer for Tucker to drag himself back to the present. He pauses the video he had been watching on his phone, freezing it on a close-up of his battered face. Although the footage is somewhat out of focus, his teal eyes are unmistakable. If Tucker's timeline is correct, the video had only been up for ten minutes before someone mentioned his name. By morning, everyone had known the truth: Tucker Foley is the Tech Hunter.

He closes the video—there's no point watching the rest when he already lived it—and looks at his dad in the driver's seat.

“You can wait in the truck while I talk to Mr. Lancer, and then we can go home,” Maurice suggests. “Maybe stop at the Nasty Burger on the way. No harm in missing a Monday.”

Tucker gasps. “But then I’d miss out on the love of my adoring fans!” His voice softens as he continues. “Besides, I already told Sam I’d be there.”

“And Danny?” Maurice glances away from the road long enough to catch his eye.

Tucker’s gaze drops back to his phone. Notifications had been pouring in all weekend, setting his phone off so often that he had to turn off his alerts to get a few seconds of peace. But things have settled down, and only one message waits for him now. Sent from Sam at the start of second period that morning, her first class with Danny.

AWOL again. Have you heard from him yet?

“No,” Tucker says, texting Sam the same thing before putting his phone in his pocket. No texts. No calls. Tucker’s whole world turned on its head, and everyone has had something to say about it. Everyone except his best friend.

He feels his dad’s stare but refuses to meet it, glaring at the parking lot as they pull in. He doesn’t want to see the expression on his dad’s face, whether it’s pity or worry. After a year of dealing with this new Danny, Tucker has grown used to the silent treatment. But he had hoped something this big would make things different. Apparently not.

Tucker opens the passenger door and stands up slowly. Although his concussion is minor, his head spins when he moves too quickly. He braces himself against the truck while lowering to sit on the door frame before sliding to the ground, mindful of his injured ankle.

Gravel crunches under the boot he has to wear for the next three weeks.

“Crutches,” his dad reminds him, not that Tucker would have forgotten. He grabs them from the back seat and fixes them under his arms.

He makes his way to the front doors slowly. Since he has never sprained an ankle before, he’s unsteady on the crutches. The doctor said he would get used to the crutches and that he should keep off his right ankle as much as possible.

The temptation to sprint the rest of the way to the door is still there. Has the sidewalk from the parking lot to the front door always been this long? Ironically, the reason Tucker wants to make a mad dash for the entrance is the same thing keeping him from trying it—rows of classroom windows looking out over the front lawn.

The lunch bell won’t have rung quite yet, which means plenty of antsy students looking outside as they stave off the last boring minutes of class before they can finally eat. Tucker makes the mistake of glancing up once and making eye contact with a girl on the second floor. She stares at him, her mouth falling open.

Tucker tosses her a brilliant smile before hobbling faster, catching up to his dad just as he opens the door.

The secretary is on the phone when they enter the main office, but Lancer intercepts them before Tucker and his father can sit down to wait.

“Ah, Mr. Foley! Thank you for coming in. Tucker, I hope you’re feeling well,” Lancer says.

Tucker gives Lancer an incredulous look. What a dumb question. He knows Lancer saw the video, along with everyone else in Amity. He saw the fight. Can see the crutches and the bruises. He already knows the answer.

Tucker humours him with a shrug but offers nothing further.

“You wanted to talk about Tucker’s grades?” Maurice asks.

Lancer's stare lingers on Tucker a second longer before switching to Maurice. “Almost right. After the, um, revelation, I went through our records. Tucker’s grades started dropping when he began ghost hunting, and I doubt that's a coincidence.”

“I don’t choose when ghosts attack,” Tucker says.

“Of course that's not your fault; you were doing this city a great service. But school is still important, and I'd like to help Tucker keep up. We have a student advisor program that could be useful.”

“What does it entail?” Maurice asks.

A tugging draws Tucker's attention away from the conversation, and he tunes out his dad and Lancer's voices. The feeling comes from behind him.

The visitor chairs calling my name, Tucker jokes. Despite his doctor's warnings, he may have put some weight on his ankle in his rush to get inside, and now it throbs through the boot. Plus, leaning on the crutches has started hurting his arms.

He turns away from the desk and looks at the three chairs against the wall.

The furthest is occupied. Tucker hadn't even noticed when they came in, but the office door hadn't opened again since they arrived, so the kid must have been there the whole time. They look more like a lump than a person, swathed in a hoodie three times their size, clutching a backpack that has seen better days.

Tucker recognizes that backpack, which would look more at home in a trash can. That orange and green logo stamped on the hoodie sleeve. That unruly fringe of hair splaying out from the hood.

“Danny?”

Tucker’s best friend flinches.

That tug again, harder this time, pulling Tucker forward half a step.

Danny's arms, lost in the sleeves of his father's old hoodie, curl tighter around his stomach as Tucker moves. No wonder Tucker had not recognized him at first glance. Jack's sweater smothers Danny, and the way he curls around himself with his head ducked… It's no surprise that Tucker called out first. That's how it always is, now.

He pushes down the flutter of anxiety and drops into the chair closest to the door, leaning his crutches against the wall. The space between them feels like a canyon. For months, Tucker has stood on one side, shouting across the chasm, while Danny watches from the other. How many bridges has he built trying to cross that gap? How many times has he reached out to nothing but open air?

How many times has Danny bothered to answer him?

As if sensing Tucker's thoughts, Danny lifts his head, exposing pale cheeks and sleep-starved eyes.

Tucker looks again at Danny’s arms around his stomach and asks, “Sick?” Danny's go-to excuse, although it appears true this time.

Danny doesn’t answer right away. His eyes lock on the golden band around Tucker’s throat. Tucker barely notices the choker these days, or the longer chain accompanying it, but it's hard to ignore when Danny stares. He becomes aware of how the choker shifts—so unlike the solid metal band the nanobots parade as—when he swallows.

The matching bracelets on his wrists and ankles constrict as the nanobots spread, reacting to his quickening pulse. He knows better than to try and will them down. Sometimes, he thinks his suit has a mind of its own and trying to fight it only makes his heart beat faster, makes the suit more reactive.

“Something like that,” Danny says.

“And without a note,” the secretary adds.

Danny sinks in his chair, eyes lowered.

Lancer stops talking mid-sentence. He turns, surprise lighting his eyes, as if he hadn't noticed Danny before.

Tucker realizes that he hadn't. Like him, Lancer had not clocked the quiet observer in the corner.

“Again? You don't have a note excusing your absence this morning?” Lancer asks.

Danny shakes his head.

“Can you contact your parents for us and have them give a verbal notice?”

“I’ve been trying,” the secretary cuts in. She sets the phone down on the receiver. “Four times, no answer. I can’t leave a message, either, since their voicemail is still full.”

Tucker is willing to bet his PDA that all the messages taking up the Fentons’ voicemail are from the school. Anyone who knows them knows calling the house is a useless endeavour. Danny could offer up his parents' cell phone numbers, but his lips stay sealed.

Tucker could give Lancer their numbers. Or Maurice could. Tucker has reasons for not offering the phone numbers up—frustration being the biggest among them—but his dad…

Maurice watches in contemplative silence.

Lancer sighs. “Daniel, you know what we talked about.”

“I wasn’t skipping!” Danny makes a move forward but abandons it with a sharp hiss. “I didn’t feel good, so I overslept on accident, honest.”

“I want to believe you, but you don’t have a note, and we can’t reach your parents. We can’t ignore this problem.”

“​​Please, I’ve been trying.”

“You’ve been late nearly every day this month, gone missing from class three times last week, and have sixteen absent days without explanation from the beginning of the year. Not to mention your streak of late or incomplete assignments and failing grades.” Lancer recites each offence as if reading off a grocery list. He could have said “bag of flour” instead of “failing grades,” and it wouldn’t have sounded out of place.

Danny's face crumples as Lancer speaks, and his eyes water. Although, judging by how he grips his side, Lancer's words may not be the only thing causing him pain.

Tucker wonders if he should speak up. A good friend would, and Tucker is a good friend, but something holds him back. Part of him wishes Lancer had taken Danny into his office to have the conversation in private, so that he didn't have to watch this. He may be annoyed with Danny, but he doesn't enjoy hearing Lancer scold his best friend.

But another part of him, much smaller yet big enough to keep him quiet, thrums with satisfaction because someone is finally calling Danny out.

“Please.” Danny's voice cracks. “I swear it's not on purpose.”

Then stop doing it, a voice hisses in Tucker's mind.

“Now, hold on.” As Maurice steps between Lancer and Danny, the growing sneer vanishes from Tucker's face. “Can we talk about this? I might not be Danny’s parent, but I am one of his emergency contacts.”

“Only a guardian can provide an absence note,” Lancer says.

“I know, but this conversation is for an adult, not a fourteen-year-old. What kind of punishment are we looking at?”

“In-school suspension at the least, but we need to consider Danny’s record. Property damage—”

“I stopped dropping beakers,” Danny mumbles.

Lancer glares at Danny for the interruption. “Property damage, and bringing questionable substances to school. Two months ago, we had to confiscate a lip… balm?”

 “Lipstick.”

“Thank you, Daniel. We confiscated a lipstick blaster. He fired it at a student as revenge for a prank.”

“Ghost weapons don’t hurt regular people. Much,” Danny says.

“And we were lenient enough not to suspend you then since Mr. Baxter wasn’t injured, but it’s concerning behaviour. Taking that into consideration, we’re now looking at a three-day suspension.”

“I don’t see how taking a student out of school will help when they’re struggling to stay in,” Maurice says. “I’ve known Danny his whole life. He's a good kid, and someone should speak up for him. Can we at least talk about this?”

Lancer purses his lips. “Daniel, are you comfortable with me talking to Mr. Foley about this?”

That’s funny, since Lancer already recited Danny’s record from memory without care.

Danny stays silent, stare fixed on the carpet, hands trembling in his lap. The bell for lunch goes off, ringing right outside the door, but he doesn't move.

“Dude.” Tucker nudges Danny's foot with his own.

Danny's leg jerks, pulling out of reach, and he finally looks up. “Um. Sure. Yeah.”

Lancer nods. “Ms. Nichols, could you go to the guidance counsellor and get a packet on the student advisor program? I’d like Tucker to read it over. Mr. Foley, if you’d come with me.”

Tucker’s dad casts Danny a worried glance before disappearing into Lancer’s adjoining office. The secretary steps out a moment later, leaving Tucker and Danny alone. By that time, Danny is back to staring at the carpet. His trembling worsens, and he lowers his head to his knees.

“Hey, man. It'll be okay. A few days isn’t so bad.” Tucker pats Danny's shoulder, but he flinches again. Tucker's hand hovers in the air before pulling back. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other in days, and this is how Danny acts. No, “I’m glad you’re not dead” or, “Hey, how’s your leg?” If Tucker hadn’t noticed Danny, would he have said anything?

No. Tucker knows he wouldn't have.

Anger sparks in his chest. He tries to swallow it, but it leaks into his voice. “I'm surprised you care this much. It's a free pass to skip more school.”

“I can't afford to miss any more school.”

“Really? You could have fooled me.”

Danny glares at Tucker. “What does that mean?”

In the back of his mind, Tucker knows he should stop talking. A few words in, and the conversation is turning sour already. There’s a bitterness growing between them that wasn’t there before. It shadows Danny's gaze and turns the spark in Tucker’s chest to a blaze.

He doesn’t think before he says, “I know your grades are bad, but I didn't realize you were actually stupid.”

Danny reels back. Tucker is nowhere near him, but his words are enough of a slap in the face. Tucker regrets them the second they leave his mouth. It's too far. Too close to Danny's greatest insecurity. He knows it was an asshole thing to say, but he keeps talking.

“It's hard to believe you care when you're never here.”

“You don't understand.”

“It doesn't sound that complicated. Stop skipping class, and Lancer won't suspend you. Simple.?

“I have—there are things I have to do, okay? You don't­—” Danny bites down on his words. His gaze drops to Tucker's choker. “You should get it.”

Tucker puts a hand on his throat. The collar responds to his touch, rippling beneath his fingers. The chain resting against his chest grows warm. “Are you serious? I don't know where the hell you've been the last few days, but I'm a ghost hunter. What I'm doing matters. What's your excuse?”

Danny opens his mouth, but Tucker pushes on. Now that he's started, he can't seem to stop.

“Whatever it is, I guess it's more important than your friends. Where have you been, Danny? Because it's not here. First, you miss school, then stop hanging out with us, and then you miss Sam's birthday. We tried to reach out. We asked what was wrong, but you kept shutting us out! You've done some rotten things this year, but we still thought you cared. We still­—”

Tucker's voice cracks. Is it cold in here? He feels cold. And wet. Phantom raindrops strike his nose and cheeks, just like that night. The world around him grows fuzzy and distorted, making his head ache. His ankle hurts. His suit is broken. There are no enemies here, but his instincts scream at him to fight.

To attack.

“I needed you! It was the scariest night of my life, and you weren't there. I had to limp home alone because my best friend wouldn't answer his phone. And you kept ignoring me! You didn't come to the hospital. You didn't visit me at home. You didn't answer any of my calls. I need you, Danny, but it's like you're not even here. Where the hell are you?”

Tucker looms over Danny. He doesn't remember standing up, but his shadow falls over Danny's face. Danny isn't here. His eyes are wide and distant, looking through Tucker at something very far away. He curls into himself, his trembles turning to full-body shakes.

“You don’t have anything to say?”

Danny grabs his head and squeezes his eyes shut, the backpack falling from his lap.

“Say something!” Tucker grabs Danny's hoodie and hauls him up. That's when Danny screams. Tucker's first instinct is to shove him back, send him sprawling. Danny hits the floor with another broken cry. The rain vanishes, leaving Tucker with a sheen of sweat as he returns to himself.

“Shit, Danny.” Tucker is drowning in an ocean of anger, but he swims for the glimmer of light above his head, reminding himself with each stroke of his arms where he is, who he's with, that Danny isn't his enemy.

Tucker reaches out to help. No matter how angry he is, Danny is still his friend. Tucker grabs Danny’s arm to hold him steady, wondering what he’s supposed to do now. Should he call the nurse? His dad and Mr. Lancer? Whatever’s wrong with Danny isn’t like a cold or flu.

Unconsciously, his grip on Danny’s arm tightens.

He doesn’t see Danny move. Tucker is standing, and then he’s on the floor, staring up at the ceiling rather than down at Danny's crumpled face.

“Mr. Fenton!”

“Tucker!”

Tucker blinks, trying to process what just happened. Grabbing the nearest chair, he hoists himself up and surveys the scene. Lancer and his dad hover in the doorway, staring at Danny in disbelief. Danny stands in the middle of the room, his fist extended. He’s the one looming now, but somehow he looks small.

Tucker’s chest throbs where Danny had struck him.

“Fighting in school is prohibited. Thanks to Mr. Foley, I was willing to give you another chance, but I’ve just changed my mind.” Lancer goes to a cabinet behind the desk and opens the top drawer, pulling out a pink slip of paper. It only takes him a second to fill it out.  “You’re not allowed on school grounds for the rest of the week. This needs to be signed and brought back to me as soon as possible.”

Danny grabs the paper without looking. “How can I bring it back if I’m not allowed?”

“Your parents need to bring it in, so we know they've seen it. You can wait in the hall until we send you home”

Danny’s jaw clenches. For a moment, Tucker thinks he’s going to protest, wants him to protest. Do anything to show that he still cares about any of this. But Danny only lets out a shuddering breath and leaves.

Tucker stares after him until a hand appears at the edge of his vision.

“Tucker, are you okay?” his dad asks.

“Fine. Been hit worse by nastier things.”

“We heard shouting.” His dad helps him up.

“We were just talking, but then…” Tucker doesn't understand how it spiralled so fast. Danny's scream snuffed out the fire in Tucker's chest, but watching him walk away without a word fans the lingering embers. “Be right back.”

He snatches his crutches from the wall and hobbles out of the office as fast as he can. The hallway is empty. Bursting out the front door, Tucker scans the schoolyard. He spots Danny halfway across the grass, heading to the side fence.

“Danny!” Tucker shouts.

If he hears Tucker, he doesn’t show it.

“Hey!” Tucker stumbles down the steps, swearing under his breath. Damn crutches. Damn ankle. Damn stupid best friend and their stupid argument.

They aren’t the only ones outside. It’s lunchtime, and on such a nice day, a handful of students have congregated at the picnic tables and bleachers to enjoy their food in the sun. Tucker feels their stares as he crosses the field but ignores them. All his focus is on Danny, who moves much too quickly for him to catch up.

“Danny Fenton!” Tucker bellows.

Danny falters but doesn’t stop.

“Fuck this.” Tucker throws his crutches aside and activates the boots on his suit. With a burst of lavender rocket fire, he soars across the field, overtaking Danny in seconds. His landing is sloppy, too hard on his injured ankle, but he drops right in front of Danny and grabs his collar.

“What the hell was that?”

“Leave me alone.” The words are harsh, but Danny's voice trembles as he says them.

“Uh, no, because there is something wrong with you. Aren't we friends? Why can't you tell me what's going on?” Tucker searches Danny's face. He doesn't know what he's looking for, but he wants to see something.

“Like you told me about the Tech Hunter?”

Tucker can't hide his wince. He thought about it—so many times, he thought about it. Had never cared about his friends knowing his identity, hoped for it even. It would have been so easy to say. Hey, guys. I'm the Tech Hunter. Cool, right?

There had been many moments he could have said it, especially to Sam, but he always wanted both of them to know. On his favourite PDA, he has a note saved, a confession, spilling everything to them. All the fights, all the excuses, his most triumphant moments, and his lowest ones. Every time he opened his mouth, he fought down the urge to confess.

Sam and Danny are his best friends, and they have always deserved to know. But…

“That's different.” Tucker's voice is quiet, but not soft. “Vlad said it would keep you guys safe.”

Something other than grim acceptance finally flashes through Danny's eyes, but it's here and gone so fast that Tucker can't identify it. But he knows he said something wrong. Danny's face falls as soon as the words leave Tucker's lips.

“I don't know what's going on, but this doesn't have to be whatever it is. You're still my best friend.” A lump forms in Tucker's throat. The nanobots respond to his distress, their hum drowning out his haggard breathing. His choker, the chain, and the bracelets grow warm as the suit activates. It doesn't cover him completely, just enough for him to see the gleam of his gauntlets, and feel the weight of his helmet. It calms him down. Makes him feel safe. The Tech Hunter is cool, strong, and brave. Nothing phases him.

Nothing except the terror that fills Danny's eyes as the golden armour appears.

“Stay away from me!” Danny screeches.

A burst of wind pushes Tucker back a step. His grip loosens, and Danny pries his hands off. For a moment, Tucker swears something sharp digs into his wrists. The surrounding yard has fallen silent. He can feel the other students watching them. No one speaks. No one moves.

The inferno roaring in Tucker's chest has finally gone out, snuffed by Danny's howl. It leaves a blackened pit behind. Tucker's arm rises imperceptibly, an unconscious move to reach out one last time.

Danny's gaze leaps to Tucker's hand as he steps back.

Finally, something in Tucker shatters.

“Fine,” he whispers. “I don't care anymore.”

His arm lowers, he turns away, and limps back to the school. Tucker is done offering his hand to someone who won't take it.

[lexosaurus]

Keep Your Enemies Closer

A little Tech Hunter AU oneshot I wrote for DP Angstfest 2023! I based this off of @kinglazrus' AU fic for the @dpauzine in which Tucker is the Red Hunter. It's been stuck in my brain ever since, so I couldn't resist writing her AU for this event!

[ao3]

****

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

That's what people always said, anyway. It's what actors spouted in Hollywood blockbusters as their characters sipped their old fashioned in the dimly lit bar. It's what people typed in their chat logs online, thinking of themselves as high and mighty, very cool, not to be messed with, while they cracked open their fifth serving-sized bag of Doritos that day.

But this wasn't a Hollywood blockbuster. It wasn't Tucker talking up himself to random usernames online.

As he looked at Danny, who was animatedly chatting to Sam about some recently released video game that Tucker couldn’t pretend to care about anymore, he knew that this wasn't just a cool verse. It was real, at least to him. 

“The final boss was way too easy,” Sam was saying. “It's like the devs weren't even trying.”

“I beat it in like five seconds flat,” Danny agreed.

“Yeah, because you exploited the armor glitch,” Sam said. “If you played the game like it was supposed to be played, the final boss would have taken at least a little longer.”

Danny tsked his tongue. “It’s not my fault that I’m obviously just one step ahead of the devs. And you, actually.”

“Come on,” Sam laughed, catching onto the mood. “Stop messing with me.”

Danny grinned back at her, his fangs poking out over his lips. “Samantha Manson, when have I ever messed with you?”

Tucker ducked his head before his face could show. Though, each day that passed seemed to allow that quiet mask to slip over his face far more easily than the day before. And he wasn't even talking about the little yellow mask that lived under his skin.

He remembered the day he'd pieced it all together. The day all the lies, all the little breadcrumb clues, suddenly snapped into place.

He'd been home, as usual, watching videos of the rapidly increasing ghost attacks targeting the city. And of course, at the epicenter of it all was Phantom.

Danny fucking Phantom.

He remembered Danny calling him, his face popping up on Tucker’s home screen, and Tucker pausing the video and holding up his phone to see the two faces side by side. The same smile, the same freckles, the same jaw and haircut and they were the same. 

He couldn’t believe it. But…it made sense. And maybe that was the worst part because it meant that his friend, his best friend, was dead. And worse, he’d turned into a monster. 

But when? When had he died? Was it that “accident” that he sometimes referenced? The day he’d gotten hurt by some of his parents’ equipment?

It didn’t matter. Because now, he was Phantom. But how was he Phantom? The ghost that Tucker loathed. The ghost that Tucker had long since blamed for turning their safe city into a fucking warzone.

How did his best friend turn into…that? Was death really so horrible that it completely changed a person? 

Or was this always inside Danny, deep down in the recess of his subconscious? So deep, so hidden, that Tucker had never noticed till now.

Some people saw Phantom as a hero, and he seemed to revel in it. His cockiness was overflowing, and he took great pride in arriving at every scene precisely when the new ghost of the week would show up. He'd throw a few puns, assure the crowd that, “Don't worry, citizens! I've got this!”, and then he'd beat the ghost up, suck them in his thermos, and would disappear until the next attack.

Phantom had fooled many of the masses. But despite what Dash's stupid nicknames would suggest, Tucker was no sucker. Even if everyone else had their heads up their ass, he didn't.

Tucker didn’t do anything at first. Maybe he’d just been in too deep of a denial. After all, who wanted to pin the destruction of their city on their fucking best friend? 

But then, he started paying attention. To Danny, the “human,” more. All his little quirks, his habits. The way he seemed to jump when Sam casually put a hand on his shoulder (he’d never used to do that), the way his teeth started to sharpen (humans don’t have fangs), the way his eyes would spark green sometimes (it wasn’t a trick of the light), or how he’d always disappear right before a ghost attack (almost like he knew they were coming).

But Tucker stayed silent. Because if Danny was Phantom, then Danny was dangerous. Who knew what Phantom would do if Tucker revealed that he knew? No, it was better to stay docile, not rock the boat, not put his life at risk. Just play it cool.

That plan only worked for so long.

The breaking point wasn’t an explosion of flashy lights so much as it was a seed, planted, but not yet even watered. It was Tucker booting up his virtual computer and opening Tor after school like any other day. 

The usual usernames were chatting in his group. People working on their various projects, coming to the chat room for tips or just talking about whatever other topic was on their mind. This was typical—welcome, even—after the confusing mess that had been Tucker’s every other waking moment as of late.

And then the conversation took a turn. 

To Phantom.

Sporksmith: I haven't wrapped my head around whether Phantom is a good guy or not. ChaseK: It's sus that as soon as the ghosts started showing up, so did he. Sporksmith: That's what I'm thinking, but the guy takes so many beatings a week. I feel like it's more likely that he's crawling out of the same dimensional holes that they are because the dude has family here or something. Mole: That's probably it. He uses modern slang, so it's pretty obvious he died recently.

This wasn’t the first time they’d talked about Phantom. He was a fascinating subject and under much national scrutiny. But this time, Tucker finally stepped in.

GoldenFryer: You guys don't know what you're talking about. ChaseK: You know something then? GoldenFryer: Yeah, I have some inside info. Can't say much, but Phantom isn't who he seems. He's dangerous. Sporksmith: You sound like a guy who's got something up his sleeve.

He hadn't, at that point. But still, it needled his mind. He was closest to Phantom, wasn't he? Even if Danny himself didn't know. Of everyone, wasn't it Tucker’s responsibility to do something about this?

To set the soul of his dead best friend free?

GoldenFryer: Not yet, but maybe I should.

Of course, he couldn't do it by himself, but there was someone who could help. Someone with money, power, and a vocal hatred for ghostly invaders.

“Tucker Foley,” Vladimir Masters said, opening his door. His hair was pulled back in his signature ponytail, and he wore a gaudy green Packers bathrobe. “You’re awake early on a Saturday for a teenager. My, where's your other half?”

“No Danny today. Just me,” he said, keeping his tone casual despite the sudden anxiety spike in his gut.

Vlad grinned and stepped aside, sweeping his arm over the now open doorway. “Excellent, why don't you come in?”

Tucker followed the gesture and stepped through the door, trying to ignore the guilt that was clawing at him. Danny always talked about how much he hated Vlad, and how creepy the guy was. And while Tucker agreed that Vlad was more than a little slimy, Vlad was a businessman, and more importantly, a billionaire. Being slimy kinda came with the territory.

And besides, Vlad had only moved into the town a year ago, after Danny had already turned into Phantom. So, it wasn't Danny who hated Vlad, not really.

“Come, make yourself comfortable. You're a bit too young for me to offer you a drink, but maybe some water, perhaps?”

“I'm fine,” Tucker said. His voice echoed around the empty house.

“Then sit.” Vlad pulled out a seat at the bar. “I just brewed myself a pot of tea. Maybe you'd care for some of that?”

“No thanks,” Tucker said, his voice jilted as he forcefully remembered his manners. Even if it was Phantom who hated Vlad, Tucker wasn't too keen on being behind closed doors with the man any longer than necessary either. 

Vlad paid him no mind, of course, and poured his tea into a fancy china cup. He brought the cup up to his nose, sniffed, and then smiled, setting it down on a small plate on the counter and settling into a seat for himself. “So,” he started, clasping his hands together. “What do I owe the pleasure of seeing you on this fine day?”

Tucker blew a breath out, trying to expel the mounting anxiety in his system. “Okay, I realize what I'm about to say sounds absolutely insane. I get that, but I just need you to let me explain.”

That slimy smirk was back on Vlad's lips. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Okay.” Tucker wrung his hands in his lap. “Okay, just—just hear me out. Trust me, nobody wants to say this less than me.”

“But of course, my dear boy.”

Tucker exhaled one last time and then began. “So, I know who Phantom is. You know, the ghost? I—he's disguising himself as a teenager, and I know who it is.”

“Oh, really? My, that doesn't sound good.”

“It's not.” Tucker closed his eyes, covering his forehead with his hand. “It's the worst, really. Because the person that Phantom is pretending to be—and I know, I know, just let me explain—but it's Danny. Danny Fenton.”

Tucker peeked through his hand to see the smile on Vlad's lips widen. 

“Daniel Fenton, my godson, you mean?” Vlad said. “That's quite the accusation.”

“I know it is. Trust me,” Tucker said. “But—okay, so basically, I think what happened was that Danny was in some sort of lab accident, and it killed him. He talks about it sometimes, but he doesn't give any details. But I'm pretty sure that was it. Because only like a month after that happened, all the ghosts started appearing. And Phantom too. I—uh, here. Hang on, let me show you...” Tucker leaned over and pulled his tablet from his backpack. He opened it and went to his files, opening a pdf of his comparison photos. He handed the tablet to Vlad, saying, “This is them side by side in different positions. You can really see it there, when the photos are lined up like this. They look exactly the same. But that's not all! Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Vlad said, swiping through the pdf.

“Look, I don't really know how to explain it, but Danny's just...he's different now. He disappears before ghosts attack, he comes back all beat and sometimes bloody. He's cold, way colder than normal, and sometimes I see him—when someone's annoying him or if he's pissed—where it's almost like...like he can't even contain his human form anymore. His eyes get green, and sometimes ectoplasm sparks in his palms. It's not human.”

“And you see this as...a problem?” Vlad looked up from the tablet. “If Daniel was Phantom?”

“Why wouldn't it be? Don't you have this whole initiative to get rid of ghosts?” Tucker argued.

If anything, that seemed to amuse Vlad more. He set the tablet down and said, “But of course, I wasn't insinuating anything. I merely just acknowledge that Daniel is your best friend and that most of you youths enjoy Phantom's presence in this city.”

“Only the blind ones do. I know better. Phantom is bringing the ghosts into this town. Mr. Masters, you know how all ghosts have Obsessions?”

“Yes, I am aware.”

“Well, Phantom’s Obsession is being a hero, right? What's more heroic than setting up a bunch of ghost fights to 'save' people from?”

Vlad's smile was almost impossibly wide now. “Yes, I understand.”

Something was amusing to that billionaire creep, but Tucker hardly had time to figure out what before Vlad was up out of his seat, pacing around his kitchen.

“You see, I already know all this. You understand, I'm the one funding this city's anti-ghost initiative. And I also know that young Daniel is Phantom.”

Tucker's jaw dropped. “You do?”

“But of course, I do!” Vlad pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped on it for a minute before passing it off to Tucker. In an encrypted app that Tucker didn't recognize was a video. 

“Well, go on,” Vlad said.

Tucker pressed play on the video to see a dimly lit alley with Phantom standing at the end of it. He glanced around, and then white rings appeared, passing over his body. A white T-shirt and jeans replaced a black suit, and black hair replaced white hair.

The rings disappeared, and the person that remained was none other than Danny Fenton.

Tucker blinked, and his head snapped out of the memory. His eyes refocused, and Danny Fenton sat in front of him, still talking to Sam, his posture still far too easygoing for someone who wasn't even human.

His human form was impressively detailed. His unruly black hair, dash of freckles on his cheeks, blue eyes, and pointed nose—all signature traits of Danny. He had gotten it almost perfect.

Almost. 

It made Tucker's blood boil, and he struggled to push it down, keep it in check. Ghosts could feel intense emotions.

The calm mask slipped over him once more, and Tucker was empty. Just empty.

Just how, when he stared into Danny's eyes, he could see that same emptiness too. There was no humanity left. No, that'd died almost two years ago now. All that remained was a ghost. 

He wanted his friend back. But that was impossible. The only thing that he could do now was wipe all ghosts out so no one ever suffered the way Tucker was right now.

He was a hacker, so once he got the tech, programming it was a piece of cake. Okay, so maybe it was a little bit harder than that, but he was nothing if not determined.

And he was nothing if not a damn good programmer.

And now he had the power to fix this, end the ghostly invasion in Amity, end Phantom's terrorizing reign, and set his former friend free.

“What do you think, Tuck?” Danny turned to face Tucker.

“Huh?” Tucker grunted, his elbow nearly slipping from his desk. “Sorry, what are we talking about?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Jeez, you really have been spacey today. Sleep well last night?”

No, he hadn't, actually. Because Phantom had set up another attack at 2 a.m. and so Tucker had to intervene.

Danny was wearing long sleeves today. Good. It meant that Tucker's shot really had nailed his bicep.

“No, sorry,” Tucker chuckled. “Was rushing to get Lancer's essay done. I can't work on it this weekend; my cousins are coming to town.”

“Again?” Sam asked.

No, they weren't. Tucker hadn't seen his cousins since Christmas. 

“Yeah, my aunt and my mom are in this whole midlife crisis thing right now. Want to make sure we all bond properly or something.” Tucker waved his hand haphazardly. “You know how moms are.”

That was the perfect trigger for Sam, who huffed expectantly. “Oh yeah, don't even get me started. My mom is still trying to make me bond with Kate. Kate's two years older than me and was the head of her cheer team. Like, hello? You can only imagine what her playlists are like.”

“You should blast some death metal next time,” Danny said.

“Trust me, I have. It's the only way to get her to shut up.”

“Must not be death enough.” Danny flashed his teeth in a mischievous smile. “I’m sure I can help put together a playlist if you want.”

That cocky motherfucker…

Did he enjoy gloating over everyone? Did he really laugh at them when he was alone, all the stupid, idiotic, airhead humans who he thought didn’t notice anything?

Squashing his emotions was suddenly too difficult, and just before the internal tea kettle was able to whistle, Tucker was saved by the bell.

Oh, thank god.

Tucker was out of his seat before anyone else, scooping his notebook from his desk, throwing his bag over his shoulder, and racing out the door before Sam or Danny could catch up.

Still, when against his better conscience he glanced over to his friends, he didn’t miss the subtle look Danny gave him or the green glint in the corner of his eye…

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

If only it was easy.

****

[read more of my work]

[lavendarlily]

ectoberhaunt day 5: hunt @ectoberhaunt

give & take

words: 2112

read it on ao3

tucker has to protect his loved ones, because no one else will.

(tech hunter au)

cw: death, slight mention of blood

i had too much fun writing this there may be a part 2 eventually

Tucker raced home, hand clutched to his side. He could already feel the blood seeping through his suit, the drying liquid creating a sticky mess. He snuck back into his bedroom with practiced stealth and nearly collapsed on the floor. Peeling back the torn fabric, Tucker saw it was indeed a deep gash. This would need stitches.

Cursing to himself, he pulled out his first-aid kit from under the bed. This thing had seen a lot of use over the last few months, and while he was proud of his ability to take care of himself, it wasn’t preferable. Tucker knew he was messing himself up; he knew it was irresponsible, but if not him, then who?

Who would protect this town? Forego all instincts, put their life on the line, just to make sure everyone else was safe?

Tucker scoffed at the thought, then returned his focus to the task at hand. He hissed at the sting of the needle passing through his skin again and again, relieved when the waterfall of blood became a slight trickle. A grim realization hit that he could very well soon be buried under scars if things kept up the way they were, and how would he explain away that? 

It had only been three months so far. The learning curve was tough, but Tucker was tougher. He had to be.

What hurt more than the cuts and bruises was how these ghosts had changed the lives of his loved ones. Tucker despised the way his mother was afraid to walk alone anywhere, or that his father had to take off work to tend to a broken collarbone from a particular incident. His heart broke at the way ghosts consumed the life of his best friend, and how they seemed to seek him out specifically. As the son of people who dedicated their lives to dissecting and eradicating ghosts so publicly, it was no surprise he had a target on his back, and Tucker resented that fact. 

That’s why Tucker chose to remain anonymous. He couldn’t risk outing his civilian self to his enemies. They would only come at him harder, and surely make his loved one’s lives more difficult than they already were. No, this was something he had to keep secret. It was best for everyone. 

It was increasingly challenging though, to maintain a low profile. Sam was, somehow, on the side of the ghosts, and criticized every person or organization that made it their mission to hunt them down. Not that Tucker was too surprised considering her personal beliefs. Danny displayed noticeable discomfort every time the subject was brought up. Especially when it came to Phantom. 

This seemed to be the main point of contention. Almost every one of Tucker’s peers idolized the humanoid ghost. He’s a hero! So handsome! Did you see the way he blasted the Box Ghost? Incredible!

In Tucker’s mind, Phantom was the root of the problem. He wouldn’t leave Amity Park. He escaped every assailant. He was showing every other ghost that they too, could remain in the Earth realm and cause havoc without having to face the consequences. 

Tucker would make an example of him. 

He finished up the stitching with a layer of antiseptic and popped two over-the-counter pain relief pills. After carefully removing his suit (it would repair itself come tomorrow) and changing into a set of pajamas, Tucker slowly laid down on his bed, favoring his uninjured side. His clock read 2:26am, and he internally groaned. Four hours of sleep would have to be enough.

The next day was rough from his sleep deprivation, but it wasn’t the first time nor would it be the last. What happened over the course of the school day, he didn’t know. He could barely focus, barely keep his eyes open. It’s a miracle he didn’t fall asleep in class; that was Danny’s reputation anyways. 

Once at home, Tucker immediately flopped onto his bed. Homework could wait. A nap was necessary. He lost consciousness as soon as he was curled up under the weight of his comforter.

A blaring noise from his nightstand brought Tucker out of his sleep. He must have really dozed off, for his bedroom was almost completely dark. He turned his attention to the source of what had woken him.

His alert system was going off.

There was a ghost.

Instinct took over and Tucker geared up in the blink of an eye. He threw his window open and jumped outside, his hoverboard catching him. His tech latched on to a spectral trail and Tucker sped off in its direction. 

The trail brought him to a clearing just outside of town. At the very end of it, he found Phantom. 

The ghost wasn’t doing anything, simply laying on his back, hovering maybe an inch off the ground. There was a calm breeze that gracefully sped through the grass, ruffling the ghost’s sparkling hair. Phantom’s attention was focused upwards towards the sky, as if he were gazing at the stars.Though Tucker couldn’t see his face, the ghost seemed…relaxed.

Which worked perfectly in Tucker’s favor.

He was careful not to make a sound while he pulled out a weapon that he’d recently added to his collection. Phantom’s hearing was, like the rest of him, supernatural, and Tucker couldn’t risk giving himself away. 

Thanks to his friendship with Danny, Tucker had (unofficial) access to the tech at FentonWorks. Sure, Tucker was an engineering whiz, but none of the equipment he came up with paralleled that of the Fentons.

The last time Tucker had been at Danny’s house, he’d excused himself to the bathroom and snuck into the lab. He swiped an ecto-paralytic that the Fenton’s had been particularly pleased with, and Tucker had been saving it just for Phantom. 

Once the dart was loaded, Tucker brought the weapon to eye level and secured his aim. He couldn’t miss. This was a one-time opportunity to have Phantom so off guard, and he wouldn’t waste it.

Tucker sucked in a deep breath and pulled the trigger. The dart hit its intended target dead on. 

Phantom yelped, bursting out of his relaxed position. He spun around and spotted Tucker, then took off.

This was no issue. Tucker just had to keep Phantom in sight while the paralytic worked through the ghost’s system. As soon as he was incapacitated, Tucker would have no problem with the rest.

Strangely enough, Phantom’s route began to look familiar - it just so happened they were speeding down Danny’s street. Tucker realized Phantom was trying to make a break for the Fenton’s portal and escape into the safety of the Ghost Zone.

Like he was going to let that happen.

He quickly typed a command into his suit and activated the ghost shield around the Fenton’s residence. Phantom slammed into it - he crumpled into the alley beside the home. From above, Tucker watched.

The paralytic finally began kicking in. Phantom struggled to get to his feet, but failed. Once he was a motionless heap, Tucker moved in, landing beside the ghost.

“Thought your actions would never catch up to you, huh?” Tucker taunted. He kicked at Phantom, rolling him onto his back with his foot. The ghost’s face was scratched up with ectoplasm leaking from the wounds. 

“You thought,” Tucker continued, voice growing louder, bolder, “you could terrorize my town, and get away with it?”

As if Phantom could answer in his paralyzed state. Tucker chuckled, and leaned in closer to the ghost’s face.

“Not any more.”

Tucker disabled his helmet. He wanted Phantom to see who was responsible for bringing him down. 

Phantom’s eyes seemed to explode with energy. 

“My name is Tucker. Tucker Foley. I protect this town, not you. You have invited yourself here for too long, caused too much pain. My mother fears for her life every time she walks out the door. My father suffered at the hands of one of your kind. My best friend is constantly being targeted. He doesn’t sleep. His own parents don’t care because they’re so busy studying your existence. And I can’t let that go on.”

Tucker stopped, letting himself breathe. He couldn’t get emotional now. This was business. He powered up the ray that sat in the palm of his hand, and placed it directly on Phantom’s chest, right where his core sat, then reactivated the helmet, shielding his face. This could get messy.

Despite being paralyzed, Phantom’s core was alive. Even beneath the suit, Tucker could feel it beneath his palm, even see an intense glow that he’d never witnessed before. The ghost’s chest was heaving quickly, like he was hyperventilating (this was impossible - ghosts had no need to breathe). Peering at his face, Tucker found streaks of tears escaping from Phantom’s violently glowing eyes. 

What a sick joke.

“Fuck you, Phantom.”

Tucker channeled all his anger behind his blast, sending it straight through the ghost’s core. Green consumed his vision. When it cleared, where Phantom had been underneath his palm was now a pile of green goo. 

Ugh, disgusting. He shook the mess from his hand.

Grabbing three different thermoses, Tucker gathered up the mess. No point in risking it reforming. He’d have to bury these somewhere they wouldn’t be found, but that was a task for tomorrow. Right now, he wanted to bask in the relief that Amity Park was finally safe. He’d done it. He’d gotten rid of the ghost kid. Now hopefully all the others would get the message to Stay Out. 

The elated part of Tucker wanted to rush up to Danny’s bedroom and share the good news. Sure, he’d never told Danny about his secret side-gig, but now that the worst was behind them, Tucker felt safe sharing this part of his life. 

Yes, Tucker had feared the backlash from his enemies, but he also had to admit he had other reasons for keeping his friend in the dark. Danny was so protective - Tucker couldn’t face that worry, or worse, repeated lectures on his safety. With the threat gone now, he felt it was time. Besides, this was Danny. They were best friends. Very little could come between them.

It was time to head home.

To Tucker’s disappointment, Danny wasn’t at school the next day. Sam hadn’t heard anything, so he shot off a quick text in between classes to check in. The entire day went by with no response. Maybe he’d swing by the Fenton’s after school. 

Walking up to Danny’s door, Tucker flashed his eyes to where just barely a day before he’d ended the scum that was Phantom. Faded green splotches stained the pavement, but little other evidence remained. He refocused his attention to the door and knocked. 

A red-eyed Maddie greeted him, and waved him in. Tucker saw two men standing in the middle of the room, notepads in hand, badges around their necks. Maddie led him to the kitchen and pulled out a chair.

“Just one moment sweetie,” she said, her voice raw, then returned to the living room.

He didn’t have to wait long before she reappeared and took a seat across from him.

“What’s going on?” He asked.

Maddie tenderly smiled, and softly took his hand. “Danny didn’t come home last night. I’m sure you noticed he wasn’t in school today either. Both his phone and wallet were still in his room. We…don’t know where he is.”

Tucker’s heart dropped to his stomach, and tears welled in his eyes.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything that could help us find him, do you?”

Tucker shook his head. Was Danny already gone when he was right there last night? Could Tucker have been able to do something? 

Where was Danny?

The ring of the phone interrupted their conversation, and Maddie gave Tucker an apologetic smile. “You should go home. Be with your family. We’ll let you know if we get an update.” She stood and picked up the call.

Tucker let himself out. Instead of going home, he went straight to Sam’s. They hugged and cried and tried to think of something, anything , between the two of them that could lead them to their friend. 

Weeks went by. The sting of Danny’s absence followed Sam and Tucker down the streets, through the halls, in their sleep. The events from the night before Danny’s disappearance remained a secret. Tucker couldn’t bring himself to tell Sam. He couldn’t risk losing her too.

Yes, the disappearance of Danny Fenton was tragic. But one small blessing came upon Amity Park that gave the citizens a sense of relief they hadn’t felt in so long. 

At least the ghosts were gone.

[mroddmod]

finally introducing my Cadet Batch AU, in which the batch are all raised together :)

[m00ntunaart]

Bad Batch/His Dark Materials AU!

Here’s The Batch with their daemons! Be warned I have so many thoughts behind this AU. So leave now if you don’t want to read my absolute essay of a lore dump.

My idea for this AU is that all the clones tend to have dogs daemons, both in line with the whole ‘clones are the same’ idea and ‘dogs who follow orders’ stereotype, but also this idea in this universe that the ‘Vode’ are a “pack” of sorts. Generally the clones’ daemons are dog breeds with pointy ears. And battalions usually get made up of clones with same dog breeds as daemons (the 501st has mostly huskies/malamutes and the 212th has mostly German Shepards/Belgian Malanois for example). All of this to say, Clone Force 99 stands out even more in this AU because of their daemons. “Regs” who have daemons that deviate from the ‘normal’ type of daemon clones’ have, get terminated. Though for clones to have daemons that settle into something ‘abnormal’ is rare to begin with. So The Bad Batch having not-dog daemons AND being allowed to live is kinda the main reason of tension between The Batch and the ‘Regs’.

Some more details about TBB in this AU: 

Because Ghost is albino, she has sensitive eyes and bad vision in general. Which is an interesting duality to Crosshair’s exceptional eyesight. 

All through out s1-3 of TBB I imagine Omega’s daemon (Delta) hasn’t settled, and she shifts between a bird of prey and different dogs breeds. And Delta often will shift into the same animal as the other Batchers’ daemons when interacting with them. It’s not until Omega escapes Tantis with Crosshair that Delta settles into a Timber Wolf.

Echo’s daemon (Mimic) was originally a grey husky, but after being captured by techno Union she starts to shift into different dog breeds. This is very unparalleled, it’s very rare for daemons to shift again after they originally settle. And it’s NEVER happened to a clone before. Its not until Echo joins The Bad Batch that Mimic settles again as an Australian Cattle Dog. Though it takes even longer than that for Echo and Mimic to become comfortable with each other again.

[blackseafoam]

A Bad Batch x Red Dead Redemption AU that’s been living in my head for a while 🤠

Omega does not like the names Hunter gave the horses

The Batch is a small time outlaw gang of brothers hiding out as hands on a dude ranch. Trying to leave their pasts as mercenaries behind them. Until they receive a mysterious letter that their long lost younger sister is being housed in an orphanage nearby. After an unsuccessful attempt to legally adopt her, they return later to break her out.

Now they’re all wanted criminals trying to outrun the law as well as their past.

[131-vr]

After seeing how Tech's bed is a mess, I like to think that sometimes he leaves things lying around on the floor when he works or something, causing one of his brothers to trip over them.

This took way to long to finish, it's stupid.

[paperback-rascal]

What if Crosshair has aversion to raw seafood (especially fish) after being stranded on Kamino for 32 rotations? Let's face it - raw fish were most likely his main source of sustenance after rations run out (if he even had any).

There will be most likely a journey ahead of him, as people of Pabu seem to be predominantly fisherfolks. He could have a hard time going to the lower levels of Pabu or at least avoiding going out at certain times of the day when fishermen unload their catch.

Also as calming as fishing together might seem to Wrecker, first few times were extremely taxing for the sniper.

---

See more of my fix-it posts here -> [LINK] <-

My fanart masterlist -> [LINK] <-

===

STAR WARS: The Clone Wars/The Bad Batch © George Lucas/ Dave Filoni/ LucasFilm/ Disney

[peanuttoffee]

The Bad Batch finale missing scene

Yeah I needed that…

May the 4th be with you!🙌

[aaaaawolfquarters]

Another tbb fic

An AU where things are quite similar to cannon with one major difference:

Omega grew up as part of the batch, as their medic

And Tech is a child on Kamino

[cuddles-with-dragons]

*movie night* Hunter: Wrecker, for the last fucking time, we're not watching Rocky. Tech: *raises hand* Crosshair: No nature documentaries, either! Echo: I have some perfectly great movies right here, guys. Wrecker: Ya mean that pile of chick flicks? Echo, offended: They're rom-coms! Omega, looking through the pile: *holds up The Princess Bride* But this one says action and adventure... Echo: The box LIES.

[kinglazrus]

The Cracks in the Mask

Sequel to The Moment it Breaks. Written for @invisobang 2023!

AO3 | FFN

Rating: T

Words: 9156

Warnings: mild panic attack, nondescript mention of vomiting, temporary dismemberment, graphic description injury

Description: Danny has been struggling for months. Balancing ghost hunting, school, and keeping his powers a secret has drained him both physically and mentally. And it all comes crumbling down when an identity is exposed—but not Danny's. Tucker Foley, his best, is a ghost hunter. And not just any ghost hunter, but the Tech Hunter. The same hunter who, just three days ago, pressed a cannon to Phantom's chest and fired without mercy.

This is fine, right? Everything is fine.

Check out the amazing art made for this fic by @popjeckdoom!

Cover | first scene | second scene

—

Danny can still feel Tucker's hands on him. Not in some aching, metaphysical way like when they bump shoulders, and the warmth of that contact lingers for hours afterwards. This isn’t warmth, but heat. Tucker’s fingertips had only brushed the hollow of Danny’s throat during that final grab, yet the spot burns now.

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, turning toward a storefront window as he checks his reflection, pulling the collar of his hoodie down. Splotches the colour of old bruises litter his throat, tinged green around the edges and dotted with red. The rash and micro-cuts left by Tech’s nanobots are unmistakable. Had Tucker noticed how the nanobots coated his fingers as he reached for Danny, seen how they wounded him?

Of course, he didn’t. There is so much Tucker never notices.

The hoodie isn’t damaged, but that doesn’t surprise Danny. Tech’s touch has always hurt, and it was always designed to hurt ghosts.

It never destroys anything man-made.

Never harms anything human.

Danny clenches his fists to stop his hands from shaking. It’s getting harder and harder to lift his feet with each step. The wobble of his left knee, the stabbing in his chest every time he breathes, the itch of his throat. It all weighs him down. And atop that, something far heavier bears down upon him, a bone-deep dread that twists his stomach into knots. He has felt the press of that unseen force from the moment Tucker stepped into Lancer’s office.

Danny sways under a bout of dizziness, nearly stumbling into the street when he tries to catch his footing. Unable to breathe deeply, he compensates with quick, shallow breaths.

And the itch on his throat persists, like bugs creeping under his skin, gnawing on his insides. They skitter from his throat to his chest, spreading from his ribs to his heart, his lungs, burrowing deep.

Danny doesn’t notice his hand roaming under his hoodie until a nail slips between the bandages on his chest and pricks the open wound. A passing woman glares at him when he yelps, muttering something about delinquents under her breath. Danny ignores her.

At least he isn’t thinking about the itching now. He presses the heel of his palm into the bandages, grimacing through the lingering sting, waiting for it to dull into the ever-present throb. To be safe, he clasps his hands in his pocket, so he won’t scratch again as he continues down the street.

Despite how bright the sun shines, the air is cold. Or, it had been when he left for school that morning. He remembers looking out the window—seconds before realizing he was three hours late for class—seeing how crisp and clear everything looked, how the snow sparkled in the sunlight, and knowing it would be cold. But he's not cold now. He almost feels too hot, and the temptation to rip his hoodie off grows along with his weariness.

A red-hot coil burns in his chest, hissing as it brands the inside of his ribs. He exhales the steam in shallow puffs and wipes sweat from his forehead.

Something yellow glints at the edge of his vision, causing Danny's heart to leap into his throat. He throws himself to the side, slipping in the snow as he tries to get out of Tech's reach.

But Tech's not here. Tech is at school.

The taxi that caught Danny’s eye passes harmlessly by.

He leans against the nearest wall as he tries to catch his breath, which is hard when the bandages around his chest are so tight that his ribs creak. He reaches under his sweater again and probes the bandages, finding the loose loop his scratching had created. His fingers come away damp, but that could be blood or sweat. He doesn’t want to know which, wiping his hand on the inside of the hoodie.

It's too damn hot out here. His skin crawls. There's so much yellow everywhere, every flash cranking Danny’s nerves up. It all becomes too much, and he crashes to his knees as his stomach revolts.

No one pauses at the sight of a kid gagging on the sidewalk. Danny wonders what they think of him but decides he doesn't care as he retches again. Nothing but bile comes up. When was the last time he ate or drank anything besides ectoplasm? When did he even have that last? He has a foggy memory of opening the box he keeps his supply in and downing the last three vials at once, but he can't say when that was. As for actual food, that must have been on Friday, before the fight. That was three days ago, and he hasn’t had a bite to eat since.

Danny's head spins.

He should go home. Lancer told him to go home. Actually, no. He said he would send Danny home. With a parent, probably. Parents who already hadn't been answering the secretary's calls, which would have left Jazz as the remaining option. Danny won’t be surprised if she had put herself down as one of his emergency contacts the second she turned eighteen last month. But going home with her would either mean waiting at school all day for classes to end or pulling her out of class so that she could take him home.

Danny's stomach churns again. No. He wouldn't have let that happen. Even if he hadn’t stormed off, he still would have left.

He slumps against the wall behind him. During the fight on Friday, he landed poorly, and his left knee has been smarting ever since. It protests a bit more loudly now, especially after getting jostled around by Tucker. A few seconds to rest and stretch it out will do him some good.

Snow soaks into his jeans, but he doesn't care. Taking a handful of snow, he shoves it in his mouth, swishing it around until it melts, trying to get rid of the bile taste. He doesn't have anything else to wash it down with. He doesn’t even have his backpack, for that matter. Maybe it's still at home, sitting by the front door. Or he left it in the school office. He can't remember.

He doesn't remember much of anything since Friday. Just the pain, and the blood, and the cracking of his heart as he glimpsed those familiar green eyes underneath the visor.

A few snowflakes fall onto Danny's lashes. His eyelids flutter.

Why is it so hot?

After checking that people still aren't paying attention to him—they aren't—he closes his eyes and tugs on his core. Cold floods his veins as his ice powers activate. It soothes the bruises that spread across his back and stomach. He focuses on the palm against his chest, concentrating on his worst injury.

The cold is a balm. It pushes back against the heat in his cheeks and helps him forget about the burn of Tucker's hand.

Danny doesn't know how much time has passed before he hears a vehicle pulling up. The cold bites at his nose and ears, but his cheeks are still far too warm. He still hasn’t caught his breath.

He hears tires rolling over broken concrete. This must have been where he fought Johnny a couple of weeks ago. The city is usually pretty good at cleaning up Danny's messes, but sometimes the smaller debris gets missed. Most people have learned to ignore it by now, but Danny always notices.

A window rolls down.

Danny squeezes his eyes tighter, hoping he hasn't been mistaken for a vagrant. A scrawny kid with no backpack, huddled on the street during school hours in winter, wearing nothing but a hoodie. He pulls his knees up to make himself smaller. Bending his left knee hurts a bit more than it should, more than it ever has with bad landings in the past, but he ignores it.

“Danny, do you need a ride?”

It takes Danny a second to recognize the voice and the truck. Mr. Foley leans over the passenger seat and peers at him through the open window.

It takes another second for Danny to remember his ice powers and cut them off. He misses the cold as soon as it's gone. He always feels better when the cold comes from within, numbing his body from the bones outward. But he can't have Mr. Foley noticing the glow in his eyes. Despite the delay, Mr. Foley doesn't react.

“Where's your jacket? I almost didn't recognize you and had to turn back around,” Mr. Foley says.

“I don't need a jacket.”

“Everyone needs a jacket. You're going to freeze.”

Danny brushes the snowflakes off his lashes and stares hard. “Where's Tucker?”

“At the school. We got him set up with that student tutor program, and he's working on that for the rest of the afternoon. He has to catch up on all the work he missed from ghost hunting.”

“Oh.” Isn't that nice?

Danny almost says no. He has known the Foleys his whole life, considers them family, and would go so far as to call them his honorary aunt and uncle. There had once been a time when, if he couldn't go to his parents for something, he would go to the Foleys. But he almost says no.

Mr. Foley must notice his hesitation because he rolls his eyes and says, “Just get in the damn truck.”

Danny gets in the damn truck. Hot air blasts into his face once he's inside.

Mr. Foley waits until Danny, who first closes the vents on his side of the truck, has buckled himself in before speaking again. “I'm disappointed in you.”

How diabolical of him to wait until Danny can't easily escape.

“There's a jacket in my locker,” Danny mutters.

“Not because of that. Although, yes. You're going to get sick if you aren't already. Do you remember when you boys were little? Whenever you and Tucker played in the snow, you always took your jacket off. We couldn't leave you alone outside, or you'd come in three hours later with the worst cold we'd ever seen.” Mr. Foley shakes his head with a smile, although it fades quickly.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you and Tucker, but it’s not like you to lash out,” he continues. “It’s obvious you’re going through something, and I’m here if you need to talk. But what you did in there wasn’t okay.

Danny watches the sidewalk as they pull into traffic, staring at the indent he left behind. He hadn’t noticed how much it was snowing when he was sitting, but a pile nearly three inches tall marks where he had been.

“I can’t say I’m not mad, but… I’m just disappointed.”

Danny wants to say he didn't mean to hurt Tucker, but he can't. Tucker is his best friend, but Tech? Thinking of Tucker's alter ego makes Danny's heart pound, and not in a good way. Not the way he's used to. Thinking of Tucker as Tech? He wants to throw up again.

Every bruise, every burn, every little cut Danny has gathered this past month throbs at the thought of that golden armour. He checks over his shoulder, but no one is there.

Tucker's at school. Tucker's at school. Tech is at school.

“You don't have anything to say?” Mr. Foley asks.

Danny shrugs.

“Tucker's okay, by the way. You didn't hurt him any more than he already was.” Mr. Foley pauses, giving Danny space to respond, but he doesn't. “This is an upsetting situation. Tucker is hurt and has been getting hurt for some time. Going out and hunting ghosts—” Mr. Foley shakes his head. “It's funny how much a mask can trick you. Tucker made me follow all the 'official' Tech Hunter accounts. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen everything there is to see of Tech online. It seems obvious now that I know. I always thought he was just a fan.”

Mr. Foley's grip on the steering wheel tightens. “But some of those videos…”

Danny doesn’t need to hear it. He has seen them, too. Clips of Tech zooming through the city, using gadgets and gizmos to take down ghosts with ease. They started fun. Even Danny enjoyed the videos at first. He felt a kinship with this new hunter, who didn't seem much older than him. But then the tech got bigger, the fights more brutal, the targets more… familiar. Danny stopped watching the videos a while ago, after he became the ghost in them.

“These last few weeks alone… I swear he was hunting down Phantom every day. I was starting to feel sorry for Phantom until—well. Until.”

Danny rubs his knee. Despite having time to rest, it still hurts. Touching it is like pressing on a fresh bruise.

“I'm sorry,” Mr. Foley says. “It's been a stressful few days, but it's not appropriate for me to dump this all on you. You need to worry about school, not ghosts. I just always thought Phantom was a good one. It doesn't seem right that all ghosts could be bad.”

“Well, you were wrong. Everyone knows ghosts are bad.”

“Danny, your parents—”

“Were right all along. We all should have listened to them. Ghosts aren't good.” Danny squeezes his knee. “They can't be good. They're monsters, right? Because only a monster would hurt Tucker like that. Wouldn't see the person behind the mask. It—Phantom—Tucker was there the whole time, and Phantom couldn't see that. He just kept hurting him. He should have known!”

The soft voice of the radio fills the cab. And then Mr. Foley turns it off, and there's only silence. Danny can't look. He lets go of his knee, flexing his fingers. They're numb from how tightly he clenched his hand.

He wants to make himself small, curl up and disappear into nothing. He doesn’t want to be seen or heard or perceived. If only a portal would open up beneath him and take him to an endless void—there must be one somewhere in the Infinite Realms—where he can stop existing for a while.

“Danny,” Mr. Foley says.

Stop it.

“Danny, I'm worried about you.”

Stop looking at me.

“Your parents are good people, but I don't like it when you start saying these things. And you've been different lately.”

No, no, no!

The heat of the cab bears down on him. His bandages are damp, and he is cold and hot and too many things all at once. Mr. Foley keeps talking, but his words don't reach Danny. The pounding of his heart drowns them out. The truck turns a corner, making Danny's view spin, but when the vehicle straightens out, the world does not.

“I—” a voice says. “Please. I need—”

“Are you okay?” Something hot touches Danny's forehead. “You're burning up.”

A hand reaches for the door. A monster's hand with pale, bony fingers and scabby knuckles. It pops the door open. The truck screeches as Mr. Foley slams on the brakes, but Danny is already out the door, part of him phasing through the metal when it can't open fast enough. He hits the ground running.

“Danny!” Mr. Foley shouts after him, but Danny is gone before the truck stops.

He doesn't know where he's going. Snow pelts his face, nearly blinding him. The wind has gone from nipping at his cheeks to slicing through him, whipping into a storm. In the distance, a haze of green and orange glows behind the snow. Danny veers away from it and pivots down the nearest street. As he turns, he skids on a patch of ice and loses his footing, careening into a mailbox. The corner drives into his chest, and his world goes white.

Danny comes to face down in the snow with ringing in his ears. He doesn’t know how long he was out, but it is long enough that the flood of adrenaline has ebbed. As the tide recedes, it uncovers all the aches he had ignored for the past few minutes.

Every breath drives a dagger through his chest. He doesn't know if he wants to cry, puke, or collapse. Or all three at once. Through the flurry of snow, he hears a shout.

“Danny!”

He has to keep going.

“Danny, where are you?!”

Leaning on the mailbox for support, he drags himself up, pivoting on his left leg.

He hears a pop. A crackling, like stepping on broken glass. Danny crumples with a scream as a searing pain tears through his knee. It’s here and gone in seconds, leaving his whole body trembling as he lays in the snow. He tries to rise, but his knee immediately gives out.

A hand touches his shoulder before he can try again.

“Daniel.”

He tries to clamber away from the hand, the voice, but his leg can’t bear the weight, even when sliding across the ground. His entire side spasms when he accidentally knocks his knee, and he lashes out at the hand reaching for him, stopping just sort of crushing those fingers in his grip.

He whimpers. “Leave me 'lone.”

“Don't be stupid. You're coming with me.”

Danny is scooped up before he can protest. He doesn't even have the energy to squirm. Anything that isn't snow is just a blur of colour. The face above him. The car ahead of them. As they approach, Danny’s shaking stops. Not because he adjusts to the pain, his body just stops. No breathing. No heartbeat. Nothing. All at once, everything has become very far away.

“Not so much fight in you today, little badger.”

He tenses as the car door opens, but inside is barely warmer than out in the snow. Danny lies in the backseat, cheek pressed to the chill leather. He tries to keep his eyes open, but staring at the seat ahead of him while the car moves turns his stomach. Again, nothing but bile comes up.

He closes his eyes, drifting into nothing as the darkness takes him.

—

A tether pulls Danny along. His body moves, and he moves with it, but he isn't moving it. “Danny” and “Danny's body” are not the same right now. His body feels the arms around his shoulders and under his knees. Danny does not. His body lifts its hand to stare at its scarred fingers. Danny does not.

Danny drifts behind, watching but not seeing, as the world moves around him. It is dull and flat and not quite real. It’s like possessing his Doomed avatar all over again.

That changes when he is set down on a cold table in front of a glowing expanse. The swirling green fog beckons him forward. He tries to rise, but those hands grab him again and sit him back down. This time, he feels the pressure on his shoulder as if through layers of thick cloth. One hand moves to his head, dragging through his hair. Danny doesn't try getting up again after that. He sits, content watching the ebb and flow, breathing in the sour air.

The one time Danny's friends had been in his parents' lab, they called the air acrid. Danny would have agreed with them before. Now, that smell comforts him. The same way people enjoy citrus, vanilla, or pine, Danny savours the scent—and taste—of ecto-rich air. The longer he sits there, the more “Danny” and “Danny's body” feel like one thing again. The table beneath him becomes solid, real. His breathing, although far from easy, evens out. The haze over his mind creeps away like fog in the sunlight.

The trembling starts immediately. Danny closes his eyes, taking as deep a breath as possible, ignoring how shaky it is. He wants to curl into a ball and wallow, but this isn’t the place for that. Not anymore. Instead, he gives himself ten seconds.

One.

Ten seconds to be miserable.

Two.

To wonder how badly he screwed up this time.

Three.

Four.

To wonder if he cracked a rib when he hit that mailbox.

Five.

Six.

Or what he might have torn in his knee.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

To pretend he’s just a normal kid having a shitty day.

Ten.

Danny sits up straight and turns. Now that his panic has retreated—not gone, but tucked into a corner of his mind like a wild animal—he realizes where he is. Who he's with.

Danny didn't notice when Vlad pulled away. Part of him, much larger than he wants to admit, laments the loss of contact. Now, Vlad leans against the console of his lab. A large monitor rises behind him, with several smaller screens angled beside it. They can function as individual screens or act as one massive display. Danny has played Doomed on those screens many times in the past year. He can see the game's case just behind Vlad, alongside his NASA mug and a pair of headphones he has never seen before.

Vlad follows Danny’s gaze to the items on the desk. He smiles and picks up the headphones. “Do you like them? They just came in. I know your old headphones got damaged in a fight.”

“Yeah.” The ear pads on the headphones are planets, and stripes like the rings of Saturn decorate the headband. It will not be the first gift Vlad has given him. Danny swallows before adding, “With Tech.”

Vlad puts the headphones down and comes forward. “I'm sure you heard the news by now. It's all over Amity Park. I'm sorry your best friend turned out to be a ghost hunter.” He rests a hand on Danny's head in a paternal gesture, which Danny normally finds comforting. “It must be hard. Are you all right?”

Danny takes in the lab, which has grown more familiar to him than his own home. The day Vlad showed him this place and revealed himself, something in Danny changed.

You're like me, Danny had thought. You understand me.

Any ghost can stumble into Vlad's lab, but he and Danny are the only humans able to reach it. It became his haven. Here, he could be himself without worrying about anyone else seeing. And Vlad gave him that.

Tucker's words, which had never left Danny's mind, resurface.

Vlad told me to.

Danny jerks away from Vlad's hand, leaving it hanging between them. Something changes in Vlad's expression. It's so minute that someone else might not have caught it, but Danny has spent too much time with the man not to notice. Vlad's nostrils flare, and his mouth twitches downward. Danny blinks, and Vlad's smile is back at full brightness, but it's too late. Danny saw the mask crack.

Vlad clasps his hands behind his back and starts pacing. “I heard about your suspension. Your father added me to your list of emergency contacts after I came to Amity, and when you left without waiting for an adult, the school contacted me. You're lucky I found you. Have you even treated your injuries yet?”

“Vlad.” Danny's tone could make a ghost shiver.

Vlad pauses for a second. “Daniel. What did I do to lose my uncle privileges?”

“Whatever you did to Tucker.”

“Oh, dear. Is this about the press conference? I promise it won't be anything bad, but this is a big revelation for the city. I would be remiss not to address it.”

“No, I—press conference?” Danny shakes his head. “Stop it. Stop deflecting. Tucker told me.”

Vlad's jaw tenses. Another crack. “What do you mean? What did he tell you?”

“Everything!”

Vlad looks Danny up and down, then swivels, heading back for the console. He swipes the NASA mug up and swirls around the liquid inside. Some week-old energy drink, probably. He sniffs at it and makes a disgusted face, then dumps the contents over a nearby floor drain. Vlad takes his time going to the eyewash station, filling the mug with water and cleaning it.

Two minutes pass before Vlad returns to the console and leans against it, giving Danny a long stare. Unable to straighten with the gnawing in his chest, Danny curls in instead. Vlad smirks.

The expression makes Danny bristle. He knows that face. It's the smile Vlad gives him when they've both seen something stupid—a private joke passing between them. Danny doesn't smile back. He doesn't see any jokes around here except for himself.

“I don't know what you're talking about. Is your fever getting to you?” Vlad says.

“You knew who he was! Tucker said so!”

“Oh. I found out by mistake. I knew it would only hurt you, so I gave him some advice. I would have told you sooner if I thought it would end like this. But you know how unstable you—”

“LIAR!” Danny howls, the sound tearing from Danny’s throat, shaking the lab. It cracks the monitors and shatters the mug in Vlad’s hand. He scowls, shaking off glass and blood, while Danny cries out. “Why would you make me hurt him?!”

“I didn't make you do anything. You said you wanted to help, so I gave you a task. You did get the relic, didn't you?” Vlad pauses, but not long enough for Danny to answer. “How exactly you went about getting it was entirely up to you. I have plenty of resources you could have used to track it down before Tech got to it.”

“I wasn't going to use one of your ghosts!”

“Oh, that's delightful.” There is nothing friendly in Vlad's smile now.

The shift takes Danny aback. Despite the cracks he saw, he doesn’t want to believe the mask is there, to see it crumble. This isn’t supposed to happen. Vlad should be smiling at him—warmly—and offering some sage advice that sounds pompous but ultimately helps Danny figure this out. And, after taking care of Danny’s wounds, they will go upstairs and watch something in Vlad’s home theatre. An old Packers game if Vlad reaches the TV first, during which he’ll recite the same hundred facts Danny has heard a thousand times over. Some kind of monster flick if Danny gets there first, or a space documentary if he wants to annoy Vlad. But no matter what they watch, they’ll spend the hours crafting a perfect lie about his behaviour for Danny’s parents, and when Danny goes to sleep later, he can rest easy knowing that Vlad has his back. Even if no one else does.

Danny wants his Uncle Vlad.

He doesn’t want this.

“You really think you're a monster, don't you?”

Danny fights back tears, saying, “I'm not like them! I have a heartbeat. I still feel things. I don't just hurt people because I can!” He doesn't even convince himself.

“There's more than one way to be a monster.” Vlad presses a button on the console.

The screens, cracked but still functional, light up. All seven show the same thing: a clip from Friday's fight. It isn't in the video circling online, but Danny remembers this moment. It happened not long after the fight began.

Phantom grabs Tech by the chest piece, lifts him, and then slams him down on the ground. Hard enough that the pavement beneath Tech fractures and his suit glitches. The video closes in on the ghost's snarling face. Its bared fangs. The wild, inhuman eyes.

“Shut up!” Danny launches himself at Vlad. In the second it takes to cross the lab, he transforms from human to ghost. His claws tear into Vlad’s suit as they collide and crash into the main monitor. It shatters, glass raining down around them, but the video doesn’t stop.

The screens on either side show the clip on a loop. The same scene is happening here, in a different place, with a different friend, but the same feral look on Phantom's face.

“I didn't want to! You made me do it!” Danny slams Vlad down again and again and again. All the while, that recording taunts him from the edges of his vision. Danny's attention snaps to the screens on his right. Beams of ectoplasm explode from his eyes and carve through the screens, scorching the walls as he turns from right to left.

Vlad shoves his palm under Danny's chin and fires. Pink overtakes Danny’s vision as the ecto-blast goes off, throwing him across the lab. The smell of smoke and singed flesh overpowers the comforting tang of ectoplasm. Danny stares at the ceiling, panting, and swallows. It hurts.

“Little badger, look at yourself. You're not in the right state for this.”

Danny pushes himself up and finds Vlad, now transformed, floating closer. The front of his suit is torn, but the injuries beneath are little more than paper cuts to him. Danny flicks the blood off his claws and tries to stand. His knee gives out beneath him.

“You can't walk.”

Danny tries to respond but cuts off with a sharp gasp. He touches a hand to his throat. When he pulls away, he finds ectoplasm dripping from his claws.

“You can't speak.”

Danny snarls.

“I thought you said you weren't a monster?”

With a screech, Danny throws himself forward again. Vlad dodges to the side. They've been here before. How many times has Danny tested himself against Vlad, tried out new powers on him, and sparred in the lab?

How many times has Danny lost to Vlad in these friendly sessions?

That doesn’t stop Danny from throwing himself, again and again, at the man he trusts. The man he sees as a mentor, an uncle, and maybe even a father figure. He lashes out with claws, and teeth, and ectoplasm, but nothing hits. Vlad keeps slipping out of the way, unbothered, as if this means nothing to him. Danny's whole world is crashing down around him, and no one cares.

He tries to duplicate, desperate for any edge he can get over Vlad, and gets so far as having two right forearms sprouting from his elbow before something inside of him fizzles.

“No, no, no!” Danny croaks. A ring flickers around his chest. He forces it back, barely, and leaps at Vlad again, charging ecto-blasts in all three palms.

Vlad dodges the first blast and the second but slips right into the path of the third. Triumph fills Danny as the ecto-blast explodes, until a hand shoots out and grabs his wrist.

“Don’t forget who taught you all of your tricks.” The duplicate Vlad left behind to take the hit melts away as the real Vlad steps back, claws sinking into Danny’s flesh. He smiles before wrenching Danny’s arm upward.

Danny screams over the squelch of the limb tearing from his body. He crumples on the floor, groping at his elbow. Threads of muscle coated in blood and ectoplasm twitch beneath his fingers. Their tattered ends dangle from the arm in Vlad’s grip, a jagged bone poking out between the flesh.

Danny retches when he feels the muscles twitching. Darkness creeps into his vision, and he has to fight it back.

His arm. His arm. Vlad ripped off his arm.

A string of muscle slips out of the severed arm and hits the floor. Globs of ectoplasm follow, splattering against the tile. The flesh shrivels, sloughing off in chunks, followed by the remaining muscle, and the bones crumble in Vlad's grip as the arm corrodes from the inside out. Danny flinches at each wet smack, unable to tear his eyes away from the decaying limb. Every time a piece of it falls, his elbow spasms. He cups the wound, expecting his hand to close around a stump, but finds solid flesh instead. Slowly, his gaze lowers.

Ectoplasm oozes between his fingers. Pulling his hand away, he watches the last dangling thread of muscle fall, joining the mass on the floor. The ectoplasm on his elbow bubbles and smooths out into pale, unblemished skin.

Between the swimming in his head and the darkness creeping into his vision, it takes him a while to truly process what he sees. His right arm, from his shoulder all the way down to his fingertips, is still there.

The melting limb is fake—the duplicate.

It is the duplicate, right? Danny flexes his real—please, please be real—hand. The crumbling remains of his other fingers twitch, sending a jolt up his arm. Muscles that did not exist before—and exist no longer—strain to move a part of him that isn't there.

The limb is fake.

But it feels real.

Every second of agony as his flesh decays before his eyes.

When the rings come again, Danny doesn't have the energy to fight them off.

“Remember: it didn't have to be like this, little badger. If it weren't for your stubbornness, we could have kept going as we were. But I suppose you've ruined it.” Vlad waves his hand, creating a shield of ectoplasm. With a push, it shoots forward, pinning Danny to the ground, moulding around his body as it binds him.

The last chunks of his arm dissolve, and Danny’s eyes widen when the puddle inches toward him. He squirms, breath hitching as he tries to get away, but there’s nowhere to go. His bindings tighten, forcing his elbows into his ribs, cutting into his wrists until his fingers go numb.

The ectoplasm seeps into his hair. When he whips his head around, droplets splatter against his cheek. One lands on his lips.

The taste of lime. The smell. Burnt. Rotting.

Vlad rests a foot on Danny's chest, on his injury. It draws Danny’s attention, but one word lingers in the back of Danny’s mind.

Acrid.

“And I could have done so much for you,” Vlad says, then digs his heel in.

Danny is too busy howling at his cracking bones to see the foot come for his head next.

—

Danny was bleeding the first time they met. It was the standard for their first few run-ins, spread over the following weeks. Even now, it seems that Danny always bleeds in Vlad’s presence.

He had been late coming home from school, caught in a fight on his way. He pelted toward the stairs, clutching his backpack against his stomach—the fifth backpack he would lose after his accident. Before he started climbing, his dad beckoned him to the living room. Danny didn't have time for whatever his dad wanted. He could feel the wet spot on his side growing. If he didn't get behind a closed door soon, someone might notice the stain spreading on his shirt. He cared more about that than the grey tint slowly overcoming his vision.

“Danny? Are you coming?” his dad called again.

Danny made the mistake of looking back. His dad’s eyes were filled with so much hope. Danny knew his parents were eccentric and that put people off, but how could anyone ever say no to Jack Fenton when he radiated such joy?

Danny's earliest memory is the glint of his dad's smile. The warmth of his arms.

At that moment, Danny was bleeding into his backpack. His vision was growing dimmer by the second, and he wasn't sure if he could walk straight. But his dad smiled and waved him forward, and suddenly Danny was a toddler again, taking his first wobbling steps toward his favourite person in the world.

His dad’s beckoning hand pulled him toward the promise of that warmth, and he stumbled into the living room.

He didn't know the man sitting on the couch. Didn't hear anything his parents said, either. Danny rushed through an introduction (Hi, I'm Danny, nice to meet you—I'm going to my room now) and fled as soon as possible.

Once locked behind the bathroom door, he stuffed his bloody shirt into his bloodier backpack and started fixing himself up. He had to dig a pellet of ice from his abdomen and was surprised it hadn't melted yet. That ghost—what was his name… Klemper?—had been tossing snowballs left and right. Danny hadn’t expected it to hurt once he got hit with one, much less bury a chunk of ice in his stomach.

So much for making friends.

Once the shard was out, blood flowed freely from the wound. Danny nearly passed out at the sight of it. It was the first time he had bled so much from a ghost fight. He impressed himself by holding it together, until he tried to stitch himself up with a travel sewing kit. As the needle dug into his skin, his world went black.

An hour later, Danny was bandaged—but no stitches, never again—and the bathroom was clear. He had stuffed the toilet paper and towels he used to mop up the blood into his backpack, intent on tossing the whole thing in the dumpster once night fell. Satisfied with his cleanup job, he slunk into the hall, shirtless, once again hiding behind his backpack.

Danny had been so busy checking if Jazz's door was closed that he hadn’t noticed the body before him until he buried his nose in a cashmere jacket. He looked up into the stunned face of the man his dad had wanted him to meet. Some old friend of his parents’ from their college days. Danny had already forgotten his name.

He wouldn't find out for weeks how the man noticed the only drop of blood Danny had missed—a stain the size of a quarter on the hem of his jeans. In the moment, all he saw was the man's shocked expression melting into amusement, and something else, something Danny couldn't name but recognized on an instinctive level. Something that made him take a step back.

The man surprised Danny with a pat on the head. “Try dish soap. And cold water,” he said before gliding past into the bathroom.

Danny spent the rest of that evening hiding in his bedroom, afraid that at any second, his parents would come bursting in because their friend saw him bleeding. They never did.

To anyone else, that interaction would have been insignificant—a few harried seconds easily forgotten. But to Danny, who had already been through so much, it meant one thing:

There was an adult he could trust.

—

Danny wakes up to a fever and a ceiling covered in stars. Not the dollar-store, glow-in-the-dark stickers he grew up with, which his dad helped him put up when he was five, but a light projection from a lamp on the nightstand. With the curtains drawn, only the stars provide light for the room. Danny is thankful for that. He can barely keep his eyes open with how much his head pounds.

He reaches to peel off the blanket, but freezes. His right arm hovers in front of him, trembling. It comes back to him quickly: the sound, the smell, the taste. The slow decay of the phantom limb.

It was fake, he tells himself, squeezing his hand into a fist. That wasn’t real.

The rest of his body feels stiff, fresh bruises blooming across his back and shoulders, and he can’t catch his breath. It’s like there’s a knife in his back, held in place by Vlad’s heel, and even the smallest inhale pushes Danny’s chest back into the blade.

His throat is a footnote in comparison, barely worth his notice.

But his knee… This morning, Danny’s knee twinged. There was discomfort, but he could walk. Comparing his pain from then to now is like comparing a bruise to a bullet wound. He knows the disparity between those two injuries.

He pushes himself up, peeling away from the sweat-soaked sheets, and bites back a cry when his leg shifts. He has to stop twice and grit his teeth before he manages to sit upright.

The blanket falls into his lap just as he spots his reflection in the mirror across the room. His chest and throat have been bandaged with care. The edges of his injuries creep out from beneath the bandages, flares of red skin touching his collarbone and ribs. The bandages on his throat are also damp, but not from sweat. Danny recognizes the slightly tacky sensation of Vlad’s healing salve—a concoction made to soothe ectoplasmic injuries. It works best on surface wounds.

Beneath the blanket, he discovers unfamiliar pyjamas. Pulling up the left leg reveals a compression bandage around his knee. If it’s supposed to help, it’s not doing much.

There is little else in the room besides him, the bed, and the mirror. The projector and the nightstand, of course. A dresser beneath the mirror. A Dumpty Humpty poster on the door. This room is one of many that Danny had yet to explore in Vlad's manor. Despite this, he immediately knows what, or who, it's for.

This is Danny's room.

Only a day ago, that realization might have warmed him. Now, it fills him with disgust. He needs to leave as soon as possible, but he can't go out in a pair of flannel pyjama pants. Scanning the room again, he doesn't see his hoodie or sweatpants, but he notices a stack of clothes on the corner of the bed.

Designer jeans, a Vladco polo shirt, and a fur-lined leather jacket. No way Danny is putting those on.

He goes to transform, tugging on his core, but a jolt of electricity stops him. It rips through his body and leaves him breathless, clutching his chest. He doesn’t try again.

He should. If he wants to get out of here quickly, he only has one option. But just turning his hand intangible makes his insides itch. He doesn’t want to know how intense that would feel across his whole body. Doesn’t want to hurt any more than he already does.

Danny berates himself for his weakness.

He changes into the clothes and hates every second of it, but he doesn't have another option. It takes an embarrassingly long time since he has to manoeuvre his bad knee. Bending it hurts. Straightening it hurts. He can’t even let it lay limp without some discomfort. But he manages, grimacing when he catches his reflection, and starts the arduous process of limping through the manor.

He may not have explored every inch of Vlad’s home, but he knows the layout well enough to find his way to the front door. He keeps one hand on the wall to help his balance, but he still falls a few times.

By the time he reaches the stairs, the wall is the only thing holding him up. Every time he puts weight on his left leg, his knee slides beneath his skin. His right thigh aches from hopping across the manor on one leg. While ghost hunting keeps Danny in shape, the last few days have drained him so much that he feels like a weak freshman again, barely able to run a mile.

As he peers down the stairs from the third-floor landing, part of him whispers that he should go back and collapse into that soft bed. But he hasn’t sunk that low yet. As he debates the least painful way to make it down, a voice floats up to him.

“—wake him up. I don't want to take up more of your time,” Jazz says.

“It's not a problem, dear.” Danny's heart quickens at Vlad's voice. “Danny visits often enough. I don't mind him taking up one of my spare bedrooms for a few hours. I'm just glad I found him so quickly.”

Danny clings to the newel post as he lowers himself to the floor, starting the long process of scooting down the stairs one step at a time.

“Thanks again for calling the school back. Lancer said he didn't want to pull me out of class, but someone needed to be here for Danny.”

“He was fine with me.”

“Family, I mean.”

“Right. Of course. But you could have waited for school to end.”

Danny glances at the grandfather clock on the main floor, visible at the back of the hall now that he's worked his way down to the second landing. It's not even three yet. Jazz had to leave school early because of him. A bitter taste spreads across his tongue. He swallows a few times, but the taste lingers. He can't get rid of his guilt that easily.

“Yeah, that's not happening. Danny comes first.”

He wishes she would stop saying stupid things.

When Danny finally reaches the bottom floor, he stops to gather himself. A few quick breaths, so close to hyperventilating that he wonders if his panic has reared its head again, before he strides over to the doorway leading to Vlad's sitting room. He almost makes it all the way, but on the last step, his leg buckles, and he clings to the door frame to keep himself up. Jazz’s head jerks up at the sound of him hitting the doorway, and her face lights up when she spots him.

“Danny!” She is upon him instantly, leaping across the room to reach him, rubbing his hair, touching his forehead, and fussing with the jacket. “Oh. This is new?”

“His clothes were soaked, and he didn’t have a good coat. I couldn't in good conscience leave him like that.”

While Jazz frets, Danny stares past her. Vlad sits in a lavish armchair with his back to them but watches through the mirror above the mantle. He has a thing for mirrors.

Their eyes meet, and Vlad's flash red. Danny pales.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jazz asks.

Danny, unable to speak, nods. The way Jazz fusses, she keeps pushing him back, forcing more weight onto his injured knee. Tears spring to his eyes.

“Oh, Danny.” Jazz lifts a hand to wipe the tears away, but Danny flinches back.

“Careful.” Vlad rises from his chair. The movement yanks Danny's attention back to him as he approaches. “I think I might have bruised his ego when I had to carry him inside. He must be sulking.”

Danny can feel Jazz's eyes on him, but he can't look away from Vlad. Danny hasn't stopped shaking since they made eye contact. Vlad raises a hand to fix his sleeve, and Danny flinches again.

“Oh.” Jazz's hand finds Danny's wrist and squeezes it once. “Well, thank you again. I'm taking Danny home now if that's all right.”

Her tone says she doesn't care if it's all right; they're going home now.

“By all means,” Vlad says.

No one moves. Danny doesn’t want to look away from Vlad, afraid of what might happen the second he turns his back. Jazz must pick up on his wariness because she keeps looking between them as if she, too, is waiting for something to happen.

Vlad finally breaks the spell over them by gesturing to the door.

Jazz takes Danny’s hand and pulls him away. He stays behind her, so she can’t see him limping. Unfortunately, they’re nowhere near the wall, and he has no way to hold himself up when his leg gives out again. His hand rips from Jazz’s as he stumbles, barely catching himself from face-planting.

Jazz spins around, lips parting, but Danny snaps, “What?” before she can say anything.

Hurt flashes across her face. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine.” He drops to one knee, ducking his head to hide his grimace, and mutters, “Tripped on my shoelace.”

Jazz doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t lift his head to see what face she’s making. Danny fiddles with his perfectly tied laces until Jazz’s feet turn away from him and head for the door. He stays on the ground, breathing softly through his nose until he’s ready to stand, rising on one leg. His left knee spasms.

He massages it through his jeans, although it doesn’t help. The compression bandage doesn’t seem to be doing anything, either. It feels like someone sliced his knee open, chipped the bone to pieces, and filled the hole with oozing ectoplasm.

The front door opens and shuts.

Danny only has a second to process what that means before he jerks toward Vlad, just in time to see a syringe of orange fluid jabbed into his arm. Danny rips his arm away, but Vlad is faster. By the time Danny stumbles back, the syringe is empty.

“I've done a lot for you, little badger. I still will.” Vlad closes his fist around the syringe. There's a flash of pink, and then ash falls from his hand. “You'll be thanking me in a couple of hours when that kicks in. Remember, I only want what's best for you.” He turns but pauses halfway. “Oh… and keep that relic safe for me, won't you? I'll be needing it soon enough,” he says before drifting out of sight.

—

The car shakes as Danny drops into the passenger seat, and once more when he slams the door shut.

“Hey, not so hard,” Jazz says.

Danny ignores her, facing the window as he scrubs his face. He can still taste the salt on his lips, and the red around his eyes is prominent. He tries to rub it away, but there’s no helping it. After a few fruitless seconds, he gives up, pulling the bar under his seat to slide the chair back and give his legs some room. He cranks the lever on the side as well, putting the back down, and drapes a hand over his eyes.

“Hey.” Jazz prods him. “Upright, seatbelt on. That's not safe if we crash.”

“Do you plan on crashing?” The words drag at his throat, which quickly went hoarse during his minute of alone time. His voice comes out raspy and quiet. Danny doesn't know what Jazz sees, or what she makes of him right now.

After a few seconds of staring, she sighs and turns the engine on. “Just wear your seatbelt.”

Danny clicks it into place with the hand not draped over his eyes. If Jazz sees the redness, she’ll know that he was crying. Stupid. Fourteen years old and crying like a child. Danny's fingers dig into his scalp. His nails aren't quite claws when he's human, but they're sharper than normal and prick his skin. Every time he cuts them, they start growing back to a point. He always trims them before it gets too obvious.

They drive in silence. Danny grits his teeth, focusing on not hissing in pain every time they hit a pothole. Hold it together, he tells himself. Only a few more minutes to home, and then he can fall apart in private. Until then, he just has to be okay.

Everything is okay.

Everything is okay.

Jazz doesn’t try to talk again, which is better for Danny. He’s unsure if he can open his mouth without some strained sound escaping him. The inside of his lip is already ragged and bleeding from how hard he bites down.

When they turn onto their street, he thinks he’s in the clear. Jazz parks on the backstreet, in front of their garage, and Danny hears her shuffling around. At first, he thinks she’s getting out, and hopes he can wait her out and go inside a minute later. His hopes are dashed when something drops onto his chest.

Danny bites his tongue to keep from crying out.

“You left your backpack at school,” Jazz says. “After you got suspended. Do you want to talk about it?”

Danny clenches his jaw, breathing as deep as he can through his nose, and swallows the blood pooling in his mouth. Once he can speak without gasping, he says, “Yeah. I put it down, and then I forgot it was there, and then I left because I'm not allowed to be there anymore.”

“Only two weeks, and you still have to do schoolwork. I'll be bringing it home for you. Maybe you can use the rest of the time to get caught up on everything else you haven't done yet. And then you can tell me what the hell happened with Vlad back there.”

“Can we just… not do this right now.”

“Danny—”

“Jazz.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out angry, but there’s a bite to her name that he can’t take back. Being in this car, with her, is too much right now. He doesn’t need this. He needs things back to the way they were when he was oblivious and hurt, but not as hurt as he is now.

Jazz purses her lips. “Okay. I'll tell Mom and Dad about the suspension. You can talk to me—and them—when you're ready.”

“Yeah. Right.” Danny gets out before Jazz can say anything else. She follows, but he refuses to look back, fighting to hide his limp. He doesn't stop until he's inside, up the stairs, and in his bedroom. He doesn't even make it to the bed, crumpling against the door, curling over his knee as tears prick his eyes.

There are daggers under his skin, chipping away at bone and muscle, driven deeper with every step he forced himself to take. He thumps his head against the door, mouth open in a soundless scream as he lets the pain wash over him. It tears through his body, every bruise and burn throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

Outside his room, the house comes alive as his parents return, their voices filling all the empty spaces. Danny's room stays dead and quiet.

For hours, he leans against his door, staring up at the stickers on his ceiling. While his eyes trace the familiar constellations, his mind has receded deep within himself. Moving from his head to his toes, he focuses on all his aches and pains, giving himself a few moments to feel each one before shoving them out of mind.

Some pains are worse than others. The bruises, he files away without a second thought. The headache and the twist in his gut take a bit more effort. But his chest? His knee? Danny doesn’t have the words to describe how much they wreck him before he can push them away.

It’s just pain. He can handle pain.

At some point, someone comes by and knocks on his door. Danny doesn’t answer, barely conscious enough to hear it. His chin dips to his chest as he watches the shadow until it leaves, relaxing only a fraction when it does.

Eventually, the sounds outside dim. Jazz whispers goodnight. The floorboards in the hall creak, first under his mom’s light steps, and then they groan as his dad traipses across them. A door closes. Everything goes quiet. With the quiet comes an all-encompassing numbness.

The clock on Danny’s nightstand reads two a.m. by the time he drags himself from his stupor. In his backpack, abandoned at his side the second he sat down, something glows. Danny reaches inside and gropes around until he finds it, small and cold to the touch. He draws the item out.

“This is all your fault,” Danny mutters. Whether that is to himself or the relic in his hand, he doesn't know. Doesn't care. Both are true.

As Danny opens his palm, the Ring of Rage glows brighter.

[amorfista]

May I present to you:

... The portraits of the heroes starring in this exciting journey that is about to begin! I believe they will serve as a good teaser ;)

A short introduction to this adventure will be posted on the upcoming days. Stay tuned!! <3 :)

@dukeoftheblackstar @justalittletomato @darthmaulshispanichousewife @botherbother-blog @aftergloom @badolmen @ihaventpickedausername @ohboi @stardustbee @nik-barinova @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @gen-has-green-vibes @ejfivercommander @herbalinz-of-yesteryear @eyecandyeoz @noesqape @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @staycalmandhugaclone @callmesunny04 @freesia-writes @ginnymilling @sunshinesdaydream @sev-on-kamino @cloneloverrrrr @mooncommlink @idontgetanysleep @tech-aficionado @followthepurrgil @renton6echo @queen-jiru @shoe-bag @eyayah123 @eloquentmoon @and-loth-cat @ladyzirkonia @stardusthuntress @bambambunny @morphofan @gt13tbbart @amalthiaph @cameronirat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @anxiouspineapple99 @isthereanechoinhere96 @marymunchkiin ❤️

[cloned-eyes]

beach days

[aeli-tan-art]

Here's my piece for the @wildwestzine 🤠

[zealfruity]

Clone Force 99, circa. 19BBY, 1 month after Echo joins them

Redraw of their family photo using my designs for them.