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kinglazrus · 1 year ago

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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.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #unlucky alis #phicc #tech hunter au #phanfic #no one knows au #posting at 2am isn't really conducive to getting the phic seen #but I was too excited to wait

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