#i always make em so dramatic like Flying Over the Pit of Death & Hand On My Stupid Heart & shit like that

[daddyplasmius]

it's so tempting to name my fics something really annoying & impossible to actually use in conversation & i was gonna say i won't do that for readers' sakes but actually i think i should make it worse instead

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Danny takes a look in the weapons vault for something useful, Tucker gets some info, and Sam has a moral debate in her head instead of out loud.

To say that the situation between Danny and his parents was tense would be to say that space was a little dark and a touch chilly. Ending an argument by passing out was dramatic, yes, but not conducive to following that argument up with maybe something calmer, more reasoned out. On one hand, Danny was never going to be reasonable about the idea of committing genocide on the dead, a feat he was almost entirely certain was impossible and yet even if it was possible, it would be akin to setting off all the nukes on Earth at once. It was a horrible idea, and if he thought about it any further Danny knew he was going to start causing things to float and go icy cold and dark. He may have accidentally frozen part of his room when he got home from the hospital.

So, instead of asking his parents ‘hey Mom and Dad, have you made any tools or weapons to expose a shapeshifting ghost?’ like he would’ve in the case of a slightly less tense relationship with his parents (he could see the threads that bound him to them, and they were strained, thinner than before, and that frightened him), Danny had to check himself. Which meant going into the kitchen and heading through the door, down the stairs and ignoring the second flight of stairs that’d lead to the lab (to the portal, to his Death, to his Undeath, to all the hurt he’d ever experienced compounded over itself all at once). He instead kept going down a hallway, one that held two doors, both sealed up. One was the Cursed Artifacts vault, and it didn’t surprise Danny that he could see light pulsing at the edges of the door, calling out to him in a way that he could see but not hear and yet knew was a cry all the same.

“I bet there’re dolls in there. Not even because they’re actually cursed but because they think they are.” Instead of finding out how cursed anything in there actually was, Danny turned to the other door, opening it up and looking out across rows and shelves of weapons. The walls were honeycombed with drawers like file cabinets. The ones that were open were typically the more experimental ones, while the rest were connected to the Portal Pockets so that they could be summoned on the fly whenever needed. Checking over the experimental shelves, Danny tapped his fingers against his arms and legs, trying not to think too hard about any of these things being used against him.

“The Fenton Ghost Gloves,” Danny read from the notecard written in his mother’s patient script. “When activated the gloves release a steady current of metaphysical energy (hereby referred to as ecto energy) across their surface, facilitating tactile interaction with a ghost regardless of the ghost’s selective tangibility. Concept derived from the Specter Deflector™ as suggested by Tucker Sazad Foley.” He put the card back and sighed. “Not what I needed but good to know about. Maybe Tuck and I can make some of these of our own - if it’s in the experimental phase then it’s fitted to Dad.”

Danny walked over to the Next New Thing. He groaned, running a hand through his hair and tugging on the curls. “Looks like we need a new mixer. That was mine! Just cause Mom can’t make anything but cookies or fudge doesn’t mean that they should just. Argh.” He huffed and then picked up the card for whatever his precious mixer had been sacrificed to make. “The Fenton Ghost Peeler. Oh, wow, they couldn’t get a potato peeler for this one? Capable of… stripping a ghost layer by layer, peeling them like an onion, so as to weaken it for capture or for examination post-capture. Yikes.” Setting down the card, he picked it up and examined the buttons, keeping the obvious business end away from his face. “That sounds painful, probably even sadistic, but I guess this is what I’m after.” He pocketed it, placing it not with standard weapon storage but his own private little pocket that only he had access to outside of emergencies.

Making sure the door was locked, Danny walked to the stairs and ignored the plethora of colors radiating from the tiny seams of the Artifacts vault, and the star-like pull tugging him downward, deeper, toward a world still unseen. He had this world to worry about, and the next one could wait.

Flying his way to Agatha’s soup kitchen would’ve been faster than using his skateboard but if Hunter had taught him anything, being subtle could be a life or death thing. With that shapeshifter on the loose, Tucker felt being subtle was the right path to go down while alone. Tucker moved with an ear and both eyes open for trouble, which he felt like he was going to get. When he got within 2 blocks of the kitchen, however, that feeling vanished, replaced with an acute awareness of how hungry he was and how little ectoplasmic food Danny had eaten. That surety that he was being watched and hunted faded away and Tucker stopped, looking around. “Note to self, shifter won’t approach Agatha’s territory.”

When he actually got there, the volunteer at the door was one of the same ones who had to be convinced to let Agatha in without calling the Fentons. She had dark skin, bright brown eyes, and long curly hair done up in a bun. She smiled when she saw him, waving. “Hi, there! Tucker, right? You were one of the kids that brought Aggie to us?”

“Yeah, though most people call me TF for Too Fine.” He shot her a pair of finger guns with a grin and a wink, not even flinching when she laughed at it all. He was hardly serious about that right now, and even if he were everything took time.

“Kid, I’m 21. That’d be the creepiest thing under the sun for me to call you.” Tucker laughed with her then and they shook their heads together. “What can I do for ya?”

“I uh need to speak with Ms. Reece. If she’s available.” Tucker knew he wasn’t Danny and that Agatha had no explicit reason to talk to him, but he hoped that his being best friends with the kids who’d gotten her into this place would be enough. He wasn’t a researcher on Sam’s level but he knew she’d need some description beyond ‘malicious supernatural entity’ to figure out what Spectra was.

Daisy - and that was her name, he remembered now - blinked and shrugged before patting Tucker on the shoulder and leading him over toward a door marked Staff Only. “You wait here and I’ll see if Aggie can meet with you.” Tucker nodded and leaned against a wall, scrolling through his phone and looking over Spectra’s staff profile again. His eyes narrowed at the mention of an assistant, wondering what a school counselor needed with an assistant.

Before he could look into this Bertrand Baxter, however, a white holographic head poked through the door and Tucker jumped to attention, Wrist Ray™ aimed and charging. He took a deep breath, put away the weapon and offered a shaky smile at Agatha, who managed a sheepish one herself. “Sorry about that, child. I’ve just been in the habit of it and everyone round here has gotten used to me doing that. How are ya deary?”

“Hello, Ms. Reece,” Tucker said with a wave. “I’ve been better. And you?”

“Oh, I’m doing well! I just wish I could do more.” She frowned. White rippling edges began to tint green. “So many people are out there just like these dears, who can’t get a good meal.”

Tucker frowned as his brain worked double-time to figure something out. He didn’t want Agatha to grow unstable and dangerous because she realized the limitations of being in one place. What did he learn by proxy as Danny’s best friend? Ghosts can do things to satisfy their desires in efficient ways on scales grand enough to terrify. They curse objects to spread their malicious machinations beyond their haunts do things they normally can’t. They- “What if… you made lunch boxes that always restored themselves? Always have a healthy meal inside of them? Then you can give those out to people all over as fast as you can make em, and feed just about everyone.” Tucker had no clue if she could even do that but he dearly hoped so. Not only because he was worried about his own immediate safety - though he was - but also because if she could do that and managed it, then that would be unbelievably great for pretty much everyone in the world. He may not have Sam’s grand, overarching passionate goals as he was very much grounded in the real world not the ideal one, but ghost powers made everything possible.

In any case, Agatha stopped turning green. Instead, for a moment, Agatha didn’t look like a ghost the way Tucker knew them to look. Her skin was a warm brown, her uniform pink and white with thick yellow rubber gloves and her eyes were full of life in a way that Tucker hadn’t ever seen in her or Sydney.

For a moment, Tucker got a clear glimpse of what Agatha was like when she was alive.

She flickered back to that holographic quality and beamed at him. “Oh, Tucker! That’s a wonderful idea! I’ll get to work on that in my Cafeteria! But you came for more than solving my problems, didn’t you?”

“I’m happy to help, Ms. Reece, but I did need to ask you about someone.” Tucker cleared his throat and braced himself. “Do you know about Penelope Spectra?”

Agatha’s hair ignited, eyes turned into red pits of fury and her body shone lime green. “What bout that ishka? ” Oh, Tucker almost disliked that icy cold tone as much as he did the sound of Agatha’s fiery and immediate rage.

“She isn’t human, but she is back at Casper high and Danny, Sam and I need to know what she is to get rid of her.”

“ Hod that filthy, joy suckin- ” Agatha went on a list of what Tucker could only say were old Minnesotan Not Swears. He was impressed that she was refraining from swearing up a storm with how long she went on, but a lack of lungs made ranting names about someone pretty easy, he guessed. “ -get back without my notice? ”

“You were a touch busy with us,” Tucker soothed. “Do you know what she is?”

Agatha took a breath and closed her eyes, the fire that was her hair snapping around waspishly. When she opened them they were focused on Tucker like a microscope. “The Infinite Realms are called that cause they’re endless and infinite. Every kind of world you can imagine and all the ones you can’t exist, and some of theirs end up here. Spectra ’s from what ya call the Abyss. The Ocean of Dark.” Agatha shuddered.

“ Penelope Spectra is a rippling, inky darkness that pulls your greatest fear, your greatest sorrow, the darkest worst thing within you that you resist day after day, or even that you don’t up to the surface. She makes you face everything you think is wrong with you, even the tiniest flaw in the back of your head that you know better about yourself, and spits it back at you with all the force of a wave crashing down and drowning you in misery and self-doubt. And then she feeds on it like a festering parasite.” Agatha’s face twisted up in disgust. “ She is suffering and fear and misery, and she wreaks it upon her victims to feed herself.”

“That’s… quite the description.” Tucker didn’t dare take his phone out to take notes just yet, all too sure that’d look like disrespect to the ghost.

“That Ishka got me and half of the school killed! I’m bein rather generous in how I call her.”

“Understood.” Tucker nodded and took a step back. “Thank you for your help, ma’am.”

“And thank you kindly for the idea, Tucker. Stay safe and aim well.”

“Damn, that’s a description,” Sam muttered, pages flipping in her hands and herbal tea resting half drank next to her. She was slowly recovering from both a bug that seemed to be going around and the drain from her spell. Still, she had a feeling that unless she found some powerful artifact straight from the Infinite Realms it was back to her martial arts and Fenton Weapons for all defenses. Fine against a meathed like Dash, but not so fine when it came to dealing with an emotional vampire.

“It sounds to me like she blames Spectra for what Sydney did,” Danny said, “Which is probably something Sydney might need to hear. After all, if Spectra’s track record is something to go off of then…”

“Let’s save that for later, please and thanks.” Sam sighed. “I don’t need to think about that right now. What I do need to think about is… aha! Alright, thanks to a bunch of internet searches and checking through a few translated books, I think I have an idea of what Spectra is.” She finished her cup of tea and made a face at the strong taste. Regardless, it should help. “Agatha said something about the Dark Ocean, right?”

“Yup.”

“So, while she could be a few things I think the closest match is a Fomorian from Irish myth. Seafarers from the Middle East that came to Ireland centuries before Tuatha Dé Danann arrived there. The Tuatha De Danann are gods,” she answered before Tucker could finish asking. “With our admittedly limited knowledge on ghosts, I’d say that a group of monstrous entities from a dark ocean finding their way here through a portal of some sort and becoming part of legends makes sense.” Sam sighed, leaning back against her wall of fluffy lavender pillows. “If the Infinite Realms are really that and beings from other realms can just make a portal here whenever they feel like it, how many myths, legends, and religions can be traced back to something from another realm hopping over to Earth?”

No one said anything for the longest moment and Sam sneezed into a tissue. Tucker cleared his throat and pushed through a near palpable wall of awkwardness that Sam had established. “What kind of things do the myths say we need in order to hurt her?”

“Well, fighting a Fomorian effectively sort of requires you to use a magickal weapon of some sort. I’m pretty sure that magick is just ectoplasmic energy at this point, so we’re good there.”

“Now we just need an excuse for me to shoot a staff member with an experimental weapon made by the town crazies.” Danny huffed and Sam sucked her teeth at that. How would they corner her without anyone stopping them? Finding her at night sounded like a horrible idea if she was from the Dark Ocean, and dealing with her during the day likely meant at lunch, which would mean the entire school would be available for her to use against them.

Tucker grinned on her screen and puffed out his chest. “Well, that part’s actually covered by Spectra’s own bullshit planning. She has an assistant registered with the school, and you’d think someone with such great planning skills wouldn’t have an assistant with living family members come with her to the school where his grandson goes to.” Sam’s eyes widened and she leaned forward as Tucker sent a link and a picture of a man captioned as Bertrand Baxter. “Yes, that Baxter.”

“Holy shit,” Sam whispered. “All we need to do is get Dash to expose his grandfather as dead and we’d have Spectra dead to rights as either an accomplice in a haunting that’s been hurting the school at the very least. If we can line up the shot right we-” Sam cut herself off with a violent fit of coughing and sneezing and leaned away from the screen with the force of it all. Once she was done attempting to cough up her entire lung, Sam wiped her face with a fresh tissue. “Ugh, I guess I mean if you can line up the shot right. I feel utterly useless like this.”

“Well, if it’s alright I may be able to help with that.” Sam didn’t have the energy to jump like her body wanted to, but she did turn quickly to see Sydney Poindexter floating sheepishly in front of her, head turned to look off into the nearest corner. “I uh. I’ve always wanted to be a nurse, and after you and Danny showed that he can heal people with a little effort, and after a little talk with Jazz, I thought maybe. Maybe I can try? I have more energy to spare, at the very least.”

For a second Sam considered telling Sydney to leave. After all, he’d flat out admitted to what the rumors about him had stated: he snapped and shot up the school. That was inexcusable. And yet, a soul-sucking misery demon looking to feed on every ounce of negative emotion that she could had been an influence, hell might’ve even been the whole driving force. And Sydney had basically been put through torture before and after. Part of her felt that he should be pushed away, shoved in a thermos and returned to the Realms and the other remembered that Agatha, one of his victims, blamed Spectra for what happened to him. Sam would’ve let this moral debate in her head go on forever if she could, really.

But then her lungs had another fit and she decided that pragmatism won out here. So she held out her hand and sniffed when she could. “Go ahead, not like this can get any worse.”

Sydney beamed, his form sliding further into focus and opacity, and he took her hand. His tongue stuck out of his mouth as he concentrated, so much like Danny she wanted to laugh. But then she felt how different from Danny he was. Danny’s energy was vast light bright protection and Sydney felt more gentle cautious guilt warm soft in a way that Sam was hard-pressed to define. But then that warmth spread slowly and steadily through her body and it was like a fever but five times as intense. And then the energy cooled, stealing away the extra heat to soothe her, and Sam felt bone tired. Her sinuses were cleared and all that, she could almost certainly tell, but she was so tired . “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I guess I was able to knock out your flu but you’ll need your own energy to handle any sort of restoration?”

“Let Sam rest a couple days, Syd,” Tucker said at the edges of her awareness. Sydney pulled her up in her bed and her protests died on her lips as warm comfy blankets were tucked around her. “We’ll take on the shadow lady when we’re all at 100 percent.”

“Fine, I’ll rest, but I want a new weapon to compensate.” With that demand gotten out, darkness overtook Sam and the sound of Tucker instructing Sydney on how to turn off her laptop correctly faded out.