#jackdaw-spwrite

“I may,” said Legundo, and went digging in his pack. “But likely nothing stronger than some herbal teas, I’m afraid. It’s been some time since I was in a town large enough for a pharmacy.”

“Then that’s all right.” Her hand, clawed from rheumatism, came down on his forearm. “I’m used to the aches, and I’ve plenty of tea!” She cackled at some private joke. “Now, there’s the matter of payment.”

“You don’t need to pay me, Ma’am.”

She hummed, skepticism clear in the line of her lips. “Fine. But if you won’t let me pay you, at least let me give you a service in return.”

Legundo glanced at the wagon nearby. It was covered in a lurid magenta, with an enormous eye in peeling paint on the side. “That’s alright,” he said, and closed his bag.

“Nonsense,” she said. “It’s the least I could do, isn’t it? The service of one professional for another.”

Before he could object again, she grabbed him by the hand and stumped over to the back of her wagon, hauling him along with a surprising grip. She only released him to haul herself up into the wagon with her arms alone, completely forestalling another offer of help.

“Up,” she said, and slapped the wood.

Well. He could humor a patient before he continued on. Legundo clambered in after her, crouching to fit in the small space.

“Are you going to read my palm?” He asked, glancing around.

The inside of the wagon was covered in fabrics and heavy with incense. Glass baubles hung from the ceiling in groups, catching the light coming in from the summer day outside.

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear” said the old woman. “Do I look like a palmister? No. Throw these onto the table,” she said, and handed him a bundle of pale sticks, strangely light in his hand.

He frowned at them. “Bone?” he asked.

“Of course.” She gestured again at the table.

Legundo examined the bones with bemusement, noting the marks carved into them. He tossed them, and they tumbled into a chaotic arrangement on the table.

The old woman was in her element, though. She leaned forward, squinting as she examined each bone where it fell, making little noises of concentration.

Ah, superstitions.

After a few minutes of this, he said, “I feel almost a if there should be candles lit for this sort of thing.”

She waved a hand at him. “Ssssh. You don’t want the theatrics and you’re not paying for them, anyhow. Let me read.”

So even she admitted some of her trade was for show.

A smile twitched at his lips before he wiped it off – he wasn’t so rude to deny a patient their beliefs to their face – and sat back to let her finish her inspection of the bones. Even if he didn’t appreciate her scam, he could certainly appreciate the shade her wagon offered. The summer was fading towards autumn, but the afternoon sun was still plenty hot enough make him sweat.

A light breeze ruffled some of the curtains, swayed the little glass baubles. In the distance, he thought he could hear a carriage approaching.

“Oh dear,” said the old woman.

“Oh dear?” asked Legundo.

“Yes, oh dear. It seems you’re going to get yourself into some trouble, young man.”

“I am hardly young.”

She grinned at him. “Get to my age, and then we’ll talk.”

“I’m not sure you’ll be in talking shape by then,” he said.

She threw her head back and cackled. “Oh, I like you. Pity about what’s going to happen.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. I won’t spoil it for you, a man of science like you wouldn’t believe an old crone like me anyway. Just let me give you one piece of advice, and I’ll let you be on your way.”

“What’s that?”

Suddenly grave, she reached out and wrapped his hand with her own. “Don’t go chasing your reflection. You’ll drown.”

Legundo’s perplexity must have shown on his face, because she gave his hands a squeeze. “I mean it,” she said.

He withdrew his hands, frown pulling one eyebrow over his monocle. “I…suppose I can keep a eye out around bodies of water.”

“Good boy. Now off you go!” She waved him out.

“I haven’t been a boy in thirty five years.”

“Sure you haven’t. Shoo! You have places to be.”

“Nowhere urgent,” he said, but let himself drop to the ground.

“Shoo!” The old woman repeated. Her hand fluttered in the shadows of her wagon.

Legundo shooed.

He’d found the old woman and her wagon along a country road, and now he set back down it. The mid afternoon sun was unpleasantly warm, but only so long as he pressed himself. He could enjoy a more moderate pace instead; the next town was only three kilometers away, so he would still get there in time to find lodging for the night.

From there, he could likely hitch a ride along one of the roads that ran near Oakhurst.

Mind already running through ideas for his research, Legundo left the thought of the old woman’s warning behind him, along with the sight of her wagon.

A quiet thunk of something hollow against a rock drew Danny out of his distraction with only a small, guilty startle. The garden wasn't large enough that he'd lost sight of Clockwork, thankfully, so it was a quick, short flight that brought him back to the cloaked ghost's side.

Growing older in a way that felt pointed, especially when paired with that knowing smile, Clockwork tapped the large round paver that sat below them. It bisected two curved spaces whose complete outline looked like an hourglass with each half filled with a different set of plants.

Danny thought he recognized maybe three of the flowers he saw growing in both and even that was a generous assumption. He wasn't even sure if that thing filling with water until it tipped over before setting back into place with a thunk was even made of bamboo like the one Jazz had in miniature in her room (she claimed it was for meditation, but how something slowly tapping away could help someone concentrate was beyond Danny) - it was electric blue with silvery edges.

"You know, when you promised to take me stargazing this isn't what I imagined." Danny pointed out looking back up at the cloudless and, more importantly, starless sky before raising his brows at Clockwork expectantly. He didn't do all that studying, listening to lectures and letting himself be quizzed on the different leaders of the Infinite Realms for nothing. Clockwork bribed him with some 'out of this world' stargazing and Danny was going to hold him to it.

Though, he had to admit, the garden was pretty cool. He would need to see if he could get some pictures or something for Sam so she didn't interrogate him later for more information.

Well, she'll probably do that either way, but with pictures she might feel generous enough to let him eat and sleep occasionally while grilling him for answers.

The not-bamboo thunked again and Clockwork gave the paver another tap.

"Be sure to stay within the circle."

Because Clockwork was sometimes (frequently) allergic to explaining, that was all the warning Danny received before the colorful garden vanished into inky darkness.

Danny held still, straining his eyes to try and make out the shape of the paver below them. If this was another test instead of a reward he may just scream. A quiet scream, but a scream none the less.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for his eyes to adjust - Clockwork's faint glow along with his own even more muted shine eventually assured him that he hadn't moved. If that was a test, hopefully he passed.

Putting that aside for now Danny looked up and felt his jaw drop because the garden wasn't just in shadow.

It was gone.

In its place was a vast array of stars, the pinpricks of light almost flickering through a bright fog - clearer than any view he's ever seen on Earth. He squinted as he tried to differentiate the brighter lights from the dark, trying to pick out planets and stars that he knew, his brow furrowing as he couldn't quite manage to place any of the clusters he was seeing.

"Where are we?" How far was Clockwork able to take them? What kind of power was this? Could Danny do something like this?

Oh, no, wait. Danny didn't want a power like this because he was sure it would leave him stranded light-years from home without anyone to help him get back. Well, except for Clockwork. The minor reassurance was enough even if the fear lingered a little longer than he'd like in the face of this cosmic beauty.

"Closer to home than you might think." The ghost in question assured him, flickering into his more childlike form before pointing behind Danny. "If you turn around you may find something a bit more familiar."

Spinning in place Danny squinted even harder at the distant stars as clouds of gas and dust shifted slowly between him and them.

Except the clouds weren't moving slowly anymore. As he watched they started moving faster and faster, going from indistinct fog to thicker streams and threads then swirling into knots until an indistinct shape started to appear. Around them distant stars winked, flickered, and died while others newly sparked into being.

Light grew at the center of the undulating clouds, particles moving inwards before bursting out again and again.

"No way." All the stars around them paled in comparison to what he now suspected was happening. Danny didn't even realize he was drifting forward until a light hand landed on his shoulder.

"We are currently in two times while also being in neither." Clockwork informed him, unoffended by the way Danny couldn't look away from the star - the earth's star - his star - the Sun - as it formed. "I do not want to test which one you would find yourself in if you left."

One hand moving to cover Clockwork's, Danny couldn't find the words to tell him that leaving was the last thing he wanted to do right now. How he was glad his eyeballs couldn't dry out so he didn't have to blink, that he didn't have to worry about oxygen or radiation, that this might be the first time he was truly happy he got in that lab accident because without it he would never get a chance to see this.

Because Danny loved the stars, the light they provided, the life they could support, the hope they could bring. He loved every one of them.

And no other star ever loved him back more than this one, Danny was sure of it.

His vision blurred and he blinked away the water gathering there as he tightened his grip on those increasingly knobby fingers.

"Thank you."

That ghostly hand was cold, but the gentle squeeze Clockwork gave him in response was warm and fond.

"Worth memorizing the whole lineage of Royal Roses?"

Danny barked out a laugh at the now distant frustration he'd felt while going through fourteen generations of people who were minor players in the Ghost Zone at best.

"Absolutely." Danny tried to devote at least the same amount of attention to memorizing the play of light on the gasses and rocks around them. "Though I'm not sure how you'll ever top this as far as bribes go."

Clockwork hummed.

"There are plenty more stars to gaze upon." Something thunked, not his staff but the not-bamboo thing, reminding Danny just how accessible the stars might be when they were visible like this from Clockwork's garden. Smugly, Clockwork continued, "And when you get bored of stars, there's always planets."

Danny's scoff at the thought of being 'bored of stars' cut off as he whipped around to see if Clockwork was joking. Judging by the tilt of his head he wasn't and, yeah, alright. Turning back to stare at his favorite star once again, Danny resigned himself to being Clockwork's best student.

Maddie smiled, the expression turned slightly menacing by the red glare of her goggles. She hadn’t pulled them up yet; she’d only finished the fine solder joints on the invention less than a minute before. “In that it’ll make them suffer if they last even a hand on your head,” she said. “It’s got five different defense mechanisms!”

“Really?” asked Danny, half out of morbid fascination, half out of self preservation.

“YEAH!” Jack pumped a fist. “It automatically detects a spook’s weakness and deploys the most effective one, too! No son of ours is gonna be afraid of green ghouls costing him his grades in school!”

“There’s electricity, of course,” chirped Maddie. “And fire, and a little bit of something we’re patenting that should freeze them, too.”

“Superconductor money here we come, baby!” Jack did a little pirouette before leaning down to kiss Maddie full on the lips. The binder in his hands draped over her shoulder as he supported her weight before they finally broke apart.

“Jack,” she said, not a little giddily, “we need to explain before Danny leaves for school.”

“Oh! Right!” Jack thrust the binder into Danny’s hands. “It’s got nematocysts to sting the little–”

Maddie nudged him with her elbow before he could curse. “–Ectoplasmic abominations. Remember the swear jar, dear!”

“Surely ghosts don’t count,” whined Jack. He slouched and gave Maddie a look with big, sad eyes.

“That’s only four,” said Danny, before his parents could delay his departure to school with a wildly enthusiastic display of affection.

“The last one’s just a sonic deterrent! So we can find you if the others fail.”

The thought of Dash discovering Danny was wearing some kind of actual alarm system for his own safety filled him with mortification strong enough that it should have killed him the rest of the way.

Unfortunately, it did not.

.

Worse, they made him put it on.

.

So yes. There were problems with having enthusiastically supportive parents, Sam.

Then again, maybe this was more of a problem of hiding his secret identity from his ghost hunting parents.

One of the two.

Danny grimaced as a shock rippled across the fabric.

“Is it too tight, Danny?” Maddie frowned, reaching for it. “I thought we had your measurements down exactly.”

“Maybe he’s finally having his growth spurt!” exclaimed Jack, slapping Danny hard enough on the back to jar him a step forward.

“Haha,” he laughed. “Maybe!”

“Can you slip a finger under it?” asked Maddie.

Danny did so.

“That’s odd. The texture isn’t bothering you, is it? It’s the same material we use for the jumpsuit lining, it shouldn’t irritate your skin at all.”

Danny danced away from the hand Maddie reached out to the shoulder band. “It’s fine, Mom! I was just…thinking about a school project. That’s all.”

His parents instantly switched modes.

“A school project? I haven’t heard you mention any project.”

Danny grimaced again, this time at the poor lie he’d chosen.

“Danny,” Maddie frowned, “did you forget about it?”

“Maybe?” Danny shrugged his shirt on and bolted out the door, grabbing his backpack on the way. “Thanks for the binder! I’m late to school! Bye!”

The door slammed behind him, and Danny breathed a sigh of relief.

Questions successfully evaded. Maybe kind of successfully evaded.

Close enough.

~~~

“We have a project?” Danny squawked.

“Did you seriously forget about it?” Sam asked. “Lancer’s been reminding us for the last week.”

“You’ve gotta understand, Sam,” said Tucker. “English is when he gets his beauty sleep. You can’t expect him to pay attention.”

“Hey! I listen!”

“What’s the project on, then?”

Danny hunched his shoulders, then jolted as the ecto-binder proceeded to shock him.

“What was that?” asked Tucker.

“My parents decided to go into fashion,” said Danny.

“Your parents?” asked Paulina. “Ew.”

“No one asked you, Paulina!” Sam rounded on her.

“Of course the goth freak thinks the Fentons dress well. What, are you hoping they’ll make a jumpsuit in disease purple?”

The ensuing fight took Danny’s mind off both the binder and the project until class.

~~~

Danny sat through first period English with the binder sending occasional prickles over his skin in waves. If nothing else, at least it kept him awake.

To Danny’s horror, Sam and Tucker hadn’t been making up the project.

“And I expect all of you to have the first part due tomorrow,” he said, glaring around the room in a way that might have been menacing if Danny hadn’t fought literal ghost dragons.

Scratch that, Lancer was threatening his grade and therefore a possible grounding from his parents. He was much scarier than Dora.

Danny slithered lower in his chair.

~~~

By math class Danny was usually more awake, which meant that even the thin silver lining to the constant irritation from his new binder was wearing out.

He pawed at it discretely, using the classroom wall to hide what he was doing, and only got a stronger jolt for the trouble.

“Oww,” he said under his breath, shaking numbness from his hand.

His breath chilled in his lungs and spilled from his mouth in a cloud–or it would have, if the binder had not immediately jolted him with what felt like at least 200 volts of electricity.

Danny yelped, sucked down his own ghost sense, and started coughing.

“Mr. Fenton, are you alri–are you vaping in my classroom?”

“No!” Danny said, before descending into his coughing fit again. “That was special effects. I got some dry ice as a prank. Did it fool you?”

Falluca narrowed his eyes. “I don’t suppose you still have some on you to prove this.”

“Nope! Sorry! Can I go to the bathroom? I can still feel the cough and I don’t want to disrupt class thank you bye!”

Danny flung himself out the classroom door and down the hall before Falluca could interject, grabbing at his throat as he went. It felt like there was frost lining his airway. He hadn’t even known he could choke on his own ghost sense and now he wanted to never do it again, because jeez.

Danny ducked into a bathroom, reached for his transformation, and wheezed as the binder sparked against his skin.

He cursed and leapt for the handicapped stall so he could take it off because he couldn’t fight like this and–

A wire clotheslined him.

“Hah! My hunt goes well today!”

Skulker. Danny formed a fist from where he was laid out on the floor and let ectoplasm spark along his knuckles.

“Oh,” said Danny, “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

He hopped up off the ground and leapt into the air as his transformation rings rolled over his form–

–and promptly collapsed back into the ground, shaking, as the binder reacted violently to the energy.

Skulker loomed over him. “You know, there’s a difference between the hunt going well and just being sad, and I think this is the latter.”

Danny pulled himself together enough to screw one eye open. “Does this mean you’re going to let me go?”

“No. I’m getting paid.”

Skulker aimed one of his guns at Danny’s head. The last thing Danny saw before losing consciousness was the glow of the barrel.

~~~

Danny regained consciousness in Vlad’s evil lab. It looked like the Amity Park one, at least, which meant he didn’t have too far to get home once he escaped.

What was his life that he had to specify? Actually, what was Vlad’s life that Danny had to specify? Why did he have to have multiple evil labs? Danny’s parents were fine with just the one.

Well. Danny’s parents had only one lab of dubious morality. No matter what Sam said. Unless you counted the Fenton Stockades, which was really more of a torture basement if you thought about it.

Anyway.

Danny woke up in Vlad’s evil lab (the Amity Park one) strapped to a table. Vlad was hunched over a keyboard at an adjoining desk, tapping away.

“Vlad?” Danny asked.

Vlad turned with a dramatic swish of his cape, the dork. “Hello, Daniel. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

Somehow, Danny doubted that. “You had Skulker kidnap me from school,” he pointed out, then stopped. “Wait. Why did you have Skulker kidnap me from school?”

“Well it’s not like you were learning anything. It’s public school. And you sleep through half your classes, anyway.”

“How do you know that? Creep.”

Vlad raised an eyebrow. “I talk to your parents, dear boy. It’s really not that complicated.”

“Yeah, I doubt that.”

“I suppose I do also engage in a little light surveillance from time to time.”

“Try all the time.”

Vlad ignored him. “Regardless. I have a matter of some import to attend to, and it involves you.”

“Oh, good,” said Danny.

Vlad made an annoyed sound and turned back to the screen. Score one point for Danny.

“Yes, well,” he said, clearly trying to pretend Danny hadn’t scored a point. “It’s ghost-flu season in the ghost zone, and I don’t want to catch it.”

“Ghost-flu? That’s a thing?”

“Yes! It is!” Vlad whipped around, agitation plain on his face. “Which you would know, dear boy, if you accepted literally any of my offers to teach you.”

“Yeah, no. Still not interested.”

“Regardless,” Vlad said, “I don’t want to catch it. It’s a miserable illness, and it makes us sweat ectoplasm even in human form, and I have an important merger to negotiate so I cannot get sick this month, much less in such an obviously inhuman way.”

“Uh,” said Danny.

“So I’m immunizing you, child. Since you insist on snooping about my property whenever you get it into your head that I have some kind of scheme to rid myself of your idiot father, you could pass it to me if you get sick. Now hold still.”

Vlad pulled an alarmingly enormous syringe (an evil syringe, Danny’s brain amended, unhelpfully) from a box and moved threateningly towards Danny, wielding it like a weapon.

Danny immediately began wrestling his restraints. “I already have a doctor, Vlad! You do not need to do this!”

“Oh hush,” said Vlad, and injected Danny with the mystery syringe. “See? That wasn’t so bad. Honestly, you’re all drama.”

“What was that?”

Vlad rolled his eyes. “It was the vaccine. Obviously.”

“Vlad–” Danny tried to continue, but his tongue suddenly felt large and awkward in his mouth.

“Oh, and a sedative. That too.”

Danny’s last thought before he passed out again was God he’s such a fruitloop.

~~~

Danny’s head was muzzy the next time he woke up. He was somewhere soft, dim light filtering through his eyelids.

“Wh–” He forced his eyes open.

He was back in his room at home. The blinds were drawn, leaving his room mostly dark.

Danny patted himself down to check for any weird creepy devices Vlad might have left and found none. Checking the window revealed a street outside that looked very much like his own.

If Danny was in some kind of fake house, Vlad had replicated the street. It wasn’t beyond his means, but he only really constructed elaborate sets for football reasons. Therefore, it probably was real, and Danny was probably home.

A few moments later, Danny padded downstairs. Maddie was soldering something at the kitchen table. She set the soldering iron down as Danny walked in.

Point another for this being real.

“Hello, Danny. Feeling better?”

“I guess?” Danny said.

“Vlad said you collapsed while he was at your school to discuss a charitable donation. Since he’s your godfather they let him take you home.” The only sign of Maddie’s disapproval at not being informed was a slight downward quirk of her lips.

Danny couldn’t really say ‘Actually, Vlad had me kidnapped to his secret lab so he could theoretically immunize me against a virus I can only get because I’m part ghost.’

He said “Huh,” instead.

“Do you remember that?” asked Maddie, reaching out to feel his forehead. She frowned. “You’re still running a little cold.”

Danny shrugged the hand off. “I remember tripping in the bathroom?”

He flushed. He hoped Skulker didn’t tell anyone, but who was he kidding? That was probably halfway across the whole ghost zone already. Johnny and Kitty would be making cracks about it within the week.

“Oh, Danny,” said Maddie. “Jack’s teenage years were clumsy, too. You’ll grow out of it.”

“Gosh, I hope so.”

She smiled. “Go back to bed. You’re out sick for the rest of the day, and I want you resting, young man.”

“Yes, Mom,” Danny smiled, and turned back up the stairs.

“Oh, before I forget. Vlad left you some clothes, too.”

“Great,” Danny said with all the enthusiasm that deserved, which was none.

“I know, I know. But here,” Maddie handed him a box.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“At least try them on. He said he thought you’d find them more comfortable.”

“Than what?”

“He didn’t say.”

And Maddie had probably wanted him out of the house as fast as possible.

If they were some kind of mini-me costume, Danny was going to set them on fire and then Vlad’s house for good measure.

“I guess,” Danny said, and returned to his room, where he set the box on his desk with care more commonly associated with adders and bombs.

He eyed it. Rubbed his eyes. Sighed heavily.

Now that he’d confirmed he hadn’t been kidnapped, he mostly wanted to go back to sleep. Whatever sedative Vlad had used on him hadn’t yet cleared out of his system fully, and his head felt cotton-like.

But maybe that was what Vlad wanted him to do while whatever creep device he stuck in the box did its work spying on Danny. It was also possible that he wanted Danny to open the box while he was still muddled from the sedative, because it would trap him or whatever, but that plan seemed needlessly circuitous even for Vlad.

Also, thinking that way was making Danny’s head hurt.

He formed an ectoblast, cursed as the binder jolted him again, wrestled the stupid thing off at last, and stood, frazzled and staring at the box again.

He took a deep breath, several additional auxiliary deep breaths, and then pulled on his ice core a bit for good measure.

Then he formed an ectoblast and opened the box.

In it sat a binder.

Danny stared at it, flummoxed.

He picked it up between two fingers, like if he used more than that it would poison him or possibly explode (again, adders and bombs) and gave it a good shake while holding it as far from his face as he could manage. (probably not a good idea in either case)

It neither poisoned him nor exploded.

After several minutes conducting additional checks for weapons (none) listening devices (none) cameras (the creep, also none) and anything else Danny could think of, he was forced to conclude that Vlad had simply…given him a binder. A nice one.

It seemed like the right size, as well. (The creep)

It was at this point that Danny remembered to check the box, where he discovered a note.

Little Badger,

My secretary noted the trouble your wardrobe seemed to be giving you earlier today. I thought it best to offer you a suitable replacement, since it seems my dear friend Jack has neglected to properly ensure your comfort.

I can personally attest that this brand won’t interfere with your day to day…activities. I am long past the need for such things, of course. In time, I could show you how to rise beyond them, too.

As always, the offer of my aid is open any time you wish to accept it.

Yours,

Uncle Vlad

By the time Danny had deciphered all of Vlad’s excessively loopy cursive, the note was smoldering under his fingers. He let the ecto-energy sparking under his skin consume the rest of the note, and he watched it curl and blacken as it drifted to the floor, finally reaching it as a pile of soot.

Vlad was such a fruitloop.

Still. Danny turned to the binder. It did seen pretty nice.

There was a thump loud enough to rattle the walls. The argument fell silent.

Daniel had been sleeping soundly, at least. He shifted, grimaced, and prepared to scream at the interruption to his nap.

Before he could, Clockwork picked him up.

"Hello, Daniel," he murmured. He pulled Daniel to his chest, rocking him gently to soothe him.

After a moment, he added, "Daniel, I have something to show you."

Mistily, the baby’s eyes opened, focusing on Clockwork. Too young to know fear at a stranger's face, he reached clumsily for his hair.

Clockwork gave him his index finger instead. Daniel wrapped both his tiny hands around it. Eyes wide, he studied it a moment and then pulled it towards his mouth.

"Yes, I am fascinating, I know,” said Clockwork, as Daniel gnawed on his glove. “But you'll like this much better."

He held out a hand and a circle of blue swirled to life at his fingertips. He carried Daniel through the portal, and–

—

"Look," said Clockwork, and directed the child's vision.

Daniel's eyes grew wide, and he reached out a hand as if to grab at what he saw.

Above, below, and everywhere around them was the inky void of space studded with countless stars. In an immense cascade of light, a great strip of them split the sky in two.

Each and every star seemed to hold hints of a different color, a sincillating rainbow of red to blue. They varied in brightness and as the moments passed they seemed almost to dance among themselves.

No, they were dancing. In a slow waltz, the brightest points of light sped past the dimmer, stars exchanging places with one another in a dizzying spectacle: a mobile to put all others to shame.

Daniel stared, transfixed, and did not look away until sleep weighed his eyes closed.

—

"Daniel, I have a present for you," murmured Clockwork, nudging the two-year-old awake.

Blearily, he squinted at Clockwork. His serious expression lent him a gravity that was entirely undone by his chubby cheeks and the incredible cowlick rising from the back of his head. 

Clockwork didn't let his amusement show, instead letting Daniel wake at his own pace. He'd been showing up long enough and often enough that Daniel would recognize him.

After a moment, he was rewarded by Daniel widening his eyes and twisting to get a good look at their surroundings.

Already wide, his eyes grew even wider.

Beneath them, the rings of Saturn stretched like an immense road. The stars were cradling the pair of them, solid and steady.

And beside them loomed the immense bulk of Saturn itself, banded and pale and breathtaking, crowned by a circlet of glowing blue.

Danny squealed in delight, wiggling to be set down. Instead, Clockwork let go--

—

--and Danny giggled, hair floating free in a halo that glowed in the light of the binary suns behind him and for a moment, it was as though he had his own corona.

At Clockwork's back was a tiny, frigid planet coated in a filigree of white.

He smiled and reached out to catch Danny's hand.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Danny nodded.

—

Clockwork had shown Daniel many, many planets by now. The one below them was dark and small, but growing. Every few moments, impacts spiderwebbed out into tiny red lines that faded just as quickly.

The planet's star hung to the side, close enough that it resembled a coin instead of a point of light. 

"Daniel, do you know which planet this is?"

He shook his head. His hair twisted gently in the low gravity, like seagrass.

Clockwork smiled and said, "Watch."

At just the right moment, he pulled their progress through time from blistering speed to something far closer to real time and pointedly looked at a particular point in the stars around them.

Daniel followed suit.

It started as a pinprick of light just barely brighter than the backdrop. And in slow motion, the shadow of an asteroid grew from it. It grew from a pinprick to a coin, and grew again until it loomed enormous before them, and before the infant planet. So close, it was easy to see that it was rounded by the strength of its own gravity; a planetary mass in its own right.

And then it struck.

Even so early in the existence of this solar system, the gas surrounding the planet wasn't thick enough to carry sound. But the impact before them kindled to a blaze so bright it had a roar of its own.

Time for them may have been allowed, but it was still significantly faster than real time, so in the hours that followed, the cataclysm unfolded before them like a dancer’s skirts.

The planet deformed terribly, countless flakes of it crumbling away or rippling outwards, away from the impact site. Yet more were flung outwards in a cloud of cosmic debris. And then, finally, the paired masses began to pull apart again, taffy-like.

Slowly, the masses separated. The furiously flowing bridge between them cooled and broke apart, pieces beginning a slow fall back to the planet where they splashed back into the gaping wound of the impact. The planet’s new moon lingered nearby, just as disfigured. The glow from its scar was bright enough to wash away the stark shadows of space on its dark side, and the molten rock shimmered like an angry burn.

Slowly, they dimmed. First to orange, then red, then just a hint of it brushing the edge of the visible spectrum like a slumbering giant just out of sight.

Shadows returned. 

By the time Danny's eyes grew heavy with sleep again, the smaller of the two objects was round and gray in the light of the star.

He'd rested his head against Clockwork's shoulder as he watched, and now Clockwork bent his head to ask him, "Do you know now?"

Danny shook his head, looking up with sleepy eyes.

"It's Earth. Your home."

—

"This is what a nebula looks like from the inside."

Around them, the stars seemed almost to trail veils. Or, to decorate them like gems.

"They're also known as star nurseries."

"Star Nusr'y"

"That's right, Daniel," Clockwork said. He combed a hand through Daniel’s hair. "Isn't it pretty?"

One finger in his mouth, Daniel nodded fervently.

—

The moment they appeared through the portal, Clockwork spread an ectoplasmic construct beneath them before letting Daniel down. 

He swirled his cloak from his shoulders and spread it out before settling atop it in a coil. He patted the spot beside him and Daniel turned from where he was peering at the ground and half-floated, half-stumbled over. 

The gravity where they were was odd, partway between Earth's surface gravity and the absence of it. In it, Daniel was adorably clumsy.

Clockwork hid his amusement in his smile. Daniel was three – "And a haff," he'd insist, stubby fingers held up to emphasize the point – and very serious. He wouldn't take it well if he thought Clockwork was laughing at him. 

Clockwork offered his arm as an anchor as Daniel settled beside him, and pulled him close once he was seated. Daniel's little hand grabbed hold of Clockwork's tunic, and Clockwork felt a surge of fondness. He'd watched it grow from a hand that could barely grasp his finger, and yet like the rest of him it was still so very small. 

He spent a space of breaths savoring the contact.

"Well Daniel,” he said at last, “do you know where we are?" 

From the shelter of Clockwork's arm, Daniel looked up and shook his head. 

"Do you want a hint?" offered Clockwork. 

A nod.

Daniel wasn't in a particularly talkative mood yet. Clockwork had woken him only minutes before; he was still fuzzy from sleep.

And in other ways. His hair wasn't quite so unruly here as it was in zero gravity, but it still stuck up at odd angles. In places, it puffed out like the down of a baby bird.

"You should be able to recognize where we are," said Clockwork. "Not here specifically, but the colors and landscape should remind you of somewhere you've seen before." 

"'peficaly," muttered Daniel, and scrunched his face into a grave frown. 

Clockwork filed the sight away, then did the same with the heartache. He still had a little time. 

.

Daniel had decided he wanted another, more careful look at the landscape beneath them. He was smushing his face into the platform in his focus, and muttered softly to himself as he puzzled out where they were. 

Clockwork felt a smile wrinkle the corners of his eyes and kept quiet. The landscape beneath them was distant, he thought, but recog nizable. With only the dark of space to compare it with, the land was pale. It was craggy, too, and dotted with countless craters.

He wanted this night to be memorable for Daniel for more reasons than the conversation they would have, and Daniel had longed for this sight for as long as he'd been able to form sentences. 

He would piece together the clues.

Had pieced them together. He scrambled onto all fours and whipped his head to look at Clockwork. His eyes were huge and shining. 

"The Moon?!" 

After a teasing moment to let Daniel’s anticipation build, Clockwork nodded. 

Impossibly, Daniel’s eyes grew even larger. The emotion radiating off him built like a volcano until Clockwork could imagine it humming under his skin. 

The squeal of excitement that erupted would have been deafening if Clockwork hadn't anticipated it. Still, he was glad the volume cut significantly as Daniel slammed himself back down onto their platform and continued to yell his delight directly into it. Or tried to, at least. With the reduced gravity what he managed was more of a float. 

Clockwork chuckled and settled in to watch his little boy try to expel more excitement than he could physically contain. It would be a while before the excitement died down, and Clockwork intended to savor every moment. 

.

Clockwork stroked one hand through Daniel's fluff. With his other, he pointed to features on the moon's surface. They were overlooking the far side of the moon, and though Daniel had spent much time looking at maps of both sides, the low angle was contorting even landmarks from satellite images into something more earthly.

With each feature explained in terms he could understand, Daniel made appreciative little oohs and ahs. Even at three (and a half) his attention for all things space outstripped all other topics. Clockwork was grateful for it: each crater, peak, and exposed basalt plain meant another scrap of time like this.

…

He was putting off the conversation they needed to have.

He knew that.

It didn't make it easier to stop. 

Clockwork had the power to slow time, and to stop it. If anyone could, Clockwork was the ghost who could hold onto a moment forever. A ghost did not gain power like that without wanting it, without needing it as a human needed air.

Clockwork held a reputation as cool and reserved. As almost uncaring in his distance. As impersonal as a mountain river, and just as cold.

Clockwork was reserved. Clockwork was distant. He had to be, because he was also deeply, terribly, cruelly sentimental. He loved as a river ran: swiftly, deeply, ceaselessly. 

He loved Daniel.

He knew that soon they would part, and so soon was not happening.

Outside their little bubble, the world was frozen. 

But while Clockwork had gained his powers over time from sentimentality, he'd mastered them with discipline. He steeled his resolve. 

"Daniel," he began, "there is something I should tell you." 

Not want. He did not want this. Nor must. He could avoid this conversation. But for Daniel… 

For Daniel's sake, he would have it. 

Daniel looked up, floppy contentment draining from his limbs. 

"Cl’work?" he said, slurring the first half like he hadn't done since he’d mastered Clockwork’s name. His eyebrows furrowed as he pulled himself to his knees. 

Clockwork had planned this conversation. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say he'd charted it, tracking the best paths through a multitude of futures. His sight had shown him how Daniel might or might not react with every spoken turn.

What it had not shown him was the grief like lead in his chest. 

He took one of Daniel's hands in his. It was so small. 

And yet. 

It felt like there was something stuck in his gears. But his ticking was regular. His pendulum’s sway was familiar. He was functioning.

And yet.

Had he been human, Clockwork would have wet his lips. He was tempted to do so anyway. Just a fraction more time…

He was deviating from his script.

“You’ve grown in these past few years,” he started. Saying so felt comical, with Daniel’s hand still so tiny in his own.

“I already knew that,” said Daniel, wrinkling his nose.

“Of course you did,” said Clockwork. “You’ve been there for all of it.” Was his voice thick? Could Daniel tell?

Footing lost, he opened his mouth to continue.

I’m leaving was too heavy to leave his lips. As was, We will have to say goodbye soon.

I love you felt feather-light on his tongue. He stayed it for other reasons. To say such to Daniel shortly before vanishing–he was cruel. He liked to pretend he was not that cruel.

“You’re growing up,” Clockwork said. It was not in the script.

“Oh,” said Daniel. His voice was small.

Even with such a small deviation, the timelines were starting to shift and sprout new branches. It caught Clockwork off guard. He found himself surrounded by a sensation of space, vast like their surroundings.

Adrift.

The possibilities here…

No. He needed to stay focused.

“‘r you gonna say,” Daniel’s tone shifted to mimicry, “A Fenton isn’t scareded of anything and. ‘m too smart not to start early or the other kids wouldn’t havva chance an’. It’s only acoupla hours anyway?”

The sentence had been too long for Daniel to manage at once, full of awkward pauses and trailing sounds as he lost his breath and found his words. But the point of it was clear, regardless.

“Your parents told you that,” Clockwork said. It wasn’t a question, but it would let Daniel follow the conversation.

Daniel nodded, looking down so his hair fell over his eyes.

Clockwork hummed. Daniel was three, nearing four. It would be some time into the school year before he turned four, so registering him for preschool was unusual. A more common choice at his age would be daycare, but with his parents’ rock-solid belief in Daniel’s intelligence…

Daniel was looking up through his hair at Clockwork.

His core ached.

The parenting books had said that children of preschool age would feel afraid of starting preschool for a number of reasons. They did not say what children of Daniel’s age would be afraid of, starting preschool.

“And you would like me to say something as well?”

A nod.

He pulled Daniel into a gentle hug, and ran a hand through Daniel’s hair. It was the same motion he’d long used as Daniel fell asleep watching the stars around them. It should be soothing.

Softly, he asked, “Can you tell me what you’re worried about?”

Daniel ducked his head and muttered something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“Jazzy’s got friends.”

This was not all Daniel would say. Clockwork waited.

Daniel had grabbed hold of Clockwork’s cloak. Now he twisted it in his hands. Contemplative. Fretful.

“What if,” he said. “What if.”

Clockwork tugged their hug a little bit tighter. “I see.”

And Daniel relaxed, head falling against the pane in Clockwork’s chest. He could feel it, warm and solid, hair feathering against the glass. It tickled, a bit.

“You’re worried you won’t make friends?”

Daniel nodded.

In the timelines he’d so meticulously navigated before bringing him here, Daniel had made them. Though the timelines were spiraling and blending around them now, Clockwork had little doubt that was still the case. For all his youth compared to his classmates, Daniel was a bright and friendly child.

For a moment, Clockwork considered telling Daniel that his fears were groundless. But. For all that this was an unexpected conversation, it was not an unforeseen one. Clockwork had expected to steer around it with Daniel none the worse for its lack. But he’d done his research. The paths through this conversation had been sparse at first: Clockwork could only consider paths one of the participants might take, and he hadn’t known to consider some options put forward in the parenting books.

He was the ghost of time, not parenting.

Do not minimize, the books had said. Do not dismiss. Acknowledge the fear. Saying that there is nothing to fear, that they will succeed may not alleviate their fear, only pile fear of disappointing you atop their fear of rejection.

They’d gone on to list other fears a child could have, starting preschool.

Separation anxiety…

Clockwork tugged his thoughts from the path with a twinge of guilt. Neither he nor Daniel’s parents gave enough attention to him for that. Regardless, the shape of his reassurance was clear enough.

He gave Daniel a reassuring squeeze and selected a response. “Ah. A whole new group of children your age, and you don't know how well you'll get along with them.”

Daniel said nothing to that. Instead, he kept his head leaning against Clockwork’s chest, soft breaths misting the glass.

“Maybe it won't be all new faces. Have you seen children your age at the park?” He had, Clockwork knew.

Daniel nodded again.

“Did they play with you?”

Another nod.

Not every child had. Some had parents who were leery of the elder Fentons. But others encouraged their children to play with Jasmine and Daniel. Clockwork could not say the reason–he could not read minds, after all. But he could guess they were the same.

“If they go to the same park and are only a little older,” said Clockwork, “they may be in your class. So maybe it won’t be only new children. Does that sound a little less scary?”

Still quiet, Daniel nodded.

In all, about five of Daniel’s classmates would be children he’d played with before. Not that he should tell Daniel that precise figure. This was enough. Any human could have guessed what he’d said aloud.

Clockwork should pull the conversation to what he needed to say. To what needed to be said.

But if Daniel was content to rest his head against Clockwork’s chest awhile, then perhaps it could wait.

Just a little longer…

.

But all things must come to an end.

Clockwork shifted, and pulled his hand from where he’d been using it to cradle Daniel's head against his chest.

Sleepily, Daniel murmured in confusion before bringing one fist up to rub at his eye.

“Cl’wrk?”

It was time. The anticipatory grief in his chest found an echo outside the bubble. Slowly, in shudders, time was beginning to move on.

“Daniel, I brought you here because I have something to tell you.”

Daniel peered at him, suddenly tentative.

The rest of this conversation would be so very difficult.

“Daniel,” Clockwork began. Haltingly.

It would be so very easy to lie.

…

He was looking at Daniel’s hands. He should at least look him in the eye. He dragged his eyes up.

Daniel’s eyes were so very blue.

“I–” love you, he wanted to say. He mustn’t. 

He forced himself to say what came next.

“I am not going to be able to visit you much longer.”

And there was the shock Clockwork had so dreaded.

And there were the tears.

.

Eventually, the tears slowed.

The repeated “no no nos” had too, and Clockwork was left with a wet shirt, a little limpet gripping the fabric of it so tightly his fingers quaked, and a guilt he adamantly ignored.

This was for the best.

He was holding Daniel close, of course. Stroking his back to calm him and humming soothing nothings. It was–It wouldn’t matter if Daniel knew how much Clockwork regretted this. He would forget it anyway. Clockwork could grant himself the indulgence of being kind.

It was nothing to all the other indulgences he’d already taken, with his child. All the other sights. The joy on his face at some new wonder–

Daniel hiccupped.

“We have a month,” offered Clockwork, moving his hand to muss Daniel’s hair. “Two more trips like this.”

“‘ree.”

“Hm?”

“Three,” bargained Daniel. His voice was muffled by Clockwork’s shoulder.

“Two,” said Clockwork, biting back more regret. “One for a bad day, and one for goodbye.”

“Today’s bad.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Daniel tensed in his arms, and Clockwork closed his eyes. Of course he didn’t believe him. Of course he was angry. Why should he be anything else?

Clockwork sighed. “I’ve visited you far too often in the past few years. I want you to know you can handle a few weeks without a visit before we say goodbye.”

At that, Daniel was silent. Clockwork let him be, instead savoring the feel of Daniel’s weight against his chest, even if he was angry. What he would give to have it longer.

But he already had.

Clockwork pinched his eyes shut.

“What if I can’t?" Daniel asked.

“I think you may surprise yourself."

Daniel frowned.

“But if you can’t, you’ll have my help.” He gave Daniel a reassuring squeeze. “We can figure it out together.”

In this, Clockwork felt no guilt in the untruth. Daniel would never need his help, so what might happen if he did was immaterial. Irrelevant.

“And besides, you have your parents and sister.”

“Jazzy’s baw, baws.” Danny began, stumbling over the second word before abandoning it entirely. “Jazzy’s mean.”

“But she makes sure you’re safe, doesn’t she?”

“I guess.” and then Daniel clutched harder at Clockwork’s shirt. “But I want you.”

“You have your parents, too.”

“Want you.” Daniel’s voice was higher now, and plaintive. On the verge of tears.

I want you, too.

“I only show you the stars,” said Clockwork. “Your parents do much more than that. Your sister, too. In a few years you won’t even remember me.”

“I will!”

“It will be kinder to forget, little star.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“You will.”

Daniel was silent for a time. Then, barely a whisper: “I love you.”

Clockwork’s hug squeezed tighter. Fiercely, briefly. Like if he bundled everything he wanted, everything he felt into the action, then Daniel would understand.

I love you, too.

.

Clockwork tucked Daniel in.

He adjusted the covers. He wiped the tear-tracks from Daniel’s cheeks. But the frown still marring Daniel’s face could not be fixed so easily.

It could. All he had to do was–

Core twisting cruelly in his chest, Clockwork stroked his hand through Daniel’s fluffy mess of hair before backing away.

Daniel had refused to give up the idea that he would remember Clockwork, doubling down and insisting and insisting until.

It wouldn’t matter.

Clockwork had let him fall asleep in his arms.

It wouldn’t matter.

Daniel would forget him.

With a swirl of blue, Clockwork vanished.

—

Daniel launched himself at Clockwork with a wail. Clockwork closed his arms around him in a hug, letting his child cling to him as he sobbed in great, wracking heaves that should have consumed all the air in his lungs. They did not die down quickly. For long minutes he alternated sobs with shuddering gasps and for longer still he just tucked his head against Clockwork’s shoulder and whimpered.

Clockwork swayed, watching the expanse around them. It was a simple scene, tonight. Nothing new. Just Clockwork, and Daniel, and the familiar stars of the Milky Way from Sol’s neighborhood, only a few years distant.

As simple and humble as a scene like this could be.

Tonight, he wanted Daniel to find comfort in familiarity rather than distraction in the novel.

He was still sniffling.

Clockwork coiled his tail into a lap and set Daniel in it.

“Would you like to tell me about it?” he asked..

—

Clockwork hitched Daniel up on his hip, and pointed. He was leaning his head a little against Daniel’s, letting his cheek rest on Daniel’s crown where his hand was not. 

"Do you see over there?"

Danny squinted. "Yeah."

"Just watch that spot."

Clockwork had pointed to a patch in the sea of stars surrounding them which seemed veiled by a shadow. Daniel’s eyes trailed uncertainly over the area, back and forth, back and forth.

Clockwork smiled to himself, savoring the bittersweet loss on his tongue. 

Only eleven years. An eyeblink, to Clockwork. Thousands of times that period were unspooling before them every instant as he drew time along for Daniel like film across a movie projector. At his age he'd never have the patience for these wonders otherwise. 

But only eleven years without Daniel carried a different weight, didn't it? Lonely, in an empty tower filled only with visions of his child, come home at last. Visions, for all they would feel like memories.

Eleven whole years indeed. 

As they waited, the stars behind the veil flickered a little, rippling in brilliance as the clouds of gasses in front of them gathered. As they built on themselves, thicker and thicker. The formation of a protostar was a quiet sort of spectacle, like this. Just the sort to put an exhausted young child to sleep. Just enough to fill his dreams with wonders of a similar kind. 

Clockwork hoped.

For all his sight, he wasn't able to see them.

He held Daniel close, and let the hours trail smooth across mental fingertips. Slowly, as Daniel must still have counted it, there came a flickering glow that strengthened into brilliant yellow. Even so, he watched it with the rapt attention which had so captured Clockwork’s mechanical heart. 

Eleven years. 

Clockwork slowed the play of time. Just a fraction. Just enough for a little more time. But of course, there was one thing he couldn’t control here.

One little boy.

Daniel’s eyelids were drooping, his breaths lengthening. Every few moments he would jerk one awake, or twitch. He was fighting so very fiercely to stay awake. But it was a losing battle.

His head dipped to his chest, once, twice, thrice and didn’t lift back up. 

Clockwork looked down at him, a fond smile playing on his lips.

He’d fallen asleep holding Clockwork's hand.

A few stolen moments of indecision later – could he wake Daniel to show him one last sight? Should he? – a portal swirled open before them, and Clockwork left Sol's earliest years with Daniel in his arms.

In his bedroom, stars and space paraphernalia cluttered every surface.

Silently, Clockwork raised the comforter on the bed, slipped Daniel beneath the sheets. When Clockwork wrested his hand from Daniel’s grip and tucked him in, his brows furrowed at the loss.

Clockwork ruffled Daniel's hair for the last time in more than a decade, and leaned down to murmur into his ear.

"Until we meet again, Daniel. Be good."

There was a flash of blue.

“I don’t get into trouble intentionally,” Danny said.

Sam gave him a Look. Tucker gave him a slightly different look that involved peering over his glasses. He looked like a disappointed grandmother.

“Not all the time,” Danny amended. It was rarely, actually. But that seemed like a hard sell.

This mollified them, and the conversation turned to possible Wisconsin Ghost merchandise.

“We were thinking we could sell mugs and t-shirts at first, since people like gallows humor on their coffee mugs and t-shirts are easy to make small quantities of. And then we got distracted by designs,” said Sam.

Tucker’s computer was open to his dubiously legal copy of Abode Photocrop, smooth black lines traced over assorted pictures of Vlad as Plasmius. Danny squinted.

“Did you make his hair bigger?” he asked.

“Maaaybe,” said Tucker. “Or maybe it was always that ridiculous. Not everyone has the impeccable fashion instincts of Tucker Foley.” He posed.

Sam threw a pen at him.

“Ow!” Tucker threw it back.

Danny leaned over the ensuing scuffle to look more closely at the screen. “Which design goes on the T-shirts?”

Tucker straightened, and then straightened his glasses, which Sam had knocked askew. “Maybe the bottom one? It’s not like we have to do only one design, we’re going to have to print the designs out and iron them on ourselves anyway.”

“We are?“

“If you want to print money, Danny, sometimes you’ve got to print other things first,” Tucker said.

Danny looked at Sam.

Tucker looked at Sam.

She shook her head. “It’s close, but it still doesn’t flow quite right.”

Tucker hung his head. “Dang.”

~~~

Monday was an assembly day. Their class piled into the auditorium along with the rest of the school. The press of bodies was quickly making the place uncomfortably warm, and the air was already rank with body spray and teenage funk. Danny, Sam, and Tucker squeezed in next to each other.

“Attention!” Mr. Lancer called, up on stage. The lights flashed. “Quiet!”

The rumble of hundreds of conversations died off.

“Thank you! Welcome to the yearly assembly on the C. A. T!”

“The CAT?” Danny whispered to Tucker. “Is that like a knock-off SAT?”

“Believe it or not, the C. A. T. will determine your future,” Lancer said, pivoting and holding the microphone with what Danny thought was a bit much drama.

“Fail, and you’ll be doomed to a life of ignominy. Pass, and you’ll have a chance. Break records, like young Jasmine Fenton here, and you’ll have a ticket to the Ivy League.”

At Lancer’s gesture, Jazz walked on stage, smiling like a dork. She held up her hand in an awkward little wave, but Danny wasn’t really paying much attention to that. He was too occupied with the pit that had just opened up in his stomach.

Lancer could be dramatic. Jazz could, too. But she wanted to be taken seriously. If she was participating in this presentation like this…

What if it really was important?

~~~

The pit in Danny’s stomach sat there for the rest of the day, dark and heavy. It turned on itself in the English class discussion, when it turned out that between Skulker and daydreaming, he’d only picked up on about half of what was going on in the first chapters of The Great Gatsby, and grew smaller but not lighter in math, where Falluca introduced a theorem Danny only caught the second half of – the Box Ghost had shown up partway through the day.

By the time he slouched home after school, worry had carved the pit into a leaden knot.

Neither his parents nor Jazz were home. Jazz’s car was missing, and while the GAV hulked in its own spot, the lab downstairs was empty, all his parents’ usual haunts dark.

Danny let his backpack fall to the floor by his desk and flopped onto his bed with a groan.

It didn’t help the knot.

A few minutes later he rolled to his feet and collapsed into the chair at his desk. Maybe he could at least do his homework. English was just some reading and some questions.

A few minutes later, he snapped The Great Gatsby shut. Math. Maybe math would be better.

…He still didn’t know the theorem Mr. Falluca had talked about in class. He rifled through his backpack for his math folder and pulled it out. He grinned. It was only one page!

The grin faded as he scanned through the problems. Given that sides A and B are parallel, prove that the area D is equal to AC cos(b).

Prove it? The knot grew tighter. How was he supposed to prove that? Wasn’t it just how parallelograms worked?

Maybe chemistry?

Danny was halfway through the explanation of stoichiometry when he felt his breath run cold. He whipped his head up just in time for Technus to phase through the floor.

“Ghost child!” he exclaimed, “I, Technus, Master of all things Electronic and Beeping, am going to re-vamp your electric grid and make it boogie!”

And then he made Danny’s desk lamp attack him.

“Finally,” snarled Danny, grabbing the lamp in one fist and letting the transformation sweep over him, “a problem I can solve.”

.

Danny could not solve the Technus problem, as it turned out. Not right away, at least.

Two days and most of the contents of three hobby electronics stores later, Danny replaced the cap on his thermos, surveyed the damage, and winced.

Circuit boards and computer components littered the park. A tree was snapped like a popsicle stick, splinters the size of his hand poking out of both sides where the two halves of the trunk weren’t connected by dangerously bowed wood. The reason the tree had snapped in half was still embedded in the trunk above the crown of leaves now making a nest: a semi truck engine, or what had been one.

Ugh.

He kicked a piece of plastic from Technus’ body, then left for home. It was eight and he still hadn’t started on the questions for the next chapter in English, and they were due tomorrow.

And he hadn’t had any opportunity to study for the CAT. Danny stopped as a twinge of panic squeezed his heart. What was he going to do? What if he failed?

…

He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. Homework first, crisis about his future later. Maybe never?

Never sounded good.

Great.

~~~

He was so screwed.

The thought dogged every step he took after school on Thursday, weighing his heart down into his stomach and sticking his shoes to the pavement. He’d been scribbling his English homework down until the moment Lancer had picked up his paper, and the look he’d given Danny had made him want to sink through the chair and into the floor.

He knew he was a disappointment compared to Miss Perfect, thanks. Lancer didn’t need to rub it in.

And the worst part was, he couldn’t stop disappointing people. Ghost attacks didn’t let him. What was he supposed to do? Ignore them?

This was it. He’d be stuck repeating Sophomore year, forever branded the Fenton Failure. No college would want him. NASA wouldn’t either. All his dreams were going up in smoke.

Or a breath of mist. Like the one he’d just breathed out. He groaned. Why did they need to bother him so much right when an important test was coming up?

A few moments later, Danny slipped around a corner and into his ghost form, the weightlessness offering some small respite from the looming dread.

He let his tail twist out behind him, then rocketed off in search for the ghost that had decided to ruin his day.

~~~

“You’re late.”

“By two minutes,” said Danny. It wasn’t even enough to be marked tardy in class! Unless you annoyed the teacher. Or they were just annoyed by you. Like Danny. Dash got away with it, at least.

Cassius raised an eyebrow.

Danny slumped. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“What kept you?” asked Cassius.

Skulker. “Stuff,” said Danny.

“I expect punctuality, Mr. Fenton.”

“You really shouldn’t,” said Danny. “None of my teachers do, at this point.”

“I’m not one of your teachers.”

You’re sure sounding like one. “Sorry again.”

Cassius peered down at him for a long and uncomfortable moment. Danny shifted on his feet.

“See that it doesn’t happen again.”

Did Cassius think he could? Ugh. Probably. “Okay.”

“Your apron is in the back room,” said Cassius after another awkward pause.

Danny was sidling to the door before Cassius finished the sentence. “Thanks,” he said.

.

Cassius’ feather duster was actually made with feathers. Sam would not approve. Danny waggled it over a vase, a set of nested pots, and a hodgepodge of serving spoons before going back over the shelf they sat upon. The feathers, soft and floppy, made quick work of the task, and Danny moved on to the next shelf, and the next.

Dusting. He was dusting.

He could be studying. You know, for the test he was going to fail. But noooo, he’d had to be an idiot with no situational awareness, and wreck Cassius’ shop.

He didn’t even like antiques.

Danny jabbed a teapot with the duster, and the feathers fluffed around it. He jabbed the teacup stack beside it, too, and then swiped along the tray they were on.

The teacup tower clacked. Danny froze.

“Stupid, Danny,” he muttered. He didn’t want to have to work off more damages, and who knew how expensive these stupid things were.

“It seemed more like impatience, to me.”

Danny’s skin jumped a fraction of a second before the rest of him, and by the time his feet met the floor he’d turned completely around.

Clack!

It was not, precisely, a clack. Rather, it wasn’t one clack. The sound Danny heard was several dozen clacks, piled precariously on top of one another, and teetering.

Danny froze.

His hip was touching the shelf. His skin had apparently regretted its earlier zest for action, because now it was trying to hide under his muscles.

“Cassius!” said Danny. The feather duster flailed in his hand. He stilled it.

Cassius raised an eyebrow, which was an expression Danny was really starting to hate. “You have very poor proprioception, don’t you.”

“I have what?” And now Cassius was using big words to insult him. Great. Just what Danny needed, another Vlad in his life, and this one he couldn’t escape.

Just like the real Vlad, actually. At least Cassius didn’t have ghost powers.

“You have a poor sense of where your body is,” said Cassius, immediately proving himself the superior Vlad on willingness to explain himself alone.

“I’m a teenager. Aren’t we supposed to be clumsy?”

“Not in my shop,” said Cassius. “I don’t want you breaking more things.”

And then he turned and slid through the mess like he wasn’t even there. Which was blatantly unfair when Danny was the ghost here, thanks.

Gosh, that guy was weird. Danny tuned back to dusting.

“Are you coming?” asked Cassius from beside him, and Danny would be proud to say that he jumped much less the second time.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to come,” he said.

“I can hardly teach you how to avoid tripping over your own feet when we’re not even in the same room,” said Cassius. Something in his tone implied that this was blindingly obvious.

What wasn’t obvious was that he’d wanted to do that in the first place. Danny rolled his eyes and followed Cassius into the back room.

At least it was better than dusting.

~~~

“Didn’t your Mom, like, teach you how to fight? Since you were a little kid?” Tucker waggled his pen. Blurring between his fingers, it looked floppy.

“Yeah,” said Danny. “It’s why I keep punching things instead of, you know.”

“Using literally any of your cool ghost powers?”

“Yeah.”

“So why do you keep running into things?” Tucker cracked a grin. “Brain damage from getting thrown into too many walls?”

Danny chucked his eraser at him.

“Ow!” said Tucker, who had in no way been hurt.

“For your information,” said Danny, “it’s hard to keep track of where my feet are when they don’t always exist. And aren’t always attached.”

“Is that why you kick things? So you know where you stand?”

“Can you give me back that eraser?”