[Third Person POV]
Danny's eyes fluttered open the next morning, slow and heavy, the dim light filtering through the curtains stinging his tired eyes. He lay sideways on the bed, the blanket tangled halfway around his legs like a cocoon. His cheek felt damp. Confused, he lifted a hand to his face and realized his skin was wet — he'd been crying in his sleep. The realization made his chest tighten.
He stayed there for a long while, motionless, staring blankly at the wall as the morning silence hung heavy around him. Every breath felt heavier than the last. "This is one of those moments where you wish everything really was just a bad dream," he muttered softly, voice cracking near the end. His throat burned, but he didn't care.
Eventually, he exhaled a long sigh, rolled onto his side, and then — rather dramatically — slid off the bed, hitting the floor with a dull thud and a groan. The blanket came with him, wrapping him like a burrito of misery. He didn't even bother to move. The cold floor against his cheek felt oddly comforting.
"Why can't I just close my eyes and wake up… never," he sighed again, voice muffled by the blanket. He stayed still, eyes shut tight, trying to summon the smallest flicker of strength from deep within.
After a moment, a faint idea crossed his mind. "Oh, I know…" he mumbled. A soft white-blue ring formed around him, and in a swirl of light, Danny Phantom took form — but instead of looking powerful or ghostly, he hovered there midair still wrapped in his blanket, looking more like a depressed floating burrito than a superhero.
He began lazily drifting toward the door, his blanket trailing slightly behind him like a cape of apathy, and phased right through it.
Just as Dick exited his own room, already dressed in the Gotham Academy uniform, he froze at the sight of Danny hovering listlessly down the hall. "Seriously?" Dick sighed, rubbing his temple. "Just go back to bed already. I'm sure Bruce would actually let you sleep in today."
Danny peeked one tired eye open. "Eh, it's too late. I'm already up. Anyway, I'm going to go shower," he muttered, still floating as he phased right through Dick — earning a visible shudder from him.
"I really hate when you do that," Dick grumbled under his breath.
Danny chuckled faintly as he floated past, only half awake. Dick turned slightly and added with a dry tone, "Also, don't lay down on the floor while you're showering. You might intentionally drown yourself."
Danny stopped midair, blinking. "Don't you mean accidentally?"
Dick didn't say a word. He just gave him a completely straight look.
"…Duly noted," Danny mumbled, slowly fading through the next wall while muttering under his breath, "How did he even know I was planning to lay on the floor?"
…
By the time Danny trudged down to breakfast, his hair was still damp, sticking to his forehead. He looked more awake, but only barely. Bruce and Dick were already seated, quietly eating as Alfred moved around the kitchen with his usual composed efficiency.
Bruce glanced up as Danny sat down. "Go back to bed, Danny. You're in no condition to go to school."
Danny gave him a deadpan look. "If you'd told me that beforehand, I would've gladly taken you up on that offer." He slumped into his chair with a sigh. "I didn't drag myself all the way down here just to be told I could've stayed in bed."
Bruce merely grunted, setting his cup down. "Suit yourself."
Just then, Alfred entered carrying a tray. "And here I was planning on allowing you the privilege of ice cream for breakfast," he said with mock disappointment. "However, upon checking the freezer, I found the tubs mysteriously empty."
Danny pointed immediately across the table. "Dick did it."
Dick nearly choked on his food, whipping his head toward him. "Wha—?! No way!" He hurriedly swallowed and glared. "You snake! You ate more than I did!"
Alfred chuckled lightly, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Oh well," he said, setting a plate before Danny. "I suppose you'll have to settle for your favorite — waffles with bacon, eggs, a touch of honey glaze, whipped cream, and of course, syrup." He placed a small jar beside him with a flourish.
Danny's expression softened a little. "Thanks, Alfred," he said quietly, offering him a faint but genuine smile.
"My pleasure, Master Danny," Alfred replied with a knowing wink before retreating toward the kitchen.
As Danny began to eat, Dick gave him a sideways look, raising an eyebrow. "You're gonna get fat eating like that every morning."
Danny stuffed his mouth with a forkful of waffle and bacon before replying through half-chewed food, "I'm bulking." His cheeks puffed out slightly as he chewed with all the enthusiasm of a zombie.
…
Once breakfast was over, Danny and Dick found themselves seated in the back of the sleek black car as Alfred drove them toward Gotham Academy. The ride was quiet — not an uncomfortable kind, but one filled with unspoken thoughts.
Danny leaned against the cool window, his breath fogging up the glass with every exhale. He wore a dark hoodie with the hood pulled halfway up, his headphones resting around his neck and earmuffs over his ears as if trying to muffle the world itself. His reflection in the window looked distant, hollow.
Outside, cars sped past in flashes of color and noise that felt far away from him. He watched them absently, following the blur of tail lights.
Beside him, Dick was slouched low in his seat, scrolling through his phone, though his focus kept drifting. Every few seconds, his eyes flicked toward Danny. He'd noticed the way Danny's shoulders sank a little more than usual, how the spark in his eyes had dimmed. But Dick didn't know what to say — not without pushing too far.
The car came to a smooth stop outside the school gates. "We're here, Masters Richard and Daniel," Alfred announced with his usual calm grace.
"Thanks, Alfred," Dick said, grabbing his bag and stepping out.
Danny nodded faintly, mumbling, "Thanks…" before slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
As Alfred drove away, Danny stood there for a moment on the sidewalk, staring at the tall brick building that loomed ahead. He took in a deep breath, the crisp air filling his lungs before he let it out slowly. 'Another day. Just get through another day.'
Inside, the corridors were already buzzing with the morning rush — lockers clanging, chatter echoing, sneakers squeaking against the floor. It was normal. Too normal.
Danny moved quietly through the crowd, his hood still drawn low until he spotted them — Sam and Tucker — standing near his locker. His pace slowed, hesitation creeping into his chest like ice.
He pulled down his hood and lowered his headphones, trying to appear casual. But the moment Sam noticed him, her eyes softened with concern.
"Danny…" she said gently, stepping forward. "Are you alright?"
Danny blinked, caught off guard by her tone. "What? Why wouldn't I be alright?" he asked, his voice sharper than intended, suspicion flickering in his eyes. 'Do they remember? Why else would they look so worried?' The thought made something fragile inside him stir — hope.
Tucker rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Because, dude… it's kinda written all over your face. We've known you for years. We can tell when something's eating at you."
And just like that, that small, flickering hope was snuffed out. "Oh," Danny muttered, eyes dropping to the floor.
Sam took a cautious step closer. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly. Her voice was steady, but her eyes carried worry — and patience. Tucker nodded beside her, echoing the silent offer of support.
Danny opened his mouth, words trembling on the edge of confession — but they wouldn't come out. His thoughts spun. 'This isn't a cartoon. There's no plot armor here. If I tell them what's really happening… I'll just be putting them in danger. I already lost my parents… I can't afford to lose them too.'
His hands tightened around the strap of his backpack. His gaze sank toward the floor, and both Sam and Tucker instantly recognized the look — that quiet, guilt-ridden expression he wore when he was shutting them out again.
They exchanged a glance. Disappointment flickered briefly across their faces, but not anger — just understanding. They'd known Danny long enough to read him better than anyone.
"I'm sorry…" Danny finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn't meet their eyes. "I can't talk about it. I don't want to lie to you guys, but—"
"Hey," Tucker interrupted gently, resting a hand on Danny's shoulder. His tone was kind. "You don't have to apologize, man. We get it. Some things are just too hard to talk about — especially with the people you care about most."
Sam nodded in agreement, her expression soft but firm. "Just remember we're here, okay? You don't have to tell us now, or tomorrow, or even next week. But whenever you're ready… we'll listen."
Danny looked down and smiled faintly, that small flicker of warmth returning as Sam and Tucker's words settled in. He opened his mouth to thank them — to say something, anything — but before he could, a sharp tug yanked him backward by the neck.
"Woah, Fenton! These look pretty expensive!"
The sudden pull nearly choked him. His headphones were ripped clean off his shoulders. Turning around, Danny found Dash Baxter standing behind him, spinning the black headset in his hand with a smug grin plastered across his face. A few of his jock friends loitered nearby, already snickering.
"Must be nice having a billionaire's leg to cling to," Dash said, eyeing the headphones like a shiny new toy.
Danny's jaw tightened. A low growl rumbled from his throat as his fingers curled into fists. He drew in a long, shaky breath through his nose, trying to keep the ghostly aura from sparking to life beneath his skin. "Not today, Dash. I'm not in the mood. Give it back."
Dash smirked wider. "Hahaha! What's wrong, Feebleton? Wake up on the wrong side of your million dollar bed?" The jocks around him erupted in laughter, egging him on.
"That's enough, Dash! Give it back!" Sam snapped, her glare sharp enough to cut steel.
Dash only laughed louder, lifting the headphones high above his head like a trophy. "What, Fentino? You gonna let Dorkette here fight your battles for you?"
Danny's knuckles whitened. His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. His eyes were closed, shoulders trembling.
"Danny, he's not worth it—" Tucker started cautiously, his voice edged with worry.
But Dash kept running his mouth. "C'mon, it's right here! Go on, get it yourself, maybe on your tippy toes—" He turned the headphones over in his hands, admiring them with mock curiosity. "Actually, these are nice. I think I'll keep 'em. I'm sure Daddy Bruce Wayne can buy you another—"
That was it.
The next sound was a crack.
Danny's fist slammed into Dash's face with explosive force, splitting his lip open. The jock's head snapped to the side, colliding with the lockers in a metallic clang. The hallway went dead silent for a split second — then chaos erupted.
Danny didn't stop. He shoved Dash hard, sending him sprawling to the floor. Before anyone could react, Danny was on top of him, raining down punch after punch. Each strike landed heavier than the last — fueled by bottled grief, guilt, and exhaustion. Dash's nose broke under one of the blows, blood splattering across his cheek and onto Danny's sleeve.
"Danny! Stop! That's enough!" Sam's voice rang out, desperate. She and Tucker rushed forward, grabbing Danny's shoulders and trying to pull him off.
But he wasn't listening. His breathing was ragged, his eyes wild. He shrugged them off instinctively — too forcefully — sending both of them stumbling back to the ground. Gasps echoed around the hall. Students started shouting, some running to get teachers while others froze in stunned disbelief.
Then another voice cut through the noise.
"Danny!"
Dick forced his way through the gathered crowd, pushing past the stunned onlookers and furious jocks. Without hesitation, he grabbed Danny by the arm and yanked him off Dash, slamming him back against the lockers. The sound reverberated through the hallway like a thunderclap.
"Enough!" Dick barked, his tone sharp and commanding — the same one Bruce used when things got out of hand. "Snap out of it!"
Danny hit the floor, dazed. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath, his eyes darting wildly. The hallway blurred around him — Sam and Tucker on the floor, staring at him not in fear of him, but for him. Yet Danny couldn't tell the difference. His mind twisted it, feeding his guilt.
His gaze fell to Dash. The once-smirking bully now sat slumped against the lockers, blood dripping from his nose and lip, tears streaking down his face. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" he whimpered, voice cracking between sobs.
Danny's breath hitched. His trembling hands lifted in front of him — covered in red. Dash's blood streaked across his knuckles, smeared over his fingers, dripping onto his jeans.
'What have I done…?'
His whole body shook. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, deafeningly loud. He wanted to disappear, phase straight through the floor and never come back.
Dick approached slowly, his expression hardened but not without sympathy. "Come on," he said quietly but firmly, gripping Danny's arm and pulling him to his feet. "Let's go."
Danny didn't resist. His body moved on instinct, numb, as Dick guided him down the hall. The students around them parted in silence, watching as the two walked past — one with blood-stained hands, the other keeping a steady grip.
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